Fic: The Squire of Eros (4/5)

[aldora89]

Title: The Squire of Eros (4/5)
Author: aldora89 
Beta: purple_spock
Series: TOS
Rating: NC-17  (this part PG-13)
Length: ~26,000
Warnings: Major character injury, smut, an attempt at a plot, a foppish villain, and copious amounts of TOS nerdery.
Summary: An old nemesis pays a social call to the Enterprise just in time for the annual Valentine's Day party. On this occasion it's Spock who draws the brunt force of his irritating personality. But when his holiday-inspired antics turn dangerous, it's up to the Captain and crew to take him down, and Jim is forced to confront his long-evaded desires.
Based loosely on prompt #31.


Jim emerged from his second meeting with Sulu, DeSalle, Chekov, and a few of the top scientists from astrophysics and astrometrics, not sure whether to feel discouraged or hopeful. They all agreed it was worth a shot, but like Spock, they kept talking about variables; namely, how many there were. An inordinate amount of time was spent on unknowns, which seemed a little silly to Jim, because it wasn’t like they were rolling in backup plans.

Bits of their debates simmered in his head as he paced the bridge. He wouldn’t be surprised if he wore a path through the carbonium floor tiles before this was over.

“What if he adjusts too quickly?”

“How could he adjust? He’ll have a hell of a time finding a frequency that isn’t surrounded by noise.”

“We’ll have to stay at least one AU away from the danger zone.”

“Not good enough. If we’re doing this, we should cut it as close as possible.”

“But one wobble and we fly straight into the emission beams!”

What Jim clung to now was Sulu’s response to the all-important question that had closed out their first, more sanguine meeting. It was a small comfort to him when faced with the brilliant, flashing beacon that currently loomed on the main viewer, throwing off long streamers of dust. He frowned at the navigator’s station for a moment, then crossed the bridge to stand at his lieutenant’s side, his movements made jerky by the light of the pulsar. “Mr. Sulu?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I need to hear it again,” he said. “Can you do it?”

“Pilot an unbalanced, unshielded starship at 10% impulse power in orbit around a deadly star while being pummeled by its magnetic field?” Sulu’s smile may have been forced, but his bravado was irrepressible. “In my sleep, sir.”

“Oh, Captain!” Uhura cried out from her station. “You have to hear this.” She tapped a few buttons on her panel, and the frenzied rhythm of the cosmic whirling dervish filled the bridge.

There was nothing Jim could compare it to. Like an old Terran helicopter, but not exactly. Like the sound of the prototype warp cores he had seen tested back at starbase one, but much faster and more metallic. Once upon a time he had been to a few Orion raves, and bizarrely, the music of those dark clubs was the closest resemblance he could come up with.

“It’s beautiful,” Uhura said dreamily. “Like drums. Like a heartbeat.”

“If that’s what your heartbeat sounds like, I think you should pay a visit to sickbay,” Sulu chuckled over his shoulder.

Jim couldn’t decide if he liked it or not, but at any rate, that sound might become their salvation.

He went on patrol for awhile, checking up on the plan’s progress. The ball room stabilization was going smoothly. They were circling in on their destination. The flight plan was laid out, the sensors programmed, and the trap was set. There was nothing to do now but wait for Trelane to return to the scene of the crime, and Jim was glad he had plans to keep himself occupied until their target made himself known.

He reported to Spock’s room at eighteen hundred hours, and found his first officer noticeably more awake, dressed in his uniform pants and a black undershirt. The lights seemed a bit dim, but Spock’s senses were probably still recovering from their shock. There was a rich, spicy scent lingering in the air that Jim recognized as Vulcan incense, although it was a variety he had never smelled before. He was glad when Spock greeted him that the Vulcan wasn’t in on their plan, because now Spock’s room was a haven from the rest of the ship.

“Did you have a good nap?” Jim took his seat at the desk-turned-table while Spock started up the synthesizer.

“I must admit that the doctor’s simplest prescriptions are often his best ones.” Spock retrieved the food and placed their trays onto the table. Jim surveyed the bowl of colorful, seasoned root vegetables and poked a bit with his fork.

“This looks familiar.”

“It is a Vulcan dish that you found favorable at the Babel Conference. I programmed the replicator with the closest equivalent ingredients.”

