A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. I've been battling a wisdom tooth this past week. Finally got it pulled, so you can expect faster updates as I continue to move this fic over.
Please don't forget to drop a review before exiting, thank you!
Chapter 2
"Is it my typical routine to report to these labs before the bridge?" Spock questioned as he and Lieutenant Uhura exited Science Lab B, and headed back toward the turbo lift. "My research indicated that the First Officer of a Starfleet Vessel is to report at 0600, Alpha Shift, to the bridge. It is now 0930 and I have yet to—"
"Spock," Uhura interrupted, with a chuckle, "relax. Yes, normally you would report to the bridge first thing Alpha Shift. I took you to see the labs first because you also serve as the ship's Science Officer." She shot a smile over her shoulder at the Vulcan behind her, "Normally, you spend the evenings you don't use for sleep down in these labs and then report to bridge from here."
"Ah," Spock nodded his understanding, pushing aside his annoyance at their delay. "Indeed, I was unable to 'unwind' as the doctor and Captain had suggested. I spent the night researching Vulcan culture, Starfleet and human history, well past the three hour maximum I guaranteed Jim."
As they entered the turbolift, Uhura turned an odd look upon the Vulcan. This was the fourteenth such stare and it was starting to make Spock feel somewhat uncomfortable. "I have noticed that each time I say something particularly deviant from what would be considered appropriate behavior for my normal self, you regard me with your current expression; as if something I have said is particularly unbelievable."
The lieutenant was immediately remorseful, "I'm sorry, Spock," she said, placing a soothing hand on his forearm, "It's just…you never call the Captain by his first name in public and you've definitely never done in conversation before."
"Why?" Spock inquired, his customary head tilt in accompaniment. "It is his name, is it not?"
Uhura smiled, "Yes, but…" she took a long resigned sigh, shook her head and halted the lift, "Vulcans are very proper, Spock and you have always made a point of professionalism. Even when you and I were…" she paused and bit her lip, "even when we were…involved…you never called me by my first name unless we were off duty and alone together."
"Involved?" Spock raised an eyebrow, "Please explain."
"For about eight months, you and I were 'engaged in a romantic relationship,'" Uhura informed politely.
That seemed…unlikely. Spock thought back on his initial physical reaction to Jim in sickbay and compared it to his first reaction to the communications officer when she arrived to take him on the tour this morning. At first he had felt a deep disappointment that the being standing before him was not Jim. Of course, it was only logical that the Captain of the Enterprise was required on the bridge, as the Lieutenant had informed him, but still Spock had been…looking forward to seeing him again.
The beguiling human had captivated him from the moment he had turned his azure eyes upon him. Jim was a vision in gold and black and his eyes had constantly danced with a myriad of emotions, his lips ever grinning. Spock's eidetic memory, another Vulcan trait his brain had informed him of during his research, recalled the image of Jim as he bid Spock good night twelve hours ago, and his heart flittered in his side. When he signaled the doors of his quarters to open this morning he had been greeted by the sight of the very esthetically pleasing Lieutenant Uhura. However, his heartbeat did not quicken, nor was there a tingling in the back of his mind as there had been when he'd first met Jim. His reaction to the Lieutenant was more or less the same to that of the doctor and the various teams he had observed in the labs.
"I am sorry," he finally said, "but that does not seem to correlate with what I have discovered of myself since waking in sickbay."
His apology was met with a sad smile as she pushed the button to resume the lift. "I'm sure that it doesn't," was her cryptic reply.
Spock placed a hand on her shoulder, noticing the wetness that had formed in her eyes, "If I have said something to offend you, I assure you it was not intentional."
With a slight shake of her head, Nyota regarded the man before her. Spock really didn't have a clue, did he? His face was an open book, and she could clearly read concern in all of his features. Oh, she had always known how deeply his emotions, like with the rest of his species, could run, but to see them on display without having to pry behind the Vulcan mask was breathtaking. They'd ended their relationship over a year ago, but this conversation was making her remember the remorseful Vulcan that had sat in her quarters telling her there was no logic in pursuing a relationship with a woman after discovering that he was clearly homosexual. It really was too bad, she thought before replying, "You haven't done anything wrong," she soothed now. "It's just, hearing you say that—without any memory of who you are—just makes it hit home all over again, I guess." She swiped away her unshed tears when he raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry, "That we were never meant to be."
