The dumber people think you are, the more surprised they're going to be when you kill them. ~William Clayton

Spock absolutely would not allow his impatience to show as he rang the doorbell for the second time. When door was finally opened, the man who could only Jim Kirk stared back at him. He wore blue jeans, a faded flannel shirt, and inexplicably, nothing on his feet.

"Mr. Kirk," Spock said, his voice even, his face impassive as though he hadn't been standing on the porch in the swirling snow for 2.335 minutes.

"Mr. Spock," Jim returned, resignation in his voice. "You may as well come in." Jim moved aside to allow his visitor to enter, closing the door when Spock was in the foyer. Spock was a little surprised when Jim offered to take his coat, his demeanor entirely unwelcoming but his manners impeccable. Spock felt a little overdressed in his usual attire, traditional Vulcan pants and tunic in black and grey. He dismissed that thought as quickly as it formed, wondering why it had even surfaced.

"You are a very difficult man to find," Spock told Kirk as he followed him deeper into the house. Jim led him into the large, modern kitchen, filling the shining kettle before putting it on the stove to heat.

"Cup of tea?" Jim asked, reaching up with his right hand for two mugs, his left hand shoved deep in the pocket of his jeans. Spock most assuredly did not notice that he could see the outline of his knuckles through the denim.

"Thank you," Spock agreed with a stiff nod.

"How did you find my address?" Jim asked, leaning against the marble countertop as he looked at his visitor.

"It was not easy," Spock admitted. "I had thought it would be in your file. Only your lawyer's address appears."

"That's on purpose," Jim said.

"Your address does not seem to exist," Spock said, an implied question.

"And yet here you are," Jim said in a hard tone.

Spock could see the almost-anger building in those blue eyes that were really quite a startling color. A small insignificant portion of Spock's brain insisted on telling him that Jim Kirk's publicity photos utterly failed to do him justice and perhaps he could be persuaded to have them retaken. Although there was no technology in the universe that could successfully capture the golden brown of his hair or the cut of his jaw.

Spock nodded at Mr. Kirk's comment. "Indeed. One can discover many facts when one has the appropriate connections."

"Called in some favors did you?"

"In a manner of speaking. You do not answer your phone. You do not return my various emails or phone calls. I have business to discuss yet you seem uninterested."

"I'm not uninterested, Mr. Spock. I'm annoyed."

"Annoyed, Mr. Kirk?" Spock asked, raising his eyebrow in a way that most people, he knew, found slightly intimidating, which was often to his advantage.

"You called me twice on Saturday. Three times on Sunday. Plus your two emails and text messages. And five times today. Mr. Pike said he told you I would contact you when I had the time."

"It is perhaps the inclination that you are lacking rather than the time," Spock said evenly.

"Perhaps," Jim responded.

Spock felt a flare of his own annoyance at the other man's utter calm and apparent insouciance. How could anyone this…passive write novels of such passion and energy? "Had you planned to contact me today?" Spock finally asked.

"Perhaps," Jim said again, turning to reach into the cabinet for a container marked 'Vulcan spice tea' which he handed to Spock along with an infuser.

"You always keep Vulcan tea?" Spock asked, filling the infuser with percision. The other man shrugged at the question, pouring the boiling water into both cups, the second with a regular tea bag.

"I generally have some," Kirk agreed. "Come into the living room. It's warmer."

Spock nodded, following the barefooted man into the large, comfortable living room, watching as he added logs to the bright fire. To Spock's right was a huge tree with a step ladder next to it. The top half of the tree had lights strung evenly around it. The end of the lights trailed across the floor toward the foyer. Seeing the lights, he suddenly understood why it had taken Mr. Kirk so long to answer the door and he felt a small and utterly unwelcome swell of guilt at his former impatience. "Do you have the time to discuss business now?"

"Seems a moot point," Kirk said with a shrug. "You sure didn't come all the way out here for a cup of tea."

"You were disinclined to respond."

"I refused to respond. Which shouldn't be a surprise to you. Didn't you talk to Marjorie and to Mr. Pike?"

"I did," Spock agreed. He paused when the door behind Mr. Kirk opened to admit a shorter man caring a huge spanner.

"Oh, sorry, Jim. Didn't know you were busy," the man said with a thick Scottish accent.

"It's fine, Scotty. This is Mr. Spock," Jim explained. "And this is Montgomery Scott. Genius with machinery."

"Mr. Scott," Spock said, standing as was his custom in greeting someone new.

"Mr. Spock," Scotty said with a smile. "Leonard was right, Jim. The thermostat was off. It's all fixed up now."

"Thanks, Scotty," Jim said.

"You want me to finish stringing the lights for ye?" Scotty asked, looking at the tall tree.

"Sure. Mr. Spock and I will go into my study. Let me know if you need me," Kirk said.

"Of course. I'll do the foyer next," Mr. Scott said, turning his full attention to the first tree and the lights which were awaiting his attention.

