Disclaimer: Star Trek characters belong to Paramount. T'Aine is mine.
Author's note: Out of context again, I know. A sequel of sorts to Too Long a Time, but takes place 30 years later. Post-TOS, post-movies.
Beta/Editor: Lil black dog.
Codes/Rating: S&Mc, Saa, Su. K/S implied. General
Summary: Spock rediscovers the old axiom 'none so blind as those who will not see.' And gets married. Unfortunately, in reverse order.
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Those Who Will Not See
By
Anna Amuse
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For a moment, the problem seemed to have no solution. Then Spock raised his head, eyes alight with inspiration.
"A wedding."
The others stared at him. McCoy was the first to find his voice.
"A wedding? Who's getting married?"
"I believe Spock means him and me," T'Aine said evenly. She raised an eyebrow at the human. "Unless of course you would like to propose, Doctor."
"You and him?" McCoy looked from one to the other incredulously. "Now, hold up a second, let me get this straight. You've known each other for how long exactly—some fifty years, give or take? No, for God's sake, spare me the numbers. In all this time, you never once thought that it would be a good idea for you to bond, even when we all were shouting at you to finally open your eyes to the utter logic of it. And now you're finally talking about bonding—merely so that we can host a ceremony to lure in the Romulan Ambassador? You're both out of your Vulcan minds!"
"Not bonding," Spock shook his head mildly. "I'm suggesting a human ceremony. A marriage."
"Easily dissolved," T'Aine nodded.
"How can you agree to this?" McCoy asked her, his disbelief making him careless. "You love him. God only knows why, but you do love the bastard."
She gave him another eyebrow.
"Love is a human emotion, Doctor."
"Oh, don't give me that crap," McCoy bristled indignantly. "I'm too old for that." He spun onto the other Vulcan with surprising agility. "Dammit, Spock, how do you even have the gall to suggest such a thing? Have you lost what little was left of your conscience?"
"Doctor," Spock actually sighed. "What makes you think that I am proposing something dishonorable? It does not matter, whether the ceremony will be human or Vulcan. T'Aine will be my wife, legally and factually."
"Marriage isn't about making it legal!" McCoy exploded. "It's about feeling, Spock! Emotions. Love. I can't believe I'm hearing you right. You should be ashamed of yourself. Just think what Jim would have said, if he had the chance."
There was a definite halt in the conversation. T'Aine glanced at Spock warily, but his only reaction was a brief bow of his head. When he looked up at McCoy again, his face was as calm as ever.
"Jim understood the terms of necessity, Doctor. However, since he is not here, it is illogical to speculate about his opinion. It has no relevancy in the matter."
Doesn't it? McCoy nearly blurted out, checking himself at the last moment. He looked away, as a wave of utter bitterness washed over him. It had been more than thirty years and it still hurt like an open wound.
If Jim were here...
If Jim were here, they wouldn't be having this discussion. McCoy didn't have to analyze Spock's psyche to know what would have happened. If Jim walked in through that door right now, Spock would have dropped everything, anything he had been doing. He would have instantly thrown his plans regarding the Romulans out of the window, he would have immediately severed his ties with Starfleet and the Diplomatic Corps, he would have forgotten all about his friends and his life as it was now. He would have dropped everything to be near Jim again.
McCoy closed his eyes, feeling traitorous moisture gather in them. Spock had always warned him his emotions would get the best of him and it looked like that prediction was becoming alarmingly accurate in his old age.
"Jim would have wanted you to be happy," he said quietly.
The next moment he felt a warm hand clasping his shoulder. Immediately, the familiar resonance of the other's presence began to hum softly in his mind.
"I know, Doctor," Spock's voice was almost unbearably gentle. "I regret I cannot fully comply with this particular wish."
"Wish," McCoy repeated, opening his eyes and looking into Spock's. "You know as well as I do that he would have made it an order."
Spock's lips curled up slightly. McCoy felt the answering smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and shook his head, trying to get rid of it.
"I would ask you," Spock said after a while, letting go of him, "to take care of the preparations."
"Spock, do you think it's wise?" T'Aine asked dubiously. "Would not Vaderak get suspicious?"
Spock took a moment to consider it, but then shook his head mildly.
"I do not believe so. My close association with Doctor McCoy is no secret. Whatever information their Intelligence file has on me, it must contain it. It would not look unnatural to Vaderak that my closest friend is taking care of the arrangements. Besides," he added quickly, seeing the expression on McCoy's face, "both you and I need to return to Daggerix before we can proceed. There is no other logical alternative."
"Well, isn't it nice of you to dump all the tedious stuff on my shoulders?" McCoy drawled acidly. "I'll say one thing to you, Spock. If you put me in charge of your wedding, don't complain later if the color of ikebanas doesn't meet with your approval."
"Doctor," Spock nearly winced. "I could not possibly care less about the ceremony itself as long as you make sure that the people we need to be there will be there. That is your main objective. The rest is immaterial."
"Sure," McCoy smirked rather wickedly. "Whatever you say."
Spock obviously preferred not to analyze the silent promise too closely.
"If you will excuse me, I need to take care of our traveling arrangements."
"Spock," T'Aine called after him. "What about Saavik?"
This time there was a definite tension in Spock's shoulders. He turned in the doorway, looking rather rigid.
"Contacting her might be detrimental to the whole scheme. I believe talking to Admiral Uhura might prove useful."
T'Aine lifted her eyebrows.
"If I recall correctly, the Admiral said she did not wish to speak to you again after the, quote, 'dumbass stunt you pulled the last time,' end quote."
McCoy laughed out loud.
"Ah, Spock. So many women. So little charm."
Spock shot him a rather dark look.
"I am pleased my difficulty amuses you, Doctor. Perhaps if you were to contact Uhura—"
"So that she'd bite my head off instead of yours?" McCoy cut him off, alarmed. "Not a chance! I'm on pretty shaky ground with her myself. You know what they call her inside SI? Admiral Instant Fury."
