This time, Spock did not wait for Jim to call for him. He directed Pavel to deliver his luggage to his room as he exited the aircar. Pavel shouted after him that Jim was probably still at the conference, but Spock did not require this information; Jim's shields were failing and Spock could hone in on his location as easily as he could spot a kal'ta blooming in the sand. He set off at a fast pace for the chamber where the palace held press conferences, restraining the urge to break into a run. At least one of them needed to remain calm, in control.
The security officers guarding the palace staff entrance recognized him immediately and let Spock pass without a word. Spock slipped into the wings of the stage, joining the other men and women lurking there. He stopped beside Janice, who offered him a small, sober smile. Jim was on stage with his mother and a handful of senior staff. Queen Winona was addressing the gathered crowd, her voice occasionally wavering. Jim stood at her right side, dressed in the formal wear that he hated and biting his lower lip. Outwardly, he appeared composed, but the turmoil and agony in his mind was spilling into Spock like cold rain coming through an open window.
Their bond was still immature, but nevertheless Spock concentrated and managed to clumsily transmit his empathy, his support, his care. It wafted through the link as a wave of dry desert heat. On stage, Jim started a little in surprise, then turned his head an approximate twenty-nine degrees toward the wings. His eyes alit upon Spock. Spock looked into them and was… distraught. He'd never seen this man so lost. But he boxed up his own distress. Jim needed him to be in control, not adding to the heavy emotions that already were circling around the palace.
Spock nodded to Jim and the human righted his head again to face the crowd. Spock waited impatiently for the conference to end. He needed to… well, he wasn't one hundred percent sure what exactly he needed to do, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything until Jim was in reach.
Finally, Queen Winona ended her speech with wet tracks streaking her cheeks. The press took the last of their pictures as the queen, prince, and staff crossed the stage into the wings. The queen and senior staff continued out into the hallway along with most of the people waiting in the wings (there was still so much more to be done today, still so much more) but Jim came to a halt forty point six five centimeters from Spock.
"Spock—" he started, but his voice cracked. Jim closed his eyes, but tears started coming out regardless. He ducked his head and wiped the back of his hand across his face, little as it did. He sobbed. "Sam…"
And just like that, Spock knew what he had to do. He closed the distance between them and brought his arms up to wrap around Jim, pulling Jim against him so that the man could press his face into Spock's shoulder. Just as his mind automatically registered that he was now one point nine centimeters taller than Jim, the man began trembling—not in seizure, but in sadness.
They'd been bonded for three years, six months, and one day. It was the first time Spock saw Jim cry.
The funeral, although broadcasted and viewed all over the globe and galaxy, was physically attended by only family and close friends. Spock was among them, but he did not pay close attention to the proceedings. The function of a funeral was the help facilitate the grieving process of the bereaved. In his instance, attendance of this event did nothing. Though the dead was Spock's brother by law, he had only spoken to the man once. The loss of life was always regrettable, but Spock did not feel any personal loss. However, Jim's pain resonated with him quite keenly. Thus, Spock stood close beside him now, so close that the distance between them was negligible—the man was leaning against him slightly, his arm against Spock's.
Two point seven eight meters away, Aurelan Kirk wept openly. Three years, six months, one week, and two days ago, Spock had attended this young woman's wedding. On that day, her joy had been radiant, so much so that even far across the room and with little connection to her he could feel it knocking against his shields. On this day, her despair was just as powerful. Fortunately, spending copious amounts of time among humans had fortified his mental defenses and he did not become subject to her anguish.
Despite the prospect of discomfort Aurelan's emotive demonstration posed him, Spock did not begrudge her. What had occurred, after all, was a tragedy by any account. She had lost her husband and the father of her child. Many others faced similar losses. An entire ship had been destroyed in the battle. Crown Prince George Samuel was by far the most famous of the crew, but funerals were also being held for one hundred and forty-seven humans as well as mourning ceremonies for sixty-eight Vulcans.
Aurelan's small son, perhaps sensing the feelings of those around him, began to cry as well. Aurelan picked the boy up immediately, cradling him against her chest, and it occurred to Spock that George Samuel Kirk had never gotten the chance to hold his own child. Without really understanding why, Spock looped his arm around Jim's back.
The funeral was lengthy but, like all things, it ended. Jim and Spock lingered only as long as was expected of them. However, it was already evening by the time they could slip away and return to the palace and their rooms. Jim was very quiet—he had been so since Spock's arrival. It did not worry Spock. He knew that grief provoked all manner of atypical behaviors in humans. Spock had read what he could about the human grieving process and as he understood, his role in this process was to give Jim whatever he needed. It seemed that what Jim needed was touch. He hovered near Spock while they were out in public and when they were alone he would hold onto Spock's arm or sit with his entire side against Spock's. Jim had apologized that first day, saying that he did not mean to be "clingy" and that he would stop. Jim had been worried about making him uncomfortable, but Spock assured him that such touching did not disturb me. Even still, as the days went by Jim drew further and further away, slowly regaining his normal composure.
