It began during a chess game, as so many things seemed to. Jim had been pondering his next move—chin resting in his hand—and studying the multi-leveled board with the same intensity he captained his ship. It was an insignificant moment, one that had occurred at least three times a week for the past twenty-nine months. Yet something that evening was different, and as Jim moved—swiftly capturing Spock's rook with his knight—Spock could not help but notice how his ashayam's eyes seemed to sparkle with mischievous joy.
And then Spock had frozen, hand hovering five centimeters over the queen he had intended to move out of harm's way. Jim had asked him what was wrong, and he had swiftly replied that he had merely come to a realization. Jim had assumed he referred to an experiment, and the game had continued.
Spock lost soundly, his mind too distracted to devote energy to outsmarting Jim. He had called the man across the chessboard from him—his friend, his captain—'beloved'. If it had been merely a mistake of his overtaxed mind, it would not have bothered him as much as it did, but in the same instant that his mind had labeled Jim ashayam, he had known the sentiment was true. At some point, his regard for his captain had changed from friendship to something much more profound.
He had required an extra fifty-three minutes of meditation before his mind had calmed sufficiently to allow him to rest that night.
The incident had occurred twenty-nine days ago, and since that time, Spock had attempted to limit any repetition of the event and had failed in a way Jim would describe as "spectacular". His unconscious desire to display his affection was not limited to during chess games or other private moments with Jim he soon discovered. During lunch in the mess hall, in the middle of negotiations on a foreign planet, even in sickbay as Doctor McCoy healed them of their wounds, his mind supplied 'ashayam' or some other endearment where it had once offered 'captain'.
Now, he was sitting once more across a chessboard from his ash—from his captain.
"You have the first move, Mr. Spock," Jim said, gesturing to the pieces with a smile. He had changed out of his uniform shirt at some point between when they had both gotten off duty four hours and seventeen minutes ago and was now wearing a burgundy t-shirt. Once, there had been words adorning the front, but time and use had worn them to the point that not even Spock's eyes could be certain what it said.
He blinked and moved a pawn forward, silently berating himself for being so easily distracted. He had lost the last four chess games they had played, and if he lost again, there was a seventy-two percent probability that Jim would believe that something was amiss and question him until he received an explanation he deemed suitable. And that Spock could not allow.
As often happened, the first twenty-one minutes and forty-four seconds passed in silence as they advanced pieces across all three levels of the board, each deftly skirting the traps the other had set while attempting to construct their own. Eventually, Spock captured one of Jim's knights, and the man let out a soft huff. Once, Spock might have thought him annoyed, but now he recognized the humor in the small sound.
"I must be off my game tonight," Jim chuckled as he moved his rook to cover the hole that had just appeared in his defenses. "I thought I was on a winning streak—" Spock had to consciously relax to keep his muscles from tensing at the words— "but I guess all good things must come to an end."
Spock looked up from the board and was met with a teasing smile. He kept his face impassive as he moved one of his rooks up a level. "All things that begin must come to an end, Captain, regardless of how 'good' they are."
Jim chuckled again as Spock had known he would. It was dangerous to sit here in the comfort of Jim's companionship when he was so close to losing the very thing he cherished, but he found it was impossible to deny himself the sight of Jim's smile or the sound of his laugh. It was a dangerous edge he walked, like a piece of cast-off debris floating above a planet's atmosphere. One stray collision would send him hurtling toward destruction, and yet he couldn't find the strength to break away.
"Logical as ever, Mr. Spock. Still, I won't give up my streak that easily."
"I would expect nothing less, a—Captain."
If Jim noticed his slip-up, he didn't mention it. Spock moved one of his pawns forward—a few more moves would put it in position to become a queen—and the game continued. The comfortable silence returned and lasted for another seven minutes and nine seconds before Jim broke it once again.
"Are you and Uhura going to perform together at the cultural exchange concert the day after tomorrow?" He asked as he sidestepped a trap Spock had spent the last four moves laying.
Spock resisted the urge to frown at the board as he replied. "We will. Nyota is looking forward to performing for the crew." He moved his rook up a level.
"And what about you? It's been a while since you played for the crew. Are you looking forward to it?"
In all fairness, Spock should have anticipated the question. They had been serving together for two years, seven months, and twenty-eight days, and yet Spock was still surprised by the genuine curiosity in his captain's voice. Jim cared whether or not he enjoyed performing for the crew. It was a small thing, but the voice in the back of his mind whispered ashayam and his heart agreed.
"I have always found the cultural performances of other crew members enlightening, and I am honored to share a part of Vulcan culture in return," he finally settled for saying, his eyes trained on the board as he tried to figure out which piece Jim had moved while he had been distracted.