"Illogical," T'Aine remarked. "But apt."
Spock looked at her with poorly concealed hope.
"T'Aine?"
"No," she said resolutely. "I would do a lot of things for you, Spock, but Admiral Uhura is strictly your concern."
"Very well," Spock sighed gravely. "You will find my will and other papers in the case upstairs should you need them. And I would prefer a quiet funeral."
"Champagne and flowers might be helpful if you want to live long enough to see your wedding!" McCoy yelled after him, cackling.
T'Aine's features were strict and calm as usual, but he could tell that she, too, was amused.
"Is this still about that time when she caught him smuggling several defectors across the border, which the Romulans claimed to be terrorists?" McCoy asked.
She sighed. "They were not terrorists, and the Admiral did not, in fact, catch him, but—"
"But she knew it was him all right."
"Indeed," T'Aine shook her head mildly. "She'll forgive him. She always does."
"Yes, she's a generous creature, bless her," McCoy muttered affectionately. "She saved our skins so many times over the years I couldn't count. But you're right. If Spock's smart enough, and the son of a bitch is that if nothing else, he'd tell her the reason for his call before he tries to make amends. And after Ny hears the word 'wedding', she's gonna bring the house down, and the rest would be forgotten."
"I believe you are correct," T'Aine agreed. "The Admiral has always shown a certain... romantic streak to her character. She would no doubt apply it to the current situation, however little it warrants it."
"T'Aine." McCoy looked at her in puzzled admiration, but for the moment his confusion won. "Why are you agreeing to this? Beats me what you see in him to stay with him for all these years, but let me tell you this. I know him. Better than anyone else does. If you think, if you hope that he's doing it for any other reason than to solve his current dilemma, you're wrong."
She looked at him calmly, a quiet light of serenity glimmering in her dark eyes.
"I am aware of that, Leonard."
"Then why?" he couldn't grasp it. "It's not like he's the only guy in the universe. Just look at you. You could have anyone. Why stick with him? God knows, I love Spock like a brother, but I care about you a great deal, too, and this isn't fair to you. The son of a bitch is so messed up, he doesn't know the half of it."
T'Aine smiled at him vaguely and shook her head.
"I find it ironic that you do not understand my motivation here, Leonard," she said softly. "After all, you are human. And love is a primarily human emotion."
He stared at her.
"Spock—"
"—knows," she finished calmly. "We shall not discuss it. It is of no consequence. I am fully Vulcan, Doctor. I had never had difficulties controlling my feelings."
"I wish you had," he whispered. "Maybe then he'd—"
"I shall make tea," she interrupted him gently, but firmly. "You are staying with us, of course."
He nodded automatically, even knowing she didn't really expect him to answer. He always stayed with them whenever on Earth, rarely visiting his own home anymore. It was something so natural, no one had ever questioned it. Generally, McCoy spent more time on Earth than either of the Vulcans, who rarely set foot on this soil more than a couple of times a year. But even spending most of their time aboard various ships and on faraway missions, they did consider this house their home base by mutual agreement.
It was also interesting that even in their absence it rarely stood completely unoccupied. Spock and T'Aine's itineraries seldom coincided, and it was easier to catch either one of them 'home' than both together. McCoy, who was dividing his time between Earth, Pacifica and whatever Starfleet facilities he helped organize in different regions of space, usually stayed there while on Earth, with Karina visiting him frequently. Joanna also had standing permission to use the house whenever she felt like it, which she often did, brining along her grandchildren.
The most intriguing guest perhaps was Sarek. After Amanda died almost twenty years ago, he had sold both their houses, declaring his wish to retire and stay on Vulcan. McCoy remembered Spock saying then he did not believe his father would stay idle for long, and he was proven right. After resuming his glowing diplomatic career, Sarek had become a frequent visitor. His relationship with Spock was experiencing some sort of renaissance. It seemed like father and son had finally reached a level of understanding between them, which allowed them to coexist peacefully.
Having become an unprecedented expert on reading Vulcans, McCoy knew Sarek liked T'Aine. He had liked her the first time around and apparently this was a lasting sympathy. Spock had earned more than one frown from his father for the way he handled his relationship with her, but being cognizant of the fragile peace between them, Sarek didn't confront him directly.
For a while, another frequent guest was Saavik. She came to visit whenever the ship she was serving on came back to Earth, and McCoy knew Spock tried his best to be there when she came. After the fal-tor-pan, it was difficult for both of them to renew their friendship. What happened on the Genesis planet and of which Spock had only the vaguest memories, had created a strain between them that had never been there before. Their easy friendship, her awe of her mentor, his admiration for his student, the pure sympathy of kindred spirits that had existed between them were somehow tainted by the events over which neither of them had any measure of control.
And then of course, as if the feeling of guilt and betrayal over something that wasn't their choice wasn't enough, there was always Valeris. Saavik, who never knew her parents, whose Romulan heritage made her even more of an outcast on Vulcan than Spock's human blood made him, who had found in Spock the closest thing she had ever had to family, was wounded deeply by his interest in Valeris. It wasn't exactly jealousy, rather than genuine, deep-running pain at not being good enough for him. Spock would never have agreed with such an assessment, but nobody asked him to. Saavik simply accepted another deep space assignment and left.
With a twinge of bitter irony, McCoy remembered that Jim was utterly irritated by Valeris, too, though he had far lesser reasons to feel threatened by her. In fact, Spock started to spend more time with her, nearly moving to the Academy when he wasn't staying on the Enterprise, after yet another profound disagreement with Jim. The two of them had had a lot of those in the later years.
