"Spock…can I come in…?"

There was no answer for a long time and then – an uncertain: "Yes."

Doctor Boyce entered the bedroom with a bunch of beautiful flowers. "Sulu sent these and also this little message." The old doctor cleared his throat. "May I?" With a nod, Spock gave him the permission to read it aloud.

The Enterprise's getting grounded in a couple of weeks for engine refits, so we got some extra shore leave. I'm spending the first two weeks with my relatives in Kyōto but as Jim has probably, hopefully told you - I and your other favourite crewmembers will visit soon. The flowers are an early hospitality gift. My father is a botanic and particularly interested in Vulcan's spare flora and fauna. So since you once told me about your mother's big garden on Vulcan and your love for her roses, I thought you would appreciate them. You'll get more when we will finally arrive. Don't tell Jim. I know what a jealous asshole he can be ;). - Sulu

He stared at the flowers in the human's arms and fought back the irritating but overwhelming urge to start crying. These were the same kind of flowers, which used to grow in his mother's garden.

There was a shuffling sound from Boyce's side of the room – probably because he searched for a spot to lay down the flowers - then heavy thumps as he crossed the room. Then Boyce was sitting next to Spock, carefully touching his back. He rubbed small circles on the Vulcan's back, hands warmer than any Vulcan hands ever could be.

"Do you want to watch some movie together or some documentary? A rerun of Doctor Who is on by the way. I know Chris bullied you to watch it with him once and that you liked it," Boyce said a few minutes later, as Spock had succeeded to compose himself.

"I do not wish to-"

"Spock.. you can't spend the rest of your life in this room.. It has been days since you…" Boyce sighed. "Let's start small. What would make you happy?"

Spock just gave Boyce a blank look.

This was not something he had thought a lot about. It was not like he had a lot of time to entertain the idea of happiness since Christopher's death - not when he had to fight tooth and nail for every inch of sanity he clung to. Not when the pain he was in - most of the time - made it impossible to think about anything else.

His body and his mind had become the most treacherous of traitors, betraying him and leaving him in a state of total helplessness, feeling the intense pain in all of its various aspects but not being able to put an end to his agony.

"It's okay if you don't know," Boyce said quickly when Spock remained silent for too long. "Look, kiddo, I don't want to be unkind, and you have my sympathy, truly. But it won't bring him back for you to abandon your own life or your own happiness. For my sake turn again to life and smile."

"But Mary Lee Hall was writing about her own death, not.. about her parents'…or her husband's."

"Spock…"

The room was overly warm, probably because Kirk had turned up the heat to make the Vulcan more comfortable, but Spock still felt frozen.

"Sometimes I have this feeling that when I read a book or play my lyre or even participate in a chess game, it means that I have forgotten him…that I have forgotten them. Just for a moment. And it is that that I cannot bear."

"Ohhh little one…"

The stricken look on Boyce's face instantly told Spock that this was not the right thing to say.

"Hi, this is Doctor Carol Marcus. I'm sorry I can't take your call right now. Please leave a message at the tone …"

"Fuck…fuck…FUCK…," Kirk shouted, and ended the call. "Fuck!"

"Jim?"

When he turned around McCoy was watching him, two large bags in his arms and a puzzled expression on his face. "What's going on?" he asked. He looked more than unpleased as he saw the mess on the kitchen table.

The table was littered in glasses and some beer bottles, all emptied and all having been full when McCoy had left this afternoon with Boyce to do their weekly grocery shopping. Another, half-drunk bottle, rested on the kitchen counter, which Kirk leaned stiffly against at. His friend's eyes were hazy and dark when he turned his gaze to McCoy.

"Nothing."

They stared at each other for a good few seconds, before Kirk finally looked away und McCoy said – his voice clipped: "You should clean that up. Sulu and the others will arrive soon.."

Kirk took another deep gulp of the still half-full bottle with luke-warm beer, before he disposed it and somewhere out there, someone was getting their happy ending.

"Ohh… man…Jim, you should have seen Smith's face…" Sulu laughed, "He even looked worse than Chekov when he got so drunk at that one shore leave on Risa V that he almost married one of the locals, and the only reason they didn't go through with it was that he threw up on the bride."

