Enterprise High
being a high school AU of ST: XI
with many hijinks
and much angst
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Chapter Thirty-One: The Alternative Factor
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Spock froze.
"Listen very closely," said the soft voice. Spock realized that whoever-it-was was wearing a digitizer on their vocal cords, so that he could not identify the speaker. "You are going to stop your search. You are in enough trouble as it is. There is a purpose to things, and if you go on with what you've found, you will not like how life will end for you."
Spock felt a single drop of sweat trickle down his back. He had never been so afraid in his life. He had never touched a gun, much less had one pointed at his spinal column. He imagined, for a brief moment, flipping around and grabbing the weapon by its barrel, flinging it away, and kicking his enemy in the solar plexus. But he knew, in his muscles, that his reflexes weren't fast enough. His expertise in the formal martial arts would not matter here, when deadly weapons were in play.
"Do you understand me," said the voice.
Spock's insides were cold and churned shards of ice into the lining of his belly. He wanted to fall down and wave his arms and give up. He would do anything to get that gun off his skin.
"Yes, yes, I understand you," he said, more quickly than he had ever spoken. The tension of it made him hurt everywhere, made his bones scream.
"Good. Now, there is one other th—"
The coldness disappeared from the nape of his neck at the same time he heard a muffled sound, like a cloth-dampened impact. He couldn't move for a full moment, but then something slammed into him, and he fell, convinced as he dropped that he had been shot. He figured that he had nothing left to loose when he hit the ground and so he whipped around on his hands and knees in order to see what had happened. A bit of courage had come back to him.
He felt, and saw, one figure punch the other in the shoulder with lightning speed and deadly power. The attacker was the woman with black hair, he realized, but she was moving so quickly that he could not identify her. The other figure, the one being punched, was masked; Spock could not even tell its gender.
The woman was relentless, and talented. The masked figure could hold its own, but was clearly either unwilling to fight or unable to do so to its advantage. Finally, after the woman had tried to rip its mask off, strangle it, and bash its head into a computer bank—all at the same time—the masked figure gave one last frantic but well-aimed lash and struck the woman in the throat, dropping her to the ground. It then fled.
Spock, completely unsure of what had come over him, but cognizant that he had not been shot, went after it.
As he scrambled into a standing position and took off, he acknowledged to himself that he could be making a huge mistake. For all he knew, the woman was the one who had been holding the gun to him. But she looked down for the count: he could come back to her easily. The masked person, however, could get away, and whether or not it was his savior or aggressor, he had to know who it was.
Spock dove out of the alley between the VREEs and spotted the figure disappearing down another alley. He sped after it. The person was breathing heavily, electronically, and he knew—this was his attacker; this was who had threatened him. His stomach unclenched and filled with a raging fire, and he felt that old, passionate anger rise within him. Who was this person, to threaten him so? To prove so idiotically and illogically that there was a conspiracy; to drive him to figure out what was going on more effectively than he could have ever driven himself? He was filled with scorn for the retreating figure; scorn and a strong sense of justice. His feet devoured the floor. He dodged patrons as the figure lead him through a labyrinth of stacks. Soon enough they had a trail of security guards. He was smart enough to shout, "Stop, thief!" as he ran, so that nobody would interfere with his chase.
And then, near the back of the Archives, in a thick bank of VREEs, Spock turned a corner to see nothing. He halted, keen ears perked, but there was only silence.
The fear came back, but in a smaller serving; instead of taking over, it hovered worryingly around his confidence. He padded forward, trying not to make any noise at all. He came to a junction in the close path and, very carefully, stuck his head around each corner. Nothing. Nobody. Empty, open space. He kept looking over his shoulder and then back, so often that his neck began to hurt. He went down random alleys, emerging sometimes back into the main library, where the high domed ceiling was visible, before plunging into the claustrophobic spaces between the computers again.
But there was nothing, nothing. It had disappeared as effectively as it had arrived. He stood still for a moment, allowing himself to finally breathe heavily. His glasses had slipped down his nose; he pushed them back up impatiently. The anger turned into a hard block of frustration.
He wandered into the center of the library once more. The security guards were gathered near the Information Desk, talking in undertones and wiping sweat off their brows. Spock intended to go speak to them, but as he approached them, each of them looked at him, and then away again. He frowned, and kept going, passing their knot by, figuring that if they didn't recognize him, they wouldn't be any help with the aggressor.