Jim's death or, as Spock preferred to call it, disappearance had brought Spock and Saavik close again. She was there, forgiving him what there was to forgive in the face of his all consuming grief. She was one of the few who knew what Jim truly was to him, and the only one, with the possible exception of T'Aine, who shared his belief that Jim wasn't dead. When Spock returned from wherever he had gone for eight years after the incident on the Enterprise-B, he and Saavik seemed to have regained some of what they used to have.
For a few years things seemed to look quite cheery. But then Spock, who seemed to be drawn into the mess of Romulan internal affairs almost beyond his will, got pulled into another schism. That was when he had crossed paths with T'Aine again. That was also when he found out that Saavik was now working for Starfleet Intelligence, predictably in the Romulan section. And since he had never come to any kind of acceptable agreement with SI or Starfleet Command, a new round of tension ensued between the two. Spock felt betrayed that she would choose their side over his, and Saavik believed that she had much more right to take whatever side appealed to her with regard to Romulus than Spock had ever had. They had had more than a few encounters on the Romulan side of the border, often effectively blowing each other's plans.
McCoy cringed. For people who claimed to be unemotional, the two of them were spending too much time being pissed at each other in their own cool Vulcan way. Spock kept waiting, with an irritating amount of arrogance, for her to realize her mistake and ask for his guidance again. Saavik kept waiting for him to realize she was no longer a child. But even seeing her disguised as a hetaera in one of the most prestigious pleasure houses of the Romulan capital seemed not enough to do the trick, and so the two of them remained as unyielding as ever.
The abyss grew deeper and the silence grew colder with each passing year. It was a frightening moment for McCoy as he stood beside Spock on the bridge of the new Ulysses staring at Saavik on the viewscreen when he thought one of them would actually give the order to open fire. Stubborn Vulcans, half-Vulcans, whatever. Two people who loved each other and were unable to get it right between them.
But then, McCoy thought grudgingly, that seemed to be the story of Spock's life.
T'Aine returned, bringing a tray with a beautiful Vulcan tea set with her. She smiled at McCoy in her inimitable way, not quite smiling, but rather looking at him with a soft carrying expression that never failed to warm him. He smiled back and moved to help her set the pieces down on the deftly carved wooden table. Suddenly he froze, staring at the table as if he had never seen it before.
That was one of the last things Jim made during the time when he and Spock weren't speaking. He was living with that woman then, what was her name, Alicia? Antonia? Something like that, anyway. The table was beautiful. Jim's sudden discovery of this talent was as huge a surprise for McCoy as anything. In all the time McCoy had known him, he was far better at breaking things than at making them, let alone creating anything 'aesthetically pleasing.' But even McCoy was forced to admit that Jim had developed quite a knack for it.
It was ironic that months after he yelled at Spock to never come close to him again he would cover the table he was working on with a complex Vulcan ornament. The detail of carving was unbelievable, and no matter how closely McCoy looked, he couldn't see a single flaw in the pattern. Jim must have spent days working on this thing, meticulously shaping it into something he knew Spock would admire. The same Spock he had ordered out of his life. The same Spock who had finally, after years of fighting, followed that order. Not for a long time, but long enough; unfortunately, inevitably, long enough.
The table had always been here, McCoy had simply never spared it more than a passing glance. Now, as his gaze slid over the carefully preserved tracery, he didn't see the leaves or the waterfalls or the mountains. He saw a raw feeling carved in wood. The deepest, truest feeling Jim Kirk had ever experienced, the one he carried throughout his life and possibly beyond it. The one that till this day haunted Spock, waking him up sometimes in the middle of the night with a sharp pain in his heart and tears filling his eyes.
Spock never let them fall, but McCoy did. After the refusion, being in close proximity to Spock always made him inadvertently attuned to whatever Spock was feeling. He had always known when the Vulcan had spent a rough night, filled with memories and ghosts.
Spock always asked for his forgiveness and advised him to meditate, but McCoy only waved him off on both accounts and opened a bottle of whatever was available instead. Sometimes, rarely, Spock joined him. Once after such an episode, they had woken up in each other arms, though McCoy had no idea how it happened and Spock claimed not to remember either. Not that it mattered one way or another. After knowing each other for over sixty years, after having been in more life-and-death situations together than most people would have in ten lifetimes, after sharing a soul, little could happen between them that would embarrass either of them or change the way they stood with each other.
"Doctor?" T'Aine called to him softly. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Yes," he said, snapping out of his reverie. "Yes, I'm sorry," he grinned weakly. "I was just thinking."
"A commendable occupation," she approved, and he laughed. "Tea?"
"Yes, please." He sat down on a low sofa next to the table. "You are a wonderful hostess, T'Aine, you know that?"
"I am not as good as I should be," she shook her head, handing him a cup.
McCoy took it, their fingers brushing slightly. If he were just a guest, she would never have touched him, but placed the cup on the table in front of him. Things were different within the family, though, and they were one, unlikely as it might have seemed.
"When do you leave?" McCoy asked, taking a cautious sip of the hot liquid.
"Tonight," she said, adding milk to her own tea. McCoy remembered that Amanda used to do the same. "I have to meet with several individuals who might be interested in joining our cause. Spock will head straight for Daggerix. We'll rendezvous there."
"I hate that place," McCoy muttered darkly. "I nearly lost him the last time he went there. Still don't know how he managed to pull through."
"You underestimate yourself, Leonard," she smiled at him again. Then suddenly, her hand closed on his wrist, and he looked up at her, startled. "Thank you for taking care of him. Spock may not know it, but he has never had a better friend."
It was difficult to say what he knew he must, difficult even more because of the lump in his throat.
"Yes. He had."
"That was different," she shook her head. "Jim was... is everything to him. No one can rival that."
Her use of present tense sliced through him like a blade.
"It's been thirty years," McCoy said almost pleadingly, never knowing what it was he was pleading for. "Thirty years, T'Aine. He's got a good hundred ahead of him. Won't he ever forget?"
Her deep onyx eyes measured his flashing blue carefully.
