A/N: Again, thank you all so much for the reviews. Almost all of the feedback I've gotten for this fic has been unabashedly positive, and I am very grateful. I'm sorry (as always) for the delay on this chapter; I've been having some computer problems and haven't really wanted to deal with maneuvering websites too much.
x
Sevin is a quick learner. After only two weeks of study, he is already beginning to gain true skill at the game of chess, and an insight not usually seen in children his age, or in such new players. Spock could still easily beat him, of course, but he doesn't. He lets Sevin win, and takes pleasure from the joy on his son's face as he sees the way to victory.
"Can we play again, Father?" Sevin asks, afterwards. Spock does not know what to say. In the past, he would have had to tell his son that, unfortunately, he had work to do and he could not put it off any longer, and perhaps promise him another game later in the evening. But recently he has been bombarded again and again with his own free time: hardly bored, his hours filled with the necessary tasks of parenthood, but his time no longer filled to overflowing as it had been as a student, or as a first year professor. Sometimes he forgets that he does not have still a dozen tasks left to do before the day ends.
"I like that you're around more," Sevin says now, casually, as he picks up one of the pawns from the side of the board and twists it idly between his fingers. "Like, I don't have to worry about interrupting you so much. And you can teach me chess, and read books with me. And that sort of thing," he adds the last awkwardly, unsure of his confession, and Spock starts setting up the board again, moving the pieces back to the starting level silently.
"When are you going back to work?" Sevin asks. Spock knows his son is watching him with his clear blue eyes.
"I am not sure," Spock responds. "I am officially on leave of absence until the end of the summer, and then I will have to make an important decision."
Sevin nods, and hands his father the pawn he was holding. "I like living in San Francisco," he says. Spock knows this is no random statement, but a carefully placed argument, its meaning clear even if easily denied.
"Your grandfather often comments on its weather," Spock answers. "I believe he finds it too humid, and its rains too frequent."
"I know," Sevin smiles, "he's always complaining about it. It's funny how he tries to pretend he's not whining. Father," he continues after a moment, the smile fading from his face, and his voice a bit nervous, a bit tense, "is it true that the Vulcans are really going to move to a new planet?"
Spock looks up, the white Queen still in his hand. His son seems oddly worried, ill at ease. "They must, Sevin," he reminds him. "Our planet is gone."
"I know," he answers, "but I was just thinking, maybe they could move to Earth, like we did. Or some other planet. The new planet…it's not going to be the same."
"You are right, of course," Spock says. "The new colony will not be a replica of the old world. But it is the only true option available to our people. Even if it were possible for all of the survivors to move to Earth permanently, we would not survive here, not culturally. We would come to blend with the Terran people, until no one could tell us apart from them. Do you understand what I am trying to explain, Sevin?"
He nods, but his brow is furrowed. "I suppose," he says slowly. "It's just…you've always told me that we are Vulcans, even though we live on Earth. If it can be like that for us, why can't it be like that for everyone?"
For a moment, Spock does not know how to answer. Then he leans forward in his chair and says carefully, "We have been able to remain Vulcans, even far from home, because we had a home to which we could return. Perhaps someday you will wish to live among Vulcans, in a place where being Vulcan does not mean being a guest."
"I guess," Sevin answers, but he only sounds half convinced.
Spock sits back again. "Do you still wish to play another game of chess?"
"Yeah," Sevin answers, and though he sounds sad, Spock watches as he pulls himself up. "Don't let me win this time!" he smiles. "It's not fair."
Spock is just about to insist that he did no such thing when he hears their doorbell buzz, and he looks curiously over his shoulder. "Excuse me," he tells his son, "I will return momentarily." He does not get many uninvited visitors, and even Nyota, the only person he can imagine stopping by unannounced, is busy most days at this hour taking additional linguistics courses at the Academy. He can only assume that the person behind the door has come to see his father.
But when he opens the door it reveals, not a Vulcan Elder or Embassy representative wishing to speak to the Ambassador, but Cadet Kirk. He's standing there in his civilian clothes, leaning with one hand at the top of the doorframe, his whole body at an angle, as if he's been waiting forever for Spock to answer and he's too bored even to hold his own weight anymore. He looks up as if startled. "Oh, hi, Spock," he says. "You having a good afternoon?"