"Mr. Scott is in your employ?" Spock asked Jim as he followed him down the hallway and into Mr. Kirk's study. It was a handsome room, dark paneling, burgundy curtains echoed in the burgundy rug covering the hardwood floor. The only area in the room that wasn't immaculate was the broad surface of the mahogany desk which seemed to have every inch covered in stacks and single sheets and innumerable post-it type notes.

Mr. Kirk waved him into a comfortable leather covered wingback, settling into the second one.

"He doesn't exactly work for me," Mr. Kirk said, sipping his tea. "The heater on the pool wasn't working right. Scotty said he'd take a look at it."

"And put the lights on your trees," Mr. Spock said, an implied question, which received only a shrug in response. Again he felt a flare of impatience at the man's reticence. Was he actually the genius behind the books that bore his name? "I have read your submission," Spock said, quelling his illogical anger.

"I figured. Plus you mentioned it in several of your messages."

Spock looked at him, wondering if he was at all interested in what he had to say. He held the power to break this man as a writer and yet he was impassive. This was not a common reaction for him to elicit. "You appear singularly uninvolved in this process."

"I wrote it, Mr. Spock. I sent it to you. I did what I do. You did what you do. Now we talk about what changes need to be made. Some I'll accept. Some I will refuse. That's the process. This isn't my first novel," Mr. Kirk reminded him unnecessarily.

"As I am aware," he responded a little too quickly. He saw the other man's eyes widen slightly and knew that the quirk of his lips was barely disguised humor. That only added to his annoyance. Never mind that he was annoyed that he was annoyed. "It is…a superior work."

"Thanks," Mr. Kirk replied, equally unfazed by the compliment.

"I have noted several alterations I believe will strengthen the overall narrative flow. And there were minor plot inconsistencies. I have noted those as well," Spock said, taking the draft out of his leather briefcase.

Kirk accepted it, smiling at the various colored tabs adhered to the edges of some of the pages. "Color coding?"

"Indeed. Aqua is for narrative interruptions. Sapphire for plot inconsistencies. Canary for factual inaccuracies. Sand for suggested revisions."

"You found all of this in two days?"

"Four and a half days," Spock corrected. "I received it Thursday. Today is Monday."

"Still," he said, setting it aside.

"When will you have it back to me?" Spock asked, trying once again to suppress his impatience at this infuriating man.

"Mmm… tomorrow?"

Spock waited a moment before responding. "That quickly."

"I don't have anything pressing to do. Except decorating the trees. Why are you working for your father?" he asked, the non sequitur taking Spock by surprise.

"I do not understand," Spock replied, studying the other man who gazed steadily back at him.

"You have a PhD in physics. You have published several articles on warp drive mechanics. Granted, you also have a PhD in universal literature studies. But why are you working as an editor in your father's company?"

"I am not certain what that has to do with anything currently under discussion," Spock finally replied, not quite knowing what else to say.

"Well," Kirk said, considering it. "You've learned almost everything one can know about me. Including my address despite my best efforts to keep it anonymous. No one can write without revealing themselves to a certain extent. I suppose I'm interested in leveling the playing field, so to speak."

Spock could only nod in respect to that. It was logical as much as he would have preferred otherwise. "The Shi'Kahr Clan is one of the most ancient and revered on Vulcan. I say this not to promulgate my house but to state that which is well known on my homeworld."

Kirk nodded, attentive to what Spock was saying.

"My father chose to marry a Human."

"Bet they weren't happy about that," Kirk said, not sounding as smug as others might under the same circumstances.

"It caused some difficulties to both my parents," Spock admitted.

"And therefore to you."

"My upbringing was not…common by Vulcan standards," Spock agreed. "My parents eventually determined that it would be healthy for me to experience both sides of my heritage. That is when we moved to Earth."

"Do you like it here?" Kirk asked, sipping his tea and looking over the rim at Spock.

"It is where I live. It is where I work."

"That doesn't answer my question," Kirk pointed out unnecessarily, returning his cup to the side table.

"Earth has more inherent variety than does Vulcan," Spock finally said, wondering how this man he hadn't known for more than 21 minutes could ask him questions he refused to address with those he'd known much longer and more intimately. "Societal norms are more fluid."

"That's for sure," Kirk agreed with a light laugh. "Why aren't you teaching physics somewhere?"

"I had considered it. Perhaps one day I will. For now, I am engaged in assisting my father to acquire and assimilate businesses which show much promise."

"So browbeating recalcitrant writers isn't your only job?" Kirk asked.

"I would hardly characterize our encounters as browbeating, Mr. Kirk."

"They would have been if I'd have answered," he replied, his eyes sparkling.

"Perhaps," Spock said, standing up. "I have taken up enough of your time."

Mr. Kirk nodded, escorting him back to the front door, returning his heavy coat to him. After their farewells, Spock could feel the other man's eyes on him as he entered his sleek silver Jaguar. He glanced over at the front door in time to see it close, blocking Kirk from his view.