"Could you forget a part of you, Doctor? Perhaps a major part? You can learn to live without it. You can accomplish a lot of things, rise to great heights. But you can never stop feeling its absence. You can never forget."
"I know," McCoy breathed out, looking at his hands. "I know, T'Aine. But God, do I wish it didn't have to be this way."
She studied him for a moment, then reached for her cup again.
"So do I, Doctor. So do I."
--
The Excelsior had certainly seen better days. Normally, she would have long been decommissioned and hauled to Utopia Planitia, where it would have been stripped to the bones of all reusable components and then dismantled. Most of her sister-ships had already met this fate, but the Excelsior got lucky. She was assigned to Starfleet Academy for training cruises and had thus survived. But it had been years since anyone tried to make her look Bristol-fashion again.
The level of excitement was way off the scale. Bosun's whistles seemed to sound all the time, organized and slightly less organized teams of cadets and Academy technicians ran through the decks making sure everything was in perfect order, working and shining. Usually, the training vessel was commanded by one of the field instructors, but rumor had it that Commander Lennox would have to step down for a flag officer to perform the honors.
Starfleet Command had apparently summoned a lot of officers out of shoreleaves and other assignments to make sure the upcoming event would be held on the top level. It wasn't everyday that a renowned Ambassador was getting married, most certainly not so when the Ambassador in question had been one of the most famous Starfleet officers in the past, who also was Vulcan, but preferred a human style ceremony.
The rumor mill was working unceasingly. Was it true that he was court-martialed for stealing a starship? Was it true he was behind the peace treaty with the Klingons? Was it true that he violated the Temporal Prime Directive more than a dozen times? Was it true he was the first Vulcan to say, 'To hell with orders'? Was it true he had risen from the dead?
Spock wasn't even on board yet, but in every sense but physical he might just as well have been there. The anticipation had shot through the roof.
In all that happy conundrum, a young lieutenant who was supervising the decorating of the wardroom where the ceremony was supposed to be held was feeling slightly out of place. He didn't fight to get this assignment. He was, in fact, utterly surprised when he was asked to temporarily join the Excelsior crew to help them make her look shipshape again. But watching peculiar flower columns being festooned around the room wasn't exactly how he had envisioned his input into the festivities.
A Vulcan woman walked into the wardroom and stopped just inside, looking around. The crew paid her no attention, continuing with their work. She didn't seem to mind, surveying her surroundings with tamed curiosity, so typical of her species.
She was beautiful, the Lieutenant thought. It was hard to guess age with Vulcans, particularly with Vulcan females. She wasn't young, that was certain, but far from being old, either. She was the portrayal of classic Vulcan beauty, which so many species had found irresistible. Her long raven-black hair was arranged in a simple but elegant style, falling freely along her back. She was slender, but not fragile; tall, but not towering. Her face was enchanting in its strict smooth beauty, capturing the attention of whoever looked at her and arresting it for a long time. Her common pearl-grey dress suited her incredibly, but then, the Lieutenant suspected, almost anything would. She was, quite simply, stunning, and the thought that she was probably old enough to be his grandmother didn't do anything to diminish that impression.
But she was also sad. Applied to a Vulcan, the term was almost a sacrilege, and yet, as he watched her taking several steps along the rows of seats or bending over but not quite touching a decorative bouquet, the young human only grew more confident in his impression. Her expression was serious and a touch wistful, and sad. There was no other word for it, emotional as that one was.
She suddenly straightened and looked right at him as if she had felt his gaze. Vulcans were telepaths, he remembered belatedly. She probably had. His heart suddenly hammering, he smiled nervously under her continuous scrutiny and walked toward her. There was little else he could do. And just as he stopped in front of her, he realized who she was, and his mouth went instantly dry.
"Doctor T'Aine," he bowed his head softly, hardly knowing what he was saying. "You honor us with your presence."
Her expression softened, as if she had smiled at him, though she didn't do it of course.
"I apologize, I did not mean to disrupt your work," she said softly. "I merely found myself unoccupied and... curious."
"Quite understandable, ma'am." He gave her a timid smile of his own. "Does everything meet with your approval?"
"Oh, I have no knowledge of human ceremonies," she shook her head, looking around again. "I trust everything is in order." She glanced at him suddenly. "What do you think?"
Startled, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.
"I think there're far too many flowers here. It's a starship, not a church, and Ambassador Spock used to be a starship captain, not some middle class manager."
Her eyes widened slightly, and he blushed.
"I'm sorry, I didn't meant to—"
"No, no, those were my thoughts exactly," she told him, picking at the nearest floral composition. "I was trying to envision my... fiancé here, and I don't believe he'd be... comfortable."
"Well," he looked around and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "What do you say if we get rid of the flowers?"
She leaned closer to him too and whispered back, "I will not tell anyone."
He chuckled, not quite believing he was having this conversation with the T'Aine, the most intriguing woman of the hour.
"Your wish is my command, ma'am," he bowed to her. "I'll take care of it."
"Thank you, Lieutenant," she said with her smiling expression again. "I am certain Ambassador Spock will be most grateful. As am I."
She turned to go, but something about her made him step forward and call after her.
"Ma'am?"
She turned around, lifting an eyebrow in silent question. He blushed more furiously than ever, but looked her in the eye squarely.
"I'm sorry if I'm presuming, but I just wanted to say... You look beautiful. Your fiancé is a very lucky man."
She regarded him for an unbearably long moment.
"May I know your name, Lieutenant?" she asked finally.
There was no way he could weasel out of that one.
"Jean-Luc Picard, ma'am."
She raised her hand in Vulcan salute.
"Live long and prosper, Jean-Luc Picard."
He barely managed to return the salute, and she was gone. Mesmerized by the encounter, he stood motionless for several long moments. Then, catching the sleeve of a passing crewman, he ordered briskly, "Get these damned flowers out of here."
"Sir?"
