Sometimes it's a form of love just to talk to somebody that you have nothing in common with and still be fascinated by their presence. ~David Byrne

Jim arrived at Spock's office the next day precisely at noon. The same receptionist with the same disapproving expression escorted him to Spock's office door, this time without bothering to call first. She wasn't any nicer but at least she looked less like he smelled badly.

"Hey," Jim said in greeting when he entered the office, Spock standing behind his desk at his entrance.

"Jim," Spock said, nodding to the receptionist who silently left. "Come in and sit."

Jim did, sitting in the wingback chair next to the one Spock settled into.

"I reviewed your revisions," Spock said evenly.

"Are there 209 more color coded revisions I need to make?" Jim asked with a laugh, his blue eyes sparkling even more.

"On the contrary. There are 7 typographical errors. There are 13 misspelled words. And one discontinuity in your timeline. Other than that, we are ready to begin the printing process."

"Thirteen misspelled words?" Jim asked. How was that possible? He'd used spell-check. He always did. Religiously. And the Cereec'o words were spelled correctly. He'd had Hikaru double-check behind him.

"They are mainly transpositions between i and e," Spock explained.

"Then why wouldn't spell-check find them?"

"I am uncertain," Spock said. "I have highlighted them in this copy."

Jim accepted it, flipping to the first post-it note. Apparently chartreuse was spelling errors. "Oh. Well."

"The mango notes are the typographical errors."

Jim shrugged at that, not bothering to look at any of them. "Yeah. I know that happens. I get word dyslexic sometimes. I can also be numerically dyslexic. That's why Chris takes care of all my finances."

"He is an accountant as well as a lawyer?" Spock asked.

"No," Jim laughed. "He has accountants on his staff."

"He has a large contingent who work for him?"

"Mmm…. Not really. There's him and his assistant. Janice Rand. You may have spoken to her. Or your assistant has. There's Sam Giotto. He's head of the accounting pool. He has three staff accountants working for him. Not CPAs. Not yet. When they get their certifications, they usually leave. Sam never did."

"Indeed," Spock said. "You are fortunate that one firm can handle all of your business transactions."

"Very fortunate," Jim agreed. "Chris has been my lawyer since I published my first book. Thank goodness. I don't know what I would have done without him."

"As is often the case with creative individuals such as yourself," Spock said. "I talked with Miss Uhura at your party. I was not aware that she was the same Uhura who had the opening at the Txui'I Vat."

"That's her. She's an incredibly talented sculptor, isn't she?"

"She is. I have been an admirer of her work for five years."

"Chris is her lawyer too. He's used to dealing with us creative types. It doesn't bother him too much when we're flighty and can't keep track of regular stuff."

"Regular stuff?"

"Phone bills. Mortgage payments. I nearly had my car repossessed twice because I kept forgetting to send in the payments for it," Jim laughed. "Chris finally took over and I haven't been threatened by debt collectors since."

"Do others threaten you on a regular basis?"

Jim laughed at that, shaking is head. "No. Chris occasionally. And Marjorie would. But that's about it."

"That is reassuring," Spock said.

"I prefer it that way," Jim agreed.

"Are you interested in having lunch at the restaurant on the 8th floor?"

"Sure. I've been several times. They have great food. Or they did. I mean, did you change the menus?"

"We did not. We requested that they include additional vegetarian dishes and several traditional Vulcan dishes. We did not require that they remove any of the favorites already established."

"Good. They make killer meatloaf," Jim said.

"I do not believe it has ever caused anyone to succumb," Spock said, Jim laughing at him.

"Probably not," Jim said. "I have been witness to several fist fights when there was only one serving left."

"Indeed," Spock said, going out of his office and down to the elevator, Jim easily keeping pace.

The stylishly dressed hostess greeted them formally, escorting them between the tables covered with pristine black tablecloths to a secluded booth. Jim had the impression that only Spock was given that particular table in the far corner. The restaurant had ambient lighting that was welcoming and would make it difficult to spot anyone not interested in being seen. There was very faint music being played, classical Earth music by Pachelbel, the sounds of the other diners muted and subdued. Jim felt many of the patrons' eyes on the two of them as they passed.

