For a long time now I have tried simply to write the best I can. Sometimes I have good luck and write better than I can. ~Ernest Hemingway

Jim stopped his BMW at the gate to the parking garage, accepting the ticket, wondering briefly if the House still validated. Well, no matter. He drove up to the top level of the garage, parking in the area with the roof, the open area further on covered with a light dusting of snow.

He entered the building that was now owned by The Shi'Kahr Clan on the 5th floor, the guard by the entrance from the parking deck recognizing him right away.

"Mr. Kirk," Gary said with a smile. "Good to see you."

"You too, Gary," Jim agreed. "New owners treating you okay?"

"Lot of changes. Lot of changes," Gary said, shaking his head. "I heard about Madame Kel'pol."

"Marjorie said she'll be fine. She's going to Tuscany, to eat lots of pasta."

"Good for her," Gary said, walking with Jim to the elevators. "You going up to see Mr. Spock?"

"I am. Did he tell you I was coming?"

"He did," Gary said. "Said I was to make sure you came straight up to the 14th floor."

"Of course," Jim said with a nod, entering the elevator when it arrived. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Very good, Mr. Kirk," Gary agreed, returning to his station as the elevator whisked Jim up to the top floor of the building.

Jim left the elevator to walk down the familiar corridor with the plush carpeting in carefully neutral tones. The walls were rich paneling, the building old enough to have been built when no one thought elegance was a waste of money.

There was a severe looking woman at the reception desk when he entered the suite with the carefully letters on the door that proclaimed Shi'Kahr Clan. He smiled at the Vulcan woman as he approached mostly so her non-expression of disapproval would deepen. He was sure she thought he'd wandered into the sacred space of the Clan by mistake, with his blue jeans and black leather jacket, a backpack slung casually over his right shoulder. She was dressed in typical Vulcan fashion, all stiff formality, her dress black and silver, high neck, long sleeves. Her hair was pulled tight at the back of her head. He fleetingly considered that she might be pretty if not for her dark almost-expression and the slightly militaristic style of her hair.

"How may I assist you?" she asked, her tone indicating that she was certain there was no help for him from her or anyone else.

"I have an appointment with Mr. Spock," he informed her, barely disguising his laughter.

"I see," she said, eyeing him in near-disapproval. "Your name?"

"Jim Kirk," he told her. Her eyes widened slightly at that news and he had the impression she in no way believed him. Maybe she'd never looked at the back of his books. Or maybe she'd never read his books. Maybe she only read ancient Vulcan texts on logic.

"I will inform Mr. Spock," she said in an evenly cold voice.

"Appreciate it," Jim said with a nod. He nearly winked at her but even he had sense enough not to do it.

"Mr. Spock," she said into the phone after dialing 3 numbers. "Jim Kirk is here… yes sir… of course." She replaced the phone, standing behind her desk that had on it three computer screens, one phone and nothing else. "Come with me."

"Of course," he agreed, following her down the short hall. He wondered if she always looked so stiff and unyielding but it was hardly his problem. He did consider briefly about what had happened to the previous receptionist Helen but decided that was a question better posed to Marjorie.

The woman knocked sharply on the wooden door before opening it and waving Jim in.

"Thank you," he said to her with a smile because he knew it would annoy her that much more. She gave a sharp nod and turned and left as stiffly as she had come, closing the door behind her.

"Mr. Kirk," Mr. Spock said evenly from the center of the office where he was standing. The office was mostly unchanged from when the previous owner had occupied it, not that Jim had spent much time with Mr. Borino-Quinn. The office was furnished with the best, mahogany desk with only a computer resting on it, a glass topped table with four chairs gathered around it, a small couch and two wingback chairs grouped in front of the real fireplace which had a real fire crackling on the grate.

"Mr. Spock," Jim returned with a nod. Jim wasn't surprised that Spock was dressed in Vulcan business attire, all blacks and grey, his tunic well cut. Custom fit no doubt.

"Lunch will delivered momentarily," Mr. Spock said, waving Jim further into the office and going over to one of the wingback chairs. "We will sit while we wait. I will put your jacket in the closet."

Jim nodded, swallowing his laughter and removing his leather jacket. He would have liked to have kept it on only because of the additional disapproval it would cause but the temperature in the office was closer to Vulcan-normal and he knew he had to shed his coat. He sat in the wingback as Mr. Spock put his jacket in a discrete closet before sitting next to him. Jim had already put his backpack down on the floor between the two chairs. "I apologize for having to reschedule."

"Mr. Pike was not forthcoming when I inquired as to the reason for the delay," Spock said, studying Jim with hard black eyes.

"It was unavoidable," Jim said. "My schedule can be a little unpredictable."

"As Mr. Pike indicated," Spock said.

Jim nodded in agreement but did not further elaborate. "I've gone over your suggested revisions several times. There are some which I find particularly… discommodious."

"Which would those be?" Mr. Spock asked, picking up his copy off the small table between the chairs and the couch, the same color coded notes on the edges.