He sounds so completely at ease that Spock wants to slide the door shut in his face.
"I am having a quite ordinary afternoon, Cadet," he answers. "Is there any reason you have come to my home? Should I assume this is a social visit?"
"First of all," Kirk answers, rearranging his posture so that he is standing straight, arms crossed, and one hand out to gesture the appropriate numbers, "we're not in uniform, so you can call me Jim. And second of all, no, I'm not here for a social visit. This is pure business." He looks quite proud of himself, and Spock feels at a loss. What to say? How to arrange himself, how to act, when his two worlds, his Starfleet life and his home life, meet in such a way? How to react to Kirk in his own apartment, Sevin in the very next room?
"Um," Kirk says, a bit confused himself that his confident bluster has had no effect, "so, can I come in?"
"Father?" a voice comes, at that moment, from behind him. "Who is at the door?"
He turns around and Kirk leans to the side to see over Spock's shoulder, and so they both see him at the same time, the curious seven year old boy standing in the doorway between the entranceway and the living room. Spock glances quickly at Kirk. He's raised his eyebrows in surprise, eyes a little wider than usual, and he's half stepped forward in his craning, over the threshold. Spock speaks quickly, before anyone else can manage a word. "This is Cadet Kirk. He is a student at the Academy, and he captained the Enterprise during its latest voyage—during," he adds, not sure if he should, "The Tragedy. Cadet Kirk," he continues, turning now to his visitor, who still stands undecided in the doorway, "this is my son, Sevin."
"Sevin, huh?" Kirk answers. He's hidden his surprise passably behind a friendly smile, and Spock watches, chest tight, breath held, as Sevin's dad steps fully into the room and kneels down to child's height range. "I don't know if you remember, but we met once before, a couple years ago. You were in the park with your babysitter."
"I remember," Sevin says. Spock watches his son almost as closely as he watches their visitor. He is wary, a bit nervous; Sevin has always been shy around strangers, opening up to them only after some consideration, and he is particularly ill at ease to find an unknown person in his own apartment. "You really liked Margaret. I remember that."
Spock is about to apologize for his son's forthrightness, but Kirk just laughs lightly. "Yeah," he says, "I enjoyed our conversation. I also enjoyed meeting you. I didn't know you were Spock's son. He and I worked on the Enterprise together."
"I know," Sevin answers. He is standing awkwardly, fidgeting and glancing often up at Spock, unsure what to do. "You're both in Starfleet. Father, why is he here?"
Now they are both staring up at him, Sevin with unease and curiosity, and Kirk with a slightly apologetic look, perhaps embarrassed. Spock clears his throat. "I apologize for my son's behavior," he tells the Cadet. "He often becomes nervous when he meets new people. In addition, he has been experiencing recent stresses—"
"No apologies necessary, Spock," Kirk insists, standing again and returning his attention to the other adult. "If you'd prefer, I can come back…"
For a moment, Spock simply stares at him, and in his mind are only questions, vague observations, confusion. Kirk has lost the easy, confident attitude Spock saw when he opened the door; he has been rattled, and his posture shows it as well as his voice. The thought that Kirk has met Sevin before, however briefly, is a strange one, but he puts it aside out of necessity. The man he sees in front of him now, a bit out of place, a bit unsure, and trying, certainly, to get along with his son, affects Spock more than did the previous show.
"That is not necessary," he says, finally, then turns back again to his son. "Sevin, Cadet Kirk and I have a few matters to discuss. Would you mind if we postponed our game for a few minutes?"
Sevin makes a show of thinking, twisting and twitching his mouth, and looking at Kirk out of the corner of his eye. "Okaaaay," he agrees finally. Then he looks at Jim again, a wary, nervous look, and adds, "Just a few minutes, though," and disappears again into the living room.
"I hope you were not intending to have a long conversation," Spock says lightly, then, and starts to lead Kirk into the kitchen. He does not look at him, only listens to his footsteps following Spock's. He does not want to talk about Sevin. He will converse on any topic Kirk brings up but he does not want to talk about the one thing he knows Kirk will now want to discuss.