"Representatives with the Oprah Winfrey program contacted me this morning. They requested that you appear on her television series on the publication date," Spock said when they were settled in the booth and the hostess had sauntered away.

Jim sighed at that, picking up the menu in order to pretend to study it. He lowered it when the waitress appeared, looking stern and decidedly unfriendly. Her all black ensemble gave her an air of inapproachability rather than the formality it was intended to convey. Jim had a fleeting thought that she was looking at him with such intense displeasure that he was surely about to be accused of being the father of her unborn child. As he looked more closely, he realized he'd never met her and that she was in fact a Vulcan. That made it doubly certain that the child could not be his and her scowl was apparently her normal expression.

"Mr. Spock," she said with a curt nod before focusing on Jim who smiled up at her. He thought he saw a very faint melting of her frozen visage but could not be entirely certain. "Sir."

"I will have a glass of chardonnay to begin," Spock said.

"Of course, sir. And for you?" she asked Jim.

"Pepsi, please," he requested.

"Certainly. I will return momentarily," she said before turning to walk away.

"Why were you cringing in her presence?" Spock asked. Jim thought he detected a faint air of amusement but he couldn't be absolutely sure.

"What makes you think I was cringing?" Jim asked. His question was met with a silent stare. "Well. I thought… oh never mind."

Spock nodded slowly, studying Jim intently. "Shall I call the Oprah Winfrey program and tell them that you will appear as requested?"

"I hate doing publicity. Is it really necessary? I'm #12 on the Amazon preorder list. Seriously. How much publicity do I need?"

"It is important that you remain in the public eye."

"Even though I hate doing it?" Jim asked.

"It never appears that you are uncomfortable. You chat easily and answer smoothly."

"Thanks. But Chicago in February?"

"It is unfortunate – the timing. Friday I was contacted by the people at The Daily Show. I believe Jon Stewart desires an interview."

"His show I'll do. He makes me laugh. And it's only 4 or 5 minutes. Oprah can be an hour, less commercials. Has she already made it a book club pick?"

"That is my understanding," Spock agreed, accepting the glass of wine from the waitress after she had given Jim his Pepsi. "Have you decided on your meal?"

"I'd like the meatloaf. Oh – you don't mind, do you?"

"Not in the least," Spock assured him.

"Good," Jim nodded. "With mashed potatoes. No gravy. And broccoli."

"Yes sir," she said, focusing on Spock. "Sir?"

"Eggplant parmigiana. No salad."

"Yes sir," she said, walking away.

"I have noticed that you do not drink alcohol," Spock said. "Do you object that I am having a glass of wine?"

Jim laughed at that, shaking his head. "Of course not. I can't drink wine. I'm allergic to the sulfates. That's actually how I met Bones."

"That is Dr. McCoy?"

"Yeah. I didn't know I was allergic and was at one of Nyota's openings. I was drinking white wine when I nearly went into anaphylactic shock. Bones happened to be at the opening and stopped me from suffocating."

"Fortunate. You were unaware of your allergy?"

"I knew that sometimes I got woozy from wine. But I apparently built up antigens to it over time. That last glass was the final straw, so to speak."

"Do you have the same reaction to other spirits?"

"Not beer or the hard stuff. I don't like beer especially. I can drink any of the liquors except tequila. It makes me sad. As in 'the world would be better off without me' depressed."

"I have heard of others who react in that manner to tequila," Spock agreed. "I enjoy most spirits although they do not react to Vulcan physiology as they do to Humans."

"Even though you are half Human?" Jim asked.

"Most of my physical traits are Vulcan," Spock said.

"I guess that makes sense," Jim said. "Is it true what they say about Vulcans and chocolate?"

"That depends on who 'they' are and what 'they' say," Spock said, savoring his wine and Jim's laugh. And if he noticed that Jim's eyes seemed that much bluer with that much more of a sparkle, well, who could blame him?

"'They' say that chocolate is an intoxicant to Vulcans," Jim said.

"It has a relaxing effect," Spock said, not fully answering the question. Not that there was actually a question in Jim's last statement.

"Relaxing, huh?" Jim said, laughing again.

"Indeed. You still have not agreed to appear on the Oprah Winfrey show," Spock pointed out.

