All That Heaven Will Allow (DNSB Interlude) 2/2
Continued from All That Heaven Will Allow 1/2
--
“Are you seeing someone… socially?”
Nyota, who has been humming softly to herself while tuning the lyre, now lays the instrument aside and looks at Spock with a confused smile.
“You’re asking me if I’m dating anyone?”
“I-” Spock pauses. “Yes.”
“Why?” She leans back on the bed, crossing her legs but leaving one foot dangling.
Spock stares at the sly smile playing on her lips and averts his eyes. “I should not have asked. Forgive me for prying.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” she says cheerily. “Not so fast. Why did you want to know?”
He glances back at her, frowning. “It occurs to me that I have not been… paying attention... lately,” he admits reluctantly.
“Hey.” Nyota slides off the bed, joining Spock on the floor. “I don’t blame you.”
“I am aware,” he says, avoiding her hand. “However, if something significant happened in your life, I would - prefer - to know.”
Her lips twitch. Spock can see her struggle to contain her mirth, but it is not within Nyota to win. She resolves into giggles.
“I’m sorry,” she tries to say through her laughter. “It’s just that - thinking that you would - ask me to paint your nails next-”
Spock makes a move to rise, but Nyota lunges at him - without much finesse, but effectively holding him in place.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats, grinning and nuzzling his neck.
Spock sighs softly. He has always been defenseless before her. “Why are you doing this?”
“You hate being laughed at,” she tells him, as if it’s the most logical explanation in the universe. “I figured someone should.”
“Very mature.”
“Yeah, about as much as you pouting.”
“I am not pouting.”
“Of course you’re not.”
“Nyota...”
Nyota plants a playful kiss on his nose and stands up, a huge smile illuminating her face. She reaches with the obvious intention to ruffle his hair, and Spock ducks, rolling away from her. She chuckles, watching as Spock hauls himself up to his feet a safe distance away.
“I’m not seeing anyone,” Nyota finally replies. “Tried a while ago, but it didn’t work out.” Spock takes an involuntary step forward, and she lifts her hand, stopping him. “You don’t have to smash anyone’s nose, no. I ended it.”
“I had no intention of… Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Nyota shrugs. “I wasn’t overly invested. It’s a demanding job,” she adds pensively, her expression clouding slightly. “I suppose if I wanted to get married, I would have stayed on Earth. This life here - it’s practically anti-personal commitment. Sex - yes. Friendship - sure. Love?” She bites her lip. “Not if you’re not incredibly lucky. Or - unlucky.”
“Perhaps the latter,” Spock muses. “I have not considered it to be the general rule.”
“Well.” Nyota smirks. “You’re definitely not the only lone gunman here. Does that make you feel better?”
Spock doesn’t answer, just looks at her, and she chuckles. “Welcome to the wonderful, twisted world of humanity.”
Spock’s eyebrow arches of its own will. “Indeed.”
--
“Hey,” Kirk says, lingering in the doorway of Spock’s office on the Science deck. “We’ve got new orders.”
“So I heard,” Spock replies without looking away from the data on his screen.
Kirk steps inside, his hand flying up to the back of his neck in his customary way of exercising nervousness or hesitation. Spock knows instantly that the captain isn’t here in his official capacity.
“I think I’m being punished,” Kirk says.
Spock glances up at him briefly. “I cannot imagine.”
“Yeah? Why else would they be sending us to mission Boredom?”
Spock does give Kirk his full attention then. “‘Mission Boredom,’ sir?”
Kirk studies Spock’s face for a moment with a trapped expression. “Shit. It’s like a field day for you science geeks, isn’t it?”
“If you are referring to a most rare opportunity to study a unique geological formation in the entirety of the Alpha quadrant, then yes, it will be, as you say, a ‘field day.’”
“A field day to last a week.” Kirk grimaces. “I don’t know why I’ve never been particularly interested in sciences.”
“I do not know the reason either, sir, but it is fortunate, since sciences have never had any particular interest in you.”
Kirk blinks, then grins slowly. “You’re pretty mouthy today. You do this to everyone, or am I receiving special treatment?”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “Which answer would you prefer I give?”
“Spock!” Kirk’s mouth falls open in an almost comical fashion, as he gapes at Spock with wide eyes. “You are - you’ve just - did you really just...”
“Captain?”
“No,” Kirk says decisively. “This can’t be. I’m hallucinating.” He slaps himself in the face. “Wake up, Jim!”
Spock stares at him with interest. “Did that… help?”
Kirk groans. “You’ve got a knack for driving a person crazy, you know that?”
“From what I just observed, you do not require assistance in that particular endeavor.”
“Bastard.” Kirk shakes his head, grinning. “You evil, cheating, son of a-”
“I presume you are talking to yourself again?”
Kirk snorts, leaning against Spock’s desk for support. His eyes are bright with laughter as he gazes down at Spock with a peculiar expression, making Spock want to check if there is something on his face.
“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” Kirk asks softly.
Spock blinks. “I cannot answer your question if you insist on being so vague.”
“Okay.” Kirk nods, smiling, and reaches to pat Spock’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Spock; I won’t hold it against you. Let’s just hope I have a higher tolerance than Pike did.”
Spock is genuinely confused now. “Captain, I do not-”
“Never mind.” Kirk shakes his head, sliding off Spock’s desk and heading for the doors. “I’ll see you at the briefing.”
“Captain,” Spock calls after him. “Do you intend to beam down when we reach Ceillam?”
Kirk turns around, looking thoughtful. “I didn’t plan to,” he replies. “There’s not much to see and I didn’t want to be in the way of your team. Plus, Scotty wants to test his new plasma converter, and I don’t think I can let him blow up the ship all by himself.”
“I see,” Spock says, his eyes drifting back to his screen. “I will see you at the briefing, sir.”
Kirk hesitates in the doorway, as if wishing to ask something. Spock looks studiously at his data, and, after a few moments, the captain walks out.
--
Spock knows he has not imagined the smell of alcohol hanging heavily in McCoy’s office when the doctor asks him the leading question of the day.
“How did your mother die?”
Spock closes his eyes and sees her, sees her eyes glued to his, her silhouette painted in the burning air by blindingly white sparks of energy. She reaches out to him, and his whole being leaps, caged within a powerless body trapped by the transporter beam…
“Spock.” McCoy’s voice cracks like a whip. “Stop reliving it. Tell me. With words.”
Spock forces his eyes open, but, for a frightening moment, he still sees nothing but fire.
“She fell.”
Nero’s face, dark and quiet. Nero’s voice, calm and casual.
‘Spock? There’s something I want you to see.’
Spock blinks, clearing his vision. McCoy is still looking at him, his usually sharp brown eyes blurry; intense but unfocused. Spock clears his throat.
“She fell.” He purses his lips; swallows. “And I could not catch her.”
McCoy holds his eyes for a long time, though it’s doubtful that either of them sees much of the other. After a while, McCoy turns his head away and motions Spock out with his hand, without saying a word.
--
He doesn’t trust himself to spar with a human partner that night. Instead, he seals off one of the smaller rooms at the gym and hits the punching bag till it’s ripped out of its holder on the deck. He claws at it and tears it then till it’s nothing more but a pile of polymeric balls and slices of plastileather.
