Papers in the Roadside 5B/5 and Epilogue
Part 5A/5 <<
--
They have a white Christmas. It’s not all that unusual for Chicago, but it’s still nice, in a soothing sort of way (though they could really do with less cutting wind). Still, it’s not too bad, and one morning, when Jim walks in on Gaila and the other girls hanging Christmas decorations, he finds himself thinking, Huh. It’s that time again.
Jim’s mood is still somewhat gloomy, though, and the only reason he doesn’t shoot the carolers is that the news of the ceasefire with the Klingons broke a week ago. Starfleet goes as far as to lift subspace silence and release the casualties list. Spock is on it, but with minor injuries only, and his status flashes in welcoming healthy green. Jim scowls still, because Spock is on the list and Jim fucking hates the Klingons and what the hell does low-rate synaptic failure mean? Bones reads the notes, calls Jim an idiot, tells him he has no business reading medical charts anyway, but then mercifully explains, and okay, it sounds like no biggie, and any halfway competent medic should be able to take care of that.
Still, it’s not like everything is at once fine and dandy. Communications are still sketchy, but Jim manages to send Pike a message for Spock, where he only has enough space to tell that Sarek has paid him a visit. A response he receives three days later also comes from Pike, who informs Jim that Spock has taken a diplomatic shuttle from Khitomer to Vulcan and, according to Pike, has given no explanation for the urgency, referring to the matter as private and family-related. Jim can tell by the tone of the message that Pike is pissed at Spock, but Jim can’t worry about that now.
He doesn’t know what to make of Spock’s sudden compliance with T’Pau’s wishes. He can’t even ask Roven, because Roven left for Vulcan as soon as the ceasefire was made. Not that Jim would trust Roven implicitly - that’d just be silly. He might be a good guy, but the laws applied in love and war have yet to be denounced.
So Jim broods and fumes and can’t really help it, even though just a couple of weeks ago, he’d have been the happiest man on Earth simply knowing Spock was okay.
--
The carolers are annoying. Jim has never paid them much attention before - in fact, he faintly remembers being fascinated by them as a child, back when his mother was still in the occasionally-leaving-the-house stage, and took him and Sam to the town church on Christmas Eve. Jim couldn’t have been more than four, and he still remembers the sound of little bells and neatly attuned voices, the warmth of Winona’s hand in his, and the shock of the snowball Sam launched in his face on the way home.
The point is, Jim usually likes Christmas, but this year, everything about it rubs him the wrong way. He knows it’s stupid, but can’t help himself. He steals McCoy’s green Santa hat - also known as the Grinch hat - and wears it through the Christmas week, trying not to scowl too much at all the mistletoe and silly giggling couples.
Christmas Eve is quiet and warm. McCoy brings ham; Scotty turns up with a roasted turkey (cooked with the devil’s help, no doubt, seeing as one is tempted to sell his or her soul for yet another slice). Chekov and Sulu come in together, trying not to call anyone’s attention to the fact that they’re holding hands. Gaila beams happily, sitting beside Cupcake (who looks vaguely dazed), while Gaila glows with pride. It makes Jim groan mentally, thinking that he should have warned the poor guy, but warnings have always been moot where Gaila is concerned, so Jim decides to just steer clear of that one.
Jim opens some of his prized wine collection, because who better to share it with than family, and they’re splitting the third bottle when the door opens to admit a slightly embarrassed Uhura with a mildly freaked teenage girl in tow. She introduces the girl as her sister, and Jim makes room for them with as welcoming a smile as he can muster and submits his Grinch hat to Aina, because she looks the part. That earns him an insolent grin from the girl and a grateful kiss on the cheek from Nyota.
It’s a sweet, warm, happy night, and if Jim’s gut is churning because someone is missing from that tight little circle of chosen family, he’s too old to let it get to him. He glances at the front door every few minutes, but, mercifully, no one brings that up.
--
With the celebrations over, they go back to business. Jim doesn’t really need Gary’s enlightenment to know that Spock’s article has made them nationally famous. Gary still sulks because Jim has never told him about Spock, but Jim feels no pangs on the matter; he’s content to never have the two of them meet. The bottom line is, though, that they are bound to have much more customers for the New Year’s parties, which means Jim really needs to get his staff in gear if they want to live up to their glowing image.
It snows more than ever, which is why the early morning of the New Year’s Eve finds Jim outside, trying to appeal to the conscience of the snow-cleaning drones that apparently have decided that now is a perfect time for a little technological coup d’etat. He sits on his haunches, knee-deep in snow that keeps falling like there’s no tomorrow. He curses under his breath every few seconds because the bare skin of his fingers clings to the metallic parts of the rebellious drone, and Jim should probably take this inside but he’s almost done, dammit, if only the stupid machine would take a hint and cooperate.