He made his way carefully back to the place where he had been ambushed. Sure enough, halfway down the alley, he found the woman with black hair, lying on her side and breathing shallowly.
Concern flooded him. He bent and shook her more roughly than he intended to. He realized that he had no idea what he was doing—what if he had made a mistake, and she died because of his inattention? Had he wasted her life chasing shadows? He was about to scream for help when she rolled over, coughing, and he saw who she was.
It was Miko Sulu.
"I'm fine," she croaked, waving off his helping hands. "I'm fine. Oh, shit." She levied herself up unsteadily, holding her throat and looking as if somebody had just dumped an anvil on her chest. "God. That guy had a punch."
"It was male?" said Spock.
"I don't know," said Miko darkly, cracking her neck. "I couldn't tell. Jesus, what a day. One minute I'm coming to see who's looking up all these datapoints on Romulan nationalist movements, and the next, I'm having to save your ass." She sighed, clearly resigned about something, and then stuck out her hand. He stared at it. "You shake it," she said slowly. "I know you're not totally human, but come on."
He took the hand, and she moved it up and down in hers. "Special agent commander Miko Sulu. Nice to make your acquaintance, Suspect Spock."
"Suspect?"
"We check up on everybody who pulls up a certain combination of files. Your dataprint wasn't registered in the VREE database and I was a few blocks away having a relaxing breakfast, so Special Services called me in. Worked out pretty well for you. You're welcome."
"You are a special agent?" said Spock, knowing his statement was very much behind the times but still needing to express his disbelief. "I thought you were—" He struggled to remember what Hikaru had said about his sister. "—an artist. In Seattle?"
"No, a photographer. But you got Seattle right." Miko finally let go of her neck and checked her body for injuries. "You ever heard of a cover story?"
"Why are you telling me this?" Spock demanded. "You could have said that you happened to pass by, saw me being threatened, and were a jujitsu master."
"Taekwondo, actually. It's because I've been meaning to look you up for a while, ever since your house burned down, and I figure now's a prime time to spill the beans and help you out. Feel bad about your mom. Anyway, I'm nothing if not practical." Miko's communicator went off. She answered it. "Sulu here. Yes ma'am. Yes ma'am. I'm on it." She snapped it shut. "Your friend Kirk has pulled up the same files you did. Special Services is concerned. Let's go see him."
Her breathing labored, Miko got to her feet. Spock, again, tried to help her, but she pushed him away. She stood, stretched hugely, touched her throat again, and started walking. Spock followed her closely, still worried about her injury.
They intercepted Kirk on his way to the collection desk. Kirk was surprised to see Miko (although not as surprised as Spock had been). "Hi?" he said uncertainly, stopping in his tracks.
"Go tell the librarian to cancel both of your searches," said Miko without any sort of introduction. "Something has come up, and I need both of you to come with me."
"Excuse me," said Spock. "How do we know that you are not cooperating with the Rihanh?"
Miko shrugged. "You don't, really. If you'd like, we can go somewhere public, although ideally…" She surveyed the two of them. "Kirk's house would be best, since you live in an embassy, and it could easily be bugged."
"Wait," said Kirk. "What?"
"I just got Spock out of a little hostage situation," said Miko, as if she were discussing the weather. Kirk's jaw dropped. "We need to talk. We really need to talk."
"A hostage—?"
"I'll explain in a moment," said Miko in a tone that brooked no argument. "Go to librarian. Cancel the request."
Kirk looked as if he wanted to argue more, but Spock gave him a small nod. To his surprise, Kirk acknowledged it, and walked off. There had been trust in Kirk's eyes when he looked at Spock.
Miko got out her communicator and dialed. "Suspect cleared," she said succinctly to the person at the other end. "Request dismissal. Thank you, ma'am."
Kirk was back within moments. "Seriously, what is going on?" he said. "Spock, are you okay?"
"I am… fine," said Spock, unable to find a better adjective. He felt immensely comforted to be back in Kirk's presence. "Commander Sulu, where shall we meet you?"
"Commander—?" Kirk started. Spock gave him another signal, a slight raising of the eyebrow. Kirk went quiet.
"God, just call me Miko," Miko snapped. "The place I was having breakfast. Quantum Café. It's a few blocks—"
"I know where it is," said Kirk, sounding irritated. "Come on, Spock."
They left Miko to find her own transportation—or at least, Kirk did. He was, evidently, in an incredibly bad mood. He marched out of the Archives and towards his motorcycle without so much as looking at Spock. Spock was not particularly offended; in fact, he was rather flattered that Kirk was so concerned.