He makes no entry on the maintenance log to explain the damage.
--
“Spock, status report!” Kirk’s voice barks over the comm line.
It’s unbearably hot in the small, cramped engine room of the Ungian cargo ship, and Spock has no time to adjust his body temperature. Lying flat on his back, head half inside the engine, he blinks sweat out of his eyes as his hands move quickly and confidently in the red-hot mess of scrambled wires. Spock’s voice is the only cool thing currently present.
“I estimate I will require another two minutes and thirty-five seconds to complete the repairs.”
“You don’t have two minutes!” Kirk growls. “Get the hell out of there NOW!”
Spock promptly reaches and disconnects his communicator, eyes set firmly on the conduit in front of him.
“Mr. Scott, prepare to engage power,” Spock orders. “Minimal burst.”
A sigh comes from somewhere to his left. “I’ve been ready for millennia, Mr. Spock. The captain is right; ye’ll never reset the beastie in time-”
“Engage power,” Spock cuts him off. Around him, the engine starts humming ominously. “Return to the Enterprise.”
“What? I’m not leaving ye here.”
“That is an order, Mr. Scott.”
“Aye, and the captain gave ye one, too. Ye have to move away for the transporter to lock onto yer signal.”
“I do not have the time to argue, Mr. Scott. Return to the ship immediately. I will follow you shortly.”
“The hell ye will, the whole bloody thing is gonna blow up in a moment. Ye need to-”
But what he needs, Spock never finds out. He hears the familiar whine of the transporter beam, and nods to himself. Someone on the Enterprise has become impatient and pulled everything out onto which they could lock. Even better, as he very much does not have the time to argue.
His brain has begun the countdown of the remaining time, and Spock forces himself not to increase the speed of his work. If he maintains his current rate of progress, he will finish with two-point-four seconds to spare. If he succumbs to the emotional urge to hurry up, he risks making a mistake that he’ll have absolutely no time to correct.
“Spock!” The room around him explodes with sound.
Spock mentally nods to himself again. He has foreseen Kirk’s order to reestablish communication, but he believed it would take Nyota one minute and six seconds longer to find a way to tap into the Ungian ship’s intercom system. She is, without a doubt, a brilliant communications officer.
“Spock, you stubborn son of a bitch, listen to me,” Kirk’s voice booms around him, reverberating between the narrow walls. “You’re violating a direct order from your commanding officer, and I don’t have the fucking time to remember what specific regulations you’re breaking-”
“Four, fifteen, and General Order Eight,” Spock mutters.
“-but let me tell you that you’re in big trouble, you pointy-eared asshole, you hear me? Get your ass out of that fucking engine now, or I’ll personally bust you back to ensign faster than you can say ‘illogical’!”
The communication is one-way only, but Spock hadn’t planned on responding anyway. There is a frightening moment when he realizes that his concentration on rewiring the broken connections is no longer absolute - that he has ‘blacked out’ for several seconds, allowing his hands to proceed ‘on autopilot.’ He forbids himself to try and remember his actions, for he cannot spare a fraction of a second for any shred of doubt.
The countdown in his mind has reached single digits, and vaguely Spock manages to think that Kirk must have understood how crucial Spock’s concentration is at the moment, too, because the comm line is silent and James T. Kirk has never run out of words in his life.
Four conduits to go. Three conduits.
Nine seconds.
Second to last refuses to remerge. Retry or find a substitute?
Seven seconds.
Duranium has a slower conducting rate, but the platinum one is further away. To go for it or make do?
Six seconds.
The neutrons in the duranium atoms will magnetize point-zero-four-six seconds later than are left. Platinum.
Two seconds.
The last conduit. Connection point-zero-three-seven seconds later than the time left.
Minus two seconds.
Spock opens his eyes, realizing at the same moment that, at some unknown point, he had closed them. The engine around him is still humming, but the vibrations of the deck have ceased. He looks up at his handiwork, examining it with a critical eye for the first time. He finds it satisfactory and, for some indiscernible reason, feels mildly surprised.
Spock pulls himself away from the engine and shuts the hatch. His back responds to the sharp way he hauls himself upright with an abrupt spasm of pain, and Spock frowns. He does not fancy another visit to Med Bay.
“Spock?” The comm line comes to life again with Kirk’s wary question. “You okay?”
Spock glances back at the engine that seems to be operating smoothly once more and walks over to the comm on the wall.
“Captain. The engine appears to have reentered the safe working mode,” Spock reports, realizing abruptly that his throat is painfully dry. “I will check the life support system and then-”
“You - will beam out of there - now.” Kirk’s tone manages to transport the sensation of frozen fury into the Ungian engine room more effectively than if it had suddenly snowed inside. “Clear?”
Spock tries to swallow, but his throat simply hurts in response. “Yes, sir.”
“Energize.”
The last thought Spock manages to have before he starts to dematerialize is that perhaps he should not have been so efficient after all.
--
Spock is a little surprised not to be beamed directly to the brig. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because Kirk is there, glaring at him from across the crowded transporter room. The captain stands just within the doors, white-knuckled hands folded across his chest as if he’s trying to restrain himself. His eyes are emitting bolts of white-blue electricity, target-locked on Spock with deadly determination and making the whole room sizzle.
Spock is unable to look away, even as the Ungian captain and his two wives surround him, expressing their gratitude, until McCoy shoves past them to scan Spock. The doctor barely manages to give Kirk a tight nod when the captain steps forward.
“Clear the room,” Kirk orders in a surprisingly even tone. “I need to have a word with my first officer in private.”
Spock assumes the at attention pose automatically, watching the Ungians and Enterprise personnel file out of the room hastily. McCoy lingers in the doorway, however, glancing back hesitantly. At the last moment, he steps back inside. Kirk obviously sees him, but ignores him. Spock doesn’t comment, either.
“I would like to hear an explanation,” Kirk says, still in the same frighteningly calm tone. “If it is convenient to you, of course; if it suits your mood today; if the stars are all in their right positions for you to be so kind and answer me. If it doesn’t - I don’t know - make you pull a muscle or something.”
“Captain-”
“Shut up!” Kirk is on him in the blink of an eye, hands on his hips, fingers trembling, as if he’s barely holding back from physically lashing out. “We had all the personnel evacuated; we even pulled out most of their cargo; we were a safe distance away - WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING ON THE SHIP THAT WAS GOING TO BLOW TO HELL?”
With an unexpected uprise of wisdom or self-preservation instinct, Spock remains quiet. The room is ringing with the echo.
Kirk barely pauses to draw in a breath, which seems to go down the wrong way. “What possible logic made you stay there? I mean, it’s clear that you don’t give a shit about my orders - they might be good for everyone else, but not for Spock of Vulcan - oh no, no, no - he’s so much better than thou! Have you thought about me at all? Have you thought about how it’d look that I can’t even keep my first officer in line?”
Kirk turns away brusquely, as if taking in the sight of Spock standing there for another moment is too much, but his gaze snaps back almost instantly.
