What Part of Forever: Chapter Four
Find the first part of Chapter Four here.
If a violent, socially deviant humanoid had not been passed out cold on Spock's floor, it was very likely Spock would simply have locked himself in his suite and not emerged for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, not only did Rijaal stink unpleasantly of body odor and alcohol, he had also somehow obtained access to Spock's private quarters. So, doing his level best to put Jim's abrupt departure from his mind, Spock sent for the Federation officials to come collect the unconscious would-be attacker from his rooms.
Which turned the next hour and a half into what Spock overheard one of the officials he'd summoned describe as "a shit-show." All manner of beings were milling around Spock's rooms, giving him no peace whatsoever, and though Spock had initially hoped to avoid mentioning Jim at all, he quickly had to abort that decision when several Vulcans started making noises about how the intruder was yet another display of hostility from the Federation. It seemed nothing was exempt from political machinations, Spock observed with more than a touch of cynicism, watching from his seat on the couch in what had been the main living area of his suite.
He might have been slightly curt with the Federation investigator-a mustachioed, stocky man in his mid-fifties who seemed to have a dozen new questions for every one that Spock answered for him-but the detective seemed entirely too curious about the nature of Spock's relationship with Jim for Spock's comfort. Who had access to Spock's rooms? Only Jim Kirk and Spock, though when asked Spock had to concede that the hotel manager Harcourt Mudd might logically also have had access. Where was Jim Kirk now? Presumably at his dwelling in Venice Beach, but of course Spock did not know, as he was only a touch-telepath and not an actual psychic. Perhaps the detective might try contacting Mr. Kirk himself. Why wasn't Jim Kirk answering his comm-unit? Spock could not have said. Why had Spock permitted Mr. Kirk to leave before an investigation could be conducted? Spock was not in the habit of nerve-pinching others to force them to do as he wished, save in self-defense.
Correction; Spock had been more than slightly curt with the detective. But under the circumstances, Spock found it difficult to care about his own increasingly illogical reactions.
Spock might also have been somewhat put out that Jim had left (how typical, he thought, and tried not to), leaving all of this obnoxiousness for Spock to deal with, as if he didn't have enough to worry about already. But that made him think too much about the words he and Jim had exchanged before Jim's abrupt departure, and Spock found that the more he considered the things he and Jim had said to one another, the less comfortable he was with the whole situation.
But then Detective Larsen, he of the indefatigable questions, returned to Spock's quarters two-point-three hours later (knocking loudly on Spock's bedroom door until finally Spock was forced to either answer the door or put his fist through the wall) and informed him that Rijaal had confessed to being contacted by Harcourt Mudd in order to "teach Jim Kirk a lesson," that Rijaal had in turn been given his illicit key-card to Spock's quarters by Mudd himself, and that Federation officials had arrested Harcourt Mudd at his private residence in the act of packing his vehicle for a hasty departure from Los Angeles.
Spock raised an eyebrow at the detective, who was now sitting in the chair across from Spock's desk. "I presume that you came to deliver this message in person for some purpose relating to this investigation and not for the pleasure of my company," he said finally. He moved to the teapot that was sitting out on the counter, and removed two cups from the small cabinet set into the wall.
The detective smiled thinly. "I like you exactly as much as my mother-in-law likes me, Mr. Spock," he said, raising his eyes from flicking through pages on his PADD. "But Harcourt Mudd claims to have information regarding the leaked Federation memorandum. Specifically, that he overheard one of Admiral Barnett's aides and a Vulcan woman discussing a falsified document they intended to make public at a Federation gathering two weeks ago. And since Rijaal's attack was directed at one of your companions, I wondered if you might have any information confirming or denying Mudd's claim."
Spock kept his eyes on the teapot in his hands, pouring out two mugs of steaming herbal tea and setting the teapot aside. He kept his face perfectly straight as he brought one mug over to Detective Larsen, settling into the remaining chair at the desk. "I have no information that might be of use to you, Detective," he said evenly, cradling his own mug in both hands. "However, should I be made aware of anything I believe to be pertinent to the case, I will of course contact you immediately."
Larsen nodded minutely, ignoring the mug Spock set in front of him. "I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Spock," he said placidly. "I know you want this situation resolved as much as we do. But if you're sure you have nothing more to tell me...." He trailed off, still watching Spock, but Spock merely sat where he was, sipping at his tea. Finally, the detective rose to his feet, giving Spock one more short nod. "We'll be in contact, Mr. Spock," he said. "We'll let you know if we learn anything new."
"Many thanks, Detective." Spock rose as well, escorting the detective to the door. Only once it was shut behind Larsen and Spock had returned to his desk did he let go of the breath he'd been holding, a heavy knot settling into the pit of his stomach. Spock shut his eyes, a memory replaying itself behind the lids: the symposium gathering on the same date Detective Larsen spoke of, the day after the dinner with Pike and Komack, when Spock had seen T'Pring speaking to a Human off in a corner of the courtyard. Spock had been so distracted by his conversation with Sasak and his thoughts of Jim that he had paid it no mind at the time, but now the event acquired an ominous significance in his mind.
He was being ridiculous. Mudd had doubtless made the claim in order to try to save his own skin; surely he would be proven a liar, his bid for lenience a mere ruse. And T'Pring having a discussion with a Human did not mean anything in and of itself. Spock opened his eyes, staring at the computer monitor, seeing nothing of the words on the screen. He picked up his mug, took a sip, and set it down again without even registering the taste. Surak himself might have come into his quarters right then and Spock would not even have noticed.
Mudd had been the one to introduce Spock to Jim, and had since then found cause to deliberately send a violent attacker after Jim, for reasons Spock could guess at but not entirely understand. And now either the Federation was moving to deliberately sabotage Vulcan's autonomy, when Vulcan had been one of its founding members, or else someone wished for the world to think it so. But surely T'Pring could not have anything to do with the Federation memorandum. Surely...
Spock stood up abruptly, almost knocking his mug of tea across his desk and not even noticing. He had to talk to T'Pring. Then he could think about what to do about Jim.
* * * * *
Later, Spock would realize it had been idiotic of him to go straight to T'Pring's quarters after being questioned by Detective Larsen-had he thought about it at all, he would have messaged T'Pring on her comm unit before doing anything else. And if while he was at it, he would have deduced (correctly, as it turned out) that he might be followed, that Federation security would be monitoring the activities of all the Vulcan delegates in the wake of such a tumultuous couple of days. But at the time all he could think was that he had to speak with T'Pring.
She answered her door after the first knock, staring at him with one eyebrow raised. The expression was so familiar and unthreatening on her that Spock found himself at a sudden loss for words, wondering again if all his concerns were a figment of his imagination-a product of spending too much time in the company of Humans, and the stress that he'd been subjected to the past couple of days. "I presume there is a reason you came to speak with me," she said at length, when Spock still had not said anything, "and that you are not having an episode of sleep-walking?"
Spock shook himself. "I wish to speak with you in private," he said. "Now, if you are not otherwise indisposed."
T'Pring hesitated, and Spock's stomach tightened. But "Come in," was all she said, and Spock slipped into her quarters, taking a deep breath as she shut the door behind them. He waited until she'd led him into the sitting chambers, settling himself onto the couch while she sank into the armchair opposite him, her crimson robes swirling around her.
"What is it you wished to speak to me about?" she asked, clasping her hands in her lap.
"Harcourt Mudd claims to have heard a Vulcan woman and a Human male discussing a falsified Federation document on the afternoon of the science exposition," Spock said, striving to keep his voice calm despite the way the words stuck in his throat. "I saw you speaking to a young Human that day out in the courtyard, as though you did not wish to be overheard."
T'Pring was silent, her face betraying no hint of reaction. Spock clasped his own hands in his lap and kept his gaze level. Finally, T'Pring straightened, as if summoning her resolve. "If you wish me to state that I am responsible for falsifying and distributing the leaked Federation document, I will do no such thing," T'Pring said, her voice as cool as Spock had ever heard it.
"Is that because you did not do it, or because you do not wish to incriminate yourself?" Spock stared at T'Pring, hardly able to believe such blatant misdirection, but T'Pring only raised her eyebrow again, as untouchable as a wall of ice. Spock felt a horrible certainty settle into his bones.