Spock watched expectantly as Jim took the first taste. A hint of citris bloomed high in his nose, and the overall bitter-sweetness refreshed his palate. The flavor was just as appealing as he remembered it. “This is delicious,” he murmured.

“It is a close mimic,” Spock conceded.

Their conversation stayed light throughout the meal. Whatever Bones had done to mislead Spock in sickbay, it was working beautifully, because he didn’t ask a single question about their status. Jim grew more and more at ease, Trelane slipping from the forefront of his mind as they discussed everything from academy roommates to the Enterprise’s unsung discoveries over a simple yet satisfying meal. They talked long after they were finished eating, and Jim almost forgot that by this point, Sulu’s skills were all that stood between them and a fiery oblivion.

After awhile, Spock moved to clear the dishes, rejecting any offers for help. Jim settled back in his chair and unwound, content just to be as he studied the wood grain of Spock’s desk.

“I have something for you.”

“Please don’t say it’s dessert, because I can’t eat another bite.”

But when he glanced up from the table, Spock was holding out a book. Jim took it almost automatically, too puzzled to raise any immediate questions.

The Verses of Saldek, the cover read, translated by Dr. Jana Carter. Jim turned it over in his hands, admiring the exquisite red fabric, the gold leaf lettering in both English and Vulcan. There was an iridescent sheen to the cloth binding that flashed when he held it at certain angles. “Spock, I…” He stumbled and tried again. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It is approximately nineteen point three hours late.” Spock developed an abrupt interest in the floor, and it took Jim a few seconds to draw his attention away from the book long enough to understand that statement.

“You meant to give it to me yesterday?”

“After the party, yes.”

“But why?”

“Gift-giving is customary on St. Valentine’s Day, is it not?”

Jim hesitated, unable to interpret Spock’s blank face, neutral tone, and avoidance of eye contact. How could someone so exact have missed such an important detail of the holiday? “Well yes,” Jim began cautiously, “but only between people who are romantically involved.”

Spock clasped his hands behind his back. “I am aware of that stipulation.”

A surreal silence ensued, crushing and wrong.

Jim had never imagined that McCoy’s voice could sound like a choir of angels until that moment.

Spock actually let out a sigh, and an agitated one at that. “Can it wait, doctor?”

< Don’t make me pull rank on you. You’ve got one minute.> The com beeped as it disconnected.

“I will return shortly,” Spock said, and looked at Jim, inscrutable. “You may remain here if you wish.” He was gone without another word.

Jim stared after him for a long time, then opened the book to the translator’s preface and started to read.

For those who are uninitiated in an admittedly insular field, The Verses of Saldek represent the epitome of pre-reform Vulcan poetry. They consist of three cantos, each one centered around an element of the relationship known as t’hy’la, the joining of souls that surpasses even bondmateship.

His heart convulsed with the seeds of panic, and he skimmed ahead, seeking some kind of amendment.

The last canto, Spirals in the Sand, is well-known for its passionately erotic description of pon farr between two warriors. It begins in the metaphorical fire, violent and merciless in both prose and rhythm, and ends with, as Saldek writes, “the sweet voice of water” and “the cool veil of shade.”

No, Jim thought, and he slammed the book shut, practically flinging it onto his desk as if it were poisoned. He started to pace the room, each step a fresh denial. No, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. It was too absurd. Yet there was no other explanation for strangeness of Spock’s behavior, except a certain uninvited guest, and a certain golden arrow.

His mind scrambled for a foothold against this awful epiphany. Why Spock? Almost as soon as he had asked himself the question, he knew the answer.

Trelane was the antithesis of Spock. He resented everything Spock was, from his rigid adherence to logic and ethics, to his strict emotional control. Unsurprisingly, he had figured out the best way to attack Spock was to make him lose those qualities he cherished most. And Trelane already knew that attacking Spock was the best way to attack Jim. He got to kill two birds with one stone.

Jim tried desperately to calm down and prepare himself for the ensuing confrontation, but this was different. This couldn’t be fixed by a little sawing and welding, by the crazed spin of a pulsar. Suddenly their grand scheme wasn’t so critical or thrilling after all.

Here was the ace up Trelane’s sleeve, and Jim had nothing but twos and threes in his hand.

He was still shaking when the door slid open again. “Spock, I need to tell you something,” he blurted out before Spock was hardly two steps into the room.

