The Vulcans had been picked up last, so
protocol dictated they be conveyed back last. Jim didn't mind––with no one
but the crew and the Vulcan delegation on board, Enterprise was the
quietest it had been in a tenday.
Sarek was resting in his cabin. Amanda had been seen everywhere on board,
her husband's eyes and ears, Jim presumed. All was quiet, all was normal,
all was assuredly about to break out in some variety of chaos, that being
the nature of the universe when quiet and normal had prevailed for too
long.
The chaos wasn't quite what he
expected this time. Not Klingons, or Orions, or any other variety of
strangely shaped or colored aliens, not geometric entities with evil
intent or computers gone mad. Only a puzzled Vulcan voice saying, "Kirk,
why have you not acknowledged your bond with my son?"
"I beg your pardon, Ambassador?"
Sarek had requested a meeting. Jim turned up at the
appointed time, unsuspecting. Thinking about it now, he realized there had
been a quizzical glance or two from Amanda during the last few days, but
nothing to suggest that his relationship with his First Officer was
anything other than as sanctioned by Starfleet.
"You and my son are bonded," Sarek said patiently. "It is
not logical to withhold that fact. There must therefore be some reason for
your failure to speak of it. I do not question your reason. I am only
curious."
Acting in logic, the only
thing for Jim to have said was, "You are mistaken. We are not bonded."
What he did say was, "Perhaps it would be more appropriate to speak to
Spock."
Sarek shook his head slightly.
"I find that my son and I still speak at . . . cross-purposes. You
are bonded––it is as proper for me to ask the question of you."
"How can you tell there is a bond?"
Jim asked, stalling. It had to be some artifact of their melds. Too
frequent, Bones said, but it was hard not to use a tool when you had it at
your disposal.
Sarek apparently didn't
object to a lecture. "Your minds resonate," he said. "Humans would say
that your 'auras' are attuned. We do not make such distinctions. The mind
is the mind."
"That's the only
indicator?" Jim asked.
Sarek's voice
became even more pedantic. "It is not unknown for close associates to
develop a similar resonance," he said, "over time. Your bond with my son,
however, is rua." He looked as though he assumed the term would be
understood, and when it obviously was not, he made a sharp impatient
gesture. "As mine with Amanda. Any Vulcan could see it."
It was surely long past time to correct this
misapprehension, Jim thought, but it would be even more awkward to deny
the relationship now when he had not done so earlier. "I would prefer to
talk to Spock first," he said.
And of
course, Sarek replied, "That is logical." What else could he possibly have
said? And why, Jim thought, did he have the awful feeling that he had just
backed himself into a very tight corner . . .
He knew where Spock would be this time of the ship's day. He and
Scotty were engaged in delicate negotiations with the software that
operated the intermix chamber, and it was Spock's habit to drop in to
Scotty's office at about this time to discuss their progress. It could as
easily have been done over an in-ship comm channel, of course, but Scotty
found face-to-face conversation more intellectually stimulating, and
Spock, ever pragmatic, was more interested in tuning the intermix
parameters than dogmatically pursuing logic.
Scotty would not be there, because Scotty was on the bridge. Scotty
was on the bridge because Jim was engaging in oblique discussions with
their First Officer's father on a subject that he obviously knew nothing
about, regardless of first-hand experience with ahn-woon and
lirpa.
He waved Spock back to
his seat in Scotty's little office. "I have some questions," he said. "I'd
like to spend some time with you this evening. Would that be convenient
for you?"
"Certainly," Spock said,
probably wondering at the more than usual formality.
"I'll come to your cabin at eight, then," Jim said, and
Spock agreed, in his unflappable Vulcan way, that eight would be
acceptable.
Jim left him speaking to
the intermix computer about thayta pies, whatever in the galaxy those
were, returned to the bridge and shooed Scotty back down to Engineering to
help.
