I am aware that the movie novelizations outline a potential canon of events taking place during the 12-ish years between TMP and TWOK, but as we don't really see much of that on screen, I've chosen to take a few bits and pieces where I want and leave the things I don't (and there is a lot I don't, in the novelizations). Be forewarned, this is just my corner of the sandbox, etc. etc.
Thank you for reading!
Whumptober Prompt No. 23: "It's gonna get me by the end of the night."
I haven't quite completed every Whumptober prompt for the month, but I'm happy with what I accomplished, particularly in the under-appreciated movie era. Clocking in at just over 50K words for October, I think I can be forgiven for skipping NaNo this year. Best of luck to anyone participating!
Spock is not particularly fond of weddings.
This could be perceived as deviance from expectation, as such events are generally a fascinating study into the culture of the species being so joined, and as such should be of interest to a student of the sociological sciences. The argument could also be made that any event which brings together two very different beings in such a fashion should be celebrated, simply due to its relative rarity.
And yet, he has found that in many cases, the beings in question are merely seeking to add a label to something which at its heart defies explanation, and which does not actually require such public definition to validate its existence. In his admittedly Vulcan opinion, marriage is unnecessary, short of doing so for diplomatic or political reasons (such as his father's legal marriage to his mother for the purpose of citizenship, performed in addition to their traditional Vulcan bonding).
But not all beings share his beliefs. Spock has been spectator to a variety of such ceremonies over the years, some of them quite beautiful and undoubtedly of importance to the parties involved; and others, seemingly more of an obligation than an event borne of any genuine emotion or desire between said parties.
Humans, in particular, seem to be of two discrete minds when it comes to such things. There are those who believe marriage to be the ultimate indicator of committed fidelity, particularly, it would seem, in monogamous relationships. And then there are those who believe marriage to be a matter of political convenience at best, and a spectacular nuisance, at worst. A surprising number of humans tend to favor a more logical, short-term solution such as a civil contract instead, something with a clear expiration date and opportunity to review the data after the experiment is concluded. The formality of a full wedding ceremony, along with the long-term commitment it implies, is far less frequently seen.
Spock remembers Jim saying once that being asked to perform a wedding ceremony was one of his favorite parts of being a captain, even if the opportunity only occurred two times in the entirety of their five-year mission. This is not an unusually low number aboard a constitution-class starship; formalizing any such relationships in their profession might have its personal benefits, but carries increased risk and produces an absurd amount of what is called red tape, particularly if there is more than one rank's difference between the parties involved.
The more superstitious might also say that it is unwise to so tempt a capricious Fate with an obvious weak point, in a hazardous business such as Starfleet service. Thus, the aforementioned rarity of the ceremony.
Spock suspects, however, that Jim would verify that officiating a wedding and attending one are vastly different experiences.
Certainly, being asked (practically begged) to be what Spock believes is colloquially called a 'plus-one' at the long-heralded and much over-dramatized ceremonial handfasting of two upper admiralty members Spock has never met, is not his preferred way to pass a late autumn evening. There are entirely too many beings packed into the venue, most of those beings radiate pretentiousness like a telepathic shield, the menu is skewed 92.3% in favor of omnivores, and the attendees are primarily humans, meaning they tend to grow progressively more obnoxious as the evening (and its alcoholic saturation) wears on.
But Spock is, at least, not alone in his distaste for the event. Barely had they arrived at the venue after the brief ceremony, when Starfleet's youngest admiral had been immediately diverted to a seemingly unending, whirlwind string of what looks like obligatory networking connections, an expectation of his Admiralty status and directed by the primary figurehead of the marriage, no doubt.
Kirk's genial demeanor has not changed over the last two hours, though Spock can tell even at a distance that the diplomatic smile is beginning to falter, and his posture grows more and more tense as he finds himself backed inadvertently into a conversational and physical corner of the large ballroom.
After a further thirty minutes of mingling and creating his own (admittedly far more pleasant) connections, Spock decides that enough is, as the humans say, quite enough.