"Has your time amongst the Humans skewed your perceptions so badly that you are now incapable of believing what you previously knew to be true?" T'Pring leaned forward, her eyes dark and intent, full of a dreadful urgency. "The Federation takes our people for granted, and they would do anything to prevent us from taking our resources and refocusing them on our own needs, instead of allowing ourselves to be bent to their desires-"
"Save your rhetoric for someone who will believe it," Spock cut in, already rising from his seat, a welcome detachment settling over him like an invisible sheet. "Your unwillingness to answer my question directly is proof enough of your guilt."
"Spock!" T'Pring rose at almost the same instant Spock did, reaching for him as though physically prevent him from leaving. She stopped herself at the last moment, bringing her hands in front of her instead, palms pressed together. "You have no proof of anything," she said.
"I have enough to turn their investigations your way, which is all that is needed," Spock said. The new realization of T'Pring's betrayal seemed to have left him temporarily numb, though he knew better than to believe he would be able to remain stoic for long. But at the moment all that mattered was telling his suspicions to Detective Larsen, putting the proceedings in his capable hands and retreating to his rooms.
T'Pring did reach out then, grabbing hold of Spock's arms to physically arrest his movement. "Spock, you must not do this thing," she said. Her face was still calm, still even, but Spock could hear the strain in her voice now, the same strain that was pressing heavy on him.
"Give me even one reason why I should not go to Federation authorities right now and tell them of your deceit." The ice in his own voice surprised him. Spock looked down at the hands on his arms, and after a moment T'Pring let them fall away.
T'Pring drew herself up, some of her usual confidence returning. "I have done what is right for our people," she bit out. "I have moved to protect Vulcan and her children."
"What is right? Muddling the truth to enrage Vulcan into a decision, robbing them of their ability to decide their destiny for themselves? Has the right choice become so unrecognizable?"
"They are blind!" T'Pring shouted, hands clenching into fists at her sides, her beautiful face lit up with the force of her rage. "As you have become blind! How can you be so free with the Federation who so takes us for granted, who ask for everything from us and gives us nothing back? Spock!"
Spock closed his eyes. "It is you who have allowed your fear and pain to blind you, my friend," he said heavily. He turned away before he could see her face again, pressure building steadily behind his eyes, and the hiss of the door opening ahead of him took him by surprise. Spock stopped in his tracks as the door opened and Humans in Federation uniforms marched in, armed with grim expressions and phasers. Detective Larsen came behind them, nodding curtly to Spock before sweeping past him to where T'Pring stood as though turned to stone.
"Lady T'Pring, you are under arrest," Spock heard him say. "You are being formally charged with treason and conspiracy, with falsifying a Federation document..."
Spock had heard enough. Spock sped up, slipping away out the door before he could betray himself by looking back and catching a glimpse of T'Pring's face.
* * * * *
Of the many historic events that would happen that day (among them the assault of the future Captain of the famous starship Enterprise, and the arrest of Lady T'Pring of the house of T'Pau), the one that would be lost to the history books was the small chain of miracles involving James Kirk in one two-hour span. Jim flew out the door of the Beverly Wilshire hotel like his tail was on fire, vaulting onto his motorbike and tearing down the street, heedless of the pounding of his recently-injured skull and the painful lump in his throat.
By the time he arrived at home, he had narrowly avoided three collisions, of which the first two would have injured him and a number of pedestrians badly, and the last would have killed him instantly. Jim was saved, respectively, by his own astonishing luck, by the careful attention of Sarah Kellermen's boyfriend (who yanked her out of the way of the oncoming bike in the nick of time), and by the fact that Al-Jazarid Fakim had insisted on relieving his brother from his last overtime shift earlier that morning. If Al-Jazarid's brother Omar had been driving the heavy transport Jim swerved in front of, Omar's overtired reflexes would not have been up to the task of coming to the shrieking halt that allowed Jim Kirk to drive away in one whole, un-flattened piece.
The next minor miracle did not involve Jim specifically, but instead was owed to Leonard McCoy's insomnia. If Dr. McCoy had been able to sleep the night before, he wouldn't have come home for a mid-afternoon nap. And if he had not come home for his nap, he would not have been able to mis-set his alarm and oversleep, and he would not have been shuffling around the kitchen of the home he shared with Jim Kirk when Jim came bursting through the back door that afternoon. And with no one to waylay him, there is no telling how far Jim might have run before finally falling back to earth.
But McCoy was there, in all his bed-headed, crabby glory, and one look at Jim's wild eyes was all it took for him to set down his coffee mug before it ended up all down the front of his favorite sweatshirt. Jim yanked off his motorcycle helmet, throwing it onto the counter, and then he had to stop moving or else physically plow through his friend, who had taken the moment of distraction to get up in Jim's business. "Whoa, kid," McCoy said, hands going to Jim's shoulders, trying to exert some calmness on the man in front of him. At the moment, Jim resembled nothing so much as a startled colt, all wild eyes and heavy breathing, ready to bolt back out the door if McCoy wasn't careful.
"Dammit Bones I don't have time for this, I have to get going-" Jim batted ineffectually at McCoy's hands, but all that did was encourage McCoy to sling an arm around Jim's back and steer him to the kitchen table, plunking him unceremoniously down in the chair he himself had just vacated.
"You're going nowhere till you calm the fuck down," McCoy said bluntly. "Whaddya want, whiskey or beer?"
Jim glared down at the table and tried to get up; McCoy, who had anticipated this, just shoved him back down into the chair again. "Beer it is," McCoy announced. "I ain't wastin' my good whiskey on you right now."
"Gee, thanks," Jim growled, but this time when McCoy went to the fridge to grab a couple of beers, Jim stayed where he was-which is why he didn't see McCoy go to the comm-unit on the counter by the fridge and send off a silent message. McCoy pulled two beers out of the fridge, popped the tops off each bottle, and came back to the table, dropping into the chair opposite Jim's as he passed Jim his bottle. He watched Jim take the angriest four swallows of beer he thought he'd ever seen in his life, and then leaned back into his chair, staring at the bottle in his hand as though he expected it to try to attack him. McCoy stayed silent as Jim took a few deep breaths, and then another pull on his beer, all the while slowly nursing his own drink as he waited.
Finally, Jim sagged in his seat, losing some of the manic energy that had possessed him so completely a few minutes ago. "I hate you," Jim groaned, rubbing at his face. "Fuck, Bones."
"I hate you too, kid, especially when you come bargin' in here like some kinda loose cannon," McCoy responded, not unkindly. "Now, do we have to play twenty questions, or are you gonna tell me what the hell has your panties in such a knot? I thought you were spending this afternoon with Spock."
At the mention of Spock, Jim scowled and took another pull on his beer. "Fuck Spock," he said darkly.
McCoy stared. "Oh, really," he said after a moment. "I think you'd better keep talking, Jim."
So Jim did. His story went through the rest of the beers McCoy had already gotten out and most of a second round, and by the time Jim was done McCoy was thinking wistfully about his bottle of Jim Beam back in his room. But two beers was more than he'd planned to drink at all today, and Jim did not exactly need help in the fuzzy thinking department right now. McCoy was already wishing he hadn't given Jim anything alcoholic to drink at all, but short of forcing Jim to wear a shirt that lit up every time someone committed injuries upon his person, McCoy could not really be expected to keep track of Jim's continuing adventures in head trauma.
"So, let me get this straight," McCoy said, after Jim had finally wound to a halt and was staring resentfully at the half-empty bottle in his hand as if wheat ale was the source of all pain and sadness in the world. "Not only did you get emotionally involved with a Vulcan, of all the people to fall for-a Vulcan that you knew had better than good chances of going back to Vulcan when this secession business was done-but you got in a fight with said Vulcan, after getting fucking assaulted, and then drove home. With a concussion. And then let me give you alcohol. That about cover it?"
"You know you really suck at this whole 'best friend' thing," Jim complained loudly. "You know, that part where you're supposed to be giving me sympathy?"
"You want sympathy, call your mama-"
"-have you met my mother?"
"You are a god-damned idiot, Jim."