A quiet laugh broke his concentration once more and he looked up without thinking. Even in the artificial light of the Enterprise Jim glowed when he smiled, like a star lived just below his skin and shone out through every pore. "I'll take that as a yes, then. I'm glad; it's been a while since we all had a chance to relax a little."
Spock only dipped his head in response and moved his knight out of harm's way. The game lasted another fifty-one minutes, during which time they spoke of various things pertaining to the upcoming performance. In the end, Spock won the match, although it was a close thing, and as always Jim offered him a brilliant smile and a clap on the back as he left.
Thirty-seven seconds later, Spock leaned against the closed door of his rooms, a realization settling under his skin. If he did not speak to someone about his...new habit, it would continue to weigh on his mind and eventually affect his efficiency aboard the Enterprise, which he could never allow. Nyota. She would understand.
. . .
"So, are you going to tell me what's on your mind, Spock, or are you going to pretend everything's fine even though you just played the same line twice in a row?"
Spock's head snapped up at the gentle teasing, a denial on his lips almost before Nyota's words registered. In the same instant that they did, however, he realized that he had, in fact, played the same line of the piece they were working on twice and had been preparing to do so a third time.
With an almost non-existent sigh, Spock put his lyre down next to the desk that Nyota perched on and straightened in his chair. He had intended to wait to speak with her until after their practice had ended, but he knew denying her now would be pointless. In the years they had spent serving together, she had become one of his closest friends—he no longer felt any shame applying the term to the members of the Enterprise crew he had grown close to—and she could read him better than anyone else aboard.
"I...have recently come to a realization," he stated stiffly, hands folded in his lap and gaze fixed on a point just above Nyota's left shoulder. "It is personal in nature, but I…" His words trailed away, and he resisted the urge to sigh once more.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Nyota's face soften into an expression of understanding. "I'm here to listen if you want me to, or we can go back to practicing," she offered.
For a moment, Spock considered the latter option, but then he remembered the imbalance that had seemed to follow him since the previous night's chess game. "I believe it would be beneficial to 'get this off my chest' as Doctor McCoy is so fond of suggesting." Nyota nodded, and although her smile had faded, her expression was still openly accepting of whatever it was he had to say.
"Thirty days ago, I became aware of a...shift in my regard for someone. They do not know of my affections, nor do I intend to inform them, but there is a possibility that this change will affect our working relationship."
"Which you don't want."
Spock inclined his head, eyes shifting back to Nyota's face. "That is correct."
She nodded and was quiet for several moments. Spock watched as her eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly before smoothing back out again, and he knew she had reached a conclusion of some kind. "You don't have to answer this," she said slowly, "but is it the captain?"
"Yes." The word escaped him as little more than a whisper, and his head dropped. It was an emotional display, he knew, but he found here in Nyota's quarters—four degrees warmer than they unusually were to account for his biology—he did not care.
"May I ask what happened for you to realize something had changed?"
Spock took a breath, keeping his gaze fixed on the spot where the corner of the desk met the floor. "I called him ashayam in my mind," he said. "There was a time when I looked at him and thought only 'Captain', then 'Jim', and now this."
After forty-seven seconds had passed and Nyota still had not spoken, he looked back up to find a soft smile curling her lips. He frowned, his hands clenching in his lap. "I do not see how this is a source of amusement," he stated.
Instantly, Nyota's smile fell and she shook her head. "I'm not laughing at you, Spock," she assured. "It's just that I think the two of you would make a good couple."
Spock could only blink. Nyota thought him a match for Jim? Their captain? In what universe could someone like Jim, someone so bold, so charismatic, so open, find happiness with someone like him? To say so would be to equate a candle to a supernova.
Nyota seemed to read his incredulity. "I'm serious. You two are more alike than you think, and you balance each other well." Spock raised an eyebrow and Nyota sighed. "So you aren't going to tell Jim about your new discovery?"
"I am not."
Nyota nodded, exasperation and understanding warring on her face. "I think you should, but it's your life, Spock. Just know I'm here if you need anything."
Spock dipped his head. "Thank you, Nyota."
. . .
Jim signed the last of the PADDs and handed it back to Rand. "Thank you. Is there anything else that needs my immediate attention?" he asked, privately hoping that there wasn't. He was supposed to meet Bones for dinner tonight, and he was already five minutes late. If he canceled on the doctor again, there was a very good chance a physical would appear sometime in his near future.
Rand smiled knowingly. "No, sir. The quartermaster said they'll have your new shirts ready sometime this evening, but I can make sure they're put in your quarters."
A grimace crossed Jim's face as he remembered his last conversation with the quartermaster of the Enterprise. They were a level-headed person, but that hadn't stopped them from nearly taking his head off when he had put in a request for new uniform shirts. Again. He had tried to tell them that it wasn't his fault the fabric ripped so easily, but he doubted they believed him. If he stayed for drinks with Bones after dinner it would give the quartermaster time to replace his shirts while he was gone...