He takes the two cut-crystal glasses with a nod of thanks from an overworked member of the bar staff, and makes his way across the polished floor, gracefully sidestepping a few beings who are plainly on the far side of the inebriation spectrum and flaunting that state with what can only be termed dancing in its least possible artistic sense.
Jim's eyes light on him immediately as he rounds a marbled pillar, and unless Spock's ability to read him has decreased over time and recent distance, they show both gratitude and relief at his approach.
"My apologies, I was detained by former colleagues," he says, as he hands one of the glasses over, which Kirk accepts with a murmur of thanks. "As you can imagine, there is much in the 'Fleet with which I need to reacquaint myself." He only then looks at the other human, who is not even pretending to hide his displeasure at Spock's arrival. "Rom'khru. I am Spock."
"Yes, I'm aware," the man replies dryly, giving him what Spock believes the humans call a 'once-over'. "I thought you'd left the 'Fleet completely."
"I had." Spock raises an eyebrow, eyes flicking to the dress uniform's insignia pin before returning to the humans' face. "But you have the advantage of me, Captain."
"Carrollton, John Carrollton," the human finally says, and offers him a hand to shake in the human fashion. Spock ignores it.
Jim's lips twitch behind the glass he is pretending to drink from.
Spock is, however, at heart a diplomat (and his mother would be properly appalled if he did not exercise that childhood training); so he nods in polite acknowledgment instead. "Sir."
"Captain Carrollton was just telling me about the most recent news regarding the Tigris," Jim interjects quietly, gesturing with the glass.
"I'm sure you've heard of her," Carrollton talks over Kirk before his sentence is even finished, and it is…irksome.
"Indeed. The U.S.S. Tigris, Columbia class, new designation NX-142-B. Currently preparing for a second two-year mission patrolling the alpha quadrant. Recently broke the previously held Starfleet record for the number of Internal Relations complaints lodged against a vessel's commanding officer in a calendar year."
Jim briefly chokes on his drink, strangling a cough into his sleeve. Thankfully, Carrollton is too busy glaring at Spock to notice this.
"My congratulations, Captain – I found the new record to be a most interesting and multifaceted study of human nature in a controlled environment." Spock raises an eyebrow, as Carrollton's face reddens. "Is that not the news to which you were referring, sir?"
"No!"
"Ah. Then you have my apologies," Spock replies. "My recent stay on my home planet appears to have left me somewhat out of practice with what is known as 'small talk'. The complexities of this linguistics subtlety are most elusive to a Vulcan."
There is very little the human can say to that which would not come off as at least mildly xenophobic, but it at the least does not prevent him from a most undignified glower. Spock is reminded of a very hostile, bristling weasel sizing up a potential predator.
"What are you doing back in the 'Fleet anyway, Commander?" the human finally inquires, deceptively civil. "Your abrupt departure was a big topic of conversation for a long time, you know. We were only told you'd resigned, no details ever surfaced as to the reason why." Carrollton shoots a thinly veiled glare at Kirk, who only blinks benignly back at him. "Mighty suspicious circumstances, if you ask me."
"I did not ask you," Spock points out. "But you are technically correct, I resigned my commission at the end of the Enterprise's exploratory five-year mission."
"Well?"
"My reasons for doing so were personal, and Admiral Kirk was kind enough to keep my confidence despite the pushback from Starfleet Command to disclose my whereabouts and reasoning. You understand the Vulcan need for privacy, of course."
"Of course," the man mutters, a little gracelessly.
"But I did not intend to divert your news with my own, Captain Carrollton," Spock adds, flawlessly diplomatic. "Do continue."
"The captain has been kind enough to extend an invitation to me, to oversee the re-christening and shakedown cruise of the Tigris next week," Jim clarifies, with a horribly dead rictus of a smile.
"Indeed?"
"I thought you'd jump at the chance to get off the ground again for a full month," Carrollton drawls, elbowing Kirk hard enough that the contents of his glass slosh over the side. "Lord knows that's all you talked about, for a year at least after you were grounded."
Kirk's eyes tighten at the corners, but his pleasant expression never wavers. "I was a bit one-track-minded back then, yes. Culture shock, if you will."