"I know. I was hoping you'd forget," Jim admitted with a laugh. "But that's not going to happen, is it?"

"It is most unlikely that I will fail to remember," Spock agreed. "I was told they will also be calling Mr. Pike's office."

"Oh great. A double-team."

"Precisely," Spock confirmed.

"All right," Jim conceded. "Tell them yes. But you have to come with me."

"And why is that?" Spock asked.

"So you can suffer in the cold and snow too," Jim laughed.

"How delightful," Spock said, making Jim laugh harder.

"I knew you'd be thrilled," Jim said, looking up at the waitress as she returned with their meals. "Thank you."

She nodded, focusing on Spock. "Anything further, sir?"

"Not at this time," Spock said in dismissal. "I was on the internet last night and found several sites which seem devoted to derivatives of your work."

"Fanfiction sites you mean," Jim said.

"Fanfiction," Spock repeated, considering the term.

"Yeah. Fans of the Paraguayan series use the characters to write their own stories about them."

"They infringe on your copyrights?" Spock asked in some disapproval.

"Technically I suppose they are. But they aren't making money from them."

"Has Mr. Pike demanded that they stop?"

"Of course not," Jim said with a laugh. "I would never stop fanfiction writers from basing their stories on my characters. They do it as a labor of love."

"I do not understand," Spock admitted.

"Well," Jim said, considering it. "Is there a movie or book that you are particularly fond of? One you have read or seen more times than is strictly logical?"

"Yes," Spock said reluctantly.

"Let's say it's Star Wars. I'm not saying you've even seen them but for the sake of argument, let's say you are a huge Star Wars fan. You would write stories about what Luke did after the second death star was destroyed. What life was like for Leia and Han once they got married. What their children were like. Were they Jedi? Did Leia enter the training?"

"This is a hobby of some people?"

"Gracious yes. Google Star Wars fanfiction some time. You'll be amazed at the amount of it that exists. There are thousands of sites devoted to nothing else."

"I was unaware," Spock said. "And your stories are subject to this treatment?"

"It's not a bad thing," Jim assured him. "It shows their devotion to the series. Some writers won't allow fanfiction based on their works. I think they are incredibly short sighted. If someone cares enough about Avery and Nerissa to write their own stories about them, I say have at it. I know Avery and Nerissa have gotten married several hundred times. They have between 1 and 21 children, depending on the writer. People in Canada tend to give them more children for some reason. I've read stories where Rich sleeps with Andre, Anna sleeps with Andre, Aubrey sleeps with Andre. All God's children seem to sleep with Andre. Well, not Avery. But almost everyone else."

"Fascinating. And you do not object?"

"I don't," Jim said shaking his head. "I'm thrilled."

"Yet they are taking liberties with your creations."

"I guess. But if someone reads a fanfiction story and has never read one of mine, they might decide to read an original to see what it's all about."

"I see," Spock said, considering this. "Have you ever discussed this hobby with any of the amateur writers?"

"Sometimes I do. There is a website called Avery and Andre's Big Adventures. Periodically the maintainers of the website will email Chris or Marjorie and ask if I'll answer questions. If I'm available, I'll do live chats."

"That is very generous of you."

"Not really. They are real fans and are always appropriate. And friendly. And frankly it's a little embarrassing. But it's a lot of fun."

"And people such as George Lucas do not object?"

"No. He thinks it funny too. That they do it. Not that I've ever met him. I'd like to but I never have. I've read interviews where he said that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and he'd never try to stop fanfiction writers."

"I had no idea," Spock said.

"Did you read any of the stories you found?" Jim asked in curiosity.

"Several. A few were fairly well written. A few were abysmal. Several were quite… steamy."

"Some of them can be," Jim laughed. "Since I generally don't include actual sex, fanfiction writers make up for it."

"As I noticed," Spock said. "Do you read them?"

"Very rarely. If someone sends me a link, I might. Because the story was exceptionally good. Or exceptionally bad. Chris tends to read more of them than I do."

"In order to determine if they are violating your copyright?" Spock asked.

"Mostly because he has an insatiable curiosity. And when I'm in the on-line chats, he's on with me, answering some of the questions. Because he's probably read the stories even though I haven't."

"He reads them all?" Spock asked.

