Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Welcome back, gentlemen.”

The shimmering light of the transporter beam dissipated, and the source of the greeting that had just reached Spock’s ears resolved into crisp clarity. The Enterprise’s ebullient chief engineer, Montgomery Scott, stood behind the transporter control console, having successfully returned his captain and first officer to the ship.

“Thank you, Scotty, how’s my ship?” replied Captain James T. Kirk as he stepped off the transporter pad to Spock’s left.

Spock watched as Kirk began to descend the steps towards Mr Scott and the control console. He followed a moment later and took up his usual position by the captain's right shoulder.

Mr Scott responded with a broad smile, “Just as you left her, sir, all systems running at optimal levels.” His hands moved with practised ease, from one control to the next, as he finished running final checks on the transporter and secured the station back to standby mode.

“I’d expect nothing less.” The captain beamed back at him.

“I heard not everything went quite to plan down there,” said the engineer with a slight frown and an inquisitive lilt to his Scottish brogue.

Spock arched an eyebrow at what he thought to be a rather profound understatement.

“Does it ever?” Kirk quipped jovially. “Still, we always muddle through somehow, don’t we, Spock?”

At being addressed directly, Spock turned slightly towards his captain and inclined his head. In truth, this mission had been taxing for him, and he was in desperate need of solitary meditation in order to recentre his mind and restore his mental barriers.

Given his currently unsettled state, Spock could not muster any response beyond a bland, “Indeed.”

Unperturbed by the terseness of Spock’s response, the captain continued, “In any case, we had a little help from the governor’s daughter, Liraya.”

Spock suppressed a sigh.

Mr Scott’s eyes grew rounder and his smile returned, even wider than before, as he said, “Aye, there’s a fine lass an’ no mistake!” and gave the captain a look that was half humour half expectancy.

Spock had accompanied the captain on a great many landing parties over the three years, two months and fifteen days during which they had worked together aboard the Enterprise. A human may have simply stated ‘too many to count,’ but with his Vulcan eidetic memory, Spock, of course, knew that the exact number was sixty-eight.

Aside from the often fraught circumstances in which they found themselves upon beaming down to alien worlds—or over to space stations and starbases for that matter—there had also been numerous additional occasions on which crisis situations had arisen aboard the Enterprise itself, risking their lives and the lives of their crew, occasionally imperilling the security of the wider Federation or even the Galaxy as a whole.

On not a statistically insignificant percentage of those missions, either Kirk or himself, or both, had been injured and required the ministrations of a tempestuous Dr McCoy.

However, of the wide variety of challenges, crises and dire circumstances they had experienced while on their extended exploratory mission, none unsettled Spock more than the missions during which he was forced to become a reluctant audience to Captain Kirk’s seduction of one beautiful woman or another.

Spock understood that, in the majority of cases, Kirk’s advances were part of a logical, and surprisingly effective, strategy to secure the assistance of said woman and aid in the completion of their original objective, and/or their safe escape and return to the ship.

He was also aware that based on these occasional tactical choices, Kirk’s reputation for casual romantic entanglements had become exaggerated in the extreme. Many within Starfleet and the Federation viewed him as some kind of galactic playboy.

Spock knew that this was far from the truth; knew that his captain did not give his heart easily. He’d borne witness to the few occasions when Kirk had developed deep and abiding affection for someone, and been privy to the crushing aftermath that it had wrought in his friend—Edith Keeler, Miramanee, Rayna.

On each devastating occasion, Spock had lent silent support to his captain and friend as he rebuilt himself piece by piece, having been shattered by a brief but intensely affecting relationship.

Spock had always, without hesitation, picked up any resulting slack in official duties and fielded additional requests and reports from the crew and Command to prevent any unnecessary burden upon his captain. Outside their official responsibilities to the ship, Spock had also continued to provide Kirk with the familiarity and security of their regular evening meals, sparring matches and chess games.

Yes, Spock knew that his captain’s less than flattering reputation with regards to romance was entirely without basis in reality. He knew Jim Kirk possibly better than anyone else in the galaxy, save the good doctor. However, he had also latterly come to realise that just because Kirk was often forced into these seductive situations by dire circumstances, it did not mean that he did not, in some small part, enjoy it.

It had become apparent to Spock over the years that this captain’s preferences ran to the distinctly feminine.

Never in all their missions had he seen Kirk deploy his considerable charms in the same way against any males, nor had he become aware of any liaisons with men during their infrequent shore leaves.

Of course, Kirk was friendly towards his male friends and colleagues; he was an exceptionally congenial, affectionate and tactile individual. Indeed, even with Spock, Kirk was free with his small touches and generous with his smiles. But these always appeared to be given in the spirit of friendship and camaraderie, and bore little resemblance to the way in which he approached ‘the fairer sex.’

This had led Spock to the logical conclusion that, when it came to romantic relationships, Kirk was interested exclusively in women.

This was highly inconvenient, as over this same period of time, it had become starkly apparent to Spock that his affection for his captain had exceeded a level that could, under even the most generous of assessments, be attributed to a platonic friendship.

Were he to indulge in the emotional parlance of his mother’s people, he would have to admit that he had fallen deeply, and irrevocably, in love with James Tiberius Kirk.

How unfortunate.

In the beginning, when he had just taken on his new role as first officer of the Enterprise under its newly minted captain, Spock had reasoned that Kirk’s seduction tactics felt objectionable to him due to their inherent emotionalism.

As time went on, and their professional relationship evolved into a steady friendship, Spock rationalised that he did not wish for Kirk to be distracted, undermined or injured by romantic entanglements that could never be reconciled with his drive to be out among the stars and his duties as a Starfleet captain.

There is only so long, however, that even a Vulcan can avoid an emotional truth, and after the events of his ill-fated Pon Farr, Spock could no longer deny that he cared a great deal for Kirk.

More than a first officer for his captain, more than a man for his friend.

The real turning point had come a little under a year prior when Spock had touched Kirk’s mind for the first time.

Kirk had been stranded for over two months on a planet among a pre-industrial human culture that lived and worshipped like the indigenous tribes of Earth’s North American continent. When they had found Kirk, he was suffering neurological damage that had resulted in amnesia, blocking from Kirk knowledge of his history and identity. Spock had initiated a light meld in the hope of clearing any blockage to his captain’s memories and restoring order to his damaged mind. He’d been successful, but had also encountered something entirely unexpected.

The moment that Spock’s mind had joined with Kirk’s he had been flooded with a warmth and blinding golden light that felt like the desert sun was shining from within him. Kirk’s mind called to him, urging him to sink deeper, and it had taken considerable restraint on Spock’s part to resist heeding the call and merging more fully with his insensate commanding officer.

Since then Spock had touched Kirk’s mind on three further occasions: once in the line of duty to save the lives of the landing party, and once because there was no other way to effectively confirm that the captain’s body truly had been swapped within the urgent timeframe in which they were working.

The other occasion had arisen after Rayna.

Spock had struggled to see his captain— his friend, so distraught. Kirk had wished to forget and so Spock, in a perhaps somewhat impulsive and ill-advised effort to help, had waited until Kirk had fallen asleep and then touched his mind, placing a gauzy barrier across the memories, not blocking them entirely but merely making them less acute, dampening the pain they caused.

On each occasion, Spock had felt that same pull to join more deeply with Kirk; a siren song calling him to a glittering shore. Their minds were remarkably compatible, more so than Spock had ever experienced with anyone else, including T’Pring, with whom he had always had a decidedly strained connection.

Prior to their melds, Spock had already been highly attracted to his captain. He was drawn to Kirk’s intelligence, wit, strength of character and compassion. He also couldn’t deny that he found Kirk exceptionally aesthetically pleasing, with his broad shoulders, strong hands and bright, hazel eyes. But now that Spock had discovered their intense mental compatibility, he knew that, were Kirk to reciprocate his affections, he could find in him everything that he had ever desired. They would have a full mating bond, one that would thrive and bring them closer than any human marriage ever could.

With the dawning realisation of the depths of his desire for Kirk, each of his captain’s subsequent romances had become harder for Spock to bear.

He did not for a moment believe that Kirk’s romantic preferences were the only barrier standing in the way of his desires. Spock acknowledged that even were Kirk interested in men, he would not necessarily be open to exploring a deepening of their existing relationship. However, for a while, as illogical as it may have been, Spock had held fast to a sliver of hope that perhaps they could grow closer still.

Now, without that hope to sustain him, each time he was forced to watch his captain press his eager lips to those of some alien female, a bone-deep pain struck him like a physical blow, shaking his emotional control and flooding him with a mixture of despair and shame.

Today’s mission had been one such occasion.

They’d beamed down to the Federation colony on Nestor V, following orders from Starfleet Command to investigate loss of contact with the planet after the arrival of a diplomatic envoy some two weeks prior.

The Enterprise had sent out the standard hails upon their approach to the planet, and again upon making orbit, to no avail. As such, the captain had promptly assembled a landing party consisting of himself, Mr Spock and two red-shirted security ensigns.

As so often happened, upon reaching the surface the landing party was immediately embroiled in a rapidly deteriorating civil disturbance.

Unbeknownst to either Spock or the captain prior to their arrival, the colony had descended into an intense, if somewhat small scale, civil war.

As they later discovered, the citizens of the colony had taken exception to the increasingly erratic and restrictive policies being enacted by the local governor; a Troyian named Erialis K’tren.

The civilian colony officials had eventually reached out to the Federation Council after it became clear that Governor K’tren could not be reasoned with. At this point the diplomatic envoy had been dispatched to meet with the governor and assess his fitness to retain office.

Unfortunately for the assigned ambassador and their aids, they were never given the opportunity to fulfil their remit.

Having discovered the details of their arrival, the governor had had the diplomatic shuttle seized immediately upon landing and all members of the envoy taken into custody.

Once the civilian officials, and wider populace, learned of these actions, the already simmering discontent within the colony had boiled over into full blown dissent.

The governor swiftly responded by declaring martial law and the colony divided itself. The civilian representatives and the majority of the 3000 citizens were on one side, and the colonial security force and members of K’tren’s staff and household on the other.

As it was, by the time the landing party materialised in the main foyer of their city hall, the conflict was in full swing.

As soon the shimmering lights of the transporter beam had begun to fade, and the chaos of the grandly appointed room around them came into view, they realised they were caught in a crossfire.

Ensign Jenkins took a high intensity phaser hit to the shoulder almost immediately and was dragged behind an overturned sofa by Ensign Henggeler. Spock had instantly grabbed Kirk by the shoulders, drawing him hurriedly behind a nearby column.

Despite their shouted pleas for both sides to see reason and stand down, it wasn’t long before the colonial security services had forced back the civilian combatants and surrounded the landing party. They were stripped of their weapons and communicators and locked in a small, albeit quite comfortable room that had previously been some sort of meeting space.

The captain had helped Henggeler settle the injured Jenkins in a nearby armchair, instructing him to provide whatever first aid possible in order to staunch the bleeding until they could return to the Enterprise.

Spock and Kirk had then set about testing the doors, and the rest of the room, for any opportunity to free themselves.

After having spent 2.4 hours testing and dismissing various avenues of escape, they were quickly running out of options.

Despite being a public building for a relatively small colony on the edge of Federation space, the Nestor V city hall boasted impressively sturdy design. They were in an interior room with no windows and the door had withstood their combined efforts to open it by force, as well as their attempts to bypass its locks by rewiring the control panel.

They were about to once again try to reach the light fixtures in the high ceiling to see if they could access a ventilation duct when a soft click alerted them that the door was being unlocked from the outside.

It slid open a moment later with a soft swish and a petite woman entered holding a tray of refreshments. Behind her stood two tall colonial security officers, their phasers trained on the Enterprise crew members.

The security guards waved them away, indicating that they should move further back into the room and the captain indicated with a brief glance to Spock and the others that they should comply.

“My name is James T. Kirk, Captain of the Federation Starship Enterprise. Why have we been attacked and confined?” Kirk demanded.

The woman stepped forward and fixed Kirk with a penitent expression. She appeared young, no more than twenty years old, with pale blue-green skin and flowing silver hair.

“My sincere apologies to you and your crewmen, Captain Kirk, for our less than hospitable welcome,” she replied in a bright, lyrical voice, before moving with a fluid grace to set down the tray, containing a bowl of fresh fruit, a carafe of water and four glasses, on a small table by the door. “I’m sorry also that your crewman’s injury has not been attended to before now. As you’ll have gathered, there’s a lot going on at the moment.”

As she said this she reached into a pocket in her long, flowing ivory skirt and produced two hyposprays and a dermal regenerator and proffered them to Ensign Henggeler who was still applying steady pressure to the now noticeably pale and sweating Jenkins.

Henggeler glanced towards his captain looking for guidance and remained still as Kirk held up his hand.

“What’s in the hyposprays?” he asked.

Looking genuinely shocked and slightly affronted by the implication of that query, she replied sharply, “I assure you, captain, if I wished your crewman any harm I could simply have left him without any additional medical aid.” She took a breath and continued in a softer tone, “One is an analgesic for the pain and the other is a broad spectrum antibiotic to prevent infection.”

Satisfied that she was telling the truth, the captain directed a small nod to Henggeler. The ensign stepped forward and took the proffered medical devices before hastily returning to his comrade’s side and attending to their wound.

His crewman taken care of, Spock had watched his captain turn his attention back to the woman standing just inside the doorway. Having served alongside Kirk for so long, Spock could almost spot the exact moment at which his tactical mind had begun to reassess the new opportunity available to him.

Unnoticed by anyone else in the room, Spock’s whole body had tensed when Kirk delivered his next words in a distinctly sultry tone. “I appreciate the kindness and compassion you’ve shown my crew. I’d like to know to whom I owe my gratitude?”

Spock could see that Kirk’s changed demeanour was already having an effect on their would-be captor. Her youthful cheeks flushed a delicate lilac against her aquamarine skin as she introduced herself as Liraya K’tren, daughter of the wayward governor.

Over the subsequent three hours, Spock had watched with increasing dismay as Kirk had charmed the resourceful but naive young woman into helping them escape their room, and reclaim their phasers and communicators so they could make contact with the ship.

There had been a moment before Liraya had finally agreed to aid them in which she had seemed to hesitate, torn between her loyalty to her father and her desire to please the captain. Kirk had rid her of any of her lingering doubts with a few softly whispered words and a passionate kiss.

As Kirk slid his arms around her slender but shapely frame and pressed his lips to hers, Spock had been forced to draw on every ounce of Vulcan discipline and emotional control that he possessed to keep from letting out a pained gasp.

To calm his increasingly discomposed mind, Spock had forced himself to focus on the mission at hand. On the next steps of the plan.

After retrieving their communicators the captain had contacted the ship to let them know what had happened. They discovered that Enterprise had been unable to retrieve them or send reinforcements up until that point due to a scattering field having been erected not long after they were captured.

Mr Scott, who had been in temporary command of the ship, was able to use the ships sensors to direct the landing party to the source of the interference and, after stunning the security staff guarding it, they were able to disengage the field with little trouble.

In short order Jenkins had been transported back to the ship to receive proper medical treatment and Lieutenant Commander Giotto had beamed down with a full complement of Enterprise security officers.

It had been another forty-three minutes before the Starfleet teams had managed to secure the city hall and subdue the colonial forces. When they finally took Governor K’tren into custody, they could easily assess that an examination by any competent medical profession would conclude that the man was not of sound mind.

With the retrieval of the exhausted and shaken but thankfully unharmed diplomatic team, Spock and Kirk had been able to leave them to coordinate with the civilian authorities and return to the ship for a few hours before they’d be needed again.

And so Spock now found himself standing in the transporter room of the Enterprise, exhausted and emotionally unstable as his captain recounted the events of the last few hours to Mr Scott.

“Yes, she seemed like a bright young woman. Certainly her help was invaluable. Though I’m sure we’d have figured something out in the end like we always do.” At these final words Kirk turned to Spock and rested his right hand softly on Spock’s left elbow. A soft smile with the radiance of a supernova brightening his handsome features.

Spock managed to contain his physical reaction save for a slight tightening of his jaw muscles.

“If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I wish to return to my quarters to change prior to the post-mission briefing,” Spock said, in as neutral a tone as he could manage in that moment.

The bright smile on Kirk's face immediately dimmed and he let his hand drop back to his side as he replied, “Yes of course. I’ll see you at the briefing in an hour.”

With a brief but courteous nod to the captain and Mr Scott, Spock left the room, heading briskly down the corridor to the turbolift.

Spock was aware that his abrupt departure had not gone unnoticed. He could see the confusion and concern in Kirk’s eyes as Spock rebuffed his attempts to draw him into the light-hearted conversation. However, Spock’s heart did not feel light. It beat in his side, too fast and too hard, like a ritual drum: a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil.

Spock knew that things could not continue as they were and yet he was unsure what further action he could take.

After a similarly perilous mission, to the fourth moon of Kress a month prior—during which Kirk had been forced to turn his charms upon the High Priestess of Ran, in order to avoid becoming a sacrifice to their God of the Land and Seas— Spock had made the decision to pull back on his off-duty exposure to Kirk. While unwilling to entirely abandon their personal friendship, which would only raise unwelcome questions, he decided that he would benefit from additional hours of meditation. This would allow him to regain his emotional control and ground him more firmly back in his increasingly eroded logic.

As such, he had since made his excuses to his friend and reduced their near-nightly socialising to a more manageable twice-weekly chess game.

Of course, the most obvious path would have been to submit a transfer request and leave the Enterprise, and Kirk, for another posting. But Spock did not wish to leave.

The Enterprise was his home, as sentimental a thought as that may be, more of a home than Vulcan or Earth had ever felt to him.

Equally, he did not wish to leave Kirk, nor to hurt him as he knew his sudden and unexplained departure inevitably would. He wished for Kirk to be happy, even if that happiness came at the expense of Spock’s own.

His captain strained his logic, his emotional control, and Spock could never claim him as a mate in the way that he desired more than anything. But even knowing all this, he would not be without him.

Spock slipped quietly through the doors of his quarters, releasing a silent breath of relief as they swished closed behind him. Allowing the familiar heat and soothing red tones of his cabin to wash over him.

He had an hour before the post-mission debriefing was scheduled to begin, and would need almost every minute of that time to once again recentre himself and put his mind in order.

Without so much as lighting his incense, Spock immediately folded himself down onto his meditation mat and closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

Jim watched his first officer’s retreating back as it disappeared through the doors of the transporter room, concern and not a small measure of hurt welling inside him.

He turned back towards his happily chattering chief engineer, who had already launched into an anecdote about a hapless ensign who had spilled coffee all over one of the bridge stations while they were down on the planet. Jim nodded along in all the right places but he was only half listening, his mind still fixated on Spock’s increasingly aloof behaviour.

Scotty didn’t appear to have noticed anything amiss with the exchange, but then again Jim had long ago come to realise that other people just didn’t see Spock the same way he did. They weren’t able to read the subtle changes that signalled so clearly to Jim when Spock was happy, sad, amused or frustrated. Though of course the Vulcan would vehemently deny feeling any such ‘human emotions’ were it pointed out to him.

Jim just didn’t understand how anyone who looked at Spock could fail to recognise the depths that lay beneath the stoic facade. How could they miss the dry humour and mischievous twinkle in Spock’s deep brown eyes as he gently teased his human companions.

Jim lived for those moments.

I probably know him better than anyone save his own mother. Jim thought wryly to himself. He certainly knew Spock well enough that he was painfully aware that the Vulcan had been purposefully distancing himself from Jim for over a month now. What he didn’t know was why.

It wasn’t unprecedented for Spock to withdraw after something had shaken him. To take the time to firm up his shields and process through whatever had strained his emotional control. But it didn’t usually last this long.

Even after the debacle that took place on Vulcan, when Spock and Jim had been intended to fight to the death, he hadn’t retreated so far. Even though Spock thought for a while that he had killed Jim, he had emerged from his self-imposed isolation after a few days and they’d worked through much of the remaining aftermath together.

Oh, Spock had been full of apologies and remorse and self flagellation but he was still there, at least most nights, in Jim’s quarters, or the mess or the gym, for all their usual activities. This was different. Spock had drawn back almost entirely over the last few weeks. Even when he joined Jim twice a week for chess he was still remote, subdued. He would still engage in conversation if Jim instigated one but it lacked the easy flow that they were used to. It was more stilted and forced, like Spock didn’t want to be there and was just going through the motions to appease his emotionally needy captain.

And it hurt.

Jim had watched Spock build a wall around himself and retreat behind it, and he missed his friend.

Concerned that it might have been something that he had done or said, Jim had pored over his fallible human memories as best as he could, analysing every mission, every conversation, every interaction that had taken place between him and Spock in the run-up to Spock’s retreat. But no matter how many times he went over it, he couldn’t pinpoint any one incident in particular that could be responsible for such a drastic change in Spock’s behaviour.

Which left Jim with the only other possibility that he could think of.

That, despite Jim’s best efforts to reign in his feelings and temper his tactile inclinations, Spock had become aware of Jim’s feelings towards him… and didn’t return them.

Jim knew he was a tactile person; he found connection with others through small touches and lots of eye contact. In humans, this was a great way to build rapport, trust and camaraderie, but with Spock…

It had started out as an accidental touch to his arm one day a few months into their five year mission. Jim had been talking with Spock and without thinking he’d reached out and clasped his arm just above the elbow, as he so commonly did with members of his crew. As soon as he realised what he was doing he’d drawn back his hand like he’d been scalded. He’d been horrified that he may have inadvertently offended his new touch telepath first officer, and apologised profusely, but Spock had brushed it off as inconsequential.

Even with Jim trying to be conscious of keeping his hands to himself around Spock, it had accidentally happened a few more times. Each time Jim would apologise but he started to notice that Spock never pulled away from the touch, and genuinely hadn’t seemed to mind. So after a while Jim just stopped worrying about it.

He touched Spock as freely as he touched any other member of his crew, and that’s all it was… for a while.

It was less than eight months before Jim realised that he was in trouble.

It wasn’t any one thing that happened, but rather a cumulative effect. The more time he spent with Spock the more he glimpsed the warm and compassionate man beneath the Vulcan mask of neutrality. As it became easier for Jim to read Spock, the more he became aware of his wicked sense of humour and his regular amusement when the humans around him didn’t get the joke.

Then they started to spend more and more time together off duty. At first Jim convinced himself that the regular invitations he would extend to Spock for chess, or a meal or a sparring match were in service of strengthening their professional relationship and making them a more effective command team. But as time went on Jim finally had to admit to himself that he just wanted to spend time with Spock. He enjoyed his company and felt his absence when they were apart.

By the second year of their mission Jim and Spock had found a comfortable groove with each other. They spent almost all of their off duty time together and Jim had realised that he was falling completely, and highly inconveniently, in love with his second in command.

The point of no return had come for Jim during their mission to seek out the Melkotians. Dire circumstances had made it necessary for Spock to mind meld with each member of the landing party, in order to instill in them the absolute conviction that the threats that they were facing were not real and could not harm them. Their gambit had been successful, and they’d gotten everyone back to the ship safely, but the whole time Jim had been reeling internally.

Jim knew, intellectually, that it wasn’t the first time Spock had melded with him. He’d been informed that it had been necessary in order to restore his mind after he’d been injured on Mirimanee’s planet, but he had no memory of the experience.

The second Spock’s mind had brushed against his own on the Melkotians’ world, however, Jim had been ruined.

It felt like coming home. He was safe and warm and wrapped in a thick blanket of contentment.

And it was over all too soon.

He had no frame of reference to know whether a meld always felt that good, but he suspected not, because no one else in the landing party seemed to have been affected by it the way he had. In fact, the others all looked somewhat discomfited by the experience. And Bones had looked downright horrified before, during and after the meld, that he’d had to let Spock into his mind.

From that moment on, however, Jim had needed to redouble his efforts at restraint when he was around Spock. He would catch himself flirting, or gazing at, or touching Spock and force himself to reel it in. He would become aware that he was standing too close and speaking too warmly to him, and silently berate himself as he took a subtle step back out of the Vulcan’s personal space.

Only a few months ago, they’d melded once more in the line of duty, when Jim’s body had been stolen by Janice Lester. Spock had melded with Jim while he was in Janice’s body so that he could be convinced of Jim’s identity. Once again, despite the desperate circumstances, Jim had been overwhelmed with an almost palpable feeling of home. He’d been sure that Spock must have felt the same. The sensation was so strong, so tangible, like having his veins filled with starlight.

But then Spock had begun to pull away.

He’d made excuses and cancelled long standing appointments. He’d scheduled extra time in the labs in the evenings and would avoid the officers' mess at the times that Jim and the rest of the bridge crew would usually eat.

As Jim thought through the whole sorry series of events, he was suddenly struck with the dawning understanding of what must have happened, and felt sick to his stomach.

During their most recent meld, which had felt stronger than the first—deeper? Jim wasn’t sure of the correct terminology—Spock must have seen enough of Jim’s mind to become aware of his feelings towards him.

He clearly didn’t return them, or else what would have stopped him acting upon it? No, obviously Spock didn’t feel the same way and had been made so uncomfortable by the knowledge of Jim’s affections that he’d felt the need to distance himself socially from his captain in order to reestablish some professional boundaries. Knowing Spock, he probably felt that he was doing the right thing by not leading Jim on. And maybe he was.

However, the thought of having driven away his friend made Jim’s heart ache and his jaw tense. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears as his mind worked frantically trying to formulate a way to fix what he’d inadvertently broken.

Something of his distress must have shown on Jim’s face because he was snapped from his dark musings by Scotty asking “Are ye feeling alright, Captain?”

Seeing an opportunity to end the conversation with his chief engineer, Jim replied, “You know, I have a bit of a headache. I think I’ll just head down and see if Doctor McCoy can give me something for it before the briefing. Would you mind holding down the fort a while longer, Scotty?”

The Scotsman nodded briskly, looking mildly concerned, and said, “Of course sir, I’m sure the doctor’ll have ye right as rain in no time.”

Jim managed a grateful smile and excused himself, heading for the turbolift. He brooded as he went over the possibility that he may have irreparably damaged both his professional and personal relationship with Spock.

Jim hadn’t been lying when he said he had a headache. One had been building as he’d been putting the puzzle pieces together and now his head felt like it was about to split open. He needed a hypo and he needed to talk to a friend with a sympathetic ear, and luckily for him he could find both of those things in the same place.

Stepping off the turbolift on deck seven, Jim made a bee-line for McCoy’s office.

Jim glanced around Sickbay as he entered, scanning the main treatment area as he walked. The panels on the walls above the biobeds beeped and chirped their soft indicator tones as they monitored the crewmen currently ensconced there.

Only two of the beds were currently occupied. One with a lieutenant from the science division who was recovering from an incident that took place yesterday. A container of a highly caustic chemical had been damaged, and the Lieutenant had been exposed. The burns to her skin had been healed fairly quickly with the regenerator and a round of dermaline gel, but she’d inhaled enough of the fumes to cause internal burning of the lungs and that took a little longer to treat. She looked to be asleep just now and Jim could see that she had an oxygen line looped over her ears and beneath her nose. He’d received updates from both Bones and Spock yesterday and knew she was due to make a full recovery in the next couple of days.

In the other bed, sitting propped up on a stack of pillows, was Ensign Jenkins who was looking much better and was currently having a dressing on their shoulder changed by Nurse Chapel. The nurse looked up and smiled at Jim as he moved further into the room.

“Captain, can I help you with something?” she said.

Gesturing to the closed door of McCoy’s office on the far side of the room Jim responded with a question of his own. “Is the doctor in with someone already?”

“No,” Chapel replied with a slight roll of her eyes and a long-suffering look. “He’s just alone in there, brooding over the fact that it’s almost time to start the annual round of crew physicals again. Honestly, he does know how to make a fuss over the littlest thing!” Catching herself, she hastily added a, “Sir,” before returning her attention to the Ensign on the biobed.

On another occasion Jim would have perhaps chuckled and bantered with the nurse about the curmudgeonly friend they held in common. As it was, he simply nodded a courteous acknowledgement and walked straight for the doors to the office, hitting the door panel to request entry when the doors failed to open automatically at his approach.

“So help me Christine, I told you—” McCoy began shouting through the door before he was cut off by Jim.

“Bones, it’s me,” he said in a raised voice so he would be heard through the plastisteel. A second later the doors parted to reveal the chief medical officer, sitting behind a desk with haphazardly piled data slates strewn across its surface.

“Jim, pull up a chair, what’d you need?” McCoy asked, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the guest chair on the opposite side of the desk from him. It was also piled with data slates but Jim was familiar with his CMO’s chaotic filing system, and so simply lifted the pile from the chair and perched it on one of the only available spaces left on the edge of the cluttered desk before sitting down.

“For a start, do you have anything for a headache?” asked Jim, rubbing at his temples with his fingertips.

McCoy sat forward, assessing his captain for a moment with the shrewd gaze of an experienced diagnostician. “What happened? There’s more than just a headache bothering you,” he said as he leaned back and opened a drawer behind him, pulling out a small, cylindrical cartridge of green liquid and a fresh hypospray.

McCoy stood and circled the desk as he slotted the cartridge into the hypo and brought it to Jim’s neck. Jim felt the chill of the cold metal as it pressed against his skin a second before the sharp sting of the medication being forced into his bloodstream.

Mercifully, the pounding in his skull began to abate and he looked up at his friend, who had perched himself against the edge of his desk next to Jim.

“Well?” McCoy prompted. “What happened down there that resulted in Jenkins losing a chunk of their collar bone and brought you in here looking like grim death?”

Jim’s eyes flicked back towards the door for a moment, his mind returned to his injured crewman and the knowledge that things could have ended up much worse had Liraya not provided the medical aid when she did. “Will Jenkins be okay?” he asked.

“They’ll be fine. The first aid Henggeler delivered in the field did the trick and bought them the time they needed. They lost a lot of blood, and they’ll be off duty for the next week or so, but they’ll recover,” said McCoy.

“Good, that’s good,” mumbled Jim, more to himself than to McCoy. He was still staring in the direction of the closed door but he wasn’t really seeing it. He had begun slipping back into his own jumbled thoughts of everything that had happened that day.

“Enterprise to Kirk!” called McCoy from next to him, snapping Jim back to the present.

“Sorry Bones, it’s… been a day,” Jim hedged lamely. He’d come here specifically to talk to his friend about everything that had gone on, and about Spock, but now that he was here he was finding it difficult to get started.

McCoy fixed him with another long stare, and with his next question proved just how well he knew Jim. “Is this storm cloud you’ve dragged in here with you related to today’s mission, or is it more to do with a certain pointy-eared first officer of our acquaintance?”

Jim’s head snapped up and he met McCoy’s eyes with a slightly chagrined expression. “Am I that transparent?” he asked.

“Only to me, Jim,” McCoy said as he huffed a soft chuckle. “I’ve known you a long time.”

Jim couldn’t deny that. They’d been friends since the earliest days of Jim’s commission and had been through thick and thin together. He trusted McCoy implicitly and knew that by this point in their lives the good doctor could probably read him like a book. It didn’t stop Jim being caught entirely off guard as his friend continued, “And I’ve spent the last three years watching you two idiots dance around each other.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Jim, immediately defensive at feeling caught out.

“It means that if you two lovesick fools don’t sort yourselves out soon then I’m going to have to check you both for mental fitness!” McCoy blustered, rolling his eyes.

“Bones, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jim said, continuing before McCoy could cut him off with a rebuttal. “Yes, I may have feelings for Spock—”

When McCoy’s eyebrow threatened to vanish entirely into his hairline, Jim capitulated. “Okay, fine, I'm completely and utterly, head over heels, painfully and pathetically in love with Spock. Are you happy now?” He finished in an exasperated rush.

“Not even close,” answered McCoy dryly before asking, “so what’s the problem?”

Jim heaved a heavy sign and sank back in his seat, staring at his own fingers as they fidgeted in his lap. “The problem is that Spock doesn’t feel the same way and now he can barely stand to be around me,” he said in a thick voice.

Jim felt a warm hand settle on his shoulder and give a light squeeze before he heard the doctor’s voice say softly, “Okay, Jim, walk me through it.”

For the next few minutes Jim recounted in brief the history of his increasing affections for his first officer, the intense sense of belonging he’d found in their melds, and his dismay that Spock had become aware and pulled away. McCoy had listened attentively, without interrupting, which was a testament to his concern for his friend; McCoy was rarely silent for this long.

When Jim finally finished, the tears were swimming in his eyes once again and he wiped them roughly away with his sleeve before they could fall. A small part of him felt foolish for crying over a man to his friend, but he trusted Bones and knew he would never judge him for showing emotion.

In a very small, hesitant voice, Jim admitted, “I’m just so… lonely, Bones.”

McCoy sighed, stood, and walked back round the desk to sit down in his chair. Leaning across the desk he stared at him until Jim finally raised his face to meet the doctor's gaze.

“Jim, I don’t know what to tell you. I think you’re reading this thing all wrong, but Lord knows I’m not going to start trying to play matchmaker between you and that emotionally repressed walking computer if you two aren’t ready to talk about this like grown ups.” Before Jim could vent his indignation at the insults being levelled at both him and Spock, McCoy held up both hands, palms facing Jim in surrender and apology.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Look, I think you’re both being willfully blind, but that’s your business. If you really don’t think Spock’s interested, and you’re not willing to talk to him about it, then why don’t you find someone else? Not being with Spock doesn’t mean you can’t find someone to stop you feeling lonely. Plenty more green-blooded fish in the sea and all that,” McCoy said with a mischievous grin. “You never know, if Spock finds out you’re looking for love elsewhere, maybe it’ll make him… more comfortable socialising with you again.” The glint in McCoy’s eye was practically wicked now, and that pause had been loaded, but Jim’s mind was too frazzled to try and debate the doctor on subtext just now.

“That’s all well and good, Bones, but where am I supposed to find someone else? The frat regs restrict captains so much that aboard ship I’m basically limited to you, Spock, or Scotty,” Jim said.

McCoy broke into a broad grin and laughed, “Sorry, Jim, you’re not my type.”

The tension broken somewhat, Jim felt a small smile creep across his lips before he sobered once more. “Seriously though, I can’t keep doing shore leave flings. I want something lasting. Someone I can share my life with.”

“Well, why don’t you join the F.D.S.?” asked Bones.

“The Federation Dating Service? How’s that going to help me? Even if I did connect with someone, it’s not as if I could ever give up the Enterprise to go settle down on Earth behind a white picket fence. And even if I was allowed to bring a civilian on board, what would they do? No one’s going to sign up to just wait around all day for me to get off duty,” Jim scoffed.

“You’re a little out of touch, Jim,” McCoy replied. “The F.D.S. got wise years ago to the fact that there was a niche market in Starfleet Officers looking for love. They’ve got a whole dedicated section in their applications now that’s aimed at ‘Fleet members finding partners compatible with their careers. That’s how Sulu met Ben.”

Jim considered what Bones had just said. The idea of finding a lasting relationship with someone who would understand and accept his responsibilities to the Enterprise was appealing. The idea of that person not being Spock, less so. However, he also thought about what the doctor had said about making Spock more comfortable around him. Perhaps if he could convince Spock that he wasn’t interested in him romantically anymore, then they could reclaim some of their lost ground, and get back the friendship that was so important to Jim. If he found a meaningful relationship along the way then all the better. He knew that pining after a man who didn’t love him back wasn’t a sound long-term strategy, so he might as well come up with a better one.

“Thanks, Bones. I’ll look into it. Thanks for the shoulder,” Jim said, smiling across the desk at his friend as he got to his feet.

Bones looked up at him from behind his seat at the desk, with a softness in his eyes that spoke of their many years of friendship. “Anytime, Jim, you know that.” Then his face fell back into its usual frown as he waved his arms towards the door. “Now get outta here, some of us have work to do!”

Chuckling to himself, Jim backed towards the door. “Alright, I’m going. See you later, Bones.”

“Yeah, you too, Jim,” McCoy grinned as Jim left the office.

Jim walked back through the sickbay, nodding to Jenkins and Nurse Chapel as he went. There were seventeen minutes left until the briefing, which would be just enough time to get back to his quarters and put on a fresh uniform.

Feeling considerably better for both the hypo and the talk, Jim headed along the corridor towards the turbolift. He had a lot still to think about, but a new plan was already forming in his mind.

His top priority was repairing the gulf that had formed between him and Spock. If he could accomplish that by also finding a new romantic relationship to alleviate his loneliness, and distract him from the constant pull he felt towards his first officer, then all the better.

Feeling more hopeful than he had in days, Jim stepped into the turbolift, twisted the nearest grip, and directed it to deck five.

Moving forward, Jim determined that he would take what Spock was willing to give him, and wouldn’t risk driving him further away by continuing to strive for more. Being held at arm’s length by Spock was painful, but it was orders of magnitude more desirable than potentially losing him altogether.

Chapter Text

By the time Jim had finally gotten back to his quarters the previous evening, he’d barely had the time or energy to remove his uniform and fall into bed, nevermind investigate the Federation Dating Service any further.

The mission debrief had been long and involved. There were a lot of different things, at a lot of different levels, that had needed to go wrong in order for the colony to degenerate into the state in which they found it. Unfortunately, it was the job of the Enterprise to begin reviewing the evidence and cataloguing what those failures had been in order to prevent a recurrence in the future.

Jim had needed to beam back down to the planet later that afternoon to liaise with the diplomatic envoy and the civilian council. They’d also arranged for medical teams to be beamed down to support the local hospital with the remainder of the injuries.

Mercifully, though the battle had been heated, there had been no fatalities. Jenkins had been one of the worst injuries and that was simply due to them materialising at such close range to the shooter and the beam catching them near an artery. Even a phaser on a stun setting could do damage if it hit you from close enough, and the colonial security had had theirs at the highest non-lethal setting.

By the evening, it had been agreed between Starfleet command, the Federation Council and the representatives for the Nestor V colony, that the USS Sutherland would set course for the planet to relieve the Enterprise. The Sutherland would then stay in orbit for the next few weeks to support the ongoing investigations, formal establishment of the new governing body and clean up efforts. Jim would not be sorry to hand over the reins of this particular mission to Captain Zelinski.

Jim never liked leaving a job half done, but he’d gladly let Zelinski deal with this mess if it meant washing his hands of the whole affair. The mission had shaken Jim more than he’d like to admit. It wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed the rapidity with which a colony could dissolve into chaos when a governor strayed from the path of rational thought. He knew that Nestor V was not Tarsus IV, the Federation had intervened in time and no one had died, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Feelings of guilt also rankled Jim with regard to the methods he’d used to secure the freedom of the landing party when they’d been held in custody by the governor's security forces. So, while he was back on the planet, he’d visited Liraya.

She’d been detained in a comfortable suite within the governor's house, pending the conclusion of the investigations into the conflict and hostage situation. Jim had already submitted his report containing the details of her role in aiding their release and bringing an end to the violence.

As he’d entered the room she’d run into his arms and he’d needed to gently extricate himself from her embrace. He apologised for misleading her and thanked her for her assistance, maintaining throughout his most formal captain’s tone. Jim had felt the guilt twist like a knife in his chest as he’d watched the light in her eyes dim when she realised that his affections had been nothing but a ruse to gain her support. Jim felt terrible about it; he always did. He didn’t enjoy toying with anyone’s emotions, but he also knew that his charm could be a valuable tool in a crisis situation. And his first duty was always to the mission. To his ship and crew.

It didn’t make it any easier to see young hearts left bruised in his wake along the way. That night he’d stripped off his uniform the moment he stepped foot in his quarters. Ignoring the hamper altogether, he left a trail of clothes between the door and the bed. Finally falling face first onto the mattress, he wriggled under the covers until they draped haphazardly across his legs and lower torso.

With guilt and hurt and memories cascading through his mind, Jim lay with his face buried in the pillow for interminable minutes, until exhaustion overtook him and he drifted into a fitful sleep.

The following morning brought with it further revelations of the governor’s misdeeds and deteriorating mental state. There had been a lot of back and forth from the planet, ensuring that all due process was being adhered to so that they could hand over cleanly to the Sutherland’s crew. When they’d finally rendezvoused and passed responsibility over in the late afternoon, Jim had been very relieved to give the order for Sulu to break orbit and set a course away from Nestor V.

They’d be spending the next two weeks star charting on the edge of the Beta Quadrant. It wasn’t exactly shore leave, but it would permit a bit of flexibility in the shift patterns and allow some additional time for the crew to enjoy some much needed R&R.

As it was, by the end of Alpha Shift, Jim had been very pleased to retire to his quarters. His work was far from done, but he’d come to enjoy the couple of evenings a week when Spock would join him in his rooms to complete their reports together. This was something that Spock hadn’t pulled back from since it was technically part of their official duties. There were so many of the reports that required going over by both of them that it was logical for them to complete them jointly and cut down on time and duplication of effort. This evening their extended work day also happened to coincide with one of their remaining weekly chess matches.

Jim was looking forward to it. He loved the challenge of pitting his strategic mind against the steady logic of his Vulcan first officer. They’d always been fairly evenly matched; each of them one of the only true competitors that the other had ever found. Their games were fewer now, but that simply meant that each one was all the more precious to Jim. He’d won their last match the week prior, so he expected that Spock would be looking for a victory tonight.

Jim had had a yeoman bring a tray of refreshments to his cabin: coffee for him, spiced tea for Spock and a small plate of sliced fruit to share. As Jim paused in his report writing to take a sip of his coffee, he glanced over the rim of his mug at his first officer. Spock was so beautiful to Jim, with his proud angular features and dark brown, almost-black eyes. He was the perfect mix of exotic alienness and familiar humanity. Jim had never met another being like him, and probably never would for as long as he travelled the galaxy.

Spock was unique. And not just because of his genetics, but because in the face of adversity from both his parent races, he had managed to end up the best of them both. Jim had known plenty of people who had grown up in adversity and turned that pain to aggression, apathy or despair. Spock had taken those same ingredients and come out with compassion, tolerance and a reverential awe for the limitless diversity of the universe. It was one of the things that Jim respected and loved most about his dearest friend.

As Spock reached out for his own mug, Jim realised that he’d been staring again. He quickly turned his eyes back to his report, hoping that his first officer hadn’t noticed and been made uncomfortable. Internally Jim scolded himself: wasn’t this exactly what he’d decided that he wouldn't do anymore?! Why was it so hard to keep himself in check around Spock?

Jim knew why though. Every time he was close to Spock, he could feel the echoes of the meld and experienced a pull towards his friend that was almost magnetic. He felt like a teenager with a crush, but this ran deeper than any infatuation. Jim felt like his whole body itched with the desire to reach out and touch Spock’s handsome features, to caress those high cheekbones and carved jawline.

Get a grip of yourself. Jim chastised himself mentally. Mooning over Spock is what got you into this mess in the first place!

He thought back to what Bones had said the day before. Perhaps if he could convince Spock that he was looking for a relationship elsewhere, it would take some of the pressure off their friendship. The theory was all well and good, but how on earth Jim was supposed to casually work his dating life into a conversation while completing work reports he had no idea.

Jim scanned through the remaining list of reports and forms that required his attention and then he saw it. He stared down at the 1138-B ‘Notification of Fraternisation’ form that was waiting for his signature, thanking the Great Bird of the Galaxy that the perfect conversational opener had been dropped into his inbox at such an opportune moment.

Dealing with the form itself first, he checked that everything was in order. A Lieutenant from Engineering and a Lieutenant Junior Grade from Science were declaring their romantic relationship. They were within the two rank limit for more junior officers and had filed the form within the mandated 28 day disclosure window, so Jim gladly signed off on the form and filed it to be forwarded to ‘Fleet Command in the next data-burst.

Opening a copy of the form on his data slate, he tilted the screen towards Spock and said, “You know, I’m getting more and more of these lately. If things keep going the way they are, one half of the crew is going to be married to the other half by the time we finish out the full five years.”

Spock didn’t comment on his hyperbole, but Jim grinned at the raised eyebrow that was the Vulcan’s equivalent of an eyeroll.

“Given the extended nature of our mission, it is logical for crew members to seek companionship. The human instinct to pair is quite strong, especially in a confined environment and over a prolonged period,” replied Spock, returning his eyes to the lab report he had been reading.

Jim leant back in his chair, trying to maintain a casual air as he attempted to steer the conversation in the right direction for his purposes. “Yes, I suppose that makes sense. It’s only natural, right? To want someone to share things with, even out here in space.”

“Indeed. Emotional bonds can provide stability and support, which are beneficial to the overall efficiency of the crew,” Spock said without looking up.

This caught Jim off guard somewhat. He’d expected that Spock would—well, maybe not frown on internship relationships, but at least be concerned that they may cause disruption or affect productivity.

“You surprise me, Mr Spock,” said Jim. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be onboard with the idea of shipboard romances.”

Spock finally looked up from his data slate and looked consideringly at Jim before responding.

“It is important to maintain boundaries between personal and professional matters. However, if the relationship is conducted with due discretion and does not affect performance, I see no reason to object.”

Jim could feel the conversation slipping away from him. He was supposed to be reassuring Spock that he wasn’t interested in pursuing him as a romantic partner and yet all he wanted to do was delve deeper into his views on shipboard romances. If Spock thought they could be made to work, was there a chance… but no. Spock had already made clear that he didn’t feel that way about him, and Jim was fairly sure it wasn’t just because he was the captain.

He was trying to work out how to get things back on track when Spock unexpectedly lifted the burden from him by asking, “Can I presume from your comments that you are considering the implications of such a relationship for yourself, Captain?”

Spock held Jim with a level gaze and an entirely neutral expression, his Vulcan mask in full effect. I have made him uncomfortable, dammit! thought Jim. He knew that Spock’s walls only came up like that when he was working hard to suppress his emotions. He lost all of the usual warmth from his eyes. Well, time to start fixing that.

“Yes, actually. I guess it’s no surprise that a captain’s life can be a lonely one. I thought I might try to finally remedy that by finding a partner,” Jim said, hoping that he was carrying off the casual nonchalance that he was aiming for, and not the resigned sadness that he was actually feeling. When Spock didn’t respond right away he continued, “Lots of other officers in the ‘Fleet have had luck with the F.D.S.. Apparently these days they’re set up specifically to find significant others for ‘Fleet officers, even captains. Bones was telling me about it yesterday.”

Jim watched Spock as he spoke. He gave no indication of how he was receiving this new information about his captain, but Jim saw him blink twice before he broke his silence and said, “It is understandable that you would wish to seek a partner with whom to share your life. As finding an appropriate mate aboard the Enterprise is unlikely due to your position, it is logical that you utilise a reputable service such as the Federation Dating Service in order to secure a compatible match. I understand that Mr Sulu secured his spouse via the same service.”

Jim took all that in. Spock was saying all the right things. Seemed to be in favour of Jim finding a romantic partner outwith the ship. But there was something odd about the way he delivered his little monologue. His speech was stilted and his jaw tight. Likely no one else aboard the ship would have noticed any difference to the way Spock usually spoke, but Jim had made a careful study of this particular Vulcan and he knew that something was bothering Spock. Perhaps he hadn’t covered his earlier gaffe as well as he’d hoped. Maybe Spock had been offended when he’d suggested he wouldn’t support relationships among the crew. Or perhaps he’d read in Jim's face some of the desire that had risen to the surface during their conversation. Had he been staring again?

Flailing slightly, trying to find surer ground, Jim added, “Well, I figured what have I got to lose. There’s no one on the ship for me and the occasional shore leave fling isn’t exactly conducive to the long-term stability and support you mentioned earlier.” He forced a small chuckle.

At a loss for what else to say, and watching with dismay as Spock’s body language tensed further, Jim grasped for a last ditch oratorical device and finished with a quote, as he so often did, “Of all blessings, no gift equals the gentle, trusting love and companionship of a good woman.”

Spock, as he so often did, automatically cited the author: “Elbert Hubbard.” But there was something in his voice, and the further tightening of his jaw, that made Jim’s heart sink.

It hit rock bottom as Spock began to gather his data slates together and stood from his seat on the opposite side of Jim’s small desk. “My apologies, Captain, I must depart. There are experiments in the lab that require my attention.”

Jim looked up at him, bemused and dismayed, and rose from his own chair.

“What about the reports? And chess?” he said, in a tone infused with more hurt than he’d intended.