Their conversation ended with a swoosh of the turbolift doors, opening to reveal the bridge of the Enterprise. Spock's eyes widened at the sight before him and he had to focus all of his control into an effort not to grin ear to ear. "Ah," a voice sounded from his left, and Spock's eyes immediately sought its owner.
"Spock," Jim greeted, crossing the bridge and clapping his First on the back as he came up alongside them. He nodded at Uhura, "Lieutenant."
"Captain," she smiled, something that was almost impossible not do in the face of that Kirkian grin. "I take it you have it from here?" Jim gave Uhura a nod of assent before she headed back to relieve the ensign at the communications station.
He turned to Spock, "Did you enjoy your tour? Find anything…familiar?"
Spock thought back to the various experiments and pieces of equipment he'd been shown. They had not sparked any recognition. The vids and holos that he found of himself during his research had also had little effect on his memory. He had learned that his father's name is Sarek, and he served as the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth. His mother, Amanda, was human and Spock was the first and only half-Human, half-Vulcan offspring to survive past infancy. The Planet Vulcan had been lost at the hands of a Romulan from the future, Nero, and there was currently a colony on the planet Vafer-Tor where his race was currently rebuilding. He had experienced a plethora of emotions while watching vids and reading reports concerning the destruction of his home planet and the death of his mother.
He had even observed his Amanda Grayson's memorial, and felt sadness at the tragedy by which her life was lost. More so, he felt regret that his home planet was no longer in existence, and relief that at least his father had survived with him, so Spock was not fully orphaned as so many of his people apparently had been. Recognition, however,—the essential tie between Spock and these people and events—was not present. It was as though he was learning these events, knowing they happened to him and that if he could remember any of his life from before, the pain of loss would undoubtedly be overwhelming, however, that was the problem. He could not feel the loss for that of which he had no recollection…had no perceivable connection to his current self.
When Spock hesitated to answer his question, obviously not wanting to report that nothing had spurred any remembrance, Jim placed a comforting hand on the Vulcan's shoulder and leaned in to speak softly, "Don't worry about it if you aren't remembering yet. Just give it time." He motioned with his head for Spock to follow as he led them to a station a couple meters to the right.
"This is your station, Science Officer," Jim waved a hand to encompass an impressive array of monitors and spatial observation equipment. Beseeching blue eyes smiled at Spock as the Captain swiveled the chair outward, "Wanna give it a go?"
Jim watched twin eyebrows meet Vulcan hairline as Spock took the proffered seat. He observed as brown eyes flew from one reading to the next, black head bent to the scanner as it relayed information to the terminal from the planet below. Nothing escaped, Jim's notice, especially the slight tapping of fingers against black trousers, as if they were itching to be reunited with the touch panel before them. No sooner had he thought it, than Spock's hands shot up from their resting place and his fingers began flying across the controls. Jim watched as his amnesic First Officer began dissecting scans and initializing relays of the information to various ship departments. Spock then initiated several routine diagnostics on the equipment, recording the results and adjusting the terminal accordingly. He then realigned the sensors to perform a second level scan on the planet's marine surfaces. By then, every head on the bridge was turned in their direction, watching intently.
When Spock's elegant fingers finally came to rest on the edge of the panel, he turned amazed brown eyes onto a beaming Kirk, "Fascinating." When a chorus of chuckles sounded around the room, Spock's ears turned a becoming emerald.
"Back to work, you bunch of shirkers," Jim chided fondly, causing the crew to put their eyes back on their own terminals. He then returned his attention to his still slightly flushed First Officer, "Don't mind them; they're just happy to see you back on the bridge." He then gestured to the console, "Let me guess—not a clue?"
Spock tilted his head—an action he always took before he was about to impart a valuable piece of Vulcan logic. It amazed Jim that Spock had no memory from any part of his life, and yet, his mannerisms were still so present. It was like he was talking to a fully cognizant Spock, even though he knew the person he'd grown to know and love wasn't actually home at the moment. As he suspected, Spock launched into a theory, "I believe I reacted with a form of procedural memory resulting from repeating the same tasks upon this particular console for several years."
Jim's teasing smile caused Spock's breath to hitch slightly as the Captain placed a hand on the console and leaned into the Vulcan's personal space (something his research on human culture told him consisted of a three foot circumference around one's person). Jim's face was definitely far less than three feet from his own—approximately .8 feet of space exists between our foreheads, his mind supplied. Spock was beginning to get used to random factoids slipping into his consciousness at odd intervals. "You're saying that was muscle memory?" The Captain inquired his voice low and smooth in his attempt to keep prying ears from overhearing.
