What Part of Forever: Chapter Two
You can find the first half of Chapter Two here.
By the time they arrived at Chez Panisse, much of Spock's tension had left him, to his relief. His inability to completely hide his satisfaction at Jim's pleasure in the car did nothing to alleviate said satisfaction, but at least there was no one to witness his excesses save for Jim.
Jim chattered the entire drive, his words flowing over Spock in pleasant waves. He was taking a class in Cross-Cultural Mythology and Psychology, a discipline that Spock found intriguing, if unsatisfyingly vague. Jim had told Spock before that he was enrolled in classes, but very little aside from that. Spock was at a loss to account for why Jim had now chosen to share, but he contented himself with listening, interrupting now and then to ask Jim for further clarification on various points. He chose not to question why Jim was talking more than Spock had previously seen him do so. After all, his acquaintance with Jim was still a short one, and Spock did not yet feel he was the best judge of what standard deviation was for Jim Kirk.
Though the restaurant they were meeting Pike and Komack should have taken approximately 45.6 Standard minutes to arrive at by car, and their drive had taken 48.75 minutes, Spock still found himself surprised to find the car slowing to a halt in front of the curb. A valet stepped down from the sidewalk to open Spock's door, and a brief but powerful flood of emotion tightened Spock's chest. He wished, illogically, that the ride might have taken longer. Jim had been in the midst of telling him about the old Earth superstition against having one's photo taken, and though it was not a subject Spock was overly familiar with, he found their discussion fascinating.
Spock climbed out of the car, stepping up onto the curb, gathering his robes around himself as a chill breeze blew, channeled by the high walls of the buildings on either side of the street. He looked to his right, where Jim was hurrying around the car. He had a peculiar expression on his face that Spock could not interpret.
"Spock," Jim said, and stopped, coming to a halt just feet away from Spock.
"Yes, Jim?" Spock watched as Jim opened his mouth, then closed it again, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pressed linen pants. Spock's ability to read Human facial expressions approached that of any Earth native's, but that did not mean Spock could always be certain what Jim was thinking.
"Can you do me a favor?"
"That depends upon the nature of the favor," Spock responded carefully. The side of Jim's mouth quirked up, and Spock realized abruptly that this was another of Jim's many smiles.
"Of course it does. No, I just-would you mind just introducing me as Jim? If they ask for a last name, I'll give one, but don't... volunteer it for me, okay?"
Spock raised an eyebrow. "...I can think of no reason not to honor your request, despite its illogic. I will not volunteer your personal information, as you said. But may I inquire as to the reason?"
Jim's lop-sided smile had evened out now. Spock thought Jim looked rather relieved. "My parents were in Starfleet. I don't really want to spend dinner discussing family history. I can tell you more afterwards, if you want."
"That would be acceptable. Very well." Spock inclined his head, and they went inside, Spock pausing only long enough to watch Jim hand the keys to the valet.
Spock had never eaten at this particular restaurant before, but he had taken some time to investigate the location between now and his conversation with Jim the previous day. The brief history he had been able to find described Chez Panisse as a "bastion of tradition in an ever-changing world," and had vaunted the restaurant's somewhat peculiar stance of only serving traditional Earth cuisine, using ingredients native to Terra. The interior of the restaurant supposedly reflected this dedication to Earth history and culture, but Spock found himself thinking vaguely of Shi'Kahr.
The ceiling of the foyer arched high overhead, supposedly evocative of the Roman Coliseum or an ancient Grecian senate house, with carved sandstone pillars encircling the central floor, on which was painted a colorful mural depicting a scene from ancient Rome. The entire room was capped with a dome with skylight windows, through which shone bright daylight. All of the decor was done in desert colors, rusty reds and sandy oranges and deep burnt browns. Spock glanced sideways to see Jim craning his neck to look up at the ceiling, taking in the height of the pseudo-rotunda.
"Kinda over-the-top for a restaurant," Jim observed, a faint smile curving his lips again. His eyes were not on Spock; instead, they tracked the graceful lines of the room's architecture, following an arching pillar back down to its base.
"Such architectural design, when used in political buildings, is often meant to instill a sense of intimidation and sobriety in visitors," Spock noted. "But I must concur; it seems an... unusual choice in design for a dining establishment, at least from what I understand of Earth customs."
"You're not wrong," Jim said. Now he turned his full attention to Spock, grinning widely. "Which means it was probably Komack that picked the location." Spock wanted to ask what Jim meant by this statement, but he did not have the chance, for at that moment the man in question came into view across the room, and Jim went abruptly stiff, though he did not take his eyes from Spock's face.
"Spock. Right on time." Admiral Komack had spotted them both, raising his voice in greeting as he strode across the foyer to meet them. Komack was tall for a human, clad in his red-and-black dress uniform, greying hair cut conservatively short. Captain Pike trailed in Komack's wake, an expression on his face that Spock could not quite interpret; he wore a look of polite disinterest, but his sharp grey eyes swept across Spock and then came to Jim, lingering on him. Pike looked older than Spock remembered, but then Spock had not spoken to Pike face-to-face in a number of years, so that was to be expected. When Spock was young, Pike had been the one member of Starfleet that he and his mother had had regular contact with.
"Greetings, Admiral Komack, Captain Pike." Spock folded his hands inside his robes and bowed from the waist, inclining his head respectfully at their hosts. "Allow me to introduce my companion, Jim." The truncated introduction sounded strange on Spock's lips, and he saw Captain Pike arch an eyebrow at the omission, but Jim was already stepping forward, sticking out a hand.
"James Carmichael. Just Jim, please. It's a pleasure to meet you." The stiffness of a few moments ago was completely gone. Now Jim practically oozed confidence, radiating charm like an expensive cologne, shaking first Komack's and then Pike's hand with a firmness Spock would not have guessed he felt. The smile he now wore was one Spock had seen him bring out for several service-people previously, notably the attendant at Six Flags who was so reluctant to let Spock onto one of the more "dangerous" rides. As it had turned out, the attendant had been right to not want to let Spock onto the Kingda-Ka (it was the first time Spock had vomited since childhood, and it was not an experience he had missed), but when Jim had smiled at her like he was smiling now-that warm, disarming, I'm-perfectly-harmless smile-it was as though her brain went out the window, taking her ability to think with it.
Spock was not sure he liked this smile of Jim's, though other Humans seemed to. Komack, at least, relaxed, turning his attention once more to Spock, but Spock noticed that Pike's gaze lingered on Jim for a few moments longer before he too looked back at Spock. "Well, Jim, it's nice to meet you," Komack said, "but frankly I think you're in for a pretty boring night. We're mostly going to be talking politics, I'm afraid." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he said this. Spock wondered what he found amusing.
"He won't be the only one who's bored, then," Pike noted drily, and at that Komack's mouth turned up in a full-fledged ....smirk. That was the word, Spock thought. A smile, but not a pleasant one. Spock realized abruptly that Pike found Komack as distasteful as Spock did.
They followed the hostess to a well-appointed table towards the back of the restaurant, discreetly cut off from the rest of the dining room and enfolded on two sides by floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an expansive view out to the Pacific, the ocean filling the vista from edge to edge, with just a sliver of beach licking along the bottom. The four of them sat, Jim and Spock on one side of the table, Pike and Komack on the other. The waiter set out menus for them, took their food and drink orders (Spock was the only one who refrained from alcohol, though no one commented on it), and then vanished.
Pike glanced across the table at Jim, his gaze lingering for several moments, before looking over at Spock. "How is that research project going that you and T'Sol were heading?" he asked. "The one about splicing modified DNA into duotritocale?" Beside him, Jim paused, turning to look at Spock as well, and Spock felt the sudden weight of all the eyes at the table.
"It is proceeding slightly ahead of plan, Captain," Spock said after a moment. "The first batch of test subjects is responding quite well to the recombinant genes that we introduced, though it remains to be seen how their seedlings will fare during their test run."
Jim looked as if he wanted to ask more, but he was interrupted by the return of their waiter, who speedily took their order and vanished again. Spock thought that the subject would drop then, as Komack made a comment about some recent civil unrest troubling Andor, but then Jim turned again to Spock and asked, "So what is this duotritocale experiment about, exactly?"
And Spock found himself telling Jim about how he was heading a team in charge of investigating the genetic engineering possibilities of duotritocale, and how the strain of wild wheat (indigenous to a number of Class M planets, spread by pirates and traders in a number of careless accidents) was a prime candidate for such experiments due to its hardiness and resilience. To his further surprise, Jim kept asking questions, wanting to know how far along their research was and whether they had factored a resistance to Fusarium graminearum into their procedure, and Spock was faintly aware of Pike interjecting here and there, but mostly Pike was just watching the two of them with a very strange, self-satisfied look on his face that Spock was too distracted to think much on. Not even the arrival of their dinner managed to interrupt the flow of their conversation.
Spock didn't even realize how engrossed he was in the subject until Komack's dry, utterly unimpressed baritone cut in from across the table. "As fascinating as this is, I'm afraid I must remind our guests that ...plant research is not the actual reason I invited you to this dinner."
"Sorry this 'plant research' was boring you," Jim said, voice deceptively sweet as he straightened up at Spock's side. "But hey, I'm a simple guy. I like hearing about research that might save people's lives." Spock felt heat bloom in his throat and chest at the tone of Jim's voice. Komack stared at Jim, seemingly caught between irritation and surprise. At his side, Pike was coughing suspiciously into his napkin.
"Young man, do you have any idea-" began Komack, but at that Pike sat up straight, shaking his head.
"I'm sure Jim meant no disrespect, but the Admiral is right, gentlemen; we did ask you here to talk about some fairly serious business." Spock was not so sure of Pike's assertion, but he was grateful for the deflection of Komack's indignation. The sound of his own name brought his attention sharply back to focus. "Spock, T'Pau sent us a high-security message yesterday afternoon that the leaders of eight more star-systems have told the Council of Elders that they will leave the Federation if Vulcan secedes. Were you aware of this?"
All thoughts of his duotritocale research fled. Now it was Pike Komack was staring at, and his expression was much the same as Spock himself might have been wearing, were he not a Vulcan. As it was, though he knew his own expression had not changed, it felt as if his skin were crawling with invisible insects. "No, Captain, I was not aware."
"Secession?" Jim's voice was carefully restrained. Spock glanced right and saw those blue eyes fixed on him. For no reason, the skin-crawling sensation grew worse.
"There is a movement on Vulcan that wants our people to withdraw our membership from the Federation." Spock's voice was perfectly calm, despite the knot of tension that was his stomach folding in on itself. "The movement is not unanimous, however. The reasons both sides cite are quite compelling."