At eight, he stood nervously
outside Spock's door. It hadn't been difficult to wait; he'd always been
able to compartmentalize his life. Command training had only reinforced an
inherent skill. But with the confrontation staring him in the face, he was
suddenly apprehensive.
He touched the
annunciator and the door slid open. Spock sat at his desk in the day
cabin, a tray with two glasses before him, playing the host as he
understood human propriety to require.
"Captain." Sonorous voice, dark eyes, the slight smile that was only for
him. He was egotistic enough to enjoy that, sensible enough to be scared
silly of the implications.
He accepted
a glass of something Vulcan, fruity and dry. Offered a toast to their
success with the intermix, which Scotty had relayed to him just before the
end of first shift. Took a deep breath and jumped in with both feet.
"We never talked much about what
happened with T'Pring. I think that was a mistake."
Spock's expression didn't change but his voice was more
stiff than usual. "It will not be a problem for the remainder of this
mission."
Jim shook his head. "I'm not
worried about that. This is a personal question. You don't have to answer
it, but it would help me understand better."
Spock said evenly, "What is your question?" He wasn't exactly
unbending, Jim saw, but hadn't thrown him out, either. That was at least a
start.
"I want to know about the bond.
What you had with T'Pring. I've seen some textbook stuff, McCoy showed me,
but that's all."
"What do you want to
know?"
"How does it feel? How does a
person know that a bond exists?"
"You
have asked two questions."
Jim relaxed
a little, because Spock's tone of voice, though still a bit tense, had
returned to their usual half-serious, half-teasing mode.
"You only have to answer one at a time," he pointed
out, with a grin.
"Is there a
particular reason for the questions?" Spock asked him. "I do not object to
providing the information, though my knowledge is sketchy. But I am
curious as to why you ask."
"Just
something I wanted to know, and never got around to asking." Which was
true enough, if not all the truth.
Spock eyed him dubiously but steepled his hands and looked inward for a
moment. "The bond between children is set in place by an adept, usually a
Healer. It serves only to draw them together when . . . the
necessity arises. A deeper bond is formed at that time, by the partners
themselves. Since this did not occur for me, I have no personal knowledge
of it."
"Rua," Jim said, and
Spock looked at him in surprise.
"That
word is an adjective, not a noun, but you are correct."
"What exactly does it mean?"
"There is no exact equivalent in Anglish," Spock said
slowly, "but the closest description would be 'married,' with all the
accompanying context of an intimate relationship and the partners'
commitment to each other."
"Like your
parents."
Spock nodded. "There is
additional sub-textual meaning, specific to Vulcan relationships, but the
sense of physical intimacy is dominant, with its implication of lifelong
commitment."
"Would you know, just
from being in the company of two Vulcans, whether they had this kind of
relationship?"
"Certainly. It is
something one learns as naturally as language."
"Then why didn't you know it about us?" Jim asked him
evenly, and saw Spock's eyes close and his face go white.
"I was not certain," he whispered. "To perceive the
relationship in others is not the same as to recognize the feeling in
oneself."
"But you suspected."
"Yes."
"When were you going to tell me?"
Spock turned his head away, answer enough.
"You weren't going to tell me."
"What could I say? 'I have reason to believe that our melds have
resulted in a permanent bond between us,' and 'Oh yes, be prepared for my
next pon farr?'
It was phrased in more
bitter, and more human, terms that Jim had ever heard him use. He reached
out and laid his own hand over both of Spock's, where they were clasped on
the desk.
"Is it something you want,
Spock?"
No answer, but he thought he
knew.
"Listen to me," he said. "I will
not have misunderstandings between us. We're the two senior officers on
this ship. The lives of four hundred people and a hell of a lot of
expensive Starfleet hardware depend on our ability to work together." He
paused and said in a softer tone, "Not to mention that you've been my best
friend for all the time we've been out here together. Just tell me, Spock.
Whatever you say, we'll figure out what to do. Just be honest with me."
Spock said simply, "Yes." Still not
looking at him, but that was progress, Jim thought.