Spock appeared taken aback by his outburst, but he recovered quickly. A hint of concern played over his features, but otherwise, he was completely unruffled. “I have something to tell you as well.”

Jim had to speak up, had to say what he knew. You aren’t thinking clearly. Trelane did this to you. You don’t really feel this way. Instead, he succumbed to his Achilles’ heel, and said the words that could ruin them forever. “You first.”

Spock bowed his head and dropped his eyes to the floor. “Please understand that I had intended for things to go differently,” he said. “Over the past two days I have behaved in a manner inappropriate to my station, and I wish to apologize.”

“Don’t say that. What happened wasn’t your fault,”  It was my mistake, Jim thought. My fault for caring too much, so much that our enemies could notice.

“I was illogically confrontational, and I paid the price,” Spock countered. “But that is not the issue at hand.” He hesitated, and met Jim’s gaze with an earnest intensity. “Jim, I cannot express… that is to say, it is difficult for a Vulcan…”

Jim knew, that very instant, how the encounter was going to end. He knew, and yet he couldn’t make himself believe it, the same way he knew how transporters worked but never quite accepted that his atoms were being disassembled when it happened. So he could only stand there, an observer in his own body, as his first officer gave up on words and took a deliberate step into his space.

When Spock moved to kiss him, Jim tilted his chin and closed his eyes.

So shy, and so sweet. Spock pressed his lips to Jim’s with the same careful precision he applied to everything he did. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, he barely even parted his lips, and it was over so fast that it was near platonic, but Jim was still gripped by a shudder that threatened the stability of his knees. He could not have been more overwhelmed if Spock had grabbed him, dipped him, and planted one on him like that old photograph from the end of Earth’s second world war.

Jim always thought his reputation as a connoisseur of alien women was not entirely deserved. In this day and age, who hadn’t kissed a half-dozen species? But for all his experiences, both varied and rewarding, there was nothing quite like this, no frame of reference. It felt so good, and the euphoria lingered long after the touch was gone.

He opened his eyes to find Spock watching him, his eyes soft, close enough that Jim could feel the Vulcan’s warm breath against his face.

Jim drew back, even though his every natural instinct was screaming for him to close the gap again. “Spock,” he said, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Jim, I…” Spock’s expression shifted, and he looked positively broken. “I thought…”

“I’m so sorry.” Jim repeated, and left as quickly as he could, before he lost sight of himself, of the upstanding captain he had to preserve.

A half-dozen quick strides down the hall and he was at his own quarters. Not far enough for comfort, but there was nowhere else to go. He entered his darkened room, closed his eyes, and stood in the threshold for a moment, struggling to get his bearings. “Doors lock.” He muttered, and slumped against the solid surface. “Lights, seventy percent.”

There was Trelane, sitting in Jim’s chair, reading one of Jim’s books, his feet propped up on Jim’s desk.

Jim had been expecting this all day, but that didn’t mean he was prepared for the reality of the situation. A very special and unique kind of anger washed over him, the kind that had seized him during Kodos’ visit to the Enterprise, and while hunting the creature that wiped out the U.S.S. Farragut. It was precise, it was obsessive, and it was most certainly reckless.

“What did you do?”

Trelane didn’t even glance up from the book, and Jim noticed with a fierce pang that it was the Verses of Saldek. “I have numerous accomplishments to my name, dear Captain. You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

Jim stormed across the room and shoved Trelane’s boots, knocking his legs off the desk and twisting him halfway around in the chair. He actually looked surprised, but Jim didn’t have time to savor the trivial payback. “What did you do? The arrow. My first officer.”

“I thought it was obvious.” Trelane smiled wickedly. “It’s your species’ mythology, after all. I was merely putting it to good use.” He placed the book down and brushed his hands together. “Funny little volume. And good show, by the way. It’s no wonder you’re alone when a mere kiss sends you into full retreat.”

Blood pounding in his ears, Jim aimed a punch at that smug, evil face. His fist passed right through Trelane, whose form was no more solid than a hologram. Jim recovered his sanity and backed away a few steps, wondering if that minor magic trick was enough for the scanners to pick up Trelane’s presence. Enough to set off the trap. But Sulu had told him he would be able to tell when the shields dropped and the radiation flooded in, and yet nothing was happening.

The door chimed, and a voice sounded through Jim’s quarters, hushed and pleading.

Jim shot a warning look at Trelane. “Don’t.”