"No," he hears Kirk answer, "That is—I mean—" He sounds flustered, the last thing Spock was expecting. It does not suit him well, and Spock gets the distinct impression that this Cadet is not used to being at such a loss for words. "Look," he says finally, leaning back against Spock's countertop as if defeated, "I should be apologizing. I didn't mean to upset your kid—"
"There was nothing inappropriate in your actions," Spock insists. "It was my son, as I said earlier, who was acting impolitely."
Kirk does not answer this directly, only tilts his gaze down to his shoes, rubs the back of his neck with one hand, shifts his balance from one foot to the other. "I wasn't aware," he says quietly, "that…uh, that you were a father."
"It is not a secret," Spock replies, "though it is true that I try to keep my family life private." He considers sitting, and inviting his guest to sit as well, because standing like this in the middle of his kitchen makes him feel even more ill at ease than the conversation does, but he does not want to imply that he expects the visit to be a long one. When Kirk does not offer any more comment, he asks, "Was there something you wished to say to me?"
"Yeah," Kirk answers slowly. He seems forgetful, distracted, and, without asking Spock's permission, he sinks into one of the kitchen chairs. He looks down at the tabletop for several minutes. Then he tilts his head back and looks Spock in the eye and asks, quite bluntly, "How would you like to be my First Officer?"
Spock sits down. For a few moments, he is silent. He should not be surprised that Kirk is in the position to make this offer: Kirk has few personal reasons to visit him, and the rumor that he would be chosen to take over the Enterprise on her next mission has been prevalent. Even Admiral Pike gave him a recommendation. Still, Spock does not know what to say.
"You have been offered the position of Captain, then?" he asks instead.
"Yeah," Kirk says, and he has a bit of a grin on his face, proud and embarrassed at his pride. "I just got the news this morning. It doesn't become official until the end of the summer, of course—I have to actually graduate first—but…" He shrugs, still smiling that almost-grin, and Spock wishes he could be annoyed at the expression on that face, but he's not.
"And your first act as appointee was to come to my apartment and ask me to be your First Officer?" Spock raises one eyebrow slightly.
"I would have come to your office hours, but you don't seem to be keeping them anymore."
"I am on leave."
"I know."
Spock rests his hands on the table, one neatly on top of the other. He stares at Cadet Kirk, future Captain Kirk, and how odd that title sounds to his ears, and Kirk stares back at him, waiting, still. Spock notices that Kirk, sitting across from him, has mirrored his position. "And you could not wait," Spock asks finally, "for me to return to Starfleet before you offered me such a position?"
"Well, here's the thing, Spock," Kirk answers, and leans forward with his elbows on the table, arms crossed. He moves slowly, and his voice drops slightly, as if he were sharing a secret. "I've heard rumors that you're thinking of leaving Starfleet. It seemed like I had to take my opportunity while I still had it."
Spock furrows his brow into a light frown and says, "I hope you do not think that your offer would convince me to change my mind, if it had been made up to leave Starfleet."
Kirk shrugs and tries to smile, play Spock's comment off as a joke. "Well, I thought it couldn't hurt. Anyway," he tilts his head to just the right angle to meet Spock's eyes, slightly downturned, "you haven't made up your mind yet, have you?"
He hasn't. He asks himself the question every day but finds he can twist logic to justify every response, and when he tries to clear his mind and commit himself to traveling, as his counterpart directed, the path that 'feels right,' he finds himself muddled, confused. He admits, quietly, that he is still contemplating the matter.
"Still contemplating," Kirk repeats, and nods his head. "Spock, I don't want to beg—and I won't, because I don't think it would be a positive start to my captaining career, but…we were a pretty amazing team out there. I came over here as soon as I heard about this Captain thing, before I did anything else or recruited anyone else, because there is no doubt in my mind that you are who I need for this position. I mean," and he tries to smile again, and Spock finds he cannot look at his smile, "do you really think I can fly into space without you, Spock? I'd be insane to try."