"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought of it too." Spock's
head didn't move the his eyes returned to Jim's. "I'm just not sure it's
wise."
Spock nodded, with a bleak
expression. "Indeed. How is it that you knew of this?"
"Your father asked me why we hadn't spoken to him and
your mother."
"He asked you?"
Jim had to smile at the surprise in
Spock's voice. "He said that you and he were still not . . . communicating
effectively and that as we were bonded it was just as proper to ask me."
"What did you tell him?"
"That I would have to talk to you
first before I could discuss anything with him."
Spock sighed a little. "I appreciate your discretion."
"You need to talk to him, Spock. You
need advice that he's best equipped to give you."
The expression on Spock's face was so nearly identical to
what any Terran teenager would have worn, given the same suggestion, that
it was all Jim could do not to laugh.
He knew Spock would have picked up on his amusement. "I'm not making fun
of your feelings, believe me. But you do need to talk to him. There are
answers we need. There are probably questions I don't even know to ask."
"That is true. Unfortunately, I am not
sure I know how to ask them."
"We can
talk to him together, if you want."
"That may be advisable at some point. I won't ask you to shield me from my
father, however. I will speak with him myself."
"My dad was dead by the time I would have been having this
kind of conversation with him."
"I
know," Spock said softly. "And I have come close to losing Sarek. I am not
unaware of that."
Jim rose and laid
his hand on Spock's shoulder. "Talk to him then, and if he wants to see us
both, just let me know." He gave the shoulder a squeeze and got out before
he was tempted into any more intimate touching than that.
The one question he hadn't asked, and that Spock had
carefully not brought up himself, was what Spock had planned to do about
the bond. Anything that could be made could be unmade, he supposed––not a
particularly pleasant thought.
And
there was that great looming question: What do we do now?
Laying out all the factors, as though
it were a command decision, wasn't going to be much help, when he didn't
yet have all the factors. Advice from others was something he couldn't
request, not with Spock's privacy to consider. File it with tomorrow's
problems, he decided, and went to bed.
They were only three days out of Vulcan when Sarek again requested his
presence. This time, when he arrived in the VIP suite, Spock was already
there. They had been circling each other politely but warily ever since
their discussion, Spock presumably waiting upon advice from his father,
and Jim unwilling to take the initiative again himself. He knew he was
probably being unreasonably stubborn on that point, but dammit, without
some input from Spock he didn't know what initiative to take. He'd made it
through the last few days only by refusing to let his mind dwell on the
complexities and problems that could be facing them.
Spock rose when he entered. "Captain," he said, and alarm
bells began to go off in Jim's brain. Too distant, too formal, too
Vulcan––closed-off and unreadable.
He
nodded at Spock, bowed to the others. "Ambassador, Lady Amanda."
"Please be seated, Captain Kirk."
Jim took the only empty chair,
wondering whether its placement conveyed anything significant. Sarek and
Amanda sat together, Spock slightly to one side but in line with them.
Jim's chair faced the other three. He felt like a cadet being called on
the carpet before a tribunal of superior officers.
"We have discussed the current unfortunate situation," Sarek
was saying, and Jim felt a profound, gut-deep rebellion at what he knew
was coming. "You are not in any way to blame for what has taken place, and
if you wish to claim compensation, a fair and logical offer will be made.
A Healer will meet the ship to remove the bond, as soon as we reach
Vulcan."
Jim fought to keep his face
still. "Is this what you want, Spock?"
"There seems no logical alternative, Captain."
Jim inclined his head, less of a bow than he'd made a moment
earlier. "Very well. Please alert me when the Healer is on board." and
stood and walked out. Sometimes the Vulcan disdain for protracted goodbyes
served one well, he thought. No need to look anyone in the face:
discussion's over, just leave. Logic had its uses, and one of them, at the
moment, was to disguise the helpless sensation that something he wanted
very badly was about to be taken from him.