"No. But there are some very popular writers. The queens of the genre. Everyone reads them."

"Queens?" Spock repeated.

"Most of the writers are women. Other genres attract more men. But not in the same numbers."

There was a pause in their conversation when the waitress returned to inquire as to whether or not they would care for anything further. Jim asked for a cup of coffee, Spock refusing anything more. After clearing away their dishes, she left to return right away with a steaming cup of coffee.

"When did you move to Earth?" Jim asked Spock.

"I was twelve."

"What did you think when you got here?"

"It was cold," Spock said, thinking back on that day when he first step foot on Earth's soil. "We arrived in late January. During a snowstorm. I expressed some concern about the inhospitable conditions. Mother assured me that it was not always so cold. Father said that Earth has variable atmospheric conditions."

"That was hardly reassuring," Jim laughed.

"I preferred my mother's response," Spock agreed. "I was enrolled in the Intergalactic Academy."

Jim nodded at that. He knew several people who had attended that school, the institution renowned for the mix of cultures that flourished within its walls. "Were there many other Vulcans?"

"There were 23, counting me. There were 2 Orions, 1 Andorian, and 4 Sulibans. There were children from nearly every continent, including twins from Paraguay."

"Did everyone speak English?" Jim asked.

"Yes. It was a requirement. There were lessons in their native tongues as well. And math is a universal language."

"Not to me," Jim said with a smile.

"Your mastery is in words," Spock agreed.

"And yours is in physics. Which again begs the question."

Spock nodded, not attempting to pretend he didn't understand the saying. "One does not easily defy one's father."

"I guess not," Jim said. "But doesn't he know that forcing you into a profession for which you have no…interest is doing neither of you a favor?"

"I do not believe he considers my interests of any consequence. He is a man of immense determination."

"It's still your life," Jim said.

"Vulcan tradition is very rigid when it comes to parental roles and responsibilities. This is why most Vulcans are bonded at a very young age."

"Most?" Jim asked.

"I was not bonded because of my mixed heritage. As I am a child of two worlds, I am not considered a suitable mate."

"I'm sorry."

"I am not," Spock assured him. "It offers me freedom which most Vulcans are denied."

"There is that," Jim said. "But not enough freedom to decide your own destiny."

"Not yet," Spock had to agree. "Did you know it was your destiny to be a writer?"

"No. I had a some what unusual childhood and I never really thought about what I'd be doing when I grew up."

"Unusual in what way?"

"My mother was a vagabond. She loved to travel. Sometimes she took me and my brother with her. Sometimes we stayed behind. I had visited 12 countries before I turned 10."

"Thus your skill in languages," Spock said.

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "There was a time when I thought everyone could speak three or four languages. When I entered school and most of them could only speak English, I was sure they were kidding. Studying linguistics in college made sense."

"I can understand how it would," Spock agreed. "Would you like another cup of coffee?"

"No. I'm good," Jim said, wiping his mouth and watching Spock stand by the table. "Don't we need to pay?"

"They will charge it to the company account," Spock said. Jim nodded at that, leaving the table and returning up to Spock's office with him.

"I've taken enough of your time," Jim said when they arrived.

"I have nothing pressing to do," Spock said, sitting on the couch and looking up at Jim. "Perhaps you might remain for a little while longer."

"You want me to stay?" Jim asked, looking down at Spock to try and figure out what he was actually asking.

"Yes," Spock agreed, continuing to look up at him. Jim saw an expression in Spock's eyes that was unexplained and unexpected.

"Sure," Jim agreed, sitting in the chair where he had sat before they had gone down to lunch. He had had every intention of leaving, gathering his backpack and going home. So why was it he was now sitting in Spock's office, watching Spock watch him? "What do you do when you aren't working?"

"I play the Vulcan lute. I am learning to play the piano. I research the latest physics theories and determine whether or not they have any validity. I practice va'sumi. I read."

Jim nodded at that, studying him silently. "Go out on dates?"

"From time to time. I have not recently."

"Why's that?" Jim asked.

"There is no particular reason. I had not met anyone who interested me enough to pursue a relationship of that type."

"You hadn't?" Jim repeated.

"Not until recently," Spock clarified, looking away from the bright blue eyes that saw too much for his comfort.