"Essentially, yes," Spock confirmed. "It is not so very different from the periodic information my mind supplies me in regards to my physiology."
Jim nodded in comprehension, "You didn't experience this while in the labs this morning?"
"Not as such," Spock raised an inquisitive eyebrow, "however, my duties in the labs appear to be far more variant than those conducted from this terminal."
Jim nodded and opened his mouth to say something only to be interrupted by the comm unit from the Captain's chair, "McCoy to Bridge."
Instinctively, they both reached to toggle the comm on Spock's terminal, their hands colliding on the panel. Time seemed to slow as the tingling Jim had felt when Spock had taken his hand in sickbay yesterday shot up his arm like a livewire and he jerked his head up, blue eyes wide as they met with pools of brown warmth, full of forbidden Vulcan emotion. Jim knew that whatever this sensation was between them, Spock was feeling it just as intensely. When the Vulcan lowered his eyes to their tangled fingers, Jim's gaze followed. He watched, slightly dazed, as Spock pulled his index and middle finger together and ran them down and under Jim's hand, caressing the palm before curling around the thumb and withdrawing, just slowly enough that it was deliberate. As quickly as it had started, it ended, leaving Jim feeling both relieved and disappointed at the same time. What the fuck just happened? Jim wondered, his breath shaky and heart pounding heavily in his chest.
"Bridge. Spock here," the Vulcan answered McCoy's call in his customary monotone, as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary. As if he had not just taken Jim to the Vulcan equivalent of first base. Just what the hell kind of research had Spock been doing last night? The Captain's eyes darted around the bridge, curious if anyone had noticed. His pulse began to calm when it became apparent that no one had.
McCoy's voice brought him back from his momentary shock, "Spock, I need you to report to sickbay as soon as the Captain can spare you."
"Captain?" Spock inquired, not really wanting to leave but also knowing that what he had just done was highly inappropriate and feeling rather embarrassed. At the first touch of their skin, Spock had been overwhelmed with Jim's surface emotions and a torrent of intense affection, regard and warmth had washed over him. It was all he could do not to pull the human into his arms and suddenly he was dragging fingers across Jim's hand, his mind informing him of the meaning as he did so, before he could stop himself.
When Jim nodded his head in assent to the doctor's request, Spock opened the comm frequency once more, "I shall be there momentarily, doctor. Spock out."
"Do you remember how to get to sickbay?" Jim asked, shock having given way to concern, making Spock feel even guiltier.
"Yes, Captain," he was careful to keep his voice even and controlled, determined to act as close to what he understood to be his normal demeanor as possible.
"Alright," Jim smiled warily, "dismissed."
With a nod, Spock vacated his station and made to proceed to the turbolift, only to be stopped by a strong hand on his forearm. "Before you go," Jim leaned closer, his voice low, "I want you to meet me in my quarters for lunch at 1345. We need to talk." Blue eyes were fixed upon Spock, as if trying to dissect him from the inside out.
"Yes, Ji—Captain," Spock stuttered, practically fleeing the bridge when Jim released him.
Xxx
McCoy was just finishing up a thank you letter headed for Vafer-Tor when Spock entered his office, "Spock," he greeted, gesturing the chair opposite him. Once the Vulcan had seated himself, McCoy picked up the chip that held all the data he'd just received from the Vulcan colony. "I just had a conversation with S'Jorrin, the healer that helped me treat you this week."
At the prompting of Spock's eyebrow and continued silence, Bones continued, "I asked him about your inability to control your emotions and shield your telepathy."
"What did he say?" Spock asked, wincing at the evident worry in his tone. His research on Vulcan culture had informed him that emotions in his species could be extremely dangerous and volatile. For Spock, his actions toward the Captain less than twenty minutes ago were proof enough of that. Having forgotten the techniques which, according to his research, he should have been taught at the age of four, Spock had been doing his very best to maintain a degree of emotional indifference. For the most part, he had experienced a measure of success…until he and Lieutenant Uhura had reached the bridge. Ten minutes in the presence of the Captain, and Spock was lost to every emotional whim the human provoked.
The doctor's next words brought with them some relief, "He says it's completely normal for someone in your situation." McCoy then placed a data chip on the desk between them, "And, he sent you some control techniques he wants you to try while you're waiting for your memories to return. 'Said he'd prefer to schedule a few sessions with you via comm link, but he doesn't have the time. Vulcan healers are in high demand and short supply right now, and personal sessions are reserved for the most severe patients. Quite frankly, I'm not even sure how he had time to put this together."