“You are a selfish, self-righteous bastard, and don’t you dare tell me you care about my captaincy again.”
Spock bites the inner side of his lip drawing blood. He says nothing.
“Why?” Kirk asks again, voice wound up tightly. “Why, Spock? You seem to have a reason for fucking everything. Why?”
Spock composes himself, pulling every resource he possesses. “The Ungian race does not have a homeworld. They live on their ships. Each ship is a birthplace and home for entire clans.”
“I know all that,” Kirk says impatiently. “That still doesn’t explain-”
“I knew I could conclude the repairs in time.”
“That’s bullshit, you nearly didn’t make it!”
“I could not see someone else’s home blown apart if I could help it.”
They stand motionless, staring at each other. The only sounds in the room are the wildly crackling air and the truth ringing loudly like a torn string.
“I’m sorry, Jim,” Spock says quietly in the end. “I could not do it.”
Kirk remains still for a moment, then steps back, eyes closing as he shakes his head once. Spock watches him, something heavy, sharp, and violent pulling at the inside of his chest, like a hungry sehlat cub.
Kirk straightens up at last, glancing at Spock curtly with an unreadable, closed expression on his face. He walks out then, without looking back once or pausing for a second. The doors slide closed behind him, and Spock suddenly feels ten times worse than he believed possible.
McCoy unglues himself from the bulkhead he’s been leaning on and takes several steps across the room, rolling his shoulders. Spock glances at him sharply, and McCoy arches his eyebrows.
“Well, you sure know how to do things the hard way,” he drawls.
Spock looks away, pursing his lips. “I deserved it.”
McCoy shrugs. “Yeah, but that’s not why he was yelling.”
Spock peers at him questioningly. McCoy sighs, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, for a supposed genius, you’re just way too dumb,” he grumbles. “You scared him.”
Spock narrows his eyes. “I did not believe that was possible for anyone to achieve.”
“Oh yeah?” McCoy smirks humorlessly. “Well, you seem to be developing quite a knack for it.”
Spock hesitates, experiencing something close to toothache for the need to ask, but Kirk’s frozen expression still haunts his vision.
“How would I-” He cuts himself short abruptly.
McCoy stares at him for a moment in disbelief, then snorts. “Seriously, Spock? Asking a divorced guy for marriage counsel? You must be more far gone than I thought.”
Spock gives him a sharp look. “I find your analogy tasteless and inaccurate.”
“You sure about that?” McCoy asks, grinning. “Granted, yours was a shotgun wedding, but as far as this crew is concerned, yeah, you’re married alright.” His smile fades. “Listen. Jim might be my best friend, and you’re my patient and probably not as much of a heartless bastard as I thought you were, but my job here is to keep this crew healthy - mentally as well as physically.”
“What is your point, Doctor?”
McCoy glares at him. “This ain’t my first rodeo with the both of you, okay? This silent treatment thing the pair of you pull out whenever you’re pissed at each other? Drives the crew to distraction.”
Spock frowns. He has been McCoy’s punching bag for approximately two months now, and all of a sudden it feels like too long.
“At the moment, Doctor, I must admit that I am tempted to call the captain a lot of things. However, silent is not one of them.”
McCoy’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Don’t you care about him at all? I mean, aside from him being your project in that stupid-ass war you have going with the admiralty? Does he as a person - as Jim Kirk, God damn it - mean nothing to you at all?”
Spock straightens his tired back forcefully. “It would seem, Doctor, that he means very much indeed to you. I do not know why you find it difficult to express your affection for the people you care about - you are, after all, human. But as far as the captain is concerned, I suggest you find means of showing him what he means to you other than abusing your access to hyposprays and lecturing me.”
“All done?” McCoy growls.
“For the most part.”
“Will whichever part remains contain the answer to my question?”
Spock opens his mouth and then suddenly stops, his lips quirking. “Fortunately, I am no longer under obligation to assist you in perfecting your interrogation techniques. Good day, Doctor McCoy.”
He brushes past the doctor and is almost at the door when McCoy calls after him.
“Spock.”
Spock turns around, mildly surprised to see McCoy grinning softly, even if the traces of anger haven’t fully left his face. Spock braces himself for another onslaught of sarcasm, but the doctor shakes his head.
“It’s good to have you back.” McCoy cringes incredulously as if he can’t quite believe he’s saying it, and the thought amuses him.
Spock knows immediately that the doctor isn’t talking about the recent mission.
Silently, he nods in response.
--
Kirk and Spock are scheduled to spend the next day’s Alpha shift separately, for which Spock is grateful, but the unknown also unnerves him. The crew tries their best to act as if nothing has happened, but Spock can feel the pressure of their curiosity and anticipation as if it was a physical force.
In the morning, he walks into a turbolift with Nyota. She doesn’t say a word to him, but smacks him on the head just before the doors open to reveal the bridge. Spock knows he hasn’t imagined a smirk quirking her lips as she strolls toward her station.
He resists temptation for the better part of the day, but, as the virtual sun of the ship begins to set, Spock decides that there has been enough procrastination. He tracks Kirk down, discovering that the captain has camped in the officers’ lounge after finishing with his paperwork. Spock straightens his shirt decisively and starts walking.
The captain is sitting alone in the far corner by the viewport, reading a printed book. Spock hesitates in his approach, feeling the sudden need to reevaluate his chances. He has almost convinced himself that trying to talk to Kirk now is a bad idea, when he notices the title on the cover.
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Spock narrows his eyes, momentarily distracted, and steps closer just as Kirk looks up.
“I thought you said this book was-”
“Yeah,” Kirk cuts him off, blushing slightly. “But you were so fascinated that I decided to give it another go.”
“And?”
Kirk drops the book to the low table and pushes it away. “Nah. Still too damn depressing. I think I’ll ask Chekov for reading recommendations next.”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “I must confess I find it disturbing that, at his current age, Ensign Chekov’s favorite book is Crime and Punishment.”
“Oh yeah?” Kirk smirks. “Well, I don’t. I think I’d find it disturbing, though, if, at his current age - which is twelve, by the way - his favorite book was Lolita.”
Spock’s lips twitch. “May I?” he asks, nodding at the empty seat opposite Kirk.
The captain nods. “Please.”
Spock folds himself into the chair and sets down the cups he has been holding, sliding one of them toward Kirk. The captain frowns in momentary confusion, then stares at the dark liquid as the steaming aroma reaches his nostrils. A slow smirk begins to tug at his lips.
He looks up at Spock. “You brought me coffee?”
Spock inclines his head. “Evidently.”
Kirk’s smirk transforms softly into a grin. “Not just any coffee.”
“I have an eidetic memory and you have a routine,” Spock says matter-of-factly. “Sumatra blend, double strong, double sweet - when you wish to shock yourself into wakefulness. Jamaica blend, small single portions, extra strong, extra sweet - you call them ‘shots’ - when you are so exhausted that the first choice has no effect. And finally, Ethiopia organic blend, medium, no sugar, whipped cream - when you wish to relax and enjoy the taste.”
“Very good, Mr. Spock,” Kirk drawls, grinning and pulling the cup toward himself, the whipped cream melting slowly on the surface. “I don’t see any flowers, but have you brought me chocolates, too?”