"Well thanks for that, Bones, it's just what I fucking wanted to hear right now. I'm so glad that all my problems come from the fact that I'm apparently a blithering idiot with no sense of responsibility." Jim shot a glance at McCoy that said, quite clearly, that he was contemplating getting up and possibly breaking his beer bottle over something ("something" being "Bones's skull"), but McCoy wasn't planning on waiting around for Jim to get another bad idea stuck in his head.
"Quit whining, kid, you knew damn well I wasn't gonna sit around and give you tea and sympathy. You're not friends with me because I'm a kiss-ass." Jim glowered at him over the top of his beer bottle. McCoy opened his mouth to really get going, but then Jim dropped his gaze to the table, and something about the sight of Jim Kirk slumped defeated into one of McCoy's kitchen chairs broke him a little. McCoy sighed and rubbed at his temple, wondering if it were possible for a man to go prematurely grey from having the universe's most batshit-crazy friend. "Look. You already know what I think of you dating Spock in the first place-not to say anything nasty about the guy, I think I like him better than pretty much everyone you've ever laid eyes on except for Janice, but inter-species dating is tricky at best, and that's with species that aren't in danger of seceding."
"Yeah, whatever. You're right, it was stupid anyways." Jim picked at the label on his beer bottle for a few seconds before lifting it to his mouth and finishing the rest of it off. "I think I'm just gonna go out of town for a few days, though, clear my head. I'll give you a check for next month's rent before I go."
McCoy paused thoughtfully, staring at Jim, who no longer seemed willing to meet McCoy's eyes. Neither of them said anything for a few moments; Jim started to fidget in the increasingly uncomfortable silence. When McCoy spoke next, his voice was hard enough to make Jim jump, head snapping up to stare at his friend. "I can't believe you really think I'm stupid enough to buy that bullshit, or that you'd feed me such a line of crap in the first place. You cowardly little asshole."
"What the fuck?" Jim demanded, or tried to, because McCoy was on his feet now, planting both hands on the table as he loomed over his wayward friend.
"You don't have any intention of coming back 'in a few days,' and don't think for one second I can't tell, because I know you. Shut the fuck up, Kirk, I'm not done talking." Some of Jim's own anger was coming back now, too, bunching his shoulders into a hard line as he stared at McCoy, but he didn't stand a chance of getting a word in edgewise. "Alright, you fell for Spock, and he's being a dick and so are you, and maybe you guys can work it out and maybe you can't, but you're not even waiting to stick around to find out because you're too goddamn scared. You're scared of everything. I've never seen such a capable, intelligent man so unwilling to try anything hard in my life, and I've seen some real prize-winners, Jim, but right now you are taking the goddamn cake. I've been so glad to see what you've been like the past few weeks with Spock around-you quit whorin' your fool self out, you've been busting your ass in those classes, you've been happy, and now at the first snag you're, what, going to just run the fuck out of town away from everything? Away from me and all of your friends, away from all the hard work you've done."
"I wasn't gonna run off," Jim interjected. "Like hell you weren't," McCoy snapped, and Jim threw up his hands.
"What?" he demanded. "What do you want from me? I suppose you think I should just jump in line to be a good little boy? Join Starfleet, maybe? Would you approve of me then? Because I hate to tell you this, but you aren't gonna be winning any 'Father of the Year' awards any time soon-"
"You shut the fuck up about my family, Jim," McCoy growled. "I didn't go through Hell and back just to listen to you run your damn mouth. As for what you do, I honestly don't give two shits, so long as it's not a waste of your goddamn time. Starfleet would be great-you'd be amazing and you know it. But my point, Jim, is that it's cowardly of you to drop everything and run the minute shit gets rough. And if you run off like that, don't expect to come back and find any of us still want you as a friend."
Jim said nothing at all to that, only glared at McCoy, his face livid with anger, and for several moments McCoy thought he'd gone too far, that he was wrong and Jim really was just going to run for it. Then Jim sagged, all the tension running out of him like sand, and he slumped back in his chair again, rubbing at his face with both hands. "Fuck," he mumbled, and McCoy felt his heart go out to the idiot despite himself. "I... fuck. I'm sorry, Bones."
McCoy shook his head. Today was one of those days where he wondered how and why he'd let himself get tangled up with James T. Kirk. Hopefully tomorrow would be one where he would have no trouble remembering. "You're an idiot, Jim," he sighed, and went to grab another drink for Jim from the fridge-this one non-alcoholic.
* * * * *
Across town, 4.75 hours after leaving T'Pring's quarters, Spock had succeeded in gaining the safety of his room, only to discover that as oppressive as the presence of others felt right now, being alone was worse.
He could not recall the last time he had felt so exhausted -- not just the familiar mental fatigue of a grueling research project, but a weariness invading all his thoughts. And now that he'd found the relative quiet of his quarters (newly secured by inspectors from the Federation and the Vulcan embassy), Spock was dismayed to discover that there was nothing to drown out the chaos inside his mind.
Again and again, Spock found himself replaying all the conversations he'd had today: with Inspector Larsen, with T'Pring, with Sasak, but it was the scene with Jim that stuck in the front of Spock's mind. He had missed the public reaction to T'Pring's arrest completely, outside of conversations with a handful of shocked colleagues asking him what he knew; he did not know if the Federation or Vulcan at large was outraged, relieved, or anything else. He had checked his messages but found no interest in even opening any of them. He retired to his bedroom to attempt to sink into a meditative state, and fifty-six minutes later gave up in despair.
Spock had so much that needed attending to, and yet he could not concentrate. The opening arguments of the secession hearing would begin in two days, and Spock had been asked to speak to the council at the culmination of the talks. What notes Spock did have for his speech would need to be heavily edited in the face of what T'Pring had done.
He could not understand how his closest childhood companion had come to adopt such a radical way of thinking. When Spock had been unable to control his burgeoning emotions during adolescence, T'Pring quietly helped him calm himself. When Amanda died, it was T'Pring who flouted tradition and invited Spock out of the house again and again, despite Spock's reluctance. T'Pring had been the one to recognize the lack of mental compatibility between them, and proposed the dissolution of their pre-bond link to the council of Elders.
It was only once he'd been accepted to the VSA and she had gone instead to the healing halls of Golgotharan that they had grown apart somewhat. But that was to be expected, and it did not explain how this turn of events had come to pass. Spock clasped his hands more tightly in his lap and shut his eyes, fighting the helplessness that wanted to fill him from the inside. It was ironic-that was the word, he thought-ironic that the one Vulcan he would have felt comfortable talking to about Jim, and Spock's Human family, was the one who was so avidly against Vulcan remaining with the Human-centric Federation that she would purposely sabotage Vulcan's sentiments towards it.
At the thought of Jim, Spock felt another wave of black pain and confusion roll through him. Time and again he had gone over the past few days, and the fight he'd had with Jim today that set off all the rest of the afternoon, and he still could not understand why they had fought, or even what they had fought about. The memory now of his loss of control-the way he had shouted at Jim, had just let Jim go-now filled him with shame and revulsion. The thick taste of bile filled his mouth, and an awful weight seemed to press down on his chest as the helplessness that had haunted him since he was a child of eleven threatened to spill forth all over again, filling his lungs and veins with lead.
It was pointless to wish to take back words that had already been uttered, to undo what he had done. And what if Jim chose to leave? What if he decided that he wanted nothing to more to do with Spock, son of Sarek? What if the people of Vulcan decided to withdraw from the Federation, to lock themselves away? Spock thought of going back to a cloistered planet, to live among a people who considered half his heritage to be unworthy of their attention, and found the idea abhorrent. After all that he'd come to appreciate about his Human half while here on Earth, he could hardly go back to acting as though it did not exist.
A knock came at the door. Spock shook himself, glancing up at the noise. "Enter," he said, exerting himself. The door slid open, and Sarek came in, the door hissing quietly as it slid closed again behind him. "Father," Spock said, rising to his feet, and stopped, at a loss for words.
Sarek said nothing for a few moments. He simply stood in the center of the room, studying Spock, his hands clasped behind his back. Spock found he could bear the silence between two people even less than the silence of one, and finally said, "You have heard the news of T'Pring's betrayal."