A derisive snort. "Still are, but at least you're quieter about it now." Carrollton glances over at Spock, and tilts his head in question. "Now you, Commander - if you decide you want to get back out there on active duty, you just give me a call. The Tigris could use an experienced Chief Science Officer."
"So I hear," Spock replies, dry as Vulcan sand.
Carrollton squints at him, as if trying to decipher the level of inherent sarcasm in the words, but ultimately just rolls his eyes without further comment. Spock has obviously overestimated the man's ability to take a hint, and more emphatic measures will be required.
"I will keep your kind offer in mind, Captain. Now, if you will excuse us?"
The dismissive tone is quite subtle, though the additional psionic shove of angerannoyanceprotectiveness Spock subconsciously sends the human's direction is certainly not; after only a moment of waffling back and forth, Carrollton is the one to take his leave, muttering under his breath as he does so.
Jim's eyebrows lift slightly, though he keeps his eyes downcast on the golden swirl of liquid reflecting from cut crystal. "Even I could feel that. You all right?"
"Perfectly."
"Good, because that was amazing." Hazel eyes flick upward to his for a moment in a quicksilver smile, genuine for the first time in hours.
"I trust I did not overstep."
"Are you joking? If there weren't two hundred other beings in this room, I might take my chances on this newfound emotional equilibrium of yours and embarrass us both. I daresay V'Ger would approve."
"I would prefer you did not. We are the subject of enough human gossip as it is."
Jim's laughter is genuine, although it ends by pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, followed by an exasperated gesture in the air. "I cannot stand the man, and I have no idea why he seeks me out at every opportunity!"
"My initial hypothesis would be professional jealousy," Spock observes, for the first time tasting the suggested cocktail himself. It is not completely unpleasant, though he would not personally choose this particular, overly tropical flavor profile for this time of year on Earth.
"How ironic would that be," Kirk mutters, and half-drains the glass in one swallow. "Ugh. There's as much sugar in that as there is very cheap rum," he adds, with a grimace. "I'd stick to one, if I were you."
"Noted." But the words have registered clearly, and this is another piece of the puzzle which has been lying partially finished ever since his return. "But, Admiral –"
"Gods, Spock, please use my name. You of all people." There is a desperate, almost naked honesty in the plea that is immediate evidence of more distress than is surface-visible. "If I have to hear that word one more time tonight –"
"Understood."
For an awkward moment, there is silence between them, during which the admiral rapidly drains his glass with the determination of a man on a particularly unpleasant mission. With no more judgment than a raised eyebrow, Spock offers him the barely touched second.
"Thanks," Kirk mutters, swapping them out quickly. "But cut me off after this, or it'll catch up to me by the end of the night."
"Also understood," Spock replies lightly.
The music changes to something slower, containing a more relaxed rhythm and additional strings, which seems to be invitation for half the room to enter the open area having been appropriated as a dance floor. The quiet, almost intimate pocket in which they had been conversing shatters abruptly with the influx of beings, and it is most unpleasant.
Jim tugs sharply at the snug collar of his uniform jacket, cheeks lightly flushed from the alcohol, and glances almost wildly around them as the noise increases. "Unless you plan on participating, I'd suggest we make ourselves scarce," he says, raising his voice.
Spock's eyes fall on a set of French doors leading to a warmly-lit balcony, and he briefly touches Kirk's arm before disappearing into the crowd, trusting he will be followed in short order.
The night air greets him with a distinctly chilled bite, though it is pleasantly imbued with the scent of saltwater and some vine-based flora he cannot readily identify in the dark, twining in graceful spirals up the side of the building's ancient stonework. Three stories below, the Bay is almost unnaturally still and quiet, rippling in silvered reflection against a bold, luminous waning-crescent moon.
An invisible double string of soft golden lights floats overhead, casting the ornate stonework and wrought-iron decorations into shadowy contrast as he chooses a simple stone bench overlooking the sea. As if in miniature, an energetic variety of Lampyridae flit lazily about the scene in twinkling pinpoints, an earthly mirror of the stars.