"'Both sides are compelling'? This from one of the most vocal of the secessionists?" Komack snorted, leaning back in his chair. Spock was all too aware of the fact that Jim was still staring at him.
Pike was watching Spock steadily now, too. Spock found he did not like the weight of those eyes on him. Not at all. "Spock, I must say, you have been very vocal in the past about your disapproval of the Federation's-"
"-of Starfleet's bolstering of its military power in recent years, in lieu of diplomacy and other methods of peace-keeping." Spock said sharply. "Coupled with its unwillingness to come to Vulcan's aid on the occasion of multiple acts of terrorism against her people, even when presented with irrefutable evidence that said acts of terrorism were committed by other members of the Federation. Yes. I disapprove. As do a great many others." He stared from Pike to Komack, and finally let his gaze move back to Jim. "But you are wrong, Captain. Admiral. I am not a secessionist." The words spilled forth before he even knew he was going to say them, and Spock clenched his hands in his laps, hidden under the table.
He did not know what had motivated him to make such a declaration. But in the instants of silence after his statement, he found he had no desire to take it back. Again he dared a glance sideways at Jim, whose expression was unreassuringly unreadable. The seconds drew out, the silence settling uncomfortably down on them. Pike and Komack exchanged a glance that Spock could not read, and as illogical as it was, he suddenly wished he might be anywhere but here.
"So, Starfleet's all talk and no action, huh?" Spock turned automatically as Jim of all people finally broke the silence. "Sounds pretty par for the course. But surely Vulcan must realize how vulnerable she'd be to attack if she weren't even nominally under the Federation's protection."
"An astute observation," Spock said quietly. He looked over at Pike again. "If T'Pau saw fit to send you warning, I would take the missive very seriously, Captain. Lady T'Pau is-"
"I find it ironic how a boy such as yourself can so easily dismiss the efforts of the very agency that keeps him safe and content," Komack cut in. Spock glanced over to see that Komack was staring at Jim with narrowed eyes, and realized that Jim's previous comment had sparked the Admiral's ire.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Jim said sarcastically. "I forgot that it's our job to unconditionally kiss Starfleet's ass and never criticize anything they do. I'll send a memo to Vulcan, since it seems like they forgot that too."
Spock froze, once again temporarily stunned into silence by Jim's outburst even as a rush of gratitude and dismay flooded him. Komack, however, was not so afflicted. His face flushed a dull brick-red with anger, and he straightened in his chair as if getting ready to lunge across the table with both hands.
"Spock, if your guest can't behave himself, I'm afraid he might need to leave. Or at least learn to keep his peace during a discussion that's beyond him."
"Beyond me?" Jim's voice was louder now, tinged with incredulity as he glared right back at Komack. Spock observed, as if from a distance, that Jim's eyes were a very vivid blue, the color of a cold, clear morning. And still he could not find his voice, couldn't think of what to say or do. "Oh, my bad, the invitation didn't mention a need to wear my best bullshitting boots, but don't worry, it looks like you've got our part covered."
"Young man, I don't think you know who you're speaking to." Komack's voice was low and tight, forced out between clenched teeth. A vein in his head throbbed angrily, as though it was thinking about bursting.
"Thank God for small mercies," Jim shot back, "because it's bad enough dealing with you during dinner, I'd hate to have to see you on a regular basis-"
"Keep talking, Mr. Carmichael, and we'll see much bravado you have while you're cooling your heels in a prison cell," growled Komack. At this, Spock stood up abruptly. The knots in his stomach vanished; he felt as if he had been plunged into a pool of ice-cold water. All eyes turned to look at him.
"I was unaware that the Federation had become a military state, Admiral." Spock stared from Admiral Komack's ruddy face to Captain Pike's more carefully restrained one, hardly even aware of what he was doing. "Or that disagreement with a man to whom you are not beholden is now a crime punishable by imprisonment. Either way, I believe it is time for my companion and I to leave."
Now Jim rose to his feet as well, followed by Pike and Komack. Pike, Spock noted, now looked distinctly unhappy, while Jim, though flushed, looked somehow exhilarated. Pike opened his mouth to speak, and Spock was sure the captain would protest Spock's departure, entreat him not to leave. But all Pike said was, "Give my best to Sarek, Spock. Hopefully I'll be able to catch up with you again soon."
Spock inclined his head. Komack was still staring at Jim, his eyes narrowed to slits. At Pike's comment, he stirred, turning his gaze back to Spock. "And here's hoping our Vulcan friend will have had time to re-evaluate his choice in companions," Komack said.
"Indeed," Spock said coldly. "I will take your opinion under advisement, Admiral." Spock turned to Jim, who was unexpectedly silent; Jim met Spock's eyes and nodded, and with a final indecipherable glance at Pike, Jim turned and lead the way towards the front of the restaurant, Spock trailing in his wake.
Neither of them spoke until they were once more outside on the pavement. Jim stood for several moments, fidgeting with invisible lint on the clean lines of his trousers. Spock stood beside him, hands clasped inside his robes. For a moment, they simply stood there, unsure of what to say. Then, just when the silence was becoming unbearable, they both spoke at once.
"I shouldn't have lost my temper like that-" Jim blurted, turning to Spock with a fierce look on his face.
"-should not have invited you to what I should have known would be a tiresome evening-" The words tumbled pell-mell out of Spock's mouth, one after the other, all jumbled together in his awful embarrassment at how the evening had turned out.
"-was totally stupid of me to keep baiting Komack like that-"
"-did not wish to subject you to such boring conversation-"
Jim stopped, color high in his cheeks, staring at Spock. "I wasn't bored," he said.
"You are not stupid," said Spock at the exact same moment.
They looked at each other cautiously. Slowly, tentatively, a smile spread across Jim's face again. At the sight of it, Spock found he could no longer think of anything remotely intelligent to say. So instead, he simply stood there, and after a moment he realized that he too was smiling, the muscles at the corners of his lips twisting upwards ever-so-slightly. He should have been appalled at himself (to say nothing of how appallingly he and Jim had behaved at dinner), but strangely, he wasn't.
"The food was good, at least," Jim commented, somewhat inanely. He shoved his hands in his pockets, still smiling at Spock. "Want me to drive you home?" As he said this, his smile grew even wider, though Spock could not have said why.
"That would be agreeable," Spock informed him. "You are significantly more skilled at maneuvering the manual transmission than I am."
"What, driving your stick?" Jim's smile widened so much that for a moment it looked as though it would split his head open. "Sure, Spock. I'd love to drive your stick." Then, for absolutely no reason that Spock could discern, he started to laugh, a helpless, simple sort of laughter that seemed to well up from inside him and spill out like bubbling water, making him lean forward and clutch his knees, his shoulders shaking from the force of it. Spock could only stand there on the sidewalk, bewildered, tingling strangely all over, his own mouth twisted in a small, unconscious smile, staring at the laughing, red-faced man on the sidewalk next to him.
"You are completely illogical," he informed Jim. Jim only laughed harder. For some reason, Spock found he did not mind.
* * * * *
Christopher Pike leaned back, toying with his empty wine glass as he quietly passed the waiter his tip and waved him away, eyes fixed on his remaining dinner companion. He wanted nothing better than to get going, but he figured a few more minutes would do the trick. Meanwhile, he just had to keep letting the Admiral vent, even as his mind followed in the wake of the two young men who'd just exited the restaurant.
Pike had recognized Jim the minute he'd laid eyes on the boy, of course; what the hell game Jim was playing, Pike didn't know ("Carmichael"? Really?), but there was no mistaking that face. In point of fact, Pike had thought he was seeing a ghost for a handful of heart-stopping seconds, Jim looked that much like George had back at the Academy, but his good sense had come quickly to his rescue and he'd figured out who Jim actually was. Thankfully, Komack was either too drunk or too unobservant to come to the same conclusion, and Pike had been content to let Jim keep the illusion of his anonymity, at least until Pike figured out what the hell was going on.
Or at least, until Jim had taken a page out of his parents' book and decided to start baiting Admiral Komack. Jesus. Pike cast another look across the table at Komack's ruddy face, mildly impressed by Jim's ability to piss off Komack so effortlessly.
Pike knew an opportunity when he saw one. Here was Spock, possessed of a mind so brilliant that he'd become one of the youngest head researchers in the history of the VSA despite the prejudice against his Human heritage; and here was Jim Kirk, who seemed to have inherited both George's sheer bravado and Winona's genius, if tonight was anything to go by. All Pike had had to do was ask Spock about his work, and Jim and Spock had taken the conversation and run with it, and that wasn't even taking into account how rare it was for Spock to respect anyone enough to talk to them so freely, or so animatedly. Pike had almost kicked Komack under the table when the Admiral had derailed Jim and Spock's discussion, but it had turned out to be worth it when Jim got his blood up and Spock, restrained Vulcan researcher Spock, had shut down Komack more effectively than an emergency brake. Pike would gladly have blackmailed his own mother if it meant getting either one of those two into Starfleet, but having them both not only fall into his lap but inexplicably know each other-like each other, even? He couldn't pass it up. Pike would get them into Starfleet even if he had to break every regulation in the Federation charter in order to manage it. Now he just had to figure out how.
Pike and Komack finally left almost twenty minutes later, Pike guessing correctly that Spock and Kirk would linger for a few minutes to regroup; the last thing he wanted was to interrupt them again outside on the pavement. And though he vastly preferred the liberty of being on his ship in space, Pike knew the necessity of being planetside for the time being, while Enterprise was built and this shitstorm with Vulcan was handled, and he'd had plenty of practice "handling" men like Komack. So by the time Pike and Komack exited the restaurant, Jim and Spock were long gone, and Komack had even managed to forget most of the offense he'd taken inside at the table. That was good, Pike thought. Jim could thank Pike later for the favor.
Pike wasn't going to say any of this to anyone, of course. Not to Spock about it, not yet, and certainly not to Sarek, or (God forbid) Komack. Number One was off-planet, unfortunately, or she'd be the first one Pike would turn to. But there was one person he wanted to check on.
He waited until he got back to the little flat he was renting for the duration of his time in Los Angeles. He changed out of his uniform, showered, fixed himself a whiskey on the rocks, and then curled up on the bed in a pair of old, soft jeans and a button-down shirt. He checked the time; almost 10 pm, which meant it would be nearing midnight in Riverside. She might have already gone to bed.
Pike leaned back against the mountain of pillows, and thumbed the comm-link to the "on" position. He waited. Thousands of miles away, a comm unit buzzed and squeaked. The view-screen sprang to sudden vivid color and a woman's face appeared, a familiar lop-sided smile on her full lips.
"Chris, you dick. Do you know what time it is?"
"You're wearing coveralls, Nona," Pike pointed out, not bothering to hide his answering smile. "Either you've finally gone crazy enough that you sleep in your dirty uniform, or you were working late."
"Go fuck yourself," said Winona cheerfully. "You love my crazy. But I got this busted power converter and I wanted to get it fixed before I turned in for the night. So, spill. Why you callin' me so late?"
Pike shook his head. You could get whiplash from talking to Winona Kirk, if you weren't used to trying to keep up with her. "Have I mentioned that I miss you? From a safe distance." Pike laughed as Winona flipped him her middle finger, noting the smears of engine oil across the backs of her knuckles, the same color as the smudgy dark stain on one cheekbone. "Right, okay. Listen, I was just wondering..." Pike leaned forward. "When was the last time you talked to Jim?"
* * * * *
Spock stared at the small, slowly rotating scale model of a starship that floated in mid-air before him. The Persephone was a standard Federation science vessel, equipped with minimal defensive technology and dual nacelle chambers extending aftward, but this ship in particular contained a vast bio-dome in its midsection, giving it the appearance of a fat, trundling crustacean carrying its shell on its back. The detailed scale model informed Spock that this vessel could support up to five hundred forty-two life forms, as well as sixteen fully functional research labs and an exhaustive scientific database-all this in addition to the massive bio-dome, able to host an exhaustive array of flora and fauna, depending upon what biological haven the ship's crew wished to simulate.
Projected completion date: 2265, concluded the data. It was an optimistic projection, Spock knew, dependent upon a large number of uncertain factors. Chief among these was the hard fact that the research project central to the ship's construction-the science behind the bio-dome, which required careful harnessing of a huge expenditure of energy-was being conducted by a Federation team comprised of twelve Human, four Andorian, and eighteen Vulcan researchers. And if Vulcan chose to return once more to her isolationist ways, all her children would be called home, crippling this project as it would so many others.
"They take our efforts for granted," came a voice from Spock's right. Spock turned his head, glancing at the tall, greying Vulcan at his side. Malik's dark eyes were focused on the model in front of them, no trace of what thoughts might lie beneath showing on his weathered face. "They do not truly believe that we would withdraw from the Federation, or they might show more respect for our contributions."
Spock raised an eyebrow. "Malik, I believe you are finding disregard for our people where you have no cause," he said carefully. "This is a Starfleet-sponsored exhibition, not a symposium dedicated to the work of the VSA. It is only logical that the displays would focus on current and future projects of Starfleet."
Malik turned his eyes from the still-rotating starship model to Spock, raising a dark eyebrow of his own. "Fascinating," he said, using the exact same tone his daughter had been known to use on Spock whenever she thought he was making a particularly foolish decision. But T'Pring had never wielded either the desire or the ability of her father to make Spock feel like a boy half his age. "Not yet a full lunar month on Earth, and already you are beginning to suffer corruption of your logical faculties."
"Again you seek to find agency and hidden motives where none exist," Spock said, sharper than he meant to. "Kaadith, Honored Elder. I mean no disrespect. But it is counter to the well-being of our people and the clarity of our logic to view the situation other than as it truly is."
"And how would you describe this current situation?" Malik turned his full attention on Spock now, making Spock wish that either T'Pring or her brother Sasak were here to help divert their father. Malik seemed intent on prying answers out of Spock that Spock was not yet sure he knew how to give. "The Federation hearing to decide whether Vulcan will secede is to be held in less than a month, and at Starfleet's request we have arrived early, though I have yet to see any worthwhile reason for having sacrificed time and energy better spent on other pursuits. Starfleet invited us to attend this scientific symposium, and yet scant mention of Vulcan's contributions to Starfleet's advances are made, to say nothing of the effect her leaving would have."
"This symposium was planned and arranged long before the secession hearing was called for, much less the date decided, so to read any intention into its execution is illogical," Spock pointed out. "It is an annual event held in a different star-system each year, and I have it on the authority of Captain Pike that we were invited here early in order to attend the symposium, in deference to the scientific interests of many of those attending." Privately, Spock could not deny his shock at the fact that he was arguing with Malik-particularly when, on so many occasions previous to this one, he and Malik had been in perfect accord.
Malik was apparently having similar thoughts, because he stared at Spock for several long moments before answering. "Is Sarek aware that you have suffered a change of opinion?" he asked.
Spock opened his mouth to say I have not changed my opinion and found he couldn't, not without lying. He swallowed, flushing first hot, then cold. "I have not spoken with him on this subject since before our arrival on Earth," he said at last.
Malik nodded, his eyes as unreadable as ever. He was silent for so long that Spock began to wonder if the conversation was now over, but then Malik said, "I had hoped that your time away from T'Pring might illuminate to both of you the illogic of your choice to dissolve your bond. I see now that such a wish is unlikely to come to pass."
"There was nothing illogical about our decision, Elder, which was a mutual one, as we have both informed you on separate occasions." Spock kept his voice carefully neutral despite the tightness in his throat. "The compatibility hoped for by our families has never come to pass, and T'Pring and I have both concluded that we should seek others to better complement us."
"So you have said before." Malik gazed for another few moments at Spock before shaking his head. "It would have been a great honor to call you my son, Spock. May you find a bond-mate worthy of you." Saying this, Malik raised his hand briefly in the ta'al before turning and walking away.
Spock stared after Malik, his hand still raised in the Vulcan greeting and farewell, feeling inexplicably weary. He turned away from the display of the Persephone, not wishing to dwell on the situation. Instead he made his way towards one of the exits into the courtyard, and let his attention wander to the event he would be attending that evening-or rather, the person he would be attending it with. More than once today, Spock had found himself wishing that Jim had come with him, that Jim might offer some of running commentary on the exhibits, and on Starfleet in general.
He'd been startled to hear about Jim's parents, in the car on the way home the night before-not because he had not heard of George and Winona Kirk, but because he hadn't made the connection on his own. But now that he knew, he could not help but note the number of times he saw Jim's mother's name attached to various engineering projects, and he found himself wondering how Jim had arrived in his current situation. He wondered, too, what Jim was doing right now, who he was with. Spock found it all too easy to picture Jim curled up on the overstuffed sofa in his living room, perhaps wearing the reading glasses he'd admitted to Spock he had to wear sometimes for small print, poring over a PADD or an old-fashioned text book. Or perhaps he was down by the ocean... The mental image changed to Jim, shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a long pair of swim trunks, lounging idly at the beach. Spock remembered the way Jim smiled, that unselfconscious, easy grin of his-
"Spock?"
Jim's face dissolved as a voice interrupted Spock's train of thought, and Spock stopped too fast, dismayed at his own distraction. "Forgive me, Sasak," Spock said, folding his hands in his robes as he addressed one of his fellow researchers and childhood companions. "I was distracted."
Sasak was staring at him, as if trying to gauge whether Spock were telling the truth. He looked like a younger version of Malik, a fact that was not helping Spock's peace of mind at the moment. "I had hoped I might find you here today," he said.
"You speak as though I have been unavailable in some capacity, Sasak," Spock said. He clasped his hands inside his robes, straightening infinitesimally under the new scrutiny.
"You have been unavailable, Spock," said Sasak. "When our shuttle arrived yesterday, the first action T'Pring and I took was attempting to reach you. But we were informed by the hotel manager that you were out at a meeting with Starfleet representatives." Spock stopped breathing altogether for a moment. "Additionally, you have been quite remiss in responding to the messages I have sent you prior to my arrival. I can only assume that your business with Starfleet has been distracting you from your research and our correspondence."
Spock let out the breath he'd been holding, Sasak's face coming into sharp focus as a hot, all-too-familiar emotion loosened the knot in Spock's chest. "Your information is correct," Spock said, wondering if his voice sounded as loud to Sasak as it seemed to him. "I accepted a personal invitation from Captain Christopher Pike to join him for dinner. As for my tardiness in responding to your messages, your assessment is not quite as accurate, though I must apologize for neglecting our correspondence. I have been pursuing a personal research project of my own while here on Earth, to better understand my Human heritage."
Sasak's expressions did not change, but his silence told Spock all he needed to know. "I see," Sasak said after a moment, and then hesitated. "Spock-I must urge you to reconsider such an illogical use of your time-"
"Illogical?" Spock repeated, his voice as cool now as Komack's had been to Jim the night before. "Might I remind you-as if you could have forgotten-that my mother was Human? Is it not logical to wish to fully understand one's history?"
"Spock, control yourself," Sasak said. "I mean no offense to you or your family-no one could say that you have not overcome your disadvantage beyond all expectations, but that is no reason to allow yourself to be distracted when your people have need of you."
Spock stared. His blood rushed in his ears, the void left by his lack of response growing increasingly louder. All his life, his Human half had been a source of contention between him and his fellows, but this blatant disapproval was unbearable. It was the last straw. "As I am the one with the disadvantage," Spock said coldly, "I believe I shall be the one to decide how best to deal with it. But I thank you for your concern."
And without waiting for a response, Spock turned on his heel and headed for the exit. He'd had about all he wanted from the symposium today.
* * * * *
Across town, Jim was just hopping on his bike to head home from class. The discussion they'd had in lecture today on inter-species gender relations was still rolling around inside his skull. He got all the way to his bike and was actually pulling on his helmet before he abruptly remembered something. "Crap," Jim said aloud, and dug in his bag for his comm-unit. He flipped open the sleek grey cover, blinking at the sight of five new messages. "Damn, when did I get so popular?" he muttered.
Jim deleted the first message, from Harry Mudd, without even reading it. Harry had been asking for a cut of the payment from Spock, and Jim found himself close to outrage at the idea of anyone profiting off the time he spent with Spock. It wasn't even the money; it was the idea that itself incensed Jim. It felt like an invasion of privacy, demeaning Jim and Spock both, and Jim wanted increasingly to punch Mudd in the face for his inability to take a hint.
On some level, Jim realized his reaction to this request was over-the-top, but he didn't care to examine his feelings on it too much. So what if Jim didn't want to pay Mudd anything? Worst-case scenario, Mudd stopped referring clients Jim's way. Big fucking whoop; it would be no loss, as far as Jim was concerned.
Jim's indignation over Harry Mudd was forgotten as soon as he saw the next message. It was from his mother. Jim frowned, suffering a twinge of misgiving, and hesitated over it for several seconds before finally sending the message along to be archived at his personal computer back home, as-yet unread. How had she even gotten the number for his comm-unit? Jim certainly hadn't given it to her. Fuck. Jim shook his head. A mystery for later. He needed to head home soon; he had a busy afternoon before this evening arrived.
The last three messages were all much less interesting; one was from one of Jim's classmates about their homework, and the other two were both messages from Jim's regulars, no doubt asking when they would get a chance to see Jim again. Jim skimmed the former and sent the latter two on to his home computer, to be dealt with later like the message from his mother. He was getting a little behind answering his business correspondences, as it were, and he knew he needed to play catch-up, but he'd just been so busy with Spock the past week or so that he hadn't really found the time.
He would get to it tonight, he decided, when he and Spock were done. Spock had secured tickets to the late-night members-only Los Angeles Academy of Sciences exhibition (no doubt using a technique other than the one Jim usually favored-Spock flirting! now there was a mental image), and he had asked Jim to accompany him. Thinking of Spock, Jim smiled to himself as he tucked his comm-unit back into his bag. Spock would no doubt have something interesting to say about the subjects discussed in Jim's lecture today. And Jim was looking forward to hearing more about the duotritocale research project Spock was apparently heading-really, Jim had yet to find a subject Spock didn't have an interesting opinion on, even if he didn't know much about it. It was one of the more satisfying things about spending time with him.
Among many. Jim pulled his helmet back on and turned the key in the ignition, putting his messages out of his mind for now. He had better things to think about.
* * * * *
"Spock!"
Spock jerked, his stride faltering for a moment as he headed for the exit, having taken a shortcut through the courtyard. He turned, reluctantly, to see T'Pring hurrying towards him along one of the paths. Behind her, Spock could see a Human in a Federation uniform heading away from them, his path perpendicular to the route T'Pring was coming down towards Spock. Spock stood where he was and waited, and as he watched T'Pring approach, he realized that the direction T'Pring and the Human seemed to be coming from was not one of the routes through the courtyard, as he had at first assumed, but instead originated in one of the corners, a dead-end from which there was no egress.
Before he could wrap his head around the reason for this seeming piece of illogic, T'Pring had reached him. "Spock," she said again, pausing to bow at the waist to him, a gesture Spock returned. "I had hoped to speak to you today. My brother and I have had difficulty reaching you-"
"Your father has already made clear what he thinks of my distraction," Spock snapped. "If you wish to remind me of how egregiously I injure Vulcan by the simple act of having a Human mother, consider the message relayed."
T'Pring paused a moment before answering, folding her hands inside her robes and raising an elegantly-arched eyebrow at Spock. "Despite the events that bring us to Earth," she said finally, "what I wanted to speak with you about, cousin, pertains to the research project you last wrote to me about, not the secession hearing. You know I have never had anything but respect for Amanda Grayson, and you have disgraced her by treating your heritage as something distasteful. As I have told you before now." Her voice was mild, as was her expression, but Spock knew T'Pring too well to mistake the reproach in her words.
Spock said nothing to this. Inwardly, though, he cursed himself at his over-reaction. This was one of the things Spock admired most about T'Pring: she did not allow her belief that secession would best serve the needs of Vulcan to taint her with xenophobia, as many of her fellow secessionists did.
Finally, Spock sighed. "I apologize, T'Pring," he said. "It has been a trying day." They fell into step together, and Spock allowed himself to be steered toward the exit and to be drawn into a conversation about the research project he'd left behind at the VSA. He'd written to T'Pring because the project related specifically to the efficacy of Vulcan healing trances on other species, both via mind-melds and via training for those with the aptitude to learn. T'Pring had spent the past few years in training as a healer at Golgotharen, as well as being Spock's oldest friend, and was thus a logical candidate for Spock to correspond with on the project.
As they reached the exit, Spock thought again of the Human he'd seen a few minutes ago, exiting out this same door. "T'Pring," he said, "who was that Human you were speaking with just prior to coming to me? The one in the Federation uniform."
"What?" T'Pring's serenity faltered for a moment to an expression of what Spock would have called consternation before smoothing out again. "You refer to Timur? He's one of the Federation aides I've been corresponding with in preparation for the secession hearing." She glanced at him sidelong, the corner of her mouth quirking. "Why do you ask? Could it be that S'Chn T'Gai Spock is jealous of the woman he chose to relinquish?"
"I am no such thing," Spock protested. He knew she was teasing but could not bring himself to mind-and as un-Vulcan of him as it might be, he allowed himself a quiet moment of relief that she seemed uninterested in probing what Spock had been up to while here on Earth, even if she was the only Vulcan in the embassy who did not care.
* * * * *
Jim hadn't even meant to come inside the house; he was going to head to the gym and work out for a bit before meeting up with Spock later in the evening. But he'd had to come home to grab his work-out clothes, or else he might never have caught McCoy at all.
He spotted McCoy's car in the driveway as he jogged up from the curb. "Bones," Jim yelled cheerfully as he threw open the screen door with a bang, "headin' to the gym! I'll be out late, don't wait up for me." He made it almost all the way down the hallway to the bedroom before some low, gut instinct made him slow in his tracks, then stop.
The house was dead quiet. Jim cocked his head, listening for the sound of the TV, the radio, even the sound of snoring-anything. Nothing reached his ears, and he'd heard no response from McCoy. Torn between the desire to keep moving and the sinking feeling in his stomach, he crept around the corner and peered at the figure slumped at the kitchen table, McCoy slid so far down in his chair that his ass was still barely in the seat. Jim glanced at the clock. It wasn't even 5 pm.
"Fuck," Jim said softly, and leaned down to set his gym bag on the floor.
He padded quietly across the hardwood floor, his eyes sweeping over the detritus that covered the table: the day's mail, medical journals, McCoy's keys, a shockingly empty bottle of bourbon that Jim distinctly remembered buying for McCoy at the store not three days ago, a tumbler with a few cubes of ice melting at the bottom of it... "Bones," Jim said, voice low. McCoy was staring straight ahead at the far wall, and thus far hadn't so much as grunted by way of acknowledging Jim's presence. It was fucking unnerving. "Bones, are you... what's wrong?"
Finally, McCoy stirred. He glanced at Jim, lip curling as if he smelled something foul, then reached for the near-empty tumbler and raised it to his mouth to drain the dregs. "Nothin's wrong," he grated out. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Someone to fuck, maybe?"
"Bones, what the-" Jim's eyes fell on a piece of paper, half-hidden under McCoy's elbow and pinned against the table. It was a hand-written letter, from the looks of it-rare enough in this day and age-but that wasn't what had caught Jim's eye. He thought he recognized the elegant, slanted handwriting. He reached down and carefully tugged the letter out from under McCoy's arm, his consternation growing when his friend didn't even make a token effort to stop him. Then again, judging from the stink coming off McCoy at the moment, he might not even realize what Jim was doing. Jim stared at McCoy for a moment longer, then turned his attention to the sheet of paper in his hand.
The sinking feeling in Jim's stomach turned instantly to lead. Sometimes, he hated being right. The letter was from Jocelyn. And it wasn't even really a letter; it was a poem, written carefully out in the middle of the page.
"When you are old and grey and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars."
--Miss you. J.
Fuck.
Jim let out a slow breath, feeling as if he'd been punched in the gut. Too late, he remembered what the date was. "Seven years," Bones remarked, as if in direct response to Jim's thoughts. He had gone back to staring at the wall again, and Jim had to work to understand what McCoy was saying through how heavily he was slurring his words. "Picked up a double today, but they sent me home 'cause I already hit 10 hours of overtime, and I got 2 shifts left this week, so I figured I'd come home and celebrate." McCoy snorted on this last word, and Jim winced.
No wonder he was busy trying to drown himself in Jim Beam, if he'd come home to this. McCoy's anniversary was going to be for him what Jim's birthday was for the Kirk family, it seemed. Jim finally tore his eyes away from the letter, scanning the table almost automatically. Now that he knew what he was looking at, he could identify the different sheets of paper as documents from Jocelyn, interspersed with a few old-fashioned photos, glossy and bright with color. That was a picture of Joanna, sticking out from underneath what looked like a hand-made card from McCoy's daughter to her father. Way to twist that knife, Jocelyn, he thought sourly. There was no telling what had been going through Joss's mind when she'd sent this missive to her newly ex-husband, but Jim wished like hell that she'd thought better of it.
He folded the letter up and set it down on the table, temporarily on autopilot as he ran through a few options for what he should do next, mentally kicking himself for not realizing sooner, for not guessing at the reason behind why McCoy was working so many shifts at work. And Jim had known the divorce was just finalized, not even two weeks ago. Fuck, he was a piece of shit. Too preoccupied with his own drama: too little, too late. Now he'd just have to try to fix it as best he could. First order of business: get the booze away from McCoy. He sure as fuck didn't need anymore to drink, probably not for the next week, unless Jim missed his guess. Second order of business: call Spock.
"Time to get up, old man," Jim said out loud, nudging McCoy until he got an expletive-laced response, Jim ducking a clumsy shove McCoy aimed at him. Apparently McCoy wasn't as drunk as Jim had thought. "C'mon, you stink of the ER and whiskey, and I'm not takin' you out till you've had a shower."
"Not goin' out," McCoy grunted, getting unwillingly to his feet as Jim urged him out of the chair. "Gonna stay here and get good and shit-faced." Jim finally got a good look at McCoy's haggard face as his friend stood up, and had to stop himself from physically recoiling from the stink. Instead, he rallied, coming closer and trying to get his arm around McCoy's shoulders when his friend took a step away from the table and staggered. "Get off kid, I'm not interested in having company at this pity party, Jesus!"
"Yeah, well, you're outta luck then, aren't you? You just told me you have to work the next two days. Last thing you need is the hangover from Hell." McCoy threw his hands in the air, seemingly disgusted, but he wouldn't meet Jim's eyes, and he didn't give any more resistance as Jim ushered him down the hallway in the direction of the bathroom. Jim escorted him all the way to the door, and was turning to head back to the kitchen when a hand fell heavily on his upper arm.
"Jim," McCoy said gruffly. He hesitated, as if unsure of what to say, and then shut his mouth, squeezing Jim's arm hard.
"I got you, Bones." Jim covered McCoy's hand with his own, returning the squeeze, then gave McCoy a playful shove. "Go on, stank-ass. Eau de Bourbon might be an acceptable cologne back where you're from, but here on the West Coast, we civilized."
"Asshole." It came out as a growl, but Jim thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile. With that, McCoy turned away, shuffling into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Jim let out a breath, staring at the closed bathroom door for a few long moments, wishing with all his might that he could think of something useful to say to McCoy in the face of the monumentally shitty day he was having. Nothing came. Jim shook his head. He still had to call Spock, who was expecting to pick Jim up in less than an hour.
Jim found his comm-link and pulled it up, staring out the window at the horizon-line as he listened to it ring. He would make it up to Spock, somehow. Jim would be sorry to miss the science exhibition, but some things were just more important than fancy cocktail parties.
By the time they arrived at Chez Panisse, much of Spock's tension had left him, to his relief. His inability to completely hide his satisfaction at Jim's pleasure in the car did nothing to alleviate said satisfaction, but at least there was no one to witness his excesses save for Jim.
Jim chattered the entire drive, his words flowing over Spock in pleasant waves. He was taking a class in Cross-Cultural Mythology and Psychology, a discipline that Spock found intriguing, if unsatisfyingly vague. Jim had told Spock before that he was enrolled in classes, but very little aside from that. Spock was at a loss to account for why Jim had now chosen to share, but he contented himself with listening, interrupting now and then to ask Jim for further clarification on various points. He chose not to question why Jim was talking more than Spock had previously seen him do so. After all, his acquaintance with Jim was still a short one, and Spock did not yet feel he was the best judge of what standard deviation was for Jim Kirk.
Though the restaurant they were meeting Pike and Komack should have taken approximately 45.6 Standard minutes to arrive at by car, and their drive had taken 48.75 minutes, Spock still found himself surprised to find the car slowing to a halt in front of the curb. A valet stepped down from the sidewalk to open Spock's door, and a brief but powerful flood of emotion tightened Spock's chest. He wished, illogically, that the ride might have taken longer. Jim had been in the midst of telling him about the old Earth superstition against having one's photo taken, and though it was not a subject Spock was overly familiar with, he found their discussion fascinating.
Spock climbed out of the car, stepping up onto the curb, gathering his robes around himself as a chill breeze blew, channeled by the high walls of the buildings on either side of the street. He looked to his right, where Jim was hurrying around the car. He had a peculiar expression on his face that Spock could not interpret.
"Spock," Jim said, and stopped, coming to a halt just feet away from Spock.
"Yes, Jim?" Spock watched as Jim opened his mouth, then closed it again, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pressed linen pants. Spock's ability to read Human facial expressions approached that of any Earth native's, but that did not mean Spock could always be certain what Jim was thinking.
"Can you do me a favor?"
"That depends upon the nature of the favor," Spock responded carefully. The side of Jim's mouth quirked up, and Spock realized abruptly that this was another of Jim's many smiles.
"Of course it does. No, I just-would you mind just introducing me as Jim? If they ask for a last name, I'll give one, but don't... volunteer it for me, okay?"
Spock raised an eyebrow. "...I can think of no reason not to honor your request, despite its illogic. I will not volunteer your personal information, as you said. But may I inquire as to the reason?"
Jim's lop-sided smile had evened out now. Spock thought Jim looked rather relieved. "My parents were in Starfleet. I don't really want to spend dinner discussing family history. I can tell you more afterwards, if you want."
"That would be acceptable. Very well." Spock inclined his head, and they went inside, Spock pausing only long enough to watch Jim hand the keys to the valet.
Spock had never eaten at this particular restaurant before, but he had taken some time to investigate the location between now and his conversation with Jim the previous day. The brief history he had been able to find described Chez Panisse as a "bastion of tradition in an ever-changing world," and had vaunted the restaurant's somewhat peculiar stance of only serving traditional Earth cuisine, using ingredients native to Terra. The interior of the restaurant supposedly reflected this dedication to Earth history and culture, but Spock found himself thinking vaguely of Shi'Kahr.
The ceiling of the foyer arched high overhead, supposedly evocative of the Roman Coliseum or an ancient Grecian senate house, with carved sandstone pillars encircling the central floor, on which was painted a colorful mural depicting a scene from ancient Rome. The entire room was capped with a dome with skylight windows, through which shone bright daylight. All of the decor was done in desert colors, rusty reds and sandy oranges and deep burnt browns. Spock glanced sideways to see Jim craning his neck to look up at the ceiling, taking in the height of the pseudo-rotunda.
"Kinda over-the-top for a restaurant," Jim observed, a faint smile curving his lips again. His eyes were not on Spock; instead, they tracked the graceful lines of the room's architecture, following an arching pillar back down to its base.
"Such architectural design, when used in political buildings, is often meant to instill a sense of intimidation and sobriety in visitors," Spock noted. "But I must concur; it seems an... unusual choice in design for a dining establishment, at least from what I understand of Earth customs."
"You're not wrong," Jim said. Now he turned his full attention to Spock, grinning widely. "Which means it was probably Komack that picked the location." Spock wanted to ask what Jim meant by this statement, but he did not have the chance, for at that moment the man in question came into view across the room, and Jim went abruptly stiff, though he did not take his eyes from Spock's face.
"Spock. Right on time." Admiral Komack had spotted them both, raising his voice in greeting as he strode across the foyer to meet them. Komack was tall for a human, clad in his red-and-black dress uniform, greying hair cut conservatively short. Captain Pike trailed in Komack's wake, an expression on his face that Spock could not quite interpret; he wore a look of polite disinterest, but his sharp grey eyes swept across Spock and then came to Jim, lingering on him. Pike looked older than Spock remembered, but then Spock had not spoken to Pike face-to-face in a number of years, so that was to be expected. When Spock was young, Pike had been the one member of Starfleet that he and his mother had had regular contact with.
"Greetings, Admiral Komack, Captain Pike." Spock folded his hands inside his robes and bowed from the waist, inclining his head respectfully at their hosts. "Allow me to introduce my companion, Jim." The truncated introduction sounded strange on Spock's lips, and he saw Captain Pike arch an eyebrow at the omission, but Jim was already stepping forward, sticking out a hand.
"James Carmichael. Just Jim, please. It's a pleasure to meet you." The stiffness of a few moments ago was completely gone. Now Jim practically oozed confidence, radiating charm like an expensive cologne, shaking first Komack's and then Pike's hand with a firmness Spock would not have guessed he felt. The smile he now wore was one Spock had seen him bring out for several service-people previously, notably the attendant at Six Flags who was so reluctant to let Spock onto one of the more "dangerous" rides. As it had turned out, the attendant had been right to not want to let Spock onto the Kingda-Ka (it was the first time Spock had vomited since childhood, and it was not an experience he had missed), but when Jim had smiled at her like he was smiling now-that warm, disarming, I'm-perfectly-harmless smile-it was as though her brain went out the window, taking her ability to think with it.
Spock was not sure he liked this smile of Jim's, though other Humans seemed to. Komack, at least, relaxed, turning his attention once more to Spock, but Spock noticed that Pike's gaze lingered on Jim for a few moments longer before he too looked back at Spock. "Well, Jim, it's nice to meet you," Komack said, "but frankly I think you're in for a pretty boring night. We're mostly going to be talking politics, I'm afraid." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he said this. Spock wondered what he found amusing.
"He won't be the only one who's bored, then," Pike noted drily, and at that Komack's mouth turned up in a full-fledged ....smirk. That was the word, Spock thought. A smile, but not a pleasant one. Spock realized abruptly that Pike found Komack as distasteful as Spock did.
They followed the hostess to a well-appointed table towards the back of the restaurant, discreetly cut off from the rest of the dining room and enfolded on two sides by floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an expansive view out to the Pacific, the ocean filling the vista from edge to edge, with just a sliver of beach licking along the bottom. The four of them sat, Jim and Spock on one side of the table, Pike and Komack on the other. The waiter set out menus for them, took their food and drink orders (Spock was the only one who refrained from alcohol, though no one commented on it), and then vanished.
Pike glanced across the table at Jim, his gaze lingering for several moments, before looking over at Spock. "How is that research project going that you and T'Sol were heading?" he asked. "The one about splicing modified DNA into duotritocale?" Beside him, Jim paused, turning to look at Spock as well, and Spock felt the sudden weight of all the eyes at the table.
"It is proceeding slightly ahead of plan, Captain," Spock said after a moment. "The first batch of test subjects is responding quite well to the recombinant genes that we introduced, though it remains to be seen how their seedlings will fare during their test run."
Jim looked as if he wanted to ask more, but he was interrupted by the return of their waiter, who speedily took their order and vanished again. Spock thought that the subject would drop then, as Komack made a comment about some recent civil unrest troubling Andor, but then Jim turned again to Spock and asked, "So what is this duotritocale experiment about, exactly?"
And Spock found himself telling Jim about how he was heading a team in charge of investigating the genetic engineering possibilities of duotritocale, and how the strain of wild wheat (indigenous to a number of Class M planets, spread by pirates and traders in a number of careless accidents) was a prime candidate for such experiments due to its hardiness and resilience. To his further surprise, Jim kept asking questions, wanting to know how far along their research was and whether they had factored a resistance to Fusarium graminearum into their procedure, and Spock was faintly aware of Pike interjecting here and there, but mostly Pike was just watching the two of them with a very strange, self-satisfied look on his face that Spock was too distracted to think much on. Not even the arrival of their dinner managed to interrupt the flow of their conversation.
Spock didn't even realize how engrossed he was in the subject until Komack's dry, utterly unimpressed baritone cut in from across the table. "As fascinating as this is, I'm afraid I must remind our guests that ...plant research is not the actual reason I invited you to this dinner."
"Sorry this 'plant research' was boring you," Jim said, voice deceptively sweet as he straightened up at Spock's side. "But hey, I'm a simple guy. I like hearing about research that might save people's lives." Spock felt heat bloom in his throat and chest at the tone of Jim's voice. Komack stared at Jim, seemingly caught between irritation and surprise. At his side, Pike was coughing suspiciously into his napkin.
"Young man, do you have any idea-" began Komack, but at that Pike sat up straight, shaking his head.
"I'm sure Jim meant no disrespect, but the Admiral is right, gentlemen; we did ask you here to talk about some fairly serious business." Spock was not so sure of Pike's assertion, but he was grateful for the deflection of Komack's indignation. The sound of his own name brought his attention sharply back to focus. "Spock, T'Pau sent us a high-security message yesterday afternoon that the leaders of eight more star-systems have told the Council of Elders that they will leave the Federation if Vulcan secedes. Were you aware of this?"
All thoughts of his duotritocale research fled. Now it was Pike Komack was staring at, and his expression was much the same as Spock himself might have been wearing, were he not a Vulcan. As it was, though he knew his own expression had not changed, it felt as if his skin were crawling with invisible insects. "No, Captain, I was not aware."
"Secession?" Jim's voice was carefully restrained. Spock glanced right and saw those blue eyes fixed on him. For no reason, the skin-crawling sensation grew worse.
"There is a movement on Vulcan that wants our people to withdraw our membership from the Federation." Spock's voice was perfectly calm, despite the knot of tension that was his stomach folding in on itself. "The movement is not unanimous, however. The reasons both sides cite are quite compelling."
"'Both sides are compelling'? This from one of the most vocal of the secessionists?" Komack snorted, leaning back in his chair. Spock was all too aware of the fact that Jim was still staring at him.
Pike was watching Spock steadily now, too. Spock found he did not like the weight of those eyes on him. Not at all. "Spock, I must say, you have been very vocal in the past about your disapproval of the Federation's-"
"-of Starfleet's bolstering of its military power in recent years, in lieu of diplomacy and other methods of peace-keeping." Spock said sharply. "Coupled with its unwillingness to come to Vulcan's aid on the occasion of multiple acts of terrorism against her people, even when presented with irrefutable evidence that said acts of terrorism were committed by other members of the Federation. Yes. I disapprove. As do a great many others." He stared from Pike to Komack, and finally let his gaze move back to Jim. "But you are wrong, Captain. Admiral. I am not a secessionist." The words spilled forth before he even knew he was going to say them, and Spock clenched his hands in his laps, hidden under the table.
He did not know what had motivated him to make such a declaration. But in the instants of silence after his statement, he found he had no desire to take it back. Again he dared a glance sideways at Jim, whose expression was unreassuringly unreadable. The seconds drew out, the silence settling uncomfortably down on them. Pike and Komack exchanged a glance that Spock could not read, and as illogical as it was, he suddenly wished he might be anywhere but here.
"So, Starfleet's all talk and no action, huh?" Spock turned automatically as Jim of all people finally broke the silence. "Sounds pretty par for the course. But surely Vulcan must realize how vulnerable she'd be to attack if she weren't even nominally under the Federation's protection."
"An astute observation," Spock said quietly. He looked over at Pike again. "If T'Pau saw fit to send you warning, I would take the missive very seriously, Captain. Lady T'Pau is-"
"I find it ironic how a boy such as yourself can so easily dismiss the efforts of the very agency that keeps him safe and content," Komack cut in. Spock glanced over to see that Komack was staring at Jim with narrowed eyes, and realized that Jim's previous comment had sparked the Admiral's ire.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Jim said sarcastically. "I forgot that it's our job to unconditionally kiss Starfleet's ass and never criticize anything they do. I'll send a memo to Vulcan, since it seems like they forgot that too."
Spock froze, once again temporarily stunned into silence by Jim's outburst even as a rush of gratitude and dismay flooded him. Komack, however, was not so afflicted. His face flushed a dull brick-red with anger, and he straightened in his chair as if getting ready to lunge across the table with both hands.
"Spock, if your guest can't behave himself, I'm afraid he might need to leave. Or at least learn to keep his peace during a discussion that's beyond him."
"Beyond me?" Jim's voice was louder now, tinged with incredulity as he glared right back at Komack. Spock observed, as if from a distance, that Jim's eyes were a very vivid blue, the color of a cold, clear morning. And still he could not find his voice, couldn't think of what to say or do. "Oh, my bad, the invitation didn't mention a need to wear my best bullshitting boots, but don't worry, it looks like you've got our part covered."
"Young man, I don't think you know who you're speaking to." Komack's voice was low and tight, forced out between clenched teeth. A vein in his head throbbed angrily, as though it was thinking about bursting.
"Thank God for small mercies," Jim shot back, "because it's bad enough dealing with you during dinner, I'd hate to have to see you on a regular basis-"
"Keep talking, Mr. Carmichael, and we'll see much bravado you have while you're cooling your heels in a prison cell," growled Komack. At this, Spock stood up abruptly. The knots in his stomach vanished; he felt as if he had been plunged into a pool of ice-cold water. All eyes turned to look at him.
"I was unaware that the Federation had become a military state, Admiral." Spock stared from Admiral Komack's ruddy face to Captain Pike's more carefully restrained one, hardly even aware of what he was doing. "Or that disagreement with a man to whom you are not beholden is now a crime punishable by imprisonment. Either way, I believe it is time for my companion and I to leave."
Now Jim rose to his feet as well, followed by Pike and Komack. Pike, Spock noted, now looked distinctly unhappy, while Jim, though flushed, looked somehow exhilarated. Pike opened his mouth to speak, and Spock was sure the captain would protest Spock's departure, entreat him not to leave. But all Pike said was, "Give my best to Sarek, Spock. Hopefully I'll be able to catch up with you again soon."
Spock inclined his head. Komack was still staring at Jim, his eyes narrowed to slits. At Pike's comment, he stirred, turning his gaze back to Spock. "And here's hoping our Vulcan friend will have had time to re-evaluate his choice in companions," Komack said.
"Indeed," Spock said coldly. "I will take your opinion under advisement, Admiral." Spock turned to Jim, who was unexpectedly silent; Jim met Spock's eyes and nodded, and with a final indecipherable glance at Pike, Jim turned and lead the way towards the front of the restaurant, Spock trailing in his wake.
Neither of them spoke until they were once more outside on the pavement. Jim stood for several moments, fidgeting with invisible lint on the clean lines of his trousers. Spock stood beside him, hands clasped inside his robes. For a moment, they simply stood there, unsure of what to say. Then, just when the silence was becoming unbearable, they both spoke at once.
"I shouldn't have lost my temper like that-" Jim blurted, turning to Spock with a fierce look on his face.
"-should not have invited you to what I should have known would be a tiresome evening-" The words tumbled pell-mell out of Spock's mouth, one after the other, all jumbled together in his awful embarrassment at how the evening had turned out.
"-was totally stupid of me to keep baiting Komack like that-"
"-did not wish to subject you to such boring conversation-"
Jim stopped, color high in his cheeks, staring at Spock. "I wasn't bored," he said.
"You are not stupid," said Spock at the exact same moment.
They looked at each other cautiously. Slowly, tentatively, a smile spread across Jim's face again. At the sight of it, Spock found he could no longer think of anything remotely intelligent to say. So instead, he simply stood there, and after a moment he realized that he too was smiling, the muscles at the corners of his lips twisting upwards ever-so-slightly. He should have been appalled at himself (to say nothing of how appallingly he and Jim had behaved at dinner), but strangely, he wasn't.
"The food was good, at least," Jim commented, somewhat inanely. He shoved his hands in his pockets, still smiling at Spock. "Want me to drive you home?" As he said this, his smile grew even wider, though Spock could not have said why.
"That would be agreeable," Spock informed him. "You are significantly more skilled at maneuvering the manual transmission than I am."
"What, driving your stick?" Jim's smile widened so much that for a moment it looked as though it would split his head open. "Sure, Spock. I'd love to drive your stick." Then, for absolutely no reason that Spock could discern, he started to laugh, a helpless, simple sort of laughter that seemed to well up from inside him and spill out like bubbling water, making him lean forward and clutch his knees, his shoulders shaking from the force of it. Spock could only stand there on the sidewalk, bewildered, tingling strangely all over, his own mouth twisted in a small, unconscious smile, staring at the laughing, red-faced man on the sidewalk next to him.
"You are completely illogical," he informed Jim. Jim only laughed harder. For some reason, Spock found he did not mind.
* * * * *
Christopher Pike leaned back, toying with his empty wine glass as he quietly passed the waiter his tip and waved him away, eyes fixed on his remaining dinner companion. He wanted nothing better than to get going, but he figured a few more minutes would do the trick. Meanwhile, he just had to keep letting the Admiral vent, even as his mind followed in the wake of the two young men who'd just exited the restaurant.
Pike had recognized Jim the minute he'd laid eyes on the boy, of course; what the hell game Jim was playing, Pike didn't know ("Carmichael"? Really?), but there was no mistaking that face. In point of fact, Pike had thought he was seeing a ghost for a handful of heart-stopping seconds, Jim looked that much like George had back at the Academy, but his good sense had come quickly to his rescue and he'd figured out who Jim actually was. Thankfully, Komack was either too drunk or too unobservant to come to the same conclusion, and Pike had been content to let Jim keep the illusion of his anonymity, at least until Pike figured out what the hell was going on.
Or at least, until Jim had taken a page out of his parents' book and decided to start baiting Admiral Komack. Jesus. Pike cast another look across the table at Komack's ruddy face, mildly impressed by Jim's ability to piss off Komack so effortlessly.
Pike knew an opportunity when he saw one. Here was Spock, possessed of a mind so brilliant that he'd become one of the youngest head researchers in the history of the VSA despite the prejudice against his Human heritage; and here was Jim Kirk, who seemed to have inherited both George's sheer bravado and Winona's genius, if tonight was anything to go by. All Pike had had to do was ask Spock about his work, and Jim and Spock had taken the conversation and run with it, and that wasn't even taking into account how rare it was for Spock to respect anyone enough to talk to them so freely, or so animatedly. Pike had almost kicked Komack under the table when the Admiral had derailed Jim and Spock's discussion, but it had turned out to be worth it when Jim got his blood up and Spock, restrained Vulcan researcher Spock, had shut down Komack more effectively than an emergency brake. Pike would gladly have blackmailed his own mother if it meant getting either one of those two into Starfleet, but having them both not only fall into his lap but inexplicably know each other-like each other, even? He couldn't pass it up. Pike would get them into Starfleet even if he had to break every regulation in the Federation charter in order to manage it. Now he just had to figure out how.
Pike and Komack finally left almost twenty minutes later, Pike guessing correctly that Spock and Kirk would linger for a few minutes to regroup; the last thing he wanted was to interrupt them again outside on the pavement. And though he vastly preferred the liberty of being on his ship in space, Pike knew the necessity of being planetside for the time being, while Enterprise was built and this shitstorm with Vulcan was handled, and he'd had plenty of practice "handling" men like Komack. So by the time Pike and Komack exited the restaurant, Jim and Spock were long gone, and Komack had even managed to forget most of the offense he'd taken inside at the table. That was good, Pike thought. Jim could thank Pike later for the favor.
Pike wasn't going to say any of this to anyone, of course. Not to Spock about it, not yet, and certainly not to Sarek, or (God forbid) Komack. Number One was off-planet, unfortunately, or she'd be the first one Pike would turn to. But there was one person he wanted to check on.
He waited until he got back to the little flat he was renting for the duration of his time in Los Angeles. He changed out of his uniform, showered, fixed himself a whiskey on the rocks, and then curled up on the bed in a pair of old, soft jeans and a button-down shirt. He checked the time; almost 10 pm, which meant it would be nearing midnight in Riverside. She might have already gone to bed.
Pike leaned back against the mountain of pillows, and thumbed the comm-link to the "on" position. He waited. Thousands of miles away, a comm unit buzzed and squeaked. The view-screen sprang to sudden vivid color and a woman's face appeared, a familiar lop-sided smile on her full lips.
"Chris, you dick. Do you know what time it is?"
"You're wearing coveralls, Nona," Pike pointed out, not bothering to hide his answering smile. "Either you've finally gone crazy enough that you sleep in your dirty uniform, or you were working late."
"Go fuck yourself," said Winona cheerfully. "You love my crazy. But I got this busted power converter and I wanted to get it fixed before I turned in for the night. So, spill. Why you callin' me so late?"
Pike shook his head. You could get whiplash from talking to Winona Kirk, if you weren't used to trying to keep up with her. "Have I mentioned that I miss you? From a safe distance." Pike laughed as Winona flipped him her middle finger, noting the smears of engine oil across the backs of her knuckles, the same color as the smudgy dark stain on one cheekbone. "Right, okay. Listen, I was just wondering..." Pike leaned forward. "When was the last time you talked to Jim?"
* * * * *
Spock stared at the small, slowly rotating scale model of a starship that floated in mid-air before him. The Persephone was a standard Federation science vessel, equipped with minimal defensive technology and dual nacelle chambers extending aftward, but this ship in particular contained a vast bio-dome in its midsection, giving it the appearance of a fat, trundling crustacean carrying its shell on its back. The detailed scale model informed Spock that this vessel could support up to five hundred forty-two life forms, as well as sixteen fully functional research labs and an exhaustive scientific database-all this in addition to the massive bio-dome, able to host an exhaustive array of flora and fauna, depending upon what biological haven the ship's crew wished to simulate.
Projected completion date: 2265, concluded the data. It was an optimistic projection, Spock knew, dependent upon a large number of uncertain factors. Chief among these was the hard fact that the research project central to the ship's construction-the science behind the bio-dome, which required careful harnessing of a huge expenditure of energy-was being conducted by a Federation team comprised of twelve Human, four Andorian, and eighteen Vulcan researchers. And if Vulcan chose to return once more to her isolationist ways, all her children would be called home, crippling this project as it would so many others.
"They take our efforts for granted," came a voice from Spock's right. Spock turned his head, glancing at the tall, greying Vulcan at his side. Malik's dark eyes were focused on the model in front of them, no trace of what thoughts might lie beneath showing on his weathered face. "They do not truly believe that we would withdraw from the Federation, or they might show more respect for our contributions."
Spock raised an eyebrow. "Malik, I believe you are finding disregard for our people where you have no cause," he said carefully. "This is a Starfleet-sponsored exhibition, not a symposium dedicated to the work of the VSA. It is only logical that the displays would focus on current and future projects of Starfleet."
Malik turned his eyes from the still-rotating starship model to Spock, raising a dark eyebrow of his own. "Fascinating," he said, using the exact same tone his daughter had been known to use on Spock whenever she thought he was making a particularly foolish decision. But T'Pring had never wielded either the desire or the ability of her father to make Spock feel like a boy half his age. "Not yet a full lunar month on Earth, and already you are beginning to suffer corruption of your logical faculties."
"Again you seek to find agency and hidden motives where none exist," Spock said, sharper than he meant to. "Kaadith, Honored Elder. I mean no disrespect. But it is counter to the well-being of our people and the clarity of our logic to view the situation other than as it truly is."
"And how would you describe this current situation?" Malik turned his full attention on Spock now, making Spock wish that either T'Pring or her brother Sasak were here to help divert their father. Malik seemed intent on prying answers out of Spock that Spock was not yet sure he knew how to give. "The Federation hearing to decide whether Vulcan will secede is to be held in less than a month, and at Starfleet's request we have arrived early, though I have yet to see any worthwhile reason for having sacrificed time and energy better spent on other pursuits. Starfleet invited us to attend this scientific symposium, and yet scant mention of Vulcan's contributions to Starfleet's advances are made, to say nothing of the effect her leaving would have."
"This symposium was planned and arranged long before the secession hearing was called for, much less the date decided, so to read any intention into its execution is illogical," Spock pointed out. "It is an annual event held in a different star-system each year, and I have it on the authority of Captain Pike that we were invited here early in order to attend the symposium, in deference to the scientific interests of many of those attending." Privately, Spock could not deny his shock at the fact that he was arguing with Malik-particularly when, on so many occasions previous to this one, he and Malik had been in perfect accord.
Malik was apparently having similar thoughts, because he stared at Spock for several long moments before answering. "Is Sarek aware that you have suffered a change of opinion?" he asked.
Spock opened his mouth to say I have not changed my opinion and found he couldn't, not without lying. He swallowed, flushing first hot, then cold. "I have not spoken with him on this subject since before our arrival on Earth," he said at last.
Malik nodded, his eyes as unreadable as ever. He was silent for so long that Spock began to wonder if the conversation was now over, but then Malik said, "I had hoped that your time away from T'Pring might illuminate to both of you the illogic of your choice to dissolve your bond. I see now that such a wish is unlikely to come to pass."
"There was nothing illogical about our decision, Elder, which was a mutual one, as we have both informed you on separate occasions." Spock kept his voice carefully neutral despite the tightness in his throat. "The compatibility hoped for by our families has never come to pass, and T'Pring and I have both concluded that we should seek others to better complement us."
"So you have said before." Malik gazed for another few moments at Spock before shaking his head. "It would have been a great honor to call you my son, Spock. May you find a bond-mate worthy of you." Saying this, Malik raised his hand briefly in the ta'al before turning and walking away.
Spock stared after Malik, his hand still raised in the Vulcan greeting and farewell, feeling inexplicably weary. He turned away from the display of the Persephone, not wishing to dwell on the situation. Instead he made his way towards one of the exits into the courtyard, and let his attention wander to the event he would be attending that evening-or rather, the person he would be attending it with. More than once today, Spock had found himself wishing that Jim had come with him, that Jim might offer some of running commentary on the exhibits, and on Starfleet in general.
He'd been startled to hear about Jim's parents, in the car on the way home the night before-not because he had not heard of George and Winona Kirk, but because he hadn't made the connection on his own. But now that he knew, he could not help but note the number of times he saw Jim's mother's name attached to various engineering projects, and he found himself wondering how Jim had arrived in his current situation. He wondered, too, what Jim was doing right now, who he was with. Spock found it all too easy to picture Jim curled up on the overstuffed sofa in his living room, perhaps wearing the reading glasses he'd admitted to Spock he had to wear sometimes for small print, poring over a PADD or an old-fashioned text book. Or perhaps he was down by the ocean... The mental image changed to Jim, shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a long pair of swim trunks, lounging idly at the beach. Spock remembered the way Jim smiled, that unselfconscious, easy grin of his-
"Spock?"
Jim's face dissolved as a voice interrupted Spock's train of thought, and Spock stopped too fast, dismayed at his own distraction. "Forgive me, Sasak," Spock said, folding his hands in his robes as he addressed one of his fellow researchers and childhood companions. "I was distracted."
Sasak was staring at him, as if trying to gauge whether Spock were telling the truth. He looked like a younger version of Malik, a fact that was not helping Spock's peace of mind at the moment. "I had hoped I might find you here today," he said.
"You speak as though I have been unavailable in some capacity, Sasak," Spock said. He clasped his hands inside his robes, straightening infinitesimally under the new scrutiny.
"You have been unavailable, Spock," said Sasak. "When our shuttle arrived yesterday, the first action T'Pring and I took was attempting to reach you. But we were informed by the hotel manager that you were out at a meeting with Starfleet representatives." Spock stopped breathing altogether for a moment. "Additionally, you have been quite remiss in responding to the messages I have sent you prior to my arrival. I can only assume that your business with Starfleet has been distracting you from your research and our correspondence."
Spock let out the breath he'd been holding, Sasak's face coming into sharp focus as a hot, all-too-familiar emotion loosened the knot in Spock's chest. "Your information is correct," Spock said, wondering if his voice sounded as loud to Sasak as it seemed to him. "I accepted a personal invitation from Captain Christopher Pike to join him for dinner. As for my tardiness in responding to your messages, your assessment is not quite as accurate, though I must apologize for neglecting our correspondence. I have been pursuing a personal research project of my own while here on Earth, to better understand my Human heritage."
Sasak's expressions did not change, but his silence told Spock all he needed to know. "I see," Sasak said after a moment, and then hesitated. "Spock-I must urge you to reconsider such an illogical use of your time-"
"Illogical?" Spock repeated, his voice as cool now as Komack's had been to Jim the night before. "Might I remind you-as if you could have forgotten-that my mother was Human? Is it not logical to wish to fully understand one's history?"
"Spock, control yourself," Sasak said. "I mean no offense to you or your family-no one could say that you have not overcome your disadvantage beyond all expectations, but that is no reason to allow yourself to be distracted when your people have need of you."
Spock stared. His blood rushed in his ears, the void left by his lack of response growing increasingly louder. All his life, his Human half had been a source of contention between him and his fellows, but this blatant disapproval was unbearable. It was the last straw. "As I am the one with the disadvantage," Spock said coldly, "I believe I shall be the one to decide how best to deal with it. But I thank you for your concern."
And without waiting for a response, Spock turned on his heel and headed for the exit. He'd had about all he wanted from the symposium today.
* * * * *
Across town, Jim was just hopping on his bike to head home from class. The discussion they'd had in lecture today on inter-species gender relations was still rolling around inside his skull. He got all the way to his bike and was actually pulling on his helmet before he abruptly remembered something. "Crap," Jim said aloud, and dug in his bag for his comm-unit. He flipped open the sleek grey cover, blinking at the sight of five new messages. "Damn, when did I get so popular?" he muttered.
Jim deleted the first message, from Harry Mudd, without even reading it. Harry had been asking for a cut of the payment from Spock, and Jim found himself close to outrage at the idea of anyone profiting off the time he spent with Spock. It wasn't even the money; it was the idea that itself incensed Jim. It felt like an invasion of privacy, demeaning Jim and Spock both, and Jim wanted increasingly to punch Mudd in the face for his inability to take a hint.
On some level, Jim realized his reaction to this request was over-the-top, but he didn't care to examine his feelings on it too much. So what if Jim didn't want to pay Mudd anything? Worst-case scenario, Mudd stopped referring clients Jim's way. Big fucking whoop; it would be no loss, as far as Jim was concerned.
Jim's indignation over Harry Mudd was forgotten as soon as he saw the next message. It was from his mother. Jim frowned, suffering a twinge of misgiving, and hesitated over it for several seconds before finally sending the message along to be archived at his personal computer back home, as-yet unread. How had she even gotten the number for his comm-unit? Jim certainly hadn't given it to her. Fuck. Jim shook his head. A mystery for later. He needed to head home soon; he had a busy afternoon before this evening arrived.
The last three messages were all much less interesting; one was from one of Jim's classmates about their homework, and the other two were both messages from Jim's regulars, no doubt asking when they would get a chance to see Jim again. Jim skimmed the former and sent the latter two on to his home computer, to be dealt with later like the message from his mother. He was getting a little behind answering his business correspondences, as it were, and he knew he needed to play catch-up, but he'd just been so busy with Spock the past week or so that he hadn't really found the time.
He would get to it tonight, he decided, when he and Spock were done. Spock had secured tickets to the late-night members-only Los Angeles Academy of Sciences exhibition (no doubt using a technique other than the one Jim usually favored-Spock flirting! now there was a mental image), and he had asked Jim to accompany him. Thinking of Spock, Jim smiled to himself as he tucked his comm-unit back into his bag. Spock would no doubt have something interesting to say about the subjects discussed in Jim's lecture today. And Jim was looking forward to hearing more about the duotritocale research project Spock was apparently heading-really, Jim had yet to find a subject Spock didn't have an interesting opinion on, even if he didn't know much about it. It was one of the more satisfying things about spending time with him.
Among many. Jim pulled his helmet back on and turned the key in the ignition, putting his messages out of his mind for now. He had better things to think about.
* * * * *
"Spock!"
Spock jerked, his stride faltering for a moment as he headed for the exit, having taken a shortcut through the courtyard. He turned, reluctantly, to see T'Pring hurrying towards him along one of the paths. Behind her, Spock could see a Human in a Federation uniform heading away from them, his path perpendicular to the route T'Pring was coming down towards Spock. Spock stood where he was and waited, and as he watched T'Pring approach, he realized that the direction T'Pring and the Human seemed to be coming from was not one of the routes through the courtyard, as he had at first assumed, but instead originated in one of the corners, a dead-end from which there was no egress.
Before he could wrap his head around the reason for this seeming piece of illogic, T'Pring had reached him. "Spock," she said again, pausing to bow at the waist to him, a gesture Spock returned. "I had hoped to speak to you today. My brother and I have had difficulty reaching you-"
"Your father has already made clear what he thinks of my distraction," Spock snapped. "If you wish to remind me of how egregiously I injure Vulcan by the simple act of having a Human mother, consider the message relayed."
T'Pring paused a moment before answering, folding her hands inside her robes and raising an elegantly-arched eyebrow at Spock. "Despite the events that bring us to Earth," she said finally, "what I wanted to speak with you about, cousin, pertains to the research project you last wrote to me about, not the secession hearing. You know I have never had anything but respect for Amanda Grayson, and you have disgraced her by treating your heritage as something distasteful. As I have told you before now." Her voice was mild, as was her expression, but Spock knew T'Pring too well to mistake the reproach in her words.
Spock said nothing to this. Inwardly, though, he cursed himself at his over-reaction. This was one of the things Spock admired most about T'Pring: she did not allow her belief that secession would best serve the needs of Vulcan to taint her with xenophobia, as many of her fellow secessionists did.
Finally, Spock sighed. "I apologize, T'Pring," he said. "It has been a trying day." They fell into step together, and Spock allowed himself to be steered toward the exit and to be drawn into a conversation about the research project he'd left behind at the VSA. He'd written to T'Pring because the project related specifically to the efficacy of Vulcan healing trances on other species, both via mind-melds and via training for those with the aptitude to learn. T'Pring had spent the past few years in training as a healer at Golgotharen, as well as being Spock's oldest friend, and was thus a logical candidate for Spock to correspond with on the project.
As they reached the exit, Spock thought again of the Human he'd seen a few minutes ago, exiting out this same door. "T'Pring," he said, "who was that Human you were speaking with just prior to coming to me? The one in the Federation uniform."
"What?" T'Pring's serenity faltered for a moment to an expression of what Spock would have called consternation before smoothing out again. "You refer to Timur? He's one of the Federation aides I've been corresponding with in preparation for the secession hearing." She glanced at him sidelong, the corner of her mouth quirking. "Why do you ask? Could it be that S'Chn T'Gai Spock is jealous of the woman he chose to relinquish?"
"I am no such thing," Spock protested. He knew she was teasing but could not bring himself to mind-and as un-Vulcan of him as it might be, he allowed himself a quiet moment of relief that she seemed uninterested in probing what Spock had been up to while here on Earth, even if she was the only Vulcan in the embassy who did not care.
* * * * *
Jim hadn't even meant to come inside the house; he was going to head to the gym and work out for a bit before meeting up with Spock later in the evening. But he'd had to come home to grab his work-out clothes, or else he might never have caught McCoy at all.
He spotted McCoy's car in the driveway as he jogged up from the curb. "Bones," Jim yelled cheerfully as he threw open the screen door with a bang, "headin' to the gym! I'll be out late, don't wait up for me." He made it almost all the way down the hallway to the bedroom before some low, gut instinct made him slow in his tracks, then stop.
The house was dead quiet. Jim cocked his head, listening for the sound of the TV, the radio, even the sound of snoring-anything. Nothing reached his ears, and he'd heard no response from McCoy. Torn between the desire to keep moving and the sinking feeling in his stomach, he crept around the corner and peered at the figure slumped at the kitchen table, McCoy slid so far down in his chair that his ass was still barely in the seat. Jim glanced at the clock. It wasn't even 5 pm.
"Fuck," Jim said softly, and leaned down to set his gym bag on the floor.
He padded quietly across the hardwood floor, his eyes sweeping over the detritus that covered the table: the day's mail, medical journals, McCoy's keys, a shockingly empty bottle of bourbon that Jim distinctly remembered buying for McCoy at the store not three days ago, a tumbler with a few cubes of ice melting at the bottom of it... "Bones," Jim said, voice low. McCoy was staring straight ahead at the far wall, and thus far hadn't so much as grunted by way of acknowledging Jim's presence. It was fucking unnerving. "Bones, are you... what's wrong?"
Finally, McCoy stirred. He glanced at Jim, lip curling as if he smelled something foul, then reached for the near-empty tumbler and raised it to his mouth to drain the dregs. "Nothin's wrong," he grated out. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Someone to fuck, maybe?"
"Bones, what the-" Jim's eyes fell on a piece of paper, half-hidden under McCoy's elbow and pinned against the table. It was a hand-written letter, from the looks of it-rare enough in this day and age-but that wasn't what had caught Jim's eye. He thought he recognized the elegant, slanted handwriting. He reached down and carefully tugged the letter out from under McCoy's arm, his consternation growing when his friend didn't even make a token effort to stop him. Then again, judging from the stink coming off McCoy at the moment, he might not even realize what Jim was doing. Jim stared at McCoy for a moment longer, then turned his attention to the sheet of paper in his hand.
The sinking feeling in Jim's stomach turned instantly to lead. Sometimes, he hated being right. The letter was from Jocelyn. And it wasn't even really a letter; it was a poem, written carefully out in the middle of the page.
"When you are old and grey and full of sleep
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars."
--Miss you. J.
Fuck.
Jim let out a slow breath, feeling as if he'd been punched in the gut. Too late, he remembered what the date was. "Seven years," Bones remarked, as if in direct response to Jim's thoughts. He had gone back to staring at the wall again, and Jim had to work to understand what McCoy was saying through how heavily he was slurring his words. "Picked up a double today, but they sent me home 'cause I already hit 10 hours of overtime, and I got 2 shifts left this week, so I figured I'd come home and celebrate." McCoy snorted on this last word, and Jim winced.
No wonder he was busy trying to drown himself in Jim Beam, if he'd come home to this. McCoy's anniversary was going to be for him what Jim's birthday was for the Kirk family, it seemed. Jim finally tore his eyes away from the letter, scanning the table almost automatically. Now that he knew what he was looking at, he could identify the different sheets of paper as documents from Jocelyn, interspersed with a few old-fashioned photos, glossy and bright with color. That was a picture of Joanna, sticking out from underneath what looked like a hand-made card from McCoy's daughter to her father. Way to twist that knife, Jocelyn, he thought sourly. There was no telling what had been going through Joss's mind when she'd sent this missive to her newly ex-husband, but Jim wished like hell that she'd thought better of it.
He folded the letter up and set it down on the table, temporarily on autopilot as he ran through a few options for what he should do next, mentally kicking himself for not realizing sooner, for not guessing at the reason behind why McCoy was working so many shifts at work. And Jim had known the divorce was just finalized, not even two weeks ago. Fuck, he was a piece of shit. Too preoccupied with his own drama: too little, too late. Now he'd just have to try to fix it as best he could. First order of business: get the booze away from McCoy. He sure as fuck didn't need anymore to drink, probably not for the next week, unless Jim missed his guess. Second order of business: call Spock.
"Time to get up, old man," Jim said out loud, nudging McCoy until he got an expletive-laced response, Jim ducking a clumsy shove McCoy aimed at him. Apparently McCoy wasn't as drunk as Jim had thought. "C'mon, you stink of the ER and whiskey, and I'm not takin' you out till you've had a shower."
"Not goin' out," McCoy grunted, getting unwillingly to his feet as Jim urged him out of the chair. "Gonna stay here and get good and shit-faced." Jim finally got a good look at McCoy's haggard face as his friend stood up, and had to stop himself from physically recoiling from the stink. Instead, he rallied, coming closer and trying to get his arm around McCoy's shoulders when his friend took a step away from the table and staggered. "Get off kid, I'm not interested in having company at this pity party, Jesus!"
"Yeah, well, you're outta luck then, aren't you? You just told me you have to work the next two days. Last thing you need is the hangover from Hell." McCoy threw his hands in the air, seemingly disgusted, but he wouldn't meet Jim's eyes, and he didn't give any more resistance as Jim ushered him down the hallway in the direction of the bathroom. Jim escorted him all the way to the door, and was turning to head back to the kitchen when a hand fell heavily on his upper arm.
"Jim," McCoy said gruffly. He hesitated, as if unsure of what to say, and then shut his mouth, squeezing Jim's arm hard.
"I got you, Bones." Jim covered McCoy's hand with his own, returning the squeeze, then gave McCoy a playful shove. "Go on, stank-ass. Eau de Bourbon might be an acceptable cologne back where you're from, but here on the West Coast, we civilized."
"Asshole." It came out as a growl, but Jim thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile. With that, McCoy turned away, shuffling into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Jim let out a breath, staring at the closed bathroom door for a few long moments, wishing with all his might that he could think of something useful to say to McCoy in the face of the monumentally shitty day he was having. Nothing came. Jim shook his head. He still had to call Spock, who was expecting to pick Jim up in less than an hour.
Jim found his comm-link and pulled it up, staring out the window at the horizon-line as he listened to it ring. He would make it up to Spock, somehow. Jim would be sorry to miss the science exhibition, but some things were just more important than fancy cocktail parties.