Sarek inclined his head. "I could not have avoided it." He took a step or two closer and paused; Spock stood motionless, his limbs heavy and useless. "Speak your mind, Spock."
Spock took a deep breath. The weight in his chest had become almost unbearable. "That... would be unwise."
"What is necessary is never unwise." It was so unlike anything Spock expected from his father that he found himself at a loss for words. He looked down at his hands, as if he might find some answer there.
"I am-I feel conflicted, Father. To the point where I cannot think, or find peace." He heard the rustle of his father drawing closer.
"Conflict is a natural result of your unique heritage, my son. But I have always been grateful for that." Spock finally lifted his gaze. "And not only because you are all I have left of her."
Spock felt his throat tighten painfully, and he clenched his fists against the fresh well of emotion pulsing in the back of his throat. Sarek watched him, his severe features now veiling some unnameable emotion. Spock took another deep breath. "I feel... anger, that T'Pring would mislead everyone so shamefully. And I feel drawn to the Human I have befriended since coming to Earth, despite knowing that I must logically return to Vulcan." Spock's voice grew unsteady, but he forced himself to say what came next. "I cannot control myself when I am around him, Father."
Again, Sarek inclined his head. "In this instance, do not try to." Sarek hesitated; then, choosing his words, he continued, "I did not marry your mother because it was logical, Spock. I married her because I loved her."
Whatever Spock might have said in response stuck in his throat. For several seconds, he could scarcely even breathe. Finally, he looked over at Sarek, managing to nod mutely. This seemed to satisfy Sarek, because he drew back, re-folding his hands inside his robes. "Be sure that you are here by 1500 hours tomorrow afternoon. The delegation will leave for the Mojave desert at 1700 hours." Again Spock nodded, watching as Sarek nod in return before slipping quietly out Spock's door.
It took a few more minutes before Spock was ready to leave. But for the first time since he returned to Los Angeles from Washington, he knew exactly what he wanted to do next.
* * * * *
He'd finally found the picture at the very back of the bottom drawer of his desk. Jim sat curled up on his bed, the sounds of Los Angeles traffic drifting to his ears but doing nothing to distract him from the old photo frame he held in his hand.
In the picture, Winona Kirk stood with her arms around two boys, one grinning and gap-toothed, the other taller boy pretending to be bored but mostly failing at it. Both boys had the same electric blue eyes and nearly-identical dimples. This photo had been taken a week before Winona shipped off for what turned out to be her last off-planet tour of duty, accompanied by a promotion to the rank of Lieutenant Commander.
Jim stared at the mother he hadn't seen in person in two years, at a brother who'd been lost to him since long before he ran away to Deneva. You could see Sam and Winona's smiles hiding just behind their eyes in this photo; Sam and Winona never smiled unless they really meant it. Jim had loved trying to make them laugh when they didn't want to, a job that became almost impossibly difficult a few months after this photo. Not that it had stopped Jim from trying-for a while, anyway.
He leaned back and let out a long breath, the sound of it loud in the quiet of his room. Jim wasn't given to thinking much about his past, but McCoy had dragged a promise out of him to wait a whole day before making any big decisions. He'd gone out for a drive, just to think, and wound up back at the house anyway, now hiding in his room.
Jim wasn't even sure why the hell he'd wanted to dig out this picture. He swallowed against a sudden lump in the back of his throat. The silence he'd craved so badly turned oppressive; he groped for the remote control on the floor next to the bed, and flipped on the music-player on his desk, mashing the button for "random."
An old, vaguely familiar jazz tune came on, and Jim rolled onto his back on the bed again, staring at the ceiling, wishing he could just sink through it, sink through the floor, and vanish into the earth. But that approach hadn't made Jim any happier when he'd tried it with Winona and Sam than it had with Spock today.
Once he'd gotten home from his bike-ride and cooled down a bit, Jim could admit what McCoy and Spock had both said; he'd over-reacted. Badly. He still wanted a fucking explanation for that comment about not "complicating" Spock, but shit, he hadn't even given Spock a chance when Spock had tried to do exactly that-he'd just flown off the handle at him, and then run off. And Jim might've wondered if he was just sabotaging himself, if it weren't for the fact that he didn't remember the last time he wanted something as badly as he wanted to be with Spock.
It wasn't just that Spock was brilliant, or funny (strangely), or fucking sexy, or charming, or-or any of those things, because he was, but it wasn't just that. Spock made Jim care again, made him want to be better than he was again. Jim felt capable of being worth something, when he was with Spock. It had been so long since Jim had felt like that, and he didn't think he wanted to go back to not having it.
Jim jumped as the song ended, abruptly changing to a loud, grinding piece of rock n' roll that sounded like two cement mixers dueling to the death. He rolled off the bed, devoting two pointless seconds to trying to find the remote before darting across the room and mashing the "off" switch, breathing a sigh as the screeching guitars went silent.
Well, shit. He couldn't go back to whoring around, that was for sure. Just the thought nearly made him break out in hives. Jim trudged back to the bed, letting himself flop face-first down onto it, his stomach rumbling in protest to remind him that he hadn't eaten in almost twelve hours. He supposed he'd have to go into the kitchen and shove something down his throat, if only to keep from making himself more ill, but nothing sounded remotely appetizing at the moment.
Maybe he could... fix cars? No, fuck that. Doing it part-time was fun; doing it as a job would eat up way too much of his time and bore him to tears. Jim rolled onto his side, curling in towards his knees like a comma, drifting off again as his thoughts wandered. He supposed he could actually go to school full-time, go after a degree, do something in social work, maybe... Jim shook his head, scowling at the wall. Every time he tried to picture himself doing something, inevitably Spock appeared at the edge of the vision-picking him up from work, from class, waiting for him at home in the apartment they shared. A Spock who didn't realize that dating Jim Kirk was one of the most illogical things he could possibly choose to do, a Spock that didn't go back to Vulcan-and oh god, what if Vulcan really did secede? What then?
Jim groaned and pressed his hands to his face. He'd deliberately left his PADD in the kitchen so that he couldn't page Spock and beg him to come over. But Spock was probably dealing with a thousand bureaucrats and Federation representatives right now, and his wayward Human lover was probably the very last thing on his mind. Just that thought sent Jim's stomach twisting into fresh knots, and Jim squeezed his eyes resolutely shut, refusing to acknowledge the stinging at their corners.
A knock at the door made him jump for the second time in five minutes. Jim rolled upright at the edge of the bed, staring at the door. "Yo," he said warily.
"It's me, Jim." McCoy's voice filtered through the wood, slightly muffled. "Someone here to see you."
Jim's heart leapt immediately and obnoxiously into his throat, and he had to work at swallowing a few times in order to clear it enough to answer, "Sure, come in."
But the figure who appeared in the doorway to Jim's bedroom was not a slim, immaculately-dressed Vulcan with dark eyes. It was Captain Christopher Pike. Jim stared, dumbfounded, and wondered briefly if his mom had called Pike when Jim had never gotten around to responding to her message.
Pike nodded at Jim, stepping gingerly into the bedroom. "Hi there, Jim," he said. "I came as quick as I got the message. You're pretty hard to get ahold of, you know."
"Message?" Jim's gaze flickered past Pike to the sight of a rather guilty-looking McCoy, who was standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
"Captain Pike's been askin' to talk to you since right after you left for Washington, Jim," McCoy said, sounding awkward. "But you haven't really been home."
Jim stared. Reasonably speaking, he felt like he should be angry, especially since it wasn't like McCoy didn't know damn well how much Jim loathed Starfleet, but right now all Jim could muster was a sort of passing irritation. "You owe me at least two bottles of Saurian brandy," he said to McCoy. Then he shifted his attention back to Pike. "So, here I am. Wanna tell me what's goin' on?"
"I was hoping to talk to you for a little while, Jim." Pike's voice was calm, but something about the careful way he was holding himself pinged something in the back of Jim's mind. Pike was watching Jim like he was a particularly skittish animal, like- He's expecting me to bolt, Jim realized abruptly. They're both expecting me to just cut and run.
It was not a pleasant realization.
