--
"If you're considering drowning, I'd recommend going to the bay."
Spock blinks, slowly focusing on the present, and realizes he's still staring at the sink. He turns around slowly, noting silently that there's nothing remotely like remorse in Jim's lazy voice. Just sting and bitterness.
Jim is standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, clad in nothing but a pair of old sweatpants. His arms are folded across his bare chest, his hair is disheveled, and he looks like he could use another couple of hours of shuteye, but is feeling pleased with himself.
Ironically, he looks much younger like this than while wearing his uniform. Spock's chest tightens unpleasantly as he realizes that it's been over a year since he had last seen Jim in a similar state of undress. But the cold challenge in Jim's eyes tells him that Jim's fully aware of this and doesn't mind displaying himself one bit. Or, more accurately, that he doesn't care.
"I was merely thinking," Spock says.
"Mm," Jim murmurs, looking past him. "Can I get you another glass of water?"
"No, thank you."
"Brandy?"
Spock lifts an eyebrow.
"It's not even eight in the morning, Jim."
"So? You look like you need it."
"I am perfectly content staying sober."
"If you say so." Jim shrugs, then yawns. "Sorry. Late night."
Spock purses his lips.
"So it would seem."
Before Jim can answer, another figure emerges from the corridor. Spock looks at the woman, who obviously didn't bother with the shower, but took the time to reapply her makeup. She gives Jim a toothy grin and leans over him, hands locking on the back of his neck. Spock half-expects her to be chewing gum. And of course, he was correct about her eye color.
"Morning, love," she breathes in Jim's face.
"Morning," he grins back at her, pulling her closer.
It's a very sloppy, very relaxed open-mouthed kiss, which occupies both of them for quite some time, producing all sorts of obscene noises. Spock knows he is supposed to watch, so he watches.
It's not like he hadn't seen scenes like that before. Though, admittedly, the last such occurrence happened a very, very long time ago, and back then he and Jim weren't what they are now. Or should it be were until now? Spock cannot think of any other reason for the display than to hurt him. He has to admit that it's working.
Jim and the blonde finally pull apart, spending an additional moment staring at each other and grinning in a silly fashion. Spock waits patiently, forcing his body not to tense up.
"Well, hi there," the woman says, smiling in Spock's direction now. "Who's your friend, Jim?"
Jim shoots Spock a look and winks.
"Just an old colleague stopped by," he explains leniently.
Spock gets the message even when the woman doesn't.
"Awwwell, Jimmy," she says, shrugging and grinning again. "I should be going, or I'll be late and Mr. Larsen soooh hates when I'm late!" She spills excitedly with a giggle. "See ya later?"
"Count on it," Jim says, kissing her again lightly and slapping her on the butt playfully.
She giggles again and makes overly dramatic eyes at Spock as she passes him to the exit.
"Nice to meet ya, Mister."
Spock doesn't respond, doesn't react in any way. The door slides shut behind her. Jim is watching him with an amused expression.
"Where are your manners, Spock? Not even a 'pleased to meet you?' I thought Vulcans were always polite."
"Vulcans do not lie unless for a very good reason," Spock reminds him coolly. "I believe you and I are both aware that I am in no way pleased to meet this lady."
Jim snorts and shrugs carelessly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and wandering towards the window.
"Yeah, well. Don't know why you're so mad. It's not like we're married or something."
"No," Spock says, as his eyebrow crawls up in bitter irony. "We only share a life bond."
Jim looks totally unimpressed by the acid reproach.
"I don't think I can even feel it anymore, Spock," he says casually. "Maybe it's one of those things that actually do burn out. It lasted long, no denying that. And it came in handy, saving our asses back in the old days. But now, well. I have no use for it now."
Spock resists the urge to pull his current emotions into a tight ball and send it across the bond to show Jim how very much it's still alive. He refrains from doing so, though. In his current condition, he'd likely knock Jim out cold.
"The bond cannot 'burn out,'" he says flatly instead.
"Not for you maybe," Jim shrugs, still very uninterested. "But for humans, all things get old at some point. I think I left mine behind quite a while ago."
