This is the sequel to my other Star Trek fic, The Last Drink. If you haven't read that, this will make no sense to you. This one is happier than that one, but the resolution has still not been reached. That's why there will be a third!
As before, italicized statements are flashbacks.
Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to JJ Abrahms and Gene Roddenberry. I own nothing but this plot.
Please enjoy.
The door shutting in front of him made a click that was far too final for his liking. Her hands were light on his shoulders as she attempted to turn him from the face of the solid surface.
He didn't move.
Logic would dictate that it was senseless to focus on the past, on what had already been said and done. Emotion stated that there was always a chance to fix things.
Vulcans cared little for emotion.
She finally succeeded, his body turning slowly into the warmth of the house, the sound of rain against the glass replaced by the soft strains of some song she had put on. The darkness of the night was masked by the lights cheerfully illuminating the room which he now faced.
The sight and memory of him slowly removed by her.
Logical, his mind assured. A better choice. A smarter choice. The right choice.
…Was it?
Logic said yes.
…Emotion said no.
He shook his head lightly. Now was not the time for such thoughts. He was here, with her, and happy, he told himself. Or, at least, content. Happiness was an emotion.
And Vulcans didn't have emotions.
She led him to the couch, talking softly. Her voice had a quiet, soothing quality. It was unlike the voice he was used to hearing in his evenings—loud, brash, boisterous—but not unpleasant.
The contrast was startling.
The table stood between them, the game set on it innocently. Just looking at it made his heart race and clench at the same time.
"Do you play?" she asked, as he idly picked up the carved wooden king. Its black paint gleamed faintly in the light.
"Hey, Spock, you play chess?"
"I—" he began.
"I am familiar with the game, Captain, but I do not play."
She was waiting, her eyes locked questioningly on his face. Play, he thought. Do I play? For some reason the question made him pause.
He was happy with her.
Wasn't he?
…No.
"Spock?" she tried again. "Do you play chess?"
"Neither do I. Shall we?"
"No. I do not play chess, Nyota."
He didn't play chess with anyone but Jim.
He'd been happy with Jim.
"Do you not know how? I could teach you. Then we could play."
He sighed. Play chess with Nyota? No. He wouldn't.
"I do not play chess, Nyota." It was a firm denial. Her eyebrows went up slightly at the emotion—
Emotion?
No. The words were simply stated.
Vulcans did not speak with emotion.
"Okay," she said, gently pushing the board to the side. "Something else, then." She stepped around the table and set her hands on his shoulders once again. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his gently.
The captain's lips pressed forcefully and insistently against his.
Spock pulled away from her until her hands fell from his shoulders. The wind howled outside, whipping the rain into the walls loudly. Jim was outside in that.
And Spock belonged with him.
"Nyota, I am afraid I have bad news. This relationship is not working." Delivered simply, his tone not unkind. Matter-of-fact.
She blinked.
"What?"
"I apologize, Nyota, but there is…someone else. Someone I care deeply for."
"I think we should be together."
Spock had thought so, too. He had made his decision. The logical, smart decision.
The wrong decision.
Without another word, he moved to the door, removing his coat from the rack. He shouldered it on and opened the door. As he stepped out, he turned to face her.
"I am…sorry."
And the door closed.
Logic dictated that choosing Nyota had been the right choice; there was no point in leaving her when the past could not be changed and he should just go back inside. Emotion said that if he found Jim, things could—would—turn out all right.
Vulcans didn't care for emotion.
But he was half-human.
And
right
then,
Spock
didn't
care
for
logic.
That's that. A considerably happier tune than the last one. Please review!