Jim took a deep breath and let it out. "Okay," he said. "I'm listening."
If a violent, socially deviant humanoid had not been passed out cold on Spock's floor, it was very likely Spock would simply have locked himself in his suite and not emerged for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, not only did Rijaal stink unpleasantly of body odor and alcohol, he had also somehow obtained access to Spock's private quarters. So, doing his level best to put Jim's abrupt departure from his mind, Spock sent for the Federation officials to come collect the unconscious would-be attacker from his rooms.
Which turned the next hour and a half into what Spock overheard one of the officials he'd summoned describe as "a shit-show." All manner of beings were milling around Spock's rooms, giving him no peace whatsoever, and though Spock had initially hoped to avoid mentioning Jim at all, he quickly had to abort that decision when several Vulcans started making noises about how the intruder was yet another display of hostility from the Federation. It seemed nothing was exempt from political machinations, Spock observed with more than a touch of cynicism, watching from his seat on the couch in what had been the main living area of his suite.
He might have been slightly curt with the Federation investigator-a mustachioed, stocky man in his mid-fifties who seemed to have a dozen new questions for every one that Spock answered for him-but the detective seemed entirely too curious about the nature of Spock's relationship with Jim for Spock's comfort. Who had access to Spock's rooms? Only Jim Kirk and Spock, though when asked Spock had to concede that the hotel manager Harcourt Mudd might logically also have had access. Where was Jim Kirk now? Presumably at his dwelling in Venice Beach, but of course Spock did not know, as he was only a touch-telepath and not an actual psychic. Perhaps the detective might try contacting Mr. Kirk himself. Why wasn't Jim Kirk answering his comm-unit? Spock could not have said. Why had Spock permitted Mr. Kirk to leave before an investigation could be conducted? Spock was not in the habit of nerve-pinching others to force them to do as he wished, save in self-defense.
Correction; Spock had been more than slightly curt with the detective. But under the circumstances, Spock found it difficult to care about his own increasingly illogical reactions.
Spock might also have been somewhat put out that Jim had left (how typical, he thought, and tried not to), leaving all of this obnoxiousness for Spock to deal with, as if he didn't have enough to worry about already. But that made him think too much about the words he and Jim had exchanged before Jim's abrupt departure, and Spock found that the more he considered the things he and Jim had said to one another, the less comfortable he was with the whole situation.
But then Detective Larsen, he of the indefatigable questions, returned to Spock's quarters two-point-three hours later (knocking loudly on Spock's bedroom door until finally Spock was forced to either answer the door or put his fist through the wall) and informed him that Rijaal had confessed to being contacted by Harcourt Mudd in order to "teach Jim Kirk a lesson," that Rijaal had in turn been given his illicit key-card to Spock's quarters by Mudd himself, and that Federation officials had arrested Harcourt Mudd at his private residence in the act of packing his vehicle for a hasty departure from Los Angeles.
Spock raised an eyebrow at the detective, who was now sitting in the chair across from Spock's desk. "I presume that you came to deliver this message in person for some purpose relating to this investigation and not for the pleasure of my company," he said finally. He moved to the teapot that was sitting out on the counter, and removed two cups from the small cabinet set into the wall.
The detective smiled thinly. "I like you exactly as much as my mother-in-law likes me, Mr. Spock," he said, raising his eyes from flicking through pages on his PADD. "But Harcourt Mudd claims to have information regarding the leaked Federation memorandum. Specifically, that he overheard one of Admiral Barnett's aides and a Vulcan woman discussing a falsified document they intended to make public at a Federation gathering two weeks ago. And since Rijaal's attack was directed at one of your companions, I wondered if you might have any information confirming or denying Mudd's claim."
Spock kept his eyes on the teapot in his hands, pouring out two mugs of steaming herbal tea and setting the teapot aside. He kept his face perfectly straight as he brought one mug over to Detective Larsen, settling into the remaining chair at the desk. "I have no information that might be of use to you, Detective," he said evenly, cradling his own mug in both hands. "However, should I be made aware of anything I believe to be pertinent to the case, I will of course contact you immediately."
Larsen nodded minutely, ignoring the mug Spock set in front of him. "I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Spock," he said placidly. "I know you want this situation resolved as much as we do. But if you're sure you have nothing more to tell me...." He trailed off, still watching Spock, but Spock merely sat where he was, sipping at his tea. Finally, the detective rose to his feet, giving Spock one more short nod. "We'll be in contact, Mr. Spock," he said. "We'll let you know if we learn anything new."
"Many thanks, Detective." Spock rose as well, escorting the detective to the door. Only once it was shut behind Larsen and Spock had returned to his desk did he let go of the breath he'd been holding, a heavy knot settling into the pit of his stomach. Spock shut his eyes, a memory replaying itself behind the lids: the symposium gathering on the same date Detective Larsen spoke of, the day after the dinner with Pike and Komack, when Spock had seen T'Pring speaking to a Human off in a corner of the courtyard. Spock had been so distracted by his conversation with Sasak and his thoughts of Jim that he had paid it no mind at the time, but now the event acquired an ominous significance in his mind.
He was being ridiculous. Mudd had doubtless made the claim in order to try to save his own skin; surely he would be proven a liar, his bid for lenience a mere ruse. And T'Pring having a discussion with a Human did not mean anything in and of itself. Spock opened his eyes, staring at the computer monitor, seeing nothing of the words on the screen. He picked up his mug, took a sip, and set it down again without even registering the taste. Surak himself might have come into his quarters right then and Spock would not even have noticed.
Mudd had been the one to introduce Spock to Jim, and had since then found cause to deliberately send a violent attacker after Jim, for reasons Spock could guess at but not entirely understand. And now either the Federation was moving to deliberately sabotage Vulcan's autonomy, when Vulcan had been one of its founding members, or else someone wished for the world to think it so. But surely T'Pring could not have anything to do with the Federation memorandum. Surely...
Spock stood up abruptly, almost knocking his mug of tea across his desk and not even noticing. He had to talk to T'Pring. Then he could think about what to do about Jim.
* * * * *
Later, Spock would realize it had been idiotic of him to go straight to T'Pring's quarters after being questioned by Detective Larsen-had he thought about it at all, he would have messaged T'Pring on her comm unit before doing anything else. And if while he was at it, he would have deduced (correctly, as it turned out) that he might be followed, that Federation security would be monitoring the activities of all the Vulcan delegates in the wake of such a tumultuous couple of days. But at the time all he could think was that he had to speak with T'Pring.
She answered her door after the first knock, staring at him with one eyebrow raised. The expression was so familiar and unthreatening on her that Spock found himself at a sudden loss for words, wondering again if all his concerns were a figment of his imagination-a product of spending too much time in the company of Humans, and the stress that he'd been subjected to the past couple of days. "I presume there is a reason you came to speak with me," she said at length, when Spock still had not said anything, "and that you are not having an episode of sleep-walking?"
Spock shook himself. "I wish to speak with you in private," he said. "Now, if you are not otherwise indisposed."
T'Pring hesitated, and Spock's stomach tightened. But "Come in," was all she said, and Spock slipped into her quarters, taking a deep breath as she shut the door behind them. He waited until she'd led him into the sitting chambers, settling himself onto the couch while she sank into the armchair opposite him, her crimson robes swirling around her.
"What is it you wished to speak to me about?" she asked, clasping her hands in her lap.
"Harcourt Mudd claims to have heard a Vulcan woman and a Human male discussing a falsified Federation document on the afternoon of the science exposition," Spock said, striving to keep his voice calm despite the way the words stuck in his throat. "I saw you speaking to a young Human that day out in the courtyard, as though you did not wish to be overheard."
T'Pring was silent, her face betraying no hint of reaction. Spock clasped his own hands in his lap and kept his gaze level. Finally, T'Pring straightened, as if summoning her resolve. "If you wish me to state that I am responsible for falsifying and distributing the leaked Federation document, I will do no such thing," T'Pring said, her voice as cool as Spock had ever heard it.
"Is that because you did not do it, or because you do not wish to incriminate yourself?" Spock stared at T'Pring, hardly able to believe such blatant misdirection, but T'Pring only raised her eyebrow again, as untouchable as a wall of ice. Spock felt a horrible certainty settle into his bones.