Spock tilts his head to the side a little. “The replicator does not do that product justice.”
Kirk grins wider. “Nice save.”
Spock watches as Kirk takes a sip of his coffee, closing his eyes in pleasure and inhaling deeply. Quite at random, a thought occurs to Spock that he could look at that particular image for a long time without tiring. He shakes himself mentally, because Kirk’s eyes are sharp and trained on him again.
“I’m still mad at you,” Kirk says, still smiling softly, but his tone is serious. “No.” He shakes his head, seeing that Spock has opened his mouth. “No, I get why you did it. I really do, Spock. But don’t you ever do that again. You understand?”
Spock holds his gaze, a little shaken by its intensity. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Kirk nods abruptly, taking another sip of coffee. “I’d hate it if I had to transfer you.” His lips quirk a little. “My yeoman can’t remember my coffee routine half as well as you do, and not for lack of trying.”
Spock looks down at his hands for a moment, willing but not ready yet to accept the truce offering.
“Captain…” Spock pauses. “I deeply regret that I had to disobey your order. But you must know that I did not take an unreasonable risk. I calculated the time required for the repairs.” He glances at Kirk warily. “And due respect, sir, the fact that I am sitting here now proves that I was correct.”
“Really?” Kirk frowns. “You finished your repairs with not a fraction of a second to spare. Don’t you think that’s cutting it a bit close?”
“We are always ‘cutting it close’ out here,” Spock says calmly. “You were ‘cutting it close’ when you ordered a restart on Tapica. We were ‘cutting it close’ with the Bamun. You were ‘cutting it’ so close you were almost too late on Bregor.”
“Yes.” Kirk nods impatiently. “But there’s a difference. They were my choices. I made those decisions.”
“And I made this one. And we were both correct.”
Kirk leans back in his chair and rubs his eyes tiredly. “What is it you’re asking of me, Spock? To denounce the chain of command?”
“No. To trust that I do not have a death wish.”
Kirk stares at him. Spock holds his eyes intrepidly.
At long last, the captain nods. “Okay. But that doesn’t change what I told you before,” he adds hastily. “No more stunts like that, got it?”
Spock inclines his head. “Loud and clear.”
Kirk smirks slowly. “Do you play poker, Mr. Spock? Because I have the strongest feeling that I’m being bluffed right now.”
Spock raises an eyebrow in polite confusion. “Poker? Is that not a card game of some sort?”
Kirk snorts. “Yeah, right.” He stands up and motions for Spock to follow. “Come on. Let’s give our little audience something to write home about.”
Spock blinks, glancing around. He has been focused so completely on the captain that he hasn’t noticed that their quiet tête-à-tête has indeed gathered an impressive number of spectators. Wordlessly, Spock straightens up and follows Kirk, who’s sending smiles in every direction, as he walks toward...
The piano.
Spock suppresses a groan, but he does know why Kirk is doing it, and, privately, he approves. He can also sense the crew around them pulling closer, emanating raw curiosity.
Kirk sits down on the bench and slides to the side, leaving room for Spock. The captain grins at him, definite mischief splashing in his eyes.
“What’s it gonna be, pal?” he asks in a heavy accent Spock can’t identify.
Spock considers his choices. Kirk elbows him in the ribs lightly and laughs when Spock gives him an affronted look.
“Well, we don’t have all night,” Kirk explains.
Spock narrows his eyes forebodingly, and drops his hands to the keys without warning. The energetic beginning to In the Mood explodes the room like a burst of light in the darkness. Spock hasn’t even finished the introduction when Kirk’s hands join his on the keys.
They are not ideal, though Kirk catches up on the rhythm with such ease that he seems to be reading Spock’s mind. Every time he’s late or early, Kirk laughs, and Spock feels it harder and harder not to smile in return.
They are watched - incredulously; delightedly; curiously. Spock hears an uprise of whispering, and he can feel their stares on his skin as if they were corporeal. He stiffens somewhat, which lasts exactly till Kirk’s knee nudges his, reminding him to pay attention. The fact that the captain forgets to move away proves to be distracting enough for Spock to forget about being the center of attention and concentrate on the music instead. He has never enjoyed playing so much in his life.
They catch the audience by surprise with false endings, which makes Kirk laugh again, as they play through the applause to the real one. The captain then stands up and bows mockingly toward the spectators, laying his hand between Spock’s shoulder blades and urging him to do the same. Spock looks up and glares, which predictably only serves to make Kirk beam at him.
“Would you not play some more?” somebody shouts.
“Noooo,” Kirk drawls, grinning wickedly. “Talent night, people. You want some music, ask Christine there. I’ve heard her do the meanest things to Brahms late at night.”
Spock glances to where Christine Chapel is standing, a spectacular blush coloring her face. She steps forward uncertainly as people start to urge her to play, and Spock wishes he could give her some tangible encouragement.
Kirk’s hand on his back taps him gently, reminding Spock that they are still in the way, and Spock stands up, moving away from the piano, further into the small crowd.
“Well, my work here is done,” Kirk says quietly to Spock as they listen to the fast gallop of Hungarian Dance springing from under Chapel’s fingers.
Spock studies him curiously for a moment. “You seem... contented.”
Kirk grins. “That’s right. They’re my favorite people, Spock, and they’re happy. I mean, I never thought I’d see so many people I really like in the same room.” He rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. “Heck, I never thought I’d meet so many people I really like, to tell you the truth.”
“It was a fortunate mistake, then.”
“Yeah.” Kirk meets his eyes, smiling. “Even if some of them act like total idiots sometimes, they’re still my favorite people, you know what I’m saying?”
Spock stares at his feet, fighting a blush. “I am certain the sentiment is mutual,” he replies quietly, after a pause.
Kirk chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re way too much fun to mess with; you know that, right?”
“Praemonitus, praemunitus, Captain.”
Kirk’s eyes narrow at him. “‘Forewarned is forearmed’?” He cocks his head challengingly. “I don’t think it’s going to help you much there, Commander, because you see, it’s veni, vidi, vici.”
“‘I came, I saw, I conquered’.” Spock feels his lips twist into a smirk as he looks at Kirk. “As you humans say, Captain - good luck with that.”
Kirk lets out a surprised laugh that makes several heads turn toward them. He’s still grinning when Spock bids him goodnight.
--
When, several hours later, Spock is jerked awake by the panicked whine of Red Alert, his first reaction is relief, and he doesn’t have the time to analyze it. In just a few minutes, the shields will fail, and, before Mr. Scott is able to restore them, the Orions will kidnap a quarter of the crew. There will be an ongoing battle with three Orion destroyers raging outside, and Kirk is needed here, he can’t leave, so Spock goes.
Kirk will grab his shoulder just as Spock starts to run, and they will spend a split second neither of them has to stare at each other, and then Kirk will shout over the deafening disruptor blasts shaking the ship: “Bring them back!” He will want to add something else, but there will be no time, and Spock will simply nod, because he knows, or thinks that he knows, what the second order was meant to be.
Spock will run to the shuttle bay, gathering a security squad on the way, and he will be more determined than he has ever been in his life to keep his promise.