A burst of light, and there was Spock, standing in the middle of his room, one hand raised as if he were about to press the button again. “My timing really is impeccable, isn’t it?” Trelane said, mostly to himself.

Full teleportation, and still nothing. Jim teetered on the verge of outright dread. What was going on? Why weren’t they dropping the shields?

“Trelane,” Spock said evenly. “Why have you returned when you are no longer welcome?”

“I’m here to witness the fruits of my retaliation, of course!” He crossed his arms and smirked at Jim. “I’m sure the Captain thinks they’re ripe.”

Something within Jim snapped, and every scrap of his stubborn arrogance shattered. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He couldn’t keep a grip on his resolve when his first officer’s mind was being manipulated and abused right in front of him. “I don’t want this. Please, Trelane. I don’t want this.”

“But you do.” Trelane clapped his hands and rubbed them together as only a villain could. “That’s what makes it such great fun!”

“I want Spock. If you do this to him, he isn’t Spock.”

“What has been done to me?”

“He’s meddled with your emotions.” There it was. What he should have said ten minutes ago, and now it was too late.

“I’ve reduced you to this, you fool! Falling for a human!” Trelane laughed riotously, and Jim’s stomach churned with grief and rage.

“Jim, please hear me,” Spock said urgently, touching Jim’s shoulder. “My will is my own.”

It hurt like hell to do, but Jim jerked away from Spock. “I know it seems like that. And Spock, I wish it were true. But it’s not. He’s using you against me, like before. The dinner, the book- ”

“I have had the Verses in my possession for some time, Jim,” Spock interrupted, still marvelously composed. “I had planned to give them to you on an appropriate occasion in order to, I believe the correct expression is, ‘drop a hint.’” He gave Jim the vaguely troubled look he always wore when he was uncertain of a human idiom, and waiting for confirmation.

Jim was utterly thrown off by this version of events. “You planned it? When?”

“Approximately four months, three days, and six hours ago,” Spock said. “That was when I saw the book available on a Vulcan colony. You may verify my purchase records if you wish.”

And that, right there, was an undeniable piece of logic. Spock was offering evidence in a calm, rational manner, albeit to support an irrational claim. Jim was rendered momentarily speechless by the paradox.

“It was not merely tonight,” Spock continued, his voice even more steady, as if he were emboldened by his own arguments. “I have been actively attempting to seduce you for the past two point five days.”

“What?” Trelane cut in, voice oddly flat. They ignored him.

More logic. The massage in the computer labs, their exchanges before the party was crashed. Other moments over the past weeks, perhaps fewer and farther between, but similar in tone. Had such attentions come from anyone else, Jim would have instantly recognized them as flirtation, but he hadn’t let himself believe it, coming from Spock. He still couldn’t believe it, not after so many years spent pining from a distance. “Are you sure?”

Spock thought for a second or two. “I suppose there is no way I can be ‘sure,’ but for my assertions to be incorrect, both of our memories would have required significant alteration.”

“And if Trelane knows so little about Vulcan culture, how could he have invented the book?” Jim added to convince himself further.

“Wait a minute, wait just a minute! What are you two dithering on about?”

“Indeed.” Some of the tension in Spock’s face softened when he saw that Jim was coming around to his arguments. “I should have postponed my advances in light of recent circumstances, but-”

“Would you sorry mortals be silent!?” They both turned to Trelane, who looked for all the world like a child who had just been told he couldn’t have dessert. “What is this? Where is the madness? The fervor of Apollo for Daphne? Where is the ravishment?”

This time it was Jim’s turn for fundamental confusion. “What?”

Trelane leapt up from his chair and jabbed an incredulous finger at Jim. “You mean to tell me that being pierced by a gold arrow does not inspire violent and involuntary love?”

“It inspires injury,” Spock supplied. “Significant loss of productivity.”

“No, no, no! Don’t you ugly bags of mostly water have some kind of, oh blast what do you call it,” Trelane gestured wildly, “biochemical reaction to gold projectiles? Neotransfritters or some such nonsense?”

Jim exchanged a glance with Spock, who appeared just as helplessly puzzled as him. “Not exactly, no.”

“So everything he did was because he wanted to?”

“Yes,” Spock answered this time, with a firm glance at Jim.

Trelane sputtered and mouthed at them like a fish out of water. “That’s no fun. That’s no fun at all.” He crossed his arms and stalked toward the corner, grumbling to himself.

