Title: Coals of Fire
Author: Jane (jat_sapphire)
Contact: jat_sapphire@yahoo.com
Other Headings, Disclaimer and Notes, see Prologue
Epilogue: Not Twice Shy
The next day was the state funeral.At the end of the ceremony, Niu advanced on them, stately, bearing a goldenwood case with a gentle curve to its lid. "I give you this for Aulua: for his life and his death; for the services you did him and all of us. From Strephon and from me to James Kirk and Spock chaSarek; from Altair 6 to Starfleet. Please accept it."
Jim tried to respond appropriately, but the wood seemed oddly cold in his hands, and a kind of unhappiness and apprehension was prickling the hair on his arms and the back of his neck. Something in the expression of her eyes. "I thank you, Madame President, for Starfleet and the Federation. And for myself, I thank Niu Jiilau. May this gift connect us in friendship."
Spock reached out and placed one hand on the lid of the box, over the inset plaque recording their names, Aulua Jiilau's name, and the dates of his birth and death. Spock's other hand rose in the Vulcan salute. "Prosper in peace," he said, and Jim glanced at him, a little taken aback by this new version of the Vulcan saying. But then, this was hardly the time to speak of long lives.
Niu smiled tightly. "We work toward that," she said, and stepped back.
The rest of the ceremony dragged its lengthy way, and at last was over. Jim and Spock beamed up. On the way to Deck 5, Jim stood in the turbolift with Spock, his eyes resting on the elegant ears, the broad blue shoulders, the trim waist. He felt in his mind how the fabric would slide under his fingertips, how the warmth of Spock's body would come through, how his own damp scent would combine with Spock's desert-dry spice . . . Unfortunately, his hands were full of the box. He lowered them slightly in case, heaven forbid, anyone should get into the lift and notice the captain's hard-on. "Come to my quarters after you change?" he blurted, and felt profoundly stupid as Spock turned an inexpressive gaze on him. *Isn't this one reason why I never get involved with my crew? Was that the captain speaking or the lover? Can he say no?*
"Yes," said Spock in that voice like trained and distant thunder, and Jim wondered if he would ever hear that 'yes' again without arousal. *Could get awkward in briefings,* he thought, some of his sense of humor returning. They walked down the corridor to Jim's quarters, and Spock went on almost without pausing. Jim opened the door and went through it, thinking about what outer form this relationship could take. Spock could be trusted to say nothing, certainly, if they decided to go that route: look at all the things about himself he had already concealed, and there was no telling how much more Jim did not know. Yet Jim was sure that some version of their first sexual encounter, when Spock was in pon farr, was circulating among the crew, and who knew how that had gotten out? Concealment was probably futile; still, Jim thought publicity might be unwise.
He turned it over in his mind as he took off his own dress uniform tunic and put on a wrap-around shirt, but didn't reach any conclusion. He was just fastening the buckle at his waist when the door sounded. "Come," he said, his breath suddenly short.
Spock stepped through the door, but came no farther, staying in the shadow. There was something tentative in the way he stood. "Isn't it strange," Jim said, walking toward him, "how it keeps feeling like the first time, like taking a chance?" He took Spock's hand in his and looked at it. "Even this," he said, and kissed the fingers wrapped around his own.
Spock's other hand brushed Jim's cheek and over the corner of his mouth. "Especially this," he said, and slid his fingers around to the back of Jim's head, pulling him close enough to kiss.
Slowly they explored each other's mouths. Slowly they pulled out of the kiss, looking into each other's eyes. "I like risks," said Jim, smiling.
"I know you do," Spock answered. "I would like . . ."
"What?"
"To see what is in that box," Spock's voice was solemn but there was a distinct twinkle in his eyes.
"All right, then," Jim said, stepping back. "Mr. Spock, would you do the honors?" They walked over to the desk where Jim had put the box. Spock pulled it toward himself, swung up the lid, and stood motionless.
Jim asked, "What is it?" and Spock turned the box without speaking.
Inside was a chess set made of goldenwood, nested in black velvet. The lighter pieces were covered in tiny ridges, intricate patterns carved in the glittering, pale-veined surface; the darker pieces were also unstained, but their lines and ridges were deep chocolate brown, much the color of Spock's eyes. Jim took out one piece, the black king, and looked at it more closely. It had a face, but the features were almost lost in tattoo-like patterns. He rubbed it with his thumb and confirmed that it was slightly rough even when stroked with the grain of the wood. Yet against the dark lines, the glinting minerals looked like tiny stars. "How did they do this?" he wondered.
"It is pyrogravure," said Spock. Jim didn't know the word; he looked up questioningly; Spock explained: "Wood-burning."
Jim dropped the king, which clattered back into the box, landing on top of the paler pieces. "God. Damn." Niu's voice in his mind said, *for his life and his death.* Pale and dark.
Spock picked up the king and tucked it into its own hollow. The sight of the scorched wood in his hand made Jim think of bandages, dreams too bad to remember, fear and guilt and pain. It made him angry, a slow aching anger that he knew would not lessen.
"I can't play chess with those," he said.
Spock closed the box. "You need not," he answered.
"I'd like to put them into the recycler, or out an airlock."
"That would be unwise. They were, after all, a diplomatic gift. I will take the box to my quarters," Spock said.
"You *like* them?"
"I have no feeling about them."
Spock was wearing his most Vulcan lack of expression, and it made Jim feel for a moment that he must have been imagining everything between them: surely that face had never smiled, or those eyes held that astounding tenderness. "Spock," he said, and could hear the uncertainty in his own voice, and felt ashamed.
But only for that moment, because Spock turned to him, reached for him, and Jim put his arms around Spock and held tight. "I am here," said the deep voice.
"Yes. Stay," Jim said, wanting only, at that moment, to bury himself in Spock's warmth. They would put yesterday's problems away with the chess set; they would meet tomorrow's problems tomorrow. Now was for them alone.
~~~~~
Niu's burnt offering lay on the desk, forgotten, while a different coal burst back into flame.
~~end~~