Chapter Seven

It was Tuesday in the Oval Office, and Kirk was celebrating. McCoy was over there for business, but soon after the news reports began to pour in, they were cheering. Two secret service agents had been sent for champayne. Twice.

"I can't believe our luck!" Leonard said, popping the second cork.

"I can. The American people must have gotten fed up." He paused, then added, "Finally."

When Spock came in, Kirk beckoned him over. When he came over, Kirk threw an arm around his shoulder and gave him a very un-subtle kiss on the cheek.

"God, Jim," exclaimed McCoy, "You're drunk. Go home!"

"I am home," he shouted, realizing with a grin that it was true. This...Washington...it was his home.

He had to admit, it was nice having at least one thing go his way. The men and women in Congress were being voted on again, as they were every two years, and, now, the vast horde of Republicans were being replaced by an equal horde of Democrats. Kirk couldn't have been happier. Perhaps that was why Spock was looking way sexier than usual (which wasn't saying much). And why he hadn't even acknowledged the other agent in the corner.

"I really like you, Spock. You know that?" he said.

Spock avoided answering. "Jim. I did come here for a reason."

"Of course. So serious. Another thing I like about you."

McCoy sniggered under his inebriated breath.

"You are scheduled to have dinner tonight at Grill 89 for an interview."

"Will you be there?"

"If you wish, I will attend. If it is that you are too drunk, however..."

"Great! So I don't have to go?"

"Well. I would not recommend..."

Leonard grunted. "Who is he having the interview with? Scott Pelly on passing bills while under the influence?"

With a frown, Spock conceded. "I should take you back to your room."

Kirk's other arm draped over his other shoulder. His nose nuzzled into Spock's neck. "Spoooooock," he groaned.

Spock glanced at the other agent, who looked a little taken aback. Wordlessly, they left the room, Spock carrying Kirk on his back with the drunk man's hands around his neck, carrying his feet. When they came to his room, he turned to the curly-haired agent.

"If you'll excuse me?"

The agent nodded, flushing the slightest bit pink. That was okay. He knew.

Once inside, Kirk dropped from Spock's hold. They faced each other. The reaction was instant now, after three months.

"Spock."

"Jim."

Their lips met.


Willis was pacing the room of his office. He'd told her to call. Would she? Yes, it was a desperate act, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And now, since the Congress was becoming blue, it was definitely a desperate time.

He had to get Kirk out. Now. And this was the only way.

Five minutes later, he got the call.


In the dark, wrapped up in each other, Spock spoke. He spoke of all that Kirk had ever wondered of him-about his childhood, his two tours in Iraq; even let him touch a bullet wound he'd received to the shoulder. It was the first time it had happened; it seemed as if the man were finally warming up to him.

Then the soft conversation took a odd turn.

"Jim," Spock said, "We need to be prepared, in case anything were to...happen."

"Happen?" Kirk was confused. "What could possibly happen?"

"Something will, inevitably." he continued. "You must be aware...I am willing to give my life for you."

"Spock," he said, startled, "When did this become a conversation of life and death?"

"It's not," he replied, "It is rather a conversation of fear."

Kirk ran his hand through Spock's hair. "I'm still not afraid. I don't care what happens. I won't leave you."

"Nor will I."

That was the end of that. Spock stole away at well after 0100 hours. Kirk slept through this as well as a phone call from his wife. And he dreamed, again, of the man whom no one could possibly know about.