Despite the trials of the previous day, Jim only got a few hours of sleep that night. He wasn't terribly surprised by this. Most medical treatments had some weird affects on him – typically benign, but still weird. Difficulty sleeping was a common one. He flexed his left hand experimentally and got a brief twinge of pain, although nothing near as bad as it had been. It was almost back to normal. He had one hell of a headache, but otherwise, he seemed to be remarkably improved. Rumpled, uncomfortable, but improved.
He clambered awkwardly out of the unfamiliar bed, and with a puzzled glance to his right noticed that Spock's was meticulously made, and looked utterly unslept in. Curious, he made his way out of the room and found his wayward first officer sitting cross-legged on a mat in the next one, his back to him and the lights dimmed, with a few candles adding some ambience. If he didn't know better, he'd think the set-up was for a steamy date. But clearly that wasn't the case.
Jim hesitated for a moment, warring between curiosity and uncertainty. Curiosity won out, as it most often did. "Hey, Spock," he called, half-whispering for reasons more instinctive than practical. "What are you doing?"
There was a long pause. For a minute he wondered if he was being intentionally ignored, or if Spock maybe hadn't heard him. But then he was answered, in a tone of suppressed annoyance. "I am attempting to meditate," Spock said, the implication of 'and you are ruining it' chasing the sentence invisibly. Jim stiffened at his tone.
"Oh," he replied tensely. "Sorry. I'll just – I'll leave you to it, I guess." He wondered at how frustrating and saddening it felt to have the 'unfriendly' attitude grip Spock again. He supposed that he was still largely in the same mood that he'd been in before last night's little misadventure – he must have just imagined that things were thawing out.
"…Wait," Spock said, as he turned to go.
Jim waited.
"I… apologize if my tone conveyed any accusation. That was both inappropriate and undeserved," the half-Vulcan admitted. Then he shifted, coming out of his meditative position and rising smoothly to his feet. He turned around. If he didn't have reason to suspect it, Jim never would have guessed that Spock had spent several hours sitting on the floor. He didn't even need to stretch.
"It's okay," Jim assured him, feeling uncomfortable and self-conscious. "I get it, I just have bad timing. It happens. You don't have to stop or anything."
"My focus has been broken," Spock said dismissively. Then he glanced at the nearest clock. "You have only been asleep for four hours. That seems insufficient."
Now it was Jim's turn to be dismissive. "I can't sleep any more. Sometimes drugs do funny things to my head," he explained, relieved but a little bit confused to see Spock slipping into a subtly more affable demeanor again. He wavered back and forth between commenting on it – and then barreled ahead. "Are you alright?" he asked bluntly.
Spock blinked. He seemed to consider the question a little strange. "With all due respect, Jim, you were the one who endured physical trauma last night. I was never harmed," he pointed out.
"…What?" Jim asked, looking at Spock incredulously. But his first officer was perfectly serious and sincere. "You were never harmed?" he repeated. "Look, Spock, I understand if you'd prefer not to think about it, but your… 'relatives' essentially sent you hate mail. Really ugly hate mail. I mean, it happened. I read the message. You can't tell me that that didn't harm you." Hell, it had 'harmed' Jim, and he was very much a third party to the entire incident.
Spock gave him what could fairly be dubbed a 'considering' look. "I see," he said at length, although what he saw seemed perfectly unclear. "Jim, while I realize that my behavior onboard the Enterprise during the Nero crisis may have given you an erroneous impression of my self-control, those were remarkable circumstances. It is not easy to cause me emotional injury. A slanderous message does not have the same effect on my stability as it would an average human's."
Jim looked him up and down. He took in the neutral expression, the perfect posture, the neatly pressed clothes and tidily combed hair. The utter lack of expressiveness, even in his eyes. "Bullshit," he said emphatically.
Funny. That word seemed to get a lot of use around Spock.