Behind him, a burst of laughter and music snap into the stillness, before they are muffled once more by the closing of the doors.
Jim joins him at the balcony edge, though he remains standing, and discards the half-drunk glass on the stone beside him. Leaning briefly over the rough-hewn edge, he glances over the lamplit walkways below, and then to the only other exit from the balcony, several meters away. Always a tactician, always fully aware of his surroundings.
"I'm surprised we're the only ones out here. Your ideas are, as usual, impeccable, Mr. Spock," he finally says, with a relieved sigh.
While the tone is lighthearted, there seems to be an unusual heaviness behind the words. The average being would not notice; but Spock is not an average being. Years of distance have not changed that much.
However, "Not all of them," he counters wryly, and receives a vaguely amused huff as acknowledgment.
"Too cold for you out here?"
"I am not in discomfort at this time, no."
The brisk autumnal breeze from the Bay is indeed below optimal Vulcan parameters, but Spock had opted for traditional Vulcan formalwear for this event, a black and silver walking cloak over long trousers of the same material, rather than the highly uncomfortable dress uniform in a shade of beige which flatters no one. The combined inner and outer robes produce enough warmth to ensure continued comfort in the current climate for at least fifty-five minutes.
The quiet that then falls, broken only by the distant crashing of waves below and occasional swell of music beyond the double doors, is more comfortable than it had been earlier in the evening.
Time changes all beings; and not always for the better. But Spock would like to think that, as Terra's Shakespeare once said, some select few beings are indeed constant in all things. This unusual human is one of them, and that expression would indicate an unpleasant train of contemplation is in progress.
"Jim."
"Hmm?"
"May I ask the direction of your thoughts?"
"Generous of you, to assume they have direction," is the lighthearted response, accompanied by a look up at the vast expanse of night sky. "Perhaps I just want to wander for a while."
"A wander with a wandering star?"
Kirk's eyes are genuinely curious as he half-turns. "You've read Chesterton? I didn't know that."
"Not as a literary focus; religious apologetics and social analysis are not particularly of interest to me. But my mother retained several books of Terran poetry, which I remember browsing as a child. I recall several of his works being featured within them."
"I would have thought The Ballad of the White Horse was a bit too romantic to be appealing. Vulcan poetry is much more…straightforward, isn't it?"
"It is. Chesterton says in nearly 2700 lines, none of which are historically accurate, what could as effectively be conveyed in one-tenth that number."
Kirk chuckles briefly. "Well, I don't necessarily disagree with you. I only remember the dedication, really. Beyond the loneliest star and a flying home for me get me every time, even if the authorial intent obviously wasn't referencing starship life."
"The phrasing is indeed apposite." Spock hesitates for a moment, considering his next words carefully. "That said, I am somewhat surprised that you have continued in a ground posting, nearly three years after the Enterprise's mission ended."
"Well." There is a wistful note in the tone, as Jim turns back toward the starlit night and peaceful ocean beyond, resting his elbows on the stone railing. "Perhaps I only realized what real loneliness actually was, when it was too late to solve the problem."
"You do not believe in unsolvable problems."
"You have no idea what I believe anymore," Kirk replies, not unkindly, but with pointed accuracy. He sighs, and looks down at his hands. "For that matter, I'm not sure I know, Spock."
"You are unhappy."
It is, perhaps, an obvious observation; but hearing it aloud seems to produce a look of startled comprehension. "You could say that, I suppose." Jim shakes his head, and gestures toward him. "You, conversely, seem to be happy for the first time in your life."
"You could say that," Spock repeats, and receives an amused half-smile.
"You used to say contentment was the Vulcan equivalent of human happiness."
"It is." He shifts slightly on the chilled stone bench, pensive. "But it is an incomplete assessment, particularly as I am not, in fact, fully Vulcan."
A dismal sigh. "You're so sure of everything now."
"And you are not."
"No. I'm not the same person I was three years ago, Spock. And whoever this man is? I can't even say I like him very much."
"You have always been your own harshest critic, Jim."
"And you've always been a tiny bit biased in this area, my friend." The self-deprecating smile softens into something more affectionate. "I've selfishly missed that. More than you know."