Spock tilts his head down farther and stares at his hands. "I appreciate your candid nature." He says the words in a low voice, and though they come out steady and clear, they sound awkward to his own ears. He has had many experiences with humans over the last five years, has studied with them and worked with them and even made a few friends among them, but this is an honesty beyond even that to which he has taught himself to become accustomed. He is at an utter loss. He wonders if Kirk will find him rude, because of his silence, or if he will decide that Spock is too inhuman to ever function on a ship that will be staffed mostly by people from Earth. He wonders if it would be a bad idea to accept the offer even if, and he must consider the possibility, it is what he truly wants, the closest thing to a right path that he can feel out. Images of the Narada flash through his mind, the Romulans, the phaser fire, the Jellyfish. They were a good team. His counterpart had predicted that they could be a legendary team.
Kirk puts his hands flat in front of him on the table, as if he were about to push himself back and stand up, and sighs. "Would you at least think about it?" he asks.
Spock nods, almost imperceptibly, but even though Kirk seems to be looking down at the tabletop his eyes are secretly on Spock, and Spock notices. "I will consider your offer," he promises. "I hope you understand, however, that my situation is a complex one, and not simply because my people are facing such an unprecedented crisis."
He watches as Kirk glances, a lingering glance, unsubtle, unplanned, toward the back of the apartment again. "I…" he starts, then falters, and turns back to Spock again. "You know, Spock I can't imagine what it must be like for you. I know that. I don't have children, and I…" He waves one hand, dismisses the thought that he can't say. "So I won't make another pitch to you."
Spock waits, knows this formula well and waits. Pike used it too, and Nyota, in her own arguments; there is always a however. But Kirk does not say anything more. He just sits there, and stares, as if he is processing some particularly difficult to grasp piece of information, or making a complicated plan.
"If there is nothing else, I did promise my son a game of chess shortly," Spock prompts him, after several moments.
"Oh," Kirk shakes himself out of his trance, and this time does push his chair away and stand. "Of course. I'll go." He starts to turn, then turns back. "One more thing. As Captain of the Enterprise, I'm officially in charge of all of the plans for her repair, for choosing her crew, and for getting her ready for her next mission. It's…well it's the last thing I expected to be doing with my summer."
"I would imagine it is not," Spock answers. He has stood up too and is standing on the far side of the table from his guest, his hands behind his back. "Do you have a reason for telling me this story, Mr. Kirk?" He cannot bring himself, yet, to call this man a Captain.
Kirk dips his head and seems about to correct him on the name, but then changes his mind, saying instead only, "Just that I could use all the help I can get. In fact, I could use your help in particular."
"There are many qualified, talented members of Starfleet who would be equally able to undertake this project with you."
"Of course there are. But I'd like to work with you."
He makes no further argument, puts forth no further case, just leaves Spock with that simple thought, that straightforward want, and adds that if Spock wishes to 'take him up on it,' he knows where to find him. Spock sees him to the door. Just as Kirk is about to step over the threshold, he stops, pauses as if there were one more thing he needed to say, and though Spock is strongly curious, he does not press, and Kirk does not find the words he is looking for. "See you around, Spock," he says, as he goes.
"What did that man want?" Sevin asks, later, as Spock is setting up the last of their chess pieces.
"Mr. Kirk will be captaining the Enterprise, Captain Pike's former ship, when she begins her next mission," Spock answers. Sevin knows Pike, if only in a cursory way as a man his father works with. He once described Pike as "large," though Spock himself is taller, and seems more fascinated with the man when he is speaking to Spock in his authoritative, command tones, than when Pike is attempting to relate to Sevin as a child, his voice softened and his sentences shortened, his smile wider. For Sevin, he is an imposing, though not a frightening, figure. The boy has not yet seen Admiral Pike in a wheelchair, and though Spock has told him the news, he seems hardly to believe it, asking questions about how soon Pike will walk again, and when he will fly around in space again.
"Are you going with him?" Sevin asks, his tone lightly curious, before Spock can continue. "Is that what he wanted?"
"Yes. He came to request that I serve with him as his First Officer."
Sevin nods, but Spock knows he does not understand, really, what such a position entails, the responsibility and the honor of it, the rarity of someone of Spock's age and experience gaining such a post. He is not aware, either, of his father's inner debate. He is looking, now, not at Spock nor at the chess board but out into the distance, not really seeing at all but thinking, considering, imagining.