The Vulcan opened his mouth to retort – likely to deny – but Jim cut him off. "Don't say it isn't. I might not know you as well as I'd like to, Spock, but I'm pretty damn sure that you don't tell flat-out lies over things that have no effect on you."
Ha, he thought, as Spock seemed to hesitate, to lose some of his rock-hard footing. Got you. If it didn't bother you, then why deny it had ever happened?
In his defense, Jim had no idea how guilty lying made Spock feel, nor that the subsequent feeling of guilt only intensified over the shame of experiencing such a distinctive emotion. He was attempting to trap his friend on a strictly intellectual level – behavioral analysis. The subsequent maelstrom of emotion he was unwittingly creating was just an unfortunate side-effect.
But he realized that there was a chink in his argument. Spock could have said that he lied in order to keep Jim from flying off of the handle. To prevent him from doing pretty much exactly what he'd done – running off into the night in a fit of outrage. They both knew, however, that Spock hadn't anticipated that. So really, if he tried to qualify his lie then it would have to be with another lie… and thus would begin a tangled web indeed.
Spock proved wise enough to not start down that path. He kept up a tense silence instead.
"I do get it, now," Jim said at length, rubbing a hand across his forehead in an effort to ease some of the throbbing there. "You're not alright. That's fine – we don't have to talk about it." He may not have had much experience with the Vulcan suppression of emotions, but Jim at least possessed a little thing called masculine pride, so he could understand not wanting to dredge up all of your issues. "Does meditating help?" he asked instead.
After a brief pause, Spock inclined his head. "I have always meditated in order to center my emotions. It is an effective means of achieving clarity," he admitted.
"Okay, well, next time just let me know, and I won't disturb you," Jim offered.
"A reasonable solution," Spock agreed. "However, I doubt it will be required of you. Given that we will be parting ways soon, there should be no need for such considerations."
An uncomfortable mixture of confusion and ice settled in Jim's stomach. "Huh?" he asked, unable to produce a more coherent response just then. Parting ways? What the hell? They had another four days of leave, unless the computer crew moved really, really fast, and after that both of them were going back to the ship.
Weren't they?
Spock didn't seem particularly perturbed by his own statement. "Of course, Jim," he said neutrally. "We have visited your mother, and you have accompanied me in exploring a large portion of this city. We have completed our agreed-upon endeavors. There is no further logical reason for us to remain in one another's company."
"…"
"I will, of course, report back for duty once the repairs to the ship's computer system have been completed," Spock said, perfectly even-toned and straight-faced, and quite serious. "In the meantime, it would be prudent of me to return to my Starfleet-assigned lodgings. There are several ongoing projects which would benefit from my attention."
He's leaving, Jim thought, shocked to the core by this perfectly reasonable turn of events.
Well what did you expect? one of his less pleasant inner voices chimed in. That he'd just spend his whole vacation humouring you?
He tried to ignore the little voice which resolutely answered 'yes'. He'd been having such a good time in Spock's company that he'd forgotten how tentative their relationship really was. What if he'd imagined most of it? Spock was such a widely interpretable person, Jim realized that he could have just been projecting his own innate desire for companionship onto him. All those little, subtle things he thought he'd seen… what if they hadn't actually been there? What if he'd been imagining Spock to be a person whose company he'd enjoyed, filling in the blanks afforded by his natural demeanor with suggestions and hints of something more?
I don't see ghosts.
The thought drifted unbidden into his mind. It was oddly abstract for his usual way of thinking, but the sentiment, he found, rang true in him. He didn't project things onto Spock – even if he was afraid that he did. He refused to believe that he would put someone else through the process of being so badly misperceived.
"No," he said abruptly, folding his arms across his chest.
Spock raised an eyebrow at him.
"No," Jim reiterated. "If you want to go to San Francisco and do work for the rest of your vacation, that's fine. But I'm coming with you," he declared resolutely. "I'm having too much fun with you to stop now."
