A/N: Zero plot, slice of life; I just always get so sad that the last line of the episode of this episode is Spock saying that for the first time he was happy. So now this exists. Enjoy. As always, I own nothing.
On the Other Side of Paradise
Meditation eluded him. Spock sat in his quarters, feeling his knees start to ache from the position he'd been resting in for over an hour. Usually by this point, he was in the third phase of meditation, far past the bodily sensation of discomfort, but, tonight, he was distracted.
The mission to investigate Omicron Ceti III had done a number on his emotional shields and control. To perform such actions, to say such things out loud on the bridge—that that was the first time he was happy. It was near shameful. And shame, as well as happiness, were both emotions. Foreign to the Vulcan way.
He opened his eyes and pursed his lips, refusing to let a sigh escape. It was nothing but a Pyrrhic victory. Stripped of his emotional control, allowed to feel what could've been with Leila, the physical intimacy he had shared with her, forgetting that he belonged to another.
The door chime rang. Spock studied the door but did not move. There were only a few individuals who would be looking for him at this hour. None of whom he desired to speak with. It was unlikely to be the captain, as the man could easily let himself in (he had fixed the lock to open at Kirk's presence long ago) or go through their combined bathroom.
The door chimed again, and Spock rose to his feet. It was not logical to ignore the fact that someone was at the door.
He palmed the door pad, and it whooshed open. It was, in fact, the Captain. Both of them looked surprised at the open door.
"Captain," Spock greeted, question evident in his tone.
"Uh, Mr. Spock," the captain replied, pulling down his uniform tunic slightly, a nervous habit. Interesting. "I was wondering if you'd like to get some dinner with me."
The taller man shook his head. "Negative Captain. I have already acquired the necessary sustenance for the day." Which wasn't technically a lie. He had survived on far fewer meals. One missed dinner would not hurt, and he had no desire to go to the mess hall right now.
Kirk looked at him intently, searching for the lie, before nodding curtly. "Very well, chess in the rec room perhaps?"
Ah. The Kirkian maneuver of getting him out of his quarters to 'socialize'. Again, the Vulcan shook his head. "No, thank you, Captain. Perhaps another night," he amended, seeing the man's face fall slightly. He never could refuse him.
"Ah, well then," The captain hesitated over his words for an instant, before asking, "May I come in?"
Spock raised an eyebrow, but immediately stood aside to permit the captain entrance. Spock walked towards his desk and waited. He did not sit down. He did not want to have a conversation, and perhaps his body language would demonstrate this, so the captain would leave, and Spock could return to his attempt at meditating.
The captain hesitated only a moment before coming to a loose parade rest, hands tucked behind his back. "Mr. Spock, I wanted to apologize for my words in the transporter room earlier today."
Spock opened his mouth to refute, but Kirk stopped him with an open palm. "No, let me continue. I cannot and will not apologize for the actions I took. I would do so again if necessary to protect this ship, but the words I used…" Here he paused before looking Spock in the eye. "Mr. Spock, they're not true. You are one of the most logical, honorable men I've ever met. I have never doubted your loyalty to me, to this ship, to Starfleet. Not for one second did I ever think anything I called you or said was true. I just needed you to react to pull you out of the influence of the spores."
"Apologies are illogical, Captain," Spock finally spoke, voice more gravelly than intended. He had known these things, logical that they were true, but it did his emotional, human (weak!) side good to hear them repeated nonetheless.
Those insults had opened the memories from his childhood, the beginning of his Starfleet career even, when no one knew if he was Vulcan or human, but understood he was inferior at being either, let alone both. He was too human to be Vulcan; too Vulcan-too robotic, too computer-like (printed circuits!)-to be accepted amongst the emotional humans.
And then there was Leila. The spores had ripped away his defenses and allowed himself to open up to her, to share time together that they never would have been able to otherwise. What had she seen in him six years ago?
In those stolen kisses and physical affection, he had not needed his carefully constructed mental shields, because everyone only felt peace and contentment. There was no need to protect himself, because there were no difficult emotions. And Leila, sweet Leila, was an open book.
He had no need to shy from her feelings and gestures, or his own for that matter. Indeed, he had welcomed them, begun to crave them like a drug. The moments he had never had, the affection he never would. For he had T'Pring, and she had only grown colder as the physical and mental distance stretched ever deeper into space.
"Spock?" Jim asked, reaching out to him but remaining respectful of physical space. The lost time came flooding back to Spock as he realized that he was still standing there, silent. "Are you, are you all right?"
"I am … functional, Captain."
At the disbelief on the man's face, Spock amended his statement. "The spores on the planet's surface. They damaged my mental shielding."
Jim mouthed "Oh" as understanding flooded him. "And Leila?"
Always to the heart of the matter with this man!
Spock sat down at his desk wearily. "She is of no consequence." Both of them heard that lie plain as day. Vulcans cannot lie. And perhaps, to a Vulcan, that was true. But his human half had loved her like sunshine after a rainstorm. But he had been unable to reciprocate; he was too Vulcan for her.
"Spock," Jim began cautiously, also taking a seat across the desk. "It's okay to grieve."
"Sir?" Spock was puzzled. "Leila Kalomi is not dead. In fact, Dr. McCoy would state she is in perfect health."
"Well, yes, Spock," Jim answered. "But your relationship, what you had, what you'll never have—that's gone. I took that from you, and it's okay to be upset, to manage those feelings." He held up a hand but Spock didn't have it in him to object right now. "Yes I know, but your mental shields are fried, so there are feelings that must be dealt with. Grieving, regret, remorse—these are normal elements of ending a relationship."
Spock studied the man sitting before him. Jim Kirk was another open book, and he could read the man's grief in his eyes. Perhaps, he spoke with from experience, and Spock's next question came almost unbidden. "Have you grieved such a relationship before?" he inquired almost hesitantly.
Kirk laughed gently, reminiscing in his own memories. "Oh yes, Mr. Spock. Family, friends, lovers. There's always a period after the closeness ends, where you're still longing for the other, to hold or talk to them. Maybe they're not physically dead, but the relationship—whatever it was—is now over." He paused. "And you can't have it back," Kirk finished, a wistful tone in his voice.
The pair sat in silence for a while, caught up in their own memories, words echoing in their heads of the things said and unsaid. Eventually, Kirk shook his head and spoke again. "Can't say I'm real hungry anymore, Mr. Spock. Care for a game of chess here?"
Spock nodded, feeling more at ease with himself than he had for the past two hours in meditation. "Tea?" he asked as they both stood.
Kirk nodded, heading through the bathroom to grab their tri-D chess board, while Spock finagled with the replicator to concoct two Vulcan spice teas. After trying his once, Jim had taken a liking to the spicy brew. The replicated version was far inferior to his mother's recipe, but he hadn't been home in a long time to acquire the ingredients, and delicate tea leaves did not travel well across the dark recesses of space.
The pair worked in pleasant silence, setting up the board on his desk and placing two steaming mugs beside it. As they regained their seating, Spock looked across the board to his Captain.
"Thank you, Captain," he said quietly. Jim offered a quiet smile in exchange, and left all the rest of the words unspoken. There was no need. Both of them already knew.