"I am gratified to hear it, however."
Kirk looks down as an insect descends on his index finger, a tiny glowing pinpoint that soon vanishes just as quickly into the night. "But you're right. I have…no idea what I'm even doing, Spock." There is an alarming note of exhaustion in the words. "I guess I have more in common with a twentieth-century probe than I thought."
"Is this all I am, is there nothing more?" he supplies from memory, and Kirk nods. No further explanation is required to comprehend the root sentiment. "You have always been more than just a starship captain, Jim."
"Have I?" The question appears to be genuine, if characterized by an undercurrent of bitterness.
"Starfleet Command seems to think so."
"Starfleet Command wants their problem child on a leash, Spock. I bent too many rules during our mission, and drove both you and Bones away at the end of it, a curtain call that didn't exactly go unnoticed. I can't blame them, logistically or tactically, for finally deciding I was more trouble than I was worth in the captain's chair."
This is troubling. Spock had been aware, of course, that the promotion had been undesired, though in unbiased opinion it was an appointment well-deserved; but he had not been aware that it was seen as a harsh punishment by the man in question. In retrospect, this is now obvious, and explains much; but at the time, Spock had been far too busy attempting to make sense of their abruptly transitioning lives to pay attention to anyone's turmoil but his own.
But one thing at a time. "Doctor McCoy has said he was merely burned out, I believe the expression is, at the end. You are not responsible for his decision to retire early, Jim."
"He's told me that, yes. But whose fault really is that, if not mine? We went to hell and back, that last year in particular. And a lot of those missions were…morally ambiguous, to say the least. I know he wasn't happy about all the decisions we made."
"I do not disagree. But that is somewhat to be expected, given the nature of our business. And if you will recall: the rules you bent, as you put it, are likely the only reason the Enterprise survived to see the end of the mission."
"Maybe," Kirk acknowledges with a sigh, eyes closed for a moment. "But Command clearly thought enough was enough."
"I believe it far more likely that the decision had more to do with the Admiralty itself, than any particular evaluation of your captaincy," Spock replies.
Jim opens his eyes, interested. "How do you figure that?"
"We are both aware that the Board has for decades been skewed in favor of the elderly and inflexible. Comprised primarily of majority male-presenting human officers with very little recent command experience and an alarmingly low level of human compassion. It is likely that your appointment to that group was thought to be a step in the right direction, in diversifying the panel which makes such critical policy decisions for the 'Fleet."
Jim turns, and sits heavily on the edge of the stone railing. "I hadn't really thought about it like that."
"I could be incorrect," Spock points out. "But without the full facts, that would, to me, seem to be the most logical conclusion."
"And you couldn't have drawn that conclusion at the time I really needed to hear it?" While it is obviously said in jest, there is a faint note of hurt buried deeper.
"At the time, I was unaware you needed it." He ensures his own tone is carefully neutral. "You did not discuss the matter with any of us, Jim. And you do not react well to being offered unsolicited advice, particularly regarding command decisions."
"That's…unfortunately an accurate assessment," Kirk admits, after a slow exhale. "Though for the record, you're hardly one to talk about refusing to discuss important life changes."
"I am quite aware of the inherent hypocrisy in my evaluation," he replies calmly. "We both made mistakes, Jim."
"We did." A dismal sigh. "Yours were easily fixable, it would seem. I don't think the same can be said for mine. There's no going back, now."
"If you are still referencing your promotion: While the logistics might take some time to resolve, and precedent would seem to discourage setting a precedent, there is no actual regulation which explicitly states a Starfleet admiral must remain in a Terran ground posting," Spock points out.
"True. But it's an unspoken expectation, if you reside in the alpha quadrant."
"And you have always been perfectly compliant with unreasonable expectations," Spock observes, deadpan.
A snort of laughter. "Touché."
"But if for some reason the change of location is not possible, there are more ways to make a difference in the galaxy than being enlisted in Starfleet."
Kirk's eyes flick up to his in surprise. "You're suggesting I leave the 'Fleet?"