Spock considers him quietly for a moment. He doesn't know what to make of Jim yet. He seems relaxed, almost wanton. He also appears more calm and steady than the last time Spock saw him.
"Jim, I wanted to discuss something with you," Spock says, in what he hopes is an even, unaffected voice. "Our plans—"
"Why are you here?" Jim interrupts him suddenly, turning to face him.
Spock is taken aback slightly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Why are you here?" Jim repeats, with a frown signifying his impatience. "Are the negotiations over?"
"No," Spock says cautiously. "But I—"
"Then why did you come?" Jim asks, and it's his best command tone that Spock hears. "What could possibly be so important that justifies your dereliction of duty?"
"Jim," Spock says quietly, uncertain as to why he's being confronted about it. "I have concluded my part in the proceedings. There is nothing further I could do there that cannot be done by another."
"Spock, you wrote that treaty."
"I did not actually—"
"Dammit, you know perfectly well what I mean. It's your handiwork, from A to Z. How could you leave it for someone else to finish?"
"I did what I had to do, Jim. I was needed elsewhere."
"Really?" Jim raises his eyebrows. "Like where?"
Spock can do little but look at him. For him, the answer is self-evident, but apparently, Jim doesn't think so.
"Please don't tell me you came back for me," Jim says in exasperation. "Really, Spock. That'd be too much."
"I do not understand."
"What keeps you coming back?" Jim raises his voice. "I keep telling you that I don't need you and you keep coming back—why? Because of this stupid bond that we share? For crying out loud, Spock! We're not ancient Vulcans. We don't have to be bound to each other literally. We can very well go our separate ways, bond or no!"
"Is that what you want, Jim?"
"Yes, dammit! I've been wanting this for some time, I was wondering when you'd notice! Can't you feel it, Spock? There's been so much between us, so goddamn much, and now there's nothing left. Not even the embers." He inhales sharply. "Spock, Spock," he whispers. "I used to be unable to see straight when you walked into the room. Do you have any idea how crazy, how freaking weird it feels to look at you—and not feel a damn thing?"
Spock tries to remember how to breathe and not to show his difficulty at the same time. He's losing both battles.
"Oh merciful God," Jim groans. He narrows his eyes at Spock, and there's no sympathy in them, just the boiling acid of irritation wound up all the way to despair. "I thought after you didn't show up after Khitomer that maybe you finally got the hint, but no, here you are again, thinking I need you. I don't know how else I can say it so that you'd understand already, so I'll just say it. I don't need you, Spock. More precisely, I've had enough of you. It was fun while it lasted, but now I'm done."
Spock finally manages to find his voice.
"You would dismiss us so easily?"
"What's to dismiss?" Jim explodes. "Your overbearing presence in my life? Your unshakable belief that you have the right to make decisions for me? You know, Spock, it was fun for a while, but it's time you remembered that I'm not your goddamned pet! You're using the bond as a leash on me, and I want out!"
"I have never—"
"The hell you haven't! I'm sick of you trying to protect me for my own good like I'm some sort of imbecile! Sick of you depriving me of my life—my real life, not the one you have outlined for me! I tolerated it while I thought you were the hottest thing since sliced bread, but I'm long past that stage now. It took me twenty-something years to stop hoping that there'd come a day when you trusted me. It took a while, but now I'm finally there, and now I know that it was never, never going to happen! I'm not going back to being an idiot, Spock!"
"Jim." Spock steps forward, wincing when Jim backs away from him. "Jim, you are the only one I trust."
"Bullshit!" Jim raises his chin up defiantly. "You don't trust anyone, Spock. It's not in you—you can't do it. I proved myself to you, again and again, but you never—never gave yourself to me. Not the way I gave myself to you."
"Jim." Spock says and his voice breaks. "All that I am is yours."
Spock's tone is grave, dead serious, but Jim just shakes his head.
"You do not believe me?" Spock asks, incredulously.
Jim looks at him, and suddenly he's tired, so tired.
"It doesn't matter what I believe, Spock," he says through his weariness. "What matters is that I don't care. And even if I did believe you," Jim finds Spock's eyes and holds them, "it's too late for that. There's nothing of you that I want anymore. There's nothing left."