"Has your time amongst the Humans skewed your perceptions so badly that you are now incapable of believing what you previously knew to be true?" T'Pring leaned forward, her eyes dark and intent, full of a dreadful urgency. "The Federation takes our people for granted, and they would do anything to prevent us from taking our resources and refocusing them on our own needs, instead of allowing ourselves to be bent to their desires-"
"Save your rhetoric for someone who will believe it," Spock cut in, already rising from his seat, a welcome detachment settling over him like an invisible sheet. "Your unwillingness to answer my question directly is proof enough of your guilt."
"Spock!" T'Pring rose at almost the same instant Spock did, reaching for him as though physically prevent him from leaving. She stopped herself at the last moment, bringing her hands in front of her instead, palms pressed together. "You have no proof of anything," she said.
"I have enough to turn their investigations your way, which is all that is needed," Spock said. The new realization of T'Pring's betrayal seemed to have left him temporarily numb, though he knew better than to believe he would be able to remain stoic for long. But at the moment all that mattered was telling his suspicions to Detective Larsen, putting the proceedings in his capable hands and retreating to his rooms.
T'Pring did reach out then, grabbing hold of Spock's arms to physically arrest his movement. "Spock, you must not do this thing," she said. Her face was still calm, still even, but Spock could hear the strain in her voice now, the same strain that was pressing heavy on him.
"Give me even one reason why I should not go to Federation authorities right now and tell them of your deceit." The ice in his own voice surprised him. Spock looked down at the hands on his arms, and after a moment T'Pring let them fall away.
T'Pring drew herself up, some of her usual confidence returning. "I have done what is right for our people," she bit out. "I have moved to protect Vulcan and her children."
"What is right? Muddling the truth to enrage Vulcan into a decision, robbing them of their ability to decide their destiny for themselves? Has the right choice become so unrecognizable?"
"They are blind!" T'Pring shouted, hands clenching into fists at her sides, her beautiful face lit up with the force of her rage. "As you have become blind! How can you be so free with the Federation who so takes us for granted, who ask for everything from us and gives us nothing back? Spock!"
Spock closed his eyes. "It is you who have allowed your fear and pain to blind you, my friend," he said heavily. He turned away before he could see her face again, pressure building steadily behind his eyes, and the hiss of the door opening ahead of him took him by surprise. Spock stopped in his tracks as the door opened and Humans in Federation uniforms marched in, armed with grim expressions and phasers. Detective Larsen came behind them, nodding curtly to Spock before sweeping past him to where T'Pring stood as though turned to stone.
"Lady T'Pring, you are under arrest," Spock heard him say. "You are being formally charged with treason and conspiracy, with falsifying a Federation document..."
Spock had heard enough. Spock sped up, slipping away out the door before he could betray himself by looking back and catching a glimpse of T'Pring's face.
* * * * *
Of the many historic events that would happen that day (among them the assault of the future Captain of the famous starship Enterprise, and the arrest of Lady T'Pring of the house of T'Pau), the one that would be lost to the history books was the small chain of miracles involving James Kirk in one two-hour span. Jim flew out the door of the Beverly Wilshire hotel like his tail was on fire, vaulting onto his motorbike and tearing down the street, heedless of the pounding of his recently-injured skull and the painful lump in his throat.
By the time he arrived at home, he had narrowly avoided three collisions, of which the first two would have injured him and a number of pedestrians badly, and the last would have killed him instantly. Jim was saved, respectively, by his own astonishing luck, by the careful attention of Sarah Kellermen's boyfriend (who yanked her out of the way of the oncoming bike in the nick of time), and by the fact that Al-Jazarid Fakim had insisted on relieving his brother from his last overtime shift earlier that morning. If Al-Jazarid's brother Omar had been driving the heavy transport Jim swerved in front of, Omar's overtired reflexes would not have been up to the task of coming to the shrieking halt that allowed Jim Kirk to drive away in one whole, un-flattened piece.
The next minor miracle did not involve Jim specifically, but instead was owed to Leonard McCoy's insomnia. If Dr. McCoy had been able to sleep the night before, he wouldn't have come home for a mid-afternoon nap. And if he had not come home for his nap, he would not have been able to mis-set his alarm and oversleep, and he would not have been shuffling around the kitchen of the home he shared with Jim Kirk when Jim came bursting through the back door that afternoon. And with no one to waylay him, there is no telling how far Jim might have run before finally falling back to earth.
But McCoy was there, in all his bed-headed, crabby glory, and one look at Jim's wild eyes was all it took for him to set down his coffee mug before it ended up all down the front of his favorite sweatshirt. Jim yanked off his motorcycle helmet, throwing it onto the counter, and then he had to stop moving or else physically plow through his friend, who had taken the moment of distraction to get up in Jim's business. "Whoa, kid," McCoy said, hands going to Jim's shoulders, trying to exert some calmness on the man in front of him. At the moment, Jim resembled nothing so much as a startled colt, all wild eyes and heavy breathing, ready to bolt back out the door if McCoy wasn't careful.
"Dammit Bones I don't have time for this, I have to get going-" Jim batted ineffectually at McCoy's hands, but all that did was encourage McCoy to sling an arm around Jim's back and steer him to the kitchen table, plunking him unceremoniously down in the chair he himself had just vacated.
"You're going nowhere till you calm the fuck down," McCoy said bluntly. "Whaddya want, whiskey or beer?"
Jim glared down at the table and tried to get up; McCoy, who had anticipated this, just shoved him back down into the chair again. "Beer it is," McCoy announced. "I ain't wastin' my good whiskey on you right now."
"Gee, thanks," Jim growled, but this time when McCoy went to the fridge to grab a couple of beers, Jim stayed where he was-which is why he didn't see McCoy go to the comm-unit on the counter by the fridge and send off a silent message. McCoy pulled two beers out of the fridge, popped the tops off each bottle, and came back to the table, dropping into the chair opposite Jim's as he passed Jim his bottle. He watched Jim take the angriest four swallows of beer he thought he'd ever seen in his life, and then leaned back into his chair, staring at the bottle in his hand as though he expected it to try to attack him. McCoy stayed silent as Jim took a few deep breaths, and then another pull on his beer, all the while slowly nursing his own drink as he waited.
Finally, Jim sagged in his seat, losing some of the manic energy that had possessed him so completely a few minutes ago. "I hate you," Jim groaned, rubbing at his face. "Fuck, Bones."
"I hate you too, kid, especially when you come bargin' in here like some kinda loose cannon," McCoy responded, not unkindly. "Now, do we have to play twenty questions, or are you gonna tell me what the hell has your panties in such a knot? I thought you were spending this afternoon with Spock."
At the mention of Spock, Jim scowled and took another pull on his beer. "Fuck Spock," he said darkly.
McCoy stared. "Oh, really," he said after a moment. "I think you'd better keep talking, Jim."
So Jim did. His story went through the rest of the beers McCoy had already gotten out and most of a second round, and by the time Jim was done McCoy was thinking wistfully about his bottle of Jim Beam back in his room. But two beers was more than he'd planned to drink at all today, and Jim did not exactly need help in the fuzzy thinking department right now. McCoy was already wishing he hadn't given Jim anything alcoholic to drink at all, but short of forcing Jim to wear a shirt that lit up every time someone committed injuries upon his person, McCoy could not really be expected to keep track of Jim's continuing adventures in head trauma.
"So, let me get this straight," McCoy said, after Jim had finally wound to a halt and was staring resentfully at the half-empty bottle in his hand as if wheat ale was the source of all pain and sadness in the world. "Not only did you get emotionally involved with a Vulcan, of all the people to fall for-a Vulcan that you knew had better than good chances of going back to Vulcan when this secession business was done-but you got in a fight with said Vulcan, after getting fucking assaulted, and then drove home. With a concussion. And then let me give you alcohol. That about cover it?"
"You know you really suck at this whole 'best friend' thing," Jim complained loudly. "You know, that part where you're supposed to be giving me sympathy?"
"You want sympathy, call your mama-"
"-have you met my mother?"
"You are a god-damned idiot, Jim."
