Make Me a Map

by CptnSpaceCase

The Enterprise is well over a year into its five year mission and its captain and first officer have become easy friends. When Jim reveals that he's gone to the effort of learning Vulcan for Spock's sake, Spock decides he must find a way to show Jim how much he appreciates his friendship, and goes to McCoy for advice. The doctor has just the thing. (Prev. Ancient Customs)

11. Red Thread

Jim slumped into his desk chair with a sigh. Man, it was good to sit down. After hanging out with Sulu and then Scotty, his feet were beat, even with the hot water shower he'd just treated himself to. No rest for the weary, though. At least not mentally. He still had some time before dinner, so he might as well get through some of his messages and paperwork. He snapped his Padd into its stand.

Aw yeah, Uhura had sent him the last of the modifications for the memo on the Negazi. They were a pretty cool people, even if they were still somewhat divided on the whole Federation thing. The initial trade agreements that had been established after First Contact had been doing a lot to soothe the grumblers over the years, though. Now they finally had a majority wanting to join, which meant a freer flow of information. Uhura and her team had been spending the last few weeks translating and archiving what they'd been sent from Negazi databases. It wasn't everything yet, but it was a good deal more than the bare essentials on customs and tech they'd had before. As the captain of the diplomatic mission, he got a customized summary of everything to study ahead of time.

He scrolled through the last-minute changes and additions that had been made since a few days ago. Nothing much, really. Just some stuff on personal relationships. Apparently, they didn't hit on each other in public spaces, around strangers, something that Uhura had taken care to underline with a raised-brow emoji (or the Spock emoji, as the bridge crew called it) next to it.

Jim rolled his eyes. Oh ha ha, James T. Kirk was a slag who couldn't keep it in his pants. No one had made that joke before. He could just picture the smirk on her face, too. All of his friends were comedians.

Uhura said nothing prohibitory in the memo about playful flirting, though, thank the stars. That was a natural part of his social vocabulary, his charisma. A wink or a well-timed compliment could get him a long way at diplomatic parties. In a strictly professional sense. Even before his bad case of Feelings, he'd known better than to sleep around on the job. Civilians only for that.

At least, that had been his policy, for the short span of time he'd been Captain and not in love with Spock. Now his entire being rebelled against the idea of sleeping with anyone else, even though it wouldn't actually be cheating. But that didn't seem to matter; it felt like cheating.

And of course he felt wrong picturing it in any kind of detail with Spock, too, because he didn't have his permission — not to mention Spock was his best friend. So that left him with vague imaginings and his right hand and nothing else. Well. And his toy collection.

But still, that was no substitute for an actual –

Nope, no no no. Even if his conscience would allow for thoughts like that (which it definitely wouldn't), it was way too close to dinner, when he'd have to have the moral standing to still look Spock in the eye.

Shaking his head, Jim signed off on the changes to the memo and went to finish getting ready.

Sometimes, when he was alone in his quarters like this, he could almost imagine none of it was real. The Spock thing, that is. Maybe what he felt wasn't really…love. It's not like he'd had much first-hand experience past the age of fourteen, and certainly none before had been romantic. Even those scarce childhood memories were wispy now — the love he'd once felt for his mother nothing more than a faded ghost. It was possible he was overreaching with his heart, pouring everything into this new person who was kind and got him like few others ever had. It was possible he was so desperate to give himself away, he'd just latched onto Spock because he was bound to Jim by duty and so couldn't abandon him. The fact that it was doomed didn't seem to matter. Or was a bonus, since rejection was familiar. And familiar was safe.

In these moments, he could almost convince himself that he could stop. That he could take this bundle of feelings and cut off its blood supply, leave it suffocating in some dark corner of his mind until it no longer plagued him. No longer made his chest and hands and skin ache with an absence that had never been filled. Because stars, it was going to hurt, worse than it already did. Feeling all of this gained him nothing, so maybe he should carve it out and be done with it. Like he'd done with so many others before, with his brother and mother.

But then he'd step into Spock's quarters, like he did now, and all the brooding maybes fell away life chaff, useless and forgotten.

Spock was setting out some pre-dinner tea in his most flattering traditional robes — as if Jim had needed further convincing of his foolishness. The dark colors and intricate gold embroidery set off Spock's complexion and made him look…regal. A king or a god displaced among common mortals. He'd only seen Spock in these specifically one other time, back before he'd figured out his feelings. Though he'd experienced a thrill of appreciation then, now it was like being punched in the chest. Even with all of his diplomatic training, he couldn't help the stutter in his steps and struggled to keep his expression pleasantly neutral.

