Cerulean

There were little moments when they were both on the bridge that would make Spock stop and catch his breath and they were what convinced him in the end. He could ignore the larger things.

He wrote off his physical attraction to Jim as his body having adapted to Nyota's rather enthusiastic use of it. After they had separated, he had become more restless, almost frustrated. Jim was, objectively, aesthetically pleasing, even attractive. He chose to ignore that none of the other members of the crew seemed to garner the same response.

Certainly, he never felt the urge to pin Sulu to his console when he was being infuriating and—the details were irrelevant. Even when the lieutenant brought a new plant on board the ship which then spread pollen everywhere and confined half the crew to their quarters or the medbay with fevers and a rather unsightly rash. Again, that reaction was reserved for Kirk.

With others, Spock did not catch himself turning his head as they stood and stretched at the end of a shift, granting anyone who happened to look a glimpse of pale skin and the line of a hipbone. He did not feel the urge to lick his lips when any of the other bridge officers lounged—and it was slouching, why had he not described it as such?—in their chairs. His hands did not twitch when they ran their fingers through their hair as they thought, leaving it disheveled and sticking up in places.

Despite all this, he was still able to logically dismiss his physical attraction to one James Kirk. He knew it existed, but he did not consider it to be important. Instead, he took an additional five minutes for his morning meditation and went about his day as usual.

The little moments were more difficult to ignore. He refused to say that they were impossible, but he was beginning to suspect that was out of pure stubbornness.

Once, when returning to the bridge after having left to retrieve a PADD from Dr. McCoy containing information on a virus, he had seen Jim having a discussion with Ensign Chekov. He was reassuring him that they would be able to quickly manufacture a vaccine, that Bones was working on it right now and Chekov did not have to worry. His hand had been resting on his shoulder and his face was open and earnest. The combination of words and action seemed to have calmed Chekov because he turned back to his station with a grateful "Yes, keptin" and began to review the codes for transporting the vaccine to the planet below. Spock had felt a rush of admiration, gratitude, and... Fondness. It was not the correct term, but it would have to serve. That had not been the first time he had felt a similar mix of emotions, and it was far from the last.

There were little, everyday things that would make Spock feel... the best way he could describe it was warm, warm as he had been when outside at midday on Vulcan.

He would feel a wave of warmth when watching Jim talk to whomever happened to be in charge of whatever colony they were visiting. The set of Kirk's jaw when he was working through an equation in his mind sent both that not-heat and a staggering wave of protectiveness through him.

There were dozens of these little things. Jim throwing his head back as he laughed at one Scotty's jokes. The way he would sometimes ruffle Chekov's hair as he walked by, more an older brother than a captain in that moment. The fierce grin on his face the one time he had seen him sparring with Sulu in the holodeck. The way he would respond to Dr. McCoy's chronic bad temper with unwavering cheerfulness. The face he made when being administered a hypospray was also very amusing, even if it did not elicit that same burst of not-heat.

Spock's favorite of these things, however, was the expression on Jim's face when they went into warp at the beginning of a mission. His blue eyes—Spock's vocabulary supplied words like cerulean and ultramarine but he told himself that they were not necessary—would light up in a way that rivaled the stars streaking past them in one long blur of light. He always considered Jim's eyes to be beautiful, even captivating. Blue eyes were exceedingly rare among Vulcans, and few on Earth had eyes of that particular shade and brightness.

It was, Spock decided, the smile that set this particular moment apart. It was not quite the gleeful smile of a child when given a new toy, although there was some resemblance. It was not the cocky grin that often seemed to be permanently fixed on his captain's face. It was a mixture of excitement and joy and the pending feeling of discovery expressed in shining, cerulean eyes—he would allow for illogic for the sake of accuracy—and a smile that made his chest feel inexplicably tight.

He could ignore the physical attraction, at least for now, but not this. So it was with no small amount of trepidation, a completely logical feeling, given the circumstances, that he walked down to medbay once his shift was over.

Dr. McCoy was sitting at a console, typing the formula for the vaccine he had synthetized earlier that week into the ship's memory banks. He looked up when Spock entered, frowning.

"You're not up for another physical for a month."

"Hello, doctor. I wished to speak to you about a personal matter." Spock replied. "Would now be a convenient time?"