Both of them.
On to Part V
--
“Are you seeing someone… socially?”
Nyota, who has been humming softly to herself while tuning the lyre, now lays the instrument aside and looks at Spock with a confused smile.
“You’re asking me if I’m dating anyone?”
“I-” Spock pauses. “Yes.”
“Why?” She leans back on the bed, crossing her legs but leaving one foot dangling.
Spock stares at the sly smile playing on her lips and averts his eyes. “I should not have asked. Forgive me for prying.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” she says cheerily. “Not so fast. Why did you want to know?”
He glances back at her, frowning. “It occurs to me that I have not been… paying attention... lately,” he admits reluctantly.
“Hey.” Nyota slides off the bed, joining Spock on the floor. “I don’t blame you.”
“I am aware,” he says, avoiding her hand. “However, if something significant happened in your life, I would - prefer - to know.”
Her lips twitch. Spock can see her struggle to contain her mirth, but it is not within Nyota to win. She resolves into giggles.
“I’m sorry,” she tries to say through her laughter. “It’s just that - thinking that you would - ask me to paint your nails next-”
Spock makes a move to rise, but Nyota lunges at him - without much finesse, but effectively holding him in place.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats, grinning and nuzzling his neck.
Spock sighs softly. He has always been defenseless before her. “Why are you doing this?”
“You hate being laughed at,” she tells him, as if it’s the most logical explanation in the universe. “I figured someone should.”
“Very mature.”
“Yeah, about as much as you pouting.”
“I am not pouting.”
“Of course you’re not.”
“Nyota...”
Nyota plants a playful kiss on his nose and stands up, a huge smile illuminating her face. She reaches with the obvious intention to ruffle his hair, and Spock ducks, rolling away from her. She chuckles, watching as Spock hauls himself up to his feet a safe distance away.
“I’m not seeing anyone,” Nyota finally replies. “Tried a while ago, but it didn’t work out.” Spock takes an involuntary step forward, and she lifts her hand, stopping him. “You don’t have to smash anyone’s nose, no. I ended it.”
“I had no intention of… Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Nyota shrugs. “I wasn’t overly invested. It’s a demanding job,” she adds pensively, her expression clouding slightly. “I suppose if I wanted to get married, I would have stayed on Earth. This life here - it’s practically anti-personal commitment. Sex - yes. Friendship - sure. Love?” She bites her lip. “Not if you’re not incredibly lucky. Or - unlucky.”
“Perhaps the latter,” Spock muses. “I have not considered it to be the general rule.”
“Well.” Nyota smirks. “You’re definitely not the only lone gunman here. Does that make you feel better?”
Spock doesn’t answer, just looks at her, and she chuckles. “Welcome to the wonderful, twisted world of humanity.”
Spock’s eyebrow arches of its own will. “Indeed.”
--
“Hey,” Kirk says, lingering in the doorway of Spock’s office on the Science deck. “We’ve got new orders.”
“So I heard,” Spock replies without looking away from the data on his screen.
Kirk steps inside, his hand flying up to the back of his neck in his customary way of exercising nervousness or hesitation. Spock knows instantly that the captain isn’t here in his official capacity.
“I think I’m being punished,” Kirk says.
Spock glances up at him briefly. “I cannot imagine.”
“Yeah? Why else would they be sending us to mission Boredom?”
Spock does give Kirk his full attention then. “‘Mission Boredom,’ sir?”
Kirk studies Spock’s face for a moment with a trapped expression. “Shit. It’s like a field day for you science geeks, isn’t it?”
“If you are referring to a most rare opportunity to study a unique geological formation in the entirety of the Alpha quadrant, then yes, it will be, as you say, a ‘field day.’”
“A field day to last a week.” Kirk grimaces. “I don’t know why I’ve never been particularly interested in sciences.”
“I do not know the reason either, sir, but it is fortunate, since sciences have never had any particular interest in you.”
Kirk blinks, then grins slowly. “You’re pretty mouthy today. You do this to everyone, or am I receiving special treatment?”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “Which answer would you prefer I give?”
“Spock!” Kirk’s mouth falls open in an almost comical fashion, as he gapes at Spock with wide eyes. “You are - you’ve just - did you really just...”
“Captain?”
“No,” Kirk says decisively. “This can’t be. I’m hallucinating.” He slaps himself in the face. “Wake up, Jim!”
Spock stares at him with interest. “Did that… help?”
Kirk groans. “You’ve got a knack for driving a person crazy, you know that?”
“From what I just observed, you do not require assistance in that particular endeavor.”
“Bastard.” Kirk shakes his head, grinning. “You evil, cheating, son of a-”
“I presume you are talking to yourself again?”
Kirk snorts, leaning against Spock’s desk for support. His eyes are bright with laughter as he gazes down at Spock with a peculiar expression, making Spock want to check if there is something on his face.
“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” Kirk asks softly.
Spock blinks. “I cannot answer your question if you insist on being so vague.”
“Okay.” Kirk nods, smiling, and reaches to pat Spock’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Spock; I won’t hold it against you. Let’s just hope I have a higher tolerance than Pike did.”
Spock is genuinely confused now. “Captain, I do not-”
“Never mind.” Kirk shakes his head, sliding off Spock’s desk and heading for the doors. “I’ll see you at the briefing.”
“Captain,” Spock calls after him. “Do you intend to beam down when we reach Ceillam?”
Kirk turns around, looking thoughtful. “I didn’t plan to,” he replies. “There’s not much to see and I didn’t want to be in the way of your team. Plus, Scotty wants to test his new plasma converter, and I don’t think I can let him blow up the ship all by himself.”
“I see,” Spock says, his eyes drifting back to his screen. “I will see you at the briefing, sir.”
Kirk hesitates in the doorway, as if wishing to ask something. Spock looks studiously at his data, and, after a few moments, the captain walks out.
--
Spock knows he has not imagined the smell of alcohol hanging heavily in McCoy’s office when the doctor asks him the leading question of the day.
“How did your mother die?”
Spock closes his eyes and sees her, sees her eyes glued to his, her silhouette painted in the burning air by blindingly white sparks of energy. She reaches out to him, and his whole being leaps, caged within a powerless body trapped by the transporter beam…
“Spock.” McCoy’s voice cracks like a whip. “Stop reliving it. Tell me. With words.”
Spock forces his eyes open, but, for a frightening moment, he still sees nothing but fire.
“She fell.”
Nero’s face, dark and quiet. Nero’s voice, calm and casual.
‘Spock? There’s something I want you to see.’
Spock blinks, clearing his vision. McCoy is still looking at him, his usually sharp brown eyes blurry; intense but unfocused. Spock clears his throat.
“She fell.” He purses his lips; swallows. “And I could not catch her.”
McCoy holds his eyes for a long time, though it’s doubtful that either of them sees much of the other. After a while, McCoy turns his head away and motions Spock out with his hand, without saying a word.
--
He doesn’t trust himself to spar with a human partner that night. Instead, he seals off one of the smaller rooms at the gym and hits the punching bag till it’s ripped out of its holder on the deck. He claws at it and tears it then till it’s nothing more but a pile of polymeric balls and slices of plastileather.