Spock simply shook his head and turned towards the door, saying as he went, “I am afraid I will be unavailable for chess this evening, and I believe that we have completed the reports which required our joint attention. I will finish the remainder tonight and file them appropriately.”

Before Jim could protest further, Spock had walked to the door of his quarters and exited with a polite but firm, “Goodnight, Captain.”

Jim sank back down into his chair, trying to take in what had just happened. He’d been trying so hard to put Spock at ease and somehow it had backfired spectacularly. His friend had all but ran from the room. How had things gotten so bad that Spock couldn’t even bear to sit with him for the duration of a game of chess anymore?

Jim wiped his hand across his face and then let it drop to his lap. How the hell did that degenerate so quickly? he wondered bleakly.

Jim replayed the whole encounter in his mind. Trying to match up what had been said with the mounting tension he’d witnessed in his first officer. As far as he could tell, it had stemmed from his damned staring and just got worse from there. It was the second time in as many days that Jim had forced his friend to flee from unwanted advances, and the thought made his throat tighten.

If he hadn’t been ogling Spock like a love-sick teenager while they were supposed to be working, this whole mess could have been avoided. He thought he’d caught himself fast enough but obviously not, and Spock clearly hadn’t bought his story about joining the F.D.S., or else hadn’t cared.

He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat as his brain succinctly summarised the situation in one word. Shit.

What more could he do to convince Spock that he wouldn’t pursue him? If it was any other member of the crew he would simply confront the matter head on. Admit to his inappropriate feelings and assure them that he wouldn’t take it any further if they weren’t interested. Straightforward honesty was usually the best approach in any such predicament.

But not with Spock. The Vulcan quailed from discussing anything personal; the stubborn mule almost died because he didn’t want to explain that his mating cycle required him to return home to marry his wife, for star’s sake. And any time he had been forced to face something personal, he’d drawn away into himself for a while.

Well, Spock had already drawn away so far that the distance between him and Jim was beginning to feel impassable. If he tried to face this head on with Spock, then it was possible he’d lose his friend altogether. No, in this instance actions were going to have to speak louder than words.

If Spock wasn’t going to feel more comfortable until Jim was seen to be directing his romantic intentions elsewhere, then that’s what he’d need to do. It made sense for himself as well: he hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Spock that the captain’s life was a lonely one. He’d already admitted it to Bones. Why not see if there was someone else out there for him?

Jim turned back to his work station and opened a new window. A quick search provided the information that he needed and he managed to pull up the data link to the Federation Dating Service. After scrolling for a moment through their introductory information, Jim reached the bottom of the page. Hesitating for only a moment, he tapped on the large orange button labelled ‘Click here to register’.

Chapter Text

Spock stepped from the captain’s quarters and paused just outside. The doors had swished quietly closed behind him and he took a steadying breath as he stood for a moment in the empty corridor. He knew that he needed to move but was wracked with momentary indecision, his mind still reeling from his encounter with the captain.

Spock hadn’t exactly lied when he had said there were experiments in the lab that required his attention. There were. They just didn’t necessarily require his attention at this very moment.

He hesitated, considering whether to simply retire to his quarters for meditation. It was a highly appealing option. He longed for the solitude and familiar surroundings of his rooms, where he could lock the door and light his firepot.

However, Spock quickly dismissed the idea. His mind was racing too frantically to reach even the most shallow level of meditation and he didn’t wish to compound the way he had misled Kirk by not actually going to the labs as he had implied. And so he headed off towards the turbolift, hoping that the walk and focussed concentration of the lab environment would aid in clearing his troubled mind.

The science division was blessedly quiet at this time of night, and when Spock entered lab four he found that it was empty. Grateful for the solitude, he set about his work. As he did so, his mind was able to begin processing the events of the last half hour, and his jumble of thoughts became easier to parse.

Prior to this evening, Spock had already made his decision to let go of his foolish hope of ever securing a romantic relationship with his captain. So why had he reacted so strongly to what Kirk had said?

As he methodically examined each specimen slide under the microscope, from their recent biological survey of an uninhabited M-class planet, Spock replayed the events of the evening in his mind.

The first thing that struck him was the way that Kirk had tensed when Spock had looked towards him. As he’d glanced up at the captain and reached towards him to retrieve his tea, Kirk had visibly flinched away. Spock knew that their friendship had become somewhat strained since he had limited their social activities, but he had never wished for his friend to become as uncomfortable around him as he so clearly had. The realisation had caused a sadness to rise within him that he had tried ruthlessly to suppress.

As he continued to review their conversation, Spock further acknowledged that he had been affected by Kirk’s admission of loneliness. He too was lonely. As un-Vulcan as the admission may be, within the privacy of his own thoughts he could admit it to himself. But he would not be the one permitted to alleviate his captain’s loneliness, would not be permitted the privilege of joining their minds and claiming Kirk for his own. Yes, he was now actively seeking a long-term, committed relationship, one that would work within the scope of his duties as a Starfleet Officer, but not with Spock. Kirk had said it himself: there was no one aboard the ship for him. No one he wanted.

A chill that had nothing to do with the environmental controls began to creep into Spock’s very bones as his logical mind led him to the most likely outcome of Kirk’s plans. If he was successful in procuring a suitable romantic partner via the Federation Dating Service, it was entirely possible that Kirk’s chosen companion, most likely a commissioned Starfleet Officer themselves, could transfer aboard the ship. In that eventuality Spock would be forced to bear silent witness, day after day, to their love, in a mockery of his deepest desires.

He was jolted from his spiralling despair as he heard a tinkling of glass. He looked down towards the source of the sound and realised that his hand was shaking and causing the slide he had been holding in place to rattle against the surface of the desk. Thankfully it had not been damaged, and he placed it carefully back with its fellows before resting his hands flat on his thighs.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment, Spock recited to himself, We must learn to master the unavoidable, to suppress overt reaction to that which we cannot prevent or remedy. We must control not only our reactions but the thoughts which might invoke those reactions. Kaiidth.

Spock took comfort in the teachings of Surak. Throughout his life, especially in moments of deep emotional distress, he had found solace in reciting the lessons of the Kir'shara silently, measuring his breath against the ancient words.

Spock knew that he was honing in on the root of his distress. He could stop here. Put the rest of the conversation with Kirk from his mind and return his focus to his work. But Spock knew that avoidance was a short term solution. If he wished to release his emotional response and bring himself back under control he must first acknowledge what it was that had triggered his reaction.

Turning his mind back to their conversation, Spock recalled his captain’s recitation of the quote by Elbert Hubbard. Of all the many literary references available to him in his vast knowledge of both Terran and non-Terran literature, Kirk had chosen one that very pointedly expressed his preference for ‘a good woman’.

Spock had touched Kirk’s mind and knew that they were a perfect match in every other way. Could still perceive the ever present draw of the golden glow as if it called to his very katra like the mythical bonds of Vulcan’s ancient past. Spock knew that they could live long and fulfilled lives at one another's sides… if not for this one insurmountable obstacle.

If his captain’s previous paramours were any indication then Kirk likely wished to find a mate with a pretty face, petite frame, soft curves and a gentle, affectionate nature. The antithesis of Spock in every way.

Kaiidth, He repeated to himself. What is, is.

He could not control his captain’s desires any more than he could control the movements of the planets. Spock released a long breath and returned to the last few samples, placing the first slide lightly on the plate at the base of the microscope.

As he continued to work, Spock’s earlier distress slowly ebbed, leaving in its wake a tentative acceptance and growing resolve. His conversation with Kirk had been difficult, but it had also left him with an idea for a practical and logical next move.

He could not have Kirk, regardless of his desires, that much continued to be abundantly clear to him. However, the reality remained that he would require a mate at some point; that was simply a fact of survival for any Vulcan male.

His first Pon Farr had only taken place a little over two years prior and thus, were he a full Vulcan, he would have five more years in which to find a suitable spouse with whom to bond. But he wasn’t a full Vulcan, and his hybrid nature made the length of his cycle decidedly unpredictable. At least until he had experienced more than one. His first had taken place far later than most. As time had progressed and Spock had passed the usual age of sexual maturity, his father and their family physicians had begun to postulate that it was likely he would be spared the fever due to his half-human heritage. In the end, it had been the case that his mother’s blood had simply disrupted the expected timescales. With an indeterminable amount of time until he was struck once again with the Plak tow, it was only logical to find a mate sooner rather than later, and avoid the unnecessary risk of finding himself alone when his Time came.

Finding and focussing his attention on a new prospective partner would also, he fervently hoped, make it easier to overcome his unrequited affections for his captain. Perhaps it would allow them to find their way back to the easy camaraderie that had, as of late, been absent in their interactions.

Of course, the obvious choice would be for Spock to find himself a Vulcan mate. Since his disastrous Koon-ut-kal-if-fee he had regularly received lists from his parents of prospective Vulcan women to whom he could become betrothed. However, Spock had persistently, but courteously, turned them down.

He understood his parent’s concerns. He shared them to a great extent. But he could not bring himself to accept a betrothal to another Vulcan. T’Pring’s cold attitude towards him was not unique. He had grown up surrounded by Vulcans who viewed him with nothing but disdain, and could not conscience becoming irreparably, physically and psychically bound to a partner who would always view him as lesser for his half human heritage.

Living among humans for more than a decade had helped Spock to reconcile enough of himself to know that he wished for more from a marital relationship. He wished to, as the songwriter had put it, “love and be loved in return”.

And so, there was but one logical option before him. If he wished to find a suitable mate, with whom he could maintain a successful relationship whilst also honouring his duties to the Enterprise, he would have to follow his captain’s example. He would register for the Federation Dating Service.

Satisfied with his logical conclusion, and feeling much more emotionally stable, Spock placed the final slide back in the rack on the workbench and deactivated the microscope. He logged his findings with the computer and slid off the high stool on which he had been perched as he worked.

He would be able to meditate now, and eagerly anticipated the serenity that he always found in the practice. He would return to his quarters and reorder his mind and mental barriers before undertaking a period of rest.

The journey back to his quarters took only a few minutes, and as he walked through the sparsely populated corridors of the Enterprise, he considered his decision to utilise the F.D.S. and what it would entail.

Spock was self aware enough to know that, among his many skills, he did not possess a talent for speaking openly about himself, or personal topics relating to his private life. If he wished to attract a non-Vulcan mate, then that would require him to tailor his approach to appeal to members of more emotionally expressive races.

He did not wish to mislead or misrepresent himself. However, he knew that often his natural mode of communication could be perceived as cold, brusk or even rude by non-Vulcans. And it would not do to inadvertently repel any prospective suitors with a poor choice of wording on his application form before they had even had a chance to correspond directly.

He would not normally dwell on what those around him thought of him. Since leaving Vulcan he had been surrounded mainly by other members of Starfleet. If he did not make a favourable first impression then it hardly mattered; he was afforded respect as a fellow officer and respected for his rank and scientific expertise. Those who worked alongside him were obligated to do so regardless of their personal opinion of him, and over time most came to understand him better and were able to accept him and his stoicism with amiable professionalism.

In this instance though, Spock did not have the luxury of winning over a mate through attrition. If he did not make a positive first impression then he would be unlikely to be given the chance to make a second.

He would require assistance to formulate his answers to the questions on the application in a way that was both factually accurate and representative of his character, while softening the sharp edges of his Vulcan elocution.

Most fortuitously, after the captain, the person aboard the Enterprise with whom Spock held the closest friendship happened to be their head of communications. An expert in the field of languages, a skilled wordsmith and a kind and compassionate soul: Nyota Uhura would be perfectly placed to guide Spock in the initial stages of his endeavour.

He would speak with her tomorrow Spock decided as he moved to the bedroom and began to remove his uniform. They were both on Beta Shift tomorrow and he would therefore have plenty of time to engage her prior to fulfilling their duties.

Placing his dirty clothing in the hamper, Spock pulled on the meditation robe and moved to his firepot, finally ready to begin his meditation.

The following morning Spock awoke feeling refreshed and restored.

Before retiring to bed the night before he’d sent a request to Uhura to meet with her the following morning. Upon rising he found he’d received a response indicating that he should join her in her quarters at 09:30 hours. It was not unusual for him to spend time in the Lieutenant’s quarters; they were acquaintances of long standing, having served together under the previous captain of the Enterprise, Christopher Pike.

Early in their mission Uhura had approached Spock, wishing to know more about Vulcan culture and hoping to practise her spoken Golic. Over time they had discovered a shared interest in the musical arts and began rehearsing together every week or so, Uhura singing and Spock accompanying her on his ka’athyra. After a time, she convinced him to perform their duets publicly. Spock had reluctantly acquiesced, but the response from the crew had been so overwhelmingly positive that in short order their performances had become a fixture of the rec room social events. It had been a surprise, but not an unpleasant one, that one of the unexpected results of these performances had been a marked improvement in his interactions with the rest of the crew. His colleagues suddenly appeared much more relaxed in his presence than they had previously and the overall efficiency of his department rose by 16.36%. When he had later commented on the positive changes to Uhura, she had simply replied, with a broad grin, “You don’t say, Mr Spock.”

It had taken Spock many years to be able to admit to maintaining human friendships, but if questioned now he would gladly name Nyota among his small circle of friends.

In the early days of their acquaintance Spock knew that rumours had circulated the ship about a romance between them. They had been seen coming and going from one another’s cabins often enough for the ship’s prolific rumour mill to begin churning. As the time went on though the gossip fell away and it became commonly accepted among their colleagues that there was nothing more exciting happening between them than musical rehearsals and heated debates on pre-Surakian poetry.

As he approached the doors to her quarters, Spock’s enhanced hearing picked up the drifting melody of his friend’s voice as she sang to herself beyond the doors. He tapped the call button and waited to be admitted. Moments later the doors slid open to reveal Nyota Uhura wearing a flattering, crimson cashmere sweater over dark leggings. Her glossy black hair cascaded carelessly over her shoulders. She was a remarkably beautiful woman: intelligent and compassionate, she would be a highly desirable mate for any prospective suitor. However, in much the same way as the captain, Spock was aware that the Lieutenant’s proclivities also ran to the distinctly feminine.

“Good morning, Mr Spock, come on in,” she said, gesturing for him to enter.

“Thank you, Nyota, I trust you are well rested?” he asked as he stepped past her into the room and moved towards the small seating area in which they usually rehearsed their music.

Uhura headed for the small sideboard across from the door and reached for a small metal tub with a hinged lid which was sitting next to a lightly steaming kettle, obviously recently boiled.

“I was just about to make some tea, would you care for a cup?” she asked. “I got a new cardamom blend which I’ve been wanting to try, I think you’d like it.”

Spock answered in the affirmative and watched as she meticulously prepared the tea in a clear glass pot, the loose leaves releasing their flavourful oils to the heat of the water, turning it an increasingly rich shade of ocher.

Once she had poured two cups and returned to the seating area to hand one to him, she settled herself into the adjacent chair and looked at him expectantly. Her voice held a lightly teasing tone as she said, “I can’t help but notice that you don’t have your ka’athyra with you, so I’m guessing you’re not here to practise.”

“No. I am here because I wished to request your assistance in a… personal matter,” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady though he felt distinctly uncomfortable.

Had Spock been human he may have allowed himself a chuckle at the look that washed across his friend’s face at this revelation. Uhura's eyes had widened and her mouth had fallen slightly open as she appeared to struggle to process what she had just heard.

He could not fault her reaction. In the more than a decade that they had known one another Spock had rarely ever spoken on personal topics with Uhura, and on those few occasions he had not been the one to broach the subject. He was uncomfortable with, and unaccustomed to, discussing his innermost thoughts and desires. So much of his cultural upbringing had conditioned him to maintain a shroud of mystery around topics such as relationships, spirituality and biology. These things were not to be discussed with ‘out worlders’ and since Spock spent his life surrounded by non-Vulcans he simply never spoke of them at all.

He had judged, however, that on this occasion it was logical to seek out the support of his friend and her particular skill set. He need not discuss the specifics of his application but could request more broadly guidance on the appropriate style and format of language that would be most efficacious in securing a romantic prospect. He felt that revealing his plan to join the F.D.S. was an equitable trade for the valuable assistance she could provide.

Recovering from her momentary shock, Uhura smiled and straightened in her chair. “Well, of course, Spock, you know I’m always happy to help you in any way I can,” she said.

“Your kindness is appreciated as always, Nyota,” he responded before hesitating. He trusted Nyota and knew that the details of his life would remain safe from the Enterprise’s scuttlebut with her. Yet he still felt compelled to ask, “I trust that anything we discuss will be held in the strictest confidence?”

He wanted to phrase it as a statement but it tumbled from his lips as a question.

“Oh, of course!” Uhura replied emphatically, “you know I’m no gossip. You’d be surprised how much I know about what goes on aboard this ship. It’s a hazard of working in communications, but I don’t say a word because people’s business is their own. Your secrets are safe with me,” she finished with a smile.

Feeling reassured, Spock marshalled his nerve and explained his plan to join the F.D.S. and his wish that she coach him in a more accessible style of language for use in his application and subsequent correspondence.

As he had spoken, Uhura had adopted the look of concentration she usually wore while considering a linguistic problem during her work shifts. He knew she was taking this seriously and deeply appreciated her willingness to support him in this undertaking.

“You’re signing up to the F.D.S. to find a new romantic partner? You’re not already—I mean, wouldn’t it be easier to try building a deeper relationship with someone aboard the ship?” she asked hesitantly.

“I would think it apparent to someone as well-versed in the dynamics of the crew as yourself, that there is no one aboard who is romantically interested in me. At least, no one who holds an appropriately high rank to be considered permissible within current regulations,” Spock responded.

“But I thought—nevermind,” Uhura began before cutting herself off and summarising. “So you’d like me to help you communicate in a more expressive manner so that you don’t inadvertently turn off any prospective dates?”

“That is essentially correct,” Spock said, “I am aware that the concise manner in which Vulcans communicate can often be perceived negatively by members of more expressive races. I merely wish to increase the likelihood of reaching the stage of engaging in meaningful correspondence without being immediately discounted beforehand.”

Uhura nodded in understanding and sat back in her chair, taking a sip of her tea as she considered the task before her.

“I assume that you don’t want me to help you draft your application questions. You’d prefer a broader focus so you can write them yourself privately, right?” she clarified.

“Correct,” agreed Spock.

Uhura took another sip of her tea before placing it on the small table that sat between their respective chairs. She leant forward slightly and when she spoke her voice held the authority with which Spock was familiar from any occasion on which Uhura had delivered a lecture to Academy students or led a departmental project as head of Communications. Here she was in her element, teaching others about the finer points of language.

“Well, I think the most important place to start is to acknowledge that when you’re asked a question about yourself, especially for something like the F.D.S., they don’t want you to just answer the question that’s in front of you. Vulcans tend to be very literal and only answer exactly what they perceive is being asked at that moment,” said Uhura.

Mildly perplexed, Spock asked, “Is that not how one would usually approach an interrogative? By answering, clearly, the question that has been asked.”

“You’d think so, Mr Spock, but no, not really,” Uhura chuckled, but with a warmth that let Spock know she was laughing with him and not at him. “There’s usually some subtext at play. Many races, but especially Humans, are usually asking more than just the question at hand and expect your answer to address the unspoken questions as well.”

This was not altogether brand new information to Spock. He knew that Human communication, and that of other humanoid races, was multi-layered and relied on factors such as body language, facial expressions, tone of voice and shared cultural knowledge. However, knowing the theory had rarely assisted him in deciphering the often unfathomably cryptic conversations shared between his crewmates. Had he not seen the scientific data, he would have challenged the fact that Humans were, as a species, psi-null, because he had seen them hold entire conversations without using any words at all and every person involved appeared to follow the flow of what was being said—or not said, as the case may be—without difficulty.

“How might you suggest I identify the subtext within the questions posed by the Federation Dating Service application form?” asked Spock.

“Oh, well, that’s easy. It’s going to be the same for almost every question on the form, and probably for any conversations you have directly with your matches,” she said confidently, reaching once more for her tea.

“And that would be?” he asked.

“That they’re trying to get to know you better, Mr Spock; they want to know more about you,” she began. “If someone were to ask you whether you grew up on Vulcan, what would your response be?”

Spock could see that she was setting him up for a wrong answer but he appreciated that she was trying to illustrate a point for his benefit and so played along. “Yes,” he replied.

“Of course you would, because that’s how Vulcans communicate. As far as you’re concerned I asked a simple yes or no question and you answered it accurately,” she said, “but that’s not really what was being asked, or at least not all that was being asked. You were also being asked what it was like to grow up there? How long had you lived there? Did you enjoy it? What was your favourite thing about growing up there? When Humans ask people questions about themselves we’re not just looking for the straightforward answer, we’re trying to get to know you, to start a conversation, to build a rapport. It’s difficult to do that if the other person isn’t participating in the same spirit. That’s why Vulcans can often be mistaken for being rude. The way they answer questions inadvertently rebuffs the subtextual attempts to build rapport and develop social connections.”

Spock leant back in his chair and steepled his index fingers in front of his lips, contemplating his friend’s words. Again, this was not entirely new information to Spock, but hearing it framed in such a way was extremely illuminating and he began to be able to see the point towards which Uhura had been driving.

“You are suggesting that when answering questions of a personal nature, whether verbal or written, it would behove me to volunteer additional relevant information over and above that which appears on the surface to be being sought?” Spock clarified in his habitually verbose manner.

Uhura smiled broadly, seemingly pleased that her student was picking things up so quickly.

“Right first time!” she enthused. “I realise that speaking openly about personal matters doesn’t come easily to you, and no one will expect you to spill all your deepest, darkest secrets upfront. People just generally like to feel that you’re giving as much to a conversation as they are.”

She paused for a moment, looking thoughtful, as if something was occurring to her, before she once again turned her attention to Spock. “Think of it like chess. You need to be thinking a step or two ahead in the conversation. You have to answer what they’ve asked but also decide what you’re going to add to keep the conversation flowing. Taking into consideration what conversational threads you’ve provided for the other person to pick up on and how that might direct their next response, and thereafter how you might respond to their reply. Does that make sense?”

“Your choice of analogy is appreciated, as is your guidance in this matter. Thank you, Nyota. As always, your expertise and insights are invaluable,” replied Spock.

Their conversation continued in this vein for more than an hour: Uhura imparting her wisdom regarding all things linguistic, while Spock absorbed her advice and requested clarification or offered a complementary viewpoint as necessary. By the time they parted ways, Spock felt a renewed confidence in his ability to navigate his upcoming task.

With hours remaining until his next duty shift, Spock returned to his quarters, content that he was sufficiently prepared to effectively complete the application form. Opening the appropriate link on his work station, Spock settled down to, as Nyota had so colourfully put it, “sell himself”.

Chapter Text

Spock had found the Federation Dating Service’s registration process both thorough and detailed. The lengthy and numerous questionnaires he had completed delved deeply into details of his personality, skills, values, wishes for the future, requirements of a prospective mate and personal interests.

He’d kept in mind Uhura’s lessons of the day before and been mindful of subtext and offering expanded answers that went beyond the obvious. Although his discomfort with pouring so much personal information out onto the page remained, he felt confident that he had answered each section in such a way as to appeal more broadly to the more emotionally expressive species of the Federation.

Anonymity was guaranteed at all stages of the application and matching process. The ethos of the service was to provide matches based on shared values and essential requirements and then allow matched users to focus on establishing compatibility beyond physical appearance or considerations of race. The designers reasoned that assessing and identifying fundamental compatibility as individuals first and foremost increased the likelihood of overcoming any subsequent challenges relating to interspecies relationships, distance or career considerations. Spock could see no flaw in their logic and was relieved to know that he would not be judged immediately on his heritage before being allowed to prove his individual worth, as had happened so consistently throughout his life.

Of course, the algorithms tried to give each pairing the best chance at success regardless of whether every considered factor was immediately obvious to those involved. The F.D.S. was a highly successful operation and knew better than to match two individuals who would face insurmountable differences of culture, religion, biology, or incompatible genetics should both parties have indicated the desire to conceive offspring.

Spock had meticulously filled out each section, finding solace in the methodical process. He’d been particularly impressed with the section specifically for the use of members of Starfleet. It took into consideration multiple factors relating to ‘Fleet fraternisation regulations, starship versus starbase or planetside postings, specialisations, career trajectories and willingness to adjust any of these areas in favour of accommodating a successful relationship.

Spock was still unwilling to leave the Enterprise but had indicated a willingness for a romantic partner to join him aboard, should they be willing and able to transfer. He had also included the possibility of taking a short leave of absence from the Enterprise in order to establish a new relationship should things progress satisfactorily.

Being a commander he would be restricted by ‘Fleet regulations to relationships with only officers serving within a single rank of his own: Lieutenant commanders, full commanders or captains. As the Enterprise already had a captain and Spock was unwilling to transfer to another posting, that effectively limited him to Lieutenant Commanders and full commanders should he be matched with another member of the ‘Fleet.

It was, of course, also possible for him to be matched with a civilian. Depending on their profession and skillset, it was possible that a suitable position could be found for them aboard the ship to allow them to reside there with him should they wish it.

Spock was confident that he had been thorough enough in his own responses and provided criteria that, should a suitable match exist for him within their database, the F.D.S. would be able to accurately identify it. The service used an advanced A.I. that would compare his answers against those of the tens of thousands of other applicants who registered for the service each year, utilising multiple algorithms to cross reference numerous categories and produce the most statistically compatible matches.

Where multiple matches were found, an applicant would be provided with three at a time until they were either rejected or accepted as a successful match. Spock had appreciated the logical approach of the service, and allowed himself the indulgence of hoping it would yield at least one or two compatible matches for him to consider.

As it happened, four days later, he received a communique from the service containing links to the personal profiles of three potentially compatible matches. Relief surged through him, along with an optimism that he made sure to keep in tight check. It would not do to declare success when so many steps of the process still remained between here and finding a new mate. However, he was heartened that he had not ‘stumbled at the first hurdle,’ as Dr McCoy might have put it.

After his shift, once alone in his quarters, Spock reopened the communique from the F.D.S. and began to read through the provided information.

Federation Dating Service: User 117139.

You have been matched with 38 active users so far. Your match total is subject to change and may increase or decrease as users leave or join the service. All new users who join the service will be automatically assessed for compatibility against your profile.

Please find below links to the personal profiles of your first three matches. You will be provided with only three active matches at any time. Should you reject any of these matches you will be provided with an alternative from the remaining pool of compatible users.

Spock clicked through each of the provided links in turn, navigating to the personal profiles of the potentially compatible matches.

As promised, all the profiles were anonymous giving details of neither name, age, gender or race and with only basic details of employment lacking in any identifying information. Even with these restrictions there was a wealth of information about each individual, ranging from their views on intergalactic politics and career goals to their favourite cuisine and preferred leisure activities.

As he reviewed each profile in turn Spock began to formulate an overall impression of each individual match, and at first glance they appeared to run the gamut of personalities.

The first match, User 113211, gave the impression of being a highly ambitious and driven person. Extremely focused on their goals for the future and seeking a partner who would be willing to support them in these goals and be understanding of their priorities.

At this point in my life my priority is really making my mark in the xenoanthropology community. I’d love to meet someone who shared my passion for discovery and understanding the different cultures out here in the galaxy. There are so many areas of common ground to be found, I want to be part of helping the Federation make those connections! I’m looking for someone who’ll support me in my work and forgive that I can be a total workaholic! Someone who gets the importance of what I’m working towards and who understands enough about science to be able to discuss my findings with them.

Spock could respect their drive: he himself was career orientated and had worked hard to get where he was. However, he was not sure how their ambitions could be reconciled with his duties to his starship. If their priority was their career, then they would surely be unwilling to transfer to the ship to cohabitate with Spock unless they could continue to pursue their current projects. Certainly, there were plenty of opportunities for study and discovery of alien cultures aboard the Enterprise, however, the ship rarely stayed in one place for any great length of time, their focus being primarily on pushing the boundaries of exploration in uncharted space. It was the other federation science vessels that travelled in their wake who conducted more long term studies of the worlds they discovered. Without further information regarding their specific focus of study within xenoanthropology, it was impossible to judge whether the flagship would be a suitable fit for their long-term career.

If it would not be possible for his match to relocate to the Enterprise, Spock was reluctant to engage in a long-distance relationship, as that would not alleviate the loneliness and desire for a close bond that he was seeking.

These were all considerations but he did not yet have enough information to discount the individual as a viable partner—their excessive use of effusive punctuation notwithstanding—and so, for now, he simply moved to the next profile.

The second match, User 117056, gave the impression of being a serious and focussed individual.

I am seeking an appropriate romantic partner with whom to share my life. I have many desirable qualities which I could bring to a relationship and would wish for a spouse who offered similarly beneficial traits. These may include, but are not limited to, intelligence, loyalty, resilience and compassion.

They had a similar interest in the sciences to his own, and their answers to the questions were brief, factual, and lacking in any of the more dramatic flourishes that he often witnessed from more emotional races. Flourishes that he himself had been schooled in only days before. Indeed, this profile read very much in the way that Spock believed he may have structured his own had he not first sought the council of Nyota Uhura.

That was not to say that this individual was necessarily another Vulcan, but the thought gave him pause.

The third, and final, of the current matches, User 116625, Spock had found the most intriguing.

Their core values lined up the most closely of all the matches with his own. Their answers were thoughtful, insightful and eloquent.

One of my greatest passions in life is exploration. There's an indescribable thrill in venturing into the unknown, discovering new worlds, and experiencing the incredible diversity of the universe. For me, it's not just about the places I visit, but the profound connections I make with the beings I encounter. Every journey’s an opportunity to learn, to grow, and to appreciate the vast tapestry of life that surrounds us. I believe that our differences make us stronger, and there's a unique beauty in each culture and perspective. This sense of wonder and curiosity drives me, and I'm eager to share it with someone who feels the same. If you have a spirit of adventure and a love for the extraordinary, we might just find something amazing together.

Upon perusing the remainder of their profile Spock concluded that they were curious, well read and knowledgeable on a vast array of different subjects; The overall impression was of a fiercely intelligent and spirited individual, and Spock felt a small bubble of hope rise up in him before his recovering emotional controls pushed it efficiently to the back of his mind.

Having evaluated all the information before him, Spock concluded that—there being nothing objectionable about any of the matches—it was only logical, to gather further data by progressing to the next stage of the process: making contact.

All initial correspondence was routed through the official F.D.S. communication relays in order to retain the user’s anonymity. This would remain the case until such time as a matched pair mutually agreed to share their personal details and speak directly via other means.

Spock clicked on the relevant options in order to indicate his willingness to correspond with each of the matches and would await notification as to whether the individuals in question also wished to correspond with him.

With nothing more to do for the moment, he rose from his desk and headed for the mess in order to obtain a midday meal.

Spock entered the officers’ mess, his mind still reviewing all the new information he had just absorbed about his three potential matches. As had long ago become his habit when entering a public area of the ship, Spock scanned the room with his eyes looking out for the familiar countenance of his captain. For years he had perused each location, eagerly hoping that his gaze would meet hazel eyes and a warm smile. Now it was a perfunctory search to ensure that the area was free of Kirk’s presence before progressing further.

Spock was not proud of his actions in actively avoiding his captain and friend, however, it was an unfortunate necessity of his current circumstance. He required distance in order to reinforce his mental barriers so that he could continue to operate at peak efficiency in his duties. He was of no use to the captain as a romantic partner, but he did not feel immodest in asserting that he was invaluable as a first officer. This was how he could best serve Kirk in the long term and so, at least for now, a small portion of their personal relationship had to be sacrificed in order to safeguard their professional one.

The room was crowded and Spock continued to flick his gaze from table to table as he moved towards the food synthesiser and entered his diet card. He reached for his tray of food from the slot as it slid open. Having gathered his meal, he moved aside to let the next member of the queue behind him access the mechanism. Concluding that the captain was not present, Spock went to move towards an empty table on the far side of the mess hall. Before he could take a step, however, he was stopped short by a familiar southern drawl stating, “He’s not here, you can stop worrying.”

Following the voice to its source, Spock looked to a table a few metres to his left and found Dr McCoy, sitting alone with a half-eaten salad in front of him.

McCoy leaned back in his chair, his arms folded loosely across his chest, and fixed Spock with a knowing look.

“I never worry, Doctor. To whom are you referring?” Spock asked, arching an eyebrow in a manner he knew would rile his irascible colleague.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” McCoy retorted, rolling his eyes and pushing the chair across from him out from the table with the toe of his boot. “Sit down.”

Spock signed inwardly but, not wishing to draw unnecessary attention to their conversation, he acquiesced and took the proffered seat.

“Every time you walk through a door you’re like a Ketarian Grisshawk searchin’ for prey. And we both know who you’re lookin’ for. Question is, are you lookin’ to find him or tryin’ to avoid him—again?” McCoy asked pointedly.

“Doctor, I—” Spock began before McCoy spoke across him.

“Look, I usually try to leave you two idiots to your own devices, but, Spock,” McCoy paused as he leaned forward, his gruff demeanour suddenly replaced by earnest concern, “you’re hurtin’ him. And from what I’ve seen, you’re hurtin’ yourself too. If you pushin’ Jim away is making you both miserable, is it really the logical thing to do?”

Spock sat motionless, stung by the doctor’s words. He had known that the captain had been upset by him pulling away from their friendship, though he had allowed himself to believe that his absence was little more than a mild inconvenience to Kirk’s usual social schedule. The captain was a gregarious individual, well liked by the crew. He had many friends and would surely by now have filled the gaps left in his free time with other activities and companions. To hear McCoy state so blatantly though that he was hurting Kirk was deeply unsettling. He didn’t doubt the Doctor’s word: he must be genuinely concerned about his friend to raise the topic with Spock in this manner. For all their jibes and insults, Leonard was a trusted colleague and steadfast friend who did not often involve himself in Spock’s private affairs. Spock was, however, unsure how to remedy things. He had no wish to harm Kirk, quite the contrary, but the distance was necessary, for both their sakes.

When Spock didn’t respond after a moment, McCoy spoke again. His voice was low enough that only Vulcan ears would be able to pick out his words in the din of the crowded mess hall. “Spock, why don’t you just tell him how you feel?”

A jolt of shock shot up Spock’s spine like an electric charge. He slammed his mental barriers down, sat up ramrod straight and forced his face to remain a mask of neutrality.

“I do not ‘feel’ anything, Doctor,” he said. It was a flimsy lie, one he knew McCoy could see through, but a lifetime of struggling to meet Vulcan ideals had made denial his go-to response whenever the subject of his emotions arose.

“C’mon, Spock, we both know that’s a load of horse manure,” McCoy exclaimed, his brow furrowed in obvious disappointment. “You feel more deeply than we do, you just keep it all shoved down below the surface!” McCoy sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Look, like I said, I know this isn’t my business, so I’ll let it drop. But you and Jim are my friends and I hate to see you both hurtin’ like this. So all I’m asking is that you consider what you’re doin’, because right now it’s not doin’ either of you a lick o’good.”

With that McCoy collected his tray and stood from the table. “See ya later, Spock,” he said, as he walked away to place his tray in the recycler before heading for the doors.

Spock watched him go, considering what had just passed between them. Did McCoy know the extent of his affections for Kirk? Or was he merely suggesting that Spock discuss whatever may be bothering him? The idea that he might have been so transparent in his lack of emotional control was distressing, and Spock resolved to redouble his efforts to rebuild and maintain his lamentable mental barriers as they related to James T. Kirk.

Spock sat lost in thought, methodically consuming his tarka dhal without really tasting it. McCoy’s observations were not unfounded. Spock was dissatisfied with the current interactions between himself and the captain. When he was under the impression that his actions negatively impacted only himself, he had been willing to push aside his own displeasure. However, if his actions had become detrimental to Kirk’s wellbeing, then it necessitated a change of strategy.

He could not go back to the way things had been, as much as he would have preferred to. The captain could too easily break through his emotional controls. The draw of his mind was so strong, like the gravitational pull of a black hole. When they were near Spock felt compelled to reach out, to gently run his fingers across Kirk’s qui’lari, to claim and possess and protect.

The compulsions were so forceful that Spock could almost fancifully imagine that this must have been how the Vulcan warriors of old must have felt upon finding their T’hy’la. Spock had read the ancient stories and poems in his youth and been fascinated by the concept of two minds that were perfectly compatible. Twin katras, split between two bodies, the two halves singing out to one another, longing to be made whole in a bond so strong that it could form without the assistance of an adept.

Of course, he knew this to be nonsense. T’hy’lara were so rare as to be practically mythical. If they existed at all then the bond would certainly not be found between a Human-Vulcan hybrid and his fully Human captain. No, Spock knew that his weakness around Kirk could not be explained away by fairytales: this failing was all his own. He had struggled with his emotional control all his life and his feelings for Kirk had simply eroded them further. He would—as he always had when faced with his own shortcomings as a Vulcan—simply have to try harder.

In the meantime, although he could not yet commit to spending more time with Kirk, he would make a concerted effort to be more congenial in his interactions with him. He could do that much for his friend, to alleviate as much of the hurt he was causing as possible without losing control and bringing their whole relationship crashing down around them. It was not as much as he wished, but it would need to be enough.

Should any of his matches from the F.D.S. respond to him, he fervently hoped that the opportunity to explore a romantic relationship with a new partner would, over time, lessen the intensity of his feelings for his captain. At which point, if Kirk still wished it, they could safely begin rebuilding the friendship that had been so recently diminished.

Chapter Text

It had been more than a week since Jim had signed up for the F.D.S. and completed the seemingly endless questionnaires. And it had been two days since he had received his first three compatible matches and indicated his willingness to be put in touch.

Each of them had been interesting in their own distinct ways; certainly all were worth attempting contact with in order to get a better feel for the type of person they were.

The first, User 110388, was an engineer of some sort, whether on a starship or otherwise he didn’t know, and it was clear from their profile that their passion lay in the mechanical.

I just need to know what makes things tick, you know? My mum was forever despairing of me when I was younger because she’d come home to find I’d taken the food synthesiser or the auto-vac apart to see how it worked. Nowadays I get to tinker with machinery significantly larger and more complex than food slots and vacuums, and I love every minute of it. I’d love to meet someone who’s passionate about their work the way I am about mine. I don’t think they necessarily need to be an engineer, but it would be a bonus if they knew a little so they’d know what I’m prattling on about all the time!

Jim bet that User 110388 and Scotty would get on like a house of fire and had smiled to himself at the thought as it crossed his mind.

While engineering was not Jim’s passion, he was well-versed in the subject and had made a point of knowing as much about the inner workings of his starship as was possible without having completed the Academy engineering track. He, therefore, felt that he could hold his own with a partner for whom this was their focus. He was looking forward to, hopefully, talking further with this match to see if they had much else in common besides a desire for knowledge.

The second match, User 117139, had been the most intriguing of the three as far as Jim was concerned. They worked in the sciences and their answers had been relatively formal and to the point, but there was an underlying softness and vulnerability to them that Jim found almost endearing. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what it was that achieved this, but the occasional turn of phrase rounded off what could otherwise have been sharp edges, and it made him want to know more about this person.

Reserved and analytical by nature, I value intellectual connection and mutual respect. However, I also understand the importance of emotional bonds and the unique strengths that they bring. I seek a meaningful relationship grounded in trust and understanding. If you are someone who appreciates both reason and the subtleties of the heart, and if you are willing to journey through the cosmos with a curious and devoted companion, then we may find in each other a profound and fulfilling partnership.

Of course, if he was being honest with himself, Jim knew that one of the reasons that he was interested in this match was that they reminded him of Spock. Naturally it couldn’t actually be Spock. Even if his first officer was also using the service, he had rejected Jim as a potential mate entirely after more than three years of friendship and working side by side, and he knew Jim better than almost anyone alive. So there was no conceivable way that the service would have matched them given that Spock, like all registered users, would have explicitly outlined his requirements for a potential mate. What he was looking for wasn’t Jim. So, if there were some similarities between one of his matches and Spock, it was more than likely because somewhere along the line Jim had managed to develop ‘a type.’ He had rolled his eyes inwardly at himself at that realisation.

The third match, User 113165, had been quite different from the other two; their heart seemed to lie with the arts, and they shared Jim’s love of literature and theatre.

My passion for creativity fuels my life, and I'm eager to find a partner who shares my zest for artistic exploration. Whether it's attending a new gallery opening, discussing the latest novel over drinks, or diving into a spontaneous creative project, I thrive on these experiences and want someone to share them with. I’m moved by art from all worlds and races, everyone has something to express and there are myriad exotic ways for them to tell their stories and share their deepest longing. If you're someone who appreciates the arts and the free expression of ideas and emotions, then let's make some beautiful memories together!

Their answers were light and bubbly and Jim got the impression of a confident, vivacious individual who was eager to learn more about the universe and explore all the many delights the galaxy had to offer. He imagined that, should their match be successful, they may find the opportunity to move aboard the Enterprise, and travel the galaxy exploring strange new worlds, a tempting one.

Now that a couple of days had passed, Jim was getting antsy wondering if any of the three matches would agree to correspond with him. His thoughts strayed to the topic so often that he, more than once, found himself becoming distracted during his duty shifts. Each time he would chide himself for his lack of attention and refocus himself on his duty. Luckily, thus far, no one seemed to have noticed any of his lapses in concentration.

One of these moments of contemplation descended upon him during a senior staff meeting in the last hour of Alpha Shift. They had been nearing the end of the meeting and Jim had already delivered his briefing and listened to updates from each of the department heads. They had reached the final presentation, which consisted of Spock relaying the results of a recent planetary survey. Jim had already gone over the report and discussed it at length with Spock; at this point he could probably have delivered the presentation himself. So he didn’t feel too bad that he let his mind wander back to the three mystery matches as Spock’s melodious monologue blurred into the background of his consciousness.

He ran through what he could remember of each of the profiles, considering the differences between them and whether he would hear back from any of them now that he’d attempted to initiate contact.

He knew his preference was still for the second match and he knew why. He let his eyes travel lazily to Spock’s face as he relayed relevant statistics to the assembled officers and distributed follow up assignments. God, he’s beautiful, Jim thought as the bright lights of the meeting room shone down on the Vulcan, highlighting the sharp angles of his features and casting a halo light glow around his impossibly sleek hair. How much easier it would be, Jim considered regretfully, if Spock could simply love him back.

Sitting there, while Spock broke down statistics around atmospheric composition, Jim could feel the pull of Spock’s mind on his own. If he closed his eyes and concentrated he could almost imagine that he was being called towards him, like a golden thread tugging him forward. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch Spock. To hold him close and let his hands glide across pale alien skin. The feeling was so irresistible that had Jim not known better he would have suspected that there was some sort of telepathic link at work. But of course there wasn’t. If there had been anything like that between them that Jim, as a psi-null Human, was aware of, then Spock as an experienced telepath would have known about it and said something. And he hadn’t. He wasn’t being drawn towards Jim; instead he’d pulled further away.

Forcing his mind back towards his matches, Jim imagined what they might speak about if they made contact, what they might look like if they met, whether they were human or a mixture of species. He allowed himself to drift in meandering reverie until Spock concluded his presentation and retook his seat.

It had taken an effort for Jim to pull his focus back to the conference room but he did so, he thought, without any obvious indication that he hadn’t been giving the meeting his full attention. His thoughts firmly back in the present moment, he delivered the final work assignments for the following day and dismissed the crew.

Everyone began filling out, softly chattering among themselves as they went: Scotty waxing lyrical to Uhura about the upcoming maintenance to the impulse engines, Sulu and Chekov playfully arguing over plans for a sparring match later that evening.

As Jim gathered up his data slate and various tapes from the table, he became aware that someone was lingering next to him. His mind automatically expected Spock, as it was not unusual for him to hang back at the end of a meeting so that they could walk together to the officers’ mess or back to their quarters while discussing the events of the day. Jim was surprised that he felt a sudden thrill of nerves at the prospect. Things had been not exactly awkward between him and Spock over the last week, but certainly they were missing that easy flow that had existed between them for so long. Jim didn’t want to feel nervous or awkward around Spock so, in the split second that all this flitted through his mind, he resolved to greet Spock with his most confident smile. However, when he straightened back up and turned in greeting, he found himself face to face with his Chief Medical Officer.

His face must have betrayed something of his failed expectations because the doctor folded his arms and said, “Well, don’t look too disappointed, you could bruise a guy’s ego!”

The chastisement was delivered with a quirk of the mouth that let Jim know he hadn’t really offended his friend, but he apologised all the same.

“Sorry, Bones, it’s been a long day. What’s up?" said Jim.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” replied Bones. “You weren’t exactly with us durin’ Spock’s presentation—not that I could blame you given how dry the data and delivery was—but it’s not the first time lately I’ve looked over and you’ve been a million light years away.”

Jim felt a blush spread furiously up his neck and across his cheeks. Damn. He had thought he’d been discrete, that his lapses had gone unnoticed. Obviously not. If Bones had spotted it, then how many other crew members had observed their captain daydreaming on the job? Not exactly professional conduct, he grimaced inwardly.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist about it, Jim. No one else has noticed,” said Bones, correctly interpreting the direction of Jim’s train of thought. It did little to reassure him.

“You did,” replied Jim.

“Yeah, well I have the benefit of being both a doctor and your best friend. I know you well enough to notice when something's on your mind. So spill,” he commanded.

Jim leaned back against the edge of the table and stared at his fingers as he fidgeted with one of the data tapes he’d been gathering.

“I—I took your advice,” admitted Jim, hesitantly.

“Well there’s a first time for everything,” said Bones. “Which particular nugget of wisdom did you decide to follow, exactly?”

Jim paused in fidgeting and looked up at his friend with a wry grin, appreciating the obvious attempt to lighten the mood. “I signed up for the F.D.S.”

Bones looked pleased but not surprised. “About time you stopped moping about pining for that pointy-eared—”

“Bones,” Jim cut across him warningly.

“Sorry, sorry. But you know what I mean. I’m glad you’re getting out there. You deserve to be happy.”

Jim relaxed again and a small smile stretched his lips. “Thanks,” he said.

“So what’s the problem? No matches?” Bones asked

“No, actually I got my first three. I’m just waiting to see if any of them want to make contact with me,” Jim said.

“And you’re worried no one will reply?” Bones guessed.

“A little, I suppose, but not really. There is one I think could be a good fit, but if these three don’t want to talk, then I have 42 more matches to work through,” Jim replied.

Bones threw his arms up in exasperation, “Well don’t make me play twenty questions here, Jim, if it’s not the F.D.S. then what exactly is bothering you? And don’t say—”

“Spock,” Jim and Bones finished together, their words crossing one another.

Bones rolled his eyes and dropped heavily into the closest chair. “Spock, of course. I swear you two fools will be the death of me.”

Jim slid from where he’d been leaning against the table back into the chair he’d occupied during the meeting, leaning his elbows heavily on the polished surface and looking across at his friend.

“I just hope this gambit pays off, Bones. In every sense, finding someone and resolving things with Spock,” said Jim. “He's been slipping further and further away and I don’t know how else to fix it. I pushed too far for too long and now he’s been forced to erect all these boundaries and can hardly look at me.”

Jim ran a hand roughly through his hair, mussing its previously tidy style and causing stray locks to stick out at unruly angles. “If nothing else, I want to be able to maintain our professional relationship. Even if that’s all he can offer me, we were the best command team in the ‘Fleet before I screwed everything up.”

“Oh, now don’t be so melodramatic. You two are still the best command team in the ‘Fleet and probably will be until the day one of your hairbrained stunts gets us all blown to atoms,” said Bones, “and don’t you go taking all the blame for this situation on yourself. Believe me, there’s plenty to go around. Honestly, I still don’t know why you two won’t just have a conversation about all this. Good god, you’re the dumbest pair of geniuses I ever met!” Bones blustered, infuriated.

“Bones, we’ve been through this. I’ve made Spock uncomfortable enough already, if I try and talk to him about this whole embarrassing and emotionally charged mess he’s just going to pull further away,” said Jim.

“Fine, then what’s your plan?” asked Bones, as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Find a new beau and parade them about until Spock decides it’s safe to be your friend again?”

“Technically, it was your plan,” grinned Jim and Bones rolled his eyes.

