Maybe it's just me being a good friend, or it's cowardice. I can't really tell anymore. I'm standing at the sidelines, and it's really my choice. I could play the martyr as long as I have the stomach for it, but it really is all up to me.
Was it because I waited too long? The two weren't together when I first reported on board, so it's something that happened under my nose. Or was it, really? I can't remember when it first happened. It's like it's always been, even before they realized themselves. Just like there wasn't any specific day or moment that clued me in to my own feelings. It just sort of happened, one abstract, disconnected thought at a time.
I never did pursue him, though. Who knows, there might have been a time in the past when I could have done something. I knew what was happening. The line between extremely good friends and lovers is very thin, but somewhere along the line they crossed it, and ever since I've just been watching them get closer, and closer...
It could be that whatever they have isn't all that serious, and that maybe Spock is actually waiting for the right one, and Jim's just filling time for him. Nothing wrong with that, better than being alone, right?
But what makes me think I'm the right one? I know he cares about me as any friend would, and I know, as much as he'd deny it, that he enjoys our "debates" as much as I do. I know there's affection there. I appreciate those few times in the past when he's touched me, because I know what that means to a Vulcan, to run that risk of exposing or taking in too much. If he's ever gotten anything out of it, I'll never know, but I always have.
But my point is, we can be the best of friends, but it's not enough. I'd sooner spit on a Klingon that ask him what he thinks of me. It's shocking enough to me that he'd give his affections to Jim—for the longest time I didn't believe Vulcans were capable of love at all—so I almost feel that any love in his heart is completely used up. I'd feel like a complete buffoon. Christine won't admit that's the reason she keeps her feelings to herself, but I'm sure that's it. Maybe it's because he's so damn serious, but I'd hate to be embarrassed by Spock, of all people.
And that's another thing! Just who does he think he is, anyway? I've yet to meet any other Vulcans, but I'd be willing to bet his father is fine example. Spock's nothing like him. It took me until I met Sarek to realize that Spock is just as vulnerable and flawed as the rest of us. And just like any other man, overcompensating like you wouldn't believe. Ashamed of being half human, he plays up the part of himself that's more a lie than anything else, and chalks it up to honoring his heritage, or rather, the part of his heritage he's chosen to honor. You can't just pick and chose which ancestor you're going to acknowledge, and damn the rest.
Even when I'm angry—infuriated—by him, that only makes me want him more. I've worked so hard to hide it from everyone, I've almost hidden it from myself. Just a few wispy ghosts of feelings that I've gotten so used to beating back down when I see him, I've turned a simple crush into a very unhealthy mess.
I guess I should tell him. I'm assuming he doesn't know, because I don't believe he'd let me go on like this without saying something to me. Even a "Sorry, Doc, I'm in love with Jim," would put me to peace. Sure, it's safe in this limbo. Hurts less to wonder if I'm not good enough, or whatever the reason is, rather than to actually, irrevocably know. And at least this way, I can still dream and wonder. And no one could ever accuse me of not being a selfless, loyal friend to them both, putting my own wants aside so they can be happy.
Or, odds are, I'm just too damn scared to do anything.