He makes no entry on the maintenance log to explain the damage.
--
“Spock, status report!” Kirk’s voice barks over the comm line.
It’s unbearably hot in the small, cramped engine room of the Ungian cargo ship, and Spock has no time to adjust his body temperature. Lying flat on his back, head half inside the engine, he blinks sweat out of his eyes as his hands move quickly and confidently in the red-hot mess of scrambled wires. Spock’s voice is the only cool thing currently present.
“I estimate I will require another two minutes and thirty-five seconds to complete the repairs.”
“You don’t have two minutes!” Kirk growls. “Get the hell out of there NOW!”
Spock promptly reaches and disconnects his communicator, eyes set firmly on the conduit in front of him.
“Mr. Scott, prepare to engage power,” Spock orders. “Minimal burst.”
A sigh comes from somewhere to his left. “I’ve been ready for millennia, Mr. Spock. The captain is right; ye’ll never reset the beastie in time-”
“Engage power,” Spock cuts him off. Around him, the engine starts humming ominously. “Return to the Enterprise.”
“What? I’m not leaving ye here.”
“That is an order, Mr. Scott.”
“Aye, and the captain gave ye one, too. Ye have to move away for the transporter to lock onto yer signal.”
“I do not have the time to argue, Mr. Scott. Return to the ship immediately. I will follow you shortly.”
“The hell ye will, the whole bloody thing is gonna blow up in a moment. Ye need to-”
But what he needs, Spock never finds out. He hears the familiar whine of the transporter beam, and nods to himself. Someone on the Enterprise has become impatient and pulled everything out onto which they could lock. Even better, as he very much does not have the time to argue.
His brain has begun the countdown of the remaining time, and Spock forces himself not to increase the speed of his work. If he maintains his current rate of progress, he will finish with two-point-four seconds to spare. If he succumbs to the emotional urge to hurry up, he risks making a mistake that he’ll have absolutely no time to correct.
“Spock!” The room around him explodes with sound.
Spock mentally nods to himself again. He has foreseen Kirk’s order to reestablish communication, but he believed it would take Nyota one minute and six seconds longer to find a way to tap into the Ungian ship’s intercom system. She is, without a doubt, a brilliant communications officer.
“Spock, you stubborn son of a bitch, listen to me,” Kirk’s voice booms around him, reverberating between the narrow walls. “You’re violating a direct order from your commanding officer, and I don’t have the fucking time to remember what specific regulations you’re breaking-”
“Four, fifteen, and General Order Eight,” Spock mutters.
“-but let me tell you that you’re in big trouble, you pointy-eared asshole, you hear me? Get your ass out of that fucking engine now, or I’ll personally bust you back to ensign faster than you can say ‘illogical’!”
The communication is one-way only, but Spock hadn’t planned on responding anyway. There is a frightening moment when he realizes that his concentration on rewiring the broken connections is no longer absolute - that he has ‘blacked out’ for several seconds, allowing his hands to proceed ‘on autopilot.’ He forbids himself to try and remember his actions, for he cannot spare a fraction of a second for any shred of doubt.
The countdown in his mind has reached single digits, and vaguely Spock manages to think that Kirk must have understood how crucial Spock’s concentration is at the moment, too, because the comm line is silent and James T. Kirk has never run out of words in his life.
Four conduits to go. Three conduits.
Nine seconds.
Second to last refuses to remerge. Retry or find a substitute?
Seven seconds.
Duranium has a slower conducting rate, but the platinum one is further away. To go for it or make do?
Six seconds.
The neutrons in the duranium atoms will magnetize point-zero-four-six seconds later than are left. Platinum.
Two seconds.
The last conduit. Connection point-zero-three-seven seconds later than the time left.
Minus two seconds.
Spock opens his eyes, realizing at the same moment that, at some unknown point, he had closed them. The engine around him is still humming, but the vibrations of the deck have ceased. He looks up at his handiwork, examining it with a critical eye for the first time. He finds it satisfactory and, for some indiscernible reason, feels mildly surprised.
Spock pulls himself away from the engine and shuts the hatch. His back responds to the sharp way he hauls himself upright with an abrupt spasm of pain, and Spock frowns. He does not fancy another visit to Med Bay.
“Spock?” The comm line comes to life again with Kirk’s wary question. “You okay?”
Spock glances back at the engine that seems to be operating smoothly once more and walks over to the comm on the wall.
“Captain. The engine appears to have reentered the safe working mode,” Spock reports, realizing abruptly that his throat is painfully dry. “I will check the life support system and then-”
“You - will beam out of there - now.” Kirk’s tone manages to transport the sensation of frozen fury into the Ungian engine room more effectively than if it had suddenly snowed inside. “Clear?”
Spock tries to swallow, but his throat simply hurts in response. “Yes, sir.”
“Energize.”
The last thought Spock manages to have before he starts to dematerialize is that perhaps he should not have been so efficient after all.
--
Spock is a little surprised not to be beamed directly to the brig. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because Kirk is there, glaring at him from across the crowded transporter room. The captain stands just within the doors, white-knuckled hands folded across his chest as if he’s trying to restrain himself. His eyes are emitting bolts of white-blue electricity, target-locked on Spock with deadly determination and making the whole room sizzle.
Spock is unable to look away, even as the Ungian captain and his two wives surround him, expressing their gratitude, until McCoy shoves past them to scan Spock. The doctor barely manages to give Kirk a tight nod when the captain steps forward.
“Clear the room,” Kirk orders in a surprisingly even tone. “I need to have a word with my first officer in private.”
Spock assumes the at attention pose automatically, watching the Ungians and Enterprise personnel file out of the room hastily. McCoy lingers in the doorway, however, glancing back hesitantly. At the last moment, he steps back inside. Kirk obviously sees him, but ignores him. Spock doesn’t comment, either.
“I would like to hear an explanation,” Kirk says, still in the same frighteningly calm tone. “If it is convenient to you, of course; if it suits your mood today; if the stars are all in their right positions for you to be so kind and answer me. If it doesn’t - I don’t know - make you pull a muscle or something.”
“Captain-”
“Shut up!” Kirk is on him in the blink of an eye, hands on his hips, fingers trembling, as if he’s barely holding back from physically lashing out. “We had all the personnel evacuated; we even pulled out most of their cargo; we were a safe distance away - WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING ON THE SHIP THAT WAS GOING TO BLOW TO HELL?”
With an unexpected uprise of wisdom or self-preservation instinct, Spock remains quiet. The room is ringing with the echo.
Kirk barely pauses to draw in a breath, which seems to go down the wrong way. “What possible logic made you stay there? I mean, it’s clear that you don’t give a shit about my orders - they might be good for everyone else, but not for Spock of Vulcan - oh no, no, no - he’s so much better than thou! Have you thought about me at all? Have you thought about how it’d look that I can’t even keep my first officer in line?”
Kirk turns away brusquely, as if taking in the sight of Spock standing there for another moment is too much, but his gaze snaps back almost instantly.
“You are a selfish, self-righteous bastard, and don’t you dare tell me you care about my captaincy again.”