Yeah. He was still fucked.

His own civvies (nice jeans and graphic tee) felt horribly shabby now in comparison. He'd come across the shirt while frantically digging through his drawers for something nice-but-not-too-nice to wear and had thought Spock might find it funny. Now it just felt silly and kind of dumb.

"Good evening, Jim." Though there wasn't a smile to go along with the greeting, something in Spock's face softened when their eyes met, which Jim took as an equivalent.

He flashed a teasing grin, trying to scrounge up some confidence after his mental fumble. "Hey, Spock. Didn't realize there would be a dress code."

Only, Spock blinked and looked down at his own attire in what would appear to be concern. "There is not. Are these –"

Jim hurried to cut him off, waving his hands in front of him with wide eyes. "No no! You like great. Fine. I was making fun of my lazy ass, not you. But, uh, I guess I ended up sounding like a jackass anyway. Sorry." He laughed nervously, feeling wrong-footed and hoping this wasn't going to set the tone for the rest of the evening.

Spock's face relaxed without moving a millimeter. "Ah. Thrap-fam'es nufau." I am not offended. "You, as well, look 'fine,' Jim."

Though as he glanced at Jim's shirt, he did a subtle double take. It was red and said "If This Shirt Looks Blue You're Moving Too Fast." After a moment, he raised one brow, but Jim was pretty certain that there was nothing disdainful in his expression.

"However, while theoretically plausible within the bounds of what humans refer to as the Doppler effect, I can foresee no real world situation wherein a blueshift would occur in an article of clothing to the implied degree and still be measurable by the people involved." Spock's mouth twitched with the suggestion of a smile, his eyes dancing with mirth.

Relieved that Spock wasn't upset and delighted that he'd gotten the reaction he'd wanted, Jim laughed. "I saw it in a gift shop on a starbase a while back and couldn't pass it up. I knew you'd get a kick out of it," he said, grinning, as they took their seats.

"I assure you, the shirt has not inflicted any such harms upon my person."

With a short laugh, Jim gave him a humoring look. "See, I know you too well to fall for that anymore. It's a real shame that more people aren't aware of how you're a low-key comedian. But hey, that just means less competition for your time, so I'm not going to blow your cover." He winked.

Spock's already soft eyes warmed to such an extent that Jim thought he might melt in his chair just looking at them. It was the most affection he'd ever seen in a look directed at him, without there being copious alcohol involved (Bones), and having it come from Spock made his insides buzz and his mouth spread into a helpless smile. He had to duck his head to stare at his mug before he revealed too much in his expression.

Silence fell over them as they turned to their tea. It was the Vulcan kind again, and Jim savored the way Spock savored it, watching his eyes flutter shut as he inhaled just before taking the first sip. Giddy pride made Jim's skin buzz with warmth. He'd done that, given Spock something he could enjoy like that.

He hid his smile against his mug as he drank, the spicy-sap smell lighting up his sinuses, like cumin if it had mint's punch. Thank the stars he wasn't allergic to this, because it was actually really good. And, as cheesy and gross as this was, it made him feel closer to Spock when he drank it, so there was that, too.

After a few minutes, Spock's voice cut the silence. "I received a missive from my father today. He wished me to pass on the colony's thanks for the replicator program."

Unprepared for such a topic, Jim flinched in surprise, almost spilling his tea in his lap, and quickly set it down before he did just that. Good thing he hadn't been mid-swallow or he'd be choking, too. "Um. Well, shit." He chuckled awkwardly, uncomfortable with the realization that the whole colony knew it had been him. "I mean, I figured they'd find out it was me if they went to the effort to look, but uh. Yeah."

Fingering the rim of his mug, he cleared his throat and refused to look up as he contemplated and dismissed various ways to get out of going down to the planet the next time they stopped there. Though, Vulcans were less likely to make a big, embarrassing fuss so…

Dammit, if he was in front of a camera right now, he could handle this no problem, just flash a cocky smile and play up his hero bit. But he couldn't do that with Spock, leaving just him. Just Jim. Unable to swallow praise when he couldn't divert it to someone else.

"I take it that means they've been, uh, using it and everything?" He glanced up to find Spock watching him carefully.