Jim reached down for his backpack, opening it to take out his edited copy, all of the tabs still in place. Some looked worn from repeated examination, some look pristine, some with notes on the edge. "On page 332," Jim said, waiting as Spock turned to the indicated page. "You wrote that Nerissa would request her own room. They've been dating for three books. And they've slept together for the last two. Why would she suddenly become a prude?"

"I did not intend to imply she had become a prude, Mr. Kirk."

"Jim," Jim said before he could continue. At Mr. Spock's raised eyebrow, he elaborated. "We are going to be working very closely together. You ought to call me Jim while you tell me how my book doesn't make sense."

"Jim," Mr. Spock agreed with a nod. "I do not believe your book does not make sense. It can be strengthened with appropriate revisions."

That was not what Jim had wanted to hear. He made himself take a deep breath before meeting Mr. Spock's eyes. "Like turning Nerissa into a prude?" he asked with a harder edge to his voice than he had intended to be there.

"Not in the least. Avery has been among the tribe for five days and nights. There were no bathing facilities for him to use. Would Nerissa want to sleep in the same bed with him before he had the opportunity to shower?"

Jim looked at Mr. Spock for a moment, gathering his calm and his thoughts before responding. "Nerissa has been with the tribe too. Once they checked into the hotel in Villarrica, they took a shower. Together. After she got him to focus on anything but his research." He could see Spock considering his words, turning them over in his head to find a flaw. Surely Spock had read the entire novel before making his edits. "Did you edit as you read? Or did you read to the end and then return to the beginning?" Jim could tell he had guessed correctly with the very tiny start Spock gave.

"It is possible that I was overly hasty in some of my initial editing," Spock agreed. He was clearly reluctant to admit that he had erred when in truth he had. "I have since read it again and revised some of my suggestions. Perhaps it would be helpful for us to consider them individually."

"You made 209 suggestions. Some major. Some minor. Do you have time to go over every one of them?" Jim asked.

"I do. When I originally spoke with Mr. Pike, I had another appointment at 1:30. That has been subsequently canceled. Are you available to discuss the suggested revisions?"

"I am. I don't have anything pressing to do this afternoon," Jim said, wishing like hell that he could think up a reason to have to leave. Except talking to Hikaru about Marjorie's party and getting to O'Conner's before 6:00, he was pretty much stuck listening to Mr. Spock tell him all the ways he was wasting his valuable time by pretending to be a writer. Okay. That was a little harsh, Jim told himself. He needed to calm down and he had no time to lose. To his relief, there was a knock on the door just before the receptionist entered with a cart that had covered plates on it. "I need to make a quick phone call," Jim said after Spock had spoken with his assistant.

Spock nodded at Jim who called Hikaru to tell him that they'd talk about the party tomorrow instead, Hikaru naturally agreeing.

"That will be all, T'Lura," Spock was saying in dismissal. She nodded and left, closing the door soundlessly behind her. "Moving to the table will facilitate our work and our lunch."

"Of course," Jim agreed, following him over to it. He waited as Spock uncovered the plates, accepting the chicken salad with his thanks. Spock kept the plate with all greens, putting it carefully on one of the black velvet placemats already on the table. Jim decided to go ahead and sit down, not feeling any particular need to supervise as Spock took out the silverware and the glasses from the second tier of the cart.

When they were settled at the table, Jim felt no urge to break the silence. If he didn't speak, he wouldn't say something he knew he would instantly regret. And Spock didn't seem inclined to start a conversation. Vulcans didn't eat in silence as a rule. So maybe Spock was also angry in his stoic nonemotional way.

"Why do you have your degrees in linguistics?" Spock finally asked.

Jim shrugged at that, sipping the cold water. "I didn't have any particular goal in mind when I went to University. I have an aptitude for language so I was encouraged to study linguistics."

"That you earned your PhD at 24 is impressive," Spock said, not sounding the least impressed.

"My masters program was accelerated. Some of the classes counted toward both. The field research also sped things along."

"Why did you select Paraguay?" Spock asked.

"Those languages need to be recorded before they become extinct. My advisor was going so I went with him," Jim said.

"That would be Dr. Richard Barnett."

"That's him. Man's a genius," Jim said with a laugh. "Funny. A little obsessive. Can tell you the 50 most endangered languages and where the largest concentration of speakers are."

"I have not met him. I have heard of his skill," Spock said with a nod.

Jim considered those words for a moment and wondered why they were making such a melancholy impression. On his heart. What was that about? So Spock had never met Richard. That was hardly important. And it certainly wasn't Jim's responsibility. In fact he couldn't even imagine why Spock would have ever met him. Or care to. That was going to take some additional thought. Which apparently Jim's brain decided was not all that essential. "I'm having a party for Marjorie on Saturday night," Jim's mouth said without his conscious permission. "Are you free to join us?"

"Saturday?" Spock repeated, studying Jim with a slightly unnerving intensity.

"Yeah. It will a pretty informal affair. Food, drinks. Marjorie will no doubt tell stories about me so my friends will have reason to laugh at me."

"I am free."