"Well thanks for that, Bones, it's just what I fucking wanted to hear right now. I'm so glad that all my problems come from the fact that I'm apparently a blithering idiot with no sense of responsibility." Jim shot a glance at McCoy that said, quite clearly, that he was contemplating getting up and possibly breaking his beer bottle over something ("something" being "Bones's skull"), but McCoy wasn't planning on waiting around for Jim to get another bad idea stuck in his head.
"Quit whining, kid, you knew damn well I wasn't gonna sit around and give you tea and sympathy. You're not friends with me because I'm a kiss-ass." Jim glowered at him over the top of his beer bottle. McCoy opened his mouth to really get going, but then Jim dropped his gaze to the table, and something about the sight of Jim Kirk slumped defeated into one of McCoy's kitchen chairs broke him a little. McCoy sighed and rubbed at his temple, wondering if it were possible for a man to go prematurely grey from having the universe's most batshit-crazy friend. "Look. You already know what I think of you dating Spock in the first place-not to say anything nasty about the guy, I think I like him better than pretty much everyone you've ever laid eyes on except for Janice, but inter-species dating is tricky at best, and that's with species that aren't in danger of seceding."
"Yeah, whatever. You're right, it was stupid anyways." Jim picked at the label on his beer bottle for a few seconds before lifting it to his mouth and finishing the rest of it off. "I think I'm just gonna go out of town for a few days, though, clear my head. I'll give you a check for next month's rent before I go."
McCoy paused thoughtfully, staring at Jim, who no longer seemed willing to meet McCoy's eyes. Neither of them said anything for a few moments; Jim started to fidget in the increasingly uncomfortable silence. When McCoy spoke next, his voice was hard enough to make Jim jump, head snapping up to stare at his friend. "I can't believe you really think I'm stupid enough to buy that bullshit, or that you'd feed me such a line of crap in the first place. You cowardly little asshole."
"What the fuck?" Jim demanded, or tried to, because McCoy was on his feet now, planting both hands on the table as he loomed over his wayward friend.
"You don't have any intention of coming back 'in a few days,' and don't think for one second I can't tell, because I know you. Shut the fuck up, Kirk, I'm not done talking." Some of Jim's own anger was coming back now, too, bunching his shoulders into a hard line as he stared at McCoy, but he didn't stand a chance of getting a word in edgewise. "Alright, you fell for Spock, and he's being a dick and so are you, and maybe you guys can work it out and maybe you can't, but you're not even waiting to stick around to find out because you're too goddamn scared. You're scared of everything. I've never seen such a capable, intelligent man so unwilling to try anything hard in my life, and I've seen some real prize-winners, Jim, but right now you are taking the goddamn cake. I've been so glad to see what you've been like the past few weeks with Spock around-you quit whorin' your fool self out, you've been busting your ass in those classes, you've been happy, and now at the first snag you're, what, going to just run the fuck out of town away from everything? Away from me and all of your friends, away from all the hard work you've done."
"I wasn't gonna run off," Jim interjected. "Like hell you weren't," McCoy snapped, and Jim threw up his hands.
"What?" he demanded. "What do you want from me? I suppose you think I should just jump in line to be a good little boy? Join Starfleet, maybe? Would you approve of me then? Because I hate to tell you this, but you aren't gonna be winning any 'Father of the Year' awards any time soon-"
"You shut the fuck up about my family, Jim," McCoy growled. "I didn't go through Hell and back just to listen to you run your damn mouth. As for what you do, I honestly don't give two shits, so long as it's not a waste of your goddamn time. Starfleet would be great-you'd be amazing and you know it. But my point, Jim, is that it's cowardly of you to drop everything and run the minute shit gets rough. And if you run off like that, don't expect to come back and find any of us still want you as a friend."
Jim said nothing at all to that, only glared at McCoy, his face livid with anger, and for several moments McCoy thought he'd gone too far, that he was wrong and Jim really was just going to run for it. Then Jim sagged, all the tension running out of him like sand, and he slumped back in his chair again, rubbing at his face with both hands. "Fuck," he mumbled, and McCoy felt his heart go out to the idiot despite himself. "I... fuck. I'm sorry, Bones."
McCoy shook his head. Today was one of those days where he wondered how and why he'd let himself get tangled up with James T. Kirk. Hopefully tomorrow would be one where he would have no trouble remembering. "You're an idiot, Jim," he sighed, and went to grab another drink for Jim from the fridge-this one non-alcoholic.
* * * * *
Across town, 4.75 hours after leaving T'Pring's quarters, Spock had succeeded in gaining the safety of his room, only to discover that as oppressive as the presence of others felt right now, being alone was worse.
He could not recall the last time he had felt so exhausted -- not just the familiar mental fatigue of a grueling research project, but a weariness invading all his thoughts. And now that he'd found the relative quiet of his quarters (newly secured by inspectors from the Federation and the Vulcan embassy), Spock was dismayed to discover that there was nothing to drown out the chaos inside his mind.
Again and again, Spock found himself replaying all the conversations he'd had today: with Inspector Larsen, with T'Pring, with Sasak, but it was the scene with Jim that stuck in the front of Spock's mind. He had missed the public reaction to T'Pring's arrest completely, outside of conversations with a handful of shocked colleagues asking him what he knew; he did not know if the Federation or Vulcan at large was outraged, relieved, or anything else. He had checked his messages but found no interest in even opening any of them. He retired to his bedroom to attempt to sink into a meditative state, and fifty-six minutes later gave up in despair.
Spock had so much that needed attending to, and yet he could not concentrate. The opening arguments of the secession hearing would begin in two days, and Spock had been asked to speak to the council at the culmination of the talks. What notes Spock did have for his speech would need to be heavily edited in the face of what T'Pring had done.
He could not understand how his closest childhood companion had come to adopt such a radical way of thinking. When Spock had been unable to control his burgeoning emotions during adolescence, T'Pring quietly helped him calm himself. When Amanda died, it was T'Pring who flouted tradition and invited Spock out of the house again and again, despite Spock's reluctance. T'Pring had been the one to recognize the lack of mental compatibility between them, and proposed the dissolution of their pre-bond link to the council of Elders.
It was only once he'd been accepted to the VSA and she had gone instead to the healing halls of Golgotharan that they had grown apart somewhat. But that was to be expected, and it did not explain how this turn of events had come to pass. Spock clasped his hands more tightly in his lap and shut his eyes, fighting the helplessness that wanted to fill him from the inside. It was ironic-that was the word, he thought-ironic that the one Vulcan he would have felt comfortable talking to about Jim, and Spock's Human family, was the one who was so avidly against Vulcan remaining with the Human-centric Federation that she would purposely sabotage Vulcan's sentiments towards it.
At the thought of Jim, Spock felt another wave of black pain and confusion roll through him. Time and again he had gone over the past few days, and the fight he'd had with Jim today that set off all the rest of the afternoon, and he still could not understand why they had fought, or even what they had fought about. The memory now of his loss of control-the way he had shouted at Jim, had just let Jim go-now filled him with shame and revulsion. The thick taste of bile filled his mouth, and an awful weight seemed to press down on his chest as the helplessness that had haunted him since he was a child of eleven threatened to spill forth all over again, filling his lungs and veins with lead.
It was pointless to wish to take back words that had already been uttered, to undo what he had done. And what if Jim chose to leave? What if he decided that he wanted nothing to more to do with Spock, son of Sarek? What if the people of Vulcan decided to withdraw from the Federation, to lock themselves away? Spock thought of going back to a cloistered planet, to live among a people who considered half his heritage to be unworthy of their attention, and found the idea abhorrent. After all that he'd come to appreciate about his Human half while here on Earth, he could hardly go back to acting as though it did not exist.
A knock came at the door. Spock shook himself, glancing up at the noise. "Enter," he said, exerting himself. The door slid open, and Sarek came in, the door hissing quietly as it slid closed again behind him. "Father," Spock said, rising to his feet, and stopped, at a loss for words.
Sarek said nothing for a few moments. He simply stood in the center of the room, studying Spock, his hands clasped behind his back. Spock found he could bear the silence between two people even less than the silence of one, and finally said, "You have heard the news of T'Pring's betrayal."