Oh, hell, was he ever going out on a limb here. But he didn't want to see Spock leave. It was as simple as that. On the Enterprise there would be duties and regulations and missions to keep his mind occupied, but right now, for these few days, he had the opportunity to gain insight to a person whom he was quickly realizing was far more engaging than he'd previously been led to believe. Maybe more engaging than anyone else on the entire ship.
"I must confess," said Spock. "Your definition of 'fun' seems to be a most perplexing one."
Jim leaned against the nearest wall, internally hoping that this whole entire thing wasn't going to blow up in his face and leave him completely at odds with his first officer, but externally projecting an appearance of calm. Ha, Vulcans aren't the only ones who can do that, he thought, before speaking. "How d'you figure?" he asked ineloquently.
Spock inhaled shortly. "'Fun', as I understand it, is defined as an activity which one finds pleasantly entertaining. So far, we have visited your mother – whom you have already professed feeling discomfort towards – engaged in mundane activities which were likely common to your Earth-raised sensibilities, explored a city which has little relevance or connection to you, and endured unwarranted assault. None of these activities would seem to fit the specified parameters of what humans deem 'fun'."
Jim made a great show of considering this statement, slowly nodding his head in an exaggeratedly thoughtful fashion, as if he was turning it over in his mind. In reality he was trying to wish his headache away.
"I see what you're driving at," he agreed after a minute, when all his hmm's and haa's only managed to start a soft buzzing in his skull. "But it was still fun. Well, maybe not the whole 'unwarranted assault' part, but the rest of it had its moments," he amended. And then, because he couldn't help but ask, he also blurted out: "haven't you enjoyed any of this?"
Spock gave him a bland look. "Enjoyment is an emotional response," he pointed out. Jim rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, I know," he said, perhaps a bit harshly, letting some of his defensiveness show. "So that's it? We're going to play the 'let's pretend that Spock doesn't have any feelings' game?"
"It is not a game," Spock refuted. Ironically, given the topic of discussion, he seemed to be letting some of his temper slip out. "I would not expect you to comprehend the importance of emotional suppression and internal stability. Clearly you are incapable of such a sophisticated level of personal control," he all but spat at him. "It is the only logical explanation for your abundant inability to pass so much as a single twenty-four hour span of time without incurring the wrath of some other being. You may be able to afford yourself the luxury of wallowing in your emotions without any regard for higher thinking or obtaining a more enlightened way of living, like an ill-bred animal unable to distinguish between its base instincts and its own intellect, but Vulans are different."
The last notes of the sentence seem to ring out almost painfully through the room, coated in an unnatural amount of venom.
Jim was gaping. He knew he was. He couldn't really help it – he'd seen Spock go flying off the handle before, of course, but that had been a violently physical explosion. He'd expressed his anger with his fists, and frankly, that was a little easier to take. A punch to the gut? No problem. An acidic, verbal lashing from his first officer? Ouch.
Guess I know what he really thinks of me now.
His face reddening, Jim pushed himself away from the wall, wondering why he always seemed to have such shitty luck at making friends. Spock's eyes had gone wide as the silence fell, thick and heavy, between them. But why should he be surprised? Why should either of them? It was only what everyone thought. Brash young Captain Kirk, sleeps with anything in a skirt, shoots first and asks questions later, and lets the rules go hang themselves. Has all the cultural sensitivity of a brick and the subtlety of an anvil.
He turned to leave, to walk out of the room. Maybe he'd just get ready, and then he and Spock could part ways – as his first officer was undoubtedly anxious to do. Jim had no clue where he'd go from there. Suddenly his vacation time was looking empty, long, and unwelcome.
"My statements were erroneous and spoken out of anger," Spock said, the words tumbling out with uncommon speed as he stood there, hands folded at his sides. Jim couldn't help looking at him in surprise, the sudden change of tune a little bit jarring. The tainted edge of anger was completely gone from his voice now. "They were clearly illogical and poorly reasoned, finding their basis in conjecture and my own frustrations. I apologize," he insisted.