"I am not suggesting any course of action; I merely point out that you have more options than you seem to be considering as feasible. If the system remains inflexible, then the next logical step would be to either reinvent the system, or adopt a different one entirely."
"…Yes, I suppose so. Reprogram the parameters of the situation."
"Indeed. Something you have a successful history of."
"I'm not sure that approach would go over well with the aforementioned inflexible admiralty," Kirk muses, more somber. "Adopting a different one…that's something I haven't ever thought about. I wouldn't even know where to start looking. This is all I've ever known, Spock. All I've ever wanted."
"Are you quite certain that last is still true?"
"…Not completely, no. I don't know."
"Your leadership and tactical skills are highly transferable; in addition, you are an excellent mentor and competent instructor," Spock points out, matter-of-fact. "And there are more organizations than Starfleet which are in need of capable ship's captains."
"Well, I do think I'd make a dashing pirate, don't you?"
Spock refrains from rolling his eyes, as semi-flirtatious humor has always been this particular human's go-to coping mechanism. At this point, it is no longer frustrating; only endearing.
"I was referencing something more like an exploratory vessel sponsored by the Vulcan Science Academy than an adaptation of our mirror universe, but a mercenary approach technically is an option."
Jim tilts his head quizzically. "The VSA?"
"Indeed." Spock raises an eyebrow in a mild shrug of indifference. "They have requested my transfer to a scientific vessel every year I have been actively enlisted in Starfleet."
"I had no idea you were in such high demand. That's incredibly impressive, Spock."
"It is logical. I am a significant scientific and diplomatic asset."
"Humble, too."
"Accurate," he corrects, and Jim raises his hands briefly in an amused gesture of surrender. "But my primary point, is that due to their continued interest in my presence, I believe brokering an acceptable dual posting for us would not be a lengthy or particularly difficult negotiation. It might even be done under Starfleet partnership."
"…For us?" Jim's eyes are soft in the lamplight, though he sounds a little incredulous. "You do know they're gearing up to hand you another sleeve stripe and the Magellan as soon as she's finished with the engineering upgrade, right?"
"I did not know this, but it changes nothing."
"Just like that? You'd just…leave the Fleet entirely, right after coming back to it, and lose your own chance at a chair? You'd do that for me?"
"Without hesitation."
A beat of startled silence.
"There's also talk of offering you the refitted Enterprise, after a command training refresher," Jim then says quietly. "Her next mission will primarily be diplomatic engagement, rather than scientific exploration."
"I am aware of this."
"They'd be fools not to offer her to you, and you a bigger one not to take her."
"Your evaluation is noted, but not relevant. I declined the proposition when it was put to me two days ago."
"What? Why!"
"Because I find myself unable, indeed unwilling, to repeat my past mistakes."
"You're certainly willing to make completely new ones! You won't get another chance at her for at least five years, Spock, if they send her out again like they're planning. I could live with her being in your hands, you know."
"I do know," he replies gently. "And it is the primary reason why I declined the offer. It would kill you, Jim."
"Not half as much as it would kill me to give her to someone like Carrollton, or worse." Kirk sighs, rubs his forehead. "It's like watching a shuttlecraft crash. Maybe a clean break is the way to go, after all."
"If you truly believe that to be your best destiny, then I will follow you."
Kirk regards him suspiciously for a moment. "That was incredibly lacking in subtlety. Have you actually been trying to use reverse psychology on me, of all people? This whole time?"
"I am not so foolish as to make such an attempt, sir."
"Oh, you definitely are." Jim's eyes twinkle slightly. "Besides, do you think the two of us would be able to survive a primarily-Vulcan ship for long? I can just see the very polite, very logical mutiny being planned as soon as I botch a diplomatic mission with my inconvenient emotional impulses."
Spock's lips twitch. "That sequence of events would not be my preference, no."
"So that's out. Well, there is still the mercenary option."
"I believe I should be allocated one veto, and would use it thus."
"Well, our option set is fast disappearing, Spock," Kirk retorts, with a hint of genuine irritation. "What do you suggest, then, since you seem to have achieved all knowledge here? I suppose I should just walk into the Chancellor's office and demand to be put back on starship duty because people like Carrollton are going to get our best officers killed before they're thirty?"
