The Bridge shift the next morning was uneventful, which was annoying on any given day, but particularly so on this one.

As much as Jim had felt Spock's absence burning at his back in recent weeks, he now felt his presence; just as, if not more distracting. He had been checking the urge to turn to him for the comfort of eye contact since his departure, but now he maintained that rule for fear of being presented with nothing but the Vulcan's back. He would hear Spock's voice occasionally, speaking to a crewmember in low tones. Perhaps he was waiting for Jim to speak to him. If things went on like this, he would. But he was not ready today.

He wanted to touch Spock. Badly. He had been away from him for two weeks before, had even received, in essence, the same sort of greeting upon a return, but usually by now, the next morning, there had been sex. Lots of sex. The idea that his fingers had not even brushed Spock's skin in the past sixteen days felt drastically insufficient. His nails were scraping at the arm of his chair with the urge.

Later, in the officer's mess (which Jim had not set foot in for the duration of Spock's trip, yet did that night, much as it pained him, so as not to alienate his first officer), Uhura plunked her tray down across from him and sat, looking expectant. Jim looked up, still chewing, and raised both eyebrows at her.

"Spock's taking his meal in his quarters," she informed him and Jim carefully swallowed.

"Oh," he said, and he meant it to be a question, a prompt for her to continue, but it only came out sounding dejected, even to his own ears. He glanced up again. "He tell you that?"

"No. Just know him."

"And I don't?"

Uhura stared at him, unimpressed. "Jim," she said, and he was unsure he had ever heard his first name out of her pretty mouth. It was like popping an inflating balloon. "Imagine how much trouble you're having-" she said.

"Don't have to," Jim grumbled to his food.

"-And then imagine you think it's your fault," she went on and Jim paused. "And that you're afraid the other person might too. And that you're Vulcan."

Jim took a moment to be duly chastised, and then sat back, abandoning his fork. "How much did he tell you?" He felt righteously indignant, though he was unsure of the righteous part.

"None of this," she assured him. "Out loud, anyway."

Jim returned to his food after a moment, tearing his roll into little pieces. He could hear her hesitation before she even leaned forward again.

"... Her name is T'Pid."

Jim tossed the hunk of bread aside and sat back again. "I don't want to hear this," he told her firmly.

Uhura held her hands up and it might have looked defensive on someone else, but on her, it was the movement of someone trying to calm an animal ready to bound away at the slightest movement. "I just thought you might want to know some of these things... but might not want to ask Spock yet."

He understood where Uhura was coming from; he might have even done the same for a friend, himself. She was trying to make it easier for him and he was grateful. But in no way did he want to talk to Spock, who for the past year had been closer to him than anyone in the universe, through someone else. He knew things could not return to normal, at least not right away, but if he was making the attempt, he expected it of Spock as well. Or McCoy was right -- they would lose each other. Uhura could only impede their communication this way, even if her goal was the exact opposite.

"Uhura," he said. "I get it, I do, and... thanks. And I'm glad you're there for Spock, and that you've made sure I know the same goes for me. But let me do this in my own time?"

She blinked like a five-year-old had just explained compound fractions to her, and Jim did not know whether to be amused or insulted. "... Okay," she said.

She never did expect him to handle anything like an adult. Jim was not sure he could blame her for that, but perhaps he should make it a personal goal to prove his maturity to her more than twice a year.

"Thanks," he said again, and then stood, gathering his tray to empty and not caring that he was only half-finished; he wasn't hungry anymore. "Actually gonna take care of some of that now, if you're okay alone?"

She nodded. "There's Scotty," she told him, eyes flicking off over his shoulder, and he peeked himself to confirm this. "I'm good."

"Good." Jim gave her a little wave and nodded at the engineer as he passed him on his way out. He dumped the contents of his tray and then headed for the hallway, stride purposeful. Spock might avoid him forever, if he let him and that was dangerous to the flow of ship operations, if nothing else.

By the time he had reached his first officer's quarters, he had worked himself up enough to be mad that the door's codec made knocking unnecessary; he kind of wanted to bang on something right about now. Before, as long as he did not think he would have been interrupting anything, he would have felt free to walk right in, and the fact that he could not now (or could, but should not), only angered him more. He pressed the button. Really hard.

"Come," he heard after a moment, and even the two seconds it took for the door to slide open frustrated Jim.

Spock was seated at his desk when he entered, probably catching up on all he had missed. Jim had taken care of it all, but he would want to be up to date, he knew. A covered tray sat on the desk's left corner, untouched as of yet. Jim was looking at it when Spock looked up.

"Captain," he said, and Jim could read nothing in it. He wondered if Spock was surprised.

"You're eating in here," he said, inanely.

"I am."