Jim knew Bones was right: it wasn’t exactly up there with ‘The Corbomite Maneuver’ as far as strategically sound plans went. (Truth be told, Jim had been flying by the seat of his pants when he came up with that and was mortified that not only had HQ since given it a ridiculously grandiose name, but had also added it to the Command Track training curriculum at the Academy.)

He needed to do more to regain what had been lost between him and Spock. He’d been walking on eggshells around him for weeks now. Maybe that’s part of the problem, he thought, maybe he’s reacting to me being reserved around him.

The vague outline of another fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants plan began to take shape in Jim’s mind as he turned back to Bones and said, “I’m going to act like nothing happened.”

“Come again?” said Bones, looking suddenly confused.

“I’m going to act like nothing’s wrong between Spock and me,” Jim explained. “I’m going to go back to being totally normal around him. Friendly, like I’ve always been. I think maybe he’s been reacting to me being standoffish after he initially pulled away. I need to stop walking on eggshells around him so he can feel more comfortable around me again.”

Bones stared silently at Jim for a moment, his expression blank before his head sunk into his hands and he breathed out, “Good lord,” under his breath.

Yeah, even to Jim’s own ears that had sounded like overly optimistic nonsense. But it was the only plan he had right now, and going back to being normal around Spock—sans flirting of course—was better than carefully tiptoeing around every stilted conversation as if the Vulcan was a photon torpedo that might detonate at any moment.

“Don’t be like that, Bones, I’m looking for some support here,” implored Jim, gently slapping his friend on the upper arm. Bones lifted his head once more and let out a long sigh.

“You know I’ll always support you, Jim,” said Bones, “I just think you’re both making things harder for yourselves than you need to this time.”

Standing from the table, Bones looked down at Jim and placed his hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as he said, “I hope it works out for you. You know where to find me if you need me.”

Jim placed his hand briefly over the top of his friend’s and gave it a gentle squeeze in return.

“I know, Bones, thank you. You’re a good friend,” said Jim and he returned the doctor’s smile as he watched him cross the room and exit out into the corridor.

Alone in the conference room, Jim mulled over the conversation and his new tactics. He would brazen it out. He would go back to being confident and charming and friendly in his interactions with Spock, perhaps dropping in casual references to his progress with the F.D.S. And Spock would do what he always did eventually and emerge from his stoic Vulcan shell. The plan had little going for it other than the virtue that it had worked in the past, though admittedly things had never deteriorated this far before.

Still, Jim was determined. This would work. It had to work. It had to at least make some small, positive difference to their current circumstances, because the alternative was unacceptable.

Chapter Text

Spock had been bent over the scanner at his science station when the captain returned to the bridge. He’d ostensibly been rechecking the most recent scans from their star mapping mission, however, he’d found the majority of his concentration focussed on the captain’s absence.

Usually during a shift Kirk would return to the bridge almost immediately following the conclusion of a meeting, and yet on this occasion it had taken him seventeen minutes to return. It shouldn’t matter to Spock: there were countless duties which could have kept Kirk from the bridge until now. It shouldn’t concern him or affect his concentration—but it did.

Spock was immediately aware of Kirk’s presence when he had eventually returned to the bridge but did not look up or give any sign that he had noticed his arrival. He needed a moment to be sure of his own composure before engaging the captain.

He was still committed to his decision to be more genial with Kirk, but had to be sure first that he could maintain decorum. Their recent interactions had been full of an unwelcome tension, hitherto unprecedented in their relationship since the very earliest days of their acquaintance. He knew that this was a consequence of his having drawn back from their additional social activities. An action he now knew, thanks to Dr McCoy, had caused his friend unintended pain.

The obvious remedy would be to resume their previous dynamic but Spock was neither sure that this would be welcome, nor whether he himself could yet successfully control his emotions were they to do so. He did not relish the prospect of humiliating himself in front of Kirk should his control lapse and it become obvious that he harboured inappropriate desires for his captain. No, for now it was safer to maintain a respectable distance while he worked to fortify his Vulcan mental disciplines and seek out an alternative mate towards whom he could more appropriately channel his affections.

“Report, Mr Spock,” Kirk commanded as he returned to the centre seat.

“All systems nominal, Captain. Departmental reports will be available to you by the end of Alpha Shift,” reported Spock, realising as he spoke that he would need to implement his plan at the end of their current shift, as there was little opportunity to naturally inject a congenial tone into formal bridge reports.

The rest of the shift passed with few chances to engage with his captain. He completed his analysis of the most recent sensor readings and relayed a brief summary of the day's events, and some instructions, to Lieutenant Haversham, his Beta Shift relief. He moved swiftly towards the turbolift at the back of the bridge intending to head back to his quarters for a quiet meal and a few hours of meditation before retiring for the night. However, as he entered the carriage he could see the captain in his peripheral vision moving towards him and Kirk managed to slide through the doors just before they swished shut narrowly avoiding being caught between them.

Expecting to need to push through more of the same stilted small talk that had been the hallmark of their recent exchanges, Spock was surprised when the captain turned towards him with a smile as brilliant as the Vulcan suns and casually asked, “Spock, I was just heading to the officers’ mess for a bite to eat, care to join me? I’d love to hear your opinions on the readings from that trinary star system we picked up on long-range scanners this morning.”

Spock was momentarily stunned into inaction. This was not the manner of address he had come to expect from Kirk in recent weeks: this was the Kirk of old, from before he had pulled back, before the fabric of their relationship had begun to fray. He was unsure what had wrought this change in this captain, and while he still felt somewhat unstable in close personal contact with Kirk, he was reluctant to refuse him and see the brilliance of that smile diminished.

And so—although it was a far cry from his original plan to simply converse in a more genial manner—Spock accepted his offer, reasoning that the public setting of the officer’s mess would be easier to navigate than a more intimate setting such as Kirk’s quarters.

“Thank you Cap—Jim, I would be delighted,” he replied, catching himself before employing Kirk’s formal title and instead opting to return to using his friend’s given name while they were off duty. In response, Kirk’s smile grew impossibly brighter, and Spock felt like he was being bathed in a warm glow.

“Well then, Mr Spock, lead the way,” Jim said as the doors to the turbolift opened again, his arm sweeping out in a gesture for Spock to precede him.

Spock nodded his acknowledgement and gratitude and stepped out into the corridor.

When they walked through the door to the officers’ mess they found it relatively busy, bustling with the ambient chatter of the crew as they bantered and laughed together, but only about half full. There were short lines for the food synthesisers but they were moving quickly enough and Spock and Kirk joined the end of one.

Kirk had early on in his captaincy made clear to the crew that he eschewed many of the old traditions, which offered what he believed to be unnecessarily deferential treatment to commanding officers while off duty. One such tradition was allowing the captain and senior command team to skip to the head of the food queues. Kirk had unequivocally refused to do so, stating that unless there was a dire emergency then he and the senior staff would stand in line like the rest of the crew. He did not view his needs as being more important than those of even the most junior crewman, and Spock respected him greatly for his egalitarian stance on the matter.

He and Jim retrieved their desired meals from the food slots: Jim a bowl of spaghetti Bolognese, some kind of fruit flavoured beverage and a chocolate chip cookie, Spock stir-fried vegetables with rice, a glass of water and a small fruit salad.

They settled at an unoccupied table and Spock began to eat while Jim launched into a spirited account of an incident in engineering earlier that day in which he’d had to intervene. Apparently one of the junior lieutenants had taken a little too much initiative and took one of the secondary power backups offline for maintenance without first clearing it with Mr Scott, who happened to be running some extremely complex simulations on the main engineering console. These were knocked into a reboot cycle when the power flow was momentarily interrupted, resulting in the loss of 7 hours of work and the temper of the usually affable chief engineer.

When Kirk had come to the end of his animated storytelling he looked to Spock, twirling his fork absently in his pasta, “So, what’s new with you? We haven’t— had much time to catch up lately.”

Spock appreciated Kirk’s diplomatic approach to referencing their recent rift, as well as his obvious attempt to try and regain some of what had been lost.

Spock considered the question. There was one thing that was ‘new,’ but he hesitated over whether to inform Kirk about his registration with the F.D.S. It was a highly personal detail, something he would not usually be comfortable discussing, but Kirk was making an effort to rebuild their friendship and it was not unprecedented that they should confide in each other information that they would not share more widely.

“Actually, Jim, I have been engaged in a new undertaking,” said Spock. “One, in fact, which you inspired.”

“Oh?” replied Kirk, looking suddenly pleased to have spurred Spock into action. “What have you been up to?”

“I have registered with the Federation Dating Service in the hope of securing a new spouse,” said Spock, “as you previously pointed out, given that there are no viable candidates aboard the Enterprise, it seemed the logical choice.”

An unidentifiable expression flickered across Kirk’s face and the fork which had been once again twirling in his pasta paused briefly before continuing to gather up a new forkful.

“That’s wonderful, Mr Spock, I wish you the very best of luck in your search. I’m sure that a being of your calibre will have no problem finding plenty of good matches,” said Kirk, sporting a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thank you. I trust you will be similarly successful in your search, should you choose to go ahead with it,” said Spock.

“Yes, thank you,” replied Kirk, “I’ve actually already signed up and reached out to some of my first matches.”

Spock had suspected that Kirk had likely registered with the service not long after initially mentioning it. However, at this confirmation he felt a small pang of remorse rise in him, which he ruthlessly suppressed.

At least, Spock mused, he need not concern himself with being mistakenly matched with his captain, who would certainly have selected to be provided with only female matches. Spock himself had opted to accept any gender: it would be illogical to limit his options given that the most important characteristics in any potential mate would be their personality and their mental compatibility. All other physical considerations were secondary.

However, it would be fortunate, he admitted to himself, if his potential matches were also aesthetically pleasing. He had always found Kirk to be exceedingly so, though it was his bright mind and force of character that had quickly worn down Spock’s resistance.

“Everything okay?” Kirk’s query broke through Spock’s reverie and he realised that his control was once again slipping.

“Yes, quite. I am glad that we could ‘catch up’ as you put it, but I’m afraid I must depart,” said Spock, gathering his tray and moving to stand. Jim looked up, his face falling into lines of concern and confusion. “But you haven’t finished your meal.”

Spock looked down at his tray and realised belatedly that he had eaten little more than half of his stir fry and had yet to touch his fruit. “I have little appetite at this moment. What I have consumed is sufficient. If you will excuse me,” said Spock, deciding that it wasn’t a lie, as his appetite had fled during their conversation.

“Okay, well—chess tomorrow?” asked Jim, hesitantly.

Spock knew he should decline. It was obvious from their current circumstance that his control was insufficient to withstand extended social contact with Kirk even in a public setting. A chess game, alone in one of their quarters would be an even greater test of his will.

Then, a thought occurred to Spock. There was a tri-dimensional chess board in rec room three. If they could remain in a public space, and keep conversation to a minimum while they played then he would have a much better chance of maintaining his tenuous control. Perhaps these were the small compromises that could help them reconstruct their faltering friendship.

“Certainly, I will book the board in rec room three for nineteen hundred hours if that suits?” said Spock, making an effort to infuse his tone with as much amiable warmth as his reserved Vulcan countenance would allow.

Kirk looked startled but didn’t challenge the unusual change of venue. “Very well, Mr Spock. I look forward to our game.”

“As do I. Goodnight, Jim,” said Spock.

With that Spock promptly recycled his tray and exited the mess. He was pleased to have been able to give his friend this time, and perhaps begin mending their fractured relationship. He knew, however, that he would be required to add another hour to his meditation this evening to account for this lapse.

Still, as McCoy may have observed, ‘two steps forward and one step back is still progress.’

Chapter Text

Jim watched Spock deposit his tray in the recycler before disappearing beyond view into the corridor. His chest was tight and his mind a jumble of conflicting emotions.

He tried focussing on his rapidly cooling pasta, but his appetite had exited with his first officer, so he mostly just moved it round the bowl as he absorbed their conversation.

On the one hand he was thrilled beyond words that Spock had been receptive to his dinner invitation. Jim had been prepared to once again be politely rebuffed with another vague and flimsy excuse relating to lab experiments or mysterious alternative plans. The fact that Spock had so readily agreed to his proposal was a massive step in the right direction, and hopefully a first step in regaining some of their lost ground. He had hoped that his own shift in attitude towards Spock would yield positive results, but he hadn’t dreamed that the change would be so instantaneous. He could only hope that this was the turning point that would see the eventual recovery of their friendship.

So, yes, he was overjoyed that he’d been able to spend even a little extra time with Spock, enjoying some of the familiar camaraderie of the past.

However, he’d been totally blindsided by the fact that Spock had also chosen to register for the F.D.S.

Jim knew intellectually that Spock would require a mate again at some point; he was one of the few humans in the galaxy who knew about Pon Farr, the closely guarded secret regarding the Vulcan biological imperative to mate every 7 years. He’d always assumed though that when the time came, Spock would find another Vulcan bride like T’Pring—but hopefully much nicer because that woman was a real piece of work and he’d never forgive her for what she put Spock through—potentially arranged by his parents like his first betrothal.

Jim had assumed that this was one of the main reasons that Spock had been so affronted by his own advances, because he required the reserved, unemotional compatibility of another Vulcan, complete with touch telepathy and strong mental controls to help facilitate a marriage bond. But that couldn’t be the case if Spock had signed up to the F.D.S. It wouldn’t be logical. There simply weren’t that many Vulcans who used the service due to their cultural preference to bond for life from a young age. This could only mean that not only was Spock actively seeking a new life partner but he was willing to entertain candidates from other races, very likely including humans since the race made up 50% of his genetic heritage.

This dismal line of reasoning quickly led Jim to the unavoidable conclusion that Spock had not recoiled from his advances because he wasn’t interested in forming romantic relationships, nor because Jim wasn’t a Vulcan, but because he found Jim specifically to be an unfit choice of mate. Although it had not changed his current circumstances one iota, this new understanding of the situation still cut Jim deep. To be rejected alongside the rest of the galaxy didn’t feel great but at least you were in there with the mix; being rejected because they simply didn’t want you was a much harder pill to swallow.

Before he could slide any further into his brooding Jim heard a familiar, warm baritone to his left say, “Good evening, Captain, mind if I join you?”

Jim looked up to see Hikaru Sulu standing next to the table, gesturing at Spock’s vacated seat.

“Hikaru, not at all, take a seat,” Jim said, brightening at the sight of his trusty Helmsman and friend. “How’s your day been?”

Sulu took a seat and set his tray on the table in front of him. He smiled broadly at his captain as he picked up his fork, preparing to dig into a steaming plate of salmon, rice and vegetables.

“Oh you know, not bad. I had some time in the botany lab this afternoon and the Rigelian orchid hybrids we’ve been breeding are beginning to flower,” said Sulu.

“That’s great to hear, I know how hard you worked on the genetic splicing,” replied Jim, before glancing around the room. “Will Ben be joining us?”

“Not this evening, he’s on Beta,” said Sulu, reaching for his glass of water between bites.

Jim continued to chase his pasta around the bowl as they spoke. Their relaxed conversation was absorbed into the ambient chatter of happy crewmembers at their leisure.

After a few minutes a memory that had been nagging at the periphery of Jim’s thoughts made its way to the forefront of his conscious mind. Didn’t Bones say Sulu met Ben through the F.D.S.?

Spock’s revelation over dinner had only reaffirmed to Jim that it was best he focus his efforts on finding a more attainable romantic partner. And if he was going to do this then he might as well do it right and give himself the best shot of making a good match.

He hesitated to broach the subject at first, reluctant to discuss his personal business with a subordinate. But Jim knew that Sulu was a good man who could be counted on for his discretion, so he took a deep breath and waited for the next natural lull in the conversation.

“Sulu, can I ask you a personal question? You must feel perfectly at liberty say no,” Jim rushed to add.

Sulu looked mildly surprised but quickly regained his smile and replied, “Of course, captain, fire away.”

“Is it true that you and Ben met via the Federation Dating Service?” asked Jim.

“Yeah, we both joined up about two and a half years ago. Why do you ask? Thinking of joining up yourself?” replied Sulu, laughing as if he’d been joking in his final comment.

When Jim didn’t immediately reply and a light blush pinked his cheeks, Sulu’s demeanour abruptly changed and he fixed Jim with an enquiring stare. Hesitantly Jim admitted, “Actually, I already signed up and I’m waiting to hear back from my first three matches.”

For some reason this admission caused Sulu’s brow to furrow momentarily and the helmsman muttered something under his breath that sounded like ‘but I thought—’ before sharply cutting himself off.

Jim didn’t question the reaction, eager to ensure that Sulu would be circumspect with this new information about his captain’s love life.

“Please don’t mention this to anyone. I’d rather it didn’t end up spread around the crew,” said Jim.

“Oh, of course not, sir. It’s no one else’s business. Do you mind if I ask, though, why you brought it up?” said Sulu, pushing his now finished meal to the side and taking a sip of his drink.

“I suppose I was looking for some advice from a veteran who made a successful match. Any advice for someone just starting out?” said Kirk, hoping that the request sounded confident and blithesome despite the discomfort he felt at discussing something so personal.

To Jim’s great relief, Sulu was more than happy to share his experiences of using the service. Expounding on the delights and horrors of the F.D.S. and the wide variety of interesting, and occasionally bizarre, people who make use of it. It turned out Sulu had spoken to numerous matches via the inbuilt correspondence and instant messaging functions, and even went on to meet a couple in person, before finally being matched with Ben.

Jim listened as Sulu explained that he and Ben had corresponded in long form for about a month before moving on to the instant messaging function to allow for real-time communication. After another few weeks they’d agreed to coordinate their shore leave and meet on Andoria while both their ships were in the vicinity. It was there that they went on their first date.

“Ben was so cold the whole time,” laughed Sulu as he recounted the tale, “for the first half of the date I honestly didn’t think we were going to get anywhere because all he did was complain about the snow and ice and the fact that his teeth were chattering!”

“What turned it around?” Jim asked, smiling in return, enjoying his friend’s mirth.

“I found a local bar aimed at off-world tourists that had a decent heating system and we camped out in their lounge for the rest of the trip drinking hot chocolates by an open fire,” Sulu replied.

“Sounds romantic,” said Jim.

“He married me, didn’t he?” quipped Sulu with a wide grin and Jim laughed, the heaviness he’d felt earlier in the evening lifting somewhat.

As they continued amiably chatting, both having retrieved cups of coffee to sip on, Sulu went on to disclose some of the difficulties he and Ben had encountered during their period of long-distance dating, which Sulu admitted was the hardest part of their whole courtship. They’d talked every day and coordinated their time off as best they could to meet up whenever they were able, but it was no substitute for being together. Eventually they decided to marry. Ben had been granted a civilian consultant position within the Enterprise’s botany department and came aboard at their last stop-over at starbase six.

“It’s not without its challenges, but I’d say the F.D.S. matches are generally good and the whole awkward process is worth it to find someone really special,” Sulu concluded.

“Like Ben?” Jim said with a smile.

“Like Ben,” Sulu agreed, with an entirely smitten look on his face.

“Well, I appreciate you sharing your story with me, Hikaru, truly,” said Jim, reaching out and patting the back of his friend’s hand where it rested on the table between them.

Jim smiled warmly at Sulu and began to make moves to stand and head back to his quarters, but before he could move Sulu reached out towards him to halt his progress. “Sir—Jim, do you mind if I give you some advice?” he asked.

Jim leant forward, resting his arms to either side of his tray and giving Sulu his full attention.

“Of course,” said Jim.

“When you get to the next stage of the process, when you start writing to your matches, corresponding back and forth— be yourself,” said Sulu.

Before Jim could formulate a response Sulu continued, “I know that as captain you’re used to presenting a certain demeanour to the rest of the crew. I’m just saying that the F.D.S. won’t work for you unless the person you put out there to be matched with is you, the real you. You have to be your authentic self. Don’t try to imagine what they might want to hear, don’t fall back on your professional persona, just be your honest, unfiltered self. That way you’ll know for sure that you’re really compatible with your final match.”

As Sulu concluded his mini-monologue Jim found himself deeply touched by his friend’s heartfelt attempt to help him find love.

“Thank you, Hikaru, I appreciate the wisdom and promise to take it to heart,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to turn in for the night.”

“Anytime, captain, sleep well,” said Sulu, delivering a mock-salute as Jim rose from the table and bussed his tray to the recycler.

On the walk back to his quarters, Jim mulled over the conversation. He felt lighter after his long chat with Sulu: it felt nice to socialise with another of his friends. He’d gotten so used to spending every evening with Spock that it was only now that he realised that he’d been neglecting his other friendships. Yes, he still met up with Bones for a drink most weeks, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent time with Scotty outside of Engineering or played a game of chess with Chekov, or met with Uhura for a cup of coffee.

By the time he’d made it back to his quarters, Jim had resolved to make more of an effort to nurture his friendships with his senior staff

He set about his evening routine, changing into his favourite sweatpants and an ancient, worn-soft Academy t-shirt. As he was moving about his quarters Jim became aware of the notification light blinking on his work station indicating that there was a waiting communique. He slid into his desk chair and activated the screen, clicking into his inbox to discover that it was a message from the F.D.S. informing him that all three of his matches had agreed to correspond with him, and providing links so that he could securely and anonymously communicate with each of them.

He smiled with renewed hope and determination, feeling buoyed by the prospect that he would have the opportunity to find a special someone just as Sulu had found Ben. Someone who would accept and want him as he was; the real him. Someone who could love him in return.

Keeping Sulu’s parting advice in mind, Jim set out to compose an opening message, pouring all his personality into it.

Once complete he copied and pasted the message into each outbox and, pausing to take a measured breath, hit send on all three, hearing the soft ping of confirmation as each was successfully transmitted.

Chapter Text

During the time spent deep in his mindscape, Spock had meticulously processed through each of the emotional responses that had arisen within him throughout the day; categorising and examining each in great detail so that they could one by one be released from his mind.

He had made sure to give additional focus to his lapse during his meal with the captain. His inability to maintain his emotional controls around Kirk continued to frustrate and confuse him. It was not thus with any other member of the crew, and while he knew himself to be in love with the man it did not account for his escalating struggles when they were in close proximity.

As he had examined his period of instability—his eidetic memory replaying their conversation with perfect clarity—Spock became aware once again of the sensation of gravitational pull between them. He allowed his consciousness to sink further, into a deeper level of meditation, a layer that sat below his mental landscape and it was here that he found…something.

At first Spock had not been sure what he was looking at. At this level of meditation— where the conscious, subconscious and telepathic centres all intersected— his mental mindscape ceased to manifest in the easily understood structures and scenes based on the physical world, and began instead to mix and shift towards the more metaphorical and metaphysical. He remained aware of himself and Kirk sitting in the officers' mess conversing over a meal, but the memory was now overlaid with swirls of colour and shape.

Spock didn’t try to rush his understanding of the scene before him, satisfied to sit with his curiosity and allow the cacophony of patterns and forms to wash over him. Layer by layer the scene seemed to peel away until suddenly beneath all the other noise he spotted a single connection, hanging suspended between himself and Kirk.

The connection looked like a single thread, as thin as spider silk, and golden like the light he had experienced during their previous melds. Spock reached out with his mind to gently pluck at the thread, feeling the reverberations travel its length like a bowstring. The connection, as insubstantial as it appeared, was strong, and at his touch had resonated with a mental energy which was as familiar to spock as his own.

Spock slowly, and with great care followed the thread to its source, navigating the deepest levels of his mind until he found himself staring at its end, firmly rooted in his bond centre.

A bond between myself and Jim? thought Spock, both awed and horrified. And yet as he examined it further he realised, No, not a bond, but the powerful potential for one.

Spock allowed himself a moment of relief before he continued his fastidious exploration of the golden thread. It was not that Spock would have himself objected to a bond with Kirk: indeed it would bring him great joy and satisfaction to take his captain as his bondmate. However, he knew that this was not Kirk’s desire, and to form a bond with another without their explicit consent—especially a member of a psi-null species who could not fully comprehend what it would mean to be joined in such a way—was considered one of the most heinous violations within Vulcan society. Had Spock found that he had, even inadvertently, created a bond with his captain, he would have felt compelled to submit himself to the authorities on Vulcan and to seek out a mind healer to remove the link from Kirk's mind, to free his friend of the unwanted connection which was tantamount to a marriage under Federation law.

Thankfully, his thorough examination was able to conclude that this was not a fully formed bond, more the promise of what could be. Their minds were indeed highly compatible. Spock had known this for some time but had not until this moment realised the extent to which their minds, at the unconscious level, longed to be one.

And yet it could never be.

Spock, however, did not despair as he might have, as he now believed that he had found the source of his emotional instability, and that could be of great benefit. Should he be able to overcome his weakness in relation to Kirk, then there would be no further barrier to them healing the friendship which Spock valued so highly.

Determined in his goal, Spock had gathered all the mental discipline he could bring to bear and, cautiously, a single metaphorical stone at a time, began to build a wall around the connection. The process seemed to take an age, though his timesense told him it had been only an hour and forty seven minutes from start to finish.

As Spock had placed the final stone atop the new structure—reminiscent of the ancient cairns found in various countries on Earth—the connection became entirely encased; cut off from the rest of his mind and from Kirk. The golden shine that had radiated from it stifled and dulled.

Securely contained, Spock felt the now blocked connection retreat beyond his newly constructed mental barriers, taking with it the resonating hum of Kirk’s mind. Like dimming the sun, he felt too as if all the warmth had been drained from him, and was distantly aware of a shiver running through his physical body where it rested on his meditation mat.

He poked and prodded at his creation for a while longer, testing its integrity and strength. Eventually, once fully satisfied that the barriers would hold until he otherwise removed them—which would be never since the connection could never be allowed to strengthen—Spock began to guide himself slowly back up through the levels of consciousness until he was once again fully present within his physical surroundings.

His eyes fluttered open and, once he’d allowed himself a moment to regain his bearings, he sinuously rose from his place on the floor after more than four hours of deep meditation.

His incense had long since burned itself out, but the spicy scent lingered in the air and clung to his robes. He breathed it in deeply, savouring the familiar smell of his childhood home, before he moved to progress his nightly routine prior to sleep.

Having rebuilt his mental shielding and bolstered his emotional control, Spock was feeling more centred than he had in weeks. He permitted himself a moment of satisfaction before moving to begin his evening ritual of making a cup of Vulcan spice tea to enjoy before he retired for his required period of sleep.

A few minutes later, tea in hand, he moved towards his personal workstation.

Spock was unsurprised to see the notification light blinking, indicating new communiques. He had likely received multiple new reports since the end of his duty shift and intended to review them as he enjoyed his beverage.

He was not required to read reports in his off-duty hours, but had always found it preferable to review them as soon as they came in rather than allowing them to build up and spill over into the following work shift, when there would be more demands on his attention. As such, he lowered himself into his desk chair and reached to activate his viewer.

As he scrolled through the expected list of new arrivals in his inbox, one communication in particular caught his eye given its status as an external communique rather than intraship correspondence.

It was a message from the F.D.S.

Spock clicked into it to find that two of his three matches had agreed to correspond with him, the remaining candidate having opted not to accept the match. It was the second match, User 117056, whom he had suspected of possibly being a Vulcan, that had declined the opportunity to correspond. Spock suppressed a momentary pang at the implied rejection but moved quickly past it.

Upon further inspection he found that not only had the first and third matches agreed to correspond, but the third had already sent an initial missive.

Setting down his tea, he focussed his full attention on the screen and began to read.

F.D.S. Correspondence: User 116625 || Stardate: 65239.8 21:53 FST

Hello and thank you for agreeing to communicate with me.

I realise that this is not the most natural of beginnings to a correspondence. For a start, one usually knows who they’re writing to in advance of beginning a conversation. However, since we’re both in the same boat, I hope you’ll be understanding of the unique challenges that come with conversing via this particular service.

Even after this brief opening Spock was already ninety six point three percent certain that this match was a human. ‘In same boat’ was a uniquely human idiom and while other species within the Federation—who lived on Earth or worked closely with humans—had come to embrace and understand many of them, few non-humans could deploy them so naturally. It was simply too deeply ingrained in the long history of the human race to translate effectively for use by others who did not share their innate understanding of the cultural context.

Spock found that he was rather pleased that one of his matches was a human. While he was open to a potential mate from any compatible species, there were many reasons that a human would make a highly suitable match for him. Not only was Spock half human himself, and therefore they would share a genetic heritage, but should their relationship ultimately prove successful, a human would find it much easier to assimilate into life aboard the Enterprise, which boasted a predominantly human crew and was environmentally maintained to suit human norms.

It occurred to him that it would perhaps be beneficial to research human mating rituals and common romantic practices, given the statistical likelihood that a high proportion of his matches would be from Earth or one of its extraterrestrial colonies.

Curtailing this relevant but distracting train of thought he continued to read.

I’ve been considering what to include in this message to help you get to know me better while respecting the guidelines to retain anonymity at this stage. I went back and forth on what would give you a bit more insight into me as a person. You’ve already seen my profile; you know the basic facts that make up my life and personality, but I wanted to share things that would really let you see to the heart of me.

A friend, and veteran of this service, advised me today to be my authentic self in these missives. No front, no professional persona, just my honest and unfiltered self. So, though with this kind of vulnerability comes trepidation, here I go, laying myself bare.

As corny as it may sound, I was born to travel the stars. I’m never more myself than when I can feel the vibration of deck plates beneath my feet and the hum of an engine all around me. I’ve visited planets throughout the quadrant, lived on more than one of them, but my true home is space.

I live surrounded by technology but have a passion for antiquity. I prefer to read paper books whenever possible, though I don’t often have access to them while I’m travelling. I enjoy all genres of literature, but my first love is fiction. My mother used to say that “imagination can take you to more places than a starship,” and my earliest memories are of her reading tales of far-off lands and exotic creatures to me before bed each night.

Family’s important to me, though I’m admittedly not as close to mine as I’d like to be. It can often be challenging, while I’m travelling, to keep in touch. Regardless, I try to make a point of reaching out as often as possible despite the physical distance.

I’ve also come to think of my crew as a sort of extended family. While I’m not close with each individual member, I’ve made a commitment to their safety and wellbeing that I take incredibly seriously.

Intellectually, I’m a seeker of truth and knowledge. It fuels my love of exploration and drives me to reach for a deeper understanding of the universe.

I believe deeply in fairness and equality, and regardless of consequences will always choose to stand up for what’s right.

I value integrity highly. Being true to myself and others is crucial in my personal and professional relationships. I strive to live in alignment with my values, and look to surround myself with individuals who share those same values.

I’d say that resilience and determination are key components of my personality. My life has been… well, let’s just say it’s had its ups and downs. I’ve faced my fair share of extreme situations, but survived each time by never giving up, always looking for the next best move and planning three steps ahead of any opponent. Some of these skills were passed on to me by my family, some came through formal training, and unfortunately, many were learned out of necessity because the alternative was unthinkable.

Enough about that for now though. That’s a story for another day.

I’m a sociable person by nature; you might call me gregarious and outgoing. I enjoy connecting with others, engaging in meaningful conversations, and feeling a sense of belonging and camaraderie. However, I equally value peace and quiet. I understand the importance of solitude after a busy day to re-centre oneself.

I’m acquainted with many hundreds of people but truly known by scant few. Most only see the facade, the persona, and for the most part, that’s as it should be; my work requires me to stand apart and maintain boundaries.

It can, however, be rather lonely. It took me until quite recently to admit that, even to myself. There is an inherent isolation in being unknown by those around you. I suppose, if I’m being honest with myself, and you, loneliness is a significant factor in why I’m now actively seeking someone to share my life with. Someone who can know me fully, more than friends or family, and who I can fully know in return. A true partner, an equal. Perhaps the same is true of you.

Well, I think that’s probably enough for a first message. I hope this gives you a clearer picture of who I am and didn’t overwhelm you. I decided that it was probably better to get all the fundamentals out in the open right from the start; that’s the only way you’ll truly be able to assess whether I’m the type of partner you’re looking for. And I hope that, if you reply, you’ll be equally candid.

I look forward to any reply you may offer.

Until then.

Spock leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his lips as he considered what he’d just read. He hadn’t expected to feel drawn to any specific matches at this early stage, certainly not after only one communication. However, he had to admit that there was something about this individual that fascinated and intrigued him. Their words conjured the impression of a vibrant and charismatic individual; intelligent and compassionate with a passionate spirit and warm heart.

Spock wished to know more about this person and knew that the only way to achieve this would be to offer a reply. The match had asked that his reply be equally candid and he knew that they were hoping for a response that would offer an honesty and vulnerability to rival their own.

While Spock always strived to be honest, as did all Vulcans, he knew that this was often achieved via silence and obfuscation. He was unaccustomed to

laying himself bare, as the match had phrased it, and the thought of exposing so much of his inner being to a stranger was discomfiting, even if the missive was anonymous.

However, his match had been open in their account of themselves and Spock knew that if he truly wished to find a compatible mate that he could do no less. So, pushing aside his own discomfort he began to compose a reply. Once it was complete he sent it and then composed a shorter, but still appropriate, message to the first match and dispatched that as well.

Sensing the lateness of the hour, Spock opted to prioritise adherence to his evening schedule and leave his review of the reports until the morning. He would have time to complete the work prior to reporting for his duty shift. And so, with a lightness of spirit he did not often feel, Spock rose from his desk and crossed the room towards his sleep alcove to begin preparing for bed.

Chapter Text

Jim had tossed and turned for much of the night after sending the communiques, feeling inexplicably chilled. He’d already ordered the temperature in his cabin raised by five degrees and had his blankets tucked tightly around him, and yet still he was cold. He’d need to speak to Engineering tomorrow about running a diagnostic of the environmental systems. Failing that, maybe Bones needed to check he wasn’t coming down with something.

His search for rest wasn’t helped by the fact that he kept going over and over in his mind what he’d written and sent to his matches. Was it too much? Too personal? Should he have started off with some small talk about his favourite foods?

He realised that he was being irrational, but that didn’t stop the thoughts from circling round his brain, keeping sleep at bay. There was nothing he could do now that the messages had been sent and they were anonymous anyway. Still, he couldn’t help but worry whether we would awake the next morning to find that all three matches had opted to reject further contact.

For all that this had begun as a way to distance himself from his feelings for Spock, he now knew that he wanted this to work; he was invested. He was lonely and he wanted to share his life with someone.

For a long time he’d assuaged that longing through his friendship with Spock. Finding closeness and intimacy even within the boundaries of professionalism and friendship they had set. He realised now though that it had never been a viable long term solution. He had focussed too much of his affection on an unwilling recipient and once those boundaries had been pushed back to a greater distance he found himself feeling more wretched and alone than ever.

In the wee small hours of gamma shift Jim had eventually slid into a fitful sleep. He woke abruptly when, what he realised was his backup alarm went off. It was 07:40, much later than he would normally rise but he would still have just enough time to wash and dress before heading to the bridge.

As he moved briskly about his quarters he passed his desk and noticed the notification light on his work station blinking once again. He really didn’t have time to read any correspondence but reasoned that it didn’t hurt just to check whether it was a reply or a rejection that he’d received.

Clicking into his inbox he was relieved and encouraged to find two replies to his missive of the previous night; one from the bubbly and free spirited third match and, to his delight, one from his second match, the serious but endearingly gentle scientist.

Pushing his luck in terms of timing, he clicked into each reply intending to quickly skim them. The reply from the third match, User 113165, was bright and enthusiastic but very short. The’d opted for a brief:

F.D.S. Correspondence: User 113165 || Stardate: 65239.8 23:13 FST

Wow, your message was great! You sound like a really interesting person and I’d be willing to talk further. As you’ll have seen from my profile I love to read too. I have an extensive collection of stories from authors on worlds all across the alpha quadrant. I’m making quite the xeno-literary comparative study of erotica among the core humanoid species of the Federation. Have you read any good books lately?

Jim had stared at it for a moment: erotica? Also, was that it? He’d taken quite a bit of time to compose his initial message, pushing outside his comfort zone to ensure that he provided deep insight into who he was, what was important to him, where his passions lay. All so his matches could get to know him better, hoping that they would reciprocate and allow him to get to know them in return. And their reply was essentially you seem nice, I like books too.

He shook away the thought wondering if perhaps he was being uncharitable. After all, not everyone was comfortable opening up to others, and maybe they’d been short on time and would reply with something more extensive the next time. He closed the first window and turned to the reply from his second match, aware that he was sacrificing his opportunity to grab a coffee before heading to the bridge. He’d just have to hope that his yeoman was present when he arrived so he could request to have a pot brought up. He really was tired this morning.

As soon as he clicked into the next message he knew that this person had understood the brief.

The reply was lengthy, at least as long as his initial message if not longer. He desperately wanted to read it all just now but it would have to wait. With one quick glance at the chrono on his desk he realised that he was going to be late if he didn’t leave right this moment. So, pulling his gold command tunic over his head as he went, he stepped through the doors to his quarters and, as briskly as was dignified for a starship captain, headed towards the nearest turbolift.

Emerging onto the bridge at exactly 08:00 to the familiar ariose sound of Uhura announcing, “Captain on the bridge,” Jim consoled himself that at least he wasn’t late. Though it was less than ideal for the captain to be the last one to arrive on shift.

He made his way around the safety railing and down towards the command well, offering a courteous nod and “Good morning” to his staff and receiving a chorus of ‘good morning, Captain’ and ‘hello, sir’ in return.

When Jim passed the science station, Spock paused in his work and turned towards him. He’d become used to Spock avoiding contact with him as much as possible, even on duty, so was taken by surprise when the Vulcan had looked up from his console and offered a formal but warm, “Good morning, Captain, I trust you slept well?”

“Well enough, Mr Spock, thank you. And you?” he replied, surprised but pleased by the sudden return to a more cordial discourse.

“Quite well, sir, thank you,” said Spock with a polite nod before he returned his attention to his station.

As the shift progressed, Spock engaged Jim in friendly conversation on more than one occasion. He marvelled that his first officer seemed much closer to his old self than he had in recent weeks, and it filled him with enough emotional warmth that it was almost able to cut through the chill that still seemed to permeate his bones.

Maybe Jim did need to visit sickbay. Not only had the cold followed him to the Bridge, making it much less likely that it had anything to do with the environmental controls, but he had also felt a little odd during his conversations with Spock. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but it felt like someone had turned down a dimmer switch on all his senses. Like wearing earmuffs while wandering in the dark. At one point Spock had approached the captain’s chair and Jim had been startled enough to jump in his seat, which was particularly peculiar because he was almost always aware of wherever Spock was on the bridge at any given moment. I think I’ll drop in on Bones after my shift, he thought.

Throughout Alpha shift, Jim revelled at the positive change in his interactions with Spock and wondered if the improvement was a result of their dinner the night before and his efforts to force normality back into their relationship. Though he had been concerned by the way Spock had quickly wrapped up their meal and left under a slight cloud, he thought now that perhaps it had gone better than he remembered.

The ambient sounds of the bridge chirped and beeped around Jim as he considered the possible causes for such a dramatic, overnight shift in circumstances. He was idly pondering the matter while signing a stack of requisition forms when movement at the helm caught his eye and he looked up to see Sulu and Chekov engaged in a hushed conversation over the astrogation console.

As soon as his eyes alighted on the smiling face of his helmsman his memory sparked, and it suddenly occurred to Jim that this alteration in Spock could have something to do with his recent registration with the F.D.S.

Jim felt immediately conflicted at that thought. On the one hand he was heartened that the coolness between them seemed to be receding, and that glimmers of their usual dynamic were reappearing. On the other hand the idea that someone else was responsible for bringing Spock back around when Jim had been unable to do so, left a slightly sour taste in his mouth and a heaviness in his chest.

His temporarily buoyant mood diminishing somewhat, Jim felt once again tired and chilled.

For so long it had felt like he and Spock were a package deal, whole and complete; a single unit. And now, should Spock find a successful match, there would be another person in the mix—perhaps two more people if Jim was similarly successful—and their priorities would shift away from each other.

Of course Jim had other friends, both among the crew and further afield. He’d already come to terms with the fact that he’d been neglecting those relationships in his single-minded pursuit of his first officer and resolved to change that. Jim still considered Bones to be his best friend, more like family, and always would, but it wasn’t the same. It had never been the same with anyone else as it was with Spock and him, and maybe that was about to change forever. Maybe it already had.

Still, he told himself firmly, if the result of all this change is that Spock is happier and I get my friend back, then I can’t be picky about how we get there.

Jim, tired and cold and wishing earnestly that he could return to his quarters and take a nap, added a final signature to the last form and placed the stack he’d been working his way through on the arm of his chair. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned to his left to see Lieutenant Commander Safadi approaching to provide an update on the new schedule for their upcoming stopover at Starbase Six. When they’d finished Jim sent her off with his thanks and as bright a smile as he could muster and settled himself back in the captain's chair, catching the eye of Yeoman Baxter as she approached. The wattage of his smile doubled as he noticed that perched atop the new pile of requisition forms she had for him to sign, was a steaming pot of fresh coffee.

The rest of the shift passed in a flurry of departmental reports and communiques from Command. As well as an interesting, if somewhat lengthy and tiring, meeting with Scotty in Engineering, where he was enthusiastically walked through the highly detailed plans for improvements to the warp core. By the time his shift ended Jim was starting to flag, all too aware that he hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep the previous night.

Since he’d been in engineering when his shift ended—and knew that Spock would have coordinated passing the con to the Beta Shift officer—he decided to forego his usual trip to the mess and head straight for his quarters. He was hungry but he really didn’t have the energy to engage with anyone just now and he had some non-perishable snacks and drinks in his cabin that would do for his dinner. Bones would berate him tomorrow when he noticed there was no evening meal registered for him via the food slots, but he’d deal with that particular tirade when he’d had some sleep.

By the time he’d had a light meal—consisting of a ration bar, some dried mango strips and a bottle of water—Jim was exhausted and had almost entirely forgotten that he had unread correspondence waiting for him. When a stray glance towards his desk suddenly triggered his memory, he was injected with a fresh burst of excited energy.

It was just enough to propel him from his relaxed position, draped wearily across his small couch, over to take a seat in front of his computer. When he turned on the screen, the window containing the reply from his second match was still open on the screen and he immediately began to read.

F.D.S. Correspondence: User 117139 || Stardate: 65239.9 02:18 FST

Greetings.

Let me begin by expressing my appreciation for the intent and eloquence of your recent missive. You expressed your wish to offer an ‘unfiltered’ impression of yourself in order that I may gain a deeper understanding of your character. I am satisfied to report that you were successful, as I now feel that I have a much broader understanding of your essential qualities than was provided by your user profile alone.

I wished to approach this reply in the same spirit, though speaking openly about personal subjects is far from my usual preference. I am, by my nature, a private individual and unaccustomed to speaking openly about myself. However, as the sole purpose of these communications is for us to assess our compatibility for a deeper, romantic connection, it is only reasonable that I provide appropriate information on which you may base your decision. As such, I shall attempt to the best of my ability to match the tone of this reply to that of your communique.

I too have lived on multiple worlds and yet found my home among the stars. The years I spent planetside were often challenging and I found difficulty in gaining acceptance among the people of those planets. It was not until I ventured out into the wider galaxy, full of infinite diversity, that I truly discovered my place.

Although my childhood could never be considered idyllic, I too highly value family and can relate to your regret regarding insufficient closeness. There exists great distance, both physically, philosophically and emotionally, between much of my family and myself. Indeed I am estranged from more than one member.

I do remain in close, regular contact with my mother, however, and share fond memories of being read to by her as a child. Although I was literate from a young age, she persisted in reading to me each evening well into my early adolescence. She insisted that it was a ‘special time’ we shared and I was not inclined to reject the opportunity for the additional moments together it afforded us, separate from other members of the household.

Jim reached for one of his remaining strips of dried mango and began distractedly chewing its end.

Well that put paid to any suspicions that he may have had that this match could have been another Vulcan. Vulcan mothers didn’t insist on reading to their children when they were perfectly capable of reading the materials themselves, and they certainly didn’t refer to it as ‘special time’.

The formal speech patterns might perhaps be a result of running their correspondence through the universal translator. It was notorious for stripping out anything colloquial in favour of the plainest and most easily understood translation.

He pondered that for a moment as he bit into his mango again and tore off a small strip with his teeth.

Having a partner who didn’t speak Standard would present some potential challenges, but on the other hand it was entirely possible that he may already speak their language. He wasn’t a whizz with languages like Uhura, but he was no slouch either. He spoke Standard, Andorian and Rigellian fluently, and could converse to a decent level in a handful of the other core Federation languages. At any rate, if it came to it, they could each learn whatever languages were required to bridge the gap.

Heartened and intrigued by what he’d read so far, he continued.

My interests are diverse, spanning both the scientific and the artistic realms. I find satisfaction in studying the mysteries of the universe, yet I also have a profound appreciation for the arts. I have familiarised myself with the eminent literary creations of numerous worlds. I am also proficient in multiple musical instruments and to date have composed 34 original pieces. I find that creative pursuits provide a balance to the more analytical nature of my work.

In time, my interest in music also, unexpectedly, facilitated easier socialisation among my peers. Sharing music and performing alongside them allowed for friendships to flourish in an organic way which did not rely solely on a proficiency in social skills, which often elude me.

I can empathise with your desire to be known. Having spent my entire life surrounded by individuals who were different from myself, it has been a Sisyphean task to be even reluctantly accepted by most. My friendships are few but are of deep import to me.

With regard to romantic entanglements I admit to having a somewhat unsuccessful track record. I was previously engaged in what you may refer to as a ‘long term relationship’ though we saw each other rarely. The dissolution of that entanglement was less than pleasant. Any romantic liaisons outwith that relationship have been equally ill fated and rebarbative.

Based purely on my personal experiences of romance, the most compelling option would seem to be to dispense with it entirely. However, I, like you, experience loneliness, though it is not something to which I would usually admit. I do desire to find an individual with whom I can connect.

I am not ignorant to the fact that my outward demeanour can often appear aloof or even cold. However, I am not without feeling and do believe that I have positive qualities which I could bring to a romantic relationship. I am not so vain as to presume that I would be a desirable option for many individuals using this service. However, for someone who was willing to look beyond the obvious, I believe I have much to offer a potential match.

While I present a reserved and analytical exterior, those with whom I am close understand me to be a compassionate and empathetic individual. I value honesty and would strive to be a trustworthy and respectful partner. Though my intellectual pursuits may suggest a solitary nature, I possess a profound sense of loyalty and camaraderie. I would be a faithful and steadfast companion to any future spouse. These qualities, though not immediately apparent, form the foundation of my character and I believe would contribute to a successful union should I be fortunate enough to engage a compatible individual.

I trust that this additional information has provided you with a deeper understanding of my character and essential qualities. As unfamiliar as I am with espousing my personal desires and attributes, I have striven to give you an accurate and sincere account.

While I agree that this format allows for a less than natural approach to our correspondence, I do believe that it offers a unique opportunity for genuine exchange and fostering a meaningful connection.

I would be most interested to learn more about you and to provide you with any further information you may desire to know about myself, within the boundaries of our current anonymity of course.

I await your response or rejection.

As his eyes trailed away from the final word, and his focus returned to his present position at his desk, Jim realised that he’d unconsciously leant further and further forward as he’d read, leaving him almost doubled over the desk. He also became cognisant of the immense smile that was currently splitting his face. Now that’s more like it!

Not only had the message been of a length and thoroughness that was, to his mind, much more appropriate given the goal of getting to know each other. It had also contained such honest vulnerability that he found himself deeply touched that they had shared it with him.

Their account spoke of an individual who had overcome much in their lifetime. Not necessarily the extreme circumstances of natural disasters or alien attacks in the way Jim had, but in the everyday bigotry and ignorance of others that could wear down even the most confident soul over time. Beneath the intelligent, insightful and gentle nature that was evident in their every word, he thought there must lie an uncommon strength of character.

Jim leaned back in his chair, happily stretching out his stiff muscles and delighting in the warm feeling that had washed through him as he turned over his match’s response in his mind. He spent a contented few moments reviewing his favourite passages until the fatigue that had temporarily receded began to creep into him once more.

He stood from the desk, resolving to reply to both matches in the morning, and headed towards his sleep alcove. After quickly readying himself for bed he settled onto his mattress, ordered the lights off and pulled the covers across himself; still cold but not so bothered by it at that moment.