The doctor rolled his eyes and turned around, crossing his arms. "Sure. Have at it. God only knows what you could be coming to me about."

"It concerns the captain."

"This oughta be good." He muttered.

Spock suppressed a sigh and sat down in one of the other chairs. "It is an… emotional issue." He gave Dr. McCoy a very pointed look to silence whatever comment the man had been about to make.

He paused for a moment, trying to decide how best to phrase his question. "At times I will feel… I am not certain how to describe it. My heart rate and rate of respiration do not increase, but I am convinced that it has become more difficult to breathe. This occurs in conjunction with a certain… fondness, for lack of a better term."

Dr. McCoy began to laugh.

Spock stared at him in utter bemusement. "Would you please explain what about my situation is amusing?"

The other man waved his left hand at him, covering his face with his right. "Good god, man. You really haven't realized?"

"I would hardly be asking you if I had."

The doctor snorted. "Well… this is not a conversation I ever thought I'd be having." He rubbed his forehead, still chuckling quietly. "Alright, so. Ever felt this before?"

"No." Spock shook his head. "It is the most similar to the way I felt for Nyota, but it is not quite the same."

Dr. McCoy gave him a long look. "So what the hell'd you need me for? Sounds like you've got it figured out."

"Doctor, you are a highly emotional man. Illogically so. Nonetheless, your medical work has been highly efficient, leading me to believe that you have learned to qualify, quantify, and control your emotions. That, in addition to your personal knowledge of the captain, makes you the best candidate for this discussion." Spock arched an eyebrow at him. "And contrary to what you believe, I have not "figured it out"."

"Think you could stop insultin' me for long enough to let me answer your question?"

"My apologies."

The doctor snorted and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. "I cannot believe I'm lecturing a Vulcan on emotions… Alright. So… you loved Uhura, right?"

Spock nodded stiffly.

"Okay. And this is similar to the way you feel about Jim now. You ever stop to think that maybe it's a… different version of the same emotion?"

He went perfectly still. "Are you suggesting that I have developed… romantic feelings for the captain?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm suggestin'."

Spock stood slowly, eyebrows drawn together. "Thank you, doctor. I must take some time to reflect on what you have suggested."

"Don't mention it." McCoy turned back to his console. "Really, don't."

Spock did not allow himself to think about what Dr. McCoy had said until he was in his quarters with the door closed and locked. He sat on the end of his bed, hands steepled in front of him.

Was he in love with Jim?

That was poorly phrased. The human idea of being "in love" did not directly apply to the Vulcan ideas with which he had been brought up. Very well, then. Did he love Jim?

That idea was familiar. Spock had seen his parents exchange a kiss—both the Vulcan and human varieties—on multiple occasions. He had seen the way his mother looked at his father, and his father had told him that he loved his mother. There was also his own, now ended, relationship with Nyota that he could use as a basis for comparison.

For the first time since he had noticed it, he allowed himself to consider his physical attraction for Jim. It was, he decided, at least as strong as the physical attraction for had felt toward Nyota. Spock shook his head. No, it was stronger. With her, he had very deliberately decided to allow himself to feel attraction of any kind. It was not as if it was manufactured, but it had not been so overwhelming. He could ignore the fact that he found Jim attractive but he could not, for lack of a better phrase, "turn it off". Still, physical attraction and love were not necessarily mutually inclusive.

Did he love Jim?

The first question was how to define love. There were two basic definitions. First was an intense feeling of deep affection. The second was a deep romantic or sexual attachment. He knew there was some form of sexual attachment, although he was not sure how deep it was. As for the rest… Spock knew he cared greatly for Jim. The emotional responses Jim elicited were out of proportion even for him. For example, his response to Jim's temporary death.

Spock flinched slightly and turned away from that train of thought. It was unnecessary to cause himself emotional distress when all it would do was negatively impact his reasoning ability.

He moved on to Dr. McCoy's comment. Was the way he felt for Jim similar enough to the way he had felt for Nyota for it to be labeled love? It only took him a moment to come to a conclusion. This feeling was much stronger, much more unbalancing, but it was the same feeling. When combined with his conclusions regarding the physical—very well, sexual attraction he felt toward Jim and the level to which he cared for his captain, there was only one logical conclusion.