"If you decide to go," he says, and moves his first piece, "maybe this time I can come with you."
x
Jim comes home to find Bones sitting on the couch, reading one of his medical journals, and totally oblivious to his roommate. Jim falls down into the cushions on the other end of the couch and sighs in a loud, but he would say not too dramatic fashion, and lets his arms drop heavily to his sides. He glances over at Bones to see his response. Nothing. He is not even a little curious, or at least, he's not willing to show it. Jim pulls himself up so he's sitting properly, back straight against the back of the couch, and one hand playing with the loose threads at the arm, and opens his mouth to tell Bones about it anyway, when he's interrupted.
"I told you he would say no. It's too soon to go asking him questions like that."
"Hey, he didn't say no," Jim corrects, a bit sharply.
This time, Bones looks up from his reading, and even raises an eyebrow. "He didn't?"
"Well, he didn't say yes either," Jim admits. "But I think he's interested. I think he'll at least take me up on my offer to work together this summer, though." He tries to inject some true optimism into his voice here, but Bones doesn't seem to be buying it. He sets his PADD down on the coffee table in front of the couch.
"He agreed to the summer work?" he asks.
"Well…no, not officially. But I think he was interested. And once he sees how well we work together, and how important he is to this ship even getting off the ground, let alone fulfilling its mission, he'll want to sign on as First Officer."
"And how well do you think you two will work together, really?" Bones questions, turning halfway where he's sitting to give Jim more of his attention. "All the two of you could do when we were up against the Narada was argue. Then he marooned you on an ice planet and you retaliated by goading him into almost killing you and then taking his position as Captain. Maybe he's right to want a position somewhere else."
"He doesn't 'want a position somewhere else,' Bones. He wants to leave Starfleet altogether."
Bones doesn't even blink at this news, a rumor he's heard before himself. "Well, maybe Vulcan needs him," he says quietly.
"Yeah, and maybe I need him!" Jim snaps in return. He didn't expect to hear the emotion that he hears in his own voice. There is a moment of tense silence, Bones just staring at him, waiting, and then Jim sighs deeply and lets his body relax. "You have a selective memory," he says, calmly now. "We didn't just disagree. When it really came down to it, he had my back. There were a couple times, even when we were on the Enterprisebut especially when we were on the Narada, that I could swear I felt a connection with him. It's hard to explain… Laugh if you want, Bones, but it's true."
Bones isn't laughing. He's only sitting, quietly considering, a slight frown on his face. "I don't know about this, Jim," he says after a few moments. "I agree that Spock is a good Officer, but he certainly has his share of negative qualities."
"Oh, believe me, I know," Jim answers, "I know. That meeting I had with him might have been the most frustrating conversation I've ever had. I really put myself out there, again and again, but he never gave anything back. It was like talking to a wall sometimes, you know?"
"Hmmm," Bones says lowly in response, almost a grunt, disapproval and consideration both. "I know," he mutters.
"I want to be optimistic about it," Jim continues. He speaks as if thinking aloud, his voice rising and falling with his shifting thoughts and his own arguments and counterarguments. "I need to be. I need this to work. I think Pike must have been crazy to give me this position. Being a Captain in an emergency is one thing; you just think with your gut and do what you have to do and…you're there. But the rest of it, this day to day stuff, organizing and planning and putting everything together… Maybe if I had ten years or so in Starfleet to learn everything and gain experience, but I don't."
"You do know that Spock only graduated a couple of years ago himself, don't you?" Bones reminds him. "He's not exactly what you'd call an experienced First Officer."
"I know," Jim answers, though Spock speaks with such authority, carries himself in such a way, and is just generally so…sure of himself, that sometimes Jim forgets that, in Starfleet terms, compared with men and women with decades of experience, he is barely more qualified than Jim himself to lead a flagship's crew. From where he's sitting though, a four year degree earned without any rush and a one year training mission in space seem like infinite knowledge and experience. "It's not about that, though," he goes on. "It's about going with my gut feeling because I trust it more than anything else. My instinct is saying I need Spock on that ship with me. So I need to push it. Somehow."
He pauses, and suddenly he's thinking about that little boy again, can almost see him standing in front of him. The thought of asking Spock to leave that little kid behind makes his stomach do flips. There's no easy answer here, no quick solution.