In the darkness of his cabin, Jim Kirk allowed the tiredness of the day to draw him down and fell into a restful sleep, a gentle smile still playing around the corners of his mouth.

Chapter Text

It had been three weeks since Jim had begun exchanging initial correspondence with his matches and in that time a lot had changed, both in terms of his dating life as well as the dynamics of his shipboard relationships.

To say that Jim was pleased with the recent improvements in the interactions between him and Spock would be an understatement of galactic proportions. At the height of the awkward distance between them, he had all but lost hope that they would ever regain the easy friendship that had originally grown so organically between them over the years. And although it couldn’t be said that they had fully returned to the way things had been, they seemed to have reached a comfortable middle ground that suited them both.

Where once they had spent almost all of their off duty time together, they now consistently managed a respectable three or four evenings per week, with the remainder of the time spent pursuing other activities.

They had kept their twice weekly chess matches, but over the last few weeks a weekly sparring match and some shared meals had gradually crept back into their schedule.

Neither of them referenced the shifts in their interactions, in much the way that neither of them had explicitly commented on the previous deterioration. Spock appeared content with their new balance, and so Jim had no complaints. He had never consciously set out to monopolise all of Spock’s off duty time—all Jim had ever wanted was to be able to spend time with his friend, enjoying each other’s company—and so he wasn’t at all unhappy with their new understanding. Even if all they had maintained were the two chess matches a week, Jim would have made his peace with it as long as there was none of the awkward tension between them.

However, that tension seemed to have vanished as inexplicably as it had appeared, and Jim wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth by questioning it.

One benefit of his new social schedule was that—now that he was no longer spending his off hours brooding over the downfall of his relationship with his first officer—there was more time for him to act on the promise he had made to himself to renew his other friendships among the crew.

Although Jim had always preserved his weekly catch ups with Bones, he realised in retrospect that in recent months he’d increasingly spent their time together bemoaning his ailing friendship with Spock rather than enjoying the company of his oldest friend. When he’d been confronted with that reality, Jim had been filled with a flush of shame so hot he thought he might burn up with it.

Had he really become so blinkered in his obsession with Spock that he’d been unable to see beyond it? Had he seriously pursued closeness with the Vulcan so single-mindedly that over time almost all other relationships had fallen away without his notice?

He wanted to deny it. Wanted to assure himself that he would never do that; that he knew that that was no way to establish a healthy romantic relationship even if he had been successful in his dogged pursuit.

But he couldn't.

As he looked back on the past months and assessed his behaviour with an objective eye, he was embarrassed, confused and saddened by his apparent selfishness. He could offer no reasonable explanation for his actions except for his own recollections of a feeling of urgency to be close with Spock at all times which had pervaded his every waking moment. The drive had been so strong; he recalled the irresistible impulse to keep close, to focus his attention on his friend, to reach out and touch him even.

And yet, that too had now vanished along with the unexplained tension between them. Almost as if a switch had been suddenly flipped. He had no explanation for it. Around three weeks prior Jim had simply woken one day and felt a clarity of perspective that had been previously lacking for gods know how long. He had been entirely unaware of the compulsion until his attention was drawn to its absence, in the way that one becomes deaf to the steady hum of the warp core until it goes offline and the resulting silence is deafening.

He was still hopelessly in love with Spock, had reconciled himself to the fact that likely would always be the case to one extent or another, but the feeling was no longer so acute as it had been. Where before his love for Spock had felt like a tidal wave, washing his feet out from under him and carrying him along in its powerful current, now it was present in his mind and body as a steady stream, still strong and ever present, but without the feeling of leaving him out of control.

Everything had seemed to resolve itself around the time that Jim had caught his chill. It was no longer as pronounced as it had been but even after three weeks he still had the temperature in his quarters turned up by five degrees and had resorted to wearing the additional regulation thermal layer—on which Spock was so reliant for comfort—under his duty uniform.

The occasional moments of disorientation were still bothering him too. That feeling that his senses had been dampened, as if he could no longer see colours quite so brightly, or hear sounds quite so crisply. Never anything so concerning as to affect his ability to command, but enough so as to be noticeable and mildly unsettling.

Wishing for the opportunity to speak to his best friend in order to make amends anyway, Jim had relented soon after the first appearance of the symptoms and visited sickbay to discuss his condition with the doctor. Tail between his legs, he’d made sure to offer his apology first and foremost before launching into official medical business.

“Ah, don’t worry about it Jim. We’ve all been in love at one time or another, it can send a man a bit loopy,” said Bones with a gracious smile.

“Thanks Bones, you’re a good friend and I promise to try and never take that for granted again,” said Jim sheepishly, grateful for the easy acceptance of his apology. He and Bones had been through so much together over the years and the thought that he could have let their friendship continue to slip away from him without even noticing appalled him.

“Anyway, enough of that before I need to crack out the hankies,” said Bones, reverting to his characteristically gruff demeanour. “You didn’t come all the way down here during a duty shift just to apologise for falling in love, what’s up?”

Jim smiled at how well his friend knew him and launched into an explanation of his symptoms. After around half an hour of being scanned, poked, prodded and scanned again, the doctor huffed out a sigh and tilted the back of the biobed up so that Jim was no longer staring at the ceiling. Swinging his legs round so he could sit on the edge of the bed, he met his friend's eye.

“Well, doc, what’s the verdict?” asked Jim.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Jim, I’ve run every test I can think of and apart from the usual physical impact of living aboard a starship full time, I can’t see anything medically wrong with you,” Bones replied, his brow furrowed as he glanced once more at the readout above the biobed which displayed a number of test results. “Right now you pass as medically fit for duty as far as ‘Fleet regs go.”

“What do you mean by ‘usual physical impact’?” Jim asked.

Putting down his medical tricorder, Bones turned his full attention back to his captain. “Oh, nothing too serious, Jim, but you know Humans, or any of the species aboard really, weren’t designed to live in space full time. There are always minor effects among the crew, which we try to manage: Vitamin-D deficiencies from lack of natural sunlight, muscle atrophy from the artificial gravity being slightly lighter than Earth norm, that kind of thing,” Bones explained. “We try to mitigate it as much as we can with the UVB lighting throughout the ship and the mandatory training regimens for crew, but over the long term we always see some mild deterioration. It’s one of the reasons we have to take a certain percentage of annual shore leave planetside. Not that it’s enough, mind you!” He finished frustratedly.

“But you’re not seeing anything other than the usual expected deterioration in my results?” Jim asked.

“No, if anything you’re doing better than a lot of the crew because you keep up such a rigorous training regime, beyond what’s medically mandated,” said Bones, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning his hip against the edge of the biobed. “I dunno, Jim, it has been a while since we had a proper shore leave, and the last few missions were no picnic. My best guess is that you’re overworked and in need of some proper down time,” concluded the doctor, placing a reassuring hand on Jim’s shoulder.

Jim placed his hand over his friends and nodded. “Thanks, Bones, I guess you’re right. I’ll make sure to take some time off when we berth at Starbase Six.”

“Some proper time off, Jim,” warned Bones, pointing an accusing finger at the captain’s face. “No meetings, no reports, no checking in on progress of the maintenance. You need at least a week of proper rest, doctor’s orders!”

Holding his hands up before him in a sign of surrender, Jim chuckled as he replied, “You’ll get no argument from me this time, Bones. I’m looking forward to taking some time for myself. It’s—it’s been a long few months.”

“Well, good,” said Bones, reluctantly accepting his friend’s sincerity. “Make sure you do.”

Jim smiled and slid from the biobed, landing lightly on his feet before patting Bones firmly on the upper arm. “Right, I best get back to the bridge. Drinks later?”

“Only if you’re buying,” replied Bones with a wry grin.

Jim laughed.

“Fair enough, come by my quarters at nineteen hundred, I’ll dig out some of the good stuff,” he said as he headed for the exit.

“Alright Jim, see you then,” said Bones with a smile as he shooed him out the door, shouting after his retreating form. “And I wanna hear about it immediately if you feel any worse!”

Chuckling to himself, Jim had nodded his consent as he left.

As he made his way back to the bridge, he’d considered his diagnosis. He could well believe that his symptoms were the result of long term stress and fatigue. While he would challenge anyone who tried to question his fitness for duty—Bones had confirmed, he was physically fit and healthy—he couldn’t deny that he had felt the strain of the last year, and the recent six months in particular.

The Enterprise had undertaken a number of high priority missions, each one taking its own toll on the ship, the crew and their captain. They had taken their compulsory allocation of shore leave, and even between breaks Jim, Spock and Bones all liaised to ensure that the duty rotas allowed ample off duty periods for crew members to enjoy appropriate rest and relaxation.

The problem was that, as captain, Jim was never really off duty when he was aboard ship.

Oh sure, he was allocated the same number of off hours as every other senior crew member, but he would inevitably find his workload spilling over and eating up a portion of them. And even when he wasn’t actively working, his instincts were ever alert for an impending issue that might call for his attention, or a red alert that would send him hurtling back towards the bridge.

Jim realised belatedly, that likely the only time that he was ever truly relaxed while aboard the ship was when he was in a sound sleep; and he’d managed precious little of that lately either.

Bones was right, he needed a rest, and Jim was resolved to keep his promise and make sure he got one when they reached Starbase Six in a few weeks. Until then he’d just have to try and get some decent night's sleep.

And he had—for the most part.

In the almost three weeks since he’d visited Bones in sickbay, Jim had made a concerted effort to get to bed at a reasonable hour each night. It hadn’t helped with the cold or disorientation, but he was feeling more energised and alert than he had in a while.

He’d also continued to pursue the resurrection of his mishandled friendships with Scotty, Sulu, Chekov and Uhura. Each of their reactions to his olive branches had been so enthusiastic and heartfelt that Jim had been both deeply touched and deeply ashamed that he could ever have neglected his senior officers—his friends—in such a careless manner.

In recent weeks he'd, on more than one occasion, shared drinks with Scotty while the Scotsman expounded on all manner of subjects, from the most recent paper on theoretical warp dynamics, to the perfect recipe for all-butter shortbread. The engineer’s exuberance was contagious and Jim found himself having to tear himself away at the end of each enjoyable evening, lest he not leave enough time for sleep and to sober up prior to the next duty shift.

He’d found equally pleasant company in spending time with Sulu and Chekov again, sharing a few fencing matches with the former and a couple of chess matches with the latter in recent weeks.

And while Uhura had always been more a close friend of Spock’s than Jim’s, he had still sought her out once or twice to request she join him for tea in the rec room. They’d talked comfortably for more than an hour each time and he found new appreciation for the formidable wit and intelligence of his talented Chief of Communications.

On one notable occasion, Jim was pleased to remember, the senior staff had even found themselves all in the rec room at the same time. Engaging in a highly enjoyable evening of lighthearted banter over one of the game boards, in which even Spock played an active part.

All in all, Jim was extremely gratified with the contrast between the state of affairs in which he now found himself and where he had been mere weeks prior.

Though of all the things that were currently keeping his mood buoyant, Jim’s progress with his F.D.S. matches might have just topped the charts.

After receiving the initial replies from his matches— finally having heard back from his first match, User 110388—Jim had decided that, although he already had a clear favourite, it was only fair to continue to correspond with all three matches in order to give them a chance to get better acquainted.

It had become clear to him fairly early on, however, that the first and third matches were not going to be a good fit for him. The first match’s correspondence had been terse to the point of unfriendly, and when Jim had politely enquired about the tone of the messages, their response had been oddly rude and aggressive. It was possible that it was a case of cross-cultural miscommunication, but given that in this instance, Jim was under no obligation to continue to make an effort to converse with someone he found unpleasant—unlike the countless diplomatic missions in which he’d been involved over his career—he simply opted to reject them as a match.

He had continued to trade communiques for a little longer with the bubbly third match, but in the end he concluded that a shared love of reading wasn’t enough to make up for the general lack of compatibility in other areas. It didn’t help that when it came to literature, they weren’t even interested in the same genres. Jim counted himself as having a fairly eclectic taste when it came to books; he enjoyed the classics but wasn’t immune to the draw of a trashy romance novel if he came across one in a spaceport gift shop once in a while.

However, try as he might, he really couldn’t muster up any particular enthusiasm for his match’s passion for cross-species erotica. Jim was no prude, he had nothing against erotica as a literary artform, it just wasn’t really his thing, and it was literally all his third match seemed to want to discuss. So in the end, he’d politely thanked them for their time and marked their profile as rejected.

As was the way the F.D.S. functioned, each time Jim rejected a match a new one would be forwarded to him to ensure that he always had three matches to choose from. A few new profiles had since come and gone from his account, some he rejected and some who rejected him, but through it all he had continued an increasingly satisfying stream of communication with his second match, User 117139.

As such, after a while, Jim had changed the settings on his account to pause being assigned any new matches until further notice.

They’d kept up a steady flow of missives over the time since they first made contact, exchanging ‘letters’, as Jim had come to refer to them because he was a hopeless romantic at heart; sending and receiving one almost every day.

More and more Jim was convinced he was speaking to a man, though which race they could be still eluded him. It wasn’t that he had a marked preference for any gender—he’d been with males, females and nonbinary partners from various worlds—but it had been a long time since he’d been with a man and there was something about being cradled in strong arms that made him feel secure, and the prospect of once again experiencing that was appealing.

Truth be told, he’d been avoiding any dalliances with male partners for over three years now. After falling for Spock, there had been one shore leave where he’d met a tall, dark handsome stranger while walking along the ocean shore and ended up back in the privacy of their beach house. It had been nothing to do with his lover, Jeal: he had been gentle and kind and very talented in many ways. But it had just been too difficult for Jim not to compare Jeal’s broad shoulders and long pale-green hair to the long, narrow frame and dark bowlcut of his first officer. He knew that it would be the same with every man he met and so after a while Jim had simply found himself favouring feminine companionship, their soft curves and petite stature as different from Spock as he could possibly find.

Now, though, he found himself excited at the prospect that his match may be the one to break through his self-imposed limitations.

Their discussions had run the gamut of topics, but the real joy for Jim was that, regardless of subject matter, each and every letter had allowed him to glean a little more insight into the person with whom he was conversing.

And Jim liked what he’d found.

User 117139 was kind and compassionate, intellectually brilliant, with an artistic soul; passionate and humorous in their own reserved way. Jim was still cognisant of the fact that these were many of the same attributes which had so drawn him to his first officer, and yet this match had the added appeal that they seemed also to be equally interested in pursuing a relationship with him. Something Spock had made very clear he was unwilling to do.

In previous weeks the thought might have left Jim melancholy, but now he could only feel grateful for the chance to have both his friendship with Spock and the opportunity to seek something more with a partner who shared so many of the Vulcan’s numerous positive qualities.

Perhaps lightning can strike twice, Jim had thought to himself as he’d considered his good fortune.

Seeing a notification from the F.D.S. heralding the arrival of a new letter from his match had become one of the highlights of each day. Jim would await the arrival of each reply with the eager anticipation of a teenager courting his first crush. He felt a bit ridiculous every time the butterflies in his stomach took flight, but decided to just let himself enjoy the experience of exploring a new relationship.

He’d noticed that morning, just as he was leaving for his shift, that a new letter had arrived, but hadn’t had time to read it. His mind had returned to his inbox a few times throughout the day. He could have checked the message from his data slate while at lunch, of course, but was satisfied to wait until he returned to the privacy of his own quarters rather than trying to shield his screen from any prying eyes in the mess hall.

The letters were for him and him alone, and he felt distinctly protective of their contents. He’d spoken to Bones about how things were going in general, but he hadn’t shared any specific details of the letters’ contents or shown any to his friend directly. His match had shared each thought and feeling with Jim alone, and he wanted to honour that trust by safeguarding his match’s privacy. Their correspondence was anonymous for the moment but that, hopefully, wouldn’t always be the case. So Jim continued to keep each exchange to himself until such time as they could one day decide, together, what they wished to share with others.

By the end of the shift Jim was itching to read the letter, but he’d planned to join some of the bridge crew for dinner and so followed them faithfully to the officers’ mess to share pleasant conversation over a leisurely meal. As much as he was eager to read and respond to his latest communique, Jim wasn’t about to repeat the mistake of losing sight of his friendships in the pursuit of romance. There was room for both in his life and that was the balance he was now striving for.

Finally, though, he retired to his quarters, bidding a fond farewell to his smiling crew as they each peeled off towards their own cabins.

As soon as Jim stepped through his door, he headed towards his desk. Sliding into the chair, he pulled up his inbox, his eyes automatically searching his list of new communiques for the now familiar F.D.S. subject line. Locating his quarry, he clicked into the message and began to read.

F.D.S. Correspondence: User 117139 || Stardate: 65319.2 07:23 FST

Good morning. I trust you slept well.

Further to your last missive, I was intrigued to read your opinions on T’Gar’s recent publication outlining their theory of exotic particle energy transfer. I agree that, given the development of a more efficient flow regulation manifold, it could find a viable application in increasing the range and efficiency of current warp engine models by up to twenty percent; Provided they were able to maintain a flow rate greater than six point three, of course.

In reference to your hypothetical ‘last meal’ scenario, I would suggest that the period immediately prior to impending death may be more usefully employed in calming mindfulness to prevent the body and mind succumbing to fear. However, in the spirit of ‘playing along,’ I would choose a meal which my mother has cooked regularly for me since childhood. It could best be described as a vegetable stew, highly spiced with a variety of aromatics and traditionally accompanied by a baked item not unlike a Terran flatbread. It is both nutritious and filling as well as pleasingly flavourful.

As requested, I have given thought to your query regarding vacation destinations since our last correspondence. I appreciate the flexibility you exhibited in your extensive recounting of the variety of different climates and activities which you enjoy when at leisure. While I would endeavour to be accommodating in any future travel planning we may undertake together, I must be honest in conveying my preference for warmer climates. I am not fond of the cold, having spent my formative years raised in a much warmer environment. I am able to adapt adequately to low temperatures when required, however, would not choose to voluntarily remain in such for an extended period were relaxation and enjoyment the primary goal of the stay. As such, I would be more inclined to favour the tropical beachside vacation you described over that of the ski resort.

Moreover, I, like you, also find reading to be a pleasant pastime, whether on a beach or otherwise. Though I would not be averse to any of the other activities you listed, I find hiking allows for an acceptable mixture of physical exercise and appreciation of the natural environment. I am also experienced in rock climbing and would be willing to undertake such an activity together provided correct safety equipment was employed. I have had fewer opportunities to swim in the past, though I am proficient enough to assure my safety in calm to moderate water conditions. Should this be an activity in which you find particular enjoyment then I would be pleased to accompany you.

To conclude today's missive, I wished to broach the topic of progressing our courtship.

As we have now been conversing for twenty-two days, and our correspondence has remained frequent and meaningful, the Federation Dating Service User Guidelines suggest that this may be an appropriate point at which to progress to the use of their instant messaging platform, to allow for real time communication. I will leave the final decision with you as to whether you are currently prepared to take this next step. Should you require further time communicating via this long form method then rest assured I shall make no objection.

I do, however, believe that I have now garnered an accurate enough impression of your character to be confident in my desire to further our acquaintance. Should you feel the same then I would be pleased to have the opportunity to converse with you more flexibly.

As ever, I await your reply.

P.S. Queen’s knight to centre board E4.

The usual smile had spread across Jim’s face as he’d begun to read through the new letter. The ready manner in which his match shared their thoughts with him, and spoke about hypothetical plans, filled him with a warm glow that provided a pleasant respite from the now omnipresent cold that plagued him.

Sharing opinions on the latest scientific and engineering innovations was fun, but discussing vacation destinations and the activities they might enjoy made Jim feel like they were both actively working towards a shared future.

Finding out after the first week that his match was also an accomplished chess player had been an exciting bonus. They were now well into a correspondence game, which he was keeping track of on a virtual board programme on his personal terminal. Jim would have used the board in his quarters, but since the improvement in their interactions, he and Spock had once more taken to playing in their cabins rather than the rec room, alternating venue with each game.

The daily letters between himself and his match had developed a comfortable rhythm all their own and Jim looked forward to each one and the new aspects of his match that it revealed.

He’d been entirely unprepared for the sudden suggestion to abandon their current format—reminiscent of the paper correspondence traded between lovers in Terran classics by authors such as Austen, Woolf and Brontë—in favour of the more fast paced communication of instant messaging.

The prospect made the butterflies in his stomach give a sudden swoop. And not just because his match had essentially just implied that they liked him a lot and wanted to take the next step towards a romantic relationship.

It wasn’t that Jim didn’t want to. Rather, the long-form letters had given him the freedom to take his time in formulating an appropriate reply to each question and to come up with insightful queries and commentary of his own.

Instant messaging was just that, instant. And while James T. Kirk was no stranger to thinking on his feet, he couldn’t help but wonder if the stripped down, off-the-cuff version of himself would be met with as much positivity as the more considered persona he’d cultivated up until now.

Don’t be silly, he chided himself, they need to get to know all of you, this is the next logical step, no point putting it off.

And so, decision made, Jim took a measured breath and set about composing his reply.

Chapter Text

Almost since the moment that he had emerged from his deep meditation—following the unexpected discovery of the nascent connection between himself and Kirk—Spock had felt a peaceful stability that had increasingly eluded him for many months.

The new barrier he had erected around his end of the connection was holding firm, and the resulting improvement in his emotional control was significant.

Spock was satisfied, given the available evidence, that the connection had been the source of his deteriorating mental integrity when in close proximity to his captain.

In retrospect—having now given many hours of meditation to the consideration of all that had passed—Spock found it unsurprising that he had been so affected. Vulcan minds naturally sought out a compatible mate, mental harmony being the most important aspect of any suitable match.

Since most families still followed the tradition of matching their children from a young age and implementing preliminary betrothal bonds—and any adults who found themselves unbonded would logically seek out a replacement bond swiftly thereafter—it was rarely the case that an unbonded adult mind should be left to call out for an extended period of time. And in the few cases where a new bond could not be formed, a mind healer would be called upon to assist in suppressing the urge, either temporarily or permanently as the situation required.

His own betrothal bond had been broken more than two years earlier and in the intervening period—perhaps due to their previously shared melds, his emotional attachment to the captain, their high level of mental compatibility, or some combination thereof—his mind had identified Kirk as his new mate, driving him as a biological imperative to complete the bond such that he would find solace when his Time once again returned.

Spock had assumed that, being only half Vulcan, he may have been spared the full force of the Vulcan mating drive. However, in this, as in his hopes for a less severe Pon Farr, he had been mistaken. In hindsight he should have employed the aid of a mind healer prior to leaving Vulcan. However, at the time he was still recovering from the Plak tow and believed he had been responsible for the violent death of his captain, friend and beloved. His logic had been compromised.

Though he might be excused on that occasion for not having had the presence of mind to address his unbonded status prior to leaving his home world, he could not excuse his failure to return and seek out support in the subsequent years.

Had he not recently, once again, brought his emotions under control, Spock may have felt shame and embarrassment at his own irrational behaviour and failure to realise sooner what was happening.

Though perhaps, he allowed, he could be forgiven for not realising sooner what he was being driven to. For one thing, he could not have known that there was already a preexisting connection present in their minds. Despite their compatibility, Kirk was psi-null and it was usually extremely difficult, if not impossible, to form an enduring mental bond with such a mind. Indeed it had taken multiple attempts, with the assistance of a great many skilled mind adepts, in order to finally complete the marriage bond his parents shared. The fact that even such a slight, nascent connection had formed spontaneously between Kirk and himself was an anomaly for which Spock could not account.

Secondly, when a Vulcan mind is being driven to bond, it becomes a singular purpose, overwhelming the unconscious mind with a desire to meld, claim and protect. Spock had felt all of these desires when near to his captain, but at the time had lacked the mental clarity to see them for the indicative symptoms they were. Now that he had effectively blocked the connection, it was obvious to him that he had been compelled in his actions, and only his long-held sense of duty and propriety as a Starfleet Officer had allowed him to pull away and keep a tenuous hold on his control for as long as he had.

He had considered briefly, upon becoming cognisant of these facts, whether his feelings towards the captain might also be a symptom of the biological drive to mate. However, upon internal reflection, he found that the emotional attachments to Kirk remained. Indeed, the emotions predated the symptoms of the mating drive by a significant period of time. He was still very much in love with Kirk, and yet it was now much easier to keep those feelings in check; appropriately tucked away behind his mental barriers where they could no longer interfere with either their friendship nor their working relationship.

This newly recovered equilibrium had not come without cost, however. Besides having to live with the knowledge of what could be between him and his beloved but would never come to pass, Spock had suffered a number of mild but manageable side effects since completing the barrier just over three weeks ago.

He struggled more than he previously had to find comfort in the human-normal ambient temperature aboard the ship. Usually, his unobtrusive regulation thermal underlayers were enough to take the edge off the slightly too cool air, but now even with the additional clothing in place he found any location outwith his own quarters to be uncomfortably cold.

Even in the relative comfort of his own cabin, with the environmental controls straining at their highest setting, Spock never managed to completely banish the chill from his core.

He had also suffered from a continuous low level headache over the same period. And while it was nothing so severe that he could not adequately suppress and ignore the pain with his Vulcan mental disciplines, it was distracting enough that he had noted an 8.6% reduction in his overall work efficiency while completing his duties. This still left him with an efficiency rating far in excess of any other member of the crew, but the fact that he was unable to work at his peak caused a frustration which Spock was forced to process and release during his nightly meditations.

However, on balance, Spock considered these mild inconveniences an equitable trade for the ability to once again take his place at Kirk’s side unhindered. Their working relationship, though it had suffered a great deal less than their personal one, was reinvigorated, and they had returned to the fluid exchanges of thought and action that had been the hallmark of their command team since the earliest days of Kirk’s captaincy.

Moreover, their time spent off duty had recovered the easy bonhomie and enjoyment of shared company thathad been so notably absent. In fact, although they perhaps spent less time together now than they had prior to his pulling away from Kirk, Spock had noted what he could only describe as an increase in the quality of their interactions.

Where once Spock would have spent his time with his friend focussed on his struggle for emotional control and unrequited affections, now he found himself free to once again enjoy Kirk’s company, unencumbered by any drive to push for more than the pleasant companionship he had so generously been gifted.

As his awareness of the impact that blocking the connection had had on both himself and his interactions with his captain grew, Spock had been vigilant for any signs that Kirk was similarly suffering as a result of the new barrier. However, when Spock observed him, Kirk appeared to be as healthy and alert as ever, not seeming afflicted by any persistent pain which would be more easily read in a human, even one so experienced in pushing aside his own discomfort.

He had noted an increase in the frequency with which Kirk appeared distracted, and there had been one moment, a week previously, following their sparring match, where the captain had appeared to sway slightly as if dizzy. When questioned about it, Kirk had dismissed the momentary instability and occasional moments of distraction as fatigue, and Spock had no particular reason to doubt this explanation. It had been a long time since their last shore leave, and the captain in particular had not taken sufficient rest during their week at Quadra Sigma III due to complications which had hindered the scheduled maintenance of the deflector array. That, paired with the daily stresses of command, made it highly likely that Kirk was beginning to feel the effects of physical and psychological strain.

Spock did not believe that Kirk’s condition was such that it affected his ability to fulfil his duties. Still, it was the job of the first officer to ensure the wellbeing of his captain, and something he could not specifically identify perturbed him with regard to the captain’s condition. So he had made a point of raising the matter privately with Dr McCoy in order to gain his perspective on the captain’s current state of health.

Entering sickbay following the duty shift after his sparring match with Kirk, Spock had glanced around to ascertain McCoy’s whereabouts, finding him looming over a somewhat cowed-looking young ensign while pressing a hypospray rather forcefully to their neck.

“Now gather up the common sense the good Lord gave ya and next time wear the provided safety equipment!” ranted the doctor, coming to the end of what Spock was sure had been a lengthy diatribe.

“Yes sir,” the Ensign replied timidly, head hanging as they picked nervously at the edge of a medical dressing covering their left wrist.

“Well then, you’re dismissed,” said McCoy slightly more gently, and the Ensign slid from the biobed and scurried for the door. Their eyes widened when they spotted Spock but they didn’t slow their pace, merely nodding politely as they passed; their desire to escape any more of the doctor's wrath clearly outweighed any intimidation they felt at unexpectedly encountering the first officer.

McCoy, having tidied away his various medical implements and begun a decontamination cycle on both the equipment trays and biobed, turned to meet Spock’s eye from across the room. “Well, look what the cat dragged in. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?” asked the doctor with a wry smile.

“Doctor, your attempts at humour are as predictable as they are illogical. Nonetheless, I am here for a purpose. Might we speak privately?” replied Spock, the mild quirk of his eyebrow telegraphing to McCoy that Spock’s comment had been delivered in the same spirit of friendly rivalry as had the doctor’s.

“Of course, step into my parlour,” said McCoy, gesturing for Spock to precede him into his office.

The door closing with a soft hiss behind him, McCoy moved into the room behind Spock and perched himself on the edge of his desk. He didn’t bother to offer him a seat, familiar as he was with the Vulcan’s preference to remain on his feet for most of their interactions.

“So what’s the problem, Spock?” asked McCoy, crossing his arms across his chest as he scanned his eyes up and down Spock’s length, no doubt already searching for any visible indicators which would help him formulate a diagnosis.

“I have no problem. I am in perfect health. I merely wished to enquire as to whether you had any concerns with regard to the captain’s wellbeing of late?” asked Spock.

“Jim?” began McCoy, brow furrowing in thought and concentration as he considered the query. “As it happens, I ran a full panel on him a couple of weeks ago. Couldn’t find a damn thing wrong with him beyond the usual fatigue and stress that comes with captaining this boat through the black. That man needs a holiday! But the last few times I’ve seen him he’s been fine, happy even. He seems quite taken with this guy he’s talking to through the F.D.S. Why? What's got you worried?” asked McCoy

Spock was relieved that the captain was in good health. Had he been suffering any significant side effects of the blocked connection then he would have no doubt informed the doctor, and anything impacting his health would have shown up when McCoy had run his tests.

Satisfied that he had his answer, and not wishing to discuss the reason for his initial query, Spock fell back on the habitual verbal sparring which was integral to his friendship with McCoy. The most sure-fire way to get a rise out of the good doctor being for Spock to, as the doctor put it, ‘pedantically nitpick every damn word that comes out my mouth.’

As such, Spock deflected McCoy’s question by replying, “I never worry, as you are well aware. Also, I believe the designator 'guy' when used in the singular typically refers to a male. Given the captain's known preferences, a different term might be more appropriate in this context.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Spock, but I’ve seen you worry plenty over the years,” McCoy said, rolling his eyes. “And ‘guy’ happens to be the correct designator in this instance, smart-ass, Jim’s pretty sure his match is a male.”

Spock felt his body stiffen at these words, his mind reeling with the implications as he stated unthinkingly, “The captain does not entertain romantic relationships with males.”

To Spock’s surprise, the doctor responded by bursting into loud laughter. “Tell that to the guys I shooed out of our dorm room over the years at the Academy, or the lieutenant he dated for a year on the Farragut. Why, this one time…”

As McCoy continued, a new understanding was visited upon Spock; realisation building steadily like a wave swelling before breaking against the shore.

Until this point Spock had laboured under the mistaken opinion that his captain and friend had not entertained him as a romantic prospect based primarily upon his gender. He now understood that the decision had been made based on much more individualised variables.

Spock could not fault Kirk for determining he was an unfit mate; T’Pring had felt the same from the age of seven when they had first been promised to one another by their parents. He had lived with that disapproval and disdain seeping endlessly through their betrothal bond for decades until finally she had been freed from him after the Kal-if-fee. The distinction here being that T’Pring had had no choice but to reluctantly be bound to Spock, while Kirk on the other hand could choose freely—and evidently had.

His attention momentarily focused internally as he assimilated this new information, Spock realised he had momentarily lost track of what McCoy had been saying. As the doctor’s drawling monologue once again broke through his ruminations, Spock found himself suddenly confronted with how dramatically he had apparently miscalculated his assumptions regarding Kirk.

“...spend more time with him than anyone. I mean, Lord, Spock, you didn’t think Jim was straight, did you?” asked McCoy, chuckling lightly as he spoke, clearly offering the words in jest.

At a loss for how to respond, Spock’s silence must have gone on for a moment too long because he suddenly found himself the subject of McCoy’s scrutinising gaze; the doctor's eyes widening after a second in mingled shock and alarm.

“Oh my god, you did!” exclaimed McCoy. “I know he has a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man, but he’s never made any secret of his sexuality, I assumed you’d know—”

“I am sure that the captain’s sexual preferences are none of my concern, Doctor.” Spock cut him off. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other duties to attend to.”

“Spock—Spock, hang on!” called McCoy, but Spock had already swept out into the main sickbay and towards the doors to the corridor.

He kept up his brisk pace as he continued his journey through the ship. Spock regretted his abrupt departure—McCoy was no doubt perturbed by the encounter, clearly not having intended to cause any distress with his remarks—however, he required time to process his new understanding and the associated emotions it had stirred within him, and it would have been impossible to do so effectively while also managing the doctor’s emotional outburst and heated oratory.

He was due shortly to meet with Uhura for an evening meal in the mess, but judged that he had enough time to detour briefly into a nearby observation lounge that was on his route. As he entered the room he looked around, searching for other occupants, but found it empty. Grateful for the good fortune he stepped past the assorted seating—mostly soft sofas and armchairs intended to be comfortable for relaxing upon while stargazing—and took up a spot in front of the floor to ceiling viewport that comprised the entire back wall of the room.

Looking out into the familiar black expanse, Spock let his eyes trace a path from one twinkling point of light to the next as they littered the darkness like precious gems scattered across velvet.

His gaze softened as he once again turned his attention within. Rather than attempting to immediately quell the torrent of his thoughts, he instead focussed on his physical body, bringing his breathing and heart rate in turn back under his conscious control. As his body calmed, so too did the churning waters of his mind; crashing waves tumbling haphazardly one upon the other beginning to settle into more manageable ripples across the surface of his once still thoughts.

Spock considered the revelation of Kirk’s true preferences as he stared out into the vastness of space. He took the opportunity to logically assess and release each emotional reaction attached to the news, unpicking each one as if it were a thread from a Gordian Knot. After around fifteen minutes, and once again free of any undue emotional influence, it was clear to Spock that this new information had little practical impact on his current circumstances. Whether romantically and sexually attracted to males or not, in more than three years Kirk had made no definitive move to engage Spock in a romantic relationship. He was pursuing alternative partners and by McCoy’s account was happily progressing with one of his matches. The reasoning behind his decision to discount Spock as a potential partner made little difference.

He had been surprised also to find during his ruminations that, while a relationship with his captain had been his deepest desire for years, he now also felt a reluctance at the prospect of setting aside his burgeoning romance with his F.D.S. match. He could not adequately justify to himself why he felt a strong pull towards such a new relationship with an individual he had yet to meet in person. Especially when compared to his long-standing desire for Kirk. However, as there was little chance of a relationship with Kirk, the point was moot and Spock concluded that to pursue the line of thought any further at this time would be unproductive.

Given all these variables, as well as his own desire to safeguard his newly recovered friendship with Kirk, Spock could see no logic in attempting to once again pursue the captain as a mate, despite his romantic preferences apparently extending to men. There was no guarantee of success and every chance that it could result in significant detriment to their existing relationship.

No, things were best left as they were.

Spock and Kirk may not be lovers but they were friends, colleagues and brothers in arms in a way that Spock had never experienced with another individual in all his life. If this was as much as he could ever expect from Kirk, then it was more than satisfactory.

Content that he was once more in full control of himself both mentally and physically, Spock straightened his uniform tunic with a single sharp tug and cast a final glance out across the glittering starscape. Then, turning on his heel, he proceeded back towards the door and his imminent meeting with Uhura.

Since the resolution of their difficulties, Spock had found an unexpected benefit, which had resulted from the amended dynamic between himself and Kirk. For the first time in his life, Spock had found himself actively included in a social circle.

Where he had previously maintained amicable acquaintances with other members of the crew, Spock’s social interactions had always been limited to the time he spent alone with Kirk and his regular rehearsals with Uhura. Individual activities, between him and the two people on the ship he felt confident socialising with beyond polite commentary offered in passing.

He had always felt that when it came to the social dynamics of the crew, he stood alone on the periphery. More ‘a friend of a friend’ as he had heard it put, than someone others desired to spend time with based on his own merits. An outsider looking in, as he had always been while growing up on Vulcan.

Recently, however, by merely being more often in the shared social spaces aboard the ship there had been a marked, if unexpected, shift, and suddenly Spock found himself being actively included in social gatherings. He was engaged in conversations, his opinions sought during discussions and his participation requested in diverting activities, regardless of whether Kirk or Uhura were present.

While in many ways these larger group settings still made him somewhat uncomfortable—and the intricacies of many of social dynamics continued to elude him—Spock could not say that he was altogether displeased with the change. It was pleasant, after so long, to feel that he was finally being accepted more widely by his crewmates. Indeed, senior staff members such as Sulu, Chekov and Scott had become noticeably more comfortable in his presence. This had not only contributed to the enjoyment of their shared off duty time, but had thus far resulted in a 4.3% increase in the efficiency of their work, as they more freely shared their thoughts and suggestions with him while on duty.

Spock found himself most satisfied with the diversification of his leisure time. He continued to value the time he spent with Kirk, and yet no longer felt that he was imposing himself; that his captain perhaps felt responsible for providing company where Spock had few alternatives.

Now his off duty hours included a mixture of time spent with Kirk, but also other members of the senior staff.

He continued his weekly rehearsals with Uhura but had also found himself joining Sulu in the Botany lab working on personal projects: Spock attempting to create a hybrid of a Vulcan Perek and Terran Aquilegia to create a more hardy bloom, while Sulu tracked the effect of different anthropogenic soil compositions on the proliferation of Antaren creeping vines.

He had also discovered that Chekov had been attempting for some time to teach himself the Vulcan game of Kal-toh. The Ensign had been delighted when Spock had offered to assist with instruction in understanding the logic and strategy of the game, and they had spent two engaging evenings thus far furthering his skill. Chekov was a fast learner and Spock estimated that within a few months he may develop into an adequate enough opponent to result in some engaging matches.

Yes, Spock found himself quite satisfied with the positive alterations that the past few weeks had brought to his life aboard the Enterprise. However, the area in which he felt he had made the most gratifying progress was in his correspondence with his third match, User 116625.

Over the three weeks since Spock had sent his initial reply, he and his match had engaged in a spirited correspondence spanning eighteen long-form missives exchanged via the F.D.S. communications server.

He had corresponded with other matches to one degree or another, but it had quickly become clear to Spock that the most logical course of action would be to focus his efforts on the existing match with the greatest chance of yielding a viable relationship. As such, he had temporarily blocked his account to new matches.

Thus far, Spock had found his exchanges with his match to be stimulating and enjoyable. He believed that their correspondence had covered an appropriate mixture of topics such that he had been able to form an accurate opinion of his match’s character and suitability as a potential spouse.

Further to his logical appraisal of the information at hand, he could also admit that his match had stirred within him an emotional response; he felt drawn to them. Perhaps not in the same way that he had previously felt irresistibly compelled to pursue Kirk, but he nonetheless desired to know more about them, to progress their correspondence and eventually, he hoped, shed the anonymity of the service and meet in person.

He kept these emotions in tight check, but acknowledged that it was appropriate to be emotionally invested in one’s mate and, should their match be successful, it would not be unseemly for him to nurture these growing affections. For the moment, however, he neatly tucked them behind his mental barriers where they could not unduly influence his judgement.

Spock had been sure to once again convey his appreciation for her help to Uhura during one of their rehearsals. She had been delighted to hear that her guidance had led to a potentially promising match and she had since enquired at each of their meetings as to the progress of their correspondence, often offering valuable insights and advice which Spock was then able to consider when drafting his replies.

As he returned to his quarters following their most recent rehearsal, Spock found himself eagerly anticipating a new response from his match. Having decided that he had gained sufficient information to assess their compatibility thus far, he had suggested in his last missive that they progress their correspondence to the next suggested level and utilise the instant messaging feature within the F.D.S. communications network. Unsure how his match would respond to this request, he attempted to retain a stoic equanimity, but experienced instead an internal struggle between mild apprehension and cautious optimism.

Returning to his quarters, Spock crossed the room to his desk and did indeed find a response awaiting him in his inbox. Seeing no logic in delay, he clicked into the message and began to read.

F.D.S. Correspondence: User 116625 || Stardate: 65319.3 23:02 FST

Hey you,

I did sleep well, thank you. Hope you did too.

Your insights on T’Gar’s theory were, as always, fascinating. The idea of boosting warp engine efficiency by up to twenty percent is thrilling and I agree, maintaining a flow rate above six point three would be crucial for overall system stability. There’s no point having a faster engine if the extra speed comes at the risk of jeopardising your crew.

Though it is exciting to think about where this could take us in our explorations if they could refine the technology. How many more sectors could we explore, how many new races could we meet on new worlds, if we could expand our ability to traverse space more efficiently?

Your take on the ‘last meal’ scenario made me chuckle. Mindfulness in the face of fear is a wise approach; I’d expect no less from you. And that vegetable stew your mother makes sounds delicious—there’s something special about a meal that brings back memories of home. What spices does she use? I’m always curious about new flavours.

Regarding vacations, I appreciate your honesty about your preferences. A tropical beachside vacation sounds ideal. Warm sun, gentle waves, and a good book—can't beat that.

I’m glad to hear you're open to trying new activities together, including swimming. Have you ever tried snorkelling? It’s incredible to see underwater life up close. Hiking and rock climbing also sound like a great way to balance relaxation with some adventure, and don’t worry I’m happy for us to use all the proper safety equipment. I wouldn't want to ruin your enjoyment with worrying about my safety.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we found ourselves relaxing on that beach one day and looking back on these initial conversations as where it all started? Maybe that’s just the romantic in me talking, but it’s a pleasant thought.

As for progressing our correspondence to the instant messaging platform, I have to admit, your proposal gave me pause at first. Not because I don’t want to progress things, quite the opposite, but because over the last few weeks I’ve had the luxury of curating these responses to you and I wonder how you’ll react to a more spontaneous version of me.

I don’t think it’s escaped either of our notice that we’re quite different people, and I don’t want to inadvertently scare you off by failing to ‘tone down’ any future messages. I hope I won’t unintentionally offend your sensibilities with some offhand remark. Perhaps I’m overthinking this.

The point I’m trying to make is that I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you and I want to keep getting to know you better. I suppose being concerned over messing this up speaks to how much I’ve come to value our letters.

However, never let it be said that fear held me back. Let’s take this next step and see where it leads.

Looking forward to hearing from you via the chat function.

P.S. Bishop to Queen’s level 4. Your move.

>>> System Notification: You have a new request to enable instant messaging from User 116625. Would you like to grant permission to communicate in real-time? <<<

Chapter Text

User 116625: You’ve never tried pineapple?

User 117139: That is what I just stated.

User 116625: Well, maybe I can introduce you to your first taste some day. It’s a favourite of mine. I even like it on pizza, which can be a bit controversial.

User 117139: In what way can a pizza topping be considered controversial? Surely given that taste is entirely subjective, an individual's personal preference cannot be judged as right or wrong one way or the other.

User 116625: You’d think, but no. Where I come from there’s a big historic divide between those who enjoy pineapple on pizza and those who believe that it’s some kind of abomination which shouldn’t be allowed. I realise it’s a silly, frivolous thing for anyone to be concerned about, but such are the quirks of society sometimes I suppose.

User 117139: Indeed. I am afraid I can offer no opinion on that particular topic, having tasted neither pineapple nor pizza. I do, however, understand your commentary on the ‘quirks’ of your culture. I imagine, when considered objectively, many aspects of my own culture might seem unusual or even bizarre to an outsider.

User 116625: You’ve never had pizza either?! Oh my, it seems you’re in need of an entire culinary education!

User 117139: And you feel that you are qualified to compile a suitable curriculum? Might I remind you that thus far our discussions of food have centred mainly around highly processed snack foods. Namely: cookies, hot dogs, popcorn, and pizza.

User 116625: Ok, ok, point taken. Clearly I haven’t been showing my best side when it comes to talking about food, but in my defence those are some of my favourite guilty pleasures I’ve been sharing with you. That’s highly personal information I‘ll have you know. I don’t discuss my preferred pizza toppings with just anyone!

User 117139: Then I apologise for failing to appreciate the importance of the personal insights you were sharing. I shall take careful note of your preferences in case I should be in a position to provide you with one of your preferred dishes in the future.

User 116625: No no, I’m just teasing, there’s no need to apologise. I guess tone can be hard to read via text communication. Though just to be clear, I do eat healthily most of the time. I probably focus so much on the unhealthy stuff because I don’t get to have it very often. I like a variety of foods though, and wouldn’t be at all averse to enjoying some of that vegetable stew with you, should the opportunity arise.

User 117139: I would be amenable to you sampling the dish in question. Indeed, I find the prospect of sharing a meal with you most agreeable.

User 116625: Me too. I hope we get the chance sooner rather than later. I need to sign off for a while. Talk to you later?

User 117139: Certainly. I hope you have a productive day.

User 116625: You too, talk soon.

Spock had been conversing with his match daily via the instant messaging function for just over six weeks now, and while the content and tone of their communications had changed somewhat, he found that he greatly enjoyed conversing in real-time with his match.

Although their long form missives had been genial and engaging, there was an unfiltered quality to the instant replies which provided insights into his match which might otherwise have remained hidden.

In hindsight—and taking into account the new evidence available to him—it had become apparent to Spock that while they were trading ‘letters’ his match had been making an effort to meet Spock’s more formal tone. Now that their interactions were more spontaneous, he found that his match would fall more frequently into what was clearly their natural rhythm of communication. Their unconscious use of cultural references were numerous, littered throughout their choice of phrasing and anecdotes; placing them more firmly as not only Human, but likely of North American descent.

Another considerable change to their communications—a positive one in Spock’s opinion—had been in the frequency of their correspondence. Where they had previously traded messages approximately six times per week, now multiple fragmented conversations littered each day. He never corresponded while on duty, keeping their conversations limited to his leisure time; ever aware of his responsibilities as both chief science officer and first officer, Spock refused to compromise his work by partaking in personal conversations during his working hours. However, if he had fallen into the habit of checking his messages during his meal breaks—well, he considered that that was his own time and would not interfere with his overall productivity.

The increased frequency of their communication had bred both familiarity and affection and Spock found that he eagerly anticipated each new opportunity to speak with them; more drawn to this unique and compelling individual with each passing day. Some of their conversations were serious, tackling philosophical conundrums of morality and ethics, and others more frivolous and lighthearted, but with every exchange Spock was able to gather a broader understanding of their personality, slotting another puzzle piece into place to slowly reveal the picture of their character.

They were compassionate and loyal, cultured and intelligent, spirited but grounded. They viewed the universe in unique ways and were endlessly curious. Spock felt illogically that he had found in them both a complete opposite and a kindred spirit; an energetic Yang to his more tempered Yin.

Their conversations to date had spanned a plethora of diverse topics ranging from food, travel and music to science, literature and philosophy. And while their perspectives and opinions had not always aligned, the debates which followed had always been free of judgement or animosity. Instead his match seemed to thrive on the act of debate itself; formulating arguments and counter arguments, illustrating their points with reference to myriad obscure evidence sources, which only served to reinforce how extensive their knowledge was on multiple subjects. They also—somewhat surprisingly, and uncommonly in his experience—appeared equally happy to be swayed by Spock’s reasoning as they were when they managed to shift his perspective. Many of their discussions however, ended in an amiable stalemate, each respecting the other’s right to a differing opinion.

Now certain to within a tenth of a percent that his match was a human, and had likely been raised on Earth, Spock found that he was quite satisfied with this conclusion. The longer he ruminated on the topic, the more he felt that a human spouse would be the most appropriate fit for him given both his mixed heritage and his extensive experience of living and working alongside Human friends and colleagues.

He had thus far been mindful not to make reference to anything that could potentially identify himself as Vulcan, however. Spock consoled himself that he was merely adhering to their agreement to retain their anonymity at this time. However, he would not deny that he still harboured some mild apprehension that his race might prove an unpleasant surprise for his match should they progress to exchanging their true identities, or meeting physically. He could only hope that they would have formed a good enough opinion of him via their shared correspondence by that time that it would counterbalance any cultural biases they may harbour.