It was all Jim could do to just stare at him in confusion. "…What?" he finally asked, suddenly hit by the concept that it was too early in the morning for this shit.
Spock closed his eyes, briefly, seeming to come to some internal point or conclusion. "As I said before, meditation has always helped me to control my emotions. However… traditionally, Vulcan meditation requires one to use the mental centering of the planet Vulcan as a focus point. For obvious reasons this is now no longer a viable practice," he explained. "It has made meditation more difficult. Subsequently, many of my efforts at self-control have failed. This is not your fault. You merely provided a convenient target."
Jim considered this. He was still hurt and insulted, and had to fight back the urge to just turn around and take off. But the genuine sentiment of remorse which Spock's words put together halted him, as did the man's own explanation for his outburst. What he'd said had stung. Not because it was the worst way Jim had ever been insulted – no, by those standards it was a downright tame insinuation. No, it was because Spock had said it, right at a time when he'd thought that they were starting to gain a better understanding of one another.
But he couldn't hang onto it. I'm sorry, said Spock's body language, as clear as day even though he was still stiff and upright. I didn't mean it, I take it back.
He sighed.
"Well that sucks," he said, giving Spock a sideways glance. Then he snorted. Then the snort progressed into a brief chuckle, and he lowered his face into his hands. We make a good pair, he decided. We're both all messed up in the head.
"Jim…" Spock trailed off.
Jim waved his concern away. "It's okay, Spock, I get it. Apology accepted," he assured him.
"Do you see now why it would be unwise for us to continue in one another's company?" his first officer insisted. "Until I have found a more stable means of controlling my reactions, my potential volatility is a danger to you."
For a long, unsteady moment, Jim simply stared at him. Then an internal light-bulb went on.
"You're afraid you're gonna go all batshit crazy and try and strangle me again, aren't you?" he asked. Spock wouldn't meet his gaze.
"It is a distinct possibility," he simply said.
Jim shook his head. "I don't think you're that far-gone," he noted, considering that – regardless of his personal preferences on the matter – a brief verbal spat didn't hold a candle to the pent-up rage which Spock had expressed after his mother's death. Not even close. Still thinking fast, he barreled ahead. "And besides, if anything, it looks to me like you need to have a friend around."
Spock's expression shifted momentarily from contrition to confusion. It was subtle and hard to see, but Jim did see it, and that physical confirmation that he wasn't just imagining his friend's expressions and 'tells' bolstered his confidence. "It makes sense, Spock. If you're having trouble controlling yourself, then it's a good idea to have someone around who can help. You know, to keep an eye on things, make sure situations don't get out of hand," he reasoned, lathering his argument in all the usual, compelling charm which he employed whenever he really wanted to get his way. But the half-Vulcan still looked unconvinced. Jim wracked his brain for something more to add. "Uh, plus, as your captain," he said. "It… would make sense for me to, you know, be aware of your – uh – state of mind. Since you're my first officer, right? I mean, if anything happens to me, you're in charge of the ship, aren't you? So I need to be confident that you can handle it."
There. That sounded perfectly logical, didn't it?
Spock stiffened at the mention of their respective roles as captain and first officer. For a minute, Jim was afraid that he'd alienated him by bringing up duty. But though he seemed tense when he replied, at least Spock didn't retreat back into his completely hollow shell. "Your argument has some merit," he agreed with clear reluctance.
Jim clapped his hands together, the sound strangely loud in the room around them, and felt some of the tension in his chest unknot a little. "Good. That's settled, then," he said. "We'll stick together. Now, I don't know about you, but I want breakfast. Just let me take a shower and then we'll go for waffles or something."
He left his slightly bemused first officer in his wake as he went to finally divest himself of the remnants of an uncomfortable night, running a hand through his hair and wondering when he'd gotten so soft and easily injured. Now there was a liability – Spock could apparently take the wind out of his sails with just a few sentences. Not fun. He wondered if they maybe shouldn't just part ways…
It would probably save him a lot of hassle in the long run. And, if they turned around now, they'd still be able to eke out a good working relationship. It was an idea with, as Spock said 'some merit'.