He finished his shift, turned command over to the second shift
watch-stander and left the bridge with the cluster of others going
off-duty. The press of bodies, that he usually didn't even notice, grated
on him unpleasantly, the air close, their voices loud and clamorous as
they joked about the day's incidents or discussed their plans for the
evening. Most were going to officers' quarters, but the lift stopped at
the same level as the Observation Deck for one or two others, and on
impulse, Jim got off there too.
The
Observation Deck was dim, cool and open. No loud voices, nobody touching
him. He could sit here for a while and regain his shattered equilibrium
and try to figure out what the hell to do next.
Damn. Ssomeone else was here after all, sitting at
the bottom of the steps. In the next instant he realized it was Spock. He
almost turned and left, but Spock would know he'd come in and it would be
rude to just walk away. Not to mention that some discussion of their
future was inevitable and might just as well take place now. Their very
short future, measured probably in hours, considering Vulcan efficiency.
He walked slowly down the wide steps,
feeling for Spock's mind, realizing he'd been doing that for quite a while
without understanding the significance of it, and that the next time he
reached out for that strength and certainty, it wasn't going to be there.
He sat on the bottom step beside
Spock. "Can we still work together?" he asked after a moment, not looking
at Spock's face.
Spock said, "Yes."
Nothing more.
"And meld, if we need
to?"
"Yes."
He threw caution and logic to the wind and went with
intuition. "Are you as miserable as I am?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Do we have to
go along with this?"
That got him a
long pause. He wondered what kind of equivocation Spock was going to come
up with, but in the end all he said was, "No."
"Do you really want to?"
"No."
He leaned closer to Spock, so
their arms touched. "What do you want?"
Another long pause, and then, softly, "To touch you."
He stood and gave Spock his hand,
pulling him up. "Like this?" he asked, running the tips of his fingers
over Spock's lips.
"Yes," and Spock
did the same to him.
"And this?" He
captured Spock's hand before it could leave his mouth and sucked the pads
of two fingers.
"Yes," shakily.
"What else?"
Spock glanced down, and he said a little breathlessly, "You
touch me there and you'll have to bring me clean clothes before I can walk
out of here."
He wasn't sure whether
that would offend a Vulcan's sensibilities, but Spock only smiled with his
eyes and said, "Then we must find a more suitable location."
"Yes."
They walked up the steps in accord, but at the door Jim stopped.
"Wait, I'm not really decent yet."
Spock touched his temple and he felt their minds flowing together, so
familiar and necessary that he knew neither of them could have tolerated
separation. His cock subsided immediately and his heart slowed. "That's a
neat trick," he said with a grin.
"It
has proven so on occasion."
As they
walked to the lift, Jim asked, teasing, "Are you telling me I give you a
hard-on in inappropriate places?"
"Yes."
Jim glanced sideways at him
while they waited for the lift, hoping no one would be in it. Spock's face
was solemn but there was a charged energy about him that no one could
miss. "If I'd known how much fun you could be, I'd have suggested this a
long time ago."
"You might have been
surprised at the response."
Jim just
smiled. As the lift doors began to close, he heard footsteps pounding
around the curve of the corridor, and resignedly put his finger on the
'Stop' button. One of McCoy's techs skidded to a stop at the sight of his
Captain and First Officer. "Sorry, sir! I heard the door closing and I was
hoping I could make it in time."
Spock
said, totally deadpan, "No running indoors, Mr. Davis," and Davis gave him
a startled look and replied, "Yessir! I mean, no sir! Sorry, sir!" while
Jim held his breath to keep from laughing and wondered what he'd
unleashed.
Spock's door was closer to
the lift by five steps. He tilted an eyebrow at Jim.
"Yes."
Inside was warm,
all the surfaces touched with the flicker of the Fire God. Spock turned
the lights up just a bit, not enough to bring hard edges back to
everything. He took a small ornately carved box from a drawer and shook a
pinch of powder into the flame. A scent like incense rose up and curled
around them, a tantalizing odor like evergreens and sunlight and the hint
of distant water all mixed together.