Despite his misgivings, Spock had felt increasingly certain that there existed the potential between them for a successful relationship and he wished to progress their acquaintance further. Cognisant, however, that his match may require more time to make that determination for themselves, he had been content to wait and broach the subject after a longer period of correspondence.

It had been a surprise, therefore, when his match, after only a further week of correspondence, had been the one to introduce the topic.

User 116625: So, I’ve been thinking…

User 117139: A statement which may be said to be true of any sapient lifeform at any particular point in their life cycle.

User 116625: Ha ha, very funny!

User 116625: I’ve been thinking… Things are progressing pretty well between us, right? I mean, I think we’ve gotten to know each other fairly well now.

Spock was unsure towards which point his match was driving, but found himself gratified that they too felt that their correspondence had progressed well thus far.

User 117139: I would agree with that assessment. I certainly feel that I now understand your character and the key aspects of your personality to a serviceable degree.

User 116625: Exactly! I feel like I now know you as well as I’m going to be able to without dropping the anonymity and being able to share real information about ourselves and our lives.

Surprised by the sudden prospect of losing the anonymity that had sat between them like both barrier and shield, Spock suppressed a brief flurry of nervous energy. His fear was illogical. The point of this entire endeavour had been to find a suitable mate, an undertaking which would necessarily require direct contact and a full exchange of personal information at some point.

Chiding himself for his illogic, he first sought to clarify that he had correctly understood his match’s intentions.

User 117139: You wish for us to reveal our identities to one another?

User 116625: Yeah.

User 116625: No!

The two messages arrived in quick succession, fast enough that Spock was prevented from offering comment in between. He found himself perplexed by the contradictory replies and so was unable to immediately formulate a response of his own. Before one was required, however, his match provided elucidation.

User 116625: I mean, yes, I do want that, but not right now. Not this very minute. I’d actually hoped that you might be open to the idea of us meeting soon?

Spock’s eyebrows rose as he took in the proposal to meet, leaning back against the soft cushioning of the small sofa where he sat at the rear of one of the quieter recreation rooms.

He had expected that it would be himself who would eventually propose progressing to this next step in their relationship, in much the same way that he had proposed their move to the instant messaging platform. He found, however, that he was not displeased that his match had beat him to it, as it were. Their request was a clear indication that they were invested in the process and felt positively towards Spock as a prospective mate. He was gratified by the knowledge, and if he was not quite so quick to suppress the blush of affection and pride that swelled within him—well, no one but himself need be aware.

Conscious that he did not wish for a delay in reply to be misread as hesitance on his part, he typed his next message promptly, mere seconds having passed as he’d considered their proposal.

User 117139: I would not be averse to meeting with you in person at this juncture. It will be necessary at some point should we wish to further our relationship, and I see no reason why we could not progress to that stage in the near future.

User 116625: Wonderful!

User 116625: We’ll have to coordinate a location and time when we could both get leave. I’m not sure how easy that will be but it would be good to have something to look forward to.

Spock thought of his impending shore leave at Starbase Six and attempted to assess the variables that would be required to calculate the probability of his match being available during that same time period. He found though that he lacked sufficient data for such a prediction and concluded that the most logical course of action would be to agree on an initial location that would be mutually accessible and then assess the timescales from there. The likelihood of two individuals, both of whom travel the galaxy on starships, being available for leave at the same time and in the same sector, without extensive prior planning, was vanishingly small. Still, Spock saw no harm in proposing his next destination as a catalyst for further discussion; plans could then be made and agreed, and perhaps in a few months they might be able to coordinate a meeting.

He was extremely surprised therefore, when his proposal was met with easy acquiescence; no apparent impediment arising to delay their inaugural rendezvous.

User 117139: Starbase Six is considered central to many Federation sectors and is easily accessible via multiple public transport routes. Unless, of course, you would rather meet on a planet?

User 116625: No, not at all. Starbase Six would be absolutely ideal actually. I could be there in two weeks from where I am now, if that was enough time for you to arrange travel? Probably not, but then maybe we could look to coordinate future leave to make it back out that way.

User 117139: That would be satisfactory. I too find myself within range of the Starbase within that period. Would you be available on stardate 65342.1?

User 116625: Yes, that would work for me. Oh, wow… That was much easier than I thought it would be. Maybe the Great Bird of the Galaxy is looking out for us huh?

Spock was not one to put stock in divine providence, but he found himself grateful to whatever improbable sequence of galactic events had aligned to allow for them to find success with such immediacy.

User 117139: As you have previously conveyed to me the particulars of your religious affiliations, I can only assume that your comment was meant in jest to emphasise the unexpectedly favourable alignment of our availability. I too am gratified that our meeting need not be unduly delayed.

User 116625: Got it in one. See, you know me so well already and we haven’t even met yet.

An unanticipated flush of pleasure spread through Spock at this comment and—conscious of his public surroundings, albeit the room only contained five other crew members—he had to actively work to control his vasodilation to keep the green tinge from his neck, face and ears.

User 117139: I look forward to continuing to broaden my knowledge of you when we meet.

User 116625: You’re such a sweet talker, anyone ever tell you that?

They had not. However, given the increasing proportion of his conscious attention that was required to control his blush, his match had continued before Spock could relay that fact.

User 116625: Perfect, sounds like we have a plan, or at least part of a plan. I know a cosy little cafe on the station. Great selection of food and drinks but nice and quiet. It’s called Maria’s, do you know it?

User 117139: I have not patronised the establishment personally but am aware of its whereabouts on the station. I would be pleased to meet you there.

User 116625: Would 15:00 hours suit?

User 117139: I believe that the appropriate response at this time would be ‘It’s a date.’

User 116625: Yes, I believe it is.

After they exchanged their goodbyes and signed off, Spock placed his comm unit on the table before him and folded his hands in his lap. Contentment cocooned him like a warm blanket and he indulged in a moment of unabashed delight that he would soon find himself face to face with the individual who had quickly become of marked importance to him. Carefully ensuring that no hint of his emotions was evident on his face, he looked up and cast his gaze around the sparsely populated rec room. Something of his elevated mood must have broken through his neutral mask, however, as the approaching form of Nyota Uhura smiled at him and stated, “You look like a man who just received some good news, Mr Spock.”

A brief flicker of shame flared within him for failing to keep his emotions from his expression and bearing but was quickly subsumed. Uhura was his friend and was uncommonly adept at interpreting all forms of language including minute physical cues; he need not feel ashamed that their communications officer was able to read him better than most. He had seen her do the same with full-blooded Vulcans. There was no fault here.

Moreover, he was glad for the opportunity to update her on this most recent development. He valued her council and had been grateful for both her guidance and encouragement throughout each stage of his burgeoning relationship.

“Indeed,” he replied. “I have in fact just finished coordinating the details of an inaugural meeting between myself and my match when we dock at Starbase Six in two weeks’ time. I believe you would refer to it as a first date.”

“Oh, Mr Spock. That’s wonderful!” Uhura enthused as she dropped herself quickly onto the other side of the small sofa, hands clasped tightly before her chest in excitement and an expression of utter joy brightening her seraphic features. “I’m so excited for you. First dates are always thrilling, but you have the advantage of already knowing so much about one another which means you can skip past the usual awkwardness of the initial meeting. Do you mind my asking what your plans are?” Spock, like most Vulcans, usually preferred to keep all personal information to himself. However, he found that he did not mind sharing this with his friend. Not only had she been instrumental in getting him this far, but he had since seen the merits of her insights that the sharing of certain personal information could facilitate closer bonds while still allowing for boundaries to be respected. He need not abandon his Vulcan values and need for privacy entirely in order to nurture and maintain friendships with his human colleagues. He could, as Uhura had phrased it, ‘meet them halfway’; it was a concession, the benefits of which he felt outweighed the occasional discomfort he felt.

Checking his peripheral vision briefly to confirm that none of the room’s other occupants were within earshot of their conversation, Spock said, “We are to meet at an eatery on the starbase, an establishment called Maria’s.”

“Oh, I know the one, I’ve been there a few times. Once or twice on dates myself actually. It’s a lovely spot, nice and quiet with the tables all arranged so you get lots of privacy. Quite a romantic spot. Did you pick it or did they?” she asked.

“It was their selection. I am aware of it within the base but have not previously been inside,” Spock replied.

“Oh, well then, your match has good taste, and I daresay things must be going well because Maria’s is the perfect choice of venue if you want to have someone all to yourself. I’m guessing they intend to woo you, Mr Spock.” The communications officer grinned with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Have you thought about what you’re going to wear?”

In fact, Spock had not. Clothing was a utilitarian thing to him—there to ensure that bodies were covered for the sake of propriety, protected from damage and kept warm against external elements—he was aware, however, that many humanoid species lent much weight to the choice of attire worn for any particular occasion. Mercifully, his occupation as a Starfleet officer had, for most of his adult life, relieved him of the need to learn and adhere to these unspoken social mores. He wore his uniform daily, and any deviation from standard duty uniform was dictated by mission parameters and outlined clearly in the ‘Fleet regulations. There was no personal preference or social convention involved in wearing his dress uniform, survival gear or EV suit. He wore them because he was ordered to and because regulations required it of him. For his date though, he would be required to select an appropriate outfit and suddenly felt woefully unqualified to do so.

Meeting Uhura’s eyes, Spock saw in them an unspoken offer and with deep gratitude grasped it with both hands. “I had not yet contemplated the matter. Perhaps you would be amenable to lending your superior experience in helping me select appropriately?”

“Well, of course, I’d be delighted. If you’d like, I can come by your quarters closer to the time and help you pick something out. We need to really wow them but without looking like you’re trying too hard. I’m sure we can find something in your closet. Vulcan tailoring is so lovely, I bet you’ve already got an outfit that would knock ‘em dead.”

“Committing homicide on our date would be counterproductive to my goals,” said Spock. He understood the colloquial turn of phrase, but knew that it amused his friends—and himself, if he was being honest—to pretend that he did not on occasion.

As expected, Uhura released a tinkling staccato of laughter before replying, “I know you know what I mean, mister.”

Their conversation continued for a time, with Spock divulging a few more small nuggets of information regarding his progress with his match; each one was ravenously consumed by his enthusiastic companion.

As Beta Shift wore on they were joined by Sulu and Chekov and the evening passed easily; conversation flowed between them like gentle currents, pulling them from one interesting topic to another. Spock had been surprised to discover just how often his mind drifted back to his match as they spoke, and while he was unwilling to discuss his relationship openly in front of the helmsman and navigator—friendly though they had increasingly become—he would occasionally find himself inserting snippets of their conversations into the genial back and forth when the opportunity arose.

“I am telling you, there is nothing like it, Hikaru. You cannot beat the taste of the freshly baked pretzels from the kiosk on level five. They are the best! And I should know, pretzels were invented in Russia after all,” said Chekov with his characteristic conviction.

“You’re cracked, there is no way that a pretzel is the best thing to eat on Starbase Six. What about that Andorian-Orion fusion place on level four that sells the Esh'esh with Xiqai? Now that’s a meal to look forward to,” rebutted Sulu, setting his drink back down on the table slightly too firmly and causing a few drops to slosh over the side of the glass and onto his hand and table. Frustratedly mopping up the errant liquid, he added “And not everything was invented in Russia, Pavel. I don’t know where pretzels actually did originate but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Moscow!”

“Pfft, of course not,” scoffed Chekov. “They were invented in Leningrad, everyone knows that.”

Before the debate could degenerate further, Uhura intervened. “Now, now boys, we can all like different things. Mr Spock, is there anything you’re looking forward to sampling while we’re docked? I know they had at least one Vulcan restaurant on the main concourse the last time we were there,” she asked, redirecting the conversion with her typical diplomatic grace.

“It is always gratifying to have access to Vulcan cuisine. However, I was recently recommended some Terran foods which I also hope to sample during our shore leave,” said Spock.

His statement was met with surprised expressions from Sulu and Chekov and a knowing smile from Uhura, who quickly hid her grin behind the rim of her glass as she took a sip.

“What foods do you want to try?” asked Sulu, recovering himself marginally faster than the navigator.

“I was reliably informed that I should try pineapple, and pizza and also the two in combination,” replied Spock, who was forced to ruthlessly suppress an amused smile as the two men responded with diametric expressions and comments; Sulu’s face split in an enthusiastic grin as he said “Delicious!”, while Chekov ejected a loud “Yuck!” as his face crumpled in a disgusted sneer.

Uhura expressed the amusement Spock could not and her musical laughter rang through their small corner of the room.

At that moment, a warm hand landed firmly on Spock’s shoulder and the familiar voice of his captain broke into the animated hubbub. “Looks like I’ve been missing all the fun this evening.”

“Captain, we were just discussing what foods we want to enjoy when we get to Starbase Six. Won’t you join us?” asked Uhura cordially.

“I’m afraid I can’t tonight but thank you. I was just swinging past to get a coffee, I’ve still got some reports to finish up before I get some shut-eye,” replied Kirk.

“I would be happy to assist you with your reports, Captain, if—” began Spock but Kirk swiftly cut him off.

“No, no, Spock. It’s nothing major, just a few things I’ve been meaning to send to Command for the past week. No need to interrupt your evening, my friend. There’ll be plenty of paperwork for us both between now and when we reach Starbase Six, you enjoy your night,” insisted Kirk, smiling down at him and gently squeezing his shoulder where his hand still rested. Spock felt the barriers around their connection shudder, but still they held.

“If you are sure, sir,” said Spock.

“Quite sure. Have a good night everyone,” he said, broadening his attention to the wider group as he moved away towards the food dispensers at the rear of the room. Casting a look over his shoulder briefly, he called back, “Oh, and if you want really good food while you’re on leave, you should try the Italian on level five. The best pizza you’ll find within three sectors!”

A moment later the captain had collected his desired beverage and excited the rec room once more. The conversation picked up again but Spock found his attention split between his friends and the echoing warmth on his shoulder where Kirk’s hand had rested. The residual heat of the touch starkly contrasted with the deep chill that had now been his constant companion for many weeks.

Had Spock been a less logical being, he may have suffered under the growing cognitive dissonance of feeling strongly drawn towards two different individuals at once. His feelings for Kirk had not diminished and yet his affection for his match grew with each exchange. However, truly, there was no conundrum of choice. No decision to be made. Kirk did not desire Spock to be more than his friend and first officer, and so those were the roles the Vulcan was satisfied to fulfil. His match, however, did appear to desire to expand the parameters of their relationship. He felt from them the return of affection and desire he had long wished for from Kirk, and thus, logically, he would pursue the relationship with the highest chance of success.

He gently tucked his impression of the touch behind his mental shields to be examined and released in meditation later that night, and focussed once again on the discussion, which had now segued into available leisure activities abroad the base. Spock may not always appreciate every nuance of Human social interactions, but he knew enough to understand that his friends deserved the consideration of his full attention. Mind now clear, he rejoined the flow of conversation and comfortably passed another hour in their company before retiring for the night.

User 116625: I’ve been thinking…

The message popped up on Spock’s comm unit as he worked late in the lab over a week later, mere days prior to their arrival at the starbase. He could see the circling icon which indicated his match was typing, but hastened to add his own comment first.

User 117139: Twice in one week?

It was not the type of comment he would have injected into his daily interactions aboard the Enterprise, but he had quickly discovered that his match delighted when he made occasional attempts at humour.

User 116625: Hardeehar. You know, for someone who claims not to have a sense of humour, you’re becoming quite the comedian.

User 117139: I apologise for interrupting. Please continue.

User 116625: Like I was saying… I’ve been thinking that we should each bring something with us to the cafe so that we’ll be able to recognise one another when we arrive.

Spock paused as he considered the implications of what he’d just read. Surely the more logical approach would be to simply shed their anonymity prior to their meeting. However, he appreciated that few species adhered as strictly to logic as Vulcans, least of all Humans, and thus decided to request clarification before making further judgement.

User 117139: Would it not be more convenient to simply exchange personal information prior to our meeting so that we will be familiar with one another's appearance?

User 116625: What’s romantic about that?!

Indeed, Spock had not been considering romance when he replied. It was simply the logical next step in the progression of their investigation to assess ultimate compatibility as a couple. He saw now though that he had neglected to include some cultural variables in his deliberations. Spock was again debating the benefits of researching human romantic conventions in preparation for their meeting when his match continued.

User 116625: We’ve come this far while keeping the mystery, it would seem like a wasted opportunity not to leave the big reveal until we meet now that we have the date scheduled.

User 117139: If you believe it would be best. What manner of item do you suggest we display in order to facilitate recognition?

User 116625: Well, some of the classics are flowers or books, but that feels a little prosaic.

User 117139: Indeed?

Spock had no experience with this particular human romantic tradition and so was willing to allow his match to take the lead with relation to the planning and selection.

User 116625: I thought it might be more interesting if we each brought an item that we feel is representative of us in some way. Maybe a personal item with a story attached, or something from our home planets. That way we’ll also have things to discuss when we meet.

This suggestion had merit and Spock saw no reason to deny them, so once again he merely sought clarification as to what would be required of him. Determined to do what he could to contribute to the success of their first meeting and the satisfaction of his potential partner.

User 117139: Shall we divulge our choice of item prior to meeting?

User 116625: No, let’s leave that as a surprise too.

User 117139: Do you not then risk mistaking another patron for myself simply because they have something sitting on their table?

User 116625: Well you’ll just have to make sure it’s something that’s very obviously out of place in a cafe then. Something that is very clearly a signal.

Seeing another opportunity to amuse his match he responded,

User 117139: You are suggesting that I should not bring a salt dispenser?

User 116625: Hahahaha, I told you your sense of humour is coming along. That one made me laugh out loud!

Spock found that he was inordinately pleased to have compelled laughter from his match. He imagined what their amusement may sound like once they were together; a tinkling trill of chuckles or a booming belly laugh?

User 116625: Come on, indulge me. This is our big moment, why not fill it with some dramatic flair?

Of course Spock would acquiesce if it was what his match wanted. He increasingly found that he wished to please them, to bring them joy and laughter. His affection for them grew with each shared joke and heated debate.

User 117139: Very well. If it will please you then I shall select an appropriate item to bring with me.

User 116625: Thank you, I have the perfect thing. I can’t wait to share it with you.

As they signed off Spock had already formulated a plan with regard to procuring the item he wished to present to convey his identity. It would however, require that he approach one of his colleagues—his friends—for assistance. Thankfully he had the opportunity the following morning prior to the start of his duty shift.

“Mr Sulu, might I have a word with you?” Spock asked as he encountered the helmsman.

Sulu was just entering the officer’s mess as Spock had been preparing to leave, and appeared willing enough to be led to a quiet corner near the door for a brief exchange.

“Of course, Commander, what can I do for you?” replied Sulu as they settled into their new location out of earshot of any of the other officers either procuring or consuming their breakfasts.

“I believe that during our last meeting at the botany lab I spotted a Carnegiea Vulcanis specimen, is that correct?” asked Spock.

An enthusiastic smile split Sulu’s face as he replied. He was always animated when engaged in discussions relating to his lab work. He and Spock had now spent numerous hours working amiably together there, debating the most recent scientific discoveries in the area of paleobotany, or examining interesting samples of Cremnophyte from recent away missions.

“Yeah, we actually have three of them just now. Lieutenant Petrosyan’s been studying the unique structure of their triterpenoids. Why do you ask?” responded Sulu.

Spock hesitated momentarily, unsure how his next request would be received.

“I would like to—borrow one, if possible,” he said with only momentary hesitation. He was aware that a natural response would be to ask why he wished to borrow one, and did not wish to lie nor divulge the true reason.

“Borrow one, sir?” asked Sulu, looking mildly bemused.

“Indeed,” replied Spock matter of factly. “I would collect it upon docking at the starbase and it would be returned within twenty four hours, undamaged.”

Sulu met his eyes briefly with a searching gaze, though for what he was searching Spock could not say. Perhaps he assumed that the plant was required for some Vulcan ritual and was considering how to enquire without offending. Whether looking to avoid being culturally insensitive, or simply deferring to a superior officer, Sulu swiftly offered up a smile and said, “Of course, sir. I can drop one by your quarters after we dock if you like?”

Relieved and grateful not to be questioned further, Spock inclined his head fractionally and replied, “That won’t be necessary. I plan to visit the lab prior to undertaking my leave to perform a final check on my hybrid specimens and can collect it at that time if that would be acceptable?”

“No problem, happy to help. I guess I’ll see you later then,” said Sulu

“Thank you, Mr Sulu,” replied Spock as he turned towards the door and continued on his way to the Bridge.

Chapter Text

Preparing for shore leave was always a mixed bag of excitement and tedium.

As appealing as the thought of some rest and relaxation always was, there was just so much that needed to be done before the crew of the Enterprise could actually stop and enjoy the break from their regular shipboard routines.

Every department had to finalise their current projects, and put in place contingencies for those experiments that would need to continue to be tended to and monitored while they were docked. Rotas and shift rotations had to be written to allow for a skeleton crew to keep vital systems running while the rest of the crew were at their leisure. Logs and reports needed to be correctly formatted, compiled and reviewed so that they could be officially submitted to Starfleet Command. Everything on the ship, right down to individual crew quarters, needed to be squared away so that nothing would impede the maintenance teams from being able to gain access to complete the necessary repairs and upgrades that were scheduled to take place over the next two weeks.

All in all, it meant a sudden and steep increase in the amount of work that everyone—but in particular Jim and Spock—had to undertake before they could be released to enjoy the delights of Starbase Six.

Like most Starfleet installations this far out, the starbase itself wasn’t much to look at from the outside. A large rotating mass of grey duranium, comprising a bulbous main habitation disc where most of the leisure facilities, crew and guest quarters could be found, with the more utilitarian engineering, labs and office spaces stretching out below it in a cylindrical column. Barring the various communications antennae and sensors that intermittently stuck out from its hull, Jim felt that the overall impression was of a great mushroom idly spinning in space—though he kept that opinion to himself.

However, what the base lacked in exterior aesthetics, it more than made up for in facilities.

The interior of the starbase boasted enough accommodations, bars, restaurants, shops, gyms and other leisure activities to rival a small city back on Earth. The ship had docked there on multiple occasions over the last few years, as it was conveniently located along numerous intersecting trade routes between major systems. As such, the crew were well acquainted with the base and what it had to offer, and Jim had enjoyed the growing chatter throughout the ship as anticipation grew and his shipmates made plans for how they would spend their time away from the constraints of the ship.

Usually Jim approached shore leave with a somewhat pragmatic attitude. He knew that taking time off the ship and making use of the leisure spaces was good for him, but he was always loath to leave his silver lady. More often than not, he’d also find his own shore leave interrupted or cut short when some unforeseen complication drew his attention back to his duties. Jim knew that a starship captain was never really off duty, perpetually responsible as they were for the ship and everyone on it; that was a reality Jim had accepted long before he himself ever rose to the rank. As such, he never usually got quite as excited about these breaks as the rest of the crew.

On this occasion, however, Jim was absolutely itching to reach the starbase.

In fewer than twenty-four hours he would finally be face-to-face with his match. The prospect was thrilling, and it was all Jim could do to keep the school-boy grin off his face and maintain some semblance of professional decorum while on the bridge.

“Starbase six docking control has cleared us for arrival at port C, sir,” said Uhura, one meticulously manicured finger pressed to the gleaming transceiver in her ear.

“Thank you, Lieutenant, please confirm that we’re on final approach,” replied Jim, swivelling slightly in his captain’s chair to throw a grateful smile over his shoulder at his ever-efficient comm officer, who returned his smile with a swift, “Aye, sir.”

Turning back to face the viewscreen, Jim directed his attention to the image of the starbase, looming larger with every second that passed as they closed the distance.

“Sulu, you heard the lady, take us in and prepare for standard docking procedures,” Jim said.

“Aye, Captain, approaching docking port C now. Reducing speed, manoeuvring thrusters engaged, Enterprise at three thousand kilometres and closing,” replied the helmsman.

Jim felt the subtle vibrations of his ship shift and change as they dropped out of impulse and the engines powered down. The final metres were closed by a delicately coordinated dance of the ship’s thrusters, the station's automated tractor beams and the magnetic docking clamps. There was a hush on the bridge throughout, as if the assembled officers were collectively holding their breath in anticipation. The chirps and beeps from the station consoles the only thing to break the heavy silence.

As the ship finally made port, a small but noticeable shudder ran through the hull and the crew all glanced round, sharing broad smiles and enthusiastic whoops of delight.

“Well done, everyone,” said Jim to his crew, and then pressed the button on his armrest that opened a public broadcast comm channel to all areas of the ship. “Kirk to all crew, we’ve made port at Starbase Six. Department heads, begin coordinating your staff for rotation, and gather the first groups for disembarkation. Enjoy your leave everyone, you’ve more than earned it. Kirk out.”

Closing the channel, Kirk stood from his chair, silently indicating that the remainder of the crew were permitted to secure their stations and depart at their own convenience.

As the bridge began to buzz with low chatter and movement, Jim looked across to the science station and saw Spock gathering up some data cartridges and shutting down all non-essential functions on his panel.

Although in recent weeks Jim had found it much easier to control his attraction to Spock, there were times when it was still hard for him to ignore it. He allowed himself a brief moment to appreciate the long lines of his first officer, and the effortless grace with which he moved his lithe limbs, each motion fluid but precise.

Jim’s silent reverie was abruptly concluded when Spock turned and straightened, meeting his eye with an expression that to most others would have looked inscrutable, but to Jim was full of warmth.

“Any big plans for your shore leave, Mr Spock?” asked Jim. Jim wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but the Vulcan appeared to flinch minutely at the question before replying with a bland, “Nothing worthy of discussion,” and deflecting the conversation back towards Jim. “And you, Captain? I imagine you will be making use of the leisure facilities.”

Jim was intrigued as to what plans Spock could have for his shore leave that he didn’t want to discuss with his closest friend, but knew better than to try and pry. Instead he merely replied with a broad grin. “Absolutely, I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks! In fact, I better go and get ready, I’m not due on the base until tomorrow but I still have some final reports to sign off and I need to square away my quarters. Are you heading back now, we could walk down together?”

“I appreciate the offer, however, I intend to visit the botany labs to perform final checks on my current experiment prior to retiring,” said Spock.

“Okay then, well if I don’t see you before you leave tomorrow then I’m sure we’ll catch up on the base. Have a nice night,” said Jim, clasping the top of Spock’s arm lightly for a second before retreating towards the turbolift.

“You as well, Captain,” replied Spock and turned back to finish securing his station.

Jim rode the turbolift back to deck five and headed straight to his quarters to change out of his uniform and finish his preparations for shore leave.

After a brief cycle through the sonic shower he pulled on a pair of soft black slacks and a well-worn blue sweater which had seen better days but was a favourite of many years due to being exceptionally comfortable.

His quarters weren’t messy by any stretch of the imagination—years of Starfleet training had him well schooled in keeping a neat bunk and stowing his personal belongings properly—however, there were a few cartridges and data slates on the desk that needed tidied away, and a couple of personal items, which he usually kept out on display, that he moved to the small closet for safekeeping so that the techs could more easily access the hatch in front of which they usually sat.

As Jim moved around his quarters his eyes kept alighting on the item he’d chosen to take with him to the date with his match. As it was at that moment it didn’t seem much to look at, just a nondescript wooden box without any embellishment or markings to hint at its contents. However, inside it lay one of Jim’s most prized possessions, and something which he was increasingly impatient to share with the person with whom he was working towards building a future.

There was no need for him to check inside the box again, he knew that everything was as it should be, but he couldn’t help himself. Carefully he released the small clasp that secured the front of the box and gently lifted the hinged lid. Inside, nestled snugly within a nest of perfectly moulded foam covered in a shining red velvet, sat an eighteenth-century antique sextant. Its highly polished brass surface gleaming in the bright lights of his quarters.

Jim observed the sextant with a nostalgic smile, remembering the moment that he had first received the beautiful gift, and resisting the urge to pick it up for fear of smudging it with fingerprints before its scheduled outing the following day.

Jim had been given it on his nineteenth birthday by his Grandpa Kirk. They’d been close as Jim was growing up. They shared a love of history and literature, as well as an adventurous spirit.

Jim had known from a young age that he wanted to join Starfleet. Of course there had been the usual chaotic mix of career aspirations throughout his early years—at age three he’d wanted to be a farmer, at age five a librarian, by age nine a fireman—but by early adolescence he had known that he wanted to be a starship captain and explore the galaxy.

His parents were both Starfleet Officers themselves and so were supportive of his plans to attend the Academy, but Grandpa Kirk had always felt to Jim like his truest cheerleader. He wasn’t only the person who would look after Jim and his brother Sam during the months when their parents were both off-planet, he was also the one who sat for long hours with Jim helping him to study for his entrance exams. Who helped him polish the application that got him into the preparatory summer courses. Who went with him for the tour of the campus and listened while Jim went round in circles trying to decide which classes and extracurriculars to sign up for.

Jim felt, in some ways, closer to his Grandpa Kirk than he did to his own parents. His steady, reliable, support had certainly helped to shape him into the man he had become, and he knew that he was a better captain for the patience and compassion that he had learned at his grandfather’s knee.

And so it had been particularly meaningful when, on his nineteenth birthday, mere weeks before the beginning of his first year at the Academy, Grandpa Kirk had slid that plain wooden box across the kitchen table along with a small card which read “Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world. - Harriet Tubman.”

Jim had kept it with him ever since, sometimes out on display, sometimes tucked away safely, but always close by, as a reminder of both the past and to look to the future.

He hadn’t taken it out of his dresser since Grandpa Kirk had passed away just over a year earlier, but he was glad to be able to get it out now and enjoyed the thought of sharing it, and the associated memories, with his match.

At the thought of his match, Jim lifted his comm unit from the desk to scroll idly through their most recent messages. Re-reading their conversation from that morning filled him with such fondness, and his excitement to share these cherished memories with his match grew all the more. An act that felt to Jim in many ways more intimate than any physical touch.

User 117139: Good morning.

User 116625: Good morning to you. Did you sleep well?

User 117139: My rest was adequate, thank you. You?

User 116625: I slept ok when I finally got to bed. I kept thinking about our date, wondering what it’ll be like. What you’ll be like. I guess I'm just excited.

User 117139: I admit to sharing in your anticipation. I find the prospect of being at liberty to converse directly with you, absent any technological barrier, highly appealing.

User 116625: You flatterer! I can’t wait either.

User 116625: Have you chosen the thing you’re bringing with you?

User 117139: Indeed. I believe it will prove useful both as an effective identifier and as a topic of conversation.

User 116625: So you decided against the salt-cellar in the end?

User 117139: The decision was a difficult one, but on balance I am satisfied with my selection.

User 116625: Glad to hear it.

User 117139: You suggested previously that you had already selected your preferred item. Have you maintained your original choice?

User 116625: Yes, as soon as I came up with the idea I knew exactly what I wanted to bring. It’s very dear to me, highly sentimental, and I’m excited to share it, and its story, with you.

User 117139: I am honoured. My chosen item also has a story attached. It is not one I have shared with anyone else in my life, however, it would please me greatly to share it with you.

User 116625: Well, that’s put a smile on my face that will last all day. Thank you.

User 117139: You are most welcome.

User 116625: Ok, I need to get my day started. Talk to you later?

User 117139: Of course. I hope your day is satisfactory.

User 116625: You too x

Smiling down at the screen of his comm, Jim wondered at the affectionate familiarity that had grown between him and this perfect stranger in such a short span of time. He was at a loss to explain it except for the lingering feeling of rightness that surrounded their every interaction. Like they were somehow being drawn together; meant to be.

Jim shook off the overly romantic sentiment and placed his comm unit back on the desk before turning his attention back to what he’d been doing.

After replacing the lid and re-securing the clasp, Jim popped the precious box containing the sextant back on his shelf and cast an appraising eye around his cabin. Everything was properly stowed and every access hatch was clear of obstacles.

Satisfied that there was nothing more to do for now, and hungry enough to eat a Berengarian Dragon, he started for the door, intent on heading to the mess to grab some dinner. However, no sooner had he stepped out of his quarters into the corridor when he almost physically collided with Spock heading in the opposite direction towards his own rooms.

Belatedly, Jim realised that a collision would have been particularly unpleasant in this instance because the Vulcan was inexplicably carrying some sort of flowering cactus, complete with nasty looking spines.

“Whoa!” Jim gasped involuntarily as he abruptly caught himself and staggered backwards a couple of paces.

“Captain, my apologies, are you alright?” asked Spock.

“Yeah, yeah, no harm done, just a case of unfortunate timing I guess,” replied Jim, eyeing the plant in his friend’s hands.

“Indeed,” Spock agreed.

“Is there a particular reason why you’re wandering the halls carrying weaponized flora?” Jim joked with a grin.

Spock looked momentarily as if he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes, before settling for a single arched brow. “The glochids on this particular specimen are an average of one point three centimetres long. I do not believe that they could, even collectively, be considered an effective weapon.”

“I stand corrected, Mr Spock,” Jim chuckled, “but it still doesn’t explain why you’re carrying it through the ship?”

“I am transporting it to my quarters from the botany lab. It is a Vulcan species, Carnegiea Vulcanis,” answered Spock vaguely.

Jim felt like Spock was deflecting again, and might have pressed for further information, had his stomach not chosen that exact moment to let out an extremely loud and embarrassing growl.

“Sorry about that, I was just heading to grab some dinner,” said Jim, flushing a delicate pink.

“Apologies are unnecessary, Jim, I am the one who has delayed your meal,” said Spock.

“Not at all,” said Jim, waving away the suggestion of blame. “Have you eaten yet? You’re welcome to join me if you like.”

“Thank you. I planned to eat after depositing this in my quarters and changing my clothes. If you are amenable, I will meet you in the officers’ mess in approximately eleven minutes?” asked Spock.

Jim nodded, smiling, and said “I’ll save you a seat,” before edging carefully around Spock, and his jagged burden, and continuing on down the corridor.

Jim had no sooner crossed the threshold into the mess when he was flagged down by a waving McCoy, who was sitting with Scotty at a table a little way into the large room. It was fairly quiet, with much of the crew either already rotating off onto the base, or preparing for their turn to do so.

Jim grabbed a tray and quickly made his selections at the food slot before crossing the distance to join his friends. There were three chairs at their table and so Jim dragged a spare one from an adjacent table over before finally seating himself. McCoy and Scotty looked questioningly at him so he clarified, “I just bumped into Spock, he’ll be joining us in a minute, he was just going to change.”

“If only he would change,” joked McCoy, which elicited a small chuckle from Scotty and a mildly disapproving glare from Jim.

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch, you know we all love the pointy-eared menace just the way he is,” retorted McCoy.

“That is gratifying to hear, Doctor,” came the smooth response from behind McCoy, causing the Doctor to jump slightly in his chair and both Jim and Scotty to burst into uncontrolled chuckles.

“Good God, Spock, we oughta put a bell on you! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” grouched McCoy.

“I do not sneak, Leonard, as well you know. However, I am sorry to have startled you, I trust that you suffered no lasting ill effects. I understand that a man of your age may be particularly at risk from sudden starts,” said Spock, completely straight faced but with an unmistakable glint of mischief in his dark eyes.

Jim was caught so off guard by the Vulcan’s unexpectedly blatant use of humour, as well as McCoy’s spluttering reaction to the joke, that he involuntarily spat the sip of soda he was in the middle of taking back into the cup, coughing through his laughter and mopping at his face with a napkin.

The whole table erupted. Jim, Scotty and McCoy laughing loudly and Spock settling himself into the remaining seat with an air of smug satisfaction at having reduced his colleagues and friends to giggling hysterics.

As the laughter died down and the trio gathered themselves once more, Scotty said, “Why, Mr Spock, I think y’have changed after all. You’ve certainly developed your sense of humour, that’s for sure!”

“Thank you, Mr Scott, I have been experimenting with humour in order to help facilitate interpersonal relationships with my human colleagues. I am gratified that my efforts thus far appear to have been successful,” said Spock.

“I’ll say,” said Jim, cleaning up the last of the drink with his now rather soggy napkin, “I haven’t laughed like that in a while.”

“Yeah, well I guess I’ve made enough jokes at your expense over the years, Spock, it’s only fair you get a few in at mine,” said McCoy amiably, grinning at Spock and slapping him firmly on the shoulder.

“Indeed,” agreed Spock.

The table settled into a comfortable silence for a few moments as each of the men turned their attention to their meals.

As he took a mouthful of his pasta alfredo, Jim reflected on the changes he’d seen in Spock lately. His once reserved, stoic first officer now seemed relaxed around other members of the crew in a way which Jim used to think unique to their private moments together. For long years, Jim was the only person around whom Spock would soften, letting the hard Vulcan mask fall away by degrees. Now though, he could see his friend, little by little, allowing other members of the senior staff behind those walls built of Vulcan discipline. He knew he’d been socialising more with Sulu and Chekov in particular, and was also joining in with group events such as the one Jim had walked in on a couple of weeks ago.

Jim expected the prevailing emotion that accompanied these thoughts to be jealousy, but was surprised to discover that what instead washed over him was a profound sense of guilt. Have I been holding Spock back all this time? he wondered to himself. Was I so lost in my obsession with Spock that I kept him all to myself for years, never giving him this chance to build other relationships?

The chill that had permeated him for weeks chose that moment to suddenly reassert itself in his awareness and Jim shivered. His previously jovial mood turned melancholy at the thought of having inadvertently wronged his dearest friend.

“Jim, are you well?”

The question reached Jim’s ears in low soft tones at the same time he felt a warm touch on his upper arm. He turned his head to find Spock looking at him, eyes full of gentle concern.

Despite himself, Jim’s face softened and a small smile tugged at the edge of his lips as he took in his friend’s gesture. “Yeah, Spock, I’m fine, thanks, my mind just wandered off for a moment.”

Spock’s gaze lingered for a moment before he nodded and his hand slid from Jim’s arm, turning back to continue picking at his salad. The patch of skin where they’d been in contact felt like it had been seared, and for a moment Jim felt warmer than he had in weeks. The perpetual cold lifting by degrees, and raising his spirits along with it.

McCoy and Scott had been oblivious to the small exchange as they animatedly discussed the many delights that Starbase Six had to offer. Their conversation must have concluded however, as McCoy suddenly turned his attention back to his captain.

“Oh, Jim, I meant to ask you if you’d pick up something for Joanna for me while you’re on the station and I’ll transfer you the credits?” McCoy asked.

“Yeah, of course, Bones, but aren’t you going over to the base?” replied Jim.

“I am, but not for another few days, I want to oversee the installation and calibration of the new biobeds. And you know what it’s like when a ship makes port at one of these bases, the shops get picked over in the first couple of days and I don’t want to miss out on getting Joanna what she wants. I’ll send the details and credits when I get back to my quarters, if you don’t mind,” said McCoy.

“And exactly how many lectures have I endured from you in the past three years about not making appropriate use of shore leave in favour of staying to oversee the work on the ship?” joked Jim lightly, sharing amused glances with Spock and Scotty.

“Yeah, okay okay, you got me. Will you run the damn errand or not?” McCoy grumped in return, but the amusement in his eyes took any sting out of the words.

“Sure, Bones, no problem, just let me know what you need picked up,” said Jim, grinning and letting his friend off the hook. A gruff nod was the doctor's only response before he ate another large spoonful of soup.

“D’ye have any big plans for your time aboard the base gentlemen?” asked Scotty, looking between Jim and Spock.

Jim caught Spock out the corner of his eye and noticed the subtle shuttering of his expression, and minute stiffening of his posture. There it was again, the caginess that Jim had noticed on a few occasions over the last couple of weeks. Of course Spock wasn’t obligated to share details of any plans with Jim, or anyone else, but he couldn’t help but be curious as to what Spock might have planned that he was so reluctant to talk about. Then again, Jim mused, he wasn’t particularly keen to discuss his own plans publicly either. The result being that poor Scotty was met with a couple of very non-committal responses from the two; an “Oh, I’ll probably just wander around and see what comes up,” from Jim, and a “No plans worthy of discussion,” from Spock.

“What about you, Scotty, are we going to have to get security involved to drag you from the ship, or are you going to willingly spend some time on the base?” asked Kirk lightly. The change of subject was a welcome deflection from questions about his own plans, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t genuinely interested in what his chief engineer had to say.

“Och, Captain, y’don’t half exaggerate. Aye, I’ll be spending plenty time on the base, don’t you worry,” said the Scotsman somewhat indignantly, before following up with a slightly more sheepish, “...of course I will be popping back to the ship every so often. Just to check-in, you understand. These base crews know their business, but no one knows the Enterprise engines better than I do.”

“Ah the forbidden love between a man and his engine,” joked McCoy and everyone laughed—McCoy, Scotty and Jim out loud, and Spock with his eyes.

The rest of the evening passed in comfortable discussion of shore leaves past and future. Jim contributed regularly, smiled and laughed and nodded along with the conversation, but as the time waned on his thoughts turned more and more to his match and their imminent meeting.

Where will I be this time tomorrow? He wondered to himself, And who will I be with?

Chapter Text

As Jim exited the umbilical walkway that linked the Enterprise to the station and stepped out on to Starbase Six, he felt the energetic atmosphere of the main concourse wash over him.

Everywhere he looked he witnessed the hustle and bustle of travellers as they flowed to and from the arrival and departure ports, stopping to visit the various shops, eateries and leisure facilities along the way.

With the wooden box tucked securely under his right arm, Jim stepped out into the crowd and joined the flow of foot traffic towards the closest bank of shops. The shop-fronts all boasted brightly decorated window displays featuring a selection of the products available within. Almost every United Federation of Planets member culture he could think of seemed to be represented.

Some of the shops appeared to cater to a single race, while others encompassed an eclectic mix of merchandise from numerous worlds. One store seemed to exclusively sell Andorian wares, while in the window of the adjacent store Jim could see Ardanan silks and Rigellian jewellery displayed alongside Vulcan meditation mats.

Of course, the multifarious selection of shops included one of the obligatory, tacky U.F.P. souvenir stores that were a staple of any starbase or space station within the Federation’s boundaries. And it was towards this dubious destination that Jim made a beeline, knowing it would have what he needed.

He’d made sure to arrive with ample time before his date, and so first set about fulfilling his promise to Bones.

He looked around as he entered the souvenir store, taking in the shelves that lined the walls, full of model starships and commemorative plates emblazoned with a variety of emblems from different member worlds. He weaved between the freestanding displays of U.F.P. beach towels, magnets and old fashioned keyrings until he spotted what he was looking for next to a stand of mugs featuring, of all things, the Starfleet Academy logo.

Jim rolled his eyes internally at that as he drew up in front of the display of antique style snowglobes. He selected the one that best fit the description that Bones had given him; a glass globe containing a miniature replica of the station with ‘Starbase 6’ embossed in silver on the black base. He gave it a gentle shake and smiled to himself as the shimmering metallic ‘snow’ swirled around the tiny model before settling back to the bottom of the glass sphere.

With a final glance around at the frankly awful array of tat that surrounded him, he headed for the checkout, paid and left.

Jim wandered the shops of the starbase for more than half an hour trying to distract himself from his growing nerves. He purchased a few more items here and there; some Vulcan tea he’d thought Spock might enjoy, a bottle of bourbon for Bones and a decent replica hardcover copy of ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ for himself. He’d read it before but not for many years, and it had been a digital copy, which was never the same experience as was afforded by savouring the pages of a real book.

He was now sporting a handful of paper shopping bags in various sizes and colours. Each advertising the specific shop from which its contents were purchased. His hands were full enough that he’d popped the wooden box containing his sextant into one of the bags alongside Spock’s tea to save accidentally losing his grip on it as he traversed the busy concourse. He wasn’t worried about turning up with multiple bags: he knew from experience that there would be plenty of space on the floor around his chair to be able to place them discreetly out of the way during his date.

Eventually though, it was time to go and meet his match—Jim chuckled to himself at the accidental double entendre.

He knew exactly where he was heading, having been to the cafe-come-bistro before on a previous shore leave. It was nothing fancy: it served a modest choice of main meals alongside a more extensive selection of homemade cakes, pastries, and hot and cold beverages. The main appeal of the location was that the layout of the interior promoted a quiet and private atmosphere. The tables spread far enough apart with decorative dividers and plants between, such that each table became its own cosy little oasis of tranquillity.

As Jim approached the front doors of Maria’s, his eyes were already scanning the tables that he could see through the front windows. However, he came to an abrupt halt a few metres away as his gaze came to rest on a familiar bowl cut of sleek black hair and the unmistakable tip of a pointed Vulcan ear. Granted, he could only see the top half on his head, but there was no mistaking those slanted brows and deep brown almost-human eyes. It was definitely Spock.

Shit, of all the places on the base he could have chosen to have his lunch!

As Jim looked on, dismayed, he watched Spock conversing with one of the servers, likely ordering himself some tea as was his usual preference. Shocked into sudden paralysis, for a moment Jim wrestled internally with the tumult of emotions rising within him. He didn’t want to have his date in full view of Spock of all people, but what could he do? He couldn’t go anywhere else, this was where they’d agreed to meet. He couldn’t even slip in and sit down without Spock noticing because Spock was facing straight towards the door.

Realising that he had mere seconds before Spock finished placing his order and inevitably looked back towards the doors, Jim accepted that he had only one viable choice left. He’d need to go in, say a quick hello to Spock, apologise that he couldn't join him and then find a seat as far across the cafe as possible. That way he wouldn’t need to worry about superior Vulcan hearing when his match arrived.

Steeling himself for what could possibly be a slightly awkward conversation he continued forward, pulled open the door and stepped through. As he’d expected, Spock immediately looked up and made eye contact with Jim.

Am I imagining it or does he look uncomfortable, maybe even a little concerned? Jim thought to himself as he walked forward, a confident smile pinned in place on his face. It was nothing overt; it never was with Spock. But Jim was sure he’d noticed a fractional creasing of his brow when he’d first entered.

As he approached, rounding the crushed velvet and filigree divider that had previously obscured his first officer, the rest of Spock’s head and body came into view.

“Fancy meeting you here!” Jim beamed in as friendly and upbeat a tone as he could muster in his current state of nerves.

Spock, his features once again schooled into their usual neutral mask, inclined his head toward the numerous bags in Jim’s hands and replied, “Greetings, Captain. I trust you enjoyed a successful shopping trip?”

“Yes, thank you, quite successful. I even got you a small something, though I’ll give it to you when we’re back on the ship and save you carrying it around for the rest of the day,” he said. “It’s nothing fancy, I just came across a shop in section four that sells some Vulcan teas and I picked up one I thought you might like.”

Jim realised he was starting to ramble but he was trying to buy himself time while he thought of a polite way to excuse himself from joining Spock without having to get into why. To his great surprise, the burden was suddenly lifted from his shoulders by Spock as he said, “Thank you, Jim, that’s most kind. I had intended to visit that particular establishment during my time here. I am sure that I will greatly enjoy your selection. I apologise that I can not offer that you join me, however, I am awaiting the imminent arrival of an—acquaintance.”

Jim had noticed Spock’s small hesitation before he’d said “acquaintance” but he was suitably stunned by his sudden good fortune that he didn’t stop to question it.

“Oh, of course, I won’t keep you,” said Jim as he began to back away from the table. “Enjoy your afternoon, Mister Spock.” And with that he beat a hasty retreat to a small table on the far side of the room where a large ficus in a glazed clay planter would obscure him from view once seated.

As he wove his way through the tables towards his chosen destination, Jim made sure to walk past each of the few other patrons in order to check whether any of them had a peculiar item on their table. The place was fairly quiet at that moment, Jim having purposefully aimed for the lull between the lunch and dinner crowds. He was already sure that it wouldn't be either of the humans, given that they were sitting chatting animatedly together. But as he passed the Andorian, Tellarite and K’normian in turn, he found that each of their tables was bare, save for their chosen refreshments. Realising that he had arrived first, he reached his table and chose the chair with a clear view of the door so that they could easily spot his match when they got there.