He loved him.

The idea was exhilarating, terrifying, confusing… true, he had been in a romantic relationship before, but this… Jim was his commanding officer, his friend, and the depth of emotion was much, much greater.

Spock raised his head slowly. "Computer. Lights to forty percent."

He sank to the floor and folded his legs into a tailor seat. Back straight, hands resting lightly on his knees, he began to meditate, attempting to pull his mind into some semblance of order.

Approximately fifteen minutes later, someone knocking on his door pulled him from his meditation.

"Spock, Spock let me in I need to talk to you."

He went to the door and opened it, gesturing for his visitor to enter. "Captain, how can I help you?"

Kirk walked past him, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a nervous smile. "Call me Jim. We're not on duty."

"Of course… Jim." He nodded and sat down on the chair by his console.

That, of course, left Jim with the bed as the only place to sit. He did so, the back of his neck flushing a pale pink. Spock looked away as subtly as he could.

"What did—"

"Bones said you had something to tell me."

Spock went very still. "You will have to be more specific."

"It was… you… c'mon, Spock, you know exactly what I'm talking about." Jim muttered.

He shook his head. "Jim, I cannot-"

"Alright, fine." Kirk got to his feet, raking a hand through his hair.

Spock's hands curled against the fabric of his pants and he felt his ears heat as blood rushed to them and the back of his neck.

"You know why I did what I did back in the radiation chamber?"

His head snapped up and he stared at Jim. Slowly, he nodded. "Because you are my friend." Spock echoed the words he had spoken almost two months previously.

"It's… part of it. I showed you the rest—or I tried." Jim walked over to Spock, not quite looking him in the eye. "Will you-" he gestured at the side of his face, "that, will you do it now?"

"Are you certain." Spock managed to convince himself that he had imagined the tremor in his voice.

Jim nodded and, slowly, Spock raised his right hand, aligning his fingers with the proper psi points.

He swallowed subtly, then spoke, sinking into the meld. "My mind to your mind... my thoughts to your thoughts..." The ritual words were very nearly inaudible.

Jim's mind sparked and shone like a thousand candle flames, leaping from thought to thought, from memory to memory. The movement stopped for a moment as he registered the deep, cool lake of Spock's consciousness just barely brushing the edges of his. Then the candle flames began to flicker again and Spock found himself pulled through a selection of Jim's memories. They were all of him.

Spock sitting at his console, eyes slightly narrowed in concentration as he studied a diagram. Him playing his harp, head bowed, hands resting gently on the strings. The line of his shoulders as he stood at attention and the slight upward arch of his right eyebrow that somehow managed to imply a combination of amusement and disbelief. The curve of his mouth as he smiled—and when had Jim seen him smiling?

Under all that was love that burned like the heart of a star and drew him in like a singularity. He let himself drift closer, awe and gratitude rolling off of him in waves. Spock could sense Jim's hopefulness and an edge of embarrassment as he waited to see how Spock would react.

Carefully, Spock opened his own memories to him, showing them a few at a time so he would not be overwhelmed. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he laid bare the emotions that had so confused him.

"Wow…"

He opened his eyes, lowering his hand from Jim's face. "I did not know."

"About you or me?"

"Both. I only became aware of my feelings for you a short time previously."

Jim nodded, letting out a short, breathy laugh. "Yeah, Bones told me you went to see him."

Spock frowned slightly. "He should not have."

"You wish I didn't know?"

"I am glad I was give the chance to tell you."

Jim shrugged. "Well, he only mentioned that you came by because he knows I've been carryin' a torch for you for… I don't even know how long."

He nodded. "I have not yet had an opportunity to contemplate how long I have loved you."

"Spock…" The word came out strained, almost plaintive.

"Jim." He held out a hand, two fingers extended. "If you are willing, I would like the opportunity to be with you. I will not ask anything of you that you cannot give, and I will—"

"Spock." Jim was smiling now; a brilliant, ecstatic grin that put the passing stars to shame. "I'd love to."

Jim's index and middle fingers brushed against his and Spock felt his mouth curve up into a smile. It seemed he owed Dr. McCoy a thank you.