For example, the previous three days Jim had never strayed far from Spock, always wishing to be in his company. This evening, however, upon finishing dinner he announced that he was going for a walk. Spock offered to go with him, but Jim declined. Spock was somewhat concerned about Jim wandering the palace alone; stress tended to lead to him having seizures and Jim was certainly stressed. Spock's imagination (not as unbounded as a human's but present nonetheless) conjured the image of Jim seizing and falling down one of the palace's many flights of stairs. Spock slipped his worries into a box and sealed it for handling later. Jim was by far old enough to make his own decisions and did not require minders. Besides, all the palace staff knew about Jim's epilepsy and were required to learn proper first aid procedures.
To prevent his imagination from forming anymore unwanted imagery, Spock retrieved his personal PADD from his bedroom and went to Jim's study to read. His focus was tenuous though and he had not gotten very far into his reading by the time Jim returned. Spock heard the man enter his own bedroom first, followed by a noise that must have been Jim kicking off his shoes. Finally he came into the study.
"Hey," Jim greeted quietly. Based upon the slight fragrance of petals coming from Jim's hair and the smell of salt coming from his skin, he had visited the garden that he and his brother had favored on his walk. Jim did not seem surprised to find him sitting in the study. Spock wondered if this was a testament to the development of their link or simply to Jim's tiredness. Jim nodded towards Spock's PADD. "What are you reading?"
"It is a treatise on Surak's precepts that all Vulcans are given to study during their beginning years of formal education." Spock had not perused it in nine years, eleven months, and twenty-four days, but for reasons he could not adequately explain he had been drawn to it tonight. Lately, he had been engaging in all sorts of behaviors that he did not fully comprehend.
Jim sat on the opposite end of the couch with his back against the arm. His bare feet rested on the middle cushion, eleven point nine three centimeters away from Spock's left thigh. "Will you read to me? In Vulcan, I mean."
Spock hesitated. "It is written in academic language. As you are only somewhat proficient in social language, I estimate that you would understand perhaps thirteen point eight percent of the treatise."
"That's fine. I just want to listen. I need to hear more Vulcan if my accent is ever going to get better." Jim grinned, a small but true smile despite the ache radiating from his mind to Spock's. The man's shields were still not functioning at one hundred percent. "Besides, I like hearing you speak Vulcan."
It was a completely innocuous (though illogical) statement, but Spock had to restrain a blush from reaching his cheeks and ears. Spock concentrated his attention on the PADD, returning the display to the beginning of the section he was in. He began reading aloud about everyday applications of Kol-Ut-Shan. As he scanned through the words ahead, he lowered his estimation of Jim's comprehension to twelve point five three percent. However, the prince did not seem to mind. Spock could feel Jim's gaze upon him and knew that he had Jim's attention—weary, but rapt all the same.
Spock was four paragraphs away from the end of the second section when he felt one of Jim's feet nudge his leg. He looked up from the PADD and saw that Jim had fallen asleep. His head was leaning against the back of the couch. One arm rested in his lap and the other lay limp at his side. Though his body was slack, his face was still tense as though a bright ray of sunlight was falling upon him. There was no uncomfortable light in the room though, just Jim's troubled mind. Even as he slept, he was mourning. Spock understood humans—and his bondmate—well enough to know that Jim would be mourning for a long time.
Jim still had socks on, but the hem of his trousers had ridden up enough to reveal a small section of skin. Spock delicately touched Jim's ankle and Jim's sleepy feelings streamed gently through him. Sadness, of course, but also regret and guilt. Spock let the emotions pool into his mind and then reverse the flow with a soft breath of This was not your fault and You are never alone. He watched as the tension gradually left Jim's face, smoothing the palm of his hand back and front across Jim's ankle.
Spock had not been deceiving or misleading Jim when he'd assured Jim that his "clinginess" did not bother him. It was not difficult for Spock to comfort Jim, to touch him—not in the least. In fact, Spock wanted to, for Jim's sake and his own.
I want to touch Jim.
The thought made Spock pause. He ran it through his mind again for verification and found the statement to be true. It was… a revelation. Spock had never before desired to touch another individual. He tolerated touch from a select group of others. It was not disruptive to his mental state for Pavel or Janice to lay a hand on his shoulder and he was accustomed to clinical touches from Doctor McCoy. He even enjoyed some contact; he missed his mother's fingers brushing against his cheeks and it was pleasant to briefly experience the buzz of his father's well-ordered mind. And Jim. Jim was a rather tactile human (though he tried to restrain himself for Spock's sake) and from the beginning Jim's light touches had been welcomed.
But he had never felt the desire to initiate physical touch. At least, he had never felt this desire until now.