He catches a blurry motion out of the corner of his eye and lifts his head up automatically to glance over at the driveway.
Jim’s heart instantly clenches into itself and proceeds with a boxing match against Jim’s chest, pounding his ribcage with painful viciousness.
Spock is standing at the end of the driveway, wearing a jacket that would probably serve him well somewhere on the French Riviera but here and now looks inadequate and pathetic, and Jim has no idea how Spock isn’t dead yet.
The almost assembled drone falls from his hands with a mildly offended clang as Jim pushes up to his feet dazedly, head spinning wildly like he’s drunk. He can see Spock walking toward him, but he can’t move, as if his feet are suddenly frost-glued to the pavement - and Jim doesn’t know, maybe they are.
Spock is almost on him - one step, another step, and then Spock’s hands grip Jim’s shoulders.
“Spock,” Jim utters in a strange, plaintive tone that surprises the hell out of him, and it freaks him out that his lips are trembling.
“Jim,” Spock breathes out quietly, eyes roaming all over Jim’s face, tearing at his features hungrily like starved dogs, and the moment their gazes meet, the spell is broken.
Jim lunges at Spock blindly, crushing him to his chest, possibly hard enough to crack bones, but Jim doesn’t care, losing himself in Spock’s scent, familiar and new and cold - so cold, Spock must be freezing. But he holds on to Jim right back, pressing hard against him as if willing Jim to merge with him, and it’s painful as hell and also incredible.
Jim presses his lips to the cold-smooth skin of Spock’s neck, kissing his way up frantically as his hand loses itself in Spock’s hair, the other pushing between his shoulder blades and probably making it hard for Spock to breathe. Spock tilts his head just enough for their lips to crash together, and Jim is gone gone gone, existing only within the desperate, soul-crushing kiss.
Suddenly, though, it’s over, because Jim shoves Spock away hard and glares at him. “You pointy-eared bastard.”
Spock’s expression is so openly confused that Jim almost melts - almost.
“Jim?”
“What the fuck were you thinking, running back to Vulcan like that? I had to learn from Pike of all people that I might never see you again - what the fuck was that all about, Spock?”
Spock runs a hand over his face, looking tired and very human. Jim refuses to be moved. He isn’t.
“I had to see T’Pau,” Spock explains wearily. “After your message about Sarek, I thought - I believed that what happened to my mother was happening again. I couldn’t stand to lose you to another ‘traffic accident,’ Jim.”
Jim watches him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “You do know it really was a traffic accident?” he asks softly.
Spock nods. “I know that now.”
“So what’d T’Pau say?”
Spock glances along the frozen street for a moment. “Sarek confessed his actions to her prior to when he did so to you, and T’Pau wanted to set things straight between us. She had no knowledge of Sarek’s ‘initiative’ and regrets the outcome.”
“She told you that? You believe her?”
“Yes.” Spock pauses. “Jim, we melded.” He glances at Jim warily. “It’s a-”
Jim waves him off. “I know what it is.” It’s hard to keep the hurt out of his voice.
Spock watches him, eyes wide and guilty. “Jim, I was hoping that we could... that maybe…”
And Jim knows suddenly that it hasn’t been any easier on Spock than it’s been on him. The doubts, the fears, the half-truths - the trust that is so hard to part with. He knows and he feels strangely warmed by it.
“It’s okay,” Jim says. “In your own time.”
Spock nods gratefully, a shy smile curving the corner of his mouth. “T’Pau,” he says, “she - she didn’t even order Sarek to marry my mother. She merely expressed her opinion that such a union would be beneficial.”
“And Sarek jumped the gun like a good little soldier.” Jim sighs. “Spock, I’m so sorry.”
“No,” Spock says quietly. “Don’t be. I made peace with it a long time ago, and Sarek’s misfortunes are his own.” Spock glances down at his feet and suddenly smiles. “T’Pau said she did not care who I bond with or how I live my life. As long as I exist, I represent the concept of IDIC by default, and she” - the corner of Spock’s mouth jerks in a broken grin - “she said that, in view of Sarek’s actions, she would only allow anyone of his bloodline to serve at the High Council when hell froze over.”
Startled, Jim laughs out loud. “T’Pau really said that?”
“Verbatim.”
“Spock, I never thought I’d be saying this, but your grandma is kind of awesome.”
Spock smirks. “I am inclined to agree. I regret that it has taken me so long to talk to her.”