"Indeed. My father reports a notable increase in efficiency and mental health in colony residents since implementation." That affectionate look was back, sincere inflection bleeding into Spock's voice. "Your impact is, as always, significant and appreciated."

Oh. Jim looked down again and tightened his grip on his mug to hide how it shook. What the fuck. Why the hell were his eyes burning, just because of that? Because of six words? Why did Spock always seem to flay him open like this, and so easily? Jim should be terrified, or uncomfortable at the very least. And in a way, he was. But it wasn't…bad, somehow. He felt…seen around Spock. Seen but still safe.

Clearing his throat, he took a large gulp of tea, eyes still downcast, and wrestled his reaction down. "Well, I…I'm glad it helped. They deserve all the aid the Federation can provide."

If he didn't know better, he might have called Spock's soft exhale a sigh.

Thankfully, Spock didn't press the matter further, and as they continued to drink their tea, they chatted about their days. Mostly, it was Spock asking about Jim's, since Spock was still being tight-lipped about his lab project. So Jim told him about hanging out with Sulu on the Rec deck, helping Scotty out in engineering, and the book he'd read that morning until their mugs were empty. By then, Jim had recovered his emotional equilibrium and was feeling pretty mellow and content, as he always did from spending time with Spock. He never felt misunderstood or judged by him, and that was something he had never experienced before. Not even Bones knew him so well.

Maybe he could be okay with nothing more than this.

Spock rose to go to the replicator with their mugs, and Jim ambled over to the shelf of Vulcan artifacts that he rarely got the chance to look at.

"What would you prefer?" Spock's hand hovered over the menu on the replicator's screen while he looked at Jim expectantly.

Shrugging, Jim went back to examining the priceless pieces of art and weaponry. He was tempted to pick up what looked like a lavish puzzle box made of both wood and precious stones, but he did have some self-control. "Whatever's fine. There's probably some recommendation from Bones for me in there."

After a brief lull, the sounds of a selection being made cut the silence, followed by the soft hum of the replicator doing its thing.

"Jim, in the time we have known each other, I have noticed that you never seem to voice dietary preferences, as most Terrans do."

Jim waited a few seconds for some sort of follow up question, but none came. It took a good deal of self-control to remain calm and relaxed when he realized where Spock's prying would lead. This was the one thing in which he was just as guilty about being unforthcoming as Spock. No one actually wanted to hear the answer, 'Oh, well, you know, surviving a famine and reaching the point where anything vaguely nutritious looks amazing will do that to you.' In fact, he'd used quips like that as weapons, at first, to keep people at bay, though he'd carefully skirted direct references to Tarsus.

"Hmm? Sure I do. I've got favorite foods. Like, um…apples. And pretty much anything that's got lots of chocolate in it. And uh. Really spicy Indian food." He turned away from the puzzle box to catch Spock giving him The Eyebrow.

"I will keep those things in mind. However, that is not quite what I was referring to. I have never seen you express distaste for or refuse to eat any sort of food you have been served, unless it would have induced an allergic reaction. While I applaud the logic of such an attitude, it does not seem congruent with your otherwise highly opinionated, pleasure-oriented nature. I am curious as to the reason for such a disparity." Behind Spock, the replicator dinged that it had finished its task, but his attention didn't waver.

For a brief moment, Jim held himself perfectly still, so that he could gather together a plan of action for navigating this topic without actually addressing it. Spock was too perceptive to for him to get away with half-assing this.

With a shrug, he flashed a wry smile. "What can I say. I'm a complicated guy. And I just like food in general, is all. Don't see much point in getting snobby about it, especially since my choices are already so limited by my allergies. So if Bones wants to plan my meals to make sure I get all the stuff I need without getting fat or dying, hey, that's at least one thing on this ship I don't have to worry about, right?" He turned his attention to some sort of curved dagger cradled by a stone stand, though he was no longer paying true attention to any of the objects in front of him.

He could feel Spock studying the side of his face. "Very logical."

Though he kept looking at the filigree on the sheath, he forced a smile. "Why Spock, you're going to make me blush."

"I find that unlikely." There was a clattering of dishes as Spock retrieved their meals.

Did he? Well, thank the stars for Spock being so oblivious. Honestly he sometimes rivaled Bones in emotional unawareness. And that was saying something.