A grin spread out upon Kirk's face.

Chekov took his vodka glass into his hand, took a large sip, and said, blushing fiercely, "Hey… thiz is unfair. Don't believe them, keptin. I didn't throw up at the bride. I threw up at her vather.."

The kitchen was filled with the smell of homemade food and laughter.

"Chekov the new Don Juan of the Enterprise…," McCoy chipped in.

More laughter.

"I bet it's that cute Russian dialect…that makes the girls fall for you…You've to be careful, Nyota..," Kirk said with a laugh.

"No, thanks. I've already found a more preferable dialect to study," said the dark-skinned woman with a grin and bumped her shoulder gently against Mr. Scott's beside her. His lips turned up into a bright smile.

"Kid…" Boyce whispered, looking at the Vulcan's untouched plate and his white face. "Is everything alright?"

Spock sat next to Boyce, as so often playing with his food rather than eating it, observing Kirk, who sat across the table, laughing at something Mr. Scott had said, before taking a large gulp of his whiskey and then a bite of the vegetarian stew McCoy had made. The doctor followed the Vulcan's gaze.

"It's the first time I've heard him laugh – really laugh - since a very long time."

"I know, and I do not want him to spend his life in sorrow."

Spock had seen the increasing despair and helplessness on Kirk's face despite the captain's best efforts to act otherwise, and he knew that he was the one that put it there and he hated himself for that. If it were not for him, Kirk could be out in the world doing what he does best – being a captain of a starship - and countless lives could be all the better for it, Kirk's very much included. If it were not for him – Kirk could enjoy much more such evenings with his friends. If it were not for him Kirk could find someone else, could find happiness. They all – doctor McCoy, Phillip, Sulu and Mr. Scott, Chekov and Uhura…they all could find happiness.

That was why he did not understand why Kirk had bonded with him.

Kirk claimed to love him. He had heard him whispering it a dozens of times when he thought Spock was asleep. But to the Vulcan - what Kirk loved was the idea he had of Spock. It was his own concept— his own self —that Kirk loved.

If he would have loved him – the human would not have ignored Spock's consent over and over again. As if Spock's life had been Kirk's and not his own. If Kirk would have loved him, he would have let him go.

"Spock…" Boyce's voice brought him back from his dark thoughts.

"It is just I find it hard to join in the merry-making."

"We haven't all been making merry."

"What it comes down to in the end is that our kind doctor McCoy, and Lieutenant Uhura over there, and Sulu and Mr. Scott and Chekov and you - you are all alive."

The Vulcan's hands under the table were shaking.

"But my husband is dead."

Spock's voice was close to breaking. Setting down his cutlery, he stood up.

"Please, excuse me."

All eyes were on him. The laughter had died down.

"Where the fuck are you going now?" Kirk suddenly snapped, giving him a disapproving glare. Spock nearly flinched at the sheer force of hidden anger he saw there.

His tone and words were startling. Spock knew the captain was no pushover, knew too how much of a hothead he could be, but the one exception to that rule had always been Spock. They had never shied away from being snippy with one another, but they had always known exactly how much sarcasm – even nastiness - the other could take and stopped before it reached that point. But over the last months Kirk had crossed that point more and more often.

"Jim…..calm down.." said Sulu carefully. "C'mon…You shouldn't…"

"Fuck off, Sulu…" Kirk growled. "Spock, sit down."

"Negative," Spock replied, and everyone could not miss the ice in his voice. His eyes had darkened considerably until they were almost black in a pale face. He looked sick, white as a sheet.

"Spock, I said – sit down."

"Why does everyone keep nagging and nagging? My husband, my mate - Christopher is dead! Can you not understand what that means? Christopher is dead and he will not come back. And now I am tied to you, trapped in this bond, my opinions and wants ignored as if they were meaningless. Is that not enough for me to deal with?"