When they got to the motorcycle, Kirk looked around to make sure that there were no cameras watching them, and addressed Spock. "What just happened?"
"I was going to the information desk when a person threatened me with a weapon," said Spock. "They were masked and they wore a digitizer; I do not know who it was. They told me to 'stop my search;' presumably they were speaking of the Rihanh." He said 'Rihanh' in a slightly quieter voice. "They were about to tell me something else, but Commander Sulu intervened."
Kirk had gone pale. "What kind of weapon?" he demanded, stepping closer to Spock.
"I suspect that it was a phaser, or an old-fashioned firearm," said Spock more calmly than he felt. "I am not sure; I did not see the weapon."
"Good for Miko," said Kirk. "You must have been terrified. I'm so sorry." He put a hand on Spock's shoulder. There was real worry in his eyes.
"I experienced some fear, yes," said Spock, half uncomfortable, half pleased. "When Commander Sulu—"
"Commander—okay, wait. I thought she was a photographer."
"That is her 'cover story,'" said Spock. "She is with Special Services." He finished telling Kirk what had happened.
"That doesn't make any sense," said Kirk, who had started to pace. "Why would they warn you? That would just make want to learn more anyway."
"Precisely," said Spock, gratified that Kirk felt the same way he did. "While I did experience fear while being threatened, as the person intended, I did not sustain that emotion. We must explore the possibility that he, she, or it was attempting to provoke a reaction such as the one that occurred: a sense that the answers are now, more than ever, important, solely because the question is so dangerous."
"Ooh, that's good," said Kirk, grinning at Spock. "Of course, the opposite could be true. They could actually be threatening you. And in that case…" He walked over to his motorcycle and pressed down a few boltheads. A panel popped out near the hydrocell tank. Kirk pulled a small metal object out of the recess underneath the panel.
"James!" exclaimed Spock, taking a large step backwards as he saw what Kirk held. "You are not allowed to possess that!"
"I know," said Kirk cheerfully, turning on the phaser in his hands and switching it to stun before putting it in his pocket. "I don't even have a permit. I think the penalty is twenty years on a mining colony plus a hefty fine."
"Precisely!"
"I'm just worried about you," said Kirk, patting Spock on the cheek. "And trust me, I know how to use it."
"This fact does not encourage my trust. It discourages it."
"Fine. But I'll use it if I have to, and I just want you to know that I can."
Spock got on the motorcycle at Kirk's signal even as he lectured Kirk about his possession of the phaser. He had gotten to the constitutionality of the right to bear arms when Kirk, rolling his eyes, revved the engine, and Spock's mouth snapped shut with some irritation.
They were at the Quantum Café in minutes.
Spock didn't want to get off the motorcycle, his exquisite excuse for tactile contact. He could have spent his life on the thing, feeling Kirk's heart beat beneath his hands. At times he rested his helmet lightly against the back of Kirk's helmet and imagined that their foreheads were touching in a moment of shining calm. He could, at these times, more vividly imagine Kirk's eyelashes, light as air, and delicate, the only barriers between Spock's eyes and Kirk's. Those blue eyes, their color like the edge of sky around gray clouds, hinting of rain and storm and cool breezes. His face, at an angle; the planes of his cheekbones extending over his jawline and casting appealing, subtle shadows across the small hairs that dotted his skin. A quirk, at the termination of his mouth; his lips arching up on one end, laughing at something, and a quickness in his eyes, flashing assurance and determination.
"Dude," said Kirk, snapping his fingers in front of Spock's face. "Don't zone out on me here. This is important."
"I was not 'zoning out on you,'" said Spock irritably, and his fantasy puffed apart to be replaced by the real thing, which he was considering attempting to strangle. "What is it?"
"Well, we're here," said Kirk, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking worried. "What do we do?"
"What do you mean? We proceed inside and converse with Commander Sulu."
"Quit fucking calling her that. We don't know if she's legit or not. Why should we trust her? Why does she want to talk to us? She has no reason to help us out."
"At the Archives, she said that she had been meaning to speak to me since my mother perished. I think she wishes to help me."
"How sweet, for a spy. Do we tell her everything, or make her talk first? I think we should make her talk first. And I also think that if she starts to go all judo on us, you flee and I'll take her out with the phaser if necessary."
Spock stared at him. "James, that is a terrible idea."
"We have to have a contingency plan!"