"What is that?" Jim asked, delighted with it. "Not some sort of
aphrodaisiac, surely."
Spock seemed
amused. "No. A ritual." He paused. "For celebrations. It seemed
appropriate."
"Yes."
Vulcans seemed to have rituals for everything, he
thought, but this one was nice––heady and sensual, just like their mood.
"Do you know what I want?" Jim asked
him, and without waiting for an answer he said, "To feel your mind."
"I want to feel your body," Spock
said. "May we not do both?"
"Oh, yes."
He stood close to Spock and could
sense the background presence of his mind even without physical touch.
Spock touched him all over with his eyes, a hot gaze that had Jim hard
again in seconds.
"We have barely
spoken to each other for days," Spock said huskily. "You have not touched
me once."
"No," Jim said regretfully.
"I didn't think it was appropriate until we knew where this was going. I
didn't want it to look as though I was trying to coerce you."
He listened a little more carefully to
what Spock had said. "Have you always liked me to touch you? Did you enjoy
it when I touched you in front of others?"
"Yes."
After a pause he said,
"I saw how you touched everyone, but your hand on my arm, on my back, was
for me alone."
Spock lifted his hands
to Jim's shoulders, sliding over the biceps and then the elbows to his
wrists, learning his shape. His fingertips slid under the uniform tunic.
Wherever they touched, Jim could feel how he felt to Spock, as though it
was Spock's mind that touched him instead of his hands, as though Spock
were building a mental picture of the topography of his body.
"Yes. Your face, your voice––these are
stored in my heart. But to know how you feel . . . I have longed for
that."
"In your heart?" Jim teased
him. "That isn't logical, is it?"
"No."
The hands grazed his hips, swept
down to outline his thighs, knees, calves. Spock knelt before him, his
cheek and then his ear brushing against Jim's groin. "None of this is
logical," he said. "I could not give my father a logical reason not to
dissolve the bond."
He glanced up. "'I
want' is not sufficient reason. 'I want to touch my commanding officer. I
want our bodies to melt together as our minds do.' If I had been able to
say those words to him, he would not have understood." He rose, with
longing on his face. "Jim . . . "
"Yes."
They were so close already. It
was nothing for Jim's arms to come around Spock's back and for one of
Spock's hands to cup his chin and the other slide behind his neck and for
Spock's mouth to come down on his, so sweet and hot, just as he had known
it would be, in the few fantasies he'd allowed himself.
He pulled away a little, before the kisses became
overwhelming. "Did you wonder what it would be like? To touch like this?"
"Yes." Spock kissed him again. "Did
you dream of the touch of my mind?"
"Yes. Touch me now."
The room
dissolved. They stood on the sands of Vulcan. Mountains cut a jagged
purple line across the horizon, hazy in the distance, and at their backs a
clump of tall trees ringed a watering hole where their mounts drank
noisily. It was twilight, the brief moments in which heat still rose from
the sand but was moderated by the chill of the coming night. Another day's
ride separated them from the ancient place where they would be joined.
Their longing for each other was a palpable thing, coloring every word,
every accidental touch, and some not so accidental. It had been a long
journey to this place, but they were attuned now, both desiring the same
outcome.
Spock turned from scanning
the line of mountains, where he had strained to see the still invisible
ring of stones. Tomorrow.
James
had opened one of the packs and was setting up the tent and Spock hurried
to help. He stumbled a little in the soft sand and Spock caught him around
the waist to prevent a fall, and in the moment when he should have let
James go he tightened his arms instead and they stood there pressed
tightly to each other, and Spock knew they would not reach the place of
Koon-ut-Kalifee before coming together.
The vision faded and they were back in Spock's quarters, locked in
each other's embrace.
"Do we have to
wait?"
"No."