But Jim didn't want to. A part of him felt like it had been flayed open and cut apart by the unexpected barrage of insults he'd endured - and still, he didn't want to.
So instead he decided to just stop thinking about it, and considered other things. He'd have to send a message to his mother, as he'd promised to – even though she'd probably already forgotten about it. But he'd told her that he would. Bones was also expecting him to drop him a line at some point, so he should probably get that done. Then he'd also have to check in with Starfleet to get an update on the Enterprise's status.
He glanced in the mirror, noting the visible bruises on his face which had yet to fade. His cheek was an unpleasantly shade of vivid purple. But at least the swelling in his lip had gone, and the bruise on his forehead wasn't too noticeable so long as he tilted his head in the right direction.
Crap. Who was he kidding? He looked like he'd been in a fight. There was no way that they weren't going to notice.
Nevertheless he cleaned himself up as best he could. When he emerged from the bathroom several minutes later it was to see that Spock had cleared away his candles, set back the lights, and was waiting patiently for him.
"I had considered simply leaving while your attention was occupied," Spock informed him.
"I'm glad you didn't," Jim replied with a grin. Huh, he hadn't thought of that possibility. That was a little unusual for him, all things considered. His headache was probably getting to him more than he thought.
Spock just raised an eyebrow at him, the very picture of composure – despite his claims to the contrary – and walked alongside Jim as they exited the room. "So, do you still want to head back to San Francisco, or would you rather spend more time here?" he asked, thinking to himself that less than a day wasn't really a great deal of exploration time.
"It would advisable for me to distance myself from some of the… responses this place has provoked," Spock replied honestly.
Oh. Right. Jim guessed that if you were trying to avoid your emotions, your dead mother's hometown wasn't the best place to do it. Especially if it was also home to your less-than-stellar extended family.
"San Francisco it is, then," he declared agreeably. His mood was improving a little bit as the fresh air seemed to fully wake him up, and relieve the sluggish pain in his head.
Spock made no further comment as they hunted down a good spot for breakfast. Jim flatly refusing to eat anything other than hand-prepared food while the opportunity was still available to him. But even though he stayed silent, he seemed to relax unconsciously, the tension around his eyes easing into a less pointed lack of expressiveness.
Jim didn't want to kill the beginnings of their return to friendly camaraderie, but as they found a little place that served very nice hand-made waffles and syrup, he found that a question had occurred to him. And it wouldn't leave him alone, not even when he covered his food with an obscene amount of whip-cream, and then attempted to amuse Spock by injecting some directly up his own nose. What? It worked on the friends he'd had when he was ten. Such as they'd been...
He nearly asked a few times, but always caught himself, reigning in his curiosity with considerable difficulty and instead asking silly questions like 'so, do Vulcans eat dairy products?' and 'how'd you all agree on those haircuts, anyway?'
"Jim," Spock finally said. "If you have a valid inquiry, I suggest you make it."
Well. So much for subtlety. Not that it was ever one of his strong points, but that was kind of embarrassing. Clearing his throat, he figured that – having been called out – he might as well just go for it.
"You and Uhura…" he began, noticing the slight tensing of Spock's shoulders out of the corner of his eye. He stopped. "Nevermind. Sorry."
He turned his attention back to his food, immediately regretting that he'd said anything at all. He could almost feel Spock's eyes burning a hole into the top of his head, but he didn't look up to confirm it – he liked to think that it might just be his imagination.
"Complete your inquiry," Spock said after a moment, and then Jim did look up. "I cannot guarantee that I will answer it. But ask."