"I trust Commander Sulu," said Spock. "And even if I did not, I would have no choice but to do so. She is an incredibly capable martial artist and could no doubt disarm you before you could even attempt to engage with her. We have more to gain from speaking with her than from not speaking with her, so despite the possible dangers, I feel that we should proceed inside. We do not want to keep her waiting."
To Spock's surprise, Kirk, who had been holding his motorcycle helmet, threw it at the ground. There was a shocking crack as it bounced across the concrete and rolled to a stop against a curb. Spock didn't move, though he felt his heart rate double. Kirk was staring at the ground, his hands wrapped into tight fists, his nostrils flared.
"She could kill y—us," said Kirk urgently. "I am fucking terrified, okay? You can't be so damn light about this. I hadn't—" He passed his hand over his eyes. "I hadn't thought about what I was doing, about what I'd found, until you came up to me in the Archives with her and said something about a gun and your life being threatened… Spock, this is real."
"I know," said Spock softly. "I have known that this is real ever since my mother died. I am afraid as well. But Comman—but Miko holds a key, or could hold a key, and we need it. Without her permission we can never learn more about the Rihanh. And if she is not on our side, then I have an idea."
The tension left Kirk's body as Spock spoke. He nodded. "What's your idea?"
"Take all of the data you have collected and send it to Nyota, Leonard, Pavel, and Christine. We should not yet send it to Hikaru; it is possible that he would take his sister's side and attempt to help her. That way, if we are eliminated, the questions can be pursued to their answers."
"Good idea, Dumbledore," said Kirk, pulling out his PADD. "But sending it to Nyota—Spock, this has to do with the possible murder of her mother. Isn't this something we should tell her in person?"
Spock considered. "You make an excellent point. For now, let us not inform her. If things… do not occur to our advantage—" Kirk snorted at Spock's wording. "—the others can fill her in, as it were."
"Nice phrase."
"Thank you. I attempt to introduce colloquialisms into my speech when appropriate."
Kirk shook his head amazedly. "Will wonders never cease." He sent the files to Bones, Chekov, and Chapel with a brief accompanying explanation. "We'll have to go talk to them right after this. I was gong to see Bones at ten, anyway."
"Quite. Now, shall we proceed?"
Kirk steeled himself. "Yes. Let me go first, okay?"
"As you wish," said Spock.
Kirk gave him a weird look. Spock had no idea why. But Kirk did not elaborate on his interesting expression.
As they were walking into the café, Spock sped up and Kirk slowed down, so that they were almost as close as they had been on the motorcycle. Spock had to avoid treading on Kirk's heels. For a moment, Kirk's hand fluttered behind him in the apex of his stride, and Spock brushed it unthinkingly. Their fingers lightly wrapped around each other, and Kirk gave Spock's hand a gentle squeeze. Spock felt fear, anxiety, and jittering stubbornness; a strong, hard sense of justice; and protectiveness and reassurance, feelings specifically for him.
This distracted Spock enough that he forgot to be afraid of Miko, who was not exactly waiting for them inside.
The Special Services agent was wolfing down a plate of scrambled eggs and ham instead of looking at all threatening. When she gestured for them to sit down next to her, her cheeks were puffed out, holding the tea she had just gulped. She swallowed, wiped her lips, and frowned at them.
"Took you long enough," she said, slicing a steamed tomato in half and maneuvering it into her mouth. "Want anything?" She gestured carelessly to the menus with her knife, accidentally flicking grease onto Spock's shoulder.
"We are… satisfied," said Spock, applying his napkin to the spot with a certain amount of irritation.
"Actually, I could use some breakfast," said Kirk, who had seemingly become enraptured by the menu. "Do they really serve filet mignon for brunch here?"
"Yeah," said Miko enthusiastically. "Get it, it's really good. And the meal's on me."
When the waiter came over, Kirk ordered a cartload of food, including the aforementioned filet mignon (Spock's nose wrinkled; he had conveniently forgotten about Kirk's distasteful obsession with consuming the flesh of dead animals), plantain fritters, eggs Benedict, and papaya juice. Spock, the soul of discretion, requested a simple black breakfast tea with toast and jam.
Spock thought for a while that Kirk had forgotten his earlier fear, but when Kirk picked up his water, Spock noticed that the ice rattled in it.
"So," said Miko, crossing her hands in front of her and leaning towards the two boys. "You're looking up information on the Rihanh. And why would that be?"