Spock stands quietly, pondering the words. He doesn't understand them yet, can barely grasp them, but they sink in inevitably, and he can sense that they are true. He wishes to meld with Jim, to gain that last damning proof, but he can't. What he did to Valeris is still too fresh, and his mind is still hurting from the strain of having to perform a mind rape. An attempt to enter another unwilling mind would be fatal now, and Spock knows Jim wouldn't be willing even if he were to agree to the meld.
Jim wanted no part of him anymore. Spock can feel his sincerity. It's pouring out of Jim in waves, and he's broadcasting loudly, as he always does when emotionally distressed. The methods of control that Spock taught him never did settle down with Jim. Spock doesn't need the meld to know Jim isn't lying.
"Look," Jim says slowly. "I'm sorry if I hurt you. But I can't live like that anymore, Spock. I've been doing what you want for so long, I can barely remember any needs or wants of my own. I want them back. I want my life back, whatever's left of it."
"And you. Do not want me. In it." Spock manages, unable to construct a normal sentence.
Jim looks at him steadily. Firmly. There is no waver in his eyes. No doubt. He isn't happy, but he's being honest.
"I don't."
Spock draws in a breath, short, barely enough to sustain him.
"Ever?"
Jim looks down at his feet, shrugs a little.
"Maybe in a few years. I really don't know, Spock. All I know is that if you stay with me now, I'll either go insane or hate you forever." He looks up at Spock, and adds, "And I really don't want to hate you. I want to remember you for all you were to me, not for everything you couldn't be."
"What." Spock swallows. "What will you be doing?"
Jim frowns a little, thinking.
"I really haven't decided. I'm resigning, that's for sure. I don't think I'd be leaving the planet. Might go back to Iowa, I think. I need some peace and quiet."
Spock nods, as if it makes sense to him. Which it absolutely, absolutely doesn't. He isn't thinking, he can't. His whole universe is crushed, rippled, distorted. He steps forward, without knowing why. Lifts his hand to Jim's face, without a conscious intention.
Jim shudders away.
"No," a harsh whisper.
"I only wanted to... only to... just one last time..."
Jim knows what he wanted, and he shakes his head no. Lifts his hand in front of him protectively.
"Just go, Spock," he whispers brokenly. "Please, just go."
But Spock can't 'just go.' Jim's hand is swept out of the way, and Spock's pulling him forcefully towards himself, pressing their lips together.
Jim doesn't resist. Doesn't comply, either. He's just there, a wan, shapeless form in Spock's arms, waiting for the ordeal to be over. Spock can feel the soft hum of emotions beneath the surface.
Indifference. Grief. Despair. Misery.
Spock catches a stray thought of, 'No. Please. I can't.' His hands unclench, and he releases Jim automatically. And that is when Jim looks up at him and grins, and Spock has never seen a more pained, more terrifying expression.
"Now what?" Jim asks. "You're gonna force your way through with me, too? It'll finish us both, but go ahead, do it. If you can't leave me alone, then you'd better kill me. We'd both be better off."
Spock's hands drop to his sides, and he steps back, blinking. He doesn't know what he's doing or what he's just done—he hasn't been thinking. He's numb, he's so numb, he doesn't understand why it is he's still standing, if he is indeed doing that. He can't remember his own name, he's looking around wildly, trying to figure out where he is or who he is, and he can't. All he knows, all he understands, is that his universe had only one cornerstone in it, and it has just disintegrated under his hands.
He steps back, unevenly, feels the floor swinging. He stretches his arms to his sides in a futile attempt to steady himself, to regain some balance. But a part of him knows that he will never, never get it back. There's a bubble of vacuum around him, and he's trying to breathe and there's no air, and he can't understand why he isn't dying if there's no air, why he isn't hurting. Gravity isn't on his side anymore, and he's drifting away. Anchorless. Powerless to stop it.
He doesn't look at Jim—can't focus. Doesn't see his expression. But he hears Jim's voice that reaches him when he's at the door.
"Spock. Don't come back."
Spock grounds himself against those words as the door slides shut behind him.