Dinner itself was a quieter affair than usual, though not uncomfortable; they were each mostly caught up in their own thoughts. At least, Jim was. In his attempt to keep his mind out of his past, he kept going back to whatever Spock was hiding from him. Well, not just him, specifically. It's not as if Spock owed him access into every aspect of his life just because they'd grown closer recently and so was depriving him on purpose. And yet it gnawed at him. What could it be, that it was affecting Spock's brain? Surely if he was sick, he'd feel obligated to tell his captain, so that couldn't be it.

Oh god, had a relative died? Shit, that would make sense, if one of his family bonds had broken. That would show up in his scans. But then, why wouldn't Spock tell him? Friends told each other stuff like that. Right?

By the time they were finishing their meals, the questions and concerns filling Jim's head had reached a crescendo, and the words spilled from his mouth before he could stop them. "Is there anything you want to tell me, Spock?"

Across from him, Spock froze just as he finished setting his utensils on his empty plate. His eyes darted up to Jim's, a bit wider than normal, but his face was otherwise expressionless.

"Because you know you can, right? Tell me stuff, that is. Anything. As much as I love the sound of my own voice, I'm a great listener. So…so if anything ever happened with, say, your family or something like that, I'd be happy to lend an ear." He tried for a reassuring smile, but it was likely strained around the edges. What was he even saying right now? Shut up, for the love of god.

After blinking at him a couple times, Spock frowned and tilted his head, looking uncertain. "I… Thank you, Jim. I will keep that in mind. I am confused, however, as to what prompted such a topic of conversation."

Jim shifted uncomfortably, face hot and wishing he'd never opened his mouth. "Um. Well, it's just… I thought maybe, with the whole brain anomaly thing…" He waved a hand in the direction of Spock's head, as if this was very necessary for clarity. "…something had happened with one of your bonds? Like, maybe something wrong with a family member or… I don't know. I guess that kind of thing isn't any of my business. I'm sorry for bringing it up, I know you said you didn't want to talk about —"

"Jim." Spock was staring at him, though Jim couldn't for the life of him read the expression there.

Embarrassed by his rambling (yet again), he clenched his jaw to keep from starting back up, eyes on his plate.

"I appreciate your concern," Spock said, sounding quite sincere, "however, my family is quite well at present. If that changes, be sure that I will inform you. As for the personal matter, I…will tell you that as well, but…there is something I would like to show you first."

Oh. The knot that had formed in Jim's chest in response to Spock's secrecy eased significantly. Maybe Spock really had meant the "at present" part when he'd deflected Jim's questions earlier. Of course he had. Jim should have known to take him more literally; Spock never wasted words.

In an uncharacteristic move, Spock stood without gathering their dishes, and motioned for him to move to the couch, which was their after-meal tradition. Confused and emotionally unsettled though he was, Jim obeyed and watched as Spock retrieved something from his desk. Jim wasn't able to get a good look at whatever it was until Spock had sat down beside him.

It was plain black, lidded, and looked the right size and shape to hold a stack of coasters. Spock's thumbs brushed at the corners with what Jim was tempted to call a restless energy.

Jim raised his brows. "What's that?"

Maybe it was actually nervous energy, because Spock swallowed and wasn't meeting Jim's eyes. "You expressed interest in being privy to the completion of the personal project I have mentioned. It is finished, if you would like to see."

"Of course." Jim had to wrestle with a smile. After feeling in the dark all day, this felt like fucking Christmas.

It took another noticeable moment of hesitation before Spock held the box out to him, an invitation. Curiosity made Jim take it with maybe a bit too much haste, so he tried to be more careful when he pulled off the lid.

If someone had asked him beforehand to guess the contents, he might have said a prototype for some new scientific instrument. Or the preserved results of an experiment. But the box held neither of those things. Instead, there was…what looked to be a wrist or arm band nestled half within a protective, stiff foam material and decidedly not made with utility as its primary purpose. What was visible showed beautiful designs of precious stone and filigree, with a base of mostly silver metal and traces of gold.

The silence went on just a little too long as Jim tried to wrap his head around the fact that Spock had been using his time in the labs to make jewelry, but he finally managed to snap out of it enough to look to Spock for some explanation, confusion stark on his face. "You made a…bracelet?"

Spock was looking a bit green around the ears. "Indeed. Jim, I… I do not believe I ever thanked you for your actions the day we met. If not for you, many more of my people may not have escaped, including the entirety of my immediate clan, with whom I have bonds. And afterwards, now, you have done much to make me feel at home and welcome on the Enterprise. Such a debt…it is beyond repayment, and this is not an attempt at such. But you have also given me the gift of your friendship, a gift I cherish beyond any other I have received."