"This person. That interests you. Have you told this person how you feel?" Jim asked in a low voice. It was soft and coaxing and impossible to resist.

"I have not as of yet," Spock said, his tone matching Jim's.

"What's stopping you?"

"Perhaps a concern that this person will fail to reciprocate."

"You won't know until you ask," Jim said, moving from his chair to sit on the couch, his body turned to face Spock. Spock gazed back at him silently, their eyes locked.

"If you were interested in this other person," Spock said quietly, his tongue peeking out to just barely trace his lips. "What would you say in order elicit a response?"

"It would depend on how well I knew this person. If we'd been acquainted a long time, I'd suggest we go out for drinks. Followed by a movie. Then see what happened. If we hadn't known each other very long, I'd say we should have dinner. For a start. Maybe it would turn into more. If both parties were willing."

"More?" Spock asked, watching Jim with shining black eyes.

"Maybe it would turn into breakfast too."

"Would your approach be different if you had very recently shared lunch with this person?"

"If that were the case, I might ask this person if we could adjourn to my place, to discuss the possibilities of a relationship in a more comfortable setting," Jim said.

"Your place is much too far away," Spock said, Jim nodding.

"Where do you live?"

"In this building. In the penthouse," Spock said. He was drawn toward Jim, unable to resist leaning that much closer. His senses were filled with the very essence of the other man, the smell of wind and sun and grass. And apples. It was intoxicating and mesmerizing.

"Isn't this the top floor?" Jim whispered, mirroring Spock's movements, his body slowly leaning closer to the warmth of Spock's.

"The top public floor," Spock said, his words caressing Jim's lips as they dusted past. "I very much want to kiss you."

Jim did not bother to answer except for capturing Spock's mouth with his own. The kiss was exactly as Jim would have imagined it if he had taken any time to consider the possibility. It was hot and tender and just the right amount of awkward for a first kiss.

"Mmm…" Jim sighed when he backed away only enough to see Spock's face, his cheeks painted a faint green. "Nice."

"Yes," Spock agreed, initiating the next, tongues shyly greeting one another. The tastes were new and familiar and rich and sweet. "Will you have an allergic reaction to the wine I drank?" Spock asked softly.

Jim shook his head, kissing him again. "Not to worry. Unless I actually drink it, I'll be fine."

"That is reassuring," Spock said, leaning further away, one hand on Jim's chest. "Is it too soon for me to ask you to come to my penthouse?"

"Not for me," Jim said with a smile. One that was irresistible. And Spock knew Jim knew it.

"I did not think you had any interest in me outside of our required working relationship," Spock said, enjoying Jim's touch as he ran his fingers through Spock's thick black hair, a light finger tracing the pointed tip of his ear.

"You are hot. And smart. And a great dresser. Why wouldn't I be interested?" Jim asked, leaning closer to silently request another kiss. Spock was willing to provide it.

"Perhaps we should adjourn to my apartment before we risk discovery," Spock suggested.

"Will they know when they find you missing?"

"It is of no consequence. One advantage of being in charge is that they will have no one to tell."

Jim laughed at that, standing up and looking down at Spook. "Will this turn into breakfast?"

"I have no way to predict," Spock said, standing and kissing Jim. Jim took an unsteady step backward, afraid they'd never make it upstairs if he did not put some distance between them. Spock understood and went to the wooden doors that Jim had always thought led to a closet. Instead, they opened to reveal a private elevator which Spock entered, waiting silently for Jim to follow. The elevator was wood and mirrors, small but not cramped.

"Convenient," Jim said, examining the elevator casually.

"It is advantageous," Spock agreed. He reached over and began to unbutton Jim's shirt, Jim watching his elegant fingers with a smile.

"Don't you want to kiss me while you do that?"

Spock nodded, moving just that much closer to capture Jim's mouth, his unbuttoning continuing as they kissed.

"You are very good at multitasking," Jim said, looking down to discover his jeans were also undone.