"You heartless bastard. Do you think you're the only one who's grieving? Do you think you're the only one who's missing Chris? You're such a selfish brick sometimes that-" Kirk was not shouting yet, but Spock found that he wished he was. The Vulcan knew how to cope with shouting; he could deal with a shouting Kirk. The quiet, angry tone of Kirk's voice was something else entirely.

Spock straightened even more, which seemed impossible based on his already rigid posture. He hid his quivering hands behind his back and then closed his eyes for a short moment.

"I do not wish to discuss…"

"You fucking started it, so stay here and speak your mind."

There was a long silence, punctuated only by the endless ticking of the clock on the wall above the kitchen door. Kirk's hand clenched so tightly around the empty whiskey glass that it may have shattered soon. Then in a split second, his whole demeanour changed, jaw clenched and eyes stern, laced with open fury, he stood up and now he was shouting, his voice slightly slurred: "I said speak your fucking mind, Spock!"

"Hey guys…," Sulu glanced between them, clearly uncomfortable. "This is not exactly the r-"

Spock was out of the door before the Japanese could even finish his sentence, disappearing in the darkened corridor which led to his room.

When McCoy appeared a few minutes later in the doorway of the bedroom that evening, Spock could not disguise his surprise.

"Spock, he didn't want to hurt you."

The Doctor and the Vulcan stood in silence for a long moment in the badly light room which now had become Kirk's and Spock's permanent residence. McCoy was about to add something when the Vulcan spoke.

"I am not affected by his words."

"You're," McCoy said and then stepped in closer. They nearly matched in height, but Spock felt incredible small beside the human.

"How can I? Have you not heard? I do not have a heart. Everyone knows that."

"Everyone is wrong. You've one and it is broken." McCoy's voice was serious and his hazel eyes burned into Spock until they shifted, so he was looking at him with something like pity. The doctor reached for him and touched one of his bony shoulders, touched it gently with one of his big hands.

"C'mon, kid – sit down, before you fall down."

Spock wondered since when he had become a 'kid' to McCoy but let the doctor guide him to the neatly made bed. The human pushed Spock down on the mattress, before settling beside him, facing the other man.

"I suppose you think I behaved very badly down there."

The doctor looked at him for a long moment. "I'm not really very interested in whether you behaved badly or well, Spock."

"You are not?"

"No. I'm not."

The Vulcan blinked and tilted his head.

"I am not your co-worker in this moment."

"What are you then?"

"I'm your friend."

"And the difference is?"

"The difference is that I care for you." The 'I love you, you're my friend and therefore I love you and care for you.', remained unsaid.

"I must apologize."

"Spock, you've gone through a difficult time. But now you must remember that although your Christopher is dead, you're still here. You're alive. You still can follow your dreams. You still have friends who care about you, who need you. Me for once, and Phil and the whole bunch of annoying little idiots waiting in the kitchen and …Jim."

Spock swallowed.

"Jim…He cares so much about you."

He felt sick. He never realized that he still …in some way… had a family albeit not by blood and they loved him, and he did not deserve their worry. The room was suddenly stiflingly quiet, but outside there were sirens and loud voices, the low-level buzz of traffic and music. San Francisco never slept. Outside life moved on whereas inside these rooms time always seemed to stay still.

"The truth is – even if I wanted to - I do not think I am going to be a very good mate."

Kirk demanded too much of him. Wanted him whole. Wanted him fixed. Wanted a person Spock was not anymore – maybe never had been. Wanted something he could never give him. The captain wanted warmth, tenderness, the subliminal touch of a lover, and Spock, all he could give Kirk was an unfulfilled ache, and some frost from the frozen wasteland that was his heart, body and mind.

"Why not?"

"Because somehow, with Christopher's death, all the softness that he found in me seems to have dried up and drained away. Maybe it was only ever there in his imagination. I do not love James. I do not think I can love anyone anymore. "

"Now, my dear Vulcan. There's more than one type of love. The fact is, you have a straightforward choice before you. You must choose either death or life."

"And you think I should choose life."

"I do not think anything. It's your choice to make, not mine." McCoy shrugged, and leaned forward to cup Spock's cheek. It got him a surprised look and the doctor chuckled.

"But Spock.."

"Yes?"

"Chose carefully."