A faint roaring filled Jim's ears, and everything in him clenched up in denial of Spock's praise, as it always did. But at the same time, he had to look down to hide the reluctant beginnings of a bashful smile. Even if he had no idea what was happening or what any of this had to do with Spock's "personal matter" or the box in his hands. Spock cherished him. Or, well, their friendship anyway.

"There is no material object in the known universe that could accurately convey my gratitude and regard, and this must seem paltry compared to the gifts you have recently given me, but I am hoping that at least the content of my sentiment is communicated if not the depth."

Jim — still trying to process what Spock was saying as it butted up against his self-worth issues — looked up just as Spock tugged a voluminous sleeve down to display his left wrist. He was wearing another bracelet with the same designs as the one Jim held, only the metals had been inverted in their decoration. A matching pair.

"I was informed of a somewhat old tradition wherein hand-made, matching bracelets are worn by close friends, and have done my best to reproduce it. That one is yours."

Eyes wide, Jim stopped breathing as he stared.

This couldn't possibly be happening. There was no way. Because holy shit, Spock had… Spock had made them friendship bracelets. Jim's throat felt too tight, his chest swirling with an overwhelming mess of fond amusement and gratitude and love. This had to be the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for him, and the fact that Spock didn't have a complete grasp of the "tradition" made it even more endearing. Jim thought he'd burst from such an excess of emotion.

An irrepressible smile overtook his face, and his eyes were tearing up against his wishes. With reverent fingers, he lifted his bracelet from the box to get a closer look, surprised to find it heavier than he was expecting. "Spock, this is definitely not 'paltry.' It's beautiful. You made them yourself?" He ran his thumb over the designs that ran almost flush along the outside of the band and were mostly comprised of a blue stone that reminded him of lapis lazuli but was too light in color.

"I did, though it did not take me long to complete them. Per my readings on the matter, I attempted to craft and assemble as much of it by hand as possible. However, as they are not simple pieces of jewelry, there were times when I had to rely on machinery." Before Jim could ask what he meant, Spock was holding up his wrist in demonstration. "They are directly paired with one another for the purpose of communication, meaning that very little will be able to interfere with the connection."

He pressed on the centerpiece of the design, which looked like a two ring target, and a small holo screen appeared in the air above it. "They support both voice and text-based messaging," he said as he typed something short on the intangible keyboard and hit send.

The bracelet in Jim's hand started glowing around the edges of the blue stones, and when he pressed the same spot Spock had, the word "test" was on the screen that appeared. None of the actual technology was new, but it was still impressive that he'd made it mostly by hand without detracting from the beauty or form of the bracelet.

"They can also alert the other if one of us has been seriously injured and serve as homing devices if one of us goes missing, assuming we are able to retain them on our person in such a situation." Here, he swiped through the holo so it changed to the monitoring screen.

Jim's grin was starting to hurt his face. Of course Spock would make sure that any present he gave served some sort of practical purpose as well. Being able to talk to Spock on missions, even through inconvenient ion storms, was a gift in and of itself.

"Mine does little more than that," Spock continued. "Yours, however, has several other capabilities. It can act as a specialized tricorder, and scan any food or drink you come into contact with for potential allergens in the case that Dr. McCoy is unavailable. It is also programmed to make predictions based on your known allergies as to the probability that something unknown will induce a reaction."

Holy shit. The level of thoughtfulness and concern that had gone into this… His grin fading as he tried to keep himself from flat-out crying, Jim stared at Spock for a few seconds before looking down at the bracelet in his hands. "Spock... I…"

He couldn't think of a thing to say to finish his thought, so silence thickened the air in the room for a brief moment. Spock cut it abruptly, his words coming just a hair faster than their usual, steady pace. It was as if he had planned out exactly what he wanted to say in bullet points, and wanted to make sure he got through them all.

(What was Jim thinking. Of course that's what Spock had done.)

"The stones are of Vulcan, called faugen. These in particular were taken from a childhood possession no longer suited for wear." He glanced at Jim, then away again. "It was my intention to create an appropriate representation of the importance of our friendship and, through it, the joining of our cultures."

Give Jim a fight or a tense negotiation, and he was in his element. Confrontation might as well be his middle name. But when it came to the emotional sort, even when nothing bad was happening, he floundered. Just a little kid again, learning how to swim. No muscle memory to save him from too many mouthfuls of pool water.