"Good," Jim said with a nod. "It will start around 7."

"What may I bring?" Spock asked.

"You don't need to bring a thing. But thanks for asking."

"If you are certain," Spock said, eating more of his salad.

"Of course. And you're welcome to bring a date. We'll have plenty of food."

"I am not currently in a relationship of an intimate nature," Spock said.

"Me neither," Jim laughed. "Much to the dismay of my mother. Thinks I should get married and stop going off to Paraguay."

"How many times have you been?"

"Nine, I think. Counting those trips I took because Richard wanted me to."

"Your journeys through Paraguay add a richness and texture to your story-telling that it would otherwise be lacking," Spock said, surprising Jim.

"Thanks. I guess I'm not hopeless after all."

"On the contrary. You are one of the most talented writers of this generation."

"I'd have never guessed that from your edits," Jim said casually, eyeing Spock and trying to figure him out. Even for a Vulcan, he was recondite.

"Again. I never intended that they be interrupted as…disparaging."

"I don't think they are disparaging. I think they are…well. It's not my place to say," Jim decided. The relationship between a writer and his editor reminded Jim of one between a student and his mentor. The place of the student was not to question the words of the one more experienced. Luke eventually learned not to question Yoda. Although that did take a while. Crap. What was Spock saying? "I apologize," Jim said. "My mind wandered."

"A common trait with writers of your caliber," Spock agreed. "Perhaps if we review each of the suggestions, I will have a firmer grasp of your methodology."

Jim laughed at that, shaking his head. "I don't know that there is a method to my madness. The characters tell me what they are going to do and I write it down as fast as I can. Avery isn't as insistent as some. Andre is very hardheaded."

"I have heard of other authors speak of their characters in those terms. As though they are real."

"They are real," Jim said firmly, his blue eyes wide in his sincerity. "They are very much alive in my head. I can have the plot all laid out. Know exactly how they will get from A to B. Then they decide they just have to see what's over by C which leads them to D and E. They may never get to B and I have to accept that."

"Indeed," Spock said, listening with great intensity. "They dictate to you?"

"In some ways," Jim said, wiping his mouth before putting his napkin carefully on his lap. "They make their own decisions. If I try to decide for them, they rebel. They won't talk. They won't do anything. I have to believe they are real or they won't live and breathe."

"I see," Spock said. "Do all writers work in this way?"

"The successful ones do as I understand it," Jim said. "I have yet to find anyone who writes truly realistic characters that doesn't feel that way. Mandy Lutterbeck said she has to be careful not to get too attached to some of her minor characters."

"As they are inevitably killed."

"Exactly. It's been suggested that I treat my characters too well. That I mollycoddle them. But there is no way I can hurt them. I mean, I can give Avery yellow fever and Andre still limps because I broke his leg. But you can be sure that as long as I write the Paraguayan series, they will be in them."

"It gives the reader a sense of security," Spock agreed.

"It gives me one too," Jim agreed. "I have considered having something terrible happen to Avery's sisters Aubrey and Anna. But I just don't have it in me."

"Aubrey did miscarry her first baby," Spock reminded him.

"That was really hard for me and Avery."

"And his brother lost 2 of his football games afterward."

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "So maybe I don't completely protect them."

"They maintain their realism without you being overly harsh to them," Spock assured him.

"I'm glad you think so. Although I get the impression you think that there needs to be more realism interjected into this book," Jim said.

"Not overall," Spock said. "However, is it not a little too convenient that Andre knows of a source of fresh water when they are stranded in the middle of the Chaco desert?"

"Well," Jim said, considering the question. "He's crossed it several times. Without Avery. His horse really found it."

"Yes," Spock said. But Jim could tell he was not convinced.

"If he doesn't find the water, they'll all die," Jim pointed out, trying hard not to sound defensive.

"That is not in question. Could it be that he recognizes that the growth pattern of the indigenous plants indicate a source not many kilometers away?"

"Yes," Jim agreed automatically. "He would know that. Okay. I'll fix it."

Spock nodded in acknowledgement, not the least triumphant although he deserved to be.

They discussed many of the other suggested revisions, Jim reluctantly agreeing to some, adamantly defending his writing in other situations, finding compromise for several. He was surprised when he glanced at his watch that said 4:45. "It has gotten late," Jim said, looking up at Spock who was studying him with a particularly unreadable expression.

"Indeed."

"I have a few errands I have to run in town. I'll make the revisions we decided on and get it back to you in a couple of days."

"I could collect it when I come to the party for Madame Kel'pol."

"That's fine," Jim agreed, accepting his black leather jacket from the closet. "I'll see you then."

"And you are certain that there is nothing I can contribute to the party?"

"Absolutely certain," Jim said. "And there will be plenty of vegetarian choices. So you don't need to eat before you come."

"I have no such concerns," Spock said, walking him to the door. "I will see you Saturday."

"Good," Jim said with a nod. "Thanks for your time."

"Thank you," Spock said, watching him walk down the hallway until he disappeared from view. Only then did Spock reenter his office, closing the door behind him.