Spock raises an eyebrow.
"Wait, you're serious."
The eyebrow inches higher.
Kirk seems already a hundred lightyears away, lost in a warp corridor of rapid thought. "I don't think they've ever allowed a lengthy command posting at that rank. A few months, maybe, not years. I highly doubt I can convince them of the necessity."
"Of course." Spock shifts back into the warmth of the inner robe against the creeping chill. "As you said, I have always been somewhat biased in my over-expectation of your diplomatic skills. None would blame you for being unable to achieve the desired outcome."
There is an almost comical beat of silence, followed by a low laugh, one brisk puff of crystalline particles, and Jim looks up at him, comprehension slowly dawning like a new day. "You already made them a counter-proposal, didn't you."
"I might have."
"For the Enterprise."
"It certainly was not for the Tigris." The disdain in his voice is, perhaps, a little too clear to be a truly Vulcan evaluation.
Overall, he had thought reception of the proposal would be welcome, if perhaps imbued with annoyance at being circumvented, but he had not expected Kirk to fairly rocket to his feet and pace several meters away in evident distress, only to lean on the stone railing with both hands, staring out at the sea.
After a moment, Spock follows, but stops a safe distance away. "I have overstepped," he says, not a question.
"No." The word is immediate, almost intensely so. "Gods, no, Spock. I just –" A brief pause, and Jim finally turns. Backlit against the silvered expanse of sea, it is now obvious that it is not solely the reflection of the string lights shimmering in his eyes. "I just forgot what it was like, to have such unconditional support. Despite everything, mistakes and all. No conditions, no demands, no expectations. It's…a little overwhelming, to be honest."
"I can certainly make more of an effort to emulate Doctor McCoy's fractious temperament, if that is your preference."
The wind catches Kirk's laughter and carries it out to sea. "Please say that to his face when we see him on Sunday. I've missed being the Neutral Zone between the two of you."
Spock hums in acknowledgment, but lets the banter pass in favor of more important clarifications. "In case it is of interest, he is also on board with my proposal."
Surprise is soon chased by fond resignation on Kirk's expressive features. "I've been pestering him for a week over his long-term plans. Of course he talked to you instead."
"Again, if I have overstepped –"
"No." Jim moves closer, and puts a hand firmly on his arm. "You're not the only one who doesn't want to repeat past mistakes, Spock. That includes my pride, and my refusal to accept help, even from you."
Spock inclines his head, silent acknowledgment without condemnation.
"But I have one condition."
"I will hear the condition."
"If – and it is an if – this ridiculous venture ends up coming to fruition, you promise me that when it's done, you'll take whatever promotion they offer you." The hand on his arm tightens minutely. "I'm far too selfish to talk you out of it right now, but I can't just…go back out there, knowing you're curtailing your future indefinitely. I'd constantly be second-guessing things, and wondering if you were developing resentment over it."
"I have no such misgivings, but I understand your concern about a potential power imbalance. I would make a counter-proposal."
A quick twitch of a smile. "I will hear the counter-proposal."
"I would suggest we refrain from any such blanket promises, and instead implement a conscious commitment to open communication. There can be no second-guessing, if one eliminates the initial guesswork."
"Hm. I think you're right."
"I typically am."
"You're enjoying this far too much, you know."
"I do, yes."
Rom'khru – "Good evening."
Excerpt from The Ballad of the White Horse by G.K. Chesterton:
Do you remember when we went
Under a dragon moon,
And `mid volcanic tints of night
Walked where they fought the unknown fight
And saw black trees on the battle-height,
Black thorn on Ethandune?
And I thought, "I will go with you,
As man with God has gone,
And wander with a wandering star,
The wandering heart of things that are,
The fiery cross of love and war
That like yourself, goes on.
O go you onward; where you are
Shall honour and laughter be,
Past purpled forest and pearled foam,
God's winged pavilion free to roam,
Your face, that is a wandering home,
A flying home for me.