Jim finally relents and takes Spock’s hands into his own. “So what happens now?”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “I can see two options in our nearest future. You can invite me inside or I will freeze to death in your front yard.”
Involuntarily, Jim snorts. “Come on then, you big baby,” he says, pulling Spock after him by the hand. “I’ll even warm some of that boring blueberry juice for you.”
Spock uses his hold to tug Jim back toward him. He leans in, lips hovering teasingly just above Jim’s. “I heard the bartender here makes a perfect mulled wine.”
Jim can’t help but laugh into the kiss, but Spock doesn’t seem to mind.
Epilogue
One year later
“Jim.”
“He’s dead.”
“Jim, I know you’re awake.”
“Didntyouhearm’?”
“Jim, your exam starts in one hour. Get up or I will drag you out of bed.”
Jim swallows back a grin, but stubbornly doesn’t stir. The mental link is still so new and tender, barely two months old, and Jim can’t resist the temptation of making Spock use it as often as possible.
He’s not disappointed when a sharp mental jab shakes him not a moment later. Jim sits up in bed abruptly, throwing away the pillow he used to fend off the persistent sunlight, and glares at Spock through narrowed eyes.
“I hate you and everything you stand for.”
Spock lifts an amused eyebrow and hands him a cup of coffee. “And they say that romance is dead.”
“Shut up,” Jim mumbles in between greedy gulps. “You’re a tyrant, you know that?”
“Your coursework load is of your own doing. I am not responsible for your decision to achieve a degree in two years.”
“Had to best you in something, didn’t I? It was either that or push-ups and that might have killed me.”
“Jim-”
“I’m up, I’m up. Jesus.” He sets the mug aside and slides out of bed, wrapping his arms around Spock and shivering in the morning chill of the room. “Shower with me?”
Spock leans in slightly when Jim nibbles at his earlobe, but, before it can become really exciting, he pushes Jim away. “This is how you were late the last time.”
Jim sighs, but doesn’t argue. “Spoilsport.”
The shower does wonders to wake him up. Jim thinks sometimes that he’s a little bit more in love with Spock’s shower than he is with Spock himself. Unfortunately the impressive bathroom doesn’t come without the added bonus of its owner, so Jim will just have to be stoic and take the bad along with the good.
“You’re in a good mood,” Spock notes when Jim stomps down into the kitchen, grinning.
“I am.” Jim grabs a croissant from the pile of fresh pastry (Spock’s routine of going for morning runs comes with some awesome advantages) and kisses Spock’s head. “I’m going to ace this exam and shove it up Professor Daly’s stubborn wrinkly ass.”
Spock winces and puts down a piece of mango he was chewing on. “That was a mental image I could have done without.”
Jim grins, unrepentant. “Wish me luck.”
“I don’t believe in luck,” Spock says automatically.
“It wouldn’t kill you, you know, to just say it for once.”
Spock lays down the paper he’s been reading and looks up. “Jim, I am aware that you are in full possession of the knowledge necessary to pass this test. I quizzed you last night and-”
Jim chokes. “That’s one word for it.”
“-luck is irrelevant.” Spock pauses, sighs, and actually rolls his eyes. “But if you insist, very well. Good luck.”
Jim laughs. “See? It didn’t even hurt.”
“Jim?”
“Hm?” Jim looks up from tying his shoes.
“You remember the presentation tonight?” Spock hesitates. “I know I said you didn’t have to come, but I wish - that is, if you are not too tired after the test-”
“Spock.” Jim straightens up, looking at him fondly. “I’ll be there.” He walks over, cups Spock’s face, and kisses him. “You finally letting go of that book - I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Spock kisses him back eagerly, his hands sliding into Jim’s hair, lips warm and morning-gentle. Jim can sense Spock’s anxiety about the upcoming event, which isn’t surprising, considering what a big step it is for him. Silently, Jim vows that he’ll be there even if he has to fail his exam for that.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Spock murmurs. “And I am not anxious. I am-”
“Shut up.” Jim kisses his nose. “Everyone’s going to love it, you’re going to be even more disgustingly famous, and I won’t let anyone else be your arm candy.”
“Jim,” Spock admonishes. “You’re not ‘arm candy.’ You’re-”
“-going to be late.” Jim grins. “I’ll see you tonight, Spock.”
He picks up his backpack and rushes out the door.
--
Spock wanted to hold the presentation at Bad Company, but Jim had vetoed the idea at once after he’d glanced at the confirmed guest list. Spock only blinked when Jim had showed it to him.