To distract from the tears now streaking his face, he fumbled to put the bracelet on his left wrist with clumsy hands, sniffling. The hinged clasps on the bottom refused to cooperate, so now he looked even more like a dumbass. Great. Who the fuck cried over presents? Weren't you supposed to be all happy and grinning and shit? And thanking was definitely supposed to happen, not awkwardly falling silent and ignoring such a nice speech and… and…

After a few failed attempts, another pair of hands entered his blurred line of sight.

"…Jim? Should I assist you?"

Jim's first instinct was to say 'no,' his vulnerability making him defensive. But he clearly wasn't having any luck in this state, and at this point, why should he give a fuck about his dignity. Even if it was still on this plane of existence, he really doubted Spock was judging him.

At his nod, Spock's graceful fingers steadied the bracelet and hooked and snapped the clasp so that it tightened into place with two smooth motions. All without brushing against skin.

Of course, it fit perfectly despite not being adjustable, remaining just above the wrist so as not to impede movement. He could see himself forgetting he was even wearing it.

"Is it…to your satisfaction?"

Jim looked up through his wet eyes and found a very nervous and uncertain-looking Spock clenching his hands in his lap. Which was ridiculous, because obviously this was the best present anyone had ever gotten, only Jim couldn't stop sniffling as the tears kept coming, so he couldn't get out any of the words that were building up behind his sternum.

Too overcome to think, Jim acted on impulse and did the one thing he'd promised himself he'd never do: he hugged Spock.

Not just a quick back-pat or side hug, either. We're talking a full-on, rib-crushing sort of hug (not that his puny human arms would do any damage). The kind you gave a loved one after not seeing them for a year. Which he guessed wasn't entirely inaccurate, since that's about how long he'd wanted to hug Spock and hadn't been allowed to.

Fuck. And he still wasn't.

Just a couple seconds into the one-sided embrace, Jim froze, then released the fists he'd made in Spock's robes like he'd just wrapped himself around a bear. Which, close enough. "Shit, I'm sorr –"

Most of the breath was forced from his lungs when Spock's arms came around him in definitely the fiercest embrace he'd ever received outside of a fight. Or Spock was trying to kill him. It was hard to say. But there were worse ways to go.

After some shocked hesitation, Jim hugged him back as tightly as he could manage while twisted on a couch. There was no way this wasn't a one-time deal, so he'd be damned if he didn't take full advantage of it while he could, and not just because he honestly couldn't remember the last time anyone had given him a real hug. It had probably been Bones, when he was drunk.

The sensation of Spock's hard, lean muscle in his arms and pressed against his chest was…bliss. And he'd always thought Spock smelled great – a bit like incense and ozone – but up close, it was even better. His willpower wasn't strong enough to keep him from dropping his wet face onto Spock's shoulder so he could breathe him in. Which was still a bit difficult to do what with Spock's vice grip around his ribs, but Jim could not care less, especially with his brain going all fuzzy and euphoric like it did when Bones gave him the good painkillers.

He had to swallow several times before he could get out at least the most important thing he'd been trying to say, though he wasn't able to manage the Vulkhansu he'd originally intended.

"Thank you." For allowing him this much contact, for the bracelet, for his friendship, for…everything. All bundled up in two words that felt too small for the magnitude of this feeling that wasn't simple at all. The fabric beneath his face was damp now, and he hoped the dark color would hide any tear stains.

And was that Spock's head leaning lightly against his? He drew a short breath and held very still, so as not to discourage him.

"Thanks are unnecessary, Jim."

That low voice made soft and close had Jim trying and failing to fight a shiver. Crap. His thoughts were trying to go to places they definitely shouldn't go (like wanting to kiss him), and he couldn't afford for Spock to pick up on them. So he cleared his throat and gave Spock one last squeeze before pulling away.

Or trying to. For a moment, he was held captive, no give in Spock's arms, before Spock caught up to Jim's intent and slowly released him. As soon as the last point of contact disappeared, Jim had to suppress another shiver, this time from the awful cold that engulfed him despite the warmth of the room. The grief of knowing he'd never hold Spock like that again hit him hard in the wake of knowing what it felt like. Good thing he was already crying, though he redoubled his efforts to subdue it.

The air between them felt thick and heavy and strange, and after brief eye contact where Jim smiled reflexively and Spock didn't, their gazes fell away. After wiping the moisture from his eyes, Jim looked down at the bracelet on his wrist as he fiddled with it, once again feeling too-full at the sight of it.