Spock nodded, taking the data chip and standing as if to leave, "Hopefully the healer's time will not have been wasted. If that is all, I would like to read this immediately."
Bones' pinned him with a knowing stare, "That bad, huh?"
The Vulcan averted his gaze, "It has become apparent in the short time since I awakened, just how important these techniques are to my continued functionality."
The doctor harrumphed, causing the Vulcan to stiffen slightly, "Don't get me wrong, Spock, I understand the reasoning behind Vulcan logic and emotional control, but they'll never be able to convince me—not for a damned second—that bottling every single emotion under a tight lid is healthy."
"According to 'Vulcan: A History,' my entire species was nearly undone by the savagery caused by my ancestors' emotional volatility. Constant warring between clans had nearly—"
"Blah, blah, I know," Bones held up a hand stopping Spock mid-sentence, still seated behind his desk. "I understand putting a leash on it, even humans exercise control to a degree, but why a complete exoneration of all feeling? What about happiness? What about love, Spock? Your ancestors in all their infinite wisdom decided to up and out with all emotion and replace it with knowledge and logic, walking around with a mind full of numbers and facts, but no joy and no love. As a human, I don't know what kind of life that is…but it sure as hell doesn't seem like much of one, if you ask me."
Spock sighed, "Speaking from recent experience, I can tell you that it is not an absence of emotion that my species possess. In fact, since my awakening yesterday evening, I have experienced a vast array of emotions—among them, fear, apprehension, amusement and…affection."
McCoy didn't miss the color that rose to the Vulcan's high cheek bones at his confession. "Affection, huh?"
"Yes," Spock sighed shyly.
"What kind of affection?" McCoy tried to pry further, even though he could already tell it was going to be futile.
"I do not wish to discuss the matter," the Vulcan intoned, having managed once again to conceal his feelings. "I thank you for contacting Healer S'Jorrin on my behalf."
Bones huffed in defeat, "Don't mention it." Spock turned to leave, but McCoy couldn't resist relaying a snippet of advice, "If I were you, I'd go for it—whoever it is."
"If that is all…" Spock once again headed for the door, hearing the doctor's muttered, "Yeah, yeah," at his back, before making his escape from sickbay and McCoy's unnerving perceptivity.
It was 1353 before Spock found the courage to activate the chime at the door to Jim's quarters. He had spent the time between his visit with the doctor and this lunch appointment educating himself on Starfleet sexual harassment regulations. If Jim had recognized Spock's actions earlier for what they were, there was a good chance—89.7 percent, his mind clarified, that this impromptu lunch was to discuss potential disciplinary actions. Having spent twenty minutes reading through the various forms of discipline—formal reprimand, brig, reduction in rank and finally court martial—Spock had worked himself into such a state of fret that he practically shoved the data chip McCoy had given him into the terminal at his desk, trying to absorb the information at warp speed.
Still, as he'd expected, when the door opened to reveal blue eyes swimming in an ocean of wheat and gold, the tingling in the back of Spock's mind returned. Once again, he felt the urge to gather the human as close to him as possible and whisper words of endearment and adoration. How could he be so utterly besotted with a person who, for all intents and purposes, was little more than a stranger? Spock was trying desperately to initiate the first principal of emotional control and failing miserably. The only explanation that Spock had managed to postulate regarding the intensity of these feelings for Jim was that they must have been present for a very long time…that they were something remembered.
Much like his fingers recalled how to operate the science station on the bridge earlier, was it possible that his heart remembered his love for this human? Perhaps that tingling in the back of his mind was actually his lingering affection for Jim, but…it did not make sense. If he had loved Jim for so long that his mind and heart remembered it despite his amnesia, then why had he not yet acted upon it? Why was Jim not already his mate? Certainly, the Captain felt affection for Spock, he could feel it when they touched, but it was obvious by Jim's reaction that they had never before shared a Vulcan kiss. If that were the case, then Spock was willing to theorize that Jim had absolutely no idea that his First Officer was frantically in love with him.
"Spock," Jim interrupted the Vulcan's chain of thought, welcoming his First Officer inside with a sweep of his hand. "Come on in."
The Vulcan followed his Captain to the dining area where vegetable lasagna and Altair water were waiting upon the table. "I'm starved," Jim smiled, pulling out Spock's chair before rounding the table and taking his own seat. "Let's eat, and then we can talk before I have to go back to the bridge."