"Get rid of them. That's an order."
"Yes, sir," the crewman gave him a puzzled look, but complied.
The Lieutenant watched them dismantling the decorations with a sense of grim satisfaction. Perhaps this assignment wasn't such a waste of time after all.
--
Spock's expression as he entered the crowded wardroom told McCoy everything he wanted to know about his friend's state of mind. Spock was hiding it well, but he was quite plainly shocked by everything he saw. He hadn't been expecting anything of the sort, it was certain. Not this ship to be chosen, not that many people to turn up, not those people, not that Admiral behind the podium.
Well, McCoy reflected with a nasty smile, that's what you get for leaving me in charge. For Spock, this wedding might have been merely a means to an end, but for his friends, there was hope here. And the message McCoy was trying to convey was, It's real, Spock. Give it a chance and it will be real.
Spock's gaze found his, and the Doctor smiled sweetly at Spock's glare. We shall discuss it later, the dark eyes promised him menacingly. McCoy's grin remained impervious. It's your goddamned wedding, Spock. Behave yourself.
Spock nodded politely to greetings sent his way, as he walked towards the podium where Sulu was standing, grinning from ear to ear. The Vulcan stopped right in front of him, and McCoy saw them exchange some words. He could tell Spock was pleased to see the Admiral, regardless of the circumstances. In a few moments they were engaged in an animated discussion, and the Doctor suppressed a groan, imagining what it was about. Most likely, the maneuvering capabilities of the Ulysses. He sighed. Boys will be boys. Then T'Aine entered the room through a side door, and McCoy walked beside her towards the podium, silence following their progress. The ceremony began.
Despite Spock's misgivings, McCoy made sure it was as brief and stripped of abundant human sentimentality as possible. He and Sulu had simply eliminated most of the text the previous evening, leaving only the essentials. T'Aine looked stunning in her simple grey dress, which only emphasized her natural beauty, and together with Spock, they made a picturesque pair, well-suited for each other.
Everyone can see it, Spock, McCoy thought, biting his lip in frustration. Why can't you?
Sulu grinned at the newlyweds wickedly.
"You may kiss your wife," he told Spock.
McCoy held his breath. It was the moment of truth. It was the moment when they would find out whether any of their actions managed to get to Spock. Would he touch her in a Vulcan way? They were now married by Earth standards, but they weren't by Vulcan. Would he share with her the intimacy of that seemingly innocent touch, reserved for those sharing a life-bond on Vulcan?
McCoy had known exactly what it looked like; he had once witnessed that normally very private expression of affection a very long time ago. He remembered thinking ironically then that there was a reason why he could never master the Vulcan salute while Jim practiced it with casual ease. But the expression in Jim's eyes was anything but casual at that moment, and McCoy had held his tongue. Only years later, having hosted Spock's katra, he had learned the true significance of the gesture, and was awed that his friends didn't shove him out of the nearest airlock for intruding, however inadvertently, on such a moment.
It was never shared in public, except on very special occasions. Very special. Like a bonding ceremony.
Come on, Spock, don't be an idiot, McCoy pleaded silently with him. It's well past time you moved on.
Spock leaned in closer to T'Aine and kissed her. A human kiss. It wasn't something Vulcans exchanged in public, either, but nor did it bear any particular significance with them. McCoy closed his eyes, having no wish to watch. Stubborn Vulcan. Stubborn. The crowd behind his back made a delighted 'aw' sound and then the applause broke.
McCoy made sure not to touch Spock as he congratulated him, rather mechanically. Spock had work to do and receiving an electrical jolt of concentrated anger wasn't something that would help him do it. T'Aine looked completely unfazed, even though it must have been difficult for her to engage in such undignified behavior in front of everyone. She gave McCoy a quick smile of hers before he stepped back, and the Doctor felt his heart clenching painfully for her. But she chose this path herself, and he had to respect her decision.
"A drink, Doctor?" Sulu came over to him, holding two glasses.
"Thanks," McCoy nodded. "Great job, by the way."
Sulu grinned.
"In all my life, I have never imagined doing anything like that," he confessed, taking a sip of his drink. "Back on the Enterprise, if someone had told me, I would have called them nuts."
McCoy snorted.
"Well, technically now you rank Spock, retired or no. Beats me, by the way, why he decided to wear his uniform."
"I wasn't surprised," Sulu shook his head. "He's still the Captain I remember. Still the First Officer I served under for ten years. He'd been in Starfleet way longer than he's been an Ambassador. I don't believe he could have walked on this deck in any other capacity than Captain Spock."
"Maybe," McCoy shrugged sourly. "I only wish he was less stubborn now than he was back then, but he's becoming more of a mule with each passing year. I wouldn't be surprised if those ears of his grew accordingly to dissuade any delusions innocent people might have."
Sulu laughed.
"I can see your relationship with him hasn't changed, Doctor."
"Has anyone's?" McCoy grunted. "By the way, where's Uhura?"
"She couldn't make it," Sulu shook his head, getting serious. "There's some kind of crisis on Betazed. She was recalled last night."
"Damn," McCoy swore under his breath. "I wonder what kind of crisis. Hopefully, not anything involving public health. I really wouldn't want to leave the planet now."
"Why?" Sulu looked at him suspiciously. "Is something going on?"
"What do you mean?" McCoy muttered, averting his eyes.
"I see," Sulu said slowly, his eyes narrowing. "So that's what this is all about. I was wondering about this wedding thing from the moment you told me. It just isn't like Spock."
"Look, Sulu..."
"I don't want to hear it," Sulu interrupted him curtly. "Because I have a suspicion that if I do, I'll have to arrest the whole lot of you. But, Doctor, be sure to tell him this. Starfleet Command had declared Condition Black for all ships assigned to the Romulan Neutral Zone late last night. The number of patrols was doubled, and no trespassing will be allowed. They have orders to shoot to kill. Unless he's got a cloaking device on the Ulysses..."