"Really though, thank you. It's beautiful and perfect and by far the best gift anyone has ever given me. 'Satisfactory' doesn't even begin to cover it." His eyes were burning again, and he took a deep breath in an attempt to keep more tears at bay. No more fucking crying, dammit.

"Dor-tor du nash-veh." You honor me. After a long, pregnant pause, Spock swallowed just audibly, which snagged Jim's attention. "Jim…there is something else I must tell you."

Hope was a cruel, vicious thing that flared bright in his chest for barely a moment before he ruthlessly snuffed it out.

He cleared his throat to ease the hoarseness. "…Okay?"

Spock sat straighter and took a breath, seeming to brace himself. "We are telansu."

Confusion subsumed any last traces of hope, and he blinked at Spock. They'd already established they were friends, and while it was really nice to hear that Spock also considered him the kind of friend who was actual family in Vulcan culture, Spock's trepidation didn't match that revelation. "Oh. Um, ok… I mean, I'm completely on board with that, but why do you look like you just told me you killed my dog?"

Spock's jaw twitched, and he settled his gaze just over Jim's shoulder. "You misunderstand. We are not telansu in merely name. We share the beginnings of a mental link. A bond. That is what McCoy's scans detected."

That took more seconds to sink in than Jim would like to admit. And when it did, his momentary joy and excitement was crushed under the heel of his terror, all the warm feelings from earlier abandoning him. He paled rapidly enough that he was dizzy for a moment, and he had to catch himself on the cushion next to him.

"We… You…" He felt a bit ill. "A mental link? As in…you can see into my head?"

Spock's face had become expressionless, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. "Not at present. As it formed spontaneously, it is still at a preliminary stage, and not strong enough to enable more than surface, emotional insight without skin contact. And even if it were, I would never violate your privacy in such a manner. I have been blocking the bond since its discovery nearly two days ago."

The situation was triggering Jim's fight or flight response, but he was James T. Kirk, starship captain. So instead of outwardly panicking, he went calm and still, his mind sharpening into focus even with his heart racing in his ears.

"So you haven't been able to read anything from me."

Spock swallowed. "…That is an incomplete assessment. Only strong negative emotions are capable of overcoming a block in such a manner. It is postulated that this developed as an evolutionary advantage for a telepathic society such as ours, so that those who were suffering would be offered aid when they were in no state to request it. This was the case with the anxiety you experienced yesterday."

It was an over-explanation – the Vulcan version of babbling – something that Jim had noticed Spock only did when he was nervous or excited. In this situation, he was going to bet on the former.

Jim's initial relief to know that Spock hadn't found out about…anything, was short-lived as he considered the fact that Spock had known about this for two days and hadn't said a thing until after giving his gift.

Jim stood abruptly and took a few steps toward the desk before turning back to face Spock again, his arms folded over his chest to hide the tremble in his hands. Hard metal pressing against his arm made him aware of the bracelet still around his wrist. "Right. Okay. And why did you wait so long to tell me about it?"

Spock could have easily been mistaken for a statue, and there was a long, obvious hesitation before his reply. "I apologize. Perhaps I should have told you at the first opportunity but I…wished to demonstrate how much your friendship means to me in a human manner before revealing the Vulcan manifestation, so that my feelings on the subject would be communicated clearly."

Jim continued to keep his voice careful and measured, calm, despite the trauma-response expanding in the back of his head. "So that's why you made these? Because of the bond?"

Blinking, Spock opened his mouth, then closed it again. In any other situation, Jim would be picking a fight with whatever or whoever had put that lost expression on his face, but not now. Self-defense and survival were ruling his brain, threatening to push him into a lash-out sort of anger born of fear. The weight of the bracelet, ironically, was the thing keeping him from spiraling completely into his past, into blind suspicion and assumptions. Too many times already, he'd been manipulated and used by those he'd come to trust, and the brain is very stubborn in its expectations of a pattern.