Spock bites the inner side of his lip drawing blood. He says nothing.
“Why?” Kirk asks again, voice wound up tightly. “Why, Spock? You seem to have a reason for fucking everything. Why?”
Spock composes himself, pulling every resource he possesses. “The Ungian race does not have a homeworld. They live on their ships. Each ship is a birthplace and home for entire clans.”
“I know all that,” Kirk says impatiently. “That still doesn’t explain-”
“I knew I could conclude the repairs in time.”
“That’s bullshit, you nearly didn’t make it!”
“I could not see someone else’s home blown apart if I could help it.”
They stand motionless, staring at each other. The only sounds in the room are the wildly crackling air and the truth ringing loudly like a torn string.
“I’m sorry, Jim,” Spock says quietly in the end. “I could not do it.”
Kirk remains still for a moment, then steps back, eyes closing as he shakes his head once. Spock watches him, something heavy, sharp, and violent pulling at the inside of his chest, like a hungry sehlat cub.
Kirk straightens up at last, glancing at Spock curtly with an unreadable, closed expression on his face. He walks out then, without looking back once or pausing for a second. The doors slide closed behind him, and Spock suddenly feels ten times worse than he believed possible.
McCoy unglues himself from the bulkhead he’s been leaning on and takes several steps across the room, rolling his shoulders. Spock glances at him sharply, and McCoy arches his eyebrows.
“Well, you sure know how to do things the hard way,” he drawls.
Spock looks away, pursing his lips. “I deserved it.”
McCoy shrugs. “Yeah, but that’s not why he was yelling.”
Spock peers at him questioningly. McCoy sighs, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, for a supposed genius, you’re just way too dumb,” he grumbles. “You scared him.”
Spock narrows his eyes. “I did not believe that was possible for anyone to achieve.”
“Oh yeah?” McCoy smirks humorlessly. “Well, you seem to be developing quite a knack for it.”
Spock hesitates, experiencing something close to toothache for the need to ask, but Kirk’s frozen expression still haunts his vision.
“How would I-” He cuts himself short abruptly.
McCoy stares at him for a moment in disbelief, then snorts. “Seriously, Spock? Asking a divorced guy for marriage counsel? You must be more far gone than I thought.”
Spock gives him a sharp look. “I find your analogy tasteless and inaccurate.”
“You sure about that?” McCoy asks, grinning. “Granted, yours was a shotgun wedding, but as far as this crew is concerned, yeah, you’re married alright.” His smile fades. “Listen. Jim might be my best friend, and you’re my patient and probably not as much of a heartless bastard as I thought you were, but my job here is to keep this crew healthy - mentally as well as physically.”
“What is your point, Doctor?”
McCoy glares at him. “This ain’t my first rodeo with the both of you, okay? This silent treatment thing the pair of you pull out whenever you’re pissed at each other? Drives the crew to distraction.”
Spock frowns. He has been McCoy’s punching bag for approximately two months now, and all of a sudden it feels like too long.
“At the moment, Doctor, I must admit that I am tempted to call the captain a lot of things. However, silent is not one of them.”
McCoy’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Don’t you care about him at all? I mean, aside from him being your project in that stupid-ass war you have going with the admiralty? Does he as a person - as Jim Kirk, God damn it - mean nothing to you at all?”
Spock straightens his tired back forcefully. “It would seem, Doctor, that he means very much indeed to you. I do not know why you find it difficult to express your affection for the people you care about - you are, after all, human. But as far as the captain is concerned, I suggest you find means of showing him what he means to you other than abusing your access to hyposprays and lecturing me.”
“All done?” McCoy growls.
“For the most part.”
“Will whichever part remains contain the answer to my question?”
Spock opens his mouth and then suddenly stops, his lips quirking. “Fortunately, I am no longer under obligation to assist you in perfecting your interrogation techniques. Good day, Doctor McCoy.”
He brushes past the doctor and is almost at the door when McCoy calls after him.
“Spock.”
Spock turns around, mildly surprised to see McCoy grinning softly, even if the traces of anger haven’t fully left his face. Spock braces himself for another onslaught of sarcasm, but the doctor shakes his head.
“It’s good to have you back.” McCoy cringes incredulously as if he can’t quite believe he’s saying it, and the thought amuses him.
Spock knows immediately that the doctor isn’t talking about the recent mission.
Silently, he nods in response.
--
Kirk and Spock are scheduled to spend the next day’s Alpha shift separately, for which Spock is grateful, but the unknown also unnerves him. The crew tries their best to act as if nothing has happened, but Spock can feel the pressure of their curiosity and anticipation as if it was a physical force.
In the morning, he walks into a turbolift with Nyota. She doesn’t say a word to him, but smacks him on the head just before the doors open to reveal the bridge. Spock knows he hasn’t imagined a smirk quirking her lips as she strolls toward her station.
He resists temptation for the better part of the day, but, as the virtual sun of the ship begins to set, Spock decides that there has been enough procrastination. He tracks Kirk down, discovering that the captain has camped in the officers’ lounge after finishing with his paperwork. Spock straightens his shirt decisively and starts walking.
The captain is sitting alone in the far corner by the viewport, reading a printed book. Spock hesitates in his approach, feeling the sudden need to reevaluate his chances. He has almost convinced himself that trying to talk to Kirk now is a bad idea, when he notices the title on the cover.
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Spock narrows his eyes, momentarily distracted, and steps closer just as Kirk looks up.
“I thought you said this book was-”
“Yeah,” Kirk cuts him off, blushing slightly. “But you were so fascinated that I decided to give it another go.”
“And?”
Kirk drops the book to the low table and pushes it away. “Nah. Still too damn depressing. I think I’ll ask Chekov for reading recommendations next.”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “I must confess I find it disturbing that, at his current age, Ensign Chekov’s favorite book is Crime and Punishment.”
“Oh yeah?” Kirk smirks. “Well, I don’t. I think I’d find it disturbing, though, if, at his current age - which is twelve, by the way - his favorite book was Lolita.”
Spock’s lips twitch. “May I?” he asks, nodding at the empty seat opposite Kirk.
The captain nods. “Please.”
Spock folds himself into the chair and sets down the cups he has been holding, sliding one of them toward Kirk. The captain frowns in momentary confusion, then stares at the dark liquid as the steaming aroma reaches his nostrils. A slow smirk begins to tug at his lips.
He looks up at Spock. “You brought me coffee?”
Spock inclines his head. “Evidently.”
Kirk’s smirk transforms softly into a grin. “Not just any coffee.”
“I have an eidetic memory and you have a routine,” Spock says matter-of-factly. “Sumatra blend, double strong, double sweet - when you wish to shock yourself into wakefulness. Jamaica blend, small single portions, extra strong, extra sweet - you call them ‘shots’ - when you are so exhausted that the first choice has no effect. And finally, Ethiopia organic blend, medium, no sugar, whipped cream - when you wish to relax and enjoy the taste.”
“Very good, Mr. Spock,” Kirk drawls, grinning and pulling the cup toward himself, the whipped cream melting slowly on the surface. “I don’t see any flowers, but have you brought me chocolates, too?”
