Author's Note: It is now almost two in the morning, but i really wanted to get this written and posted. So here is Spock's pont of view on the shoes incident- i hope i did it justice. We are getting into some real plot here, which means i took the bad-things-happen stick and I hit Spock and Jim with it. A little angsty. Oooh, I haven't done a disclaimer in a while.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. If I did, Spock would have taken his shirt off in the last movie.

Spock had thought, before, that there was no one for him. All his childhood, it had been so. A childhood spent much in the company of his parents, but more often alone. He learned to value studying more than the conversation of his peers. Conversation between himself and the other Vulcan children had been stilted; the products of their parent's attitudes and their own bigotry. The children feared him, and as when they could not best him, they learned to hate him. Hate. The word had once felt, as a boy, so foreign on his tongue. As he got older, he tasted its fruits more and more; tasted tears, and sweat, and his own blood. He had learned much in school, devoured information voraciously, because he had seen the beauty of a world that could be understood if only one could discover its secrets.

Scientia potentia est. Knowledge is power. Knowledge gave him power over his world, the life in which he was humiliated, outcast, unwanted, and where the hate itself that his peers showed to him was never to be admitted openly, but linger on in undertones for years to come. His mother was rarely invited to social functions; Sarek was spared this only because of his skill in diplomacy and his position as Ambassador to Earth. Sarek could still command respect for his position if not for his choice in a wife.

Spock had no such recourse. In time, he learned that the best way to beat them at their own game, as Amanda would have said, was to give them no satisfaction. His face remained smooth and unchanging after insult upon insult was issued; taunts concerning his father's judgment, his alleged lapses of emotion, and his mixed heritage. He did not cry out when pushed aside in the halls, nor give any indication of the affront. He learned to bear the cold silences, the veiled criticism of his class work. It drove him to commit to memory information that he had yet to learn for years to come, to work harder than anyone to force the community to acknowledge his proficiency. Years were spent learning to control himself, until the rogue emotions created by snide whispers and barbed words could be pushed from his mind and never mar the blankness of his expression.

While his classmates had learned to conceal their hate, Spock had done what few men could- he had learned to control it.

But he had never thought he would find someone. Even as a child, he had understood that the freak- neither fully human nor Vulcan- was not to have the companionship of a life partner. He had had to go it alone; it was not unreasonable for him to think that the pattern should continue. And it had- until the events of two years ago, in the Narada incident. In Nyota Uhura, Jim Kirk, and even the doctor, he had finally found that which he had been searching for- friends. And he was content with that. It was more than he had had reason to expect.

But over time, the nature of his and Jim's relationship transformed. At first adversaries, they had formed an uneasy friendship, which, improbably and to the surprise of friends and coworkers alike, had blossomed. But then, something had changed. A subtle difference.

He had begun to care more than he should.

And now it had shifted again- the tight knit of their friendship colored by something else, something as foreign to him as he had been to the children of Vulcan. A heavy feeling weighing him down, a quickening of his heart that made him feel as if he were finally awake, yet minutes from death.

Attraction.

Affection.

The dual emotions surely account for what Spock does, there in the Captain's quarters, minutes after Jim's breathing has slowed into a gentle rhythm. It is time he left and returned to his post, yet he hesitates there, at the door, and then turns back.

He walks to the side of the bed, and looks down at the man lying there, the person who so many depend on, the human who bewilders him and understands him like no being he has ever met before. A strong-willed human, an expressive and eloquent speaker and a good man; and yet curiously fragile. A man who is, even by human accounts, prodigiously outgoing and open, but yet chooses to speak little about many aspects of his personal life.

Jim lies on his back, his arms loose at his sides. His face is relaxed for the first time in days, flushed from sleep, and his golden hair is endearingly sticking up in odd places due to him unconsciously running his fingers through it in frustration during negotiations. Spock's eyes wander along the line of Jim's jaw, noting the faint swath of stubble, and the white line of a long-ago scar.

His eyes move lower, and when he catches sight of the unmistakably high polished shoes, Spock, without conscious thought, carefully begins the strenuous process of undoing the laces (Jim, it appears, is fond of double-knotting).

Holding his breath, the Vulcan eases off his shoes, setting the pair at the foot of the bed. He removes his socks, placing them near, and stands up.

Sadness tickles the back of his throat. Spock breathes shallowly, watching his friend, and now so much more to him, slumber. But it does not do to dream-he must return to his post and continue living the way he has always done- to the best of his ability. Jim-no, the Captain- must never learn of this. And so, with one last look at his friend, Spock leaves. He leaves, his thoughts in turmoil. He wishes his esteem ran no deeper for Kirk than any other, but it is not so.

He has always thought that there was no one for him. Now it seems he is mistaken, but it matters little. He is certain the Captain does not return his feelings.

As he steps onto the bridge, he composes his face once more, and settles the fast rhythm of his heart.

It does not do to dream, he tells himself.

It does not do to dream.

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