Epilogue

10 years later

The bar at Starbase 11 is not the best Jim has ever been to, but it's not that bad. Jim sits at the bar, nursing his second Cardassian Sunrise, and smiles, contemplating the weirdly fluffy umbrella. A girl's drink; Uhura has obviously been rubbing off on him. It's not the best place for his crew to have shore leave, but it'll do. Too bad it's almost over. Jim swivels the liquid in his glass, getting ready to leave. That's when the moment comes.

It's strange really. Surreal. He's been dreaming about it, fantasizing, dreading, for so long that somewhere along the way he's accepted its complete and utter inevitability. It's not a thrill, most certainly not a surprise. It's as reliable as sunrise, though no less striking for it.

"Hi, Spock."

The Vulcan inclines his head, not surprised at Jim's lack of surprise. "Captain."

Jim looks at him smiling. On the surface, Spock has changed little. He's still lean, black-haired, and fluidly graceful, and his hands are still the most refined things Jim has ever seen. His eyes betray him, though. They look old; ancient really. Much older than Sarek's; much older than anyone Jim knows. There's a kind of fatalistic acceptance in them that Jim recognizes instantly. And that, too, is somehow not unexpected.

"You look good," Jim offers. There's really no point discussing existential questions between the two of them. Everything had been said or not said a long time ago.

Spock seems to weigh his words, searching for a catch. Not finding any, he nods. "Thank you. You—"

"Don't bother." Jim raises his hand with a grin. "I know I'm the most handsome thing this bar has seen in years."

Spock's lips twitch. "Indeed."

Jim contemplates his drink for a moment.

"I heard you got married."

Spock turns toward him, facing him fully. He's standing too damn close and looking too damn good. Jim sighs, and feels it's justified.

"That was... a temporary arrangement," Spock says, just the hint of an edge to his voice. "It was necessary."

Jim knows, dimly, what this is about, so he nods and doesn't ask.

"I have been meaning to talk with you about your next mission," Spock continues nonchalantly. "A team at the Vulcan Science Academy has entered the final stage of the Phoenix Project."

"The temporal paradox solver?" Jim smirks knowingly and laughs at Spock's appalled expression.

It's oddly delightful how they can talk about trivial things without either of them fainting or exploding. It doesn't even feel forced.

"Sorry." Jim wrinkles his nose. "I know it's a secret." Spock downgrades his look to merely being affronted, and Jim laughs again. "Damn; I should have realized this earlier. Who else could head the most mysterious project of a century but you?"

"Very perceptive, Captain." Spock reaches casually toward Jim's glass. Jim watches as he lifts it off the counter and examines it skeptically.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Jim asks, his grin softer, now.

Spock shakes his head, putting the glass back in front of Jim. His touch is very nearly reluctant. "For the final stage of our experiment," he says, "we require Starfleet's assistance: a warp-capable vessel with level sixteen laboratory facilities on board."

Jim furrows his eyebrows. "I'm pretty sure the Enterprise is the only ship that fits."

Spock eyes him carefully. "Correct."

"Well, what's the problem?"

"I did not wish to request Starfleet's assistance without clearing it with you first."

Jim swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. "I see."

"Admiral Pike has informed me that the Intrepid will be launched approximately one year from now," Spock tells him. "My team can easily wait this long." He pauses. "Jim, you do not have to agree to this. I will understand."

Jim knows his smile is breaking, but he tries anyway. "You've been in touch with Pike?"

He didn't mean for that to sound as an accusation. His tone has gotten away from him.

"You have been in contact with Sarek," Spock counters gently.

"Yeah, well," Jim mutters, looking away.

Silence cradles the two of them again, and Jim is seized by a horrible urge to cuff Spock to his wrist.

"As I said," Spock reminds him quietly, "we can wait."

Jim turns to look at him. His smile is pained, but he holds it.

"Who am I to stand in the way of science?" He holds Spock's eyes as well. "The Enterprise is yours, Professor."

Spock looks at him, seemingly drowning in his gaze, and Jim wishes at least one of them had more self-control. He was really counting on Spock in that area.

"Jim," Spock says softly. "We do not have to..."

Jim closes his eyes for a moment.

No, they don't have to. Between saying 'good morning' every day and 'good evening' every night, and being stuck on the same ship for months, sharing meals, and playing chess, working together… They really don't have to. It's not like that thought has worked out so spectacularly well the first two times, and it's not like it ended in total disaster, is it? What with Jim being in an emotional coma for six years and Spock going through hell knows what all by himself. No shit they didn't have to.

"No, we don't," Jim says.

I don't. I don't have to want you. I don't have to need you. I really don't have to—

Sliding off his seat, he wraps an arm around Spock's shoulders, and it still feels infuriatingly, disgustingly right, like it never did with any other person. And Spock, blast him, doesn't even have the decency to tense, not even for a moment. He relaxes into Jim's touch, shifting closer.

"You smell good," Jim murmurs. "I missed you."

Spock closes his eyes, leaning against him.

"I am sorry, Jim."

"Yeah," Jim exhales, nuzzling Spock's neck. "Yeah. Me too."

Spock straightens up and pulls away, but it's a smooth motion not an abrupt jerk, because Spock isn't uncomfortable or embarrassed by their closeness and doesn't hide it.

"My transport leaves in fifteen point two minutes."

Jim grins and nods, letting him go. "I'll see you on board, then."

Spock nods in a fair facsimile of a military salute. "Thank you, Captain."

He turns to go, but after taking a couple of steps, stops, and glances at Jim again.

Then, before Jim knows it, Spock is back, gripping Jim's arm, tipping his chin up, and the next moment they're kissing.

Jim doesn't have to melt into it, doesn't even want to, but he does nonetheless, pulling Spock close, shifting them into a better position with such an easy familiarity as if their last kiss happened yesterday not ten years ago. It doesn't feel like it has been ages; it just feels so right, right, and home, and tastes only of the present the way it always has, and it's so good, so good and oh...

Spock pulls away and his eyes are bright, as he looks at Jim from beneath his eyelashes, flushed and struggling for control.

"Didn't you say... we didn't have to?" Jim manages breathlessly, grateful for Spock's arms keeping him upright.

Spock licks his lips and Jim moans.

"We do not, however... I owed you."

"Oh," Jim forces out, trying to straighten up. "And now that your debt is repaid?"

Spock looks at him and Jim looks back, and it's a second or a century before they're flush against each other again, kissing like the universe is moments from collapsing, and Jim doesn't care who watches, and Spock doesn't either, but this time it's a good thing, because this time it's real.

It's real.

"You're crazy," Jim rasps. "Completely insane, Spock, you know that?"

"It – takes one to know one," Spock counters without missing a beat.

Jim laughs then groans, because Spock looks so decidedly indecent that Jim just might have to kill him. They remain quiet for a few moments, just breathing each other in, and then Jim tilts his head curiously.

"Are you ready for this?"

Spock shakes his head. "No. Nor will I ever be."

Jim feels a slow, lingering smile crawling onto his lips. "Good. Neither am I." He kisses the corner of Spock's mouth softly. "See you on board?"

Spock lets out a sigh of concurrence rather than consent.

"Inevitably."

Jim smiles at the word, because that's what they are exactly.

Spock walks away stiffly, as if fighting against a powerful riptide, and Jim doesn't feel guilty, not one bit, or frightened, even though he should be, but only absurdly, devil-may-care happy.

Like a blessedly mad man.

--

Fin