The Edge

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Part VI

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"Hey," McCoy said, all friendly like, and as soon as the word was out of his mouth, Jim wished he had not let him in. He glanced up at his friend and then quickly returned his eyes to the PADD on his desk, stylus flicking as McCoy approached. "Workin'?"

Jim looked up again, long enough to look unimpressed. "I'm told that's what they expect me to do here."

"They expect a lot of things you don't do."

It was half a joke, but Jim was in no mood. "Yeah, well, someone's gotta do it." And Spock was not there to pick up the slack. He did not say it, but he was certain McCoy heard it.

"I guess." He lowered himself into the chair opposite Jim. "Just seems like you've been doin' a lot of it, the past couple of weeks."

"There's a lot to do."

"I know that. Jim-" Bravely, in Jim's opinion, McCoy reached out and placed a hand over Jim's own, halting his writing. Jim gave him his attention, but made no secret of his annoyance in his expression. "There are worse things to lose yourself in, to be sure. I just thought it was about time I made sure you were all right."

"About time?" Jim said, skeptical. "You've been asking one way or another every day."

"And you've brushed it off every day. I thought I'd corner you."

Jim tugged his PADD back and out from under McCoy's grip, returning to it. "And you know how I love when you do that."

"Spock comes home tomorrow."

Home, Jim thought. It was an odd term for McCoy to use, odder still now. "I know that." Though, of course, McCoy knew he knew that.

"Work's fine for now. It'll be a little harder once he's right next door again."

"Bones," Jim abandoned his stylus, exasperated, "what do you want me to do about that? