What Part of Forever (Chapter Five)
Part one of Chapter Five here.
As had become the "usual" for them where Jim's suggestions were concerned, while Jim was enthusiastic, Spock was doubtful.
"It is an illogical waste of a precious resource, Jim," was his first response when Jim suggested it. Jim had rolled his eyes, fingers already sliding up Spock's ribs underneath his clothes.
"It's not a waste, Spock," he said impatiently. "All the bathwater and greywater gets recycled and re-used. Are you secretly a cat or something? Is that why you hate water so much?" Spock huffed, an action he would staunchly deny if accused of, but his response was cut off as Jim divested him of first his tunic and his undershirt. "What was that?" Jim asked innocently.
"I said, it is illogical even by your standards to accuse me of a feline nature," Spock said. Jim grinned and just shucked his own shirt, flinging it to one side without a second glance. Spock, meanwhile, merely raised an eyebrow at Jim before sliding out of his pants and socks.
Thirty minutes later, the tub was finally full, and Spock was leaning against Jim's chest with his eyes half-closed, most of Jim's submerged skin a cheerful pink from the heat of the water, hot even by Jim's standards, which favored "scalding" as a preferred temperature. Spock's skin did not seem to have changed color at all, to Jim's mild indignation, but he supposed it was only to be expected; the temperature was probably still sub-dermal for a Vulcan. Conversation had lapsed a few minutes ago, and now Jim's mind was contentedly unfocused, cheek pressed to Spock's, hands sliding idly up and down Spock's side.
His thoughts wandered to the dinner earlier, him and Spock and Winona and McCoy and Pike and Scotty, all sitting around a table, using chopsticks on their Chinese food with varying degrees of success. Spock, in typical Spock fashion, had been able to pick up the chopsticks and eat with them almost effortlessly despite never having touched a pair before in his life, while McCoy and Scotty had been forced to admit defeat and ask for forks. Jim had spent a good thirty minutes in Winona's hotel room beforehand, bringing his mom up to speed on the past two years of his life (especially the past month and a half), while Spock and Scotty discretely amused themselves discussing warp theory in the next room. The conversation had gone about as well as Jim could have expected-which is to say, he felt certain Spock and Scotty would be able to see the scorch marks on his back when he and Winona finally emerged-but the dinner itself had gone swimmingly, and Jim spent the short ride back to Pike's ranch feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders that he hadn't even known was there.
"Your mother is a singular individual," Spock murmured. He raised one hand, fingers splayed, moving it slowly through the water. Jim had been fascinated to discover that Spock-or all Vulcans, actually-were slightly too heavy to float in water, which probably at least partly accounted for their dislike of swimming.
Jim straightened, wondering briefly if Spock was doing his touch-telepathy thing again or was just eerily prescient, and decided it didn't matter. "That's one way to describe her, yeah," he said by way of response. He reached for the bottle of liquid soap sitting on the side lip of the tub, grabbing it and the folded washcloth beside it, and set about washing the nearest of Spock's limbs. Spock grunted as Jim lifted his hand, casting a sideways glance at his partner before settling in to allow to do as he wished. "So, no one has to convince me of your innate awesomeness," Jim said conversationally, gently lifting Spock's right arm and swiping along his tricept, "but I got the impression that most Vulcans were kind of down on the whole mom-being-Human thing. Hence you being so careful about investigating your Human side."
"Affirmative," Spock said.
"So why are you giving a speech?"
Spock did not answer immediately, tilting his head to one side in order to allow Jim better access to his neck. In the mirror on the far wall, Jim could see Spock's eyes were slitted, his features relaxed. "I was asked to speak due to a combination of being the son of the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth, my status as one of the head researchers at the VSA, and my unique genetic inheritance."
Jim made a noise of affirmation into Spock's neck, then leaned to one side, going for the other arm now. "Makes sense. And your day to speak is coming up, isn't it?"
"Three days. The last day of the hearing." Spock sat up, hunching forward slightly as Jim swept the washcloth down his spine, rumbling low in his throat as Jim worked his fingers into the small of Spock's back, the sensitive organs just beneath making gooseflesh march up Spock's spine in front of Jim's eyes. Jim spent a moment privately marveling at how someone with anatomy seemingly so similar to his own could have so many intriguing differences.
"I assume you have your speech all planned out?" Jim shoved at Spock until his lover knelt up in the tub, giving Jim access to parts further south. He re-wet and re-soaped the washcloth, gripping Spock's hip in one hand as he worked along his upper thighs.
"My speech is approximately 92.87% prepared, but I am largely dissatisfied with the final product," Spock said. He glanced over his shoulder at Jim, who took this moment to kneel up as well, sliding a hand around Spock's waist from behind. It wasn't the most graceful way to wash Spock's chest, but it worked. "I must admit a certain apprehension as my day to contribute draws closer," Spock continued after a moment, a slight catch in his voice as Jim's hand drifted teasingly lower, Jim nuzzling just below Spock's left ear. "I do not have the gift for public speaking that your mother possesses."
Jim stopped at that comment, snorting softly. "Sure, okay. The Kirk family gift for speaking in public. Throw in some curse words and references to horrible situations no one likes to talk about, and you're golden." Spock made a noise at this, looking over his shoulder at Jim and raising an eyebrow. "What?"
"You are yet again exhibiting one of the most illogical Human habits I have yet to encounter," Spock noted. "Like many Humans, you tend to mock or make light of serious, painful situations so as to deflect others' attention away from said subjects."
Jim made a face. "Okay, that? The psycho-analyzing thing? Stop that."
"I rest my case," Spock said, and Jim rolled his eyes.
"Is this about the Tarsus thing? Is it because I haven't told you about it before now? Because that's not the kind of thing I could've slipped into casual conversation," Jim said, a little irritated. "'By the way, Spock, my brother happened to survive the most infamous genocide of the past twenty years! What do you feel like for dinner?'"
"Negative, Jim," Spock said. Now he turned around in the tub, pulling an irritable Jim into his arms with only minimal resistance. "It is your prerogative to decide what personal matters you wish to disclose to me. My complaint is with your insistence upon treating yourself, and this time, by extension, your family, as worth only your derision."
Jim let out a breath, his counter-argument dying unspoken on his tongue. Spock was so insufferably hard to argue with, sometimes (at least, when Jim wasn't busy provoking him into a shouting match, which wasn't exactly high on Jim's list of priorities today). He was silent for a few moments, trying to think of something to say, and suffered an involuntary shiver as water evaporated off his exposed skin, taking his body heat with it. He sank into the water again, tugging Spock down with him, and after a few moments of re-arranging, Jim found himself settled in Spock's lap this time, Spock's arms wrapped loosely around his waist.
"There's not really anything to talk about, Spock," Jim said finally, leaning back in defeat. He stared ahead, watching his own reflection in the mirror on the far wall. "I was eleven; Sam was fourteen. I was supposed to go to Tarsus with him, as part of an intra-galactic study program, but I was just getting over a really nasty case of the flu and Frank didn't want me to go-"
"Frank?" Spock interjected. Jim exhaled noisily.
"My stepdad. He was kind of a bastard sometimes, but he meant well. I hated him, though. Anyway, Frank didn't want me to go, and he finally convinced my mom to keep me on Earth. So Sam went by himself..." Jim trailed off, remembering his mother's panic when she couldn't get ahold of her oldest son, the shouting fights in the kitchen between Winona and Frank over who had actually decided to let Sam go in the first place. He felt a pang as he flashed on the memory of how gaunt Sam had been when he'd finally come home, the dark bags under his flat eyes, like a door had slammed shut inside. The scarecrow-boy who'd come back from Tarsus only vaguely resembled the playful, easy-going older brother Jim remembered leaving three months before. Jim shook his head. "He just-he was never the same when he came back. And he wouldn't talk to us about it at all-couldn't, I guess, though at the time I was so angry at him." Jim sank lower into the water until his head was leaning against Spock's breastbone, his face out of sight in the mirrored reflection, water lapping at his chin.
Spock said nothing, but Jim felt his hands creep up Jim's arms to rest on his shoulders. "It was just a big mess," Jim said finally. He stared at the pale flecks of mica in the stone of the tub, his eyes distant as his voice. "Sam started fighting with Frank all the time, and that was when I started fighting with Frank and my mom. I didn't know what the hell had happened, but everything was wrong, after that. It wasn't perfect, before Sam went off-planet, but we were still pretty happy. But nothing I tried made anyone happy after he came back."
Spock stirred at this, but by now the words were coming faster, pouring out of Jim like something vile finally being drained after long years of festering inside. "Sam ran away when he turned seventeen, got on a transport ship off-planet somehow, and mom blamed Frank and kicked him out, and then it was just me and her, in that big house, and we fought all the time. I got my diploma early and got the hell out, too, as soon as I could." Jim sighed, and at the break in words, Spock tugged Jim upright again, pulling him securely against Spock's chest.
"You blame yourself for a situation that was far beyond your control," Spock murmured. Jim sighed.
"I know," he said softly. "I mean. I guess I know. Now, anyway. But I just-" Jim hesitated, flexing his hands against the tops of his thighs, staring down at the water, now gone slightly murky with soap and settled dust. "It all felt so pointless," he said finally. "I tried and tried and tried and it just, none of it mattered, none of it made any difference. So I stopped caring, and I stopped trying." Jim went silent, shutting his eyes.
Spock spoke again after a few moments. "Where is your brother now?"
"On Deneva. He got a job there, met a girl. I think they're married." Jim shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "Saw him once, two years ago. We both went back to Mom's for Christmas. It was the most awkward holiday in the history of time."
"I highly doubt that," Spock said dryly. "As I doubt your claims to have stopped caring. But I am honored that you shared this with me, Jim." Jim squirmed a few times; hearing Spock thank him for talking about Tarsus felt strange. Wrong, even.
"Don't thank me, Spock. It's not a situation where I really covered myself in glory." Jim sighed. Behind him, he could practically hear Spock arching that eyebrow, an expression that should have looked funnier on him than it did, considering the wet, messy hair.
"Jim," Spock said in his best 'Humans are so illogical' voice. "You were eleven years old-"
"That's the same age you were when your mom died, and you blamed yourself six ways from here to eternity," Jim shot back. Spock went silent for a moment, even as his arms tightened around Jim's waist.
"The situations are not precisely parallel," he began, but Jim was already shaking his head.
"That's not even what I'm talking about, Spock," he said, a touch impatiently. "I wasn't even on Tarsus, obviously I couldn't have stopped it. But after Sam left, when I just decided it would be a better idea to not deal with anything, that, hey, this sucks, so I'm going to just fuck off and avoid it-that's what I mean. That behavior-I mean, isn't that kind of what half of Vulcan wants to do right now? Decided that because sometimes being a part of the Federation sucks more than it's fun, that they're not going to deal with it at all anymore?"
"That is not-" Spock said, and then shut his mouth abruptly.
It was such an un-Spock thing to do that Jim sat up, twisting around in Spock's arms to get a good look at his partner's face. "Spock?"
"Yes, Jim, I am still here," Spock said mildly. He was staring at Jim, his face as inscrutable as Jim had ever seen it. "I am merely thinking."
"Yeah, okay." Jim smiled. "What are you thinking?" He knelt up again, looming over Spock, putting his partner roughly at nipple-level, a position Spock took advantage of, leaning forward to kiss over Jim's conveniently-located chest.
"I am thinking," Spock murmured, "that I would like your help preparing my speech." At that, Jim laughed, lacing his fingers through Spock's wet hair and sweeping it up into unruly spikes. Spock pulled back, glancing up at Jim. "You find this humorous?"
"Nah." Jim grinned, dragging his fingers through Spock's hair again, dissolving the hair-sculpture. "But can we talk about this more out of the bath? I'm turning into a prune. And I kind of want to fuck you right now."
"How good to see that your priorities have not been adversely affected by your recent experiences," Spock said, and then he was sputtering and splashing indignantly as Jim dunked him. Jim knew Pike was going to have words for him about splashing so much water all over the floor, but sometimes you just had to pick your battles.
* * * * *
Two months, thirteen days, and twelve hours after Spock first stepped onto Terran soil, he finally mounted the podium in front of the collected assembly of Federation and Vulcan representatives. Spock knew that the assembly hall held exactly 1,784 beings today, out of the 1,800 it was designed to hold at maximum capacity; he also knew that millions of others were watching the live news broadcast. Never in his entire life had he spoken in front of such a huge group. To say that he was nervous would have been one hell of an understatement; "scared shitless" might have been a better description, were Spock given to profanity like Jim Kirk was.
It was Jim Kirk that Spock looked over at, resting his hands lightly on the wooden surface of the podium. Jim sat in the front row this time, seated with Captain Pike, Lt. Commander Kirk, and several other Federation officials, including Admiral Komack, who didn't look exactly pleased to have Spock's one-time dinner date seated with him. Jim flashed him a smile when Spock's eyes fell on him, but otherwise he kept his hands folded in his lap.
Spock glanced away from Jim, looking out across the room at the sea of faces, every pair of eyes looking right back at him. He cleared his throat.
"Chancellor T'Pau," he said, raising his voice. "Speaker of the Assembly, Chief Justices of the United Federation of Planets, Mr. President, Excellencies, fellow citizens of the Federation: Today is the last day of debates, and I have been given the dubious honor of the last argument that you will hear before recession is taken and voting is held. I ask for only a little more patience from all of you; I will be short." A small murmur rose in response to this statement, but Spock didn't let himself pay attention to it. "Not only because the others who spoke before me have already said much, and in greater detail than I could provide, and not because I have little of worth to tell you, but because I have come to believe that this issue is, at heart, a very simple decision. And like all too many simple decisions, while there is a right choice to be made, it is both painful and difficult."
"We are on the threshold of a new era, one in which the decision Vulcan makes will decide the fate of hundreds of millions of lives. If Vulcan leaves this Federation, so too will Elyria, will J'Turval, will a dozen other planets and their satellite peoples. What will the legacy of this decision be? I say to you now, to this assembly and to all that are listening from the comfort of their homes, that if Vulcan secedes, her children will be judged and judged harshly in the annals of history. To turn our backs on the Federation and on all the peoples of the universe, and on the violence, the war, the poverty, the famine and disease that still bring suffering to intelligent life-forms everywhere-for this, for her indifference, Vulcan will be condemned, and rightly so."
Spock straightened, staring dead ahead. He looked around again, but he no longer saw individual faces, no longer saw actual pairs of eyes staring back at him. His words rang in his own ears; his skin felt too hot, tingling all over as though from fever. "What is indifference? All species have a word that means this. Etymologically, the word means 'no difference.' A closely-related concept that all intelligent life-forms also share is a rough synonym for the word 'apathy,' which similarly means 'no feeling.' No difference, no feeling-this is the path that we are dangerously close to choosing, as a race, and to letting other species to follow us down.
"Despite our reputation as being unfeeling, Vulcans experience the full spectrum of recorded emotions very deeply-so deeply, in fact, that at one point in our history, our inability to control our impulses and emotions nearly destroyed us. Through the teachings of Surak, we conquered our emotional nature and have chosen the path of logic. We pride ourselves, and rightly so, on our ability to make just, intelligent decisions based on facts and reason. But logic is a weapon that can cut both ways, and our same ability to reason in the face of great emotional turmoil is threatening to blind us to the suffering and pain that still exists, that we have the ability to help stop.
"It is easier by far to look away from a victim-indeed, it can be troublesome, awkward, to get involved with another being's pain and despair. It is so much easier to focus on our own problems, and not sully ourselves or disturb our comfortable occupations with the troubles of others. But if we give in to the easy path, that willingness to ignore another's pain and deny another's need, then we do not deserve to say we follow the teachings of the great peace-maker, Surak, for we will have forgotten one of his most important dictums: that the suffering of one is the suffering of all.
"The speakers here today presented, in their debates, a great number of issues to this council-issues of trade negotiations, petty acts of terrorism and theft against Vulcan and her constituents; grievances great and small, on both sides. I tell you not that these speakers were wrong, or misinformed-they were not-but these issues are, to a great degree, inconsequential. How many of the beings listening to this broadcast have ever endured the pain of famine, or the ravages of plague? How many of us have suffered from poverty, an inability to clothe ourselves or our families, not knowing if today is the day we will die from hunger, from a hidden bomb, from impure drinking water, from a weapon in the hands of those who hate us? I would wager the number would be very few."
Spock drew a breath and let it out, finally allowing himself to notice the shaking of his hands. But he was nearly done; soon he could step down. Spock glanced sideways at Jim, who nodded almost imperceptibly, and Spock pressed a button hidden under the top lip of the podium. Behind him, projected on the great white walls of the assembly room, appeared a chunk of scrolling text:
We the life forms of the United Federation of Planets determined to save succeeding generations from the scourge of war, and to reaffirm faith in the fundamental rights of sentient beings, in the dignity and worth of all life forms, in the equal rights of members of planetary systems large and small, and to establish conditions under which justice and respect for the obligations arising from treaties and other sources of interstellar law can be maintained, and to promote social progress and better standards of living on all worlds...
"You all know these words, in part if not in whole," Spock said. "They were ratified by representatives from Vulcan, Terra, Andor, and Tellar at the start of the Federation, and all new inductees to the Federation must read and acknowledge our charter. Do we believe less in these words today than we did when our representative pledged Vulcan's allegiance? Do any of you here truly believe that there is no pain and no fear left in the galaxy? That there are no beings whose daily existence is under attack because of the color of their skin, the shape of their eyes, the accident of their birth, their possession of a precious resource, or the sound of their voice?
"Or let me turn the question on its head: Do we truly believe that we have discovered all there is to know or see in the wide universe?" Here Spock paused, his gaze drifting of its own accord to Jim, who was sitting very straight in his chair and watching Spock with bright, hard eyes. It was Jim Spock stared at as he continued to speak, his hands gripping the wooden desk under him hard. "Do we wish to close ourselves off from the joy and wonder of discovery that is the birthright of all starfaring species-and cut ourselves off from new opportunities, new potentials for growth? Have we grown so vain in our accomplishments?
"Our indifference, then, would be not just a crime, but a punishment. By leaving this Federation, we would in one stroke shame ourselves and everything our ancestors have contributed to the betterment of this universe, as well as doom ourselves to stagnation and inertia." Spock took a deep breath, and dropped his hands entirely from the podium, clasping them behind his back as he stared unseeing out at countless watching faces.
"Like all unions, the Federation is imperfect. The grievances of our people with this Federation are real, and should not be ignored-but they should be measured against the damage, to ourselves and to others, that would be done by removing ourselves from the whole. We were never promised that our path would be an easy one, and we must not allow our short-sightedness and vanity to blind us to the right decision.
"Let us make the right choice. Let us choose the difficult path, the rewarding path, the path of scant thanks and struggle, the path down which an honored place in history awaits, instead of disgrace and decline. Let us reaffirm our commitment. Let us stay."
Spock stopped, abruptly realizing that he had nothing else to say, and turned towards the stairs, dismounting the podium with great care so as not to capture a graceless tumble in front of billions of beings for posterity. A susurrus filled the assembly hall, increasing to a noise like the surf of the Pacific, but the sight of Jim standing on his feet at the edge of the floor was all Spock had eyes for. Jim watched him approach, clapping hard-along with a great many other people, Spock realized distantly-a fierce smile on his face that threatened to blind Spock completely.
"It is done," he heard himself say, still staring at Jim as though dazed. "I can do no more."
"You did great, Spock," Jim said, and though he kept his hands to himself, as did Spock, suddenly it seemed to Spock as though the assembly hall had emptied of everyone save the two of them. "Now let's get the hell out of here."
* * * * *
"You broke up with Monty," Captain Pike repeated. "Over a sandwich?"
He raised an eyebrow as he looked over his beer and across the table at the Lieutenant Commander, who just shrugged. "I don't cook," Winona said reasonably, and sipped at her margarita.
"That's--a sandwich. How does that even work? I mean, he must have been pretty broken up about it."
"Chris. Really. He'll be fine." Winona sat up, gesturing vaguely. "He's headed back to the Academy in a month anyway. You know I don't do long-distance." At this, Pike just shook his head, glancing up the length of the long, narrow bar. People of all ages and species were crowded into the room; standing at the edge of the table could be seen a blond, laughing young man and a taller, dark-haired man immediately beside him, hands clasped behind his back with almost military posture.
When Pike glanced back over at Winona, she was rolling her eyes. "Something you wanna say, Chris?"
Pike smiled slightly, turning his beer in place on the table with both hands. "More just wondering when you're going to give me an earful."
Winona raised her eyebrows. "What, because you finally conned my son into joining Starfleet?"
Pike grinned. "Am I right?"
It was Winona's turn to snort. "What do you think, Chris?"
It wasn't meant as an open-ended question, but Pike went silent for a moment anyway, staring over Winona's shoulder at people and places who weren't there, gaze sliding to the table where Jim seemed to be telling some story, gesturing wildly with his hands, and McCoy groaned and threw his arm across his face, causing everyone else at the table to crack up. Out of the corner of his eye, Pike could see Winona's head turn to follow his line of sight.
"I think," Pike said slowly, "Jim and Spock and their friends--they're going to go places that no man ever has before. There's nothing they won't be able to handle."
As they watched, Spock said something and Jim turned to look directly at him, and for a moment both men went silent, staring at each other, Jim's face warmed by a faint smile. Then McCoy lurched to his feet, slinging an arm around Jim and laughing into his ear, and the moment slipped away.
Pike felt Winona turn to look at him again. "You fucking sap," she said, and then he was cursing because Winona had shoved his elbow and his lap was suddenly full of imported wheat ale.
"God dammit Winona!" Winona drained the last of her margarita before Pike could retaliate, setting the glass down on the table with a soft clink and grinning at him as he tried to mop up the mess his trousers had just become. "Last time I ever give a Kirk a compliment," he muttered, giving it up as a bad job.
Winona smirked, her handsome face turning mischievious. "All I can say is I'm glad he's not going to be in any classes of mine." At this, Pike groaned, then laughed, unable to help himself.
At this moment Jim bounded over to the table, reminding Pike of nothing so much as an overgrown Labrador. "Thought I'd come over and check on you folks," Jim said cheerfully, hands shoved in his pockets.
"What? Worried we'd forget where we were and wander off?" Sarcasm notwithstanding, Winona had a smile on her face. Pike watched carefully at the way Jim and his mom looked at each other--not unfriendly, exactly, but more as if they didn't quite know what to do with each other.
Jim grinned back at his mother. "Janice wanted me to ask Captain Pike if there was any way he could finagle getting Christine Chapel as her roommate at the start of term."
Pike raised an eyebrow. "You shameless hustler," he said. "Not thirty minutes ago you were over here asking me to get you a room with Dr. McCoy--"
"What, you're not rooming with Spock?" Winona looked from Pike to Jim and back again, narrowing her eyes as Jim's expression shifted from "cheerful" to "bullshittingly innocent."
"Nope. He's entering as an officer because of his years at the VSA, and he's going to use the second bedroom of his quarters as a study. Besides, I'm sure Captain Pike would agree that it's to the benefit of all of the new recruits to be paired with individuals who will encourage them in proper study habits--"
"--which just means that Spock refused to room with you because he was afraid all the fucking would interfere with his studying, and rightly so," Winona interrupted. Jim's wounded "Mom!" came at the same time as Pike's groan, and then Pike was leaning back in his chair and laughing, unable to resist the aggravation on Jim's face. Spock appeared beside Jim moments later, no doubt attracted by the sound of his name said by Jim's voice. He glanced from Jim to his mother, taking in the indignant expression of the former and the smirk of the latter, and then looked expectantly at Captain Pike.
"You're going to have your hands full this year, Spock," Pike said, unable to completely repress his grin. Spock inclined his head, and Pike couldn't be sure but he thought he saw a faint smile at the corner of Spock's mouth in return. After a moment, Pike straightened, flattening both hands on the table-top and sending up a devout hope that the stain in his lap wasn't visible. "Any more news from Sarek about the recount?"
Spock shook his head, hands still clasped behind his back. "Negative. When we spoke this morning, the status of the recount was the same as the prior evening. However, I have received information from Sasak that points to likely tampering with the original counting of votes, and if my calculations are correct, more than 65.7% of Vulcan and her precincts will have voted to remain with the Federation."
Pike exhaled noisily, pressing his hands against the table as relief swamped him, huge and almost painful in its weight. "Well," he said. "That's definitely good news."
"Affirmative, Captain," said Spock. "I expect the final count will be announced while I am in Shi'Kahr arranging the transitions of my projects. I have already spoken with your First Officer about continuing the duotritocale research at the Academy; she expressed considerable interest in the data I forwarded to her."
Pike nodded. "Good. Have you had time to--" He broke off as Janice Rand appeared next to Spock, ceremoniously draping a lei of flowers around first Spock's neck and then Jim's, who looked like he was having to bite his own tongue to keep from making some kind of comment.
"Sorry, Captain, but I'm stealing your cadets for a few minutes," Janice announced. "Scotty bought a round for all the new first-years. You, too, Spock, we got you a mudslide."
Spock glanced down at the gaudy string of flowers dangling from his neck, then over at Pike, one eyebrow sliding up towards his brow-line. Winona suffered a sudden coughing fit, hiding her face in her arm, punctuated by an "ow!" as Pike kicked her shin under the table, his expression bland. "What is the meaning of the flowers?" Spock asked.
"There was a flower-seller outside--" Janice began hurriedly, but it was too late.
"Janice just wanted to lei us, Spock," Jim said. "It's Human tradition to drape flowers over sexually attractive people--" He dodged the napkin his mother threw at him, only to get punched in the arm by Janice. Spock looked at Pike and Winona.
"You're the one dating him," Pike said, doing a stand-up job of poker face. "Go on, already, we'll be right here."
"I suddenly find myself unable to recall why I chose to leave an institute of learning and knowledge for your company," Spock remarked.
"Don't act like you're so put-upon," Jim told him, as they drifted back to their waiting friends, Christine standing next to the table with the drinks lined up at the edge. "You knew exactly what you were getting into."
Spock did not smile, but his face still softened, glancing again at Jim. "Indeed," he said.
~fin~
As had become the "usual" for them where Jim's suggestions were concerned, while Jim was enthusiastic, Spock was doubtful.
"It is an illogical waste of a precious resource, Jim," was his first response when Jim suggested it. Jim had rolled his eyes, fingers already sliding up Spock's ribs underneath his clothes.
"It's not a waste, Spock," he said impatiently. "All the bathwater and greywater gets recycled and re-used. Are you secretly a cat or something? Is that why you hate water so much?" Spock huffed, an action he would staunchly deny if accused of, but his response was cut off as Jim divested him of first his tunic and his undershirt. "What was that?" Jim asked innocently.
"I said, it is illogical even by your standards to accuse me of a feline nature," Spock said. Jim grinned and just shucked his own shirt, flinging it to one side without a second glance. Spock, meanwhile, merely raised an eyebrow at Jim before sliding out of his pants and socks.
Thirty minutes later, the tub was finally full, and Spock was leaning against Jim's chest with his eyes half-closed, most of Jim's submerged skin a cheerful pink from the heat of the water, hot even by Jim's standards, which favored "scalding" as a preferred temperature. Spock's skin did not seem to have changed color at all, to Jim's mild indignation, but he supposed it was only to be expected; the temperature was probably still sub-dermal for a Vulcan. Conversation had lapsed a few minutes ago, and now Jim's mind was contentedly unfocused, cheek pressed to Spock's, hands sliding idly up and down Spock's side.
His thoughts wandered to the dinner earlier, him and Spock and Winona and McCoy and Pike and Scotty, all sitting around a table, using chopsticks on their Chinese food with varying degrees of success. Spock, in typical Spock fashion, had been able to pick up the chopsticks and eat with them almost effortlessly despite never having touched a pair before in his life, while McCoy and Scotty had been forced to admit defeat and ask for forks. Jim had spent a good thirty minutes in Winona's hotel room beforehand, bringing his mom up to speed on the past two years of his life (especially the past month and a half), while Spock and Scotty discretely amused themselves discussing warp theory in the next room. The conversation had gone about as well as Jim could have expected-which is to say, he felt certain Spock and Scotty would be able to see the scorch marks on his back when he and Winona finally emerged-but the dinner itself had gone swimmingly, and Jim spent the short ride back to Pike's ranch feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders that he hadn't even known was there.
"Your mother is a singular individual," Spock murmured. He raised one hand, fingers splayed, moving it slowly through the water. Jim had been fascinated to discover that Spock-or all Vulcans, actually-were slightly too heavy to float in water, which probably at least partly accounted for their dislike of swimming.
Jim straightened, wondering briefly if Spock was doing his touch-telepathy thing again or was just eerily prescient, and decided it didn't matter. "That's one way to describe her, yeah," he said by way of response. He reached for the bottle of liquid soap sitting on the side lip of the tub, grabbing it and the folded washcloth beside it, and set about washing the nearest of Spock's limbs. Spock grunted as Jim lifted his hand, casting a sideways glance at his partner before settling in to allow to do as he wished. "So, no one has to convince me of your innate awesomeness," Jim said conversationally, gently lifting Spock's right arm and swiping along his tricept, "but I got the impression that most Vulcans were kind of down on the whole mom-being-Human thing. Hence you being so careful about investigating your Human side."
"Affirmative," Spock said.
"So why are you giving a speech?"
Spock did not answer immediately, tilting his head to one side in order to allow Jim better access to his neck. In the mirror on the far wall, Jim could see Spock's eyes were slitted, his features relaxed. "I was asked to speak due to a combination of being the son of the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth, my status as one of the head researchers at the VSA, and my unique genetic inheritance."
Jim made a noise of affirmation into Spock's neck, then leaned to one side, going for the other arm now. "Makes sense. And your day to speak is coming up, isn't it?"
"Three days. The last day of the hearing." Spock sat up, hunching forward slightly as Jim swept the washcloth down his spine, rumbling low in his throat as Jim worked his fingers into the small of Spock's back, the sensitive organs just beneath making gooseflesh march up Spock's spine in front of Jim's eyes. Jim spent a moment privately marveling at how someone with anatomy seemingly so similar to his own could have so many intriguing differences.
"I assume you have your speech all planned out?" Jim shoved at Spock until his lover knelt up in the tub, giving Jim access to parts further south. He re-wet and re-soaped the washcloth, gripping Spock's hip in one hand as he worked along his upper thighs.
"My speech is approximately 92.87% prepared, but I am largely dissatisfied with the final product," Spock said. He glanced over his shoulder at Jim, who took this moment to kneel up as well, sliding a hand around Spock's waist from behind. It wasn't the most graceful way to wash Spock's chest, but it worked. "I must admit a certain apprehension as my day to contribute draws closer," Spock continued after a moment, a slight catch in his voice as Jim's hand drifted teasingly lower, Jim nuzzling just below Spock's left ear. "I do not have the gift for public speaking that your mother possesses."
Jim stopped at that comment, snorting softly. "Sure, okay. The Kirk family gift for speaking in public. Throw in some curse words and references to horrible situations no one likes to talk about, and you're golden." Spock made a noise at this, looking over his shoulder at Jim and raising an eyebrow. "What?"
"You are yet again exhibiting one of the most illogical Human habits I have yet to encounter," Spock noted. "Like many Humans, you tend to mock or make light of serious, painful situations so as to deflect others' attention away from said subjects."
Jim made a face. "Okay, that? The psycho-analyzing thing? Stop that."
"I rest my case," Spock said, and Jim rolled his eyes.
"Is this about the Tarsus thing? Is it because I haven't told you about it before now? Because that's not the kind of thing I could've slipped into casual conversation," Jim said, a little irritated. "'By the way, Spock, my brother happened to survive the most infamous genocide of the past twenty years! What do you feel like for dinner?'"
"Negative, Jim," Spock said. Now he turned around in the tub, pulling an irritable Jim into his arms with only minimal resistance. "It is your prerogative to decide what personal matters you wish to disclose to me. My complaint is with your insistence upon treating yourself, and this time, by extension, your family, as worth only your derision."
Jim let out a breath, his counter-argument dying unspoken on his tongue. Spock was so insufferably hard to argue with, sometimes (at least, when Jim wasn't busy provoking him into a shouting match, which wasn't exactly high on Jim's list of priorities today). He was silent for a few moments, trying to think of something to say, and suffered an involuntary shiver as water evaporated off his exposed skin, taking his body heat with it. He sank into the water again, tugging Spock down with him, and after a few moments of re-arranging, Jim found himself settled in Spock's lap this time, Spock's arms wrapped loosely around his waist.
"There's not really anything to talk about, Spock," Jim said finally, leaning back in defeat. He stared ahead, watching his own reflection in the mirror on the far wall. "I was eleven; Sam was fourteen. I was supposed to go to Tarsus with him, as part of an intra-galactic study program, but I was just getting over a really nasty case of the flu and Frank didn't want me to go-"
"Frank?" Spock interjected. Jim exhaled noisily.
"My stepdad. He was kind of a bastard sometimes, but he meant well. I hated him, though. Anyway, Frank didn't want me to go, and he finally convinced my mom to keep me on Earth. So Sam went by himself..." Jim trailed off, remembering his mother's panic when she couldn't get ahold of her oldest son, the shouting fights in the kitchen between Winona and Frank over who had actually decided to let Sam go in the first place. He felt a pang as he flashed on the memory of how gaunt Sam had been when he'd finally come home, the dark bags under his flat eyes, like a door had slammed shut inside. The scarecrow-boy who'd come back from Tarsus only vaguely resembled the playful, easy-going older brother Jim remembered leaving three months before. Jim shook his head. "He just-he was never the same when he came back. And he wouldn't talk to us about it at all-couldn't, I guess, though at the time I was so angry at him." Jim sank lower into the water until his head was leaning against Spock's breastbone, his face out of sight in the mirrored reflection, water lapping at his chin.
Spock said nothing, but Jim felt his hands creep up Jim's arms to rest on his shoulders. "It was just a big mess," Jim said finally. He stared at the pale flecks of mica in the stone of the tub, his eyes distant as his voice. "Sam started fighting with Frank all the time, and that was when I started fighting with Frank and my mom. I didn't know what the hell had happened, but everything was wrong, after that. It wasn't perfect, before Sam went off-planet, but we were still pretty happy. But nothing I tried made anyone happy after he came back."
Spock stirred at this, but by now the words were coming faster, pouring out of Jim like something vile finally being drained after long years of festering inside. "Sam ran away when he turned seventeen, got on a transport ship off-planet somehow, and mom blamed Frank and kicked him out, and then it was just me and her, in that big house, and we fought all the time. I got my diploma early and got the hell out, too, as soon as I could." Jim sighed, and at the break in words, Spock tugged Jim upright again, pulling him securely against Spock's chest.
"You blame yourself for a situation that was far beyond your control," Spock murmured. Jim sighed.
"I know," he said softly. "I mean. I guess I know. Now, anyway. But I just-" Jim hesitated, flexing his hands against the tops of his thighs, staring down at the water, now gone slightly murky with soap and settled dust. "It all felt so pointless," he said finally. "I tried and tried and tried and it just, none of it mattered, none of it made any difference. So I stopped caring, and I stopped trying." Jim went silent, shutting his eyes.
Spock spoke again after a few moments. "Where is your brother now?"
"On Deneva. He got a job there, met a girl. I think they're married." Jim shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "Saw him once, two years ago. We both went back to Mom's for Christmas. It was the most awkward holiday in the history of time."
"I highly doubt that," Spock said dryly. "As I doubt your claims to have stopped caring. But I am honored that you shared this with me, Jim." Jim squirmed a few times; hearing Spock thank him for talking about Tarsus felt strange. Wrong, even.
"Don't thank me, Spock. It's not a situation where I really covered myself in glory." Jim sighed. Behind him, he could practically hear Spock arching that eyebrow, an expression that should have looked funnier on him than it did, considering the wet, messy hair.
"Jim," Spock said in his best 'Humans are so illogical' voice. "You were eleven years old-"
"That's the same age you were when your mom died, and you blamed yourself six ways from here to eternity," Jim shot back. Spock went silent for a moment, even as his arms tightened around Jim's waist.
"The situations are not precisely parallel," he began, but Jim was already shaking his head.
"That's not even what I'm talking about, Spock," he said, a touch impatiently. "I wasn't even on Tarsus, obviously I couldn't have stopped it. But after Sam left, when I just decided it would be a better idea to not deal with anything, that, hey, this sucks, so I'm going to just fuck off and avoid it-that's what I mean. That behavior-I mean, isn't that kind of what half of Vulcan wants to do right now? Decided that because sometimes being a part of the Federation sucks more than it's fun, that they're not going to deal with it at all anymore?"
"That is not-" Spock said, and then shut his mouth abruptly.
It was such an un-Spock thing to do that Jim sat up, twisting around in Spock's arms to get a good look at his partner's face. "Spock?"
"Yes, Jim, I am still here," Spock said mildly. He was staring at Jim, his face as inscrutable as Jim had ever seen it. "I am merely thinking."
"Yeah, okay." Jim smiled. "What are you thinking?" He knelt up again, looming over Spock, putting his partner roughly at nipple-level, a position Spock took advantage of, leaning forward to kiss over Jim's conveniently-located chest.
"I am thinking," Spock murmured, "that I would like your help preparing my speech." At that, Jim laughed, lacing his fingers through Spock's wet hair and sweeping it up into unruly spikes. Spock pulled back, glancing up at Jim. "You find this humorous?"
"Nah." Jim grinned, dragging his fingers through Spock's hair again, dissolving the hair-sculpture. "But can we talk about this more out of the bath? I'm turning into a prune. And I kind of want to fuck you right now."
"How good to see that your priorities have not been adversely affected by your recent experiences," Spock said, and then he was sputtering and splashing indignantly as Jim dunked him. Jim knew Pike was going to have words for him about splashing so much water all over the floor, but sometimes you just had to pick your battles.
* * * * *
Two months, thirteen days, and twelve hours after Spock first stepped onto Terran soil, he finally mounted the podium in front of the collected assembly of Federation and Vulcan representatives. Spock knew that the assembly hall held exactly 1,784 beings today, out of the 1,800 it was designed to hold at maximum capacity; he also knew that millions of others were watching the live news broadcast. Never in his entire life had he spoken in front of such a huge group. To say that he was nervous would have been one hell of an understatement; "scared shitless" might have been a better description, were Spock given to profanity like Jim Kirk was.
It was Jim Kirk that Spock looked over at, resting his hands lightly on the wooden surface of the podium. Jim sat in the front row this time, seated with Captain Pike, Lt. Commander Kirk, and several other Federation officials, including Admiral Komack, who didn't look exactly pleased to have Spock's one-time dinner date seated with him. Jim flashed him a smile when Spock's eyes fell on him, but otherwise he kept his hands folded in his lap.
Spock glanced away from Jim, looking out across the room at the sea of faces, every pair of eyes looking right back at him. He cleared his throat.
"Chancellor T'Pau," he said, raising his voice. "Speaker of the Assembly, Chief Justices of the United Federation of Planets, Mr. President, Excellencies, fellow citizens of the Federation: Today is the last day of debates, and I have been given the dubious honor of the last argument that you will hear before recession is taken and voting is held. I ask for only a little more patience from all of you; I will be short." A small murmur rose in response to this statement, but Spock didn't let himself pay attention to it. "Not only because the others who spoke before me have already said much, and in greater detail than I could provide, and not because I have little of worth to tell you, but because I have come to believe that this issue is, at heart, a very simple decision. And like all too many simple decisions, while there is a right choice to be made, it is both painful and difficult."
"We are on the threshold of a new era, one in which the decision Vulcan makes will decide the fate of hundreds of millions of lives. If Vulcan leaves this Federation, so too will Elyria, will J'Turval, will a dozen other planets and their satellite peoples. What will the legacy of this decision be? I say to you now, to this assembly and to all that are listening from the comfort of their homes, that if Vulcan secedes, her children will be judged and judged harshly in the annals of history. To turn our backs on the Federation and on all the peoples of the universe, and on the violence, the war, the poverty, the famine and disease that still bring suffering to intelligent life-forms everywhere-for this, for her indifference, Vulcan will be condemned, and rightly so."
Spock straightened, staring dead ahead. He looked around again, but he no longer saw individual faces, no longer saw actual pairs of eyes staring back at him. His words rang in his own ears; his skin felt too hot, tingling all over as though from fever. "What is indifference? All species have a word that means this. Etymologically, the word means 'no difference.' A closely-related concept that all intelligent life-forms also share is a rough synonym for the word 'apathy,' which similarly means 'no feeling.' No difference, no feeling-this is the path that we are dangerously close to choosing, as a race, and to letting other species to follow us down.
"Despite our reputation as being unfeeling, Vulcans experience the full spectrum of recorded emotions very deeply-so deeply, in fact, that at one point in our history, our inability to control our impulses and emotions nearly destroyed us. Through the teachings of Surak, we conquered our emotional nature and have chosen the path of logic. We pride ourselves, and rightly so, on our ability to make just, intelligent decisions based on facts and reason. But logic is a weapon that can cut both ways, and our same ability to reason in the face of great emotional turmoil is threatening to blind us to the suffering and pain that still exists, that we have the ability to help stop.
"It is easier by far to look away from a victim-indeed, it can be troublesome, awkward, to get involved with another being's pain and despair. It is so much easier to focus on our own problems, and not sully ourselves or disturb our comfortable occupations with the troubles of others. But if we give in to the easy path, that willingness to ignore another's pain and deny another's need, then we do not deserve to say we follow the teachings of the great peace-maker, Surak, for we will have forgotten one of his most important dictums: that the suffering of one is the suffering of all.
"The speakers here today presented, in their debates, a great number of issues to this council-issues of trade negotiations, petty acts of terrorism and theft against Vulcan and her constituents; grievances great and small, on both sides. I tell you not that these speakers were wrong, or misinformed-they were not-but these issues are, to a great degree, inconsequential. How many of the beings listening to this broadcast have ever endured the pain of famine, or the ravages of plague? How many of us have suffered from poverty, an inability to clothe ourselves or our families, not knowing if today is the day we will die from hunger, from a hidden bomb, from impure drinking water, from a weapon in the hands of those who hate us? I would wager the number would be very few."
Spock drew a breath and let it out, finally allowing himself to notice the shaking of his hands. But he was nearly done; soon he could step down. Spock glanced sideways at Jim, who nodded almost imperceptibly, and Spock pressed a button hidden under the top lip of the podium. Behind him, projected on the great white walls of the assembly room, appeared a chunk of scrolling text:
We the life forms of the United Federation of Planets determined to save succeeding generations from the scourge of war, and to reaffirm faith in the fundamental rights of sentient beings, in the dignity and worth of all life forms, in the equal rights of members of planetary systems large and small, and to establish conditions under which justice and respect for the obligations arising from treaties and other sources of interstellar law can be maintained, and to promote social progress and better standards of living on all worlds...
"You all know these words, in part if not in whole," Spock said. "They were ratified by representatives from Vulcan, Terra, Andor, and Tellar at the start of the Federation, and all new inductees to the Federation must read and acknowledge our charter. Do we believe less in these words today than we did when our representative pledged Vulcan's allegiance? Do any of you here truly believe that there is no pain and no fear left in the galaxy? That there are no beings whose daily existence is under attack because of the color of their skin, the shape of their eyes, the accident of their birth, their possession of a precious resource, or the sound of their voice?
"Or let me turn the question on its head: Do we truly believe that we have discovered all there is to know or see in the wide universe?" Here Spock paused, his gaze drifting of its own accord to Jim, who was sitting very straight in his chair and watching Spock with bright, hard eyes. It was Jim Spock stared at as he continued to speak, his hands gripping the wooden desk under him hard. "Do we wish to close ourselves off from the joy and wonder of discovery that is the birthright of all starfaring species-and cut ourselves off from new opportunities, new potentials for growth? Have we grown so vain in our accomplishments?
"Our indifference, then, would be not just a crime, but a punishment. By leaving this Federation, we would in one stroke shame ourselves and everything our ancestors have contributed to the betterment of this universe, as well as doom ourselves to stagnation and inertia." Spock took a deep breath, and dropped his hands entirely from the podium, clasping them behind his back as he stared unseeing out at countless watching faces.
"Like all unions, the Federation is imperfect. The grievances of our people with this Federation are real, and should not be ignored-but they should be measured against the damage, to ourselves and to others, that would be done by removing ourselves from the whole. We were never promised that our path would be an easy one, and we must not allow our short-sightedness and vanity to blind us to the right decision.
"Let us make the right choice. Let us choose the difficult path, the rewarding path, the path of scant thanks and struggle, the path down which an honored place in history awaits, instead of disgrace and decline. Let us reaffirm our commitment. Let us stay."
Spock stopped, abruptly realizing that he had nothing else to say, and turned towards the stairs, dismounting the podium with great care so as not to capture a graceless tumble in front of billions of beings for posterity. A susurrus filled the assembly hall, increasing to a noise like the surf of the Pacific, but the sight of Jim standing on his feet at the edge of the floor was all Spock had eyes for. Jim watched him approach, clapping hard-along with a great many other people, Spock realized distantly-a fierce smile on his face that threatened to blind Spock completely.
"It is done," he heard himself say, still staring at Jim as though dazed. "I can do no more."
"You did great, Spock," Jim said, and though he kept his hands to himself, as did Spock, suddenly it seemed to Spock as though the assembly hall had emptied of everyone save the two of them. "Now let's get the hell out of here."
* * * * *
"You broke up with Monty," Captain Pike repeated. "Over a sandwich?"
He raised an eyebrow as he looked over his beer and across the table at the Lieutenant Commander, who just shrugged. "I don't cook," Winona said reasonably, and sipped at her margarita.
"That's--a sandwich. How does that even work? I mean, he must have been pretty broken up about it."
"Chris. Really. He'll be fine." Winona sat up, gesturing vaguely. "He's headed back to the Academy in a month anyway. You know I don't do long-distance." At this, Pike just shook his head, glancing up the length of the long, narrow bar. People of all ages and species were crowded into the room; standing at the edge of the table could be seen a blond, laughing young man and a taller, dark-haired man immediately beside him, hands clasped behind his back with almost military posture.
When Pike glanced back over at Winona, she was rolling her eyes. "Something you wanna say, Chris?"
Pike smiled slightly, turning his beer in place on the table with both hands. "More just wondering when you're going to give me an earful."
Winona raised her eyebrows. "What, because you finally conned my son into joining Starfleet?"
Pike grinned. "Am I right?"
It was Winona's turn to snort. "What do you think, Chris?"
It wasn't meant as an open-ended question, but Pike went silent for a moment anyway, staring over Winona's shoulder at people and places who weren't there, gaze sliding to the table where Jim seemed to be telling some story, gesturing wildly with his hands, and McCoy groaned and threw his arm across his face, causing everyone else at the table to crack up. Out of the corner of his eye, Pike could see Winona's head turn to follow his line of sight.
"I think," Pike said slowly, "Jim and Spock and their friends--they're going to go places that no man ever has before. There's nothing they won't be able to handle."
As they watched, Spock said something and Jim turned to look directly at him, and for a moment both men went silent, staring at each other, Jim's face warmed by a faint smile. Then McCoy lurched to his feet, slinging an arm around Jim and laughing into his ear, and the moment slipped away.
Pike felt Winona turn to look at him again. "You fucking sap," she said, and then he was cursing because Winona had shoved his elbow and his lap was suddenly full of imported wheat ale.
"God dammit Winona!" Winona drained the last of her margarita before Pike could retaliate, setting the glass down on the table with a soft clink and grinning at him as he tried to mop up the mess his trousers had just become. "Last time I ever give a Kirk a compliment," he muttered, giving it up as a bad job.
Winona smirked, her handsome face turning mischievious. "All I can say is I'm glad he's not going to be in any classes of mine." At this, Pike groaned, then laughed, unable to help himself.
At this moment Jim bounded over to the table, reminding Pike of nothing so much as an overgrown Labrador. "Thought I'd come over and check on you folks," Jim said cheerfully, hands shoved in his pockets.
"What? Worried we'd forget where we were and wander off?" Sarcasm notwithstanding, Winona had a smile on her face. Pike watched carefully at the way Jim and his mom looked at each other--not unfriendly, exactly, but more as if they didn't quite know what to do with each other.
Jim grinned back at his mother. "Janice wanted me to ask Captain Pike if there was any way he could finagle getting Christine Chapel as her roommate at the start of term."
Pike raised an eyebrow. "You shameless hustler," he said. "Not thirty minutes ago you were over here asking me to get you a room with Dr. McCoy--"
"What, you're not rooming with Spock?" Winona looked from Pike to Jim and back again, narrowing her eyes as Jim's expression shifted from "cheerful" to "bullshittingly innocent."
"Nope. He's entering as an officer because of his years at the VSA, and he's going to use the second bedroom of his quarters as a study. Besides, I'm sure Captain Pike would agree that it's to the benefit of all of the new recruits to be paired with individuals who will encourage them in proper study habits--"
"--which just means that Spock refused to room with you because he was afraid all the fucking would interfere with his studying, and rightly so," Winona interrupted. Jim's wounded "Mom!" came at the same time as Pike's groan, and then Pike was leaning back in his chair and laughing, unable to resist the aggravation on Jim's face. Spock appeared beside Jim moments later, no doubt attracted by the sound of his name said by Jim's voice. He glanced from Jim to his mother, taking in the indignant expression of the former and the smirk of the latter, and then looked expectantly at Captain Pike.
"You're going to have your hands full this year, Spock," Pike said, unable to completely repress his grin. Spock inclined his head, and Pike couldn't be sure but he thought he saw a faint smile at the corner of Spock's mouth in return. After a moment, Pike straightened, flattening both hands on the table-top and sending up a devout hope that the stain in his lap wasn't visible. "Any more news from Sarek about the recount?"
Spock shook his head, hands still clasped behind his back. "Negative. When we spoke this morning, the status of the recount was the same as the prior evening. However, I have received information from Sasak that points to likely tampering with the original counting of votes, and if my calculations are correct, more than 65.7% of Vulcan and her precincts will have voted to remain with the Federation."
Pike exhaled noisily, pressing his hands against the table as relief swamped him, huge and almost painful in its weight. "Well," he said. "That's definitely good news."
"Affirmative, Captain," said Spock. "I expect the final count will be announced while I am in Shi'Kahr arranging the transitions of my projects. I have already spoken with your First Officer about continuing the duotritocale research at the Academy; she expressed considerable interest in the data I forwarded to her."
Pike nodded. "Good. Have you had time to--" He broke off as Janice Rand appeared next to Spock, ceremoniously draping a lei of flowers around first Spock's neck and then Jim's, who looked like he was having to bite his own tongue to keep from making some kind of comment.
"Sorry, Captain, but I'm stealing your cadets for a few minutes," Janice announced. "Scotty bought a round for all the new first-years. You, too, Spock, we got you a mudslide."
Spock glanced down at the gaudy string of flowers dangling from his neck, then over at Pike, one eyebrow sliding up towards his brow-line. Winona suffered a sudden coughing fit, hiding her face in her arm, punctuated by an "ow!" as Pike kicked her shin under the table, his expression bland. "What is the meaning of the flowers?" Spock asked.
"There was a flower-seller outside--" Janice began hurriedly, but it was too late.
"Janice just wanted to lei us, Spock," Jim said. "It's Human tradition to drape flowers over sexually attractive people--" He dodged the napkin his mother threw at him, only to get punched in the arm by Janice. Spock looked at Pike and Winona.
"You're the one dating him," Pike said, doing a stand-up job of poker face. "Go on, already, we'll be right here."
"I suddenly find myself unable to recall why I chose to leave an institute of learning and knowledge for your company," Spock remarked.
"Don't act like you're so put-upon," Jim told him, as they drifted back to their waiting friends, Christine standing next to the table with the drinks lined up at the edge. "You knew exactly what you were getting into."
Spock did not smile, but his face still softened, glancing again at Jim. "Indeed," he said.
~fin~