McCoy knew he was turning red under Sulu's speculative gaze, but couldn't help it.
"I wouldn't know anything about that, Sulu," he said. "I'm just an old country doctor."
"Of course," Sulu smiled. "You just tell Spock what I told you. Command has no idea what's going on, but they know something is, so they are alert and watching."
"I'll tell him," McCoy muttered into his glass.
"So that's why there are no Vulcans here," Sulu said with returning levity. "I thought at first it was because the ceremony is human, Spock being a half-blood, the same old stuff."
"Well, if that's any consolation, his father took a personal offense in this, exactly because in his view Spock managed to disgrace his Vulcan heritage yet again."
"Did he?"
"I don't know," McCoy sighed. "Discussing his Vulcan heritage with Spock is about as safe as talking to a Gorn about their eating habits. And about as productive as well."
"Hm. I take it Sarek doesn't know then."
"Doesn't know what?"
"Right."
They exchanged another meaningful look. Then both grinned.
"How's Demora?" McCoy asked, changing the topic.
"Fine," Sulu nodded enthusiastically. "Wouldn't shut up about her new ship."
"Just like her father," McCoy grinned. He looked around the crowded lounge and his smile faded. With so many people there, a few were all the more noticeable by their absence. "Any word on—?"
"No," Sulu cut him off before he mentioned either name.
McCoy sighed. It had been years since they heard anything at all from Scotty. And even though the ship he was on was listed as missing, its fate never quite cleared, after twenty-nine years, there was almost no hope of him ever coming back. Two years ago, Pavel Chekov got a similar notation on his personnel file. Missing in action. So far, no one had found out what happened to his ship, either.
Their ranks were getting thinner. Three years ago, Doctor M'Benga who was working as Chief Medical Officer on Deep Space Five was captured by the Romulans and presumed dead. Christine Chapel died last winter from a poisoned dart in her chest, while exploring a newly discovered world. Janice Rand, Sulu's long-term friend and his right hand during the last twenty years, also passed away that winter after a long illness.
And then of course there was Jim.
"It's been quiet without them, hasn't it?" McCoy said softly.
"Yeah," Sulu sighed. "Too quiet. You know, they say we are jinxed."
"Jinxed? And who's we?"
"The former Enterprise crew," Sulu clarified with a mild smile. "They say that Captain Kirk had sealed our fate somehow when he disappeared. That none of us will find a peaceful end."
McCoy snorted.
"They may be right, you know. But I certainly intend to do everything within my power to become an exception to this jinx of yours."
Sulu grinned at him.
"Good luck, Doctor." His eyes slid towards the main entrance and widened in surprise. "Uh-oh. Look who's here."
McCoy followed his gaze and swallowed. Showtime, he thought vaguely. In the line of guests from the diplomatic corps waiting to congratulate the happy couple, stood the Romulan Ambassador himself. And right beside him, leaning on his arm, in her impeccably ironed dress uniform, was Saavik.
--
For a moment, Spock was rendered speechless. He was never easily surprised, not even in his youth, and most certainly not now when he was closing on the age of one hundred. He had expected Vaderak of course. In fact, the whole event was organized with the single purpose of giving the two of them a respectable opportunity to meet without raising anyone's suspicions. But he had not, in his wildest dreams, expected to see Saavik at his side.
While the Romulan and T'Aine exchanged traditional greetings and congratulations, very similar for both races, Spock and Saavik stared at each other fixedly. It had been almost eight years since he had seen her, and it hadn't been a friendly encounter. There was something different about her, about the way she looked at him, about that expression in her hazel eyes which seemed to glow to the lighter side of the spectrum tonight. Closer to gold.
"Congratulations, Ambassador," Saavik said, with a graceful bow of her head. "May you and Doctor T'Aine have many gratifying years together."
"Thank you, Commander," Spock replied with strange awkwardness. "I am sure that we will."
Her control was perfect, but his was not, and she raised an eyebrow, catching the tense notes in his voice. But before either could say anything else, Vaderak transferred his attention to Spock.
"I am not familiar with human cuisine and beverages, Ambassador," he spoke in a deep, cooling voice. "Might I trouble you for suggestions?"
"Of course," Spock inclined his head politely, shooting a quick questioning glance at Saavik. She gave him the tiniest nod. "If you will allow me to escort you, Ambassador."
Behind them, T'Aine was accepting congratulations from the Andorian representatives, while Saavik moved to talk with McCoy and Sulu. This was the highlight of the evening, the single moment for which the whole event was designed, and yet Spock couldn't help feeling a twinge of frustration that it wasn't him Saavik would be talking to for the next several moments, possibly smiling her fleeting smile or gracing them with her dry brand of humor. The unexpected emotion confused him, and he suppressed it roughly, but couldn't help watching her out of the corner of his eye, even as he was selecting drinks with Vaderak.
Spock could tell the Romulan would cooperate within moments of their discussion of the relative advantages of various wines. He couldn't quite tell where the certainty was coming from, but over the years he had learned to trust his instincts as well as his logic. The intelligence his operatives had gathered appeared to be correct, and it seemed he would get what he wanted.
"You see this specimen, Ambassador," Spock was saying, pointing at an elegant bottle. "It is the finest merlot Chile has to offer."
"Indeed?" Vaderak leaned closer, examining the bottle. "But Ambassador Spock, this bottle here also reads merlot."
"Ah," Spock said. "But this one comes from South Africa."
"Which one is better?"
"It is a matter of preference, Ambassador Vaderak," Spock replied smoothly, pouring two glasses, one from each bottle. "You see, while those beverages have slightly different composition, they are, in fact, both the same wine. The same wine—with a different history."
"How peculiar."
"Indeed. But different as their immediate history might be, they still originate from the same vine. Which makes them, however distant, relatives."