‘I didn’t realize so many people would wish to come,’ he’d said, to which Jim had only rolled his eyes.
Jim isn’t particularly fond of the Galaxy Hotel presentation center, but he’s also never been overly sentimental about venues. He’s more concerned with being beyond-suitably late than with any bad memories. It took more time than he’d anticipated to sort through Gaila’s paperwork for her new dance studio, but they met the deadline for application in the end, even though it was a very close call.
As a result, Jim arrives when the official part is already over and the guests are mingling, talking excitedly and drinking champagne, and Spock is surrounded by all kinds of people asking him politely phrased but undoubtedly invasive questions.
“Nice suit.”
Jim turns around to come face to face with Uhura smirking at him.
“Well, looky, looky,” Jim drawls, face splitting into a grin. “Aren’t you gorgeous?”
She laughs and smacks his arm before leaning up to kiss his cheek. She is indeed a vision in exquisite red silk, drawing glances from all over the hall and being completely unfazed by them.
“Is Gaila here?”
Jim shakes his head. “Someone had to be at the bar tonight. Sulu and Chekov still aren’t back from Risa.”
Uhura sighs. “I want to be on Risa.”
Jim smirks. “From what I heard, you’ll be able to afford to live there soon enough.”
Her eyes widen. “You heard about the job offer? Does Spock-”
“No.” Jim shakes his head. “Gaila told me. Intergalactic News issues director, huh? Fancy title.”
“I haven’t told Spock yet,” Uhura says, biting her lip. “I don’t know how to tell him.”
Jim glances to where Spock is scowling into a camera. “I don’t think he’s going to have fame envy.”
“It’s not about that.” Uhura makes a face. “It’s just that - we worked together for so long. I feel like I’m deserting him.”
He takes her hand and squeezes gently. “Hey, it’s okay. People move on. It’s what you’re supposed to do.”
She nods. “I know; still. It feels like something’s ending.”
Jim looks away for a moment. “Something is.”
He thinks about Gaila’s new independence; about Chekov and Sulu’s new venture (private investigators, who would have thought?); about how Christine finishes her medical degree next month and will undoubtedly tell both Jim and McCoy exactly what she thought of them as her bosses. He thinks of Bones himself, finally caving and accepting a mouth-watering research post on Alpha Centauri so that he could take his daughter shopping every other weekend and stop his own descent into rampant alcoholism. He thinks about little Kevin Riley finally being placed with a family who adored him and didn’t consist of nutjobs (Jim met them, he knows).
Sometimes, Jim feels like he and Spock are the only people standing still in a world that expands at breathtaking speed, spinning out and away, while they stay behind, watching. From the way Spock looks at him sometimes, Jim knows he’s not the only one feeling restless.
Uhura tugs at his hand, smiling in understanding, and Jim can’t help but smile back.
At some point during the party, Jim slips out into the wide balcony. He loosens his tie, leans against the railing, and stares down at the city below. He likes Chicago. The city had been completely destroyed during the Genetics Wars; rebuilt and then devastated by Bell’s Riots; and rebuilt again, different every time, yet somehow preserving its character. There is something about that that appeals to Jim, and he thinks, suddenly, that he’ll regret leaving it. The thought is unexpected and frightening.
Warm arms wrap around him from behind, and Jim grins, leaning back into Spock’s solid warmth.
“Sorry I was late.”
Spock nuzzles his neck and hums. “Gaila called. It’s okay, Jim. I did fine without you.”
“Roux said you looked like a lost puppy.”
Spock huffs. “Roux looks like a clown during most of his own presentations. He is hardly one to judge.”
Jim chuckles. “He also said they signed you up for another book?”
Spock sighs and presses his forehead against Jim’s shoulder for a moment. “Yes. They want an account of the latest Klingon crisis from a civilian perspective.”
“You going to do it?”
Spock nods against him. “Yes. I’ve been contemplating it for some time.”
“It’ll take you, what, about a year maybe?”
“Probably. Perhaps I could time it to you finishing your degree so that you wouldn’t be late the next time.”
Jim turns around in Spock’s arms and looks into his eyes. “Sorry.”
Spock rests his forehead against Jim’s and doesn’t say anything.
“So, what do you think is for us next?” Jim prods quietly after a while. “You and me? This time next year?”
Spock pulls away slightly, and glances upward, his gaze turning wistful and a small smile creeping onto his lips.
“I was thinking the stars,” he says quietly.
Jim’s heart swells in his chest, and he loves Spock at that moment more than ever before.
“Me too,” he says, breathless and happy as he leans in for a kiss.
And loud, in his head: Me too.