His mouth went unusually dry at the intent look in those dark eyes, and he was reminded vaguely of a moment from the day before, when the sunlight and Spock's features had inexplicably conspired to rob him of his breath. "What happened between you two?" he blurted, and then immediately decided to be more specific. "I mean, did you – you know – lose 'focus' and tell her off or something?" It had occurred to him that Spock's troubles might have been the reason for the tense scene he'd witnessed in the shuttlebay.
Spock seemed to consider his question for a moment, but his expression really was utterly inscrutable. Jim only assumed that he was thinking over his answer because there wasn't much else he could be doing. Except maybe having unflattering thoughts about his ship's captain. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"…In a sense," Spock admitted after a moment, surprising Jim, who had thoroughly expected to get no confirmation or denials either way. "My relationship with the lieutenant has always been somewhat unstable. Vulcan and human philosophies on romantic interactions tend to deviate widely from one another on certain key issues. This has repeatedly proven detrimental to our understanding of one another. The most logical course of action, therefore, was to terminate those interactions, as they were proving unsatisfactory to both of us."
"So… you broke up?" Jim clarified. Spock inclined his head.
"The process was slowed somewhat by the incident involving Nero. She did not feel it would be prudent to terminate our courtship when I was enduring such an… unpleasant series of events. But our separation was already inevitable, even at that point," he explained. Then his eyebrows went up slightly and he turned towards his own plate, seeming to adopt a purposefully careless demeanor. "I am aware of your pre-existing interest in her, of course. Should you desire to pursue a more intimate relationship, you need not feel hindered by my presence."
Oh yeah. Uhura was smoking hot. Jim almost laughed out loud at himself – it had been a while since he'd thought about that. Not that he'd suddenly turned blind to pretty women, or anything, but after seeing the lieutenant lock lips with Spock in the transporter room, he'd finally given up. Clearly if she was into Spock then he was so far from her type that he might as well be a genderless amoeba. It was also highly inappropriate to flirt with his chief communications officer while he was serving on the bridge, so he'd firmly instructed his brain to keep out of his pants whilst on duty. Given that nine times out of ten the bridge was the only place where the two of them interacted these days, it had effectively neutralized his hopeless infatuation.
With an internal shrug, he said as much to Spock.
"Then why did you inquire?" Spock asked, plainly at a loss. Faced with that particular question Jim found that he, too, was a little stumped.
"I don't know," he admitted at length. "I guess you two always just kept everything so quiet, it made me curious about what was going on."
He had a little trouble deciphering the look which Spock gave him then. It was accompanied by a short exhalation of breath. "I shall endeavor to anticipate this trait of yours in the future," Spock noted, before turning the maple syrup bottle over in a casual examination. The amber fluid shifted behind the tinted glass which confined it, contrasted smoothly by the pale length of the Vulcan's fingers.
Jim snorted. "Oh, like you don't get curious over things," he accused playfully. "You're a scientist. It's practically your job to ask questions."
Spock didn't deny it. "Indeed," he agreed instead. "I will admit, my inquisitive nature has often proved detrimental to the logical conduct of my behavior. Fortunately, the acquisition of scientific knowledge and understanding is a beneficial occupation – which is more than I can say for your own predilection to inquire after the personal lives of individual crewmembers."
Having slowly began the process ofshooting some whip-cream into his mouth while Spock talked, Jim now proceeded to cough most of it up. I may be a nosy bastard, but at least I use it to benefit the Federation? Did he really say that? he wondered. One look at Spock's eyes confirmed it.
Yes. Yes he did.
"Oh come on," Jim argued, once he'd used his napkin to clear his air passages and face in such a way that he was capable of actually speaking again. "I bet you get curious about people, too. You just don't press it like I do," he teased.
Spock looked him up and down, a relieving glitter of amusement present in his manner as he seemed to assess his statement. "You have a point," he agreed a length. "I will admit that the question of your 'car and cliff' incident has… intrigued me. Your abrupt avoidance of the topic is uncharacteristic, particularly given your candid attitude towards the majority of your youthful escapades."