A heretofore unknown phenomenon. Fascinating. Spock would have to conduct research and he saw no reason to delay.
Spock rose from the couch quietly. He considered waking Jim so that the man could sleep in his bed, a much more ergonomic furniture for repose. However, the man's mind was so peaceful at the moment that Spock elected not to disturb him. He did, however, retrieve a blanket to cover Jim with and a pillow to carefully place under Jim's head to decrease the likelihood of Jim's neck experiencing muscle soreness in the morning.
Spock booted up his computer. As the desire for physical touch logically originated in the mind and his own mind was primarily Vulcan, he began his research at the public Vulcan databases. However, it quickly became apparent that this was a topic that the Council had deemed inappropriate to file within the general databases open to Earth. Even more intrigued, Spock used his old educational pass to sign into the Academy's server. But even here, the most information Spock could find was that it was a facet of desire was thus a Private matter. Spock knew what this meant: his question was one that should be directed towards a member of his family.
Spock logged out, experiencing an emotion he recognized as frustration. He'd never thought that he would grow to appreciate human frankness, but it seemed he had. He swiftly calculated the local time on Vulcan. His father would be awake, but there was an eighty-nine point seven six chance that Sarek would be engaged in his duties.
Another fact crossed his mind: Spock had not spoken to his half-brother Sybok since the birth of his second daughter, ten months, three weeks, and four days ago. The reason for this lapse in communication was simple. He and his brother were not "close," as humans would say. Neither of them disliked the other. There were just many years between them and a lack in common interests.
However, with Jim's pain from the loss of his own brother resonating so keenly within him, Spock could not find a single reason why he should not attempt to cultivate a deeper relationship with his sibling. Bringing his question to Sybok would be a fair start. In fact, of all the Vulcans Spock could potentially discuss Private matters with, Sybok was the least intimidating choice as he was quite lax when it came to the practice of many Vulcan customs.
Decision made, Spock entered the code for Sybok's office commlink. It did not take long for Sybok to answer. He blinked in obvious surprise at Spock, then raised his hand in the ta'al and warmly delivered the ritual phrase, which Spock returned. Sybok ended the salute and folded both hands on his desk. "I have heard of Prince George Samuel Kirk's death. I grieve with thee and thy bonded."
"I will pass your sympathy to Prince James," Spock said.
Sybok nodded and asked "Spock, why have you called?" Un-Vulcan tendencies aside, Sybok had never adopted the human custom of "small talk."
Out of sight of the camera, Spock allowed his feet to tap softly against the floor. He wondered how best to phrase his question. "I have called to ask you about a Private matter. May I?"
"You may ask."
"At what age did you first experience desire?"
If Sybok was startled or unnerved by Spock's query, it did not show even on his relatively emotive face. Rather, an expression of pondering rest upon his features. "My first moment of conscious sensual desire was when I felt the urge to touch another's hand at the age of twenty seven point seven nine r'tas. I first experienced sexual desire at thirty point six three r'tas."
Spock's brain converted the numbers into Terran years in a fraction of a second. As he'd suspected, Sybok had felt these stirrings later in life, likely near the average age for a Vulcan male as Sybok was an average Vulcan male.
"Spock," Sybok intoned. "In exchange, may I ask why you broached this topic to me?"
He felt a hot flush reach the tips of his ears. However, he owed Sybok an answer. Spock placed his hands in his lap so that Sybok would not see his fingers' nervous twitching. "I have sensed… changes in myself and how I react to Prince James," he said. "I am uncertain if what I feel is true desire; I seem to be younger than average to be experiencing such things."
Sybok stroked his chin, an exceedingly un-Vulcan gesture. "Perhaps," he murmured. "However, Spock, you must consider your human heritage. From what I understand, it would not be remarkable in the least for a human male of your age to experience both sensual and sexual desire. Indeed, I have heard many begin years younger than you."
Having lived a dorm with a number of young human males, Spock could attest to the accuracy of this statement. Some of the boys enjoyed regaling others with tales of their sexual encounters. Spock, obviously, never participated in these retellings but it was difficult not to overhear.
"In addition," Sybok continued, "unlike the majority of your peers on Vulcan, you are already bonded. With bonding comes the full maturation of all feelings."
Spock had heard this phrase, "full maturation of all feelings," in relation to bonding before. As a child, he had assumed it related to the focus and balance that being part of a bonded pair provided. Perhaps he'd assumed wrong. He thought to ask Sybok to elaborate on this, but his half-brother had already given him enough to consider. He would save this question for another conversation. "Your statements are logical; I will meditate upon them. I will leave you now to attend to your responsibilities." He saluted Sybok. "Live long and prosper."
Sybok returned the gesture, but not the ritual phrase. Instead, he said, "Spock, remember: you know your own mind better than anyone." Then he cut the link, leaving Spock to stare into the dark monitor.