As Jim settled himself in his seat, he removed the wooden box from inside the bag where it sat beside Spock’s tea and placed it on the table in front of him before tucking his bags neatly around the legs of his chair. He glanced surreptitiously to his left, but he’d been correct in thinking that this location would obscure him from Spock’s view; he could barely see the glossy, black top of his first officer’s head. So he gently opened the box and took out the sextant, setting it on top of the lid and taking a moment to appreciate the way it shone in the light from the window.

In short order he was approached by the same server as he’d seen speaking to Spock earlier. She was a tall, willowy woman, with pale green eyes, rosy cheeks and a warm smile. She cast a briefly confused look at the sextant and then turned her gaze to him, letting her eyes run up and down his body in obvious admiration. Her smile widened noticeably as she asked in a coquettish tone, “What can I get you?”

On another occasion Jim may very well have returned her mild flirtations. She was beautiful, and clearly interested, but somewhere along the way over the last few months he’d decided to close the door on that chapter of his life, and found in that moment that he was satisfied with his decision. As such, he simply smiled politely and ordered a black coffee and a carafe of water for the table.

A few minutes later, having had his drinks delivered by the now slightly deflated looking server, he settled back in his chair to watch the door and wide, picture windows that made up the front of the cafe. Outside, myriad people of all races, genders and ages passed by as they busied themselves with shopping and other social pursuits. It was now 14:55 and his heart picked up its pace as he realised that any minute he would finally meet the person for whom he’d developed such a deep affection regardless of never having seen them, or even knowing their name. It doesn’t matter what they look like, or what species they are, he told himself, anyone who can make me feel like this with only the written word is worth pursuing further. And with great anticipation he sipped his coffee and continued to watch the door.

At 15:10 Jim reassured himself that it was entirely possible that his match had simply been held up. It was a large and busy station and they could have gotten turned around while trying to find the right cafe.

At 15:20 he realised that the plausible reasons for them being delayed this long and not messaging to explain were dwindling in number.

At 15:30 his heart sank as he resigned himself to the fact that he had most likely been stood up.

He’d watched every person who had entered the cafe in the last half hour. Made sure to make eye contact and have the sextant in plain view on the table, but there hadn’t been a glimmer of recognition in any of their gazes. Each in turn had either moved to join an existing patron, or found a table of their own, and gone about ordering their meals.

Anger, sadness and humiliation jockeyed for dominance inside Jim’s mind. He couldn’t understand why they would have agreed to meet with him just to stand him up with no explanation. If they’d changed their mind they could have sent him a message to explain; surely he’d earned that much consideration considering how close he’d felt they’d become? He checked his comm again but, just as last time, there were no new messages.

He was trying to imagine what could have happened. All of the expected ships due to dock at the station today had arrived on time, he’d checked earlier, so he knew that they must be on the station. There were no other cafes or restaurants on the base with the same, or even a similar, name. So it was highly unlikely they’d gone to the wrong place.

And then an appalling thought occurred to him. What if they did show up, but they saw me through the window and turned right back around and left?

It was possible. He was sure that some people indicated on the forms that race, age and gender didn’t matter to them only to find out when faced with the reality of their match that actually it did. Perhaps they didn’t want a human, or maybe they were disappointed that he was a man. Perhaps, they simply hadn’t found him attractive regardless of race or sex.

Jim hadn’t thought that his mood could sink any lower but the thought of such a personal and pointed rejection was just too much to bear. He could feel hot tears beginning to prick at the backs of his eyes and he took a steadying breath. This was ridiculous. They’d never even met, and yet the sense of loss at the idea of being stood up by them threatened to overwhelm him. You can fall apart once you’re back on the ship, but not here dammit! he thought harshly.

Taking a few more deep breaths, he managed to slowly pull himself back from the disappointment that was threatening to become despair, and allowed his rational brain to reassert itself. He realised that rather than going over and over hypotheticals, the sensible thing to do would be to message his match and ask them outright what had happened. At least then I’ll know one way or the other, he decided.

He picked up his comm once more and this time he typed in a brief message.

User 116625: Hey, where are you? Did you change your mind? Let me know you’re ok.

Jim wasn’t sure what he thought was more likely, that they’d reply and explain that they’d seen him and decided he wasn’t what they were looking for, or that they just wouldn’t respond at all. Perhaps when he got back to the ship he’d find a communique from the F.D.S. waiting for him explaining that his match had opted not to go any further with their communications.

To his mild surprise, a moment later his comm beeped and he quickly flipped open the screen. The reply only served to confuse him further.

User 117139: You are currently seated within the cafe called Maria’s on Starbase Six?

Perplexed, Jim stared at the reply for a moment. What was that supposed to mean? They knew this is where he’d be. Were they here too, waiting at another table and equally confused? But I checked all the tables when I came in and I’ve seen every person that’s walked through the doors since I’ve been here, he thought as he glanced around the cafe once again. But of the patrons he could see from his current vantage point none of them appeared to be looking for him, or in any way indicating that they were expecting someone to join them. He turned his attention back to his comm and typed a reply.

User 116625: Yes, I’ve been here since 14:50. I’m sitting to the left when you enter, facing the door. I’m wearing a green sweater. Where are you?

Jim had no sooner hit send than a soft beeping to his left reached his ears and he absently glazed across the room to the source of the sound.

To his utter astonishment, standing just beyond the decorative divider, holding his open comm in one hand and a familiar flowering cactus in the other was Spock.

Spock stared back at him, still as a carved marble statue, as Jim’s mind worked furiously to process the implications of what he was seeing.

Spock? his brain offered dumbly.

He couldn’t get his head around it. How could Spock possibly be his match? He couldn’t be, Jim must be misreading this situation somehow. And yet there was Spock, in the same cafe, at the same time, holding a small, flowering cactus in his right hand and his comm unit in his left which had beeped almost in unison with the dispatch of Jim’s message. He’d admit the evidence was fairly conclusive, but he simply couldn't reconcile his first officer and his match in his mind.

He thought back through all of the correspondence that he’d shared with his match over the last few weeks. They had spoken so openly and so vulnerably. They’d shared anecdotes from their childhood, their hopes, their fears, their desires. In the more than three years he’d known Spock he’d barely gotten a word out of him about his family or his childhood. He hadn’t even known who Spock’s parents were until he was introducing them to their own son when they boarded the Enterprise as part of a diplomatic mission, for goodness sake! Even after Vulcan, and Jim supporting him through his Pon Farr, Spock still wouldn’t speak in any detail about his culture or his experiences of growing up on the desert planet.

At this realisation, an unexpected spike of anger and hurt flashed through Jim. Spock couldn’t, or wouldn’t, confide in his supposed best friend about any of that stuff in over three years of spending every day serving and socialising together, and yet he was willing to open up to an anonymous stranger almost immediately?

Almost as quickly as they rose within him, the flames of righteous anger were smothered by a heavy blanket of sorrow. Clearly Jim had been misreading his relationship with Spock for years. It was almost laughable now, he thought bitterly, that he had ever harboured hopes that Spock would want to become romantically involved with him. Apparently they didn’t even share as close a friendship as he’d believed. Spock had clearly never fully trusted him on a personal level. Professional, sure, they were the best command team in the fleet, and Jim knew for a fact that Spock trusted Jim with his life. But on a personal level… it was clear now that Spock had been maintaining a respectable distance. And Jim, like an idiot, had just kept hurling himself against those boundaries over and over.

Spock didn’t want him. He’d known it before, but at that moment it was painfully clear just how disappointed Spock was that his match had turned out to be his captain. His first officer was staring at him in what, even on a Vulcan face, was clearly discernible as abject horror.

Jim suddenly realised that he’d also inadvertently shared so much of himself with Spock as well. Their messages had been fairly equal in length, tone and detail throughout their correspondence. And although there was some embarrassment at the acknowledgement that his first officer was now privy to so many of his inner thoughts and desires, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He’d have told it all to Spock in a heartbeat if he’d ever asked—had wanted to share all of himself with the man he had adored for almost as long as he’d known him.

But Spock hadn’t asked. And Jim had never volunteered any of it for fear of making him uncomfortable with his overwhelming, human emotionalism. He’d assumed that Spock didn’t want to share personal confidences like that with anyone, it wasn’t the Vulcan way.

As it turned out, once again, he simply didn’t want to share them with Jim.

In the seconds since he and Spock had locked eyes, Jim had felt his facial features go on an emotional journey. The heat that had pricked at his eyes mere moments before now reasserted itself and he felt his eyes fill with unshed tears. He wanted to blink them away but couldn’t bring himself to break eye contact with his friend. As he continued to stare he felt a single tear escape its confines and roll mournfully down his left cheek.

He wasn’t sure how much of his emotional reaction Spock would have been able to parse but the Vulcan now had a deepening crease forming between his brows. Jim tensed his muscles, preparing to stand up and move across to Spock’s table. He thought they might as well get on with the inevitable, and undoubtedly very awkward and painful, conversation that was sure to follow. However, he never got the chance.

Almost as if Jim’s small movement had shattered the tense moment holding them both immobilised, Spock suddenly straightened. Jim watched with mounting misery as his first officer, his friend, the love of his life, snapped closed his comm, tucked the plant in the crook of his arm and walked swiftly through the cafe door and out into the crowds.

Jim felt like he’d just been doused in ice water, the omnipresent chill intensifying tenfold and forcing a sharp gasp from his tightening lungs.

He sat motionless, staring out the window, as he watched Spock’s receding form cut efficiently through the throngs of milling people until he was completely out of sight. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks and dripped pitifully onto the edge of the wooden box on top of which the sextant was still sitting in front of him on the table. He no longer cared about who might see, or what they may think about a starship captain weeping in public. Jim’s whole world had just crumbled around him and he couldn’t have held back the tears if he’d tried. Instead he placed his head in his hands and wondered how it all went so wrong so fast.

He sat there for almost ten minutes, trying to compose himself and steady his breathing. Eventually he felt stable enough that he thought he could probably make it back to the ship without breaking down in the middle of the main concourse. He tapped his credit chit on the table’s built-in reader and gathered up his bags. He carefully placed the sextant back in its box and went to put it back in the same bag he’d carried it in on the way here before stopping himself. He didn’t think he could keep his composure if he had to look at the gift he’d been so excited to give to his Vulcan friend just an hour before. Instead he pointedly opened the bag containing the bottle of bourbon for Bones and shoved the box down the side.

Bags in hand, he left Maria’s and made his way back towards docking port C. The walk back to the Enterprise seemed to pass in a haze. He was moving on autopilot, sidestepping civilians, nodding politely to members of his crew as he passed and navigating hallways and turbolifts but not really absorbing any of it. His mind was awash with a malaise of exhausted emotional overwhelm and he felt strangely detached from his body. Just cold.

Without a clear memory of how he got there, Jim found himself outside the doors to his quarters. He dazedly typed in his access code and stepped inside, pointedly not glancing towards Spock’s quarters—just four metres further down the corridor to his right.

He gazed around his room. Nothing had changed since he left, and yet he felt like he was looking at everything through a filtered lens. He saw the chess set on his table, previously an item he had associated with joyful moments of intimacy, matching wits with Spock over countless games as they discussed the events of the day. Now he wondered if Spock had merely tolerated Jim’s attempts to force closeness between them until even his steely Vulcan nerves had been frayed and he’d been forced to back off. There were countless other items in the room that sparked similar thoughts, as he considered them now from a different perspective. After a minute or two he forced himself to stop, knowing that it would do no good to torture himself.

He crossed the room. And after depositing himself on his small sofa, he placed his shopping bags by his feet and let himself collapse back into the soft padding. What do I do now? He wondered.

He stared desolately at his ceiling, replaying the horrified look on Spock’s face endlessly until he thought he might start crying again. He rubbed his face and slumped further down into his seat. His ankle knocked against one of the shopping bags and when he looked down he saw that it was the pale blue one with a crescent moon shaped logo on the front marking it as the bag containing the bottle of bourbon.

He was tempted to crack into the bottle right now and drown his sorrows, but drinking alone was never a good idea. Maybe drinking with a friend isn’t such a terrible idea though, thought Jim and he heaved himself off the couch and crossed to the comm panel on his desk.

He pushed down on the button to open a channel and said, in as captainly a tone as he could manage, “Kirk to McCoy.”

A few seconds later he heard a southern drawl reply, “McCoy here, I thought you’d still be on the base.” The doctor sounded mildly distracted, as if he was only half paying attention to the conversation, and Jim could hear the muted voices of other medical staff and base technicians in the background as they worked on their overhaul of the biobeds.

Suddenly there was a high pitched whining noise from McCoy’s end of the line, followed by a fizzle and loud pop. A slightly harried-sounding Bones said, “Dammit. Jim, can this wait? Things are going to hell in a handbasket down here. They can’t get the isolation fields on these blasted things to calibrate properly and they keep blowing out the power grid!”

Jim sagged against his desk as his heart sank further at the idea of spending this evening brooding alone. Still, he wouldn't burden his friend with his miseries when Bones was clearly already having a stressful day, so he forced as much positivity into his voice as he could and said, “Sure, Bones, no problem, I’ll—catch you later.”

His voice caught towards the end and he inwardly cursed himself, hoping that Bones hadn’t noticed with all the noise of sickbay. But McCoy wasn’t just his friend: he was a physician and trained psychologist, and his ear was trained to pick up on red flags when he heard them.

“Jim, is everything okay?” The question was imbued with a tone of concern, and as it drifted through the small speaker on Jim’s desk it seemed to fill his whole quarters. Was everything okay? No, everything was not okay. In fact, everything was so far from okay that Jim couldn’t immediately formulate a response that wasn’t just to burst into bitter, hysterical laughter at the absurdity of it all.

The hesitation had obviously been enough for Bones to sense something was wrong, because before Jim could choke out some trite reassurance he’d already said, “I’ll be right there,” and closed the line.

Four minutes later, Jim’s door buzzer signalled the arrival of his friend. Jim had returned to the couch and was sitting on its edge with his elbows on his knees and his head once again resting in his hands. He managed a dejected, “Enter,” and the doors slid open to admit Bones.

Jim lifted his head enough to meet his friend’s concerned gaze. Silently, Jim reached his arm down into the blue bag and pulled out the bottle of amber liquid, placing it on the low coffee table in front of him. Without a word Bones crossed to the small shelf adjacent to the desk area and retrieved two clean glasses.

He perched himself on the edge of the couch next to Jim and placed the glasses down on the table. He then picked up the bottle, removed its seal and opened it before pouring a generous measure into each glass. Once he’d replaced the lid and set the bottle back down, he lifted both glasses and offered one to Jim, who took it gratefully.

Jim was so thankful for Bones in that moment that he was almost overcome. He met his friend’s gaze and hoped that the warmth and gratitude he felt were evident in his eyes. This may be one of the most painful days of his life, but at least he wasn’t facing it alone. Bolstered by that small comfort, Jim felt his composure returning.

Bones then spoke softly, breaking the silent tension of the room. His voice was its usual mix of gruff pragmatism and warm compassion when he said, “Now, tell me what happened and we’ll work out how to fix it.”

Jim sighed and gazed down at the golden liquid in his glass. Where to start?

Chapter Text

Spock had arrived on Starbase Six at precisely 14:40 as planned. The public thoroughfare was crowded with all manner of individuals and his sensitive Vulcan ears were struck by a cacophony of different sounds; the overlapping chatter of multiple languages being spoken simultaneously, by dozens of different people, mixed with the computerised drone of the automated announcement system informing the assembled crowds of a change to the departure time for a passenger transport to Altair IV.

Eschewing the shops and leisure facilities, Spock immediately directed his steps towards the agreed-upon location for his inaugural meeting with his match. There were shops that he would like to visit while they were docked at the base; stretches of time between shore leave were long and it was logical to make desired purchases wherever he had the opportunity. None of the items he wished to buy could be deemed necessities, but he had long since accepted the wisdom of allowing himself to enjoy some luxury items in order to maintain his wellbeing while on deep space assignments. In particular, there was a shop he wished to visit which sold a selection of authentic Vulcan teas. However, for now shopping could wait, as Spock wished to reach his destination and place himself in situ prior to his match arriving.

He wore black pants and a charcoal grey, asymmetric tunic with Vulcan script embroidered down the length of the front in gleaming silver thread. It fitted him well—having been custom tailored to his frame while on a visit to Vulcan during the first year of their mission—and upon perusing the contents of his civilian wardrobe, Uhura had proclaimed it ‘perfect’ for his date.

He held the potted Carnegiea Vulcanis between his hands and kept it tucked in close to his torso as he moved, ensuring that it would not be jostled or damaged by a careless passerby.

As he walked at a steady pace towards the section of the station that hosted Maria’s, weaving with effortless grace between the crowds, he idly mused on what his match may be like in person. Certainly he knew enough of their character now to know that he would wish to pursue a relationship with them regardless of race or physical appearance. But he indulged his human imagination by allowing his mind to play out multiple scenarios based around their initial meeting and how their date might progress.

He had already theorised that his match was human. As such he had decided that he would allow a certain amount of physical touch during the meeting in deference to their courtship practices. Most humanoid species within the Federation were more tactile than Vulcans and so, were he mistaken in his assumptions about their race, the decision would likely still stand. He wondered if they would wish to embrace him as so many species did as a form of greeting. Perhaps even hold his hand should things progress well. While these would be wholly inappropriate public displays on his homeworld, he knew that the gestures of affection he was willing to allow would be unlikely to so much as draw a glance from the patrons within the cafe.

Spock allowed himself to contemplate the innumerable permutations of how this day could go as he traversed the station, and soon found himself at the doors of the cafe. He stepped inside and was greeted by a tall, slim, human female as she passed with a plate of food in each hand, evidently about to deliver them to a couple sitting a few tables away.

“Welcome to Maria’s, take a seat anywhere you like and I’ll be by in a minute to take your order.” She beamed before continuing on her way.

Spock quickly scanned the room and selected his preferred table. It was close to the front of the cafe, with a clear view of the door, but with decorative dividers to either side, one covered in painted depictions of Terran birds, the other covered in velvet and gold filigree. He concluded that this location would allow his match to find him easily upon their arrival but provide them with a reasonable amount of privacy for their discussions.

Lowering himself into the chair facing the door, Spock placed the cactus on the table in front of him, turning the pot slightly so that its small orange flower would be visible to his match when they entered. “Oh, that’s pretty!” The server who had greeted him appeared at his side, having delivered her plates. “That a gift for someone?” she asked.

He momentarily debated the merits of simply nodding and letting the conversation move on, but Spock had chosen the Vulcan way all those years ago as a child, and while he was certainly capable of lying, he chose not to unless strictly necessary.

Consequently, he instead replied, “It is to allow my expected companion to identify me upon their arrival.”

The server’s face stretched into a wide grin and she bounced slightly on the balls of her feet clutching her data slate as she softly squealed, “Ooooooo, a blind date? How romantic!”

Unwilling to enter into a lengthy discussion on the nature of his pre-existing relationship with his match, and wishing to end this encounter as efficiently as possible he simply said, “Indeed.” He decided that it fit the definition closely enough as to not constitute any kind of falsehood.

“Oh, well, good luck,” gushed the server, undeterred. Spock inclined his head in a slight nod of acknowledgement and, realising she wasn’t going to get any more out of him, she finally asked, “What can I get you?”

There were only fifteen minutes until his match was due to arrive and so he decided to wait until then to order his tea. Instead he simply requested a glass of water and the server left to retrieve it, humming cheerfully to herself as she went. She turned within a minute and placed a chilled glass of still water on the table in front of him with a broad smile.

“Just so you know, we have a special on hot chocolate fudge cake today,” she said. “One plate, two forks? I’m just saying, there’s nothing more romantic than sharing a slice of cake with a date,” she added with a wink.

Entirely unwilling to explain the innumerable reasons why he would emphatically not be sharing a slice of chocolate cake with his match during their first meeting, and in a public setting, he instead said, “Thank you for the information,” and watched with relief as she left to attend to another customer.

He took a sip of his water and as he once again looked up he scanned the door and windows that spanned the front wall of the cafe. Spock froze as his eyes alighted on the unmistakable figure of his captain heading straight for the door, burdened by multiple shopping bags.

In the space of a second his shock had been brushed aside by his quickly formulating Vulcan mind. His eyes flicked to the cactus sitting in front of him and he realised that he would have no plausible way to explain why he had brought it without resorting to deception. And he very much did not wish to explain its true purpose to Jim at this moment.

From Jim’s current vantage point he wouldn’t be able to see the table yet, but that would change in seconds given his rapid approach. Quickly and with care not to damage it in any way, Spock lifted the pot off the table and placed it on the seat of the empty chair next to him, tucking it further under the table to ensure it would be hidden from view should Jim approach to speak to him.

Returning his hands to his lap and straightening in his seat, Spock composed himself once more just in time for Kirk to step alongside his table.

“Fancy meeting you here!” The captain greeted him with a slightly tight smile and overly cheerful tone that rang false. Spock was unsure what was amiss and was momentarily torn between his desire to understand what was troubling his friend and his eagerness to keep this conversation as brief as possible. He did not need to glance at the chrono on the wall to know that it was now 14:50 and his match could arrive at any moment.

Not wishing to appear discourteous, he bought himself a moment by saying, “Greetings, Captain. I trust you enjoyed a successful shopping trip?” and nodding towards the bags in Kirk’s hands.

Kirk followed Spock’s gaze to the bags in his hands and lifted them slightly in a gesture of affirmation before replying. “Yes, thank you, quite successful. I even got you a small something, though I’ll give it to you when we’re back on the ship and save you carrying it around for the rest of the day.”

That caught Spock off-guard and his full attention was drawn back to his captain and away from the imminent arrival of his match. Beneath his Vulcan reserve, Spock was filled with a warmth by the thoughtful consideration of his friend. For all that their relationship had changed of late, Jim clearly still considered him worthy of these small gestures of affection and it soothed a part of him that had been tightly coiled in recent weeks. Our friendship truly remains intact.

“It’s nothing fancy, I just came across a shop in section four that sells some Vulcan teas and I picked up one I thought you might like,” Kirk continued in an uncharacteristically rambling fashion.

Spock, opting to be direct and cautious of the time, gently cut him off, saying, “Thank you, Jim, that’s most kind. I had intended to visit that particular establishment during my time here. I am sure that I will greatly enjoy your selection. I apologise that I can not offer that you join me, however, I am awaiting the imminent arrival of an—acquaintance.”

Spock winced internally at his hesitation over the designation but hoped that Kirk would either not notice or politely brush past it without comment. He had known his captain for long enough though to know that neither of those options was at all likely, and resigned himself to the inevitable inquest that was sure to follow.

He was surprised therefore when his friend simply replied, “Oh, of course, I won’t keep you,” and began to back away from the table. Spock looked on, bemused by Kirk’s atypical behaviour, as he ended with, “Enjoy your afternoon, Mister Spock,” before crossing the cafe, disappearing out of sight behind the many ornamental screens.

Lifting himself slightly from his seat, Spock peered over the top of his nearest divider to check that Kirk would not return and found that he was settling himself at a secluded table on the other side of the cafe, mostly obscured by a large potted tree. Lowering himself once more, he carefully retrieved the cactus from its concealed space under the table, repositioning it in its previous spot with its best aspect facing the door.

Following his unexpected and mildly perplexing encounter with Kirk, Spock took another sip of his water and recentred himself. Making a quick check of his mental shielding he found them still in place and sufficiently strong. The connection with Kirk was securely blocked within its ‘cairn,’ and the uncomfortable chill was being steadfastly ignored using Vulcan discipline. He acknowledged the mixture of affection, confusion and concern he had felt when speaking with Kirk and released it, allowing it to pass through him without finding purchase. He accepted too, his nerves in relation to his impending meeting and again allowed these to be washed from his mind.

Confident he had regained his equanimity, and content to wait for his match to arrive, Spock allowed himself to sink into a very shallow meditative state, his gaze resting lightly on the door.

His innate sense of time meant that he was aware when 15:00 came and went. He was unconcerned as he had accepted long ago that few species were as precise in their timekeeping as his people.

Although he thought it most likely that his match was a human, he had determined that, based on the available information, there were fourteen other candidate species to which his match could conceivably belong. Being the diligent scientist that he was, Spock had taken it upon himself to study the primary courtship rituals of each one. Of these fourteen, five of the species were notable for their laissez-faire attitude towards timekeeping. Indeed, surprisingly, two of the cultures, the Adraxi and Relari, regarded making a romantic partner wait for you to be a test of devotion. They were known to make partners wait for upward of half an hour beyond the designated time before arriving.

With this in mind, Spock had come prepared to wait for up to an hour in order to accommodate cultural differences.

By 15:30 he was considering whether to attract the servers attention and order a pot of tea to pass the remaining thirty minutes. He perused the menu for a couple of minutes, impressed with the establishment's extensive array of teas from multiple worlds, including Vulcan. At 15:32 he was roused from his deliberations by the muffled chirp of his comm unit. He removed it from his pocket and was unsurprised to see that it was his match, but he was confounded by the message content.

User 116625: Hey, where are you? Did you change your mind? Let me know you’re ok.

Spock considered their words for a moment: they implied that his match was also in the cafe and yet Spock was aware of each of the other occupants and had deemed that none were his match. Was I in error? he mused. When he arrived there were only four other tables occupied. At one sat a human couple already in conversation, at the others an Andorian, a Tellarite and a K’normian, all either sitting with their backs to the door and/or already consuming a meal, engaged in solitary reading or speaking on their own communicators. It was not behaviour that indicated that they were anticipating being joined by a companion for a romantic engagement.

Of the seven patrons who had arrived since Spock took his seat, two arrived together and two joined existing customers at their respective tables. The remaining three, including Kirk, had arrived alone and taken up solitary stations at their own tables; the two strangers giving no sign of recognition as they cast a glance in the direction of Spock and his cactus.

No, he was sure that his match was not here. Perhaps there was some confusion over the selected venue and they were at a different eatery somewhere else on the station. He sought to enquire diplomatically without inadvertently accusing them of mistakenly going to the wrong place, and typed his response,

User 117139: You are currently seated within the cafe called Maria’s on Starbase Six?

With a lag of only 0.357 seconds, to allow for transmission, Spock heard the telltale chirp of a communicator and realised that he had been in error: his match was here. Gathering up his comm and cactus, he rose from his seat and looked across the room. And for the second time that day, Spock froze.

Now that he was fully on his feet, Spock could see, proudly displayed on one of the tables along the far wall, a beautiful, and very familiar, antique sextant perched atop its wooden storage box. There was no question that this was an item incongruous with its surrounding environment, just as had been intended. Spock knew with certainty that this item was on display to indicate the presence of his match. He knew with equal certainty that the man who owned it, who was at that moment frantically typing into his comm unit, had not been expecting Spock to be here today.

Spock was distantly aware of the chirping of his communicator and his eyes automatically flicked to the small screen to read the text that had appeared there.

User 116625: Yes, I’ve been here since 14:50. I’m sitting to the left when you enter, facing the door. I’m wearing a green sweater. Where are you?

By the time Spock lifted his eyes back from his comm, the individual in question was looking across towards him, and he found himself staring into the startled hazel eyes of James Tiberius Kirk.

At that moment, Spock thought he finally understood the human phrase ‘my heart stopped.’ In his current state of shock, his own heart seemed to stutter in his side.

Almost against his will, his logical Vulcan mind began to rapidly put together all the available evidence and come to the unassailable conclusion that Kirk was his match. All this time, he had been conversing with the man with whom he was already in love.

Spock should have been elated. He had clearly been proven successful in his unwitting courtship of his captain, since he had agreed to their meeting to explore furthering their relationship. Ostensibly it was everything that Spock had wanted, but not like this. This was some frightful perversion of his dream. And as he watched Kirk’s face progress from confusion to hurt to anger as each emotion asserted itself, Spock felt the bile begin to rise in his throat and had to focus all his remaining control on forcing it back down.

Anger. It had been unmistakable as it flashed fleetingly in Kirk’s eyes. Does Jim think that I purposefully misled him? The horrifying thought rose unbidden in Spock’s mind but before he could consider it further Kirk’s features had continued their emotional journey. Spock had no difficulty in recognising the expression now written large across his friend's face. He had seen it there before. After Edith Keeler. After Miramanee. After Rayna. Kirk was heartbroken.

The sudden understanding made Spock reel: not only the realisation that he had finally, after years of unrequited longing, won the heart of his beloved captain, but that he had done so only to break it.

Kirk didn’t want him. Even after everything they had shared, both as friends and in their correspondence as matches. When it was revealed that Spock was the one in whom he had been confiding, Kirk had been so disappointed that it had wrought the utter devastation that was now clearly radiating from him in waves.

As Spock looked on, stricken, he saw the moisture well in his love’s eyes before a solitary tear began to carve out a shining path down his flushed cheek. It was not the first time Spock had seen his captain’s tears: they had known each other for a long time and survived an alarming number of extreme situations together, but it was the first time that he had been the cause of them.

Spock had made his beloved cry, and as that knowledge solidified in his mind, the pain that ripped through him felt like it might stop his heart for good. The connection between them shuddered in his mind and in an effort at self preservation Spock swiftly added a further barrier around the one he had already built. Layering stone upon stone, burying it ever deeper. The resulting chill that swept through him felt colder than the winds of Andoria.

He was overwhelmed, his mental and emotional control shaken almost beyond his ability to maintain. When he saw Jim begin to move, some still functional part of his rational mind suggested that the most likely reason was that he intended to approach Spock and demand an explanation. He could not provide one. Not now. Not here. His once sturdy emotional controls were crumbling with every one of the few seconds that had passed since he first locked eyes with Kirk. He knew that should his captain confront him that they would turn entirely to dust, and Spock could not countenance losing control in this public setting.

He needed to get back to the ship, to his quarters, to the solitude that would allow him to begin tentatively piecing himself back together. Spock knew he wouldn’t be able to meditate, his mind was in far too much disarray at the present moment, but he would at least be able to begin processing through the swirling torrent of emotions assaulting him.

Gathering up his few remaining scraps of control Spock snapped shut his still open communicator and tucked the small cactus back in protectively against his side. Then, with what felt like a Herculean effort, he pulled his eyes from Kirk, turned on his heel and walked from the cafe, forcing himself not to look back.

Chapter Text

Spock had managed, just barely, to maintain his outward composure on his journey back to the ship. No one who had looked in his direction could have guessed at the rising tempest within.

The walk had seemed interminably long regardless of the fact that his Vulcan timesense told him that it had taken only the expected 7.3 minutes for him to make his way from the cafe back to the Enterprise and up to his quarters on deck five.

By the time he reached the doors to his quarters, Spock could feel the final remnants of his control fracturing as the torrent of emotion overwhelmed his last line of defence. Keying in his entry code with a shaking hand, Spock all but staggered through the doors as they parted. As soon as he was across the threshold, he slammed his hand against the panel to close and lock the doors once more, and made his way unsteadily to his sleeping alcove.

Placing the Carnegiea Vulcanis down on the shelf next to his bed, he noticed that its delicate flower was now missing a few of its vibrant orange petals. They must have been knocked off during his hasty retreat back through the crowds of the starbase.

He had chosen the plant due to its significance in his childhood. When he’d undertaken his official Khas-wan—two years after the disastrous first attempt which cost his loyal sehlat I-Chaya his life—the cactus had been instrumental in Spock’s survival.

In the midst of the desert, each Carnegiea Vulcanis contained a store of hydrating fluid which was rich in electrolytes and potentially life-saving to one caught under the heat of the Vulcan suns without potable water. He had sought shelter from the punishing heat in a small cave and stockpiled every specimen he could find within safe walking distance of his refuge. There he stayed, rationing his supply of liquids and slowing his bodily functions with meditation until the ten days had passed and he was permitted to walk back through the Forge to his home. It was a defining moment in his life and he had been eager to share the memory with his match, but would now never have the chance.

He had intended to return the plant to the botany department in the condition in which it had left, but that too would no longer be possible.

Spock didn’t recall colliding with anyone in a way that could have damaged the flower, though even with his eidetic memory the walk back to the Enterprise was obscured by a dense fog of emotional upheaval. His recollections of that time period centred most clearly around his desire to return to the privacy of his rooms and the effort with which he held the neutral mask of his features in place.

Now that he was alone, Spock bowed to the inevitable and relinquished the last of his swiftly diminishing control. In an act of indulgence that he had not allowed himself since he was a child, Spock sank down onto the bed and wept. He buried his face in the soft pillow, still scented with the light spice of his incense, and drew the blankets tight around him in futile search of warmth.

He wept for all that he had lost: not only for the dream of Kirk’s love—brought tantalisingly within his reach only to be ripped away so cruelly—but also for the friendship that he had so painstakingly worked to build and maintain over more than three years of serving by his captain's side.

There would be no more late night chess games, casually discussing their opinions on everything from music and literature to the most recent publications on warp field theory and subspace mechanics. No more meals together in the officer’s mess, enjoying the camaraderie of their fellow bridge officers. No more sparring matches in the gym during which Kirk would fix him with a playful grin and taunt, ‘is that all you’ve got Mr Spock?’

No. Even if Kirk didn’t decide to transfer him off the ship outright, their personal and working relationships would be unlikely to recover from such a terminal blow. Spock could not countenance reporting to his station on the bridge day after day only to meet his captain’s eyes and glimpse even a fraction of the pain he viewed within them in that cafe. He had hurt his friend, the man he loved beyond all logic, no matter how unintentionally; had hurt him simply by being himself.

It always seemed to come back to that. Simply being himself had always been the root of the resistance he had faced throughout his life.

When he was growing up on Vulcan, the perceived problem had been his human half. He was not Vulcan enough, an abomination, a failed experiment, an affront to their rich cultural history; surely too weak and emotional to fully understand and embrace the teachings of Surak and walk the path of logic. He had been doubted and disdained and ridiculed at every turn, yearning for approval and acceptance that never came. He had only one ally, his human mother, on an entire planet of Vulcans who judged his every word and action and forever found him lacking.

Spock had dared to hope that his situation would improve upon his move to Earth and his enrollment in Starfleet Academy. There, an eclectic mix of races worked together cohesively, embracing and celebrating each other’s differences and unique cultures. And yet even there he had met with ignorance, suspicion, and rejection. On Earth he was deemed too Vulcan. Too aloof, too cold, too unfeeling; his suppression of the outward manifestation of his emotions mistaken for their absence. Once again he found himself relegated to the outskirts of society, a lone stolid Vulcan surrounded by myriad emotional races who also judged him and found him lacking.

Not until James T. Kirk had taken command of the Enterprise had Spock finally experienced his first taste of acceptance outside the comforting presence of his mother. For the first time in his life he had been given equal consideration as those around him; valued for his uniqueness rather than judged for it. Kirk had always instilled in him that he was the best of both worlds, and all the richer for his dual heritage and broader perspective.

Spock had cherished Kirk’s acceptance. It had anchored him in the face of the scorn to which he was so often subjected by the rest of the universe. Over time, others had been moved by Kirk’s example, to look beyond Spock’s somewhat imposing exterior and allow him the chance to showcase the many qualities that made him a kind and loyal companion. His friendship with Uhura was perhaps the most dear to him after Kirk’s, but he also recognised that his unconventional dynamic with Leonard McCoy was based on a mutual respect and grudging affection. Most recently Sulu, Chekov and Scott had made the transition from colleagues to friends also.

Spock had felt that he had finally found his place in the world, a home where he could be accepted as he was. That had been made possible by James Kirk, and Spock had felt that Kirk’s steadfast acceptance of him was an immutable truth, a solid foundation on which he could secure all else. Today he had unconsciously pushed the boundaries of that acceptance and seen them snap under the strain.

Kirk accepted Spock in as far as he was a competent first officer and friend. When faced with more Jim had, like all those before him, found Spock wanting. And Spock must now find a path forward that would allow him to live with the painful memory of that moment when the tears spilled from his captain's eyes.

Spock allowed his emotional catharsis to continue until the sobs abated and his body felt hollow and spent. His limbs were heavy and his eyes stung as he righted himself and sat up on the edge of the bed. Having released much of the disruptive emotional energy in the manner of his mother’s human lineage, his mind was once again clear enough to begin the vital work of rebuilding his mental barriers.

Moving with surer steps, he walked to his meditation space. It was just a compact corner of his quarters in which he had placed his meditation mat and a few small statues and accessories from home, but he associated it with stillness, clarity and calm. And so, as he settled himself into his meditative pose, he began to feel somewhat soothed. He reached out and set about lighting his candles as well as a small cone of incense. The delicately spiced floral aroma drifted towards him and he breathed deeply, savouring its familiar warming scent.

Spock closed his eyes and began breathing in the deep, methodical pattern that was essential for reaching the first stage of meditation. As he took stock of the tension within his physical body, focusing on each taut muscle group in turn and consciously relaxing them, he began to descend through the deeper levels. Once there, Spock looked out across the desolation of his mental landscape. Where once stood solid mental walls he now found only ruins. The only structure still intact was the one cutting him off from the glowing golden connection to Kirk’s mind.

Slowly, and with great effort, he began the work of rebuilding the barriers, which were so essential for his mental health, brick by metaphorical brick.

A further 7.62 hours later, Spock opened his eyes, gently blinking away the slightly gritty feeling that always followed one of his longer meditations. He carefully blew out his candles and rose lithely from his position on the mat before moving across the room to sit at his desk.

He was calmer now, better able to think clearly. His mental barriers were by no means as substantial as they had been before this whole unfortunate incident but they were sufficient that he could once again function without risk of his emotions overwhelming him.

While deep in his meditation, Spock had replayed the encounter in the cafe repeatedly in his mind, his eidetic memory allowing him to view the scene as clearly as if he were still standing in Maria’s. It had been excruciating to witness the devastating array of emotions through which Kirk’s face had cycled. Upon multiple replays Spock had catalogued seven distinct emotional reactions: shock, confusion, hurt, disappointment, anger, sorrow, despair.

To know that he had been responsible for causing such intense emotional harm to his friend filled Spock with deep shame. But what had happened had happened, and, while unintentional, the damage had been done and Spock could not change it now. Kaiidth, Spock thought to himself. What is, is. All he could do now was try to mitigate the damage and calculate his next steps to cause a minimum of pain for both Kirk and himself.

First and foremost, he had resolved to let go of his fanciful human desire to find a ‘love match’. Vulcans did not choose their mates based on emotional considerations of love, they chose based on social connections and mental compatibility. Spock would do the same. It was the logical choice. He would be joined to a mate who could see him through his next fever, and in return his new mate would gain the status and wealth that came from joining the House of Surak. It would be fair compensation for bonding with him despite his hybrid status and its resulting challenges in conceiving viable offspring.

Spock knew that, like many hybrids, he may be unable to conceive a child naturally should he and a mate wish to reproduce. However, medical science should be able to overcome the difficulties in much the same way as had been used to create him from incompatible Vulcan and human genetic templates. He could provide his mate with a child and continue the line of Surak, bringing honour to his noble lineage as was his duty.

Spock reached across his desk and activated the screen of his work console, then hesitated over the controls. He had originally intended to call his mother, however, now that the moment was here he found that he was not ready to look into those striking pale grey eyes and answer the inevitable first question: ‘How are you?’

He pressed the button to open a new text communique and typed out a brief message instead.

Recipient: Lady Amanda Grayson, ShiKahr, Vulcan, Comm Code 12876953468.25

Sender: Commander S’chn T’gai Spock, USS Enterprise, Comm Code 56885972354.11

Mother,

I wish for you to procure for me a new mate to whom I may become betrothed at the earliest opportunity. I leave the selection to the best judgement of you and my father. I will accept whomever you select without quarrel.

I await your reply with an appropriate choice, at which time I will arrange leave to return to Vulcan for the ceremony.

Live long and prosper,

Spock

He pressed send and let out a short breath as the computer announced with a soft beep that the message had been successfully sent.

Spock then called up the ship’s file directory and found the document he required. He did not relish his next task. It may not be the most logical choice, he accepted that, but he knew also that there was a balance to be found between logic and self preservation. He could not continue as he had been, especially not after the events of the day. He steeled himself for what came next and turned his attention to the first question on the form. Scrolling through the dropdown menu of options, he selected the one he felt most applicable to his particular circumstances.

Reason for transfer request: Irreconcilable differences with commanding officer.

Ten minutes later Spock had completed the form. He was preparing to send it to his captain for final approval and signature when his screen was filled with the alert for an incoming video communique. It was his mother.

Resigning himself to the inevitable conversation to follow, Spock accepted the call and the familiar countenance of Amanda Grayson appeared in sharp resolution, her beautiful features marred by a concerned frown.

“Hello, Mother,” he greeted in a tone that sounded robotic even to his own ears.

Amanda’s frown deepened. “Spock, what’s wrong? What’s happened? I just saw your message,” she asked, clearly agitated.

“I believed the contents of the message to be self-explanatory. I wish for you and Father to secure me a new mate so that I may be bonded.” Spock knew he was being obtuse. It was pointless to try and postpone discussing his true motivations, but he had only just regained his emotional control and the prospect of having to recount the story was unappealing, to say the least.

“S’chn T’gai Spock, you know very well what I meant. Now please explain to me why, after more than a year of rebuffing your father’s attempts to find you a new betrothed, you have suddenly decided that not only should he find you some suitable candidates, but that we should choose your wife without you having any input in the matter whatsoever?” she said, fixing him with a steady gaze.

Spock released a soft breath that would have been a heavy sigh coming from a human and fixed his eyes on the wall just over his mother’s left shoulder, carefully not meeting her eye.

“I attempted to obtain a mate on my own terms and was…unsuccessful. I require a bondmate in order to survive my next Pon Farr. It is logical therefore to pursue the obvious avenue remaining to me and have you and Father secure a betrothal as you did when I was a child,” Spock replied, focusing on keeping his breathing steady and the emotions within him securely at bay.

His mother assessed him with a shrewd gaze for several seconds before stating confidently, “Something happened. Quite recently if I were to guess, perhaps even earlier today.” Spock fought to contain any noticeable reaction as she continued. “You found someone you liked but it didn’t work out.”

Without conscious thought, his eyes flicked to meet his mother’s, and he knew from the softening of her expression that she had seen the hidden pain within his eyes, as she had always been able to do.

“Oh Spock, kan-bu, tell me what happened. I can see that this has shaken you, but I’m sure it’s not as dire as it seems. Let me help,” she said with a tenderness that temporarily soothed the ache in his heart.

Spock recounted the events of the last few months, explaining in broad strokes how he had harboured feelings for his captain but, having realised that they were unrequited, had then gone on to register for the F.D.S.. He had grown close to an individual with whom he felt he could pursue a deeper relationship only to find that the person with whom he had been conversing had been the original object of his affections, and who had no interest in him romantically.

When he had finished conveying the facts of the matter his mother looked pensive and asked, “So what exactly did Captain Kirk say after you realised you had been speaking to one another all that time?”

“Say?” Spock repeated dully.

“Yes, say,” Amanada repeated in a mildly exasperated tone. “What did Jim say after you both stood up in the cafe and realised what had happened?”

Spock’s brow creased minutely as he admitted, “He did not say anything. I—I left before he could approach me.”

His mother frowned in confusion. “Well then, my darling, how do you know that he rejected you? Have you spoken since returning to the ship?” Spock was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with this line of questioning but replied all the same. His mother had not been there, she could not understand the disappointment and anger that had been so clearly radiating from Jim when he realised Spock was his match. “No, we have not spoken since. I do not need to hear in words what was evident in his emotional reactions. Any further discussion would only result in further harm to both parties.”

He watched as his mother’s eyes grew sad and when she next spoke her voice was soft and full of compassion. “Oh, Spock, you really need to speak to Jim. You can’t base all your decisions for the future on your interpretations of his emotional reaction to an extremely shocking circumstance. He was probably as shaken as you were, and goodness knows what was running through his mind at the time. For all you know he took your walking out as a rejection of him!”

Spock’s head hung slightly and he shook it as he stared down at the hands folded in his lap. His voice emerged in a near whisper as he said, “No, Mother, he does not want me. His disappointment was evident and I cannot remain aboard the Enterprise. I… I must leave.”

Amanda gasped softly and brought a hand to her mouth. “Spock, no! The Enterprise is your home. Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she said as Spock’s right eyebrow arched in reaction to her comment. “I know that growing up here wasn’t easy for you. Honestly, you’ve seemed much more content aboard the Enterprise than you ever were either here or on Earth.”

His mother was as astute an observer as ever and Spock suppressed a small surge of pride for this remarkable woman. “Just don’t throw it all away without talking to Jim first,” she finished.

Spock inclined his head and replied, “I will consider your words, Mother. I trust all is well with you and Father?”

Accepting Spock’s not-so-subtle dismissal of the subject, Amanda let out a quiet sigh and said, “Yes, thank you darling, we’re quite well.”

“I am glad. If you will excuse me now, Mother, I must prepare for sleep,” said Spock. It was an excuse to end this conversation but it was not a lie, the hour was late and he required rest after the stresses of the day.

His mother’s smile was tinged with sadness as she said, “Alright, Spock, sleep well and contact me if you need anything.”

“Of course, Mother. Live long and prosper,” he said as he raised his right hand in a graceful ta’al.

Amanda raised hers in a matching gesture and replied, “Peace and long life, kan-bu,” before Spock toggled the control and the video call blinked out, leaving his screen once more displaying the completed transfer request.

He sat there, staring at the screen for long moments, considering his mother’s words. He weighed her suppositions against all the evidence available to him, trying to view Jim’s reactions in another context, one in which he was not horrified to the point of tears to discover that Spock was his match. But no matter how he shaped it in his mind he could not make the available evidence fit the new hypothesis. No, Jim did not want him. Had not wanted him in the three years before they had both joined the F.D.S., and did not want him now even after coming to know him more intimately than anyone else in the galaxy.

Spock knew that his original decision remained the best choice for both himself and his captain. He would leave the Enterprise and move to another ship where he would not have to work side by side every day with the man who rejected him so thoroughly and yet to whom he remained hopelessly devoted. And Jim would no longer be burdened with a first officer who had caused him such anguish.

His heart heavy in his side, but resolute in his decision, Spock reached out and hit send.

Chapter Text

As the serene oblivion of sleep began to slip away and consciousness returned once more, Jim became aware of an abominable pounding in his head and a thick, foul-tasting coating in his mouth.

He groaned quietly as he stiffly levered himself up onto his elbows in the bed. The covers were strewn haphazardly across him and he realised that he was still fully clothed in his favourite green sweater and black slacks, albeit his boots had been removed and placed neatly at the end of the bed. He was puzzling over the unusual circumstance for a moment, wondering what could have happened to account for how dreadful he felt and his current state of dress, when the memories of the previous day came flooding back.

The deluge of images and emotions were so overwhelming that Jim collapsed backwards onto his pillow, covering his face with his hands and letting out a pained cry that retrospectively made him happy that the ship’s quarters had sound baffling.

There, behind his eyelids, he saw Spock standing in Maria’s, staring at him in shock and horror before turning on his heel and fleeing the cafe. Jim felt his stomach lurch at the memory and had to focus his breathing to keep from making a horrible mess of his bed.

He recalled spending the evening holed up in his cabin with Bones and suddenly his awful hangover made perfect sense. They’d drunk far more than was sensible of that bottle of bourbon… Well, Jim had drunk more than was sensible. Now that he thought of it, Bones had seemed to nurse his drinks for much longer than Jim had. He probably owed his friend a replacement bottle, he realised.

After Bones had asked him what had happened, Jim had just sat in silence for a few long minutes, drinking his whisky and enjoying the temporary burn as he swallowed each mouthful. A fleeting relief from the arctic chill in his core.

His friend hadn’t pushed, hadn’t tried to rush him, he’d just sat there patiently, in companionable silence, sipping at his own drink and allowing Jim the space to sort through his muddled thoughts.

Eventually Jim gathered himself enough to explain everything to Bones. The doctor was already aware of some of it, Jim having confided in him about bits and pieces in the past. However with the new context available to him, Jim felt that it was only right to start at the beginning of the whole sorry saga.

He began from the moment that he’d realised that Spock was drawing away from him, and reiterated his concerns that he’d chased him away with his unintentional flirting. He expounded on his joining the F.D.S. and the matches he’d found there. How his relationship with Spock had begun to shift and change, both of them still enjoying the company of the other but without the lingering urgency to push for more which Jim had struggled with previously. He explained how he’d watched as Spock had begun to develop new friendships with the other senior staff members, worrying that he’d been responsible for holding back Spock’s social development and acceptance by the crew because he’d greedily kept him to himself for so much of the mission. Jim revealed details of the discussions he’d had with his match, and how he’d felt a closeness growing between them with a rapidity he couldn’t fully explain. He discussed how he’d felt that his match had come to know him better than anyone else, and how excited he’d been for them to meet. And then, finally, he’d recounted every detail of their ill-fated meeting at Maria’s.