Jim made himself think instead of yell. "Is that because you have a lot of work to do," he said, eyes darting to the stylus in Spock's hand, "or because of me?"

There was a definite hesitation. "Captain," Spock said, "I have been in your presence the majority of the day."

Which was not an answer. "That's different. You don't have to talk to me there."

"There are indeed several instances which would require-"

"Spock," Jim stressed. Spock met his eyes. "You don't have to talk to me there."

Spock did not reply to that, and Jim took it as a concession.

He had come angry, and it still simmered beneath the surface, but now, looking at Spock, the need to touch him again overwhelmed it. Jim had to push it down.

Nam-tor du panu , Spock had murmured against his skin once, you are my world, wrapped around him from behind, fingers tangling, the first time he had ever called him t'hy'la. Jim wanted to ask if it was still true, still could be. Spock would probably think emotional reassurance illogical, let alone now, when it would do no good for Jim to know whether it was true or not.

"Kaiidth," Jim thought again, aloud this time before he realized it and Spock's eyebrow lifted.

"Indeed," he agreed.

Jim sighed and stepped closer, lowering himself into the chair across from Spock, and leaning forward to lace his fingers together on his own end of the desk. When he did, Spock faltered for the first time, withdrawing his own to his lap, and too quickly to be natural, at that.

Jim watched the move and then shrugged, nonplussed. "Can't avoid me forever," he said.

Spock stared at his stylus. "It was not a... conscious effort."

"I believe you." Spock slowly placed his hands back on his desk, a good distance from Jim's, but he still wanted to reach for them. He actually caught himself staring for longer than was appropriate. "I think we should talk about this." His heart started beating faster the moment he had said it.

Spock's eyes were still on their hands as well. "I do not believe there is anything to discuss, Captain."

"Jim."

Spock looked up at him. "Captain," he repeated.

It hurt. Jim made himself speak again. "Spock. I don't know about Vulcans, but Humans generally require some measure of closure with this kind of emotional situation. I'm not saying it will change anything, just that talking might make us feel better about it." He shrugged. "Or me, at least."

Spock's brows drew together and it took Jim a moment to recognize the expression as offense. "Are you implying," he said, "that I am unaffected by our situation?"

Jim hesitated. Indignation on his own part was immediate, but then... was he? When he considered it, yes, it was possible he was. But all he said was, "Just that you'd deal with it better. Are you implying you're not?" A shitty and volatile way to go about obtaining that emotional reassurance, but the words were out of his mouth before he could check them. He waited.

"... Jim," Spock said this time, jaw tight, and his stomach leaped. "I understand that I have been less than forthcoming in regards to emotional expression over the course of our acquaintance." He swallowed. "But that is insulting. And unwarranted."

Less than I expect of the man I know, Jim remembered him telling him, in a far different situation where he had been needlessly risking his life, and that tone had not failed to make him feel like shit then either. He really wanted to touch Spock's hand. "I know. I'm sorry." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know how to do this. I want to blame someone."

Spock was silent for a moment. "Illogical though the impulse is... I, too experience such an urge," he admitted quietly. Jim watched him, surprised. "... This is my doing."

"Spock." Jim shook his head. "This isn't anyone's doing."

"It was in my power to prevent, and so it is my doing," Spock insisted, like he was quoting sensor readings. He looked up. "Had I possessed the emotional fortitude to resist-"

"What about me?" Jim broke in. "It's not like you dragged me, kicking and screaming."

"I was aware of the pon farr. You were not."

Jim did not have an answer for that. He did not wish they had never acted on their feelings by any means, and yet, he could neither say that some part of him did not hold Spock responsible for their current predicament.

"It doesn't matter," he eventually decided on. "None of that matters, now." What mattered was how they handled this, how they moved forward. And they did have to do that. "Uhura," Jim ventured, and Spock looked curious, "she told me her name."

Spock managed to look decidedly uncomfortable without moving a muscle.

"... What's she like?"

Spock thought for a moment, his diplomacy face on. "She is... high-born. Intelligent. Well mannered. I believe kind. She is well suited." Spock's gaze lowered to Jim's hands, still resting a foot from his on the desk. "And she is not you."

It was said almost as though that fact were a surprising disappointment; as if Spock had been expecting to find otherwise. Jim swiped at his mouth and sat back.

"Yeah, I can't do this," he said, and Spock looked relieved, or at least unsurprised. Jim shook his head at the room at large. "Maybe... but not now." He glanced to Spock's face. "I really want to touch you," he informed him. "... So I'm going to go."

"I will... endeavor to take my meals in the officer's mess."

Jim nodded and stood, unsure if more was needed at first, before deciding that even if something was, he did not know what it was. So he left with only another nod to Spock, returning to his own quarters through the shared bathroom rather than the hall, where other people milled. He wanted no questions.