He said it in such a typical, unphased, Spock-ish manner that for a minute Jim didn't even realize what he'd actually said, or notice the underlying question and invitation to the comment. When it caught up to him, though, he felt an uncomfortable jump of nervousness and apprehension. Across the table, Spock was observing him in a quiet, expectant manner. Gauging his response.
For a long minute Jim just sat there, watching Spock watch him. Then he sighed heavily, and pushed his plate away, abandoning his fork with a clatter and leaning back against the synthetic folds of his seat. He scratched the back of his head and ran his teeth over the top of his bottom lip, thinking. "It's not really important," he said, tense and defensive.
Spock made no reply. He didn't need to. They both saw the utter contradiction of the statement – if it wasn't important, then he would have simply mentioned it.
Nope. The cards were clearly laid out on this table. He'd been picking Spock's brain all morning, and despite a few ups and down, his first officer had obliged him. The question being posed now was whether or not this was going to be a two way street. Jim didn't want to talk about this. But he also didn't want to lose what little headway he'd made. He was presented with the conundrum of opening up or closing off, and both held their own quiet little terrors.
It was on the tip of his tongue to issue a denial, or change the topic. He started to. But the brief glimmer of disappointment he saw in his dining companion halted him, stayed the knee-jerk reaction to pull away.
He closed his eyes.
Dammit.
And then a moment later, when he opened them again, it was to fix his gaze on Spock as he recounted a most unpleasant incident.
---
Author's Note: I'm gonna take the opportunity to answer a few questions/comments here!
- Regarding Beta-readers, thank you very, very much to everyone who offered to beta this story. For the time being I think I'm going to keep it as it is, just to try and maintain my update schedule and practice my own proof-reading skills, but I am incredibly flattered that you folks offered. When this story's completed I may very well try and go back to fix any errors and sort of polish it off.
- Somebody brought up the question of Kirk, Spock, and sexual positions. Just to get this out of the way, this story is not going to get that explicit. I appreciate a steamy sex scene as much as the next gal, don't get me wrong, but I've never been comfortable with writing them myself. So the good news is, however you prefer to have them get it on in the bedroom – this story is probably not going to dispute that notion. The end goal is to see them fall in love here, not take a tumble on the mattresses. Plus… well, Spock's sex life is pretty damn complicated, as actually will be addressed in this story. Just to make it clear, I'm not throwing out the idea of them ever having sex in the eventuality of this story. It just won't be described in such a way that you'll know who put their what where. Note the rating, yeah?
- On religion – conventional Earth religions are kind of hedged around most of the time in Star Trek, and so it will be here, too. Vulcans have more of a spirituality than a religion, I think, but I'll try and keep Spock in pace with his cultural beliefs and practices.
- Spock was agitated when Jim noted that it was a good thing the chair missed his head because, clever Vulcan that he is, his brain immediately put together what would have happened if an object with that much force behind it had connected with his head. This was unpleasant for him.
- Jim wouldn't have been able to convince Spock's relatives to see him, especially if their children were present. They're bigoted assholes. The best non-violent confrontation he could have hoped for was getting the door slammed in his face.
- Yeah, communications abilities in Star Trek are messed up. I keep wondering when we're going to hit the big Signal Crisis that suddenly obliterates our e-mail, internet, and cellphone capabilities, and forces us to make up a new and decidedly inferior system. The dark days are coming! Be warned!
- I will be thrilled if I can keep up the pace and update this every day. Being a fast typer helps. It is fully my intention to do this, as this story has been eating up my spare minutes, but if there's a delay, believe me, I will be as disappointed as everyone else. This is fun to write. I do have a life, though (fussy thing, it always gets in the way of my fun) so I can make no promises.
- I'm always open to suggestions. They quite often provide me with either direct or indirect inspiration.
…and so ends the longest AN I have ever written. Don't expect many like this, lol. If you actually read all of that, add a skinny black lab Spock puppy to play with your poor little Jimmy retriever. And if you review, get yourself a cookie.