“You can’t control feelings.” Jim murmured, the realization dawning on him like the first day of spring. Trelane could make passable food and a spectacular ball room, but a person was far more complicated than a pear. In this area he remained all surface and no substance. “You can’t control our minds, can you?”

“Of course I can’t! Why else would I have resorted to your mythos to stir things up?” Trelane threw his hands up in dismay. “Really, Captain, I’m twelve million, not twelve hundred million.”

Jim had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but he was too high on his relief to care. “You mean to say you aren’t responsible for this at all?”

“So it would seem,” Trelane spat.

“Fascinating,” Spock said. “You play with the universe, yet you still have no real understanding of how it works.”

“Oh bravo, you nitwits. Your insight is astonishing. Why do you think I’ve been traveling for the past few eons? It takes time to learn the minutiae of atomic interactions.” Trelane shook his head, visibly collected himself, and tugged at his preposterous blue coat. “No matter. No matter. I’ll just have to punish you some other way.”

This was either very bad, or very good. Unless some drunk ensign had recalibrated the sensors to detect puppies, there was no possible way Jim’s team wouldn’t pick up on whatever Trelane was about to do. Go on, he thought grimly. Try it.

But before Trelane could do a thing, the ship began to tremble. Souvenirs and knickknacks crashed down from the shelves, and Jim braced himself with the instincts of a long-time San Francisco resident. He wove his fingers through the holes in the room divider and grabbed Spock’s arm, steadying the Vulcan as he stumbled toward the desk. The shaking abruptly peaked in violence, enough that Jim would have hazarded a guess at 5.0 on the Richter scale, and Trelane toppled over with a cry of distress.

All at once, the shaking stopped, and Jim cautiously let go of the divider and Spock. He held his breath as he studied their undignified, bedraggled lump of guest, sprawled out on his floor.

Trelane’s eyes were comically wide as he got to his feet. He blinked rapidly, and for several seconds, pawed at the air like mime trapped in a box. It was a marvelous thing to watch. “What… what the devil... this isn’t right.” He closed his eyes in concentration and flinched once, then again, harder. “This can’t be! Where is it?”

Sulu’s voice over the com, drained and concerned.

“We’re doing fine.” Jim leaned against the divider a second longer, catching his breath. “What took you so long?”

“See that we stay that way, Mr. Sulu. Kirk out.” Jim crossed his arms and relished the sensation of his battered ego returning to life, helped along quite nicely by Trelane’s frantic flailing. Not a trapped mime, he thought. A cat chasing a laser. “Looking for something?”

“I… but how… that was my favorite wavelength! What did you do with it?” Trelane’s voice rose to a hysterical pitch as he rounded on Jim. “Give it back right now!”

“You’ll have to take that up with the pulsar,” Jim said.

“What?” Trelane howled. “That’s not fair! You’re not playing fair!”

“A pulsar, Captain?” Simply hearing the characteristic intrigue in Spock’s tone made Jim’s sense of relief complete. “PSR C50312, perhaps?”

Jim nodded. “Exactly that.”

“Captain, how did you…”

“I read your notes,” Jim shrugged. “I just extrapolated a little.”

“My notes were not at the point of a coherent hypothesis.”

“But a hunch from you is worth more than a statement of fact from most people.”

“A hunch, Captain?” Spock tried to look offended, but he sounded pleased.

“How could you not know where we were, anyway? I thought you checked our new heading in sickbay.”

Spock’s expression soured. “I did. I believe the doctor supplied me with obsolete data on our status.” He shook his head and gave Jim a meaningful look. “And I have been distracted by a variety of other concerns.”

Meanwhile, Trelane had slouched his way back into Jim’s chair, where he proceeded to wallow in self-pity. All throughout their discussion, he kept moaning things like ‘woe is me’ and quoting from what sounded like the Book of Job. When he noticed he had an audience again, he stopped to address them directly, ever the thespian. “I think I may just have underestimated you, Captain.” He buried his face in his hands. “How embarrassing! I’ll never live this down.”

“I’m sure you’ll forgive yourself,” Jim said. “A few million years is a long time.”

Trelane made an abstract, meaningless noise not unlike the wail of a dying bison. “Oh, what are you going to do with me?”