Spock tilts his head to the side a little. “The replicator does not do that product justice.”
Kirk grins wider. “Nice save.”
Spock watches as Kirk takes a sip of his coffee, closing his eyes in pleasure and inhaling deeply. Quite at random, a thought occurs to Spock that he could look at that particular image for a long time without tiring. He shakes himself mentally, because Kirk’s eyes are sharp and trained on him again.
“I’m still mad at you,” Kirk says, still smiling softly, but his tone is serious. “No.” He shakes his head, seeing that Spock has opened his mouth. “No, I get why you did it. I really do, Spock. But don’t you ever do that again. You understand?”
Spock holds his gaze, a little shaken by its intensity. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Kirk nods abruptly, taking another sip of coffee. “I’d hate it if I had to transfer you.” His lips quirk a little. “My yeoman can’t remember my coffee routine half as well as you do, and not for lack of trying.”
Spock looks down at his hands for a moment, willing but not ready yet to accept the truce offering.
“Captain…” Spock pauses. “I deeply regret that I had to disobey your order. But you must know that I did not take an unreasonable risk. I calculated the time required for the repairs.” He glances at Kirk warily. “And due respect, sir, the fact that I am sitting here now proves that I was correct.”
“Really?” Kirk frowns. “You finished your repairs with not a fraction of a second to spare. Don’t you think that’s cutting it a bit close?”
“We are always ‘cutting it close’ out here,” Spock says calmly. “You were ‘cutting it close’ when you ordered a restart on Tapica. We were ‘cutting it close’ with the Bamun. You were ‘cutting it’ so close you were almost too late on Bregor.”
“Yes.” Kirk nods impatiently. “But there’s a difference. They were my choices. I made those decisions.”
“And I made this one. And we were both correct.”
Kirk leans back in his chair and rubs his eyes tiredly. “What is it you’re asking of me, Spock? To denounce the chain of command?”
“No. To trust that I do not have a death wish.”
Kirk stares at him. Spock holds his eyes intrepidly.
At long last, the captain nods. “Okay. But that doesn’t change what I told you before,” he adds hastily. “No more stunts like that, got it?”
Spock inclines his head. “Loud and clear.”
Kirk smirks slowly. “Do you play poker, Mr. Spock? Because I have the strongest feeling that I’m being bluffed right now.”
Spock raises an eyebrow in polite confusion. “Poker? Is that not a card game of some sort?”
Kirk snorts. “Yeah, right.” He stands up and motions for Spock to follow. “Come on. Let’s give our little audience something to write home about.”
Spock blinks, glancing around. He has been focused so completely on the captain that he hasn’t noticed that their quiet tête-à-tête has indeed gathered an impressive number of spectators. Wordlessly, Spock straightens up and follows Kirk, who’s sending smiles in every direction, as he walks toward...
The piano.
Spock suppresses a groan, but he does know why Kirk is doing it, and, privately, he approves. He can also sense the crew around them pulling closer, emanating raw curiosity.
Kirk sits down on the bench and slides to the side, leaving room for Spock. The captain grins at him, definite mischief splashing in his eyes.
“What’s it gonna be, pal?” he asks in a heavy accent Spock can’t identify.
Spock considers his choices. Kirk elbows him in the ribs lightly and laughs when Spock gives him an affronted look.
“Well, we don’t have all night,” Kirk explains.
Spock narrows his eyes forebodingly, and drops his hands to the keys without warning. The energetic beginning to In the Mood explodes the room like a burst of light in the darkness. Spock hasn’t even finished the introduction when Kirk’s hands join his on the keys.
They are not ideal, though Kirk catches up on the rhythm with such ease that he seems to be reading Spock’s mind. Every time he’s late or early, Kirk laughs, and Spock feels it harder and harder not to smile in return.
They are watched - incredulously; delightedly; curiously. Spock hears an uprise of whispering, and he can feel their stares on his skin as if they were corporeal. He stiffens somewhat, which lasts exactly till Kirk’s knee nudges his, reminding him to pay attention. The fact that the captain forgets to move away proves to be distracting enough for Spock to forget about being the center of attention and concentrate on the music instead. He has never enjoyed playing so much in his life.
They catch the audience by surprise with false endings, which makes Kirk laugh again, as they play through the applause to the real one. The captain then stands up and bows mockingly toward the spectators, laying his hand between Spock’s shoulder blades and urging him to do the same. Spock looks up and glares, which predictably only serves to make Kirk beam at him.
“Would you not play some more?” somebody shouts.
“Noooo,” Kirk drawls, grinning wickedly. “Talent night, people. You want some music, ask Christine there. I’ve heard her do the meanest things to Brahms late at night.”
Spock glances to where Christine Chapel is standing, a spectacular blush coloring her face. She steps forward uncertainly as people start to urge her to play, and Spock wishes he could give her some tangible encouragement.
Kirk’s hand on his back taps him gently, reminding Spock that they are still in the way, and Spock stands up, moving away from the piano, further into the small crowd.
“Well, my work here is done,” Kirk says quietly to Spock as they listen to the fast gallop of Hungarian Dance springing from under Chapel’s fingers.
Spock studies him curiously for a moment. “You seem... contented.”
Kirk grins. “That’s right. They’re my favorite people, Spock, and they’re happy. I mean, I never thought I’d see so many people I really like in the same room.” He rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. “Heck, I never thought I’d meet so many people I really like, to tell you the truth.”
“It was a fortunate mistake, then.”
“Yeah.” Kirk meets his eyes, smiling. “Even if some of them act like total idiots sometimes, they’re still my favorite people, you know what I’m saying?”
Spock stares at his feet, fighting a blush. “I am certain the sentiment is mutual,” he replies quietly, after a pause.
Kirk chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re way too much fun to mess with; you know that, right?”
“Praemonitus, praemunitus, Captain.”
Kirk’s eyes narrow at him. “‘Forewarned is forearmed’?” He cocks his head challengingly. “I don’t think it’s going to help you much there, Commander, because you see, it’s veni, vidi, vici.”
“‘I came, I saw, I conquered’.” Spock feels his lips twist into a smirk as he looks at Kirk. “As you humans say, Captain - good luck with that.”
Kirk lets out a surprised laugh that makes several heads turn toward them. He’s still grinning when Spock bids him goodnight.
--
When, several hours later, Spock is jerked awake by the panicked whine of Red Alert, his first reaction is relief, and he doesn’t have the time to analyze it. In just a few minutes, the shields will fail, and, before Mr. Scott is able to restore them, the Orions will kidnap a quarter of the crew. There will be an ongoing battle with three Orion destroyers raging outside, and Kirk is needed here, he can’t leave, so Spock goes.
Kirk will grab his shoulder just as Spock starts to run, and they will spend a split second neither of them has to stare at each other, and then Kirk will shout over the deafening disruptor blasts shaking the ship: “Bring them back!” He will want to add something else, but there will be no time, and Spock will simply nod, because he knows, or thinks that he knows, what the second order was meant to be.
Spock will run to the shuttle bay, gathering a security squad on the way, and he will be more determined than he has ever been in his life to keep his promise.
Both of them.
On to Part V