THE END
Back to masterpost <<
--
They have a white Christmas. It’s not all that unusual for Chicago, but it’s still nice, in a soothing sort of way (though they could really do with less cutting wind). Still, it’s not too bad, and one morning, when Jim walks in on Gaila and the other girls hanging Christmas decorations, he finds himself thinking, Huh. It’s that time again.
Jim’s mood is still somewhat gloomy, though, and the only reason he doesn’t shoot the carolers is that the news of the ceasefire with the Klingons broke a week ago. Starfleet goes as far as to lift subspace silence and release the casualties list. Spock is on it, but with minor injuries only, and his status flashes in welcoming healthy green. Jim scowls still, because Spock is on the list and Jim fucking hates the Klingons and what the hell does low-rate synaptic failure mean? Bones reads the notes, calls Jim an idiot, tells him he has no business reading medical charts anyway, but then mercifully explains, and okay, it sounds like no biggie, and any halfway competent medic should be able to take care of that.
Still, it’s not like everything is at once fine and dandy. Communications are still sketchy, but Jim manages to send Pike a message for Spock, where he only has enough space to tell that Sarek has paid him a visit. A response he receives three days later also comes from Pike, who informs Jim that Spock has taken a diplomatic shuttle from Khitomer to Vulcan and, according to Pike, has given no explanation for the urgency, referring to the matter as private and family-related. Jim can tell by the tone of the message that Pike is pissed at Spock, but Jim can’t worry about that now.
He doesn’t know what to make of Spock’s sudden compliance with T’Pau’s wishes. He can’t even ask Roven, because Roven left for Vulcan as soon as the ceasefire was made. Not that Jim would trust Roven implicitly - that’d just be silly. He might be a good guy, but the laws applied in love and war have yet to be denounced.
So Jim broods and fumes and can’t really help it, even though just a couple of weeks ago, he’d have been the happiest man on Earth simply knowing Spock was okay.
--
The carolers are annoying. Jim has never paid them much attention before - in fact, he faintly remembers being fascinated by them as a child, back when his mother was still in the occasionally-leaving-the-house stage, and took him and Sam to the town church on Christmas Eve. Jim couldn’t have been more than four, and he still remembers the sound of little bells and neatly attuned voices, the warmth of Winona’s hand in his, and the shock of the snowball Sam launched in his face on the way home.
The point is, Jim usually likes Christmas, but this year, everything about it rubs him the wrong way. He knows it’s stupid, but can’t help himself. He steals McCoy’s green Santa hat - also known as the Grinch hat - and wears it through the Christmas week, trying not to scowl too much at all the mistletoe and silly giggling couples.
Christmas Eve is quiet and warm. McCoy brings ham; Scotty turns up with a roasted turkey (cooked with the devil’s help, no doubt, seeing as one is tempted to sell his or her soul for yet another slice). Chekov and Sulu come in together, trying not to call anyone’s attention to the fact that they’re holding hands. Gaila beams happily, sitting beside Cupcake (who looks vaguely dazed), while Gaila glows with pride. It makes Jim groan mentally, thinking that he should have warned the poor guy, but warnings have always been moot where Gaila is concerned, so Jim decides to just steer clear of that one.
Jim opens some of his prized wine collection, because who better to share it with than family, and they’re splitting the third bottle when the door opens to admit a slightly embarrassed Uhura with a mildly freaked teenage girl in tow. She introduces the girl as her sister, and Jim makes room for them with as welcoming a smile as he can muster and submits his Grinch hat to Aina, because she looks the part. That earns him an insolent grin from the girl and a grateful kiss on the cheek from Nyota.
It’s a sweet, warm, happy night, and if Jim’s gut is churning because someone is missing from that tight little circle of chosen family, he’s too old to let it get to him. He glances at the front door every few minutes, but, mercifully, no one brings that up.
--
With the celebrations over, they go back to business. Jim doesn’t really need Gary’s enlightenment to know that Spock’s article has made them nationally famous. Gary still sulks because Jim has never told him about Spock, but Jim feels no pangs on the matter; he’s content to never have the two of them meet. The bottom line is, though, that they are bound to have much more customers for the New Year’s parties, which means Jim really needs to get his staff in gear if they want to live up to their glowing image.
It snows more than ever, which is why the early morning of the New Year’s Eve finds Jim outside, trying to appeal to the conscience of the snow-cleaning drones that apparently have decided that now is a perfect time for a little technological coup d’etat. He sits on his haunches, knee-deep in snow that keeps falling like there’s no tomorrow. He curses under his breath every few seconds because the bare skin of his fingers clings to the metallic parts of the rebellious drone, and Jim should probably take this inside but he’s almost done, dammit, if only the stupid machine would take a hint and cooperate.