He glances over at Bones, as if his friend could read his thoughts, could offer his advice on this unasked question simply by looking at Jim's face. But Bones only sighs, and lifts his shoulders in the smallest of shrugs. "Your gut hasn't led you astray yet," he admits, "but you might want to use your brain too."
"Ha," Jim laughs, an unnatural short laugh. He doesn't mean it. "Sure." He changes the subject quickly, this conversation he started having led him somewhere confusing and uncertain; he stands up and walks toward the kitchen. "I'm going to make some coffee." Bones doesn't answer, only mutters something unintelligible and picks up his reading again.
At the doorway, Jim pauses. He turns. If he hesitates before he asks, he knows, he won't.
"Did you know Spock has a kid?"
This catches Bones's attention fast: his head jerks up and he all but drops his PADD to the floor, catching it only just before it escapes his reach. He stumbles over his words as he tries to hide this break in his composure, and as a consequence only seems the more flustered, the more caught off guard by Jim's announcement. "Wh-what? What did you say?"
Usually this would be funny, but Jim doesn't laugh, just crosses his arms against his chest and shrugs, as if it were quite normal. "Spock," he says. "He has a son. I'd say about…seven, eight years old. He's cute."
"And you met this kid?" Bones asks. He sounds like he's still waiting for Jim to admit it's all one massive joke.
"He was at the apartment when I came over."
For a few moments, Bones doesn't answer, doesn't look like he even could answer if he wanted to. He's staring in a wide eyed, utterly stunned manner, and Jim just knows he's trying to imagine what a Spock child would look like—probably like the father, but smaller. "And you didn't ask him where this kid came from?" he asks, still so incredulous Jim almost takes his question as an accusation of kidnapping, or perhaps of hallucination.
His only response is to laugh once, without humor, and insist, "Bones, I hardly need Spock to explain the birds and the bees to me."
"You know what I mean," Bones grumbles.
"I do know what you mean. And it's none of our business where that boy 'came from.' Maybe his mother didn't want him. Maybe she's dead." He doesn't particularly mean for his voice to sound as hard, as harsh, as chastising as it does. He felt enough of the same curiosity that Bones must feel now to forgive it. Still, he remembers that four year old in the park who knew no sadness yet for his lost parent, and he remembers the look on Spock's face when Sevin walked into the hallway, that expression as if everything was falling apart, quickly controlled but there, a moment of terror and indecision.
"I just mean," he tries to clarify, tries to soften, while Bones sits and watches him, "I can't imagine raising a kid, all alone, while a student. I feel like I should give Spock some respect for that. Anyway, I did a lot of crazy shit when I was young, too. That could have been me."
"I wasn't trying to judge him, Jim," Bones says, into the silence that follows.
"I know."
It doesn't seem as if there is anything more to say, so Jim turns again and wanders into the kitchen. He puts on the coffee. It's hard to track down this feeling, hard to pinpoint it and tackle it. It's true that, when he saw that kid standing behind Spock, he was feeling on the inside just like Bones looked on the outside. It's a thought that's hard to swallow, hard to comprehend, that Spock is someone's dad, that he's bed time stories and hugs and eat all your vegetables—or do Vulcan parents do any of those things? It doesn't matter. It doesn't change the basic observation he has made, the simple realization he has come to, that the cold, argumentative, even arrogant exterior that he saw at the hearing was just masking a man who is infinitely more complicated, more multi-faceted, than Kirk would have given him credit for.
But then this shouldn't be a revelation. He knows well enough about defying people's expectations. He's only been doing it all his life. And, he can't help thinking, can't help adding to himself, as memories that he's been trying to keep down burst through again, as Bones walks through the door, that he already knew something of Spock's nuances, too.
Bones is standing next to him now, leaning his hip against the countertop. "Convincing Spock to join you for a five year exploratory mission is going to be a lot harder than you think, if accepting means he has to leave his son behind," he says.
"I know," he answers. His voice is so light, he sounds as if he didn't care at all for difficulties, as if he had much more trust than he actually has that everything will work out to his favor.
"Why is it so important to you that you get this guy, anyway?" Bones continues. "Is it just wanting the same crew from the Narada mission?"
