"We'll see you soon, Bones," Jim waited in the Transporter Room, between his First Officer and Chief Medical Officer. They stood in an impressively improvised triangle; each an equal distance from the others.
"Three months," Spock said, "two weeks, and two days. Measured in your earth time, of course."
The doctor rolled his eyes. He muttered something like, 'don't remind me', which Captain Kirk grinned at.
"An estimate," the Vulcan offered. His fingers found the distressed switches, "Prepare to beam down."
"You'll come back better than ever," the captain said. He patted his friend's shoulder, just once, "And we'll miss you."
"We will?" Doctor McCoy rocked back on his heels, allowing the lights to smudge over his eyes. He stared at the captain.
Spock did not answer. The situation did not demand one, other than 'goodbye.' This was scheduled for the last possible moment of their interaction.
"Keep in touch," McCoy mirrored the pat, fingers curling protectively around Kirk's arm, as far as they could reach.
Spock glanced between them; the hand and the shoulder, the doctor's crooked but well-intentioned smile and the captain's reassuring eyes, the suitcase and the tricorder that fought for space in the doctor's unoccupied hand. McCoy tapped his communicator as he stepped onto the platform and found his preferred space.
"Goodbye," said Spock, staring only at the switch-board before him.
"That hardly seems logical," McCoy waited for his attention, "Why not 'au revoir'?"
Spock said nothing.
"'Until we meet again,'" Kirk's voice was quiet as he shoved the words together, sheltering Spock from embarrassment. He would not confess to feeling it, but Kirk was sure it existed there somewhere.
"We have already met, Doctor."
"Goodbye," grumbled McCoy, shrugging in surrender.
"Energize," the captain nodded as he gave the order.
This word always prompted Doctor McCoy to stare at the door-panels. It reassured him – as Spock explained one day – that there was something normal and constant in the room. He could travel down to unknown planets, one biological thread at a time, unsure if everything would click back into its correct place, scared of hostile strangers. Or, he could walk through a door, knowing exactly which way he should go, and the name of everyone he passed.
They watched, staying quiet until McCoy was gone.
"Three months," said Spock, stepping away from the controls, "without your Chief Medical Officer."
"Three months, two weeks, and two days." Kirk stepped toward the familiar door, but Spock caught his arm.
"Captain," he said, "Doctor McCoy will not be present on the ship."
"No, Mister Spock." He paused and considered an appeal to the Vulcan's vocabulary, "Nurse Chapel is sufficiently qualified; she will be promoted for the duration of Doctor McCoy's absence."
Sharply, Spock dragged his hand away. Along with it, he uncovered an idea:
"I did not mean that. I meant, 'keep in touch.'"
He tried to replicate the exchange, but his fingers would not form the proper shape. The captain studied his officer's nervous hand.
"Ah…"
"Yes, Captain?"
"It's an old earth expression, Mister Spock." His variation of the pat was – by Spock's silent definition – perfect. The captain was completely comfortable; Spock felt this through the thin fabric of his uniform. He regretted the brief view this offered into Kirk's mind. A fraction of a second; a hot breath on the window, fading before it can be wiped away. No record, just regret.
"I am unaware of its figurative meaning, Captain."
Spock could not recreate the warmth of Jim's mind. He would wait for an opportunity to repeat the action, more correctly.
"To…" Kirk's hands sifted through the air, in search of his next word, "maintain contact."
Captain Kirk's eyes wandered over Spock's face. He found no trace of recognition or embarrassment.
"Communication," he continued, "It expresses hope; longing not to be forgotten."
Hope was precisely what Spock had seen, the moment Jim touched him. The feeling throbbed in the captain's fingertips, more clearly than his pulse. Spock felt it now, conversing with his forgotten heart.
"It is not an order?"
Kirk shook his head, but maintained a smile.
"Then Doctor McCoy does not need to… keep in touch."
"I guess not," Kirk said, "But he will."
"Faith is often flawed, Captain."
"Oh? Do you not have faith in me, Mister Spock?"
"I said 'often', Captain."
The captain nodded, and walked out of the room. Spock followed obediently behind. They stopped upon reaching a wall-communicator. Jim stared into it.
"Captain Kirk to Lieutenant Uhura."
Her face appeared on the screen.
"Uhura here, Sir."
"The time please, Lieutenant."
"We have not had recent contact with earth-bases, Captain. Current approximation is twenty-three-hundred hours, Sir."
Kirk's eyes stopped often on their patrol of the screen. He considered the time.
"Have Scotty report to the Bridge, Lieutenant. I'll be taking my night-shift. And have Mister Chekov cover Mister Spock's station, temporarily."
"Aye, Sir," she grinned, "Sleep well."
Uhura's image faded. Kirk glanced back at Spock, who offered only silence and a quirked brow.
"I intend to return to my station," the Vulcan said, "If you do not require anything else."
"We just passed the elevator, Mister Spock."
"So we have."
They were both aware of the practice; Spock did not find it polite to leave the captain until safely reaching his quarters. Not once had Kirk invented another order, while they walked. Most often, the journey was completely silent.
Kirk paused before his door. Spock's hand hovered forward, drawn to the captain's shoulder. He understood the feeling, hope. There was some logic in it; longing not to be forgotten. Expertly, he devoted all of his focus to the phrase and the feeling. Warmth. Enough for Spock to shut his eyes, and reach for Jim's thoughts…
He felt Jim's hand over his. Cold and shattering. He stepped back.
Their gazes were short and cyclical; a storm and its eye. Kirk's hand did not move.
"The literal meaning," he said, "is perfectly acceptable, Mister Spock."