He catches a blurry motion out of the corner of his eye and lifts his head up automatically to glance over at the driveway.
Jim’s heart instantly clenches into itself and proceeds with a boxing match against Jim’s chest, pounding his ribcage with painful viciousness.
Spock is standing at the end of the driveway, wearing a jacket that would probably serve him well somewhere on the French Riviera but here and now looks inadequate and pathetic, and Jim has no idea how Spock isn’t dead yet.
The almost assembled drone falls from his hands with a mildly offended clang as Jim pushes up to his feet dazedly, head spinning wildly like he’s drunk. He can see Spock walking toward him, but he can’t move, as if his feet are suddenly frost-glued to the pavement - and Jim doesn’t know, maybe they are.
Spock is almost on him - one step, another step, and then Spock’s hands grip Jim’s shoulders.
“Spock,” Jim utters in a strange, plaintive tone that surprises the hell out of him, and it freaks him out that his lips are trembling.
“Jim,” Spock breathes out quietly, eyes roaming all over Jim’s face, tearing at his features hungrily like starved dogs, and the moment their gazes meet, the spell is broken.
Jim lunges at Spock blindly, crushing him to his chest, possibly hard enough to crack bones, but Jim doesn’t care, losing himself in Spock’s scent, familiar and new and cold - so cold, Spock must be freezing. But he holds on to Jim right back, pressing hard against him as if willing Jim to merge with him, and it’s painful as hell and also incredible.
Jim presses his lips to the cold-smooth skin of Spock’s neck, kissing his way up frantically as his hand loses itself in Spock’s hair, the other pushing between his shoulder blades and probably making it hard for Spock to breathe. Spock tilts his head just enough for their lips to crash together, and Jim is gone gone gone, existing only within the desperate, soul-crushing kiss.
Suddenly, though, it’s over, because Jim shoves Spock away hard and glares at him. “You pointy-eared bastard.”
Spock’s expression is so openly confused that Jim almost melts - almost.
“Jim?”
“What the fuck were you thinking, running back to Vulcan like that? I had to learn from Pike of all people that I might never see you again - what the fuck was that all about, Spock?”
Spock runs a hand over his face, looking tired and very human. Jim refuses to be moved. He isn’t.
“I had to see T’Pau,” Spock explains wearily. “After your message about Sarek, I thought - I believed that what happened to my mother was happening again. I couldn’t stand to lose you to another ‘traffic accident,’ Jim.”
Jim watches him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “You do know it really was a traffic accident?” he asks softly.
Spock nods. “I know that now.”
“So what’d T’Pau say?”
Spock glances along the frozen street for a moment. “Sarek confessed his actions to her prior to when he did so to you, and T’Pau wanted to set things straight between us. She had no knowledge of Sarek’s ‘initiative’ and regrets the outcome.”
“She told you that? You believe her?”
“Yes.” Spock pauses. “Jim, we melded.” He glances at Jim warily. “It’s a-”
Jim waves him off. “I know what it is.” It’s hard to keep the hurt out of his voice.
Spock watches him, eyes wide and guilty. “Jim, I was hoping that we could... that maybe…”
And Jim knows suddenly that it hasn’t been any easier on Spock than it’s been on him. The doubts, the fears, the half-truths - the trust that is so hard to part with. He knows and he feels strangely warmed by it.
“It’s okay,” Jim says. “In your own time.”
Spock nods gratefully, a shy smile curving the corner of his mouth. “T’Pau,” he says, “she - she didn’t even order Sarek to marry my mother. She merely expressed her opinion that such a union would be beneficial.”
“And Sarek jumped the gun like a good little soldier.” Jim sighs. “Spock, I’m so sorry.”
“No,” Spock says quietly. “Don’t be. I made peace with it a long time ago, and Sarek’s misfortunes are his own.” Spock glances down at his feet and suddenly smiles. “T’Pau said she did not care who I bond with or how I live my life. As long as I exist, I represent the concept of IDIC by default, and she” - the corner of Spock’s mouth jerks in a broken grin - “she said that, in view of Sarek’s actions, she would only allow anyone of his bloodline to serve at the High Council when hell froze over.”
Startled, Jim laughs out loud. “T’Pau really said that?”
“Verbatim.”
“Spock, I never thought I’d be saying this, but your grandma is kind of awesome.”
Spock smirks. “I am inclined to agree. I regret that it has taken me so long to talk to her.”