Bones never interrupted him—perhaps sensing that if he lost his flow then he may never be able to get going again—he just nodded along and offered an occasional “uhuh” or “hmmm” of encouragement. However, when Jim revealed that he’d looked up to see Spock holding the cactus and comm unit, the doctor had dropped his head into his hand and mumbled out a muffled, “Well, shit,” as he rubbed at his temples.

The rest of the evening had passed with Jim swinging between anger at the injustice of the universe and despair over what he’d lost, as his friend alternately tried to talk him down, or just held him as Jim sobbed into the shoulder of his uniform shirt.

Jim lay in bed, torn between the emotions that were warring in his mind: mortification that he’d made such a fool of himself, gratitude that his friend had supported him through it all, sadness at the realisation that his relationship with Spock may be irreparable.

He was just trying to summon up enough energy to leave the bed and stagger to the fresher for some water and to brush his teeth, when his door chimed.

“Enter,” he barked automatically, before realising that he really didn’t want his yeoman, or anyone else, to see him in this state. What if it was Spock, for stars’ sake!

He was struggling to his feet, and trying without success to flatten down his unruly hair and straighten his creased clothes, when Bones appeared at the divider to his sleeping alcove.

“Mornin’ sunshine, I bet you feel about as good as you look,” greeted Bones.

Jim flopped back down on the edge of his bed and grunted out, “Gee, thanks.”

“Oh now, don’t be like that, I come bearing gifts,” replied Bones and held up a hypo, which Jim vehemently hoped contained one of the doctor’s famed morning-after cure-alls.

Bones stepped forward and depressed the hypo against Jim’s neck. Relief rushed through him as his headache abated, the nausea faded and his energy began to return. Rubbing at the slightly tender spot on his neck he sighed, “Thank you, you’re a true friend.”

“Ah, it’s just a standard detox hypo, with a mild stimulant mixed in. I figured you might be a little worse for wear this mornin’.” His friend tried to brush it off, but Jim fixed him with a serious gaze.

“No, Bones, I mean it. You’re a true friend, and I appreciate you—supporting me, last night.”

Bones blushed slightly at the sudden sincerity but returned Jim’s gaze with a matching affection before slapping him on the shoulder and saying briskly, “Nothing you haven’t done for me before. Now, how are you feeling?”

“Much better now, thanks, I just need to brush my teeth and take a shower,” said Jim.

“I don’t mean physically—though you really do need to take a shower, you smell like a goddamn Tennessee distillery—I mean, how d’you feel about everythin’ that happened yesterday?” said Bones.

Jim’s gaze fell and he studied his hands as he picked unconsciously at the sleeve of his sweater. “I don’t know, Bones, it’s—it’s a lot. I guess I’m feeling a lot of things, but none of them particularly good,” replied Jim after a long pause.

Bones came and sat next to him on the bed and rested his hand on Jim’s shoulder, giving it a supportive squeeze. “Y’know you’re going to have to talk to him about everything sooner rather than later. The longer you leave it, the more it’s gonna fester. I’m still betting that things will work out better than you expect,” said Bones in a comforting tone.

His friend had proffered this opinion a few times the night before, even going so far as to suggest that Spock might have feelings for Jim too. A suggestion which Jim shot down so forcefully that he’d spilled most of the drink in his hand with his wild gesticulations.

“Bones—” he began but the doctor cut him off.

“I know y’don’t want to hear it, but I’m tellin’ you Jim, Spock cares about you! Oh, he hides it well under all that Vulcan training, but I’m betting that he’s just as rattled by all this as you are. Go talk to him, and knowin’ the two of you you’ll have it sorted out by lunch time,” Bones declared.

Jim sighed deeply and looked up at his friend. He still didn’t think Bones’ assertions about Spock’s feelings held much water, but he did know that his friend was right that he would have to talk to Spock about all this, and soon.

“Okay, Bones, I’ll talk to him today,” agreed Jim.

“Right, well, I best get myself back to sickbay before one of those yahoo technicians they sent over from the base blows the whole thing to kingdom come,” said Bones, standing from the bed and straightening his uniform tunic.

Jim rose with him and together they walked out of the sleeping alcove and towards the door. As they passed the desk Bones commented, “Oh no, don’t you go lettin’ them drag you into somethin’ today, you’re on leave, Jim, and you need the rest!” Completely baffled at the sudden change of topic and tone, Jim looked at Bones with confusion until his friend gestured at the blinking light on his computer which signalled a waiting communication.

Jim’s heart sank.

“It's probably a notification from the F.D.S. that Spock’s closed communications between us,” said Jim glumly.

“Now don’t go jumpin’ to the worst possible option, it could just as well be a progress report from one of the maintenance crews,” said Bones reasonably.

“I know, you’re right,” said Jim, though it came out a little hoarse. The detox hypo had worked wonders but he was still dehydrated and his throat was dry.

Ever the observant physician, Bones picked up on the rasp immediately and made a bee-line for the small kitchenette area in the corner of Jim’s living space. “You check on that and I’ll get you a tall glass of water,” said Bones in the tone he reserved for dishing out prescriptions.

Jim chuckled lightly as he lent over the desk and hit the button to open the waiting communique.

And then the bottom fell out of Jim’s world.

“Jim, Jim, are you alright?!” asked Bones, rushing back over to the desk and lowering Jim gently into the chair. “You’ve gone white as a sheet, how are you feeling? There wasn’t anything in that hypo you should have been allergic to…”

The doctor fussed with him, taking his pulse, checking the temperature of his forehead, looking into his eyes, but Jim was barely aware of any of it. His ears were ringing and he could feel his heart pounding as if it were trying to break free of his ribcage. His chest felt like there was an Aldebaran Wildebeest sitting on it, preventing desperately needed air from reaching his lungs.

He could hear Bones asking for an explanation, was distantly conscious of the rising urgency in his friend’s tone, but he couldn’t form any words. The most he could muster was to point weakly towards the computer on his desk, the words emblazoned there still repeating in his mind like a horrifying litany: “Irreconcilable differences with commanding officer.”

Bones looked to the screen and read over the transfer form, his face reddening with every word. By the time his agitation finally burst forth he was beetroot and practically frothing at the mouth. “Why, that pig-headed, no-good, illogical, sorry excuse for a green-blooded sonofabitch! Of all the stupid, impulsive, ill conceived—” he ranted before turning back to Jim, who was slowly coming back to full awareness.

Bones took Jim by the shoulders and brought his head down so their eyes were level with one another. “Jim, this doesn’t change a thing, it just means that pointy-eared bastard is panicking even worse than you are. You still have to talk to him, so get movin’,” said Bones.

All at once Jim was filled with an urgency that had him on his feet and striding towards the door to his quarters.

He needed to speak to Spock, needed to apologise, to explain, to say whatever he needed to say to convince him to stay.

If Spock didn’t want him as more than a friend that was fine, Jim could keep his own feelings in check. He’d managed this far hadn’t he?—Had he?

Sure, things would be awkward, maybe even painful, for a while. But no matter how excruciating it might be to have Spock forever beside him but just out of reach—especially knowing now just how compatible they really were and how happy they could be together if only Spock could love him back—it would be infinitely worse if the Vulcan walked out of his life altogether. The very thought of it had the blind panic rising in Jim again.

He’d almost made it to the door when he felt firm hands grab him, and begin to turn him away from the exit to the corridor.

“Not that way, ya damn fool, you still need to shower and change first. If I wrung out those clothes I could get at least two measures back,” Bones said, and redirected him towards the fresher.

“Right,” mumbled Jim as he allowed himself to be pushed through the door towards the sonic shower.

Bones was right, he needed to talk to Spock. Needed to try and fix this. He’d apologise, he’d explain, he’d beg if he had to, but he couldn’t let Spock leave. Not if there was even the slightest chance of salvaging even a fraction of what they’d had.

A quick wash and a fresh change of clothes would give him time to order his thoughts, he decided as he reached for his toothbrush with a shaking hand.

Chapter Text

Spock had just placed his folded meditation robe neatly in the top of his duffle bag alongside his other clothes, when his door entry panel chirped to signal a request for entry.

There were very few people aboard the ship who ever attended his private quarters. Given that his yeoman had already acknowledged his request not to be disturbed this morning, and he knew Lt. Uhura to be on duty in the communications lab, Spock concluded that there was a 96.3% chance that the person on the other side of his door was the captain.

He had expected that Kirk would wish to confront him about his transfer request, and potentially their meeting at the cafe. Had calculated the probability to four decimal places. That, however, did not make the prospect of what was to come any more appealing.

Spock knew that he deserved much of Kirk’s ire—though his offences had been unintentional, he was aware that he had made decisions which had caused significant distress. He was prepared to allow his Captain the opportunity to vent his anger at him before signing the paperwork that would allow him to be free of Spock forever.

The thought of being discharged from the Enterprise—his home—never to see his friends or his love again brought with it a wave of anguish, which was swiftly stamped down. Now was not the time for processing his own emotions; there would be time enough for that while he awaited his new orders aboard the starbase.

Steeling himself for what was to come, Spock smoothed his uniform, straightened his spine and stood at parade rest, his face a mask of stone, before calling out, “Enter.”

As the door slid smoothly into the wall to allow entry, Spock kept his eyes fixed on the bulkhead to its right. Even in his peripheral vision however, he was aware of something awry with the captain’s posture. He had expected Kirk to stride swiftly through the door, arms swinging, broad shoulders squared and chin determinedly raised. Instead, his figure looked hunched as if it were sagging beneath a heavy weight, and when Spock allowed his eyes to flick to the left to take in his captain directly, he had to prevent an audible gasp from escaping his lips.

Spock had been prepared for Kirk to be upset, angry, cold, distant, perhaps even to shout. He had not been at all prepared for him to look so pale, deeply distressed, sad and guilty, as though he were still standing in that cafe with a broken heart. All of his usual confidence abandoned, Kirk looked like a man waiting for a blow to land.

“Spock,” Kirk said, and Spock was equally shocked to hear the hesitance in his captain’s normally sure voice.

“Captain,” Spock replied, with a respectful nod of his head.

Kirk stepped further into the room, coming to rest a few feet in front of Spock. He couldn't help but notice that the distance was noticeably larger than that which Kirk would normally leave between them for the purposes of conversing. “I got your transfer request,” Kirk began. “We need to talk.”

Spock didn’t think he could maintain his neutral demeanour if he attempted to look Kirk in the eye during the following minutes and so pulled his gaze away from his captain and focussed once more on the bulkhead just over Kirk’s right shoulder. “I anticipated as much,” he said, and though he tried to keep his tone flat and expressionless, he was dismayed to hear a slight tremor in his words.

Kirk however, didn’t appear to notice and continued, “You want to leave m— the Enterprise?”.

No, of course Spock didn’t want to leave the Enterprise or his beloved, but it was far too late to try and explain that to his captain. Instead he replied, “I believe it to be the most logical option. The emotional compromise between us— cannot be overcome.”

“Emotional compromise. That’s how you see it?” said Kirk.

“We need not discuss it further Captain, all I require is that you approve the transfer request. My preparations for departure will not be extensive. I can vacate the ship by the end of Beta Shift,” said Spock.

Indeed he realised that this was the sad truth. It would take him fewer than twelve hours to make the appropriate arrangements to hand his experiments over to his colleagues in the science department, to log his final reports as first officer and to pack the remainder of his belongings. The Enterprise had been more of a home to him than any other place in the galaxy ever had, and yet in less than half a standard day all ties could be cut and he would be gone.

Another wave of sorrow washed through him and was ruthlessly cut off before it could threaten his tenuous control.

“Spock, there must be something we can do. Some kind of understanding we can come to that would allow you to stay?” said Kirk, and Spock was momentarily confused by the pleading tone that crept into his friend’s voice.

Was the captain concerned about splitting up their command team? Spock was well aware that they held the highest mission success rating in the fleet, but surely that was not enough of a reason for Kirk to wish him to stay after all that had passed between them. Possibly this was some missguided attempt to be noble. Kirk was an honourable man and perhaps wished to save Spock from marring his otherwise exemplary service record. Certainly, leaving his post on the flagship would raise many questions among the upper echelons of Starfleet Command. If that was why Kirk now appeared to be trying to convince him to stay, then Spock felt he did not deserve such consideration. “I have already caused too much strain between us. Continuing in this capacity will only exacerbate the situation. It is best that I leave before any more harm can be caused,” said Spock stiffly.

Kirk looked at him, his face a study in misery, and said softly, “It’s not a crime not to return someone’s feelings, Spock.”

Did the captain think that Spock blamed his lack of reciprocation for their current circumstances? That could not stand. The fault, Spock knew, lay solely with him and his woeful lack of emotional control. His un-Vulcan desire for his captain which, try as he might, he had never been able to suppress in its entirety.

“I would never suggest such a thing. I merely believe that in our particular circumstances it would be best for me to remove myself from the Enterprise so that we might both— find peace,” Spock replied.

Spock had meant his words to reassure. To absolve Kirk of any feelings of obligation to him. To comfort. However, they appeared to act upon his Captain in the opposite manner. Kirk’s brow furrowed, his eyes widened and became glassy, and he began pacing the breadth of Spock’s cabin like a caged Le-matya.

His face was flushed and a sheen of sweat had formed on his brow and upper lip. Spock realised that he still had the environmental controls set to their highest temperature in order to stave off his ever present chill; the heat must have been unbearably hot for a human. However, it did not seem like an appropriate moment to adjust them to something more comfortable for his captain.

Spock watched Kirk’s movement, at a loss for how to proceed. He couldn’t comprehend his reaction to their current circumstances, and he was becoming increasingly perplexed by Kirk’s continued pleas to try and make Spock stay aboard the Enterprise.

When Kirk began to speak again, his words escaped him in a rush, in a tone which appeared to be fueled by adrenaline and desperation. “Look, Spock, I know things haven’t been right between us for months, and I understand that discussing emotions makes you uncomfortable, but I can’t believe that this is how this has to end—”

“It must, Captain—” Spock cut in before he too was interrupted by Kirk’s impassioned exclamation.

“No, dammit! I can’t accept that. I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way. Don’t care if you can never love me back. I need you here, Spock, don’t you understand?” Jim pleaded.

All at once, Spock’s mind screeched to a sudden halt. He felt like the inertial dampers and gravity plating had gone offline all at once. The impact of what he thought he had just heard slammed into him with the force of a meteor strike.

His mind reeled, his limbs felt weak and for a moment he worried that he might collapse under the weight of the revelation.

As if without his conscious intention, softly gasped and stuttering words fell from his lips into the space between them, bringing Kirk to an equally stunned stop. “You—you love me?”

“I—well, yes, that’s the problem, that’s what we’ve been arguing about… Spock, what’s going on? You’re looking distinctly green, are you okay? Do you need me to call Bones?” Kirk asked, moving towards Spock. His hands held out as if to catch him; close but not touching.

Spock could feel the heat in his cheeks, the flush that had surged through him to colour his face and ears, but he did not have the capacity in that moment to consider suppressing the reaction. Instead he fixed Kirk with a firm gaze, staring into his eyes, examining his face for any minute changes in reaction as he said, “Captain—Jim, this is very important, I need you to clarify— You are in love with me and are under the impression that I do not return your feelings. Correct?”

Kirk looked confused and cautious, but Spock could detect no hint of insincerity as he replied, “Yes, of course. That’s what we’ve been talking about, and I understand why you might want to leave because of that, but honestly, Spock, I know we can find a way to make this work. I can keep a lid on my feelings, I won’t make things awkward for us, I swear.” His final words escaped in a rush, some of the previous desperation slipping back into his voice as he made his final pitch to convince Spock to remain.

Spock closed his eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath as he worked to contain the relief and joy now suffusing his entire being.

Once he knew that he would be able to speak without his voice shaking he opened his eyes and met Kirk’s concerned gaze.

“Jim, I believe that we have both been labouring under a grave misapprehension,” Spock said.

“What do you mean?” asked Kirk.

“I was under the impression that you did not reciprocate my affections, when in fact I—” Spock paused, gathering his determination to break through a lifetime of Vulcan discipline to lay bare his more intimate emotions. It was no less than his beloved deserved. “Jim, I love you.”

Kirk looked dumbstruck, a small “oh” escaping him as he absorbed the new reality. Within moments though, a smile began to spread across his face until he was beaming at Spock with an expression that dazzled the Vulcan more thoroughly than any star ever could.

“Oh, Spock!” Kirk cried as he threw himself at the Vulcan, his arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders and his face buried into the crook of his neck. Tentatively Spock wrapped his arms around Kirk’s back in return, revelling in the feeling of finally holding his captain in his arms, this man who was most dear to him in all the universe.

“I can’t believe this, I was so sure I was going to lose you forever,” Kirk said into the rumpled fabric of Spock’s uniform.

“Hush, ashayam, be assured I shall never again leave your side,” said Spock as he brought one hand up to card softly through his love’s hair, now lightly damp with perspiration.

“So many times when I was sending all those messages through the F.D.S., I wanted it to be you. Felt guilty for falling for someone else when I still loved you so much. Wished you could love me back. Now here we are, and we know so much more about one another. I feel so close to you, closer than I’ve ever felt to anyone else,” mumbled Jim, lips brushing thrillingly against Spock’s neck as he spoke.

“I admit to having harboured similar thoughts and desires. I am gratified that the situation has come to such a satisfying conclusion for us both, Jim,” replied Spock, resting his cheek gently against the top of Kirk’s head.

After a long moment of simply holding one another, Spock became aware of a subtle but distinct shift in the tenor of their embrace. Where a moment ago he had been focussed on the joy and relief of their declarations—offering comfort to his beloved and soothing away the distress of their misunderstanding—now he was all too aware of the toned muscles beneath his sensitive fingers, and the warm gusts of breath that rippled across the skin of his neck with each of Kirk’s exhales.

Very slowly, as if he was fearful of causing Spock to pull away, Kirk began to pull back from their embrace. His head tilted up and back until they were first cheek to cheek, and then nose to nose, almost but not quite touching. Spock's heart was pounding in his side and his breaths had become both shallower and faster than their usual measured pace. Spock may not have shared his Captain’s experience in matters of sexuality, but he was not so inexperienced as to not understand that with the slightest of movements their lips would press together in a first, desperately longed for, kiss.

Kirk leaned in, the sides of their noses sliding together in delicious skin to skin contact, their lips so close that they were almost brushing. Suddenly Spock felt a sharp—crack—from the barriers around their connection, forcing a pained gasp from his lips.

Kirk jumped back, still holding Spock but now at arms length, his face full of guilt and concern. “I’m so sorry, Spock, I shouldn't have done that. I don’t want to push things too fast, I got carried away in the moment but that’s no excuse—” said Kirk.

“No.” Spock cut him off, gathering himself after the sudden shock. “It is I who must apologise, Jim. There is something I have neglected to tell you. Something you should be made aware of before we proceed any further,” said Spock.

“Okay, well, shall we sit down then?” asked Kirk, gesturing to the small couch at the end of Spock’s cabin, a mirror image of Kirk’s own.

Spock acquiesced and they settled at either end of the sofa, turned towards each other such that their knees pressed together.

“Jim, shortly after our mission to Nestor V I became aware of a nascent mental connection between us.

“I had been struggling to maintain my emotional controls, and in retrospect realised that I was being driven by the connection to complete a bond with you. I had tried to simply maintain a greater distance from you, but I found that—equally as challenging.

“During a deep meditation I found the source of the connection and created a specific barrier around it, effectively blocking the link. While it was not entirely severed, I managed, for all intents and purposes, to cut it off at my end and thus prevent it from unduly affecting my controls.

“I enquired with Dr. McCoy soon thereafter as to your health and he stated that you had recently undergone a full physical and had garnered a clean bill of health. I was therefore satisfied that my actions had had no noticeable side effects to your end of the connection, likely due to your mind being psi null.

“Jim, I do not tell you this to pressure you into bonding with me. Indeed although our minds do appear to be remarkably compatible it may not be possible for us to ever establish a full bond. I merely felt that you should know prior to us implementing any changes to the nature of our relationship. For now I am content to continue shielding the link as I have been,” Spock said.

Throughout Spock’s explanation Kirk had become very still. His previously bright and happy expression was now unreadable.

“There’s a link between our minds and it was inhibiting your emotional control and driving you to try and bond with me?” asked Kirk, his face still a disconcertingly neutral mask, his voice flat and measured.

“That is correct,” replied Spock.

“Driving you to want to be around me more and more? To want to touch me? To meld with me? As if my mind was calling to you?” asked Kirk.

Spock frowned. Kirk’s description was not inaccurate but Spock had not stated as much in his explanation and was thus mildly confused by the assertion. “Yes,” he replied.

“And the side effects you mentioned, what did you feel?” Kirk asked.

“They are manageable, Jim, you need not worr—” began Spock.

“I didn’t ask how you’re coping with them, I asked what they are,” said Kirk, sharply enough for Spock to establish that beneath his carefully controlled exterior, his captain was seething.

Carefully, he responded, “Headaches…”

“Anything else?” prompted Kirk.

“A pervasive feeling of cold, even in the warmest of environments,” said Spock.

“Damnit, Spock!” Kirk suddenly burst, his brow creasing and his hands thrown up in a gesture of frustration as he leapt from his seat and began pacing his previous path across the breadth of the room.

“And you didn’t think I might want to know about this, might need to know about this? It was affecting me too. I felt the same pull towards you, Spock, it was like a compulsion, and it was getting harder and harder to control. For stars’ sake, it could have affected my command, my mind was being influenced and you didn’t think I needed to know that as soon as you realised? Nestor V was months ago! For months we’ve both been suffering from these side effects and—”

“Both?” Spock cut across him. “Jim, you have been suffering side effects as well? Dr McCoy stated that you were in full health.”

“I am healthy but that doesn’t mean that it hasn’t been damned unpleasant. I’ve constantly felt like I’ve been living in a cryo-unit. I’ve felt like I’ve had earmuffs and blinkers on; like I can’t see the world in full colour. And I’ve been dizzy on and off when I’ve been around you. Damnit, I should have put two and two together but I never dreamed that you would keep something like this from me. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, Spock!” replied Kirk, voice raising with each word until he was practically shouting.

“Jim, it was not my intention to deceive you. I simply believed that you could never wish to complete the bond. The most logical course of action at the time seemed to be for me to block it until such time as I could have a Vulcan Mind Healer remove it,” said Spock, his heart aching for having once again unintentionally distressed his captain, his friend, his beloved.

“So you didn’t say a word, you just buried it and ran off to the F.D.S. to find someone else,” bit out Kirk.

Spock felt like he’d been slapped. Did Kirk think that there was anyone else in this galaxy that Spock would rather be with than him? Spock would never have looked elsewhere if he’d thought for a moment that his advances would have been welcomed by Kirk. Did he blame Spock for seeking out companionship with another when he honestly believed that there was no future between the two of them? Kirk himself had sought an alternative romance through the F.D.S.. The injustice of the barb had left Spock reeling and lacking any form of response before Kirk continued.

“You should have trusted me enough to tell me, Spock, to give me some say in whether it was blocked or removed. The connection has two ends and you’ve been making unilateral decisions about it for months. You were going to have it removed and never tell me? How could you have known it wouldn't hurt me? Were you even going to tell me after it was gone?” Kirk asked, his pacing now at an end as he looked Spock dead in the eye.

“Jim, I—” Spock began helplessly before he was cut off by the sound of the boatswain's whistle emanating from the comm panel on his wall.

“Engineering to Captain Kirk,” called out the unfamiliar voice.

Kirk strode across the room and clicked the button on the comm panel before replying, “Kirk here.”

“This is Technician Allmar, I’m sorry to interrupt you when you’re on leave, sir, but we have a problem down here that we require your sign off to resolve,” they said.

“I’ll be right down, Kirk out,” said Kirk and closed the channel before looking back to Spock. “We’ll finish this later,” was all the captain said before turning on his heel and striding purposefully from the room.

Spock watched him go from his spot on the couch, his legs too weak and shaky to rise. Confusion, guilt, sadness all warred within him. Minutes before he was happier than he’d ever been, happier even than he had felt on Omicron Ceti III when he’d been under the influence of the flower spores. He had held his love in his arms, stroked his hair, felt his skin against his own and almost kissed his beautiful lips, and now they were more at odds than ever. Kirk was clearly furious with Spock, obviously felt betrayed, and perhaps that was justified to an extent. Spock had not withheld the existence of their bond out of malice, but did the omission count any less as a lie? It was a tightrope across which Vulcans often danced, however, in this case Spock appeared to have stumbled.

Filled with a growing misery, he glanced across his cabin at his half full duffle bag, and considered whether his packing might not have been in vain after all.

Chapter Text

Jim stalked from Spock’s quarters and made his way swiftly through the ship towards engineering.

His muscles were tensed, his shoulders held rigidly, as a hurricane of emotions battered his mind. He attempted to keep his face from betraying the storm which was raging within him; it wouldn't do for the captain to appear to be less than in control if he were to encounter any crew members. However, with the majority of the Enterprise crew enjoying shore leave aboard the starbase, the corridors were mercifully quiet. Jim only passed two technicians on route to his destination, both of whom were elbow deep inside of access panels and only gave the captain a cursory nod as he passed.

When he reached the entrance to main engineering, Jim paused for a moment and took a few fortifying breaths to calm his racing heart and relax some of the tightness from his jaw. By the time he had entered and located Technician Allmar, he was glad to note that his voice betrayed none of his simmering tension.

“Mr Allmar, what’s the issue?” Kirk asked.

“Sir, it’s the new flow regulation manifold, it doesn’t fit and we need your permission to move units gamma-nine through gamma-twelve in order to create the additional space required for installation,” said Allmar.

Jim’s brow furrowed, he was in no mood to deal with mistakes caused by poor planning today.

“What do you mean it doesn’t fit? Surely this was something that should have been caught ahead of time. The engineering corps have the Constitution Class blueprints, how could they possibly supply a manifold that wouldn’t fit the Enterprise?” Jim asked, slightly more brusquely than he intended. However, Allmar didn’t flinch in the face of his accusatory tone, merely responded calmly and professionally.

“Yes, Sir, but the Enterprise has been out in space for over three years now and in that time it’s undergone maintenance and upgrades in the field that have resulted in a non-standard set up. Many of those changes have been logged with Command and updated in the specs held by the Corps. However, as we’re finding out now, Sir, there are some that weren’t reported and as such we’re about half a metre shy of the room we need for this installation.”

Jim thought back to the numerous occasions during their mission so far, when Scotty and his team had been forced to jury rig some miraculous solution during a crisis. Remembered every hastily cobbled together engineering miracle that had snatched the Enterprise and her crew back from the jaws of certain death. Not every change to the onboard systems—very few in all likelihood—met with Starfleet codes and safety regs. Jim could well imagine that his chief engineer might have taken some creative licence in his after-action reports to command. He himself had learned that there was an art to massaging the facts when it came to reports; finding the balance between accurately recounting the events while withholding any—superfluous details that would only muddy the waters of bureaucracy.

Satisfied with the explanation but frustrated nonetheless, Jim asked, “Has Lieutenant Commander Scott been informed?”

“Aye, sir, he’s on his way back to the ship to assist, but since the solution will involve some structural work we require your authorisation,” said Allmar.

“Fine. Will you need to call back any more of the engineers from leave to get this done?” Jim asked, concerned that this would interfere with his crew’s sorely needed R&R time.

“Probably just one, sir, and only for a few hours. Mr Scott will help us with the swap out of the new flow regulator, but we’ll need another warm body to take on cycling down and disconnecting every data connection point for each of the units in turn before we can move them,” responded Allmar.

Jim rubbed at his jaw as he considered for a moment. He wasn’t an engineer by any stretch but he had taken both the basic engineering modules at the Academy, as well as a handful of the more advanced mechanics options. He had always enjoyed working with his hands, and while he always felt destined for command, he had made it a point to try and cross train in as many disciplines as possible along the way, believing that a captain should know as much about the inner workings of his ship as possible.

He was reluctant to pull anyone else back to the ship from their leave, and honestly, at that moment he felt that getting his hands dirty in the inner workings of the ship would be a good way for him to clear his head. Focussing on a purely physical task often helped him to work through things.

His mind made up, he re-focussed his attention on Allmar.

“No need to interrupt anyone else’s leave, I’ll take care of disconnecting the units,” said Jim.

For the first time in their conversation, Allmar's professional calm cracked slightly and he looked taken aback by the captain’s offer. “Sir, I’m sure we could get—” he began before Jim cut him off.

“There’s no need, Technician, I’m level six qualified and more than capable of undertaking the work. Just grab me a jumpsuit and tool kit and I’ll get started,” Jim said in a polite but firm tone which brooked no argument.

“Yes, sir,” replied Allmar before moving away to gather the requested items.

Five minutes later, clad in a standard red engineering jumpsuit to protect his duty uniform, Jim crawled his way through one of the jefferies tubes adjacent to main engineering, until he reached the rear of the first panel due to be disconnected and moved.

Settling himself into as comfortable a position as was possible in the cramped space and hyper-spanner in hand, he set about the tedious work of disconnecting the first of the dozens of data connections which would need to be removed prior to the disassembly of the unit. It wasn’t difficult work, just time consuming and repetitive. However, that was exactly what Jim needed, something to hold his focus while he worked through his jumbled thoughts and feelings.

Foremost in his mind was still his anger. Anger that Spock had kept the existence of the link from him, that he had blocked it and that he planned to have it removed without giving Jim any say in the matter. How could he do that? How could he just block it and never think to mention it to Jim? He raged internally for a time, venting his pent up energy on some of the more stubborn connections, which required him to leverage his whole body against their resistance.

By the time he’d finished disconnecting the first of the four panels, Jim was sweating and grimy, covered in dust and grease and lubricant from the inner workings of the machinery. After the physical exertion, and a long period of allowing himself to indulge his frustrations, his anger had begun to ebb. As the red haze of fury and resentment cleared it revealed below it, as it always did, a much more complex tangle of feelings.

Anger was simple. Anger was easy to deal with, easy to work out with physical exertion. Anger didn’t ask you to think too hard: it wanted to assign blame and vent fury at those who had wronged you. It didn’t care about motivations or intentions, didn’t take into account nuance and grey areas. Anger was black and white, good and bad, right and wrong. It was what lay below the anger which required deeper thought and more concerted mental effort to work through.

Jim sighed, sagging against the wall of the jefferies tube as the fight went out of him and the last of his anger was replaced by a deep sadness and hurt which caused tears to threaten at the corners of his eyes. Oh Spock, why didn’t you just tell me? Why did you go looking for someone else? he thought as he wiped roughly at his eyes with the sleeve of his overalls.

‘I simply believed that you could never wish to complete the bond,’ came the reply. The memory of Spock’s words ringing so clearly in his ears that Spock might have been there beside him speaking them again.

But how could Spock have been so oblivious to Jim’s feelings? How could he think that Jim wouldn’t have wanted him if he had offered something more? But the answers to those questions were there in his memory too. For months he had been speaking to his match—to Spock, learning about his life, his childhood, his hopes, his fears. Jim realised that in the emotional trauma of the last twenty-four hours he had yet to reconcile the two individuals in his mind; his match and Spock, one and the same.

Now that he was doing so, the disparate threads of the two relationships were weaving together to provide an overview of the rich tapestry that was Spock’s life. Of a man born of two worlds and accepted by neither. Of a young boy scorned by his peers and elders alike. A man who had been rejected by his wife, forced to fight his captain and friend, ostensibly to the death were it not for the quick thinking of Bones. Drugged, manipulated and humiliated on Omicron Ceti III by a woman who professed to love him.

Every experience that they had shared during their time on the Enterprise mingled with the months of shared stories exchanged via the F.D.S. and suddenly Jim could see Spock more clearly than ever before. Of course Spock’s first instinct would be to expect rejection; rejection and betrayal were all he’d ever known. Spock truly believed that no one could ever desire him so fervently, and for three years he had watched Jim flit from one liaison with a beautiful woman to the next.

And now Jim had reacted so awfully to the revelation of the link. Been so harsh with his words. Perhaps ruined any chance that he had to finally get everything he’d ever wanted.

And that was the heart of the matter.

It was becoming more obvious to Jim with every passing moment that he worked and thought, with every new revelation made in tandem with every new data port disconnected. The reason that he had reacted so badly, had exploded so thoroughly, was that under the anger and the sadness lay fear. A primal, all-encompassing fear that he was being denied the one thing in all the universe that was most precious to him, even more so than his silver lady.

A bond with Spock, a relationship that went beyond the professional or friendly, was what he wanted more than anything. And the weight of that realisation was almost enough to bring him to the deck.

He’d fallen in love with Spock twice now, and he’d made a mess of it both times.

As he worked his way through the final panel, Jim realised that plenty of his own securities had been at play during his blow-up in Spock’s quarters. Yes, he’d been fearful of losing their link and the opportunity it presented for a deeper bonding, but beyond that, he’d worried that Spock’s choice to hide and block it meant that he didn’t want to be linked to Jim. Didn’t want to tie his logical mind to Jim’s chaotically human one.

If Spock didn’t want to pursue a romantic relationship with him it would be painful, but Jim felt that Spock wanting to pursue a romantic relationship while continuing to withhold the link, or having it severed, would be equally devastating.

Jim wanted Spock in every way possible and anything less would always leave him feeling like a part of him was missing.

Jim needed to speak to Spock, needed to apologise and try to make things right. Spock had said that he loved him deeply and that he would never again leave his side. Jim fervently hoped that after his appalling behaviour Spock still felt the same way.

They loved each other and wanted to be together. If the only thing standing between them and their happy ending was Jim’s pride, then he wasn’t beyond begging for Spock’s forgiveness.

As Jim disconnected the final data port on the fourth panel, he resolved to grab a quick shower to clean up and then go and find Spock. He was going to straighten things out one way or the other, offer himself to Spock wholeheartedly and unreservedly, and if Spock decided against it, still wanted to leave, then he would try to pick himself up thereafter. But Jim wasn’t going to let that fear hold him back anymore: he was done standing in his own way.

A discussion with Allmar and Scotty and a quick sonic shower later saw Jim stepping back out of his quarters and into the corridor. He turned and walked the few paces to Spock’s door, reaching out a hand to tentatively hit the chime.

There was no answer.

A knot was forming low in the pit of Jim’s stomach as he hit the chime for a second time and then a third. Still no answer.

With dread beginning to clench at his chest, he typed in his command override code with trembling fingers and stepped into the quiet cabin.

The room was entirely bare, every personal belonging stripped from the walls, shelves and desk. All that remained were two small duffels and one hard shell storage case, likely awaiting collection and transport by one of the yeomen.

Bile rising in his throat and tears welling in his eyes, Jim realised he was too late.

Spock was gone.

Chapter Text

Spock had remained seated for long minutes after Kirk strode from his quarters. He could have called upon his innate time-sense to inform him of exactly how many but he had neither the desire nor the capacity. Whether one minute or twenty, the period of absence had been filled with silence and pain.

After a while Spock rose, first pacing his quarters in the human manner, and then folding himself to the floor in search of meditation in the Vulcan way. Neither activity helped in the slightest to alleviate the growing despair within him.

Kirk had indicated that he would return to resume their discussion, and yet as the time stretched on it seemed less and less likely that he would reappear. He had said that he was in love with Spock, but would that be enough to overcome the feeling of betrayal he evidenced at Spock having withheld the mental connection?

Spock’s mind raced, muddled with so many emotions, such that he no longer felt that he could trust his own judgement. He loved Kirk, had been in earnest when he said he would not leave his side, and yet perhaps that is what would be best for them both. Regardless of their feelings, Spock’s deficiencies in matters of social and romantic interactions continued to cause inadvertent harm to his love. He wished no harm to ever come to his beloved, and so would the most logical solution not be to carry through with his original intention and remove himself from the ship, from Kirk’s life?

Kirk was young, beautiful and successful. There was no shortage of prospective romances in his future. Yes, there would be pain and distress in the short term if Spock left, but in the long run Kirk would surely be able to find a mate who was better equipped to fulfil his needs. One who would not cause him harm with every unintentional misstep, as they tried to navigate a relationship dynamic so very alien to Spock.

His quarters were already bare. He had all but finished packing when he had been interrupted by Kirk—the only item which remained on display was the Carnegiea Vulcanis with its damaged flower, which he had yet to return to the botany lab—his whole life packed away in three modestly sized containers.

He stared at them, paralysed with indecision. It would be all too easy to simply gather them up and make the journey off the ship to the starbase. To leave behind Kirk and the feelings he inspired, to rededicate himself to his Vulcan disciplines, clamp down on the potential bond and his emotional control until such time as he could meet with a healer to have it removed—maybe Kirk would wish for it to be removed in anycase. He had not yet signed off on Spock’s transfer, but if need be Spock could appeal directly to Command for reassignment.

Hush, ashayam, be assured I shall never again leave your side. His own words drifted back to him like the rustle of leaves on a breeze and Spock knew that to walk away from Kirk would not be so easy.

He needed to speak to him again, to apologise, make clear his feelings and find out where they both stood. If Kirk wished him to leave then he would, but he would not—could not—walk away from his beloved while there was still a chance for them to reconcile.

Spock prodded gently at the barriers around the connection in his mind. They had cracked when he and Kirk had made contact earlier but they still held firm. Had his mind been cleared in that moment Spock might have considered how such a slight and insubstantial connection, as the one he had found all those weeks ago, could have caused such a crack in the first place. As it was, the emotional toll of the day had left Spock feeling hazy, taxed and restless. Full of an aching fear that the potential of the link would never be fulfilled.

He needed to leave his cabin, to remove himself from the confines of the space which had been witness to both the heights of his elation and depths of despair in such short order.

Without further thought, Spock scooped up the small potted cactus and proceeded out into the corridor towards the lift to the lab deck.

“Mr Spock, I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” said Lieutenant Petrosyan—a tall, blonde, human woman with an eastern European accent—from her place in front of a specimen tray of delicate, leafy seedlings in shades of lavender and lilac.

“Indeed, I simply wished to return this,” he responded, indicating the plant in his hands with a slight lift. “I did not expect anyone to be in the labs at this time”.

“Oh, I won’t be here for long, I just wanted to check on these little guys before heading over to the base for dinner,” she replied cheerily. “Did you get what you needed from the Carnegiea Vulcanis?”

“Yes, thank you. However, I must apologise for some slight damage to the flower, it has lost four petals under my care. I had intended to return it in pristine condition, however, there were—unexpected complications,” said Spock, trying not to think about his headlong flight across the base’s main concourse.

Petrosyan’s brow creased momentarily in query, no doubt wondering what he had required the plant for. However, she quickly rallied and the pleasant smile returned to her face as she replied, “Oh, don’t worry about that, it’s been in flower for a few weeks now so the petals were probably already loose and ready to fall. It still looks good and healthy. I can take it back if you’re done with it.”

Handing over the plant and thanking the lieutenant once more, Spock took his leave and walked, somewhat more slowly than his normal pace, back to his quarters. Reluctant to find himself once again alone in his silent rooms.

However, as he approached the door of his quarters, his keen Vulcan hearing detected sound from within; soft huffs and gasps coming in staccato rhythm. Quickening his pace he crossed the final few strides to the door and pressed his hand to the entry pad, letting himself inside.

There leaning back against Spock’s desk, stood Kirk, his shoulders slumped and hands covering his face.

At the sounds of Spock stepping into the room, and the doors swishing shut behind him, the captain looked up. His eyes were pink and glassy, the skin around them slightly swollen, and tear tracks stained his flushed cheeks. He was the very picture of abject misery and the sight drove all other thoughts from Spock’s mind.

In four long strides Spock was standing in front of his love, gathering Kirk into his arms as the shaking human allowed the last few choked off sobs to abate. All the heat of their previous confrontation evaporated as they embraced. Kirk’s fingers twisted into Spock’s uniform blues, gripping tightly, as if to a lifeline.

“I thought you’d gone,” said Kirk, his voice shaking and muffled as he spoke into Spock’s chest, his forehead resting on Spock’s shoulder. “I thought I’d chased you away again, I—I’m so sorry Spock—”

“Jim, no—ashayam, it is I who should apologise. You were correct, I should not have withheld the existence of the connection from you. It was an error in judgement on my part,” said Spock, as his cheek rested atop Kirk’s head and his hand rubbed slow, gentle circles over his back.

“But I reacted so—so abominably. I should never have shouted at you like that, Spock, there’s no excuse for the way I spoke to you, I’m so sorry,” Kirk said.

“Jim, you did not, this situation has been trying for both of us. I believe that we have each done and said things that we have come to regret. Perhaps it would be best for us to, to borrow a human phrase, simply ‘draw a line under it,’” said Spock.

Kirk huffed out a soft chuckle and raised his head from Spock’s shoulder, taking a half step back so he could look up into Spock’s face. Now holding one another’s arms, rather than fully embracing. “You’ve been spending too much time with Bones,” said Kirk, and a tentative smile brightened his tear-stained face.

“I assure you, Captain, I do not subject myself to such irrational company willingly,” said Spock, the suggestion of a smile crinkling the skin around his eyes and twitching at the corner of his lips.

The answering grin from Jim, small as it was in comparison to his usual exuberance, was enough to ease some of the tension from Spock’s taut frame.

“Come, let us sit,” he said as he led Kirk, hand still at his elbow, back to the small couch which had been the scene of their previous disastrous discussion. Hope was illogical, but a small, human part of Spock allowed himself to fervently hope that this conversation would end quite differently.

They sat as before, bodies turned towards one another, knees touching, their hands once again in their respective laps. Their embrace had broken through the initial barrier between them, however, the atmosphere still hung heavy with matters yet to be resolved. Spock reminded himself that things were not yet settled, and that Kirk’s desires for how they might proceed may not necessarily match his own. Kaiidth: there was nothing he could do now but speak honestly and listen to what Kirk had to say in return.

“Spock, I’m sorry I walked out like that,” said Jim.

“Duty required you elsewhere,” Spock replied smoothly, face intentionally smooth of the pain the memory of Kirk’s retreating form conjured in him.

“Still, it could have waited a few minutes, and I could have come back much quicker. I just—I needed time to clear my head, to let myself calm down, and they were a body short in Engineering,” Kirk said.

“You took on maintenance work yourself?” enquired Spock, beginning to understand what had contributed to the lengthy delay between Kirk’s departure from, and return to, Spock’s cabin.

“I didn’t want some poor crewman to get pulled off leave, and I needed to focus on something else for a while.” Kirk shrugged. “It wasn’t anything difficult, just disconnecting a few dozen data connectors, but it gave me time to think, and to come to a few realisations.”

Spock could see that Kirk was anxious from the way he was absently worrying at the sleeve of his uniform, eyes downcast and shoulders tense. Spock wanted so badly to reach out and take the hand that was tugging at the fabric. To cradle it in between his own and feel the slide of his skin against his love’s, but he still did not yet know if such an intimate touch would be welcome. Yes they had embraced, but platonic friends were permitted to comfort one another in such a way. The touch Spock wished to offer would not be appropriate outwith the bounds of a romantic relationship, and he had yet to discern if that was still something Kirk wanted.

“Would you permit me to enquire as to the nature of your realisations?” asked Spock. He could hear the formality of his words and silently castigated himself, but Vulcan formality had been his armour for so long that it fell into place often without his conscious thought. However, at the almost imperceptible stiffening of Kirk’s muscles, he resolved to allow himself to be vulnerable for the duration of this conversation. Softening his voice, he added, “Please, Jim,” and smiled inwardly as he saw Kirk relax minutely.

“The news of the link caught me off guard, and I know—” he started, raising a hand up to forestall Spock’s interruption of a repeat apology, “I know why you didn’t tell me. After I’d had time to think it over I realised that I could actually follow your thought process pretty clearly.”

Kirk rubbed a hand across his face and continued.

“I realised also that one of the reasons that I reacted so poorly was because I was afraid of the effect the link had been having on me before you blocked it off,” Kirk said, a frown furrowing his brow. “The way it was pushing me to be with you all the time, to want to touch you, to crave a meld. It was so overwhelming, I didn’t feel like myself, it was a possessive, grasping sort of a feeling, like I wanted you all to myself, like I wanted to—to drown in you. I didn’t even realise how much I’d been changed until after it had stopped. It’s not just that I was being influenced by an external source, that alone has enough potential ramifications for my command, but beyond that—afterwards, I felt so—so guilty”.

“Guilty?” asked Spock, brought up short by the unexpected revelation.

“Yeah, I felt like—like I’d been holding you back, hoarding your time and attention. And that’s not even the kind of relationship I would want with someone, to be so wholly dependent on one another to the detriment of all else. That kind of obsessive want, it’s not healthy, at least not for humans, but at the time I couldn’t help pushing for more and more of your focus. And I’ve seen how things have changed since you blocked the link. Of course I didn’t know that that was what it was at the time, but all the same, I’ve seen how you’ve started thriving socially. How much more relaxed you seem around the crew, how much more accepted, and I know how important acceptance is to you, Spock. The thought that I’d been the one to—” said Jim, a tremor creeping into his voice before Spock cut him off.

“Jim, you did nothing wrong, there is no reason for guilt. You’re the one who has been wronged,” said Spock, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on Kirk’s forearm over his uniform sleeve, studiously avoiding any skin to skin contact. “You know, better than most outworlders, that Vulcans do have emotions, and that they run deeper than even those of humans. Our primal drives are strong enough that when our—Time comes they lead us to madness. The connection between us is subject to similar instincts, it drives us to complete the bond and secure the mate whom our mind has deemed to be compatible. The instincts to claim and possess are fundamental to Vulcan mating, though once a bond is complete they do settle to more manageable levels which can be overcome by reasoned thought. It is these instincts which bled through the link from my mind to yours, influencing your behaviour. It is I who must apologise.”

“But I was still—” Kirk started before Spock once again cut him off.

“Jim, you did not hold me back. What you were experiencing was only a shadow of the drive I was experiencing. You did not force me to spend time with you. Had it been up to me we would never have been parted for longer than it took either one of us to utilise the fresher,” said Spock, satisfied when his colourful phrasing had its intended effect and drew a small chuckle from his love.

Spock sat back, removing his hand from Kirk’s arm where it had lingered for longer than was strictly necessary.

They lapsed into contemplative silence for a long moment, each allowing the other time to digest the new information they had shared. At length Spock interrupted the quiet by asking “What else?”

“Pardon me?” replied Kirk, brow creased in confusion.

“When you spoke of your realisations you said that one of them had been the fear of the effect the link had had on your mind. I wished to ascertain what the other realisation had been if there was one?” said Spock.

“Oh, yeah,” said Kirk and Spock noticed colour immediately begin to spread up Kirk’s neck to his cheeks and the tips of his ears until he was flushed a delicate pink.

“You do not need to tell me unless you wish to do so, Jim,” added Spock hastily, not wishing to cause upset yet again.

“No, no it’s fine, it’s just—this one’s a little more—” said Kirk, hesitantly before taking a deep, fortifying breath and continuing. “I realised that I was afraid that the reason you hid the link, cut it off, was because you—you wouldn’t want to be linked to an emotional human like me. Which is fine, I would never push—I just…”

As Kirk’s words trailed off and his face morphed from uncomfortable embarrassment to confused concern, Spock realised that he was openly gaping. He immediately schooled his features back into a more dignified incredulity, however, he had been overcome by Kirk’s words. That he would not wish to be linked to Kirk was unfathomable, and to imagine that Kirk would wish to be linked to him, wondrous.

Taking a steadying breath, Spock worked to find a precarious balance between retreating into formality and breaking down completely into emotionality.

“Jim, I would wish to be with you in all ways,” said Spock, and the smile which spread across Kirk’s face was a gift more precious than dilithium crystals. “Your mind is dynamic and brilliant, it shines with golden light and I would be privileged to join mine with it to any depth possible, ashayam.”

“Ashayam, you’ve called me that a few times today. What does it mean?” Kirk asked.