"We would prefer that you told us whatever it was that you were planning to tell us," said Kirk, leaning forward as well and looking surprisingly threatening for being blond, seventeen, and, well, Kirk.
"Fair," said Miko. She arranged her napkin in her lap, clearly calculating her next words. "I'm one of the only Special Services agents that's been assigned to the Rihanh since they supposedly disbanded. There are four more of us, which is, in our view, shocking, since the Rihanh were a big problem for the Federation, and even for the Romulan Empire, up until about four years ago. Still, they were never very famous outside of the Empire—I'm surprised you two have heard of them—which is probably why there's not much internal interest in their activities. As in, the higher-ups don't get political points for dealing with something that's 'not a problem,' so they don't propose funding for it." She made a face. "I'll stop complaining. Anyway, after your house burned down, Spock, I looked into it. And what got me was the total lack of evidence. It was like somebody who really knew what they were doing had either set the fire themselves, or cleaned up after it. But despite this, they made sure the investigators, and even casual observers, would know that it was arson. Which just doesn't make any sense."
"Why did you look into the case?" Spock asked.
"For one, my kid brother was involved. And for another, as you said, Kirk, the incident was purposefully reminiscent of the destruction of the Kelvin on Calder II, in which the Rihanh were probably involved."
"It sounds like you have had a hard time proving their involvement in anything."
"Right in one. And you know why?"
Spock frowned. "Why?"
"Cloaking device."
Kirk and Spock exchanged glances. "Invisibility is theoretically possible," said Spock skeptically. "Selectively bending light…. But the power cost is enormous."
"They solved that, we think." said Miko. "The Rihanh. This is, by the way, one of the reasons the Rihanh are so dangerous. They have an incredible grasp of advanced sciences. They recruit from top Romulan universities."
"You speak of them in the present tense," said Spock.
Miko nodded. "I believe that the events of this year are proof that they still exist," she said. "I think they've developed a personal cloaking device. I think that they 'disbanded' four years ago so that they could start working in secret. But I can't prove any of this, and I don't know what their goal is."
"How do you think Nero is involved?" said Kirk.
"I'm not sure he is," said Miko. "But I know he is."
"That is illogical," said Spock.
"Yup," said Miko. "And it drives me crazy. If he is involved, he hasn't done anything right—or, as you say, logically. His actions don't make any sense. He moved here four years ago and proceeded to buy an apartment in the Tenderloin, make some Romulan friends, and enroll himself in school." She pulled a PADD out of her purse and handed it to Spock. "Here's his file. Again, we can't pin him—or anybody—for the murder of his family. It's incredibly frustrating. The phaser Ayel threatened you with at the first hovercar race, Spock; it disappeared completely. And why would Nero let Ayel do that? Why would he want to kill you, right there? And why did he even create a hovercar team? All of the Romulans who are in it have some connection to the Rihanh, even if it's vague—and the vagueness is clearly what is connecting them, because every Romulan at Pride High who does have a connection is in the club, and every one that doesn't isn't in the club. And we have to ask, who is in charge of Nero? He has no guardian. We have identified no other potential Rihanh leader."
Miko stopped; their waiter had approached with the food. He sat Kirk's multitudinous plates down first, then Spock's tea and toast.
They ate for a few minutes, thinking.
"What can you tell us, definitively?" said Kirk at last.
Miko wiped her mouth. "Three things. First, that Nero has been involved in a number of violent incidents. Second, that he is undeniably connected to the Rihanh. And third, his main target, for the moment, is Spock, and the Enterprise High hovercar club. All of you, except for Montgomery Scott, have familial connections to the Federation's old Rihanh project."
"And why is that?" said Spock. "How did that happen?"
Miko sighed. "As far as I can tell, it's a simple coincidence," she said. "There are about ten other people at Enterprise High who also have familial connections to the Rihanh project, but their connections are not quite as… direct. For everyone in your club—again, except for Montgomery Scott—the connection comes from a sibling, parent, or grandparent." Miko paused, eyes narrowed. "You already know this, I assume?"
"Yes," said Kirk. "My dad, Spock's dad, Bo—Leonard McCoy's grandmothers, Nyota Uhura's mother, Pavel Chekov's mother, Christine Chapel's mother, and… Hikaru's sister."
"Exactly," said Miko.
Spock thought that Miko looked slightly different as she said this. Her coffee cup covered her mouth when she spoke, and her hands twitched slightly. He thought she might be lying.