….the governor smiled at him, all teeth, told him what a fine student he was, that he was going places…a special scholarship that would allow him to enter the colony's most prestigious academic track…pride, he fell for it, desperate for validation, for a challenge…"Kodos's pet" said other kids, just jealous, wished they could be in his place…more gifts, more praise (lies, lies)…everything he dreamed at first...then the testing, the experiments, more and more invasive….headaches…screaming…isolation…hearing of famine second hand.…

No. Stop it. He wasn't there, this wasn't the same. Was it? It wasn't. Just his trauma, making matches that weren't there. Right? But maybe wrong. Maybe the warning was valid, trying to protect him. Maybe…maybe…

"I…" Spock blinked again and swallowed. His tone was stilted and careful, as if he wasn't sure of the conversation's subtext but had caught onto the fact that what he said next was very important. "…No. The discovery of our bond occurred after I had already begun working on them. I made them in response to you learning Vulkhansu, after consulting with Dr. McCoy. Learning of the bond merely influenced the timing."

Jim's jaw was starting to ache with tension, and he tried very, very hard to think clearly about this. He'd promised himself long ago that he'd never let anyone manipulate him ever again, but he was also terrified of seeing threats that weren't there and pushing away and hurting someone who didn't deserve it. The fact that this was someone he loved made everything murkier, not clearer.

….threatening to tell Mom about the beating…Frank feigning confusion and concern…gaslighting him, half-convincing him he'd dreamed it, that the bruises were from something else…Mom denying it too, refusing to believe him…they were his parents, so maybe they were right…maybe he couldn't trust himself…

Jim blinked and dug his nails into his arm in an attempt to get rid of the ghost images playing out behind his eyes, to keep himself Here. "Timing. Right. So I take it that this bond, it's something you want to keep? Hence the accompanying present? Whether or not that's why you made it, it's still how you've used it." There was only a slight shake in his voice, his fists clenching and unclenching as he studied Spock's face.

Brow furrowing, Spock flinched back, his mouth opening and closing again. But the protest slowly faded from his face, his gaze dropping to the floor as he thought. It was quiet for an unbearably long minute or so before he looked back up, voice low and rough when he spoke. "…You are correct. It is true that I wish to keep the bond, and though it was not my conscious intention to influence you against your will, my actions have still been…coercive and selfish, born of fear. The majority of psi-null individuals find such connections distasteful in practice. It was logical to expect the same of you. But that is no excuse for my deception." Shame clouded Spock's features as he looked down at his hands clenched in his lap. "You have already been exposed to unforgivable betrayals of trust, and I am…appalled that I have now added to their number. I am…so very sorry, Jim. Please know that you have no obligation to agree to keep the bond, and the bracelet — as well as my friendship — will still be yours if you refuse. I…will understand if that is the case."

Shock cut the strings on Jim's tension, his shoulders going slack as he stared at Spock. Up until now, Jim had been walking a well-worn path of defensive anger, one that came with certain expectations: excuses, gas-lighting, anger in return. But not sincere remorse and self-reflection, without even an underlying expectation of forgiveness. It took him off-script, leaving him unsure how to feel or react. It didn't help that his guard hadn't completely come down, an anxious, cynical voice whispering in his ear that Spock didn't mean it. That it was just more, elaborate manipulations. Spock was smart enough for it, after all. Smarter than Kodos for sure…

But that…that didn't sound quite right, did it?

Jim had been here before, in situations where he couldn't think past the clamor of his trauma. He'd learned the hard way not to make decisions when his head was like this, no matter how right they seemed at the time. So, unable to trust his own thoughts just then, he latched onto the procedure he'd established for himself, one which he knew to be trustworthy outside of this moment. This was the first time he'd ever had to use it for someone other than Bones.

Forcing his feet to stop their mindless pacing, Jim took a few deep breaths before turning to face Spock, who still sat hunched on the couch and staring down at his hands. Jim fixed his eyes on the wall behind him.

"This is too much for me to process right now," he said, reciting from the script in his head and hoping his voice wasn't shaking too much. "It's reminding me of a past trauma, and I can't think around that. So I'm going to go to my room to calm down, and we can continue this discussion later."

Though he wasn't looking directly at Spock, he saw his hesitation, the way his mouth opened as if to argue. But then Spock changed his mind and merely nodded.

Jim didn't wait another second to head toward the fresher at a careful walk that felt like running. The beginnings of a killer headache crept into the base of his skull as soon as he was back in his own quarters. After grabbing a hypo from his cabinet, he gathered a fresh set of workout clothes. For this, he was going to need his brand of meditation.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Notes: *hides* don't kill me! ;_;

Also, don't worry guys, he's not running away, okay, he's a space captain, it's called a "tactical retreat." They'll talk more next chapter, where we will be switching to Spock.