Jim finally relents and takes Spock’s hands into his own. “So what happens now?”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “I can see two options in our nearest future. You can invite me inside or I will freeze to death in your front yard.”
Involuntarily, Jim snorts. “Come on then, you big baby,” he says, pulling Spock after him by the hand. “I’ll even warm some of that boring blueberry juice for you.”
Spock uses his hold to tug Jim back toward him. He leans in, lips hovering teasingly just above Jim’s. “I heard the bartender here makes a perfect mulled wine.”
Jim can’t help but laugh into the kiss, but Spock doesn’t seem to mind.
Epilogue
One year later
“Jim.”
“He’s dead.”
“Jim, I know you’re awake.”
“Didntyouhearm’?”
“Jim, your exam starts in one hour. Get up or I will drag you out of bed.”
Jim swallows back a grin, but stubbornly doesn’t stir. The mental link is still so new and tender, barely two months old, and Jim can’t resist the temptation of making Spock use it as often as possible.
He’s not disappointed when a sharp mental jab shakes him not a moment later. Jim sits up in bed abruptly, throwing away the pillow he used to fend off the persistent sunlight, and glares at Spock through narrowed eyes.
“I hate you and everything you stand for.”
Spock lifts an amused eyebrow and hands him a cup of coffee. “And they say that romance is dead.”
“Shut up,” Jim mumbles in between greedy gulps. “You’re a tyrant, you know that?”
“Your coursework load is of your own doing. I am not responsible for your decision to achieve a degree in two years.”
“Had to best you in something, didn’t I? It was either that or push-ups and that might have killed me.”
“Jim-”
“I’m up, I’m up. Jesus.” He sets the mug aside and slides out of bed, wrapping his arms around Spock and shivering in the morning chill of the room. “Shower with me?”
Spock leans in slightly when Jim nibbles at his earlobe, but, before it can become really exciting, he pushes Jim away. “This is how you were late the last time.”
Jim sighs, but doesn’t argue. “Spoilsport.”
The shower does wonders to wake him up. Jim thinks sometimes that he’s a little bit more in love with Spock’s shower than he is with Spock himself. Unfortunately the impressive bathroom doesn’t come without the added bonus of its owner, so Jim will just have to be stoic and take the bad along with the good.
“You’re in a good mood,” Spock notes when Jim stomps down into the kitchen, grinning.
“I am.” Jim grabs a croissant from the pile of fresh pastry (Spock’s routine of going for morning runs comes with some awesome advantages) and kisses Spock’s head. “I’m going to ace this exam and shove it up Professor Daly’s stubborn wrinkly ass.”
Spock winces and puts down a piece of mango he was chewing on. “That was a mental image I could have done without.”
Jim grins, unrepentant. “Wish me luck.”
“I don’t believe in luck,” Spock says automatically.
“It wouldn’t kill you, you know, to just say it for once.”
Spock lays down the paper he’s been reading and looks up. “Jim, I am aware that you are in full possession of the knowledge necessary to pass this test. I quizzed you last night and-”
Jim chokes. “That’s one word for it.”
“-luck is irrelevant.” Spock pauses, sighs, and actually rolls his eyes. “But if you insist, very well. Good luck.”
Jim laughs. “See? It didn’t even hurt.”
“Jim?”
“Hm?” Jim looks up from tying his shoes.
“You remember the presentation tonight?” Spock hesitates. “I know I said you didn’t have to come, but I wish - that is, if you are not too tired after the test-”
“Spock.” Jim straightens up, looking at him fondly. “I’ll be there.” He walks over, cups Spock’s face, and kisses him. “You finally letting go of that book - I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Spock kisses him back eagerly, his hands sliding into Jim’s hair, lips warm and morning-gentle. Jim can sense Spock’s anxiety about the upcoming event, which isn’t surprising, considering what a big step it is for him. Silently, Jim vows that he’ll be there even if he has to fail his exam for that.
“You’ll do no such thing,” Spock murmurs. “And I am not anxious. I am-”
“Shut up.” Jim kisses his nose. “Everyone’s going to love it, you’re going to be even more disgustingly famous, and I won’t let anyone else be your arm candy.”
“Jim,” Spock admonishes. “You’re not ‘arm candy.’ You’re-”
“-going to be late.” Jim grins. “I’ll see you tonight, Spock.”
He picks up his backpack and rushes out the door.
--
Spock wanted to hold the presentation at Bad Company, but Jim had vetoed the idea at once after he’d glanced at the confirmed guest list. Spock only blinked when Jim had showed it to him.