"We struck gold with them, Bones, and you know it—"
"I do. But Spock was just one part of that. You barely know him otherwise."
"I know him more than you'd think," Jim answers. He's decided he's going to make a sandwich to go with his coffee and he's putting his focus more on searching for bread than on policing his own mouth. The words say themselves, a translation of his thoughts and his memories into a statement too cryptic and too vague for Bones to ignore, like Jim wishes he would.
"Because of the mission?" he asks. "Did something happen on the Narada—?"
"No. Before that," Jim answers shortly. He's found the bread, just needs something to put on it now; he and Bones are both horrible about buying groceries. They live in their heads, in their work, in their responsibilities to everyone else but themselves.
"Before that when? What are you talking about, Jim?"
"Just—" he throws the bread down on the table and drops his hands heavily to his sides. "We met once, when we were younger. I mean, I think we did. It has to be him, he has to be the same guy, though we…we never got each other's names. Didn't do much talking, if you know what I mean."
At first, Bone just looks confused. Then before Jim can say anything more, he understands, he knows, and all he can do is pass his hand over his face and stare at Jim as if he just can't believe this. Jim expects him to ask if it's some kind of joke. What he asks instead is, "Am I the only person in San Francisco you haven't slept with?"
"No," he answers, swelling his voice with only partly exaggerated offense. "And I don't like what you're implying about me. The thing with Spock was…well, not my best moment. But," he sits down in one of the kitchen table chairs, across from the bread he doesn't know what to do with, "it was a confusing time in my life."
"Yeah, it must have been for him too," Bones answers. This might be an insult, a small jab, but Jim doesn't bother glaring, and Bones goes on, "How old did you say you were?"
"I was…not quite eighteen," he answers slowly, trying to remember, trying to put the mixed up pieces of that jumbled, disorganized period of his life in some sort of order. "And Spock was…" He is about to say eighteen, the age the stranger had given him when he'd asked, but suddenly, and he wonders how he didn't see it before, how he'd missed it when he was looking at his potential First Officer's files—suddenly he realizes it was a lie. He'd noticed, in the middle of his research, that though Spock had started at the Academy earlier than Jim, was more experienced and, at least for the time, higher ranking, he was actually younger by almost exactly two years. Now when he says this aloud he does not let himself sound surprised. But he cannot keep himself from sounding, instead, defeated. "I guess Spock was not quite sixteen, then."
"Fifteen?" Bones's eyes bug out of his face a little. Jim would laugh, if he felt like he could. But Bones's expression relaxes, after a moment, perhaps forcibly so or perhaps simply inevitably, as the information assimilates, as he becomes accustomed to it. He rests his hands on the counter behind him, and says, as if merely thinking aloud, "I guess he was going through a rebellious stage."
"No, I don't think so," Jim answers. He stands up again, opens the refrigerator, peers at its empty shelves, wonders why he's talking about this and why he feels so uncomfortable. He isn't usually one to fidget. "He was shy. And he seemed…inexperienced. Maybe he just wasn't used to Terrans but it felt like he wasn't used to—"
"I don't want to know anymore," Bones interrupts, and even puts up his hands, though Jim's back is still turned to him. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know any of the details, not even how you ended up in that situation in the first place."
Jim pushes the fridge door shut and turns again, and he leans back just like Bones is leaning back and crosses his arms just like Bones is. "Maybe we were meant to be find each other," he says. He wants it to sound like a joke, and something he doesn't and couldn't possibly believe, but somewhere in the part of him that does think those thoughts, he likes the sound of it. He sighs. Maybe meant to be together just means meant to explore space together. That is something he's sure of. He doesn't even need those memories from Ambassador Spock to know it.
The rest—that night, eight years ago now, the nervous young Vulcan stranger pressed up close against him on his bike, gripping his waist, and later gripping his hips, leaving bruises, eyes tight shut and skin flushed green—the rest is gone now. He's sure that Spock has forgotten it all, has pushed it from his mind, has barricaded himself from it. They will never speak of it again.
He pushes himself away from the refrigerator with a sigh. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Do you want to go out to lunch today, Bones?"
"I thought you'd never ask," Bones grumbles in return, and together they head for the door.
x
In chapter twenty-four, Spock and Nyota reevaluate the future Captain.