"It is one of many talents," Spock said, pulling Jim into a kiss and backing out of the elevator. By the time they were out, Jim was down to his briefs and was wondering if he would be able to find his shoes when it came time to leave, whenever that time came. Spock's clothes were scattered across the foyer that extended from the elevator to the kitchen. To the left was the living room, accessed by going down three deep steps. On the right side of the room were three steps that led up to a large table with six chairs, the open kitchen just beyond. Tucked in the corner of the upper area was a grand piano in rich mahogany, the color echoed in all of the floors, cool under Jim's bare feet. If he hadn't been completely distracted by Spock's kisses and roaming hands, Jim would have considered how beautiful the apartment was. Elegant but still comfortable.

Spock continued kissing Jim, limbs tangled as they stumbled together down the hallway until they arrived in Spock's bedroom which was dominated by a huge platform bed. They tumbled on it together, mouths consuming, exploring, tasting, knowing.

Were Jim writing the encounter rather than living it, he'd have described the fierce heat that ignited between them. Skin in contact with skin that was familiar and perfect and unknown. He would have used sensual and evocative words to tell about bodies fitting together perfectly, gracefully, bodies created to join and rejoice.

As it was, as he was living it, his mind nearly shut down from sensory overload. Not that he would have ever written that. He avoided clichés like the plague (oh Lord clearly that didn't preclude him from thinking them. And what color post-it note was for overused trite turns of phrases?) All random, disconnected thoughts ceased as Spock kissed him once more and his brain melted.

When his eyes finally fluttered open, when he was once again in bed, no longer only in the loving-space they had created, he found Spock watching him with an expressive mix of warmth and amusement.

"Will this encounter appear in one of your books?" Spock asked, kissing Jim's swollen lips, licking them to gather his taste.

"Are you spying on me?" Jim asked, stretching his right arm over his head.

"Not at all. I am aware that writers take their experiences and use them as fodder. And I would never enter your mind without your permission. Surely you know this."

"Mmm…. Yeah," Jim said, turning on his right side to better see Spock's gloriously bare body. "You are seriously hot." His left hand traced the light dusting of dark curls on Spock's chest, following the magic trail to the thick cushion of curls between his thighs.

"Vulcans are several degrees warmer than Humans," Spock agreed, making Jim laugh.

"You know I have no interest in the relative core body temperatures of our species," Jim said, petting Spock's relaxed penis that had so recently filled Jim with unspeakable pleasure.

"I do know," Spock agreed, kissing him again. "What is this scar from?" he asked, gently lifting Jim's left arm to run a finger down the line that was still red and uneven.

"Well," Jim said, knowing this talk was inevitable. "There are things about my life you can't know. Things I am not willing to discuss."

"I see," Spock said, considering those words. "Those 'things'. They also are responsible for this scar which can be from little else but a bullet wound?" Spock said, very lightly tracing a ragged circular scar on Jim's right shoulder.

"Yes, it is one of those things. I can talk to you. I will listen to you. I can make love to you. I would have your babies if I could. But I can't tell you why I have this scar on my shoulder."

Spock nodded, looking at Jim and seeing the sincerity in his blue eyes.

"You can accept my lack-of-explanation and make love to me again. Or you can tell me you can't live with that and I'll leave. Our only relationship will be a professional one. It's your choice," Jim said, leaning closer to kiss Spock. "I'm very much hoping you choose making love to me without asking about the scars."''

"May I make one additional inquiry?" Spock requested, not demanded, wanting to make sure he understood completely before he could agree to those terms. Not that they were unreasonable or he had any intention of refusing them. The place deep inside him that had been achingly empty for longer than he was willing to admit to even himself was beginning to fill up. He was not going to risk what he had found for the sake of inappropriate curiosity.

"If it's not related to the scars and why I have them," Jim said, tracing Spock's ear, admiring the gentle sculpture of it, the delicacy of the tip, the firmness of the lobe.

"Will there come a time that you can discuss it?" Spock asked.

"'The time has come', the walrus said, 'To talk of many things: of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.'"

Spock knew that quote from the times his mother had read him Through the Looking Glass. It did not answer his question but he knew it was the only answer he would receive. He shifted so that he was laying fully on top of Jim, gazing down at the bright blue eyes that sparkled up at him. "I accept your terms," Spock whispered against Jim's lips before covering them with his own so that no response was possible.

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours! Hope it's a wonderful day filled with family, friends, and good food!