"What do you think about Scotty?" asked Kirk.
Miko shook her head. "I have no idea. I've done some pretty heavy research on him. His parents were friends with Uhura's mother, but that doesn't imply a thing, and unless they were really, really secret agents, they were not involved with the Federation or Starfleet at all, even outside of an anti-Rihanh capacity. His grandparents are clear, his aunts and uncles and cousins and great aunts and uncles and great-grand parents and second cousins and third cousins and even family friends—there's nothing. I can't think what I would have missed. No employers, either. No family doctors. No people who were close them, even in a professional capacity. No objects they own—I, um, might have broken into their house a while back. And their family's houses."
Spock raised a judgmental eyebrow.
"Yeah, I know," said Miko guiltily. "But I was in Scotland anyway, a while ago, and I was kind of bored. I don't just cover the Rihanh, since the Federation doesn't consider them a threat. But you don't need to know that.
"Here's what puzzles me the most: Today. Why was Spock warned not to pursue his line of thought? How did the person, who was probably a Romulan, know what Spock was doing anyway? Having illegal access to the Archives is a serious offense, and it takes really serious technical skill to get that access. And what was their purpose in threatening Spock? Why take such a risk? They could have acted after the two of you had left the Archives." She shook her head. "I have no answers. I wish I could be of more help."
"You knew why we were looking up the Rihanh," said Spock. "Why did you ask us, then?"
Miko shrugged. "Standard procedure," she said, and again, Spock noticed the way she covered her mouth as she spoke, this time with a forkful of egg.
They finished their food, tossing ideas around. Almost as soon as he was done, Kirk said he had to go, and saying goodbye to Miko, who promised she would keep in touch, Kirk dragged Spock out of the restaurant.
He let out a heavy sigh as he flopped back against his motorcycle. "We're alive," he said.
"Of course we are," said Spock. "It is curious that Commander Sulu was unable to tell us very much."
"Yeah," said Kirk, digging for his key card in his pocket. "She was definitely lying at a few points, don't you think?" He started the bike. "We should go talk to everybody. I told Bones I was going to come over yesterday, and then I had to reschedule because of this, so I'll drop you off at your house, and you go collect Hikaru, Pavel, and Christine, and I'll—I'll talk to Bones."
Spock was curious. "Why will your discussion take such a long duration of time?" he asked.
"We've got something to discuss," said Kirk. He sighed. "I'll admit, I'm going to try to get around it." He seemed to make up his mind about something. "Actually, listen. You just get Hikaru and Pavel. I'll get Christine. I'll talk to Bones later."
"You should not avoid things unnecessarily," Spock said. "It is better to deal with events and issues before they become complications."
"Oh, this is already a complication. A few more days won't hurt," said Kirk. "Come on, I'm already late."
Trying not to look too happy about it, Spock climbed back onto the motorcycle.
It was Kirk's turn to daydream about Spock. He had been feeling a huge influx of emotions in the past twenty-four hours, and other than in Spock's apartment, he had been almost too busy to remember his attraction to the half-Vulcan. He took off, and zoomed around turns faster than necessary just so that Spock would cling tighter to him, and threw on the brakes so that Spock's body would press against his. He imagined stopping at a light, turning around, taking Spock's chin in his palm, and kissing him like the world was ending. In fact, he imagined this for quite a while.
"We should meet at Nyota's residence," said Spock unexpectedly in his ear, as they were stopped at a light near Spock's home. (Twenty-third century motorcycle helmets had sophisticated audio systems, allowing their wearer to hear quite well even through an inch and a half of padding.) Kirk jumped.
"Okay," he said. "Sure." He felt Spock's face hovering near him, and his muscles tensed. Do it, he told himself. Rip your helmets off. Just kiss him. But the light turned green. And anyway, he thought as he pressed the throttle and felt Spock lean back, Spock didn't like him. Spock thought he was incredibly irritating. He had shown no sign of attraction so far, and why should he? Spock was not the type of person to admit to an attraction to someone like Kirk—really, to be attracted to someone like Kirk. He would think that such an attraction would be… illogical.
Kirk wasn't far from right: Spock did think that his attraction was illogical. But it didn't matter. Kirk pulled up in front of the Vulcan embassy, and Spock slid sadly off the motorcycle, his hand lingering near Kirk's warmth.
"See you in a few," said Kirk. "Give Nyota a call to let her know we're coming, okay?"
"I shall," said Spock.
Kirk sped off.
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