Sarek inclined his head. "I could not have avoided it." He took a step or two closer and paused; Spock stood motionless, his limbs heavy and useless. "Speak your mind, Spock."
Spock took a deep breath. The weight in his chest had become almost unbearable. "That... would be unwise."
"What is necessary is never unwise." It was so unlike anything Spock expected from his father that he found himself at a loss for words. He looked down at his hands, as if he might find some answer there.
"I am-I feel conflicted, Father. To the point where I cannot think, or find peace." He heard the rustle of his father drawing closer.
"Conflict is a natural result of your unique heritage, my son. But I have always been grateful for that." Spock finally lifted his gaze. "And not only because you are all I have left of her."
Spock felt his throat tighten painfully, and he clenched his fists against the fresh well of emotion pulsing in the back of his throat. Sarek watched him, his severe features now veiling some unnameable emotion. Spock took another deep breath. "I feel... anger, that T'Pring would mislead everyone so shamefully. And I feel drawn to the Human I have befriended since coming to Earth, despite knowing that I must logically return to Vulcan." Spock's voice grew unsteady, but he forced himself to say what came next. "I cannot control myself when I am around him, Father."
Again, Sarek inclined his head. "In this instance, do not try to." Sarek hesitated; then, choosing his words, he continued, "I did not marry your mother because it was logical, Spock. I married her because I loved her."
Whatever Spock might have said in response stuck in his throat. For several seconds, he could scarcely even breathe. Finally, he looked over at Sarek, managing to nod mutely. This seemed to satisfy Sarek, because he drew back, re-folding his hands inside his robes. "Be sure that you are here by 1500 hours tomorrow afternoon. The delegation will leave for the Mojave desert at 1700 hours." Again Spock nodded, watching as Sarek nod in return before slipping quietly out Spock's door.
It took a few more minutes before Spock was ready to leave. But for the first time since he returned to Los Angeles from Washington, he knew exactly what he wanted to do next.
* * * * *
He'd finally found the picture at the very back of the bottom drawer of his desk. Jim sat curled up on his bed, the sounds of Los Angeles traffic drifting to his ears but doing nothing to distract him from the old photo frame he held in his hand.
In the picture, Winona Kirk stood with her arms around two boys, one grinning and gap-toothed, the other taller boy pretending to be bored but mostly failing at it. Both boys had the same electric blue eyes and nearly-identical dimples. This photo had been taken a week before Winona shipped off for what turned out to be her last off-planet tour of duty, accompanied by a promotion to the rank of Lieutenant Commander.
Jim stared at the mother he hadn't seen in person in two years, at a brother who'd been lost to him since long before he ran away to Deneva. You could see Sam and Winona's smiles hiding just behind their eyes in this photo; Sam and Winona never smiled unless they really meant it. Jim had loved trying to make them laugh when they didn't want to, a job that became almost impossibly difficult a few months after this photo. Not that it had stopped Jim from trying-for a while, anyway.
He leaned back and let out a long breath, the sound of it loud in the quiet of his room. Jim wasn't given to thinking much about his past, but McCoy had dragged a promise out of him to wait a whole day before making any big decisions. He'd gone out for a drive, just to think, and wound up back at the house anyway, now hiding in his room.
Jim wasn't even sure why the hell he'd wanted to dig out this picture. He swallowed against a sudden lump in the back of his throat. The silence he'd craved so badly turned oppressive; he groped for the remote control on the floor next to the bed, and flipped on the music-player on his desk, mashing the button for "random."
An old, vaguely familiar jazz tune came on, and Jim rolled onto his back on the bed again, staring at the ceiling, wishing he could just sink through it, sink through the floor, and vanish into the earth. But that approach hadn't made Jim any happier when he'd tried it with Winona and Sam than it had with Spock today.
Once he'd gotten home from his bike-ride and cooled down a bit, Jim could admit what McCoy and Spock had both said; he'd over-reacted. Badly. He still wanted a fucking explanation for that comment about not "complicating" Spock, but shit, he hadn't even given Spock a chance when Spock had tried to do exactly that-he'd just flown off the handle at him, and then run off. And Jim might've wondered if he was just sabotaging himself, if it weren't for the fact that he didn't remember the last time he wanted something as badly as he wanted to be with Spock.
It wasn't just that Spock was brilliant, or funny (strangely), or fucking sexy, or charming, or-or any of those things, because he was, but it wasn't just that. Spock made Jim care again, made him want to be better than he was again. Jim felt capable of being worth something, when he was with Spock. It had been so long since Jim had felt like that, and he didn't think he wanted to go back to not having it.
Jim jumped as the song ended, abruptly changing to a loud, grinding piece of rock n' roll that sounded like two cement mixers dueling to the death. He rolled off the bed, devoting two pointless seconds to trying to find the remote before darting across the room and mashing the "off" switch, breathing a sigh as the screeching guitars went silent.
Well, shit. He couldn't go back to whoring around, that was for sure. Just the thought nearly made him break out in hives. Jim trudged back to the bed, letting himself flop face-first down onto it, his stomach rumbling in protest to remind him that he hadn't eaten in almost twelve hours. He supposed he'd have to go into the kitchen and shove something down his throat, if only to keep from making himself more ill, but nothing sounded remotely appetizing at the moment.
Maybe he could... fix cars? No, fuck that. Doing it part-time was fun; doing it as a job would eat up way too much of his time and bore him to tears. Jim rolled onto his side, curling in towards his knees like a comma, drifting off again as his thoughts wandered. He supposed he could actually go to school full-time, go after a degree, do something in social work, maybe... Jim shook his head, scowling at the wall. Every time he tried to picture himself doing something, inevitably Spock appeared at the edge of the vision-picking him up from work, from class, waiting for him at home in the apartment they shared. A Spock who didn't realize that dating Jim Kirk was one of the most illogical things he could possibly choose to do, a Spock that didn't go back to Vulcan-and oh god, what if Vulcan really did secede? What then?
Jim groaned and pressed his hands to his face. He'd deliberately left his PADD in the kitchen so that he couldn't page Spock and beg him to come over. But Spock was probably dealing with a thousand bureaucrats and Federation representatives right now, and his wayward Human lover was probably the very last thing on his mind. Just that thought sent Jim's stomach twisting into fresh knots, and Jim squeezed his eyes resolutely shut, refusing to acknowledge the stinging at their corners.
A knock at the door made him jump for the second time in five minutes. Jim rolled upright at the edge of the bed, staring at the door. "Yo," he said warily.
"It's me, Jim." McCoy's voice filtered through the wood, slightly muffled. "Someone here to see you."
Jim's heart leapt immediately and obnoxiously into his throat, and he had to work at swallowing a few times in order to clear it enough to answer, "Sure, come in."
But the figure who appeared in the doorway to Jim's bedroom was not a slim, immaculately-dressed Vulcan with dark eyes. It was Captain Christopher Pike. Jim stared, dumbfounded, and wondered briefly if his mom had called Pike when Jim had never gotten around to responding to her message.
Pike nodded at Jim, stepping gingerly into the bedroom. "Hi there, Jim," he said. "I came as quick as I got the message. You're pretty hard to get ahold of, you know."
"Message?" Jim's gaze flickered past Pike to the sight of a rather guilty-looking McCoy, who was standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
"Captain Pike's been askin' to talk to you since right after you left for Washington, Jim," McCoy said, sounding awkward. "But you haven't really been home."
Jim stared. Reasonably speaking, he felt like he should be angry, especially since it wasn't like McCoy didn't know damn well how much Jim loathed Starfleet, but right now all Jim could muster was a sort of passing irritation. "You owe me at least two bottles of Saurian brandy," he said to McCoy. Then he shifted his attention back to Pike. "So, here I am. Wanna tell me what's goin' on?"
"I was hoping to talk to you for a little while, Jim." Pike's voice was calm, but something about the careful way he was holding himself pinged something in the back of Jim's mind. Pike was watching Jim like he was a particularly skittish animal, like- He's expecting me to bolt, Jim realized abruptly. They're both expecting me to just cut and run.
It was not a pleasant realization.
Jim took a deep breath and let it out. "Okay," he said. "I'm listening."