Spock nodded his agreement and they ate their meal in pregnant silence, while Spock's mind whirled with apprehension at the coming conversation. By the time he had finished his his meal, he was so nervous that when he reached to drink the last of his water, his grip was too hard and it broke in his hand, "Ah!" he exclaimed when glass sliced through the sensitive skin of his fingers and palm.
"Shit, Spock!" Jim was instantly out of his chair and pulling Spock toward the bathroom. He wrenched open a drawer and produced a small med kit. "Are you alright?" Jim asked, opening some antiseptic and unrolling the gauze. He reached for Spock's wounded hand, only to have the Vulcan flinch away.
"It is only a minor cut," Spock quietly insisted, his voice shaky. "I can see to it myself."
"Bullshit," Jim argued, ignoring Spock's reaction for the time being. "How are you going to wrap the bandage?"
Gritting his teeth and swallowing back the lump of trepidation lodged thoroughly in his throat, Spock tried to envision a wall designed to keep things out. Slowly, he extended his arm toward the Captain, "Very well."
Jim let out a slow breath and cleared his mind, wanting to make this as easy for Spock as possible. When their skin made contact, the buzzing that had been present earlier, was there again, but it was muted by their joint effort to control it. "You feel it too, don't you?" Jim questioned as he cleaned Spock's cuts, gently applying the antiseptic with soft strokes of cotton.
Spock released a shaky breath, "Yes." He watched, fixated, as Jim gently wrapped his hand in gauze, taping it at his wrist. "It is…fairly overwhelming."
Jim nodded, then pinned Spock with the full weight of his stare, "What is it?"
Spock considered sharing his theory with Jim, but thought better of it. There had to be a very good reason he had concealed his feelings for the Captain…if only he could remember what they were. It would be easy to assume that his reasons revolved around fear of rejection, however it seemed just as likely that Spock might not have shared these feelings because of Starfleet regulations or perhaps because Jim was solely heterosexual. He did not know for certain, and before he divulged this information, Spock wanted to at least spend more time considering the possibilities. Deciding it was not a lie, he responded with a simple, "I do not know."
Jim looked as if he wanted to ask something else, but simply nodded before releasing Spock's bandaged hand, "Alright." He cleaned up the medical supplies and led them out of the bathroom and into the sitting area where he gestured for Spock to sit on the couch. The Captain then took a seat in the chair opposite, "I have to get back to the bridge in a few minutes. You're still on light duty, so you're done for the day."
Spock responded with a nod, putting his trepidation aside, "There was something which you wished to discuss?"
Jim licked his lips, trying to think of a good way to phrase his question. The best he came up with was, "Are you okay, Spock? I mean, really? You seem…I don't know…"
"Emotional," Spock finished for him, his voice dripping with self-deprecation. "I am attempting to control—"
Jim shook his head, "No, Spock, that's not—" he took a breath, trying to explain in a way that wouldn't hurt his friend's new found feelings, "What I mean to say is, it's like your first day all over again, except you don't have a clue as to how you got here or who you really are." He stared into the soulful eyes that were searching his own as if Jim held all the answers to his identity, "I just…I want to make sure you feel…comfortable, you know."
"I am fine," Spock deliberately used an obtuse adjective.
Jim couldn't keep from smiling at his friend's use of the word 'fine,' a familiar lecture on the illogic of using that particular adjective to describe a state of wellbeing coming to mind. He put it aside, and focused on the being before him—his friend and yet, for the next few weeks, a stranger all at the same time. "You don't have to try so hard to be him, you know…the Spock everyone expects you to be."
Spock felt the color drain from his face, suddenly very uncomfortable indeed, "I was not attempting to—"
"No?" Jim's eyes danced in amusement. "The first thing you ask for is a tour of the ship and a walk through of your typical routine. Come on."
Spock shook his head, "It does not feel right to sit idle, as the doctor had been suggesting." When Jim said nothing, Spock continued, "I could not recall any information regarding the current experiments in the science labs. Nor did I recognize the reports that I, myself, had authored. Yet, it did not feel unfitting to be there. My mind still holds a vast scientific knowledge—an understanding of the world around me, even if that world in itself is unfamiliar. I was able to recall the theory behind every formula presented in my reports. In fact, once I reread the procedures of the various experiments, I was able to come to the same conclusions as I did prior to my amnesia."