Vaderak looked at him closely.
"I believe I see your point."
"I am pleased that you do." Spock offered him one of the glasses, while picking up the other. "But you see, Ambassador, the makers of both brands would be highly offended if we reminded them of their mutual origin. Sometimes, for the sake of the family relations, one side needs to disguise itself in order to be able to talk to the other."
"Does it?" the Romulan lifted his eyebrows. "Wouldn't you say, Ambassador Spock, that such an endeavor would have more of a chance of succeeding if someone from the other side provided the... means for a more effective disguise? In the best interests of both, of course."
Spock raised his glass in a toast.
"Such assistance would prove invaluable, Ambassador Vaderak."
The Romulan matched his gesture.
"In that case, Ambassador Spock, it is only... logical for it to be rendered." They sipped their drinks in unison. Vaderak regarded his glass curiously. "An intriguing taste. I wonder, Ambassador, if a wine maker from—Chile, did you say?—would wish to visit his cousin in South Africa, how many... disguising items would they need?"
Spock pursed his lips thoughtfully.
"I, of course, am no expert, Ambassador. But I would assume that it would depend on the items' potential. That would be a rather light cruise, I suppose."
"A light cruise," Vaderak repeated pensively. "I believe in that case, one item would be sufficient."
Spock inclined his head slightly.
"I bow to your judgment."
"You are a courageous man, Ambassador," Vaderak gave him a thin smile.
Spock lifted an eyebrow.
"I believe in new beginnings. Now, if you will excuse me, I'm afraid I am being negligent to my wife."
"Of course, Ambassador. Family is of the utmost importance."
"Indeed it is. I am pleased we agree on that."
Spock was far too experienced to allow a spring to be present in his step as he walked across the room, but his spirits were definitely raised. He had secured Vaderak's help and most importantly the cloaking device for his ship. The details could be conveyed via associates. He checked with T'Aine, who was having a pleasant conversation with Admiral Deranov's wife, and let her know discreetly that their enterprise resulted in a success.
And then he felt someone's eyes on him, a familiar and yet completely strange presence. He lifted his head and locked gazes with Saavik. Muttering an excuse and easily getting one, he moved fluidly to where she was standing, still talking to McCoy and Sulu.
"Spock," McCoy greeted him animatedly. "Isn't it a wonderful surprise to have Saavik here?"
"Indeed it is," Spock nodded softly, before focusing his full attention on her. "May I have a moment of your time?"
"My time has always been yours to command, but you rarely wanted it," she said smoothly. Both Vulcans ignored the surprised looks the humans exchanged at that pronouncement. "Of course you may have a moment."
They walked into the corridor and, dodging a few greetings, stopped at a deserted alcove between two decks.
"I trust your conversation with the Ambassador was productive?" Saavik enquired coolly.
"Indeed it was," Spock said, studying her closely. "And I have been wondering about your possible contribution to this success. He seemed most cooperative. Far more than I had expected."
She cast her eyes down for a moment.
"I might have... had a small influence on his decision, yes. But it would have been fruitless, if he had not been a supporter of the idea already. I merely... clarified certain issues."
"While acting as his mistress?"
She glanced at him rather coldly.
"Since when are my methods of any concern to you, Spock?"
"Forgive me," he said instantly, looking away. "I should be grateful for your assistance, unexpected as it may be."
"You suspect me of an ulterior motive," she stated, watching him.
"No, Saavik. But certainly you can see that my caution is only logical. You play for Starfleet."
"I haven't been for years."
He looked at her scrupulously, searching for clues. She gave him a thin smile.
"You should have paid more attention, Spock. You are losing your edge. Does family life make you too relaxed to stay sharp? Too many home-cooked meals perhaps?"
"Saavik... That is not fair."
"Isn't it?" she raised her eyebrows eloquently. "You do not appear to know the key players on the board anymore, Spock."
"Indeed? And you do?"
"So it would seem."
"Would you not care to enlighten me?"
"Is it not enough that I helped you?"
"Not if I do not understand your motives for doing so. You played against me in the past."
"My motives have not changed since the moment you first walked into my classroom," she said. "You just never cared to examine them."
"Saavik... What exactly are you implying?"
She tilted her chin up defiantly.
"I am not implying anything. I am speaking plainly. As you taught me Vulcans always should. If it is your wish to misunderstand me, I cannot help you."
Hardly noticing, he stepped closer, searching for a safer topic, anything to say, in fact, which would divert the conversation from the most dangerous direction.
"Your appearance together with Vaderak throws suspicion on you."
"Why would that be of any concern to you?"
"I am not... indifferent to what happens to you."
"Indeed? Since when?"
"Saavik-kam..."
She stiffened.
"Do not—call me that."
A charged silence engulfed the two of them, as they stared into each other's eyes. Saavik turned away abruptly.
"I must go. Vaderak will be looking for me. And T'Aine must be looking for you."
"Yes, indeed," he said, sobering. "But Saavik. This conversation is not over."
She made a curt, most un-Vulcan gesture, jerking her chin to the side. Then, after yet another long glance, she turned on her heel and marched away.
--
Back in the residence, T'Aine retired early, claiming that the day had been most tiring. Spock walked onto the wide balcony to watch the sunset. They were scheduled to depart at dawn, and he knew the most logical course of action for him would have been to rest. But he knew he would not be able to fall asleep. He put his hands on the railing and looked into the purple-painted sky.
He knew what was coming and he was ready for it.
'You're in trouble,' Jim's voice sounded right under his skull.
'I know,' Spock groaned mentally.
'I'm not talking about the illegal cloaking device.'
'I know that, too.'
'Spock, how come you never realized you love her until now?'
'I do not know.'
'Well... Take that from someone who messed up every relationship he ever had. You're completely screwed, my friend.'
'I hardly find that observation helpful, t'hy'la.'