Spock took a moment to consciously control the vasodilation which was threatening to allow his own verdant blush to spread, before he responded quietly, “It means—beloved.”

Kirk, his smile blinding, reached out and gently grasped Spock around his wrist.

“And you, Jim,” said Spock, meeting Kirk’s eyes, “you would wish to be joined with me? Regardless of genetics, I am not human, and while neither am I fully Vulcan, I was raised on Vulcan and strive to comport myself in line with Surak’s teachings. Whether we shared a mental link or simply a romantic relationship in the human style, there is no guarantee that I would be able to fully meet your emotional needs. Would it not be more logical for you to seek out a partner who could share in the demonstrative affection in which humans find so much comfort?”

By the time Spock had finished speaking his eyes had dropped once more to his lap, where he stared at the point where Kirk’s hand still encircled his wrist. Most of his hand lay atop Spock’s uniform sleeve, however his thumb had strayed from the fabric and now traced a lazy path back and forth against the skin of Spock’s hand. The contact was light but it was enough for Spock to feel Kirk’s emotions lightly lapping at the edge of his mind. As was indicative of his beloved’s vibrant and dynamic mind, there were myriad, often contradictory, emotions ebbing and flowing, vying for dominance in the tide of his thoughts; happiness, sadness, confusion, determination, fear. And yet, flowing in a deep current throughout them all, steady and strong, was love, a deep abiding love and adoration directed at Spock. It was so exquisitely overwhelming that Spock felt his breath hitch and his heart stutter momentarily in his side.

Before he could fully gather himself, Spock felt the feather light touch of Kirk’s fingers under his chin, gently tilting his head back up so that their eyes could meet. Spock gazed into the hazel irises, alight with warmth and affection.

“Oh, my darling,” Kirk said, sliding his fingers up from Spock’s chin until he was cupping his cheek, “Spock, of course I want you. I don’t need you to be human, I never have. You’re not human and you’re not fully Vulcan but you’re entirely Spock, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

“And as for being able to meet my emotional needs, I don’t need grand romantic gestures or for you to hold my hand as we walk the corridors of the ship, and I’d never ask for you to give me more of yourself than you were comfortable sharing. It’s enough for me to know that we can be together for the rest of our lives. You at my side, just like Edith said you were meant to be.

“If we aren’t able to bond in the Vulcan way, if my human brain can’t manage it, then there’s nothing that I can do about that, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want it more than anything. I’d bond with you today if we could.”

Spock was so overcome with joy that he could not bring himself to feel shame that some of it had undoubtedly coloured his features. There was only one final niggling concern standing between him and utter contentment, one last question to give voice to before he could give himself over to the moment and reach out to Kirk in return.

“For the rest of our lives, Jim? While it is common for Vulcans to enter into life-long bondings after minimal courtship, due to our ability to quickly ascertain mental compatibility through telepathy, it was my understanding that humans usually choose to participate in a romantic relationship for an extended period of time before they are prepared to make such a commitment?” Spock asked.

“Darling,” Jim began, and Spock thrilled at the casual endearment, “we’ve been dating for months, we’ve been friends and colleagues for years. We’ve been each other’s closest companions for almost as long as we’ve known one another, spend endless hours in each other’s company, fought side by side, relied on each other in life or death situations. You know me better than anyone else in the galaxy and I’m fairly certain that the same is probably true in reverse. You’re right that we haven’t explored the more—physical side of affection yet, but even if that were off the table, there is still no one else I’d rather spend my life with than you, Spock.”

“Your argument is quite logical, Jim,” Spock said softly, finally allowing his hand to move up to cover Kirk’s where it still rested against his cheek. “I would similarly wish to be joined with you at the earliest opportunity. Nonetheless, we will require the assistance of a mind adept and thus will likely need to delay until we can next take leave and visit my homeworld. In the meantime, however, I would be amenable to exploring the ‘physical side of affection’ that you previously mentioned.”

Kirk’s beaming smile widened suddenly into a wolfish grin and he said, “Well, I think I can help you out there.”

With that, Kirk leaned forward and softly, tenderly, pressed his lips to Spock’s.

The kiss began tentatively, lips brushing gently together as Kirk’s hands cupped Spock’s cheeks and Spock’s arms slid to Kirk’s shoulders. Spock’s skin sparked and tingled at every point of contact as his nerve endings absorbed the telepathic input; a flood of love and arousal from his beloved which mirrored his own.

As the minutes passed, their movements became more confident and purposeful, each of them settling into their new reality, one in which they were permitted to hold and touch and taste.

Spock felt a warm swipe of tongue against his lower lip and suppressed the low groan that threatened to escape his throat. Instead he parted his lips in welcome, allowing Kirk to deepen the kiss, pressing his tongue into Spock’s mouth even as Spock pulled him closer until their chests were held flush against one another.

Had Spock harboured any misgivings about his ability to adequately participate in human-style kisses, he was now confident that it would not be an issue. Kirk reacted to his every movement with fervour, mounting waves of arousal crashing against Spock’s mental barriers and stirring his own passions in return.

Their tongues danced together as Spock’s hands roamed over Kirk’s arms and shoulders, across his back and chest, mapping him out, learning the contours of his form. The firm lines of his biceps and the soft curves of his stomach. Each plane of his love’s body was a new frontier to explore.

Kirk’s hands weren’t idle either, fingers twisting in Spock’s hair, caressing his cheeks, curling around the nape of his neck to draw their mouths inextricably closer.

The taste of Kirk was a revelation, like warm earth, sweet nectar and tart sash-savas; familiar yet alien, and thoroughly enticing. Spock licked into Kirk’s mouth enthusiastically, thrilling at the contrast of textures; smooth teeth, slightly rough tongue, silken lips.

Their breath came in short gasps, their lungs grasping for much needed oxygen between kisses, neither willing to break away from the delicious moment. Their shared arousal was growing and Spock could feel both Kirk’s and his own echoing through their touch. Heat pooled low in his groin, spreading and intensifying with every press of lips, swipe of tongue and caress of hands.

It was then, as Spock began to feel his body start to physically respond to the arousal, that two things happened at once.

Spock first felt the mental barriers around their shielded mental connection not just crack, but begin to crumble, followed swiftly by a surge of heat flooding through his body, warming him for the first time in many weeks. The pervasive cold leaching from his bones as though he had finally stepped from shadow into the warmth of the sun.

Spock pulled back in shock just as Kirk gasped, his eyes wide with shock.

“What was that?” Kirk asked, his voice a mix of awe and concern.

“You felt something?” asked Spock.

“Didn’t you?” replied Kirk. “It was like someone finally turned the heat up, like I just sank into a hot bath after standing out in the cold for months. And I felt you—in my mind—just for a second. It’s—it’s, I don’t really know how to explain it.”

Spock simply stared at Kirk for a moment, trying to process what was happening. The evidence before him was increasingly pointing towards a conclusion which was so unlikely as to be practically impossible. It was a myth. Part of their history of storytelling, a remnant of their emotional past. They could not be…

Spock closed his eyes, turning his attention within. He needed to see for himself, to understand more fully what was happening before he could respond to Kirk.

With a practised ease borne of a lifetime of discipline, Spock blocked out all external stimuli and focussed entirely on his mental landscape. Having previously identified the exact location of their link within his bond-centre, he was able to easily navigate himself back to where he had erected the mental block.

As the visual representation of the scene resolved into clarity, Spock could see that the ‘cairn’ had indeed begun to crumble, many of the stones having fallen from their places, exposing the link within. It shone with a brilliant golden light that spilled from between the gaps in glittering rays.

Needing to get a clearer view of the link itself, Spock focussed on removing the last of the blocks, sweeping them aside with a thought. What he found amazed and shocked him in equal measure.

Where before the link had appeared delicate and insubstantial, little more than a gossamer thread of connection, now glowed the beginnings of a full bond. What once had appeared as a thread, now more closely resembled a thick rope stretching out from his own mind, and reaching towards Kirk’s. He could see the hazy path stretching between their minds, not yet fully joined and yet already inextricably linked.

This—should not be possible, Spock thought, hearing, as if at a great distance, his lips utter the words in the physical realm also.

“Spock. Spock, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Spock could hear Kirk’s concerned voice radiating from beyond the boundaries of his mental landscape. What’s more, he realised that he could feel waves of that same concern radiating from the bond before him.

With some reluctance, Spock tore his attention from the beauty of the golden bond before him and drew himself back up through the layers of consciousness until he was once again fully seated in physical reality.

Kirk was gripping him by the biceps, his eyes full of fear and compassion. Spock realised in that moment, as the image of his beloved swam slightly in front of him, that his own eyes had filled with unshed tears.

“Spock, darling, are you okay? Do I need to call Bones?” asked Jim.

“No, it’s—I am—I am alright Jim. Nothing is wrong, it’s just—I did not believe this was possible, I am—overwhelmed,” Spock stuttered, still trying to process the enormity of what had happened. To accept the reality of what was now indisputable despite its improbability.

“What is it? What’s happened? Did I do something? Was I moving too fast for you?” Kirk asked in a rush, still clearly concerned and confused as to what had so thoroughly rattled Spock.

“We are—t’hy’lara,” Spock said in a reverent tone.

“What are thighlr?” asked Kirk, and Spock was filled with an amused affection as his beloved butchered the pronunciation.

“Oh, I felt that. You think I’m cute!” gasped Kirk, a smile and a frown warring on his face as he evidently fought to decide how he felt about being deemed ‘cute’.

“That is not a term I would have employed, however, the sentiment is the same,” said Spock, conscientiously keeping his amusement from his face.

“T’hy’lara are two individuals whose minds are so perfectly compatible that they call out to each other, desiring to become one,” Spock said.

“Like soulmates?” Kirk asked.

“That would be the closest approximation in Terran culture. There is no direct translation into Federation Standard. The term t’hy’la encompasses friend, brother-in-arms and lover. This type of bond is ancient and revered, however, it is so rare as to have passed into the realm of myth and legend. I myself believed it to be no more than a fanciful remnant of our pre-Surakian history until I was presented with the evidence of our bond,” said Spock.

“Our bond? I thought you said we’d need an adept? That it might not be possible at all because I’m psi-null?” Kirk said.

Spock shook his head, reaching a hand up to gently run two fingers along the edge of Kirk’s jaw.

“Jim, t’hy’la, our minds reach for one another, long to be joined. Already the link has grown into a preliminary bond much more robust than the betrothal bond I shared with T’Pring. Should we allow it, the bond will fulfil itself without need for outside assistance,” Spock replied.

“So we could fully bond?” asked Kirk, hope and joy lacing every syllable. “We could bond today? Be together in all ways like you said?”

“Yes, Jim. If you wish it,” replied Spock, his fingers continuing to stroke gentle patterns along the side of Kirk’s face. Kirk’s psi-points sparked delicious sensations along his arm as the pads of his index and middle fingers drifted across them.

“Wish it? Of course I wish it!” said Kirk, surging forward to capture Spock’s lips once more.

Where their previous kiss had been full of longing and desire, this kiss was a celebration of shared love and joy.

After a few moments they drew apart, allowing their foreheads to rest together, letting their breathing resume a more sedate pace.

“Can we do it now?” asked Kirk. “We can,” replied Spock.

“How do we do it? Do we have to meld?” asked Kirk, his tone full of restrained but unmistakable excitement.

“A meld is involved, yes…” said Spock, and he felt the heat build in his cheeks. It was illogical to be embarrassed to discuss any topic with his beloved. They were t’hy’la: soon Kirk would know everything that Spock knew, share in his knowledge of Vulcan culture, rituals and biology. However, illogical as it may be, Spock still found it difficult to overcome the innate desire for privacy which had been ingrained in him since childhood.

Clearly having noticed his reticence, Kirk said, “If this is too much, if you need to slow down or be alone to process—”

“No,” Spock interrupted, the thought of being parted from his t’hy’la even for a moment completely unacceptable to him at that moment. “No, Jim, I am fine, I am just unaccustomed to discussing such things.”

He took a steadying breath and continued.

“As far as I am aware from historical accounts—and the evidence of our own bond to date leads me to conclude that they are most likely accurate—a t’hy’la bond is fulfilled by engaging in a meld during—physical intimacy. Specifically, during a physical joining; body and mind merged as one,” said Spock, satisfied that he had managed to deliver the information with a steady voice.

He could pinpoint the exact moment that Kirk had understood what Spock was saying. His love’s face shifted from an expression of considered concentration to one of flustered delight. An appealing red flush dappled Kirk’s cheeks and Spock felt the desire to once again reach out and draw his fingers across the warm skin.

“And—and how do you feel about that? Have you ever…?” Kirk trailed off.

“I have never been intimate with a male. However, I am familiar with the mechanics and not averse to participating in either permutation of the act,” Spock said, feeling some of his previous arousal return as he considered the possibilities.

Spock met Kirk’s eyes and saw an answering heat in the hazel gaze.

Without warning, Kirk swivelled his body, swinging one leg over both of Spock’s until he sat facing Spock in his lap.

Taking his cue from his t’hy’la, Spock slid his hands around Kirk’s waist, drawing his body tight against his own and began to kiss him in earnest. Finally, allowing his normally meticulously banked desire free rein.

With one final press of their lips, Kirk pulled away enough to fix him with a wry grin.

“Well, in that case, what are we waiting for?”

Chapter Text

Since first lifting his aching head from his pillow that morning, Jim had imagined, and fretted over, a number of ways the day could go. Upon waking with a raging hangover, the horrifying memories of the previous day flooding back to him, he had begun to envision a day full of awkwardness. He and Spock avoiding one another's eyes as they hesitantly discussed the revelation that they had been unwittingly sharing personal anecdotes and affectionate commentary for months. Spock perhaps opting to avoid Jim altogether, retreating into himself in the way he had before. Only speaking to his captain in the line of duty, and only when absolutely necessary.

That possibility held no appeal for Jim but he had been prepared to tough it out, to have the uncomfortable conversations, to come to an agreement that would allow them to continue to work together, perhaps even continue to socialise as friends.

Once he’d seen the transfer request, however, Jim had begun to imagine a much darker day ahead. One in which he lost Spock forever. His beloved First Officer, friend and love, disembarking the Enterprise for a new posting, leaving Jim and all their friends behind to mourn the unimaginable loss. Jim had imagined glancing to his right on the bridge only to see another officer at the Science Station and it had made his heart ache in his chest. His throat clenched tight with a rising panic that had left him gasping for breath against the wall of the sonic shower, as the final remnants of the night before were erased from his skin by the pulsing waves.

The remainder of the morning and early afternoon had left Jim wildly pinballing between strong emotions; fear that Spock would leave, jubilation at the realisation that he returned Jim’s feelings, anger and hurt when he found out about the blocked link, shock and desolation when he thought that Spock had left, overwhelming relief when he realised he hadn’t. Jim didn’t feel that it was any form of hyperbole to say that he’d been through the emotional wringer over the last twenty-four hours. However, at no point during any of the dramatic events of the last day had Jim imagined that it would end with him straddling Spock while the Vulcan kissed him breathless, as they prepared to, for all intents and purposes, get married. Jim wasn’t exactly complaining though. Of all the ways for this day to end, having Spock’s hands slowly sliding under the edges of his uniform tunic until the cool fingers brushed against his ribs, while a rougher-than-human tongue licked into his mouth, would have been pretty high on Jim’s wish list.

They stayed that way for long minutes, kissing and touching. Spock’s hands roamed up Jim’s sides and across his back, while Jim slid his own up Spock’s chest, letting his fingers card through the thick pelt of dark hair that covered it. Jim’s thumb drifted over the hardening nub of Spock’s nipple, drawing a deliciously unexpected gasp from the Vulcan.

The sound momentarily startled both of them and for a second they drew back just enough to lock gazes. Jim saw that Spock’s pupils were blown wide and his gaze was full of a fire that Jim could never have anticipated.

And then it was like some sort of unseen trigger had been pulled and their mouths crashed back together with enough force to make Jim moan in equal parts arousal and pain.

Their roaming hands, previously gentle and exploring, now groped and pressed in urgent, uncoordinated movements. Passion overriding finesse.

Jim had expected Spock to be a tentative lover. Perhaps a little hesitant and fumbling. He'd been prepared to patiently guide the Vulcan through anything that was new to him and to make compromises for the sake of the Vulcan’s comfort and culture. Jim had no real concept of what Spock’s sexual experience might be, but he realised retrospectively that he’d always just assumed that Spock didn’t do that kind of thing outwith Pon Farr. And since Spock had been betrothed to T’Pring until his Pon Farr, and knowing how that had gone, he thought he might be forgiven for having assumed that his stoic friend might actually have been a virgin.

Well, if he was, then Jim thought he was doing a hell of a job of putting theoretical knowledge into practice.

There was nothing hesitant in Spock’s movements. He kissed Jim passionately, his hands moving confidently across his body. It was like he’d simply been waiting for permission to set this side of himself free, and now that it had been unleashed he wanted to devour every inch of Jim.

Releasing Jim’s lips finally, Spock trailed kisses along his jaw to his ear, and Jim gasped as he felt a sharp nip of Vulcan teeth against the edge of the lobe. Jim slid his hands up to tangle his fingers among the silky strands of Spock’s hair as the kisses continued down his neck. The alternating sensations of kissing, sucking and gentle bites sent shocks of arousal through his body and caused the rest of Jim’s blood flow to head south in a hurry.

Another low moan escaped Jim’s lips and he let his head fall back as Spock nipped along his collarbone.

The sound seemed to light a fire in the Vulcan because Spock pulled him impossibly closer. Jim gasped. Spock’s arm was like a steel bar around his waist and he rocked his hips up into Jim’s just once before he seemed to catch himself and loosened his grip.

“I’m not made of glass, Spock,” Jim said reassuringly, leaning forward to lick a stripe up the Vulcan’s neck. “You don’t have to worry about breaking me.”

Spock shivered and huffed out a small breath as Jim’s tongue reached the tapered point of his ear, then responded in a slightly breathy tone, “I could easily harm you, Jim, my strength is considerably greater than yours. It is normally a small matter for me to regulate my strength, however, under the current circumstances it is possible I may inadvertently lose control. I do not wish to damage you, ashayam.”

“You won’t, I trust you,” Jim said as he met Spock’s eyes and grinned, pressing himself down to rock his hips against Spock’s in return. Spock’s brow furrowed for a moment, his gaze losing focus as if he was listening to something that only he could hear.

“You find my superior strength—arousing,” Spock said in a tone of surprise, angled eyebrows rising towards his dishevelled bangs. Jim felt himself blush, Damn touch telepathy, but he didn’t see any point in denying it now.

“Yes, I do,” he said and trailed his hands over Spock’s slim but toned shoulders.

“You are not concerned that I may hurt you?” Spock asked. “Well, are you likely to lose control to the extent that you’d break any bones?” asked Jim.

“It is highly unlikely, however, it is possible that in the heat of passion I might fail to regulate the pressure of my touch,” said Spock, a wash of shame and guilt reaching Jim through their strengthening connection.

Jim had no idea how their link worked, and he was no telepath, but in that moment all he could think to do was to push as much reassurance at that spot in his mind where he felt Spock as he could manage. He then pushed forward all his love and acceptance as well as his arousal and desire.

He knew it had worked a second later when Spock’s breath hitched and he fixed Jim with a look that was full of molten heat. “You wish to proceed,” said Spock, and it was a statement rather than a question. “Very much, and I won’t mind a few bruises if it means you can enjoy this with me. Don’t hold back,” replied Jim.

There was a two second pause where Jim thought Spock may continue to argue. However to his surprise and delight the Vulcan instead surged forward, wrapped his arms around Jim’s thighs and stood from the small couch. Jim managed to hold back an undignified shriek as he threw his arms around Spock’s neck to keep from falling back, but it was a close thing. Shock and arousal warred within Jim as Spock lifted him as easily as he might a data slate and carried him towards the sleeping alcove. “I believe we will be more comfortable if we continue our activities on the bed,” Spock said, moving to the foot of the bed and placing Jim down on the edge of the mattress before sinking to his knees in front of him.

The sight of Spock kneeling before him, hands resting on Jim’s thighs, was enough to bring Jim back to full arousal. His standard issue briefs felt uncomfortably tight, and his heart was beating out a tattoo in his chest.

Without a word, Spock began to remove Jim’s boots and socks, first the left and then the right. Placing them neatly next to the bed. Next his hands slid the length of Jim’s legs, along his thighs and up his sides, until he was lifting the hem of Jim’s tops. In one smooth movement he lifted both the gold duty tunic and plain black undershirt over Jim’s head and draped them neatly over Jim's boots.

Spock’s hands moved towards the fastening of Jim’s pants and Jim pressed his palms to the mattress, lifting his hips to allow his lover to shimmy them efficiently down his legs until they landed alongside his tops. “You appear to have me at a disadvantage, Mr Spock,” Jim said with a wry smile, glancing once between his nearly naked body and the Vulcan’s fully clothed form.

“That is a matter easily remedied,” replied Spock as he stood from his spot on the floor.

Standing next to the bed, Jim watched as Spock efficiently began to strip off his clothing, one item at a time, starting with his boots, and placed them neatly next to Jim’s.

The actions might have appeared mundane if not for the fact that Spock unflinchingly held Jim’s gaze throughout the entire process. Dark chocolate eyes smouldered into him and Jim realised that what he was experiencing was the Vulcan equivalent of a striptease.

The thought sent Jim’s mind and body into a frenzy, every nerve ending tingling, every sense heightened. That Spock would expose himself like that, that he would share his desire in such a vulnerable way… Jim thought it was perhaps the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced.

Spock must have been feeling something similar because by the time he was down to only his briefs, and moving back towards the bed, they were both breathing heavily. Spock placed his hands lightly on Jim’s shoulders and, eyes still locked, gently pushed him back until he lay down on the bed. Jim shifted up until his head was resting against the pillow and then began to move to the side with the intention of making some space for Spock: however, his lover had other ideas. Spock crawled up Jim’s body from the foot of the bed until the lithe Vulcan form completely covered him. He held himself up on his arms and knees, bracketing Jim on either side with toned but slender limbs, hovering over the length of Jim without touching.

The urge to arch up and close the distance, to press his body into Spock’s, was almost overwhelming. Jim needed to touch and be touched, his whole body felt electrified. Now unshielded, and so close to completion, the mental connection between their minds was screaming out for them to join.

“Spock…” Jim gasped out softly, and with that his lover finally lowered himself down onto him. Their bodies pressed flush from knee to chest, and Jim slid his arms around Spock’s shoulders and moaned softly as his erection pressed up against Spock’s hip, enjoying the delectable friction. After a second he realised that he wasn’t feeling any answering hardness against his own hip, but he was feeling a spreading, warm moistness. The thought must have been clear enough to Spock given the sheer amount of skin to skin contact they currently held, as he immediately clarified, “My lok is housed within an internal sheath and will emerge with further stimulation. The moisture is a natural lubricant secreted by all Vulcan males.”

Jim wasn’t sure if it was the way Spock had said it, or if he was once again picking up some of Spock’s emotions through the connection, but he was aware of the uncertainty and mild embarrassment laced through the words.

Wishing to immediately reassure his love, Jim let a genuine grin spread across his face and replied, “Natural lubricant? Well, that sounds very convenient. And as for further stimulation, I think I can help you out there.”

Jim manoeuvred Spock until they had switched places, the Vulcan now flat on his back with his head on Jim’s pillow and Jim sitting astride his legs. Jim had already had a taste of his superior strength and knew that if Spock wished it then there was no measure of force Jim could exert that would be able to move him, but his lover had put up no resistance. He was allowing Jim to move him, to touch him, and that thought acted on Jim like an aphrodisiac, spiking his arousal ever higher.

He took in the length of Spock’s svelte form beneath him, eyes and hands roaming greedily over the expanse of pale skin. Spock’s skin was soft and smooth, covered in hair much softer and finer than that of a human. Under his fingers Jim felt a texture closer to a soft fur than that of the few coarse strands that adorned his own limbs.

Jim revelled in the alieness of Spock’s body, the feel of his taut muscles beneath the skin. Denser and stronger than Jim’s and yet deceptively compact; banked strength coiled beneath pale flesh. Silk over granite.

He was beginning to lose himself in his visual exploration—memorising the map of Spock’s skin, delighting in finally being allowed to look his fill—when his eyes alighted on the darkening wet stain spreading across the front of Spock’s black briefs.

Jim had never seen Spock entirely naked before. The Vulcan eschewed public nudity—as was understandable given what an intensely private species Vulcans were. He always avoided the communal showers in the ship’s gym, opting instead to return to his private quarters to wash and change. Even on away missions, or when they were forced to live together in New York of the past, Spock had always found a way to maintain his modesty, and Jim had done his best to give Spock as much privacy as possible, even if, in the most dire of circumstances, that simpy amounted to him turning his back and averting his eyes.

As such, Jim had no frame of reference for what to expect from Vulcan genitalia. He had assumed that they couldn’t be all that different from Humans given that Vulcan/Human relationships weren’t entirely unheard of, and Spock’s parents had been married for decades. However, he quickly realised that the differences were more extensive than he had initially suspected. Spock had mentioned an internal sheath from which his lok—Jim assumed this was analogous to his own penis—would emerge. This lack of external genitals meant there was no bulge as would be expected on a human male; in fact to Jim’s eyes the smooth, rounded area appeared closer to what he would normally expect from a female partner.

“I assure you I am completely male, Jim,” Spock said, a very slight defensiveness slipping into his tone and Jim realised that Spock must have been picking up on his stray thoughts again.

“Oh, Spock, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Jim said, holding Spock’s gaze even as he lowered himself down to place a soft kiss at the crease of Spock’s hip, startling a tiny huff of breath from the Vulcan. “I was just curious about our differences,” he continued as he trailed kisses down Spock’s inner thigh, the cords of muscle flexing beneath his lips. “You know me, ever the explorer,” he finished as he slid his fingers up to hook inside Spock’s waistband as he began to gently slide them over Spock’s narrow hips and down his legs.

Underwear unceremoniously discarded on the floor, Jim returned his attention to Spock, now spread out completely naked beneath him. Jim gasped at the sheer beauty of his love. Dark eyes burned beneath elegantly angled brows and silky black hair, pale skin stretched across strong muscle, and between his legs, a gently curving mound with a vertical slit just visible among the pelt of fine black hair, glistening with natural slick.

“You do not find my lack of external genitals displeasing?” Spock asked tentatively, and the spell that had momentarily immobilised Jim was broken.

He met Spock’s eyes and smiled, “Oh, my darling, you’re absolutely perfect.”

A tension that Jim hadn’t been previously aware of seemed to seep out of Spock and he met Jim’s bright, loving smile with an uptick of his lips and that familiar crinkling of his eyes. “I am glad, ashayam.”

“May I touch you?” Jim asked, indicating to Spock’s sheath, suddenly hesitant to cross this final boundary without explicit permission.

“I very much wish you would,” replied Spock.

Jim reached out and gently ran his fingers down the wet seam of Spock’s sheath. The natural lubricant was slick and viscous, and Jim couldn’t help but think about how it would come in very handy later in the proceedings. As this thought passed through his mind Spock arched slightly and let out a little moan. “You heard that, did you?” Jim asked with a wicked grin as he realised he’d potentially struck on a very useful tool.

Lowering himself between Spock’s thighs, Jim ran two fingers along the seam, pressing slightly until they parted, all the while thinking as loudly as he could about all the things he wanted to do to Spock. The Vulcan let out a groan and fisted his hands in the bedsheet.

Feeling exceedingly smug, Jim continued to gently stroke and probe at the slit until a thought was forcefully thrust back at him through the link and he groaned aloud. The image Spock had sent him was of Jim’s mouth and tongue on him, joining his fingers in their current explorations. The idea that Spock had essentially just asked Jim to go down on him was so arousing that he found himself thrusting once into the mattress, his achingly hard cock urgently seeking friction.

Jim stilled his body and took a steadying breath, not wanting their activities to end prematurely, then turned his attention back to Spock. Lowering his head, Jim placed the flat of his tongue against the bottom of the slit and licked a solid stripe up to the top. Spock shuddered beneath him as Jim marvelled at the sharp, sweet taste of Spock’s slick, the tang reminiscent of exotic fruits like pineapple or kiwi, but with an underlying musk that was entirely alien to his senses.

More confident now in Spock’s response to his ministrations, Jim set about his task with renewed vigour. Licking between the folds until his tongue was able to probe deeper, gliding over the slick inner walls as his fingers rubbed and stroked at the outer lips.

Eventually, Jim’s tongue flicked over something firm and rounded and Spock arched off the bed, letting out a low groan. Realising that it must have been the head of Spock’s lok, Jim repeated the action, and soon felt a hard shaft pressing towards his lips.

Drawing back, Jim watched in astonished delight as a long tapered penis began to push out from between the thin lips of the sheath. It didn’t look too dissimilar to his own human organ, Jim mused, perhaps a little longer, slimmer and more narrow at the head, but not to an unrecognisable degree. The main differences that Jim could see were that the head flared out in a double ridge and the whole thing was green, varying from a soft jade at the base, to a verdant emerald at the flushed tip.

Jim glanced up at Spock. The Vulcan’s head was thrown back against the pillow, hands still fisted in the sheet, breath heavy and shallow. He looked utterly debauched and the sight sent a thrill through Jim. He wanted to undo this man, to bring him to the heights of pleasure and watch him come apart beneath him. Wanted to be the only one who got to see the hidden depths of passion that lay beneath the stoic mask of Vulcan neutrality.

“Yes, t’hy’la, only you, only ever you,” Spock gasped in a voice ragged with lust.

Jim needed no more encouragement than that. Pulling himself swiftly up until he was able to wrap his lips around the head of Spock’s shaft, Jim took the full length down in a single stroke.

“Jim!” Spock cried out and began to pant as Jim drew back up to the tip, flicking his tongue over the sensitive double ridges before plunging back down. Spock writhed beneath him as Jim took up a steady pace, alternating the pressure as he hollowed his cheeks on each long upward drag.

Jim had just noticed that Spock’s thighs had begun to tremble a few minutes later when a firm hand pressed to his cheek, guiding him up and away from his ministrations.

“Jim, stop, you must stop, I am, I will—” stammered Spock.

Jim sat up, wiping some of the Vulcan slick from his chin. “Are you alright?” he asked, resting a comforting palm on his lover's stomach.

“Yes, I was approaching climax,” said Spock.

“Well, that was kind of the point of what I was doing, Spock,” replied Jim with a teasing grin.

“Indeed, however, if you still wish to complete the bond at this time then—” began Spock.

“Oh, I absolutely do still want to,” said Jim, cutting him off as he crawled up Spock’s body to catch his lips in a fierce kiss.

It wasn’t so much that Jim had forgotten about completing the bond, it was more that in seeing, hearing and feeling his usually reserved first officer come undone at his touch, he’d let himself get a little carried away. However, now that his mind was firmly back in the present, he was all too eager to get on with things.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked Spock, when he finally released the Vulcan’s swollen lips and began sucking bruises into his collarbone instead. Jim knew that even though his question was vague, the accompanying thoughts Jim was pushing through would illustrate his point.

“I have no preference as to which combination we initially partake in. Which role would you rather hold?” Spock asked, arching slightly as Jim’s teeth found his left nipple and began to worry at it.

“Want you inside me,” murmured Jim into Spock's skin, “want you to take me, fill me, make me yours.”

Despite being one of the few off-worlders to know about Pon Farr, Jim was no expert in Vulcan mating habits. However, from the little he knew, and from the myriad indistinct impressions he’d picked up over the last hour, he was fairly certain that what he’d just said would provoke a desirable reaction from his lover.

He wasn’t disappointed.

Jim suddenly found himself lifted like a rag doll and spun around until he landed on his back on the mattress, pinned beneath a hot, heavy, Vulcan body.

Spock was grazing his teeth over Jim’s neck, nipping at the skin and laving his rough tongue across the resulting marks.

Impatient, impossibly strong, hands tugged and pulled at his underwear until it had been worked down his legs and kicked away. Jim wrapped his legs around Spock’s waist and let out a long breathless groan as he felt Spock’s hot length slide alongside his own straining cock. The glide of them together was delicious, and even more so when Spock snaked an arm between them to encircle both shafts in the firm grip of his fingers, pumping them together with maddening slowness.

After a handful of slow pumps, Spock’s grip suddenly released and Jim felt deft fingers drift down across the ridged skin of his balls and dip between the cleft of his ass. At that moment he realised that Spock must have been gathering some of his natural slick on his fingers to help ease their way.

True to his deduction, Jim felt a slick finger work its way down between his cheeks until it was gently circling his tight ring. At the touch, Jim’s cock jumped between their bodies and Spock lifted his head from where he had been sucking a bruise into the skin just under Jim’s right ear, and claimed Jim’s mouth in a devastating kiss.

As their tongues danced together, bruised lips moving against one another, Jim felt the long digit press against his entrance before slipping past the tight ring of muscle as it breached him. Spock swallowed his grasp as they continued their passionate kiss, sliding his finger back and forth within Jim’s now slick hole.

Jim focused on their kiss, on staying relaxed, on the exhilarating feeling of having Spock’s hard cock pressed into his hip. It had been a long time since his last encounter with a male partner, and while it wasn’t unheard of for him to engage in this sort of activity with a woman, it didn’t happen often and certainly hadn’t recently, so he still had to allow his body time to ease back into the pleasurable stretch. Fortunately, Spock appeared to be in no great rush, content to ensure that Jim was properly prepared and not in discomfort.

“I would never wish to— harm you, t’hy’la,” Spock breathed against his lips between kisses.

“I know—I know, Spock—Gods, more, please, more,” Jim replied; breaths coming hard and fast as Spock’s finger teased softly over his prostate.

“As you wish,” replied Spock before simultaneously biting down on Jim’s lower lip and sliding a second finger into Jim’s hole alongside the first.

Jim moaned loudly, mounting pleasure coursing through his body and sizzling across his skin. He wanted to rock up into Spock, to seek out some desperately needed friction. However, the Vulcan had moved off to one side to give himself easier access to prepare Jim, and so his aching cock was currently exposed with nothing but air to press against, precome dribbling pitifully from its slit as he writhed on Spock’s scissoring fingers.

“Ready, Spock, oh—Spock—darling—now, ready, please,” Jim began to babble, the link tugging at the back of his mind, driving him to dig his fingers into the firm muscles of Spock’s back, trying to pull him closer, feeling a burning need to feel his lover inside both his body and mind.

“Soon Jim. I feel it too—ah! One more,” panted Spock, and added a third finger to Jim, creating an exquisite burn as he was stretched wide.

Spock rocked against Jim’s hip, his slick adding an obscene sheen to his flushed-pink skin as it spread with each thrust. For long moments they moved together like that, Spock seeking friction against Jim’s hip while his fingers pistoned and scissored within his slackening channel.

Jim was moaning in earnest now, a smouldering heat building low in his spine with every brush of Spock’s long fingers against the sweet spot inside him. Just when he thought he would have to tell Spock to stop, that he couldn’t take any more or he was going to come untouched, all three fingers slid from his channel, leaving him feeling achingly empty and strangely bereft.

He let out a small whimper and pressed his forehead to Spock’s shoulder, ready to object, but in the next moment Spock had hooked his arms under Jim’s knees and lifted his hips until Jim felt a hard, blunt thickness nudging against his entrance.

Spock trembled above him as he pushed into Jim, his hard cock sliding past Jim’s slick ring and entering his tight heat. They both gasped as Spock pressed slowly in, Jim taking him, inch by inch, until Spock bottomed out, his hips flush against the rosy globes of Jim’s ass.

Jim slid his hand around the back of Spock’s neck and pulled him down to catch his lips with his own. In contrast to their previous kiss, this one was slower, sensual, full of love and longing and the promise of a future spent roaming the stars, side by side.

Spock began to move within him, slowly at first, the tension building moment by moment as they kissed and rocked together, but before long Jim had to pull away, desperate for oxygen as he gasped out his pleasure. Spock’s pace had increased, his hips pistoning back and forth, dragging his length almost entirely out before slamming firmly back into Jim’s tight heat. The cabin was filled with the mingled sounds of their groans, the slap of skin against skin and the lewd wet noises of Spock sliding within Jim’s slick hole. The air was thick with their mounting pleasure and, as Spock’s double ridges dragged deliciously against his prostate again, Jim knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer.

Whether Spock had heard his thought or was simply getting close himself, Jim didn’t know. However, in the next moment, Spock had raised his clean hand to Jim’s face and hovered his fingers just above his meld points, the implicit request for permission clear.

“Yes—do it—” Jim gasped, and in the next moment Spock’s fingers were pressing urgently into his skin, Vulcan words tumbling from Spock’s lips in a breathless rush.

Jim felt like he was falling, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of colours, thoughts and sensations. He was still aware of his physical body, the hard press of Spock’s fingers against his meld points, the building pressure low in his spine as Spock hit his sweet spot with every desperate thrust. But he was also now aware of other feelings that were not his own; a tight heat around his aching cock, fingernails raking up his spine, the tingle of cool human skin beneath his sensitive fingertips.

The onslaught of perception and sensation continued as their pleasure began to reach its peak. Jim almost wanted to cry with the overwhelm of feeling his own approaching orgasm mingle with Spock’s. Ecstasy ricocheted between their minds and bodies until Jim felt them tip over the edge together. His body arched with release and he felt the molten heat of Spock’s seed spilling within him as his world exploded into blinding golden light.

Jim felt like he had come apart at the seams, like the pattern of the man he had been up until that moment had been unravelled so that he could be made anew. He was warm and safe and, above all, loved. The permeating feeling of absolute, unshakable love seemed to drift and swirl all around him, and for an indefinable measure of time Jim simply allowed himself to float in that state of bliss.

Gradually, Jim once again became aware of his surroundings. Of the weight of Spock, pressing down on him, still breathing heavily. And the sticky mess between them where his own orgasm had landed in long ropes across his stomach and chest. But there was something else too, something that had not been there before, which now danced at the edge of his awareness. A measure of that blissful golden light remained, of that feeling of total love and devotion.

Jim closed his eyes and followed the feeling to a spot near the base of his skull. Where for months there had been only an aggressive chill now bloomed this golden warmth and Jim smiled wide enough to make his face hurt at the realisation that it felt like—Spock.

“Yes. That is the bond,” said Spock, as he slid himself from Jim and lay down beside him, still pressed close on the narrow bed.

“It’s…” Jim began, pausing to try and find the right word to describe something so perfectly wondrous. “...beautiful,” he concluded.

“Indeed, ashayam, as are you,” Spock said and placed a soft kiss against Jim’s temple, drawing him into his arms.

Jim smiled and snuggled closer to his love, his head nestled into the crook of Spock’s shoulder, his leg hooked over Spock’s thigh.

However, as he pressed against the smooth, warmer-than-human skin he became suddenly aware of just how hot he was. The stifling air of the room seemed to hit him all at once and he began to sweat in earnest. Having been chilled for so many weeks, the feeling was unfamiliar and exceedingly uncomfortable.

“Computer, reduce heat by fifteen degrees,” said Spock.

“Thanks,” gasped Jim as he felt cool air from the environmental system wash across his bare skin, cooling him to a much more bearable temperature. “Will you be warm enough now? Do you need a blanket?” Jim asked, concerned.

“I shall be quite warm enough as long as you remain in my arms, t’hy’la,” replied Spock, and tightened his hold on Jim.

“Why, Mr Spock, I do believe you’re a romantic at heart,” Jim laughed, full of bubbling delight. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” he teased.

“I doubt anyone would believe you if you did,” Spock replied dryly, though Jim could feel his amusement dancing along the bond.

For long moments they simply lay together, revelling in the feel of the new connection between their minds. Jim poked and prodded at the new warmth, smiling as he felt waves of amused affection emanating from Spock’s end of the bond.

Jim thought back over all the long months—years, really—that had led them here. All those nights of loneliness, of heartache and deep despair. He remembered the drive to be near Spock, the overwhelming need to be allowed to love him in all ways, and the pain of holding himself back. Of trying to maintain an appropriate distance between them for the sake of their friendship and working relationship.

Jim had felt increasingly broken, incomplete, lacking. As if without Spock he wasn’t even a whole person anymore. It hadn’t been a feeling he’d enjoyed, and when he’d found out about the nascent link and the powerful Vulcan mating drives, Jim had railed against the thought of being forced by urges not his own to seek out a mate. He’d seen what the Plak tow had done to Spock, stripped of his sense and his will. Watched as T’Pring, member of a species of devout pacifists, had resorted to violence by proxy in order to escape an unwanted connection that had been thrust upon her in childhood.

A small part of Jim had worried, even as he was agreeing to complete the bond, that their love may still be the byproduct of the mental link and its relentless pursuit of completion.

He knew better now.

Lying in the arms of his—lover, husband, bondmate?—Jim knew that the link had grown as a result of their love and not the other way around. They were whole, both together and apart. Separate but equally part of something bigger.

Jim no longer felt like he couldn’t be apart from Spock, not just because the mating drive had now subsided, but because they would never again be parted, not really. Spock was a part of him, a permanent fixture in the back of his head, a constant flowing of love and devotion and support. Their bond was golden light and molten heat, brighter than a supernova and as endless as the universe.

Jim finally understood the words which Spock and T’Pring had spoken when they’d arrived at Vulcan for the Koon-ut-kal-if-fee. Though at the time that Jim had first heard the ancient declarations it had been nothing but a perfunctory greeting between two strangers, driven by tradition and expectation. They had been a pair placed together reluctantly, sharing nothing but a distaste for the betrothal that had been forced upon them both to appease the wishes of others.

What Jim and Spock shared was profound and precious and had been chosen by both of them. It was wanted, longed for, borne of years working and fighting at each other’s side, of risking life and limb for each other, of nights spent across the chess board and meals shared in the mess.

They had been drawn together, orbiting one another closer and closer until their intrinsic compatibility and deep desire had forged a link that drove them to their inevitable collision.

And Jim couldn’t bring himself to regret even their darkest moments of hopelessness, because they had brought them to this moment of purest happiness.

Jim didn’t know if Spock had been following any of his meandering train of thought as he processed through his realisations, and he had no idea how to articulate what he was feeling. How to put into words the reverent awe he felt looking back on the path that led them here. Or the staggering love and appreciation he felt that they were now bonded. But although he couldn’t find the words to express many of his thoughts, he nonetheless knew exactly what he wanted to say at that moment.

Pulling away so that he could prop himself up on his elbow, Jim met Spock’s soft gaze. He raised his right hand—folding all but his middle and index finger in a Vulcan kiss, the way he’d observed Spock’s parents do on more than one occasion—and spoke the words heavy with ancient meaning. “Parted from me and never parted.”

Jim felt a flood of surpriseloveappreciationjoy across the bond as Spock’s eyes became glassy with unshed tears.

Slowly, Spock lifted his own fingers and tenderly pressed them to Jim’s, speaking the traditional reply in turn. “Never and always touching and touched.”

Jim leant down to press his lips to Spock’s, softly uttering the only words he knew laden with as much meaning as those they’d just spoken. “I love you.”

“As I do you, Jim,” replied Spock.

Jim settled back down beside his love, strong Vulcan arms encircling him once more, and for a long time thereafter no more words were spoken at all.

Chapter Text

Spock sat on the small sofa, data slate in hand as he checked the progress of a number of experiments which were taking place within the science labs. His bondmate sat by his side, reading through the departmental reports, turned at a right angle so that he was able to place his stockinged feet in Spock’s lap.

Since combining their living spaces six weeks prior, this had become the favourite position for them to assume at the end of each day so that they might review the relevant paperwork from their duty shift.

The transition to their new living arrangements had gone as smoothly as one might have hoped following the announcement of their changed status. The relevant forms had been submitted to Command and their bond logged with the Vulcan High Council. It would be confirmed by an adept upon their next visit to Vulcan, however, they were already recognised by both Vulcan and Federation law as legal spouses. As such, Mr Scott had been given permission to install a larger bed in the captain’s quarters to allow for a more comfortable sleeping arrangement. Not that Spock had at all minded the nights they’d spent pressed together in Jim’s single bunk, his beloved draped almost fully on top of him as they slept tangled together.

Given that even the captain’s quarters were not particularly large, Spock had retained his old quarters down the hall as an office and meditation space. Spock had been content to make do with the limited space afforded to them, however, his spouse had urged him to retain a private space where he could meditate without worry of interruption or distraction. Or as Jim had put it: “Spock, you know I can’t sit still for that long, if you rely on me tiptoeing around you every evening for hours then you’ll go crazy in under a month!”

Ultimately Spock had conceded the logic of the request and they had compromised by moving some of Jim’s belongings into storage in Spock’s old rooms to create a larger living space for them to share in the Captain's cabin.

The reorganisation of their living space had ultimately been the biggest change resulting from their new relationship. Their life aboard the ship had carried on in much the same way that it had been in the months leading up to their bonding. Spock still met with Uhura each week to practise their music and converse over a pot of tea. He continued with his botany projects alongside Sulu, and Chekov was becoming somewhat proficient in the game of Kal-toh.

Equally Jim continued to have his weekly dinner with Dr. McCoy, fenced in the gym with Sulu and met regularly with Engineer Scott for drinks.

Both himself and Jim had been rather taken aback by the reactions of their friends upon announcing their change of relationship status and the existence of their newly completed bond. It was not that their closest companions had been anything less than supportive upon hearing the news; what had perplexed them both was simply that no one seemed at all surprised. Dr McCoy having gone as far as to exclaim loudly, “Well, it’s about damn time you two idiots got your act together!”

One notable change that he and Jim had discussed since the commencement of their relationship was the realisation that, since bonding, their social interactions with the rest of the crew were no longer overshadowed by the omnipresent longing to return to one another’s presence. While they both still enjoyed one another’s company above all others, it was no longer essential that that closeness be sought at the expense of their other relationships. They were never parted as they once had been, and there was no reason to jealously guard that which was always, and would always be, with them.

At least once per fortnight the pair would meet with the rest of the senior staff for a meal or game in the rec room, and Spock quietly revelled in the camaraderie. He had found his home aboard the Enterprise. Not merely in the ship itself, but in his t’hy’la and the family they had gathered around them. These people who trusted them with their lives and who could be trusted in return.

Turning his attention to the man sitting next to him, feet idly twitching against Spock’s thigh, he allowed a small smile to breach his Vulcan mask. This was an indulgence that he was allowing himself more and more frequently, but only in these quiet moments in the privacy of their own quarters. All his smiles were for his bondmate alone.

Suddenly, honeyed hazel eyes flicked up to meet his gaze and, upon noticing Spock’s small smile, Jim’s face broke out into a beaming grin in return.

“I’ve had a message from the F.D.S.,” said Jim.

“Indeed? I presume it is the same request for feedback on your experience as a service user which I received yesterday,” replied Spock.

After their bonding, they’d both closed their accounts with the F.D.S., selecting from the provided list of reasons that they had successfully started a relationship. Two months on from that time, the automated marketing system had clearly kicked in and began to send them requests for feedback and testimonials which could subsequently be used to improve the service for, and promote it to, future users.

Upon receiving the form, Spock had dutifully answered all the questions, selecting from multiple choice lists where appropriate and providing anecdotal information and feedback where free text spaces were available.

“You filled it in? Where do you find the time for marketing nonsense like this? You already have a heavier workload than anyone else aboard the ship,” Jim asked.

“It was not a laborious task to complete the proffered form in order to support the service in its continued development,” replied Spock.

“But we already knew and loved each other, so I don’t think the F.D.S. can take full credit for this one. Admit it, you’re just an old romantic who wanted to gush about finding love,” Jim chuckled before sending a wink in Spock’s direction.

Spock projected his amusement along the bond even as he schooled his face into its most severely neutral mask for maximum effect, then stated clearly, “On the contrary, regardless of our previous friendship, the service fulfilled its primary goal. It is only logical to provide positive feedback when they successfully identified for us both a compatible match.”

As he’d hoped would be the result of his words, Jim let out a loud bark of amused laughter and climbed into Spock’s lap, throwing his arms around Spock’s shoulders and leaning in for a long kiss.

When they finally pulled away, Jim rested his forehead against Spock’s and sighed happily, “You’re right, t’hy’la, they did indeed find us both a highly compatible match.”

The End