"Thank you, yeoman."
She nodded and then left his quarters, easily balancing the half-dozen PADDs she held. Once the door closed behind her, Jim rose from his desk—joints popping—and grabbed his personal PADD. He typed out a quick message to Bones to let him know he was on his way and then left, humming softly to himself.
He passed a number of crewmen in the halls, but no one stopped him, which he was grateful for. Some days he couldn't make it twenty feet without a PADD being shoved into his hands or a crewmember dragging him into a lab to look at some new experiment that was being run. He didn't mind those interruptions—he wanted his crew to know he was available whenever they needed him, that he was interested in the day-to-day operations of his ship—but right now he just wanted to collapse in a chair and not have to think about the ship.
Sickbay was empty when he walked in, save for a young ensign laying in the bed furthest from the door. Bones had mentioned something about one of the crewmembers needing a minor surgery yesterday. Jim thought about stopping by the bed to check on her, but the woman appeared to be sleeping, so he made his way to Bones' office instead, stomach growling. The door slid open as he approached, and he stepped inside.
"There you are. I wasn't sure if you were going to show up this time," Bones grouched from where he sat behind his desk. Next to his computer screen nestled between several piles of data chips and PADDs were two plates of pork chops and heaping piles of mashed potatoes as well as two glasses of water. Those certainly weren't on either of their diet plans, but Jim wasn't going to complain.
"I sent you a message a few minutes ago saying I was on my way," he said as he sat down and pulled one of the plates toward himself, breathing in the smell. Stars, it had been ages since he had mashed potatoes.
Bones snorted. "Does it look like I got it? My personal PADD's buried under there somewhere." He gestured to the stack closest to the screen. "I've been going through the backlog of medical journals and crew physicals for the past three hours."
"Why?" Jim asked around a spoonful of potatoes. He and Bones had been friends long enough that he didn't feel the need to obey table manners with him, especially since they never ate at an actual table together. He wasn't convinced Bones ever left Sickbay except to shower and sleep, and he wasn't certain about the sleeping bit. He had caught his friend passed out on a biobed more than once.
Bones finally put down the PADD he was holding and picked up his fork. "Because, Jim, this is the first stretch of calm this ship has had in a while, and I'm gonna get some work done while I still can. Next thing I know, we could have a breakout of Rigellian measles on board or some other alien plague."
Jim shook his head with a grin. "Well, we've got to keep you on your toes somehow, Bones. Besides, don't you have medical staff for this kind of thing?" Bones didn't answer, which was answer enough. The two of them were alike in a lot of ways, and their need to see things done personally was one of those ways and it made for lots of long nights.
They settled into a comfortable silence as they ate, commenting every now and then on something that had happened on the Bridge or in Sickbay during the day that the other had missed. Eventually, both plates were empty, and Bones reached under his desk and pulled out a bottle and two glasses.
"Are you going to the concert tomorrow?" Jim asked as he watched the amber liquid pour into his glass. "Everyone from the Alpha Bridge crew is performing."
"Including yourself?" he asked, setting the bottle back on the desk.
Jim chuckled and shook his head. "Not unless they want a dramatic poetry reading," he replied, clinking his glass against his friend's and taking a sip. "But everyone else is, including Spock."
Bones took a long sip. "Mm. He doing a duet with Uhura?"
"Yeah, and a solo. Scotty's playing his bagpipes, Chekov's singing some Russian folk songs, and I think Sulu's playing some kind of percussion solo."
Bones frowned. "Percussion solo?"
"I'm fairly certain there are plants involved. Spock tried to explain it to me over chess a few days ago, but I got distracted. It's safe though."
"Only on this ship would you have to double-check a musical performance to make sure it was safe," Bones declared with a snort. "M'Benga's got Sickbay covered tomorrow evening, though, so I'll be there."
Jim nodded and leaned back a little more into his seat, letting the last of the tension left over from the day drain away. "Have you gotten anything from Joanna recently?" he asked, and they spent the next two hours talking about Bones' daughter and the plans he had made with her for the next time they were on Earth.
Eventually, Jim stood. "Thanks for dinner and the drink, Bones," he said, stepping around the desk to give his friend a brief hug. "Try to remember to sleep sometime tonight."
"You're a goddamn hypocrite, you know that, Jim?" Bones muttered into his shoulder but his arms were tight around Jim's waist.
Jim laughed as he pulled away. "Maybe. Perks of being the captain, you know." That earned him a light slap on his arm, but there was a smile pulling at the corner of Bones' mouth, so he counted it as a win. "See you tomorrow."