'Well, what do you want from me? I'm just a voice in your imagination, combined memories, my thoughts and your thoughts. The residual imprint of my mind in yours. It's not like I'm really there.'
'I wish you were.'
'I know you do. It's good to have a choice, isn't it?'
'Jim, no. You never had competition.'
'Funny. Because I distinctly remember being sick and tired of fighting for you.'
'You only fought with yourself. You were the only person who stood between us.'
'Oh yeah, right, I forgot. Let me introduce myself, I am the problem.'
'Jim. Why do you keep doing this to me even when you are not here anymore?'
'I don't know, Spock, you tell me. Why do you keep having this argument with yourself over and over again? Keep asking yourself what you did wrong? Keep trying to figure out what you could have done differently? Why do this? It won't bring me back, you know. There'll be no second chance for us, we've wasted one too many.'
'You are not dead, Jim.'
'I'm not alive either, am I? And I'm beginning to think that neither are you. You're not living, Spock. You're...'
"...biding my time," Spock whispered aloud. "I'm biding my time because I do not wish to live without you and cannot die because you are not really dead. You have created a perfect prison for me, Jim. And either way you will not let me out."
'I keep sending you beautiful cellmates.'
Spock closed his eyes and shook his head.
'I am not you.'
'You love Saavik. In this dreamworld of yours, this is probably the only real thing. Yet you keep pushing her away with both hands. The way I used to push you away. See where it got me?'
'I cannot... love her.'
'Denial, Spock? I thought we dealt with it about sixty years ago. Or is it guilt because you think you're betraying me? Have you ever stopped to think why you are so drawn to her? Huh?'
'She is willful. Strong. Fiercely independent. She has a redoubtable spirit that burns like flame.'
'Aha. Not to mention she's damn sexy.'
'Jim!'
'Spock, doesn't she remind you of anyone you know?'
'Jim... I... oh...'
'Yes?'
'You.'
'Yes.'
'She reminds me of you.'
'Yes, she does. And it kind of makes sense, you know, because I always liked her.'
Spock buried his face in his hands for a moment and shook his head.
"I am completely screwed," he declared aloud, probing the human-sounding words on his tongue. They sounded spot-on.
A chuckle came from behind him.
"If you're talking to yourself, you sure as hell are."
Spock straightened up, collecting himself.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Oh, you know. A couple of minutes. Listen—"
"I do not wish to discuss it."
"As you say." McCoy came over to stand at the railing beside him. After a long thoughtful pause, he spoke softly. "You know, I used to think that Jim made a career out of pissing people off. But I'm beginning to wonder if he could even hold a candle to you."
Spock glanced at him sidelong.
"Who has been calling?"
"Oh, just a couple of people. The Andorian attaché, the Vulcan attaché, Commander de Roupas, Ambassador Solange, Uhura's aide." He paused. "T'Aine's mom."
"I see," Spock said.
McCoy shot him a brief look and shook his head tiredly.
"I wish we were back on our ship again," he sighed. "The three of us, and Scotty, and everyone else. I wish we had another nebula to chart or a pre-warp culture to explore. But it's never gonna happen again, is it? I wish it could though. Life used to be simpler then."
"Do not worry, Doctor," Spock said, gazing at the distant line of the horizon. "All things pass."
"And this, too, shall pass," McCoy finished the quote. "Yes, Spock, I know. But I don't have to be happy about it."
Spock winced and looked at him sharply.
"What?" McCoy asked, puzzled.
"Nothing," Spock shook his head. "Just an argument I was having with an old friend. What he said... I do not have to be happy about it either."
The human studied him for a long moment.
"Spock, are you all right?"
Spock actually sighed.
"I have not been all right for thirty years. I do not believe I can ever be again."
"Not with this kind of attitude, you won't. Spock, listen. Jim would have underst—"
"Do not tell me what he would have understood," Spock cut him off sharply.
"Fine then, suffer in silence! Why do I care!"
"McCoy," Spock called after him. "Please. I apologize for upsetting you."
"Oh, I'm not upset, Spock," McCoy shook his head bitterly. "Yet. You wanna know when I'll be upset? When I'm dying, Spock. When I'm dying, knowing that this house is empty, because of your stupidity, or arrogance, or hell knows what. Then I'll be upset, if you must know. Because I'll be leaving you here all alone, with your damned stubbornness to keep you company."
Spock stared at him with an expression so blatantly vulnerable, it was painful to look at.
"Is it my fault," he asked so quietly that McCoy had to make an effort to hear, "that I still cannot see anyone in his place? Vulcans choose for life, Doctor. I cannot protest against my nature."
"Not even when your nature protests against you?"
"Not even then."
"Spock," McCoy shook his head and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "You got it bad."
Spock pursed his lips, sparing him another sidelong glance.
"Doctor, I shall forever marvel at your infinite talent of stating the obvious. What eludes me is to what end you make those kinds of statements."
"In other words, you agree with me and it's killing you," McCoy returned without much bite. "What are you planning to do?"
Spock arched an eyebrow.
"That, too, should be obvious," he replied acidly. "I shall continue my work. This... human emotionalism, to which I have become regrettably prone lately, does not do anything, but disrupt my efforts. I shall have to exercise tighter control over it. That is the only solution."
McCoy sighed.
"I'm sorry you feel that way."
"Doctor," Spock paused, searching for words. "My life is not about how I feel. It is about what I must do. What must be done."
McCoy shook his head.
"I think that's one mistake you keep making over and over again. Your life doesn't have to be like this. It hasn't always been like this."
Spock shrugged nonchalantly.
"It is now." He looked at his old friend evenly. "I shall do what I must, Doctor."
McCoy smiled wryly.
"And come what may, is that what you're saying, Spock?"
Spock's expression softened. He inclined his head.
"And come what may."
They left the balcony together, surrendering it to the inevitable reign of dusk and the profound, inescapable wisdom of that statement.
--
Fin