“We’ll drop you off on the planet orbiting this lovely little star. It’s totally barren, but I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to escape eventually,” Jim said, feeling strangely paternal now that he had the high ground. “You could use the challenge, Trelane.”

“Pah! There’s enough of a challenge simply trying to understand your blasted culture.” Trelane retorted with a disdainful air. “Centuries of stories, and not a grain of truth. Next you’ll be telling me chocolate doesn’t cause hysterical paroxysm in your females.”

Jim shot a puzzled glance at Spock, whose posture was unusually stiff. “I believe he is referring to product advertisements.”

“That isn’t a true depiction either?”

“No,” Jim said, frankly amazed. Not that he was complaining; powerless and gullible suited Trelane very well. “Didn’t you watch anyone eat at the party?”

“But… but it’s… all the time, on your holo feeds, and…” Trelane stared blankly, then slammed a palm against his forehead. “Holy quarking gluon, your species is impossible! How do you even exist without caving into the vacuous black holes in your heads?” He shoved his way past Jim and stomped for the door which, still being locked, failed to open. “Fie me! Get me out of here, I beg of you. Cast me onto the wasteland planet, posthaste!”

***

Trelane’s tantrum burned out by the time the shuttlecraft was ready for him, and he remained cooperative, if somewhat snippier than usual, throughout the whole affair. Scotty passed Jim and Spock as they led their guest through the ship’s corridors one last time, and he waved the shuttle’s dismantled shield generators and fuel conduits at them with a triumphant smile. Trelane would find no safe harbor out in the sea of radiation.

They arrived at the shuttlebay, and Trelane paused at the entrance of the room with Jim and Spock, sizing up his one-way vehicle. He seemed to sink deep into his thoughts, and Jim was surprised he was capable of being so solemn.

“I did enjoy my stay here. Truly, I did,” he said suddenly. It was the most genuine tone Jim had ever heard coming from his mouth. “It got so dull, being stuck around omniscients thrice my age all the time. They look down on me because I can’t make quasars or alter the fabric of space-time yet. Can you imagine? No, I suppose you can’t.”

And there went the humility, right out the window. Oh well, Jim thought. It was nice while it lasted. He sighed and stuck out his hand. “Are we even?”

Trelane sized him up for a tense moment, but then he flashed a weary smile, for just an instant looking every last one of his twelve million years. “We’re even.”

“Then make me a gentleman’s agreement. Promise that you won’t bother my people or anyone in the Federation again.”

“Very well, I promise. You have won, after all.”

“Not so fast.” Jim didn’t let Trelane’s hand out of his grasp. “Swear it on something you believe in.”

“Like what?”

“Perhaps a universal constant?” Spock suggested.

“Don’t be silly, Mr. Spock. There are no universal constants.” Trelane actually reached up and patted Spock on the cheek, as though he were a precocious but misguided child. Jim wished he could have captured Spock’s look of horror and contempt for posterity.

“Well then,” Jim said, fighting not to laugh, “whatever’s closest to a constant. Surely there must be something.”

Trelane frowned, and his face contorted in exaggerated thoughtfulness. “I swear by this," he announced, and slowly pointed at Jim, then Spock, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. “Whatever you chose to call it.”

Then he shook Jim’s hand briskly and freed himself, striding toward the shuttlecraft without hesitation this time. He didn’t look back, and the pneumatic doors slid closed behind him. Jim was too stunned to speak until they stepped out into the hall to initiate the launch sequence.

Spock tapped a few confirmatory codes into the control panel. “While I appreciate your attempt at reconciliation,” he said, “I find it difficult to take him at his word when he had already failed his second chance.”

“Let’s hope the third time’s the charm.”

They watched on a viewscreen as the shuttlebay depressurized, and the massive doors opened, parting to the glaringly bright pulsar beyond. The shuttle began its autopiloted descent to the planet below, and Jim was unspeakably glad to see the Enterprise’s shields shimmer back to life behind it.

He faced his first officer, his friend, his more-than-a-friend, who was still following the shuttle with his eyes. It was a dot in the distance now, white against the gray surface of the tiny planet. “Something on your mind, Mr. Spock?”

“I believe I am in agreement with Trelane.”

That made about as much sense as Spock announcing his intention to retire from Starfleet to become a Denebian slime devil. Jim peered at him. “Oh?”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Colloquially speaking, it is fun when the mighty fall.”

Part 5