Jim nodded, his eyes again showing such regard and affection that it rendered Spock momentarily breathless. "Okay," Jim voice was soft and accepting. "I just want to make sure you aren't pushing yourself."
"I am not," Spock assured. "Is that all you wished to ascertain?" It seemed too good to be true that Jim hadn't recognized Spock's earlier transgression. It was.
"Just one more thing," Jim said, extending the index and middle finger of his right hand, holding it up for Spock to examine. "Are you familiar with what this means?"
Spock felt his heartbeat quicken and his ears and cheeks tingle in embarrassment. He averted his gaze to the floor, "Yes." When he finally managed to gather enough courage to look up, Jim was staring at him with inscrutable eyes.
"Why did you kiss me on the bridge?" He finally asked, voice determined, but devoid of inflection—accusatory or otherwise.
Spock was not able to think of a believable deceit, "I was not fully cognizant of my actions until I was already taking liberty with your person. When we touch I feel…I want…more."
Jim's eyes widened, his mouth agape, "Wha—what do you mean?"
"Since the moment I saw you, I have been drawn to you." When Jim's reaction was to sit in silence, staring wide-eyed, Spock supposed further elucidation was required, "When we touched on the bridge, my mind informed me of the meaning as I was kissing you. It seemed so natural to touch you in that way. Forgive me, I did not mean any offense."
Jim sat, staring at his friend in a whole new light. Spock was attracted to him? Spock liked touching him? For a brief moment, Jim's heart felt so full, he thought it would burst with happiness. He'd been in love with Spock for so long and now he was finding out that it was mutual and all it had taken was the evaporation of some Vulcan shields…caused by amnesia. As quickly as that hope had filled him, it evaporated. Of course, Jim thought. Spock had told him and McCoy that Jim seemed familiar and he and Spock spent so much time together off shift, playing chess, eating meals and building that friendship Old Spock had prophesized that it suddenly all made sense. His heart clenched painfully as Jim squeezed the love out of it, forcing it back into its hole.
Finally, when he trusted his voice not to betray him, Jim spoke. "I'm not offended," he sighed, pushing aside thoughts of how easy it would be take advantage of the situation and show a willing version of Spock just how not offended he was. Instead, he provided an out for both of them, "It makes sense, I guess. We spend a lot of time together; work the same shifts, eat together, play chess almost every day. I wouldn't be surprised if your subconscious is just telling you what you already know—that we're very good friends. That you can trust me."
"Perhaps," Spock nodded slowly, rolling the possibilities over in his mind. If he and the Captain spent as much time together as Jim suggested, then there was a possibility that Spock's recognition was based on the trust associated with their friendship and time spent together. That did not, however, explain the attraction or the desire to hold and kiss, to touch and caress. Still, Jim seemed convinced that his theory was correct, in fact, he seemed comforted by it. As if it explained away the electricity that passed between them at the slightest touch of skin and Spock's slip of the hand earlier on the bridge. It seemed to Spock, that for whatever reason, the Captain seemed determined to deny the possibility that Spock's feelings were more than platonic. Whether this was for Spock's benefit or his own, the Vulcan could not tell.
"Well," Jim clapped his hands, needing to end this conversation and put some space between himself and temptation, "I'm sure I'm probably overdue. Why don't you hop back down to sickbay and have someone put a regenerator on that hand."
Recognizing the dismissal for what it was, and feeling utterly defeated, Spock followed Jim to the door. "Thank you for lunch, Captain," Spock made sure his voice was the epitome of professionalism.
"Don't mention it," Jim's grin didn't quite meet his eyes. "I'll see you around." With that, the Captain turned in the direction of the turbolift and left Spock, standing in the corridor. An eyebrow seemed to rise of its own accord and the Vulcan entered his own quarters, simply following his feet as they led him to the meditation mat in the corner of the sitting room. He suddenly felt the urge to sit and think, so he did. Lowering himself to the mat, and crossing his legs Spock decided that he could do one of two things. He could either allow Jim to continue with the assumption that Spock's feelings of affection and recognition were based solely on friendship, or he could do what he really wanted to do and convince the Captain otherwise.
Even with all his knowledge of Jim locked away within his secondary prefrontal cortex, Spock's feelings were intense and clear. Their souls sought communion and Spock knew that if it was intense now, what he must go through on a daily basis, concealing these emotions, had to be hell. Whatever his memory brought with its return, Spock was convinced that this must change and when he did remember, he'd be sure not to forget to thank himself later.