In the soft light, the dry air scented like the living
desert, they disrobed, touching each other now and then as each was
revealed. Jim ruffled the hair on Spock's chest with his fingers, admiring
it with his eyes. Spock laid his hand against Jim's belly, muscles taut
under the soft skin. When Jim bent to pull off his boots, he felt Spock's
fingers in his hair.
No more words
now, every touch was yes. Their bellies together with their sex trapped
between, Spock's hands holding the curves of Jim's ass, Jim's hands
clenched on Spock's biceps, their knees bumping together, Jim's tongue in
the exquisite whorl of Spock's ear, Spock's breath hot on Jim's neck, his
teeth leaving little marks in the sensitive skin, their voices making the
inarticulate sounds of pleasure that all lovers say to each other, their
minds far far away on a desert oasis by a pool of clear water on the
tasselled cloth that was supposed to have been their tent, crying out
their passion in broken-voiced phrases of Vulcanir and Anglish.
Coming back to find themselves half on
Spock's bunk, their legs sliding off, in imminent danger of landing in an
undignified pile on the floor. Jim pushed himself up and hauled Spock with
him and managed to get them both to a sitting position on the bed, Spock
looking at him in bewilderment.
"I do
not remember coming in here."
"I don't
either. Those whaddyacallems, that we were riding on, must have given us a
shove. They probably didn't want us muddying up their drinking water."
"A'stani," Spock said automatically,
and then, "Jim. That is illogical." But he was smiling.
They stood in the shower and it was a geyser of
steaming mineral waters, and found the bed properly this time and it
became a pallet on the sand under a blazing celestial bowl, and in the
early morning they woke and whispered "I love you" to each other and made
love again just as themselves, touching the places they had learned now to
touch and saying "Yes" and "Oh" and "More" and "I love you" again and
again.
They had waked to only the
faint flicker of the Fire God. Jim fumbled for the bedside light and
looked down at his sated lover. "Oh, boy. Do I look as thoroughly fucked
as you?"
Spock raised an amused
eyebrow. "Yes."
"Think there's any
chance at all of keeping this from everybody?" He answered his own
question. "Not if you're planning to go around with a look like that on
your face."
"I will endeavor to
control my expression," Spock said, with such wonderful sincerity and
total lack of success that Jim began to laugh helplessly.
"Come on," he said, still chuckling. "Let's have
another shower and get dressed and have an early breakfast."
At this hour the mess hall was nearly
empty, only a few others up early like themselves, or having a late snack
after third shift before going to bed. And in the far corner, with a pot
of tea before him on the table and a small reader in his hands, Sarek.
Jim said, "This isn't going to be a
problem, is it?"
"No," Spock said
calmly. "But it would be rude to ignore him."
They carried their trays to Sarek's table. He was concentrating on
whatever it was he was reading, but looked up as they approached. His
expression shifted from pleasantly neutral to a very expressive stillness.
Spock said, "Father," the first time
Jim had heard him use that title, and Sarek rose.
He didn't know whether to expect Vulcan fireworks or cold
Vulcan disapproval, so he was astonished when Sarek made a ceremonious
gesture and reached out to touch his temple, his fingers brushing the meld
points and swiftly gone. It was a ritual, Jim saw. There had been no
mental contact.
"Spock. James. Shall I
tell your mother?"
He saw that Spock
was as astounded as himself. Sarek gathered up his empty cup and the
reader and bowed to them both as he turned to walk away.
"Ambassador." Jim stopped him. "You don't disapprove,
then? I thought––"
"No." He took
another step, then stopped. "In the absence of certainty, drastic measures
may be required."
He strode away, his
black robe flapping around his knees.
Jim looked at Spock, stunned. "I wouldn't swear to it, but I think your
father has been playing matchmaker."
And right there in front of everyone, Spock smiled the most joyous smile
Jim had ever seen, even in the last twelve hours, an Irish elf smile, a
Pan-god smile, a Vulcan in love smile.
"Yes," he said. |