‘I didn’t realize so many people would wish to come,’ he’d said, to which Jim had only rolled his eyes.
Jim isn’t particularly fond of the Galaxy Hotel presentation center, but he’s also never been overly sentimental about venues. He’s more concerned with being beyond-suitably late than with any bad memories. It took more time than he’d anticipated to sort through Gaila’s paperwork for her new dance studio, but they met the deadline for application in the end, even though it was a very close call.
As a result, Jim arrives when the official part is already over and the guests are mingling, talking excitedly and drinking champagne, and Spock is surrounded by all kinds of people asking him politely phrased but undoubtedly invasive questions.
“Nice suit.”
Jim turns around to come face to face with Uhura smirking at him.
“Well, looky, looky,” Jim drawls, face splitting into a grin. “Aren’t you gorgeous?”
She laughs and smacks his arm before leaning up to kiss his cheek. She is indeed a vision in exquisite red silk, drawing glances from all over the hall and being completely unfazed by them.
“Is Gaila here?”
Jim shakes his head. “Someone had to be at the bar tonight. Sulu and Chekov still aren’t back from Risa.”
Uhura sighs. “I want to be on Risa.”
Jim smirks. “From what I heard, you’ll be able to afford to live there soon enough.”
Her eyes widen. “You heard about the job offer? Does Spock-”
“No.” Jim shakes his head. “Gaila told me. Intergalactic News issues director, huh? Fancy title.”
“I haven’t told Spock yet,” Uhura says, biting her lip. “I don’t know how to tell him.”
Jim glances to where Spock is scowling into a camera. “I don’t think he’s going to have fame envy.”
“It’s not about that.” Uhura makes a face. “It’s just that - we worked together for so long. I feel like I’m deserting him.”
He takes her hand and squeezes gently. “Hey, it’s okay. People move on. It’s what you’re supposed to do.”
She nods. “I know; still. It feels like something’s ending.”
Jim looks away for a moment. “Something is.”
He thinks about Gaila’s new independence; about Chekov and Sulu’s new venture (private investigators, who would have thought?); about how Christine finishes her medical degree next month and will undoubtedly tell both Jim and McCoy exactly what she thought of them as her bosses. He thinks of Bones himself, finally caving and accepting a mouth-watering research post on Alpha Centauri so that he could take his daughter shopping every other weekend and stop his own descent into rampant alcoholism. He thinks about little Kevin Riley finally being placed with a family who adored him and didn’t consist of nutjobs (Jim met them, he knows).
Sometimes, Jim feels like he and Spock are the only people standing still in a world that expands at breathtaking speed, spinning out and away, while they stay behind, watching. From the way Spock looks at him sometimes, Jim knows he’s not the only one feeling restless.
Uhura tugs at his hand, smiling in understanding, and Jim can’t help but smile back.
At some point during the party, Jim slips out into the wide balcony. He loosens his tie, leans against the railing, and stares down at the city below. He likes Chicago. The city had been completely destroyed during the Genetics Wars; rebuilt and then devastated by Bell’s Riots; and rebuilt again, different every time, yet somehow preserving its character. There is something about that that appeals to Jim, and he thinks, suddenly, that he’ll regret leaving it. The thought is unexpected and frightening.
Warm arms wrap around him from behind, and Jim grins, leaning back into Spock’s solid warmth.
“Sorry I was late.”
Spock nuzzles his neck and hums. “Gaila called. It’s okay, Jim. I did fine without you.”
“Roux said you looked like a lost puppy.”
Spock huffs. “Roux looks like a clown during most of his own presentations. He is hardly one to judge.”
Jim chuckles. “He also said they signed you up for another book?”
Spock sighs and presses his forehead against Jim’s shoulder for a moment. “Yes. They want an account of the latest Klingon crisis from a civilian perspective.”
“You going to do it?”
Spock nods against him. “Yes. I’ve been contemplating it for some time.”
“It’ll take you, what, about a year maybe?”
“Probably. Perhaps I could time it to you finishing your degree so that you wouldn’t be late the next time.”
Jim turns around in Spock’s arms and looks into his eyes. “Sorry.”
Spock rests his forehead against Jim’s and doesn’t say anything.
“So, what do you think is for us next?” Jim prods quietly after a while. “You and me? This time next year?”
Spock pulls away slightly, and glances upward, his gaze turning wistful and a small smile creeping onto his lips.
“I was thinking the stars,” he says quietly.
Jim’s heart swells in his chest, and he loves Spock at that moment more than ever before.
“Me too,” he says, breathless and happy as he leans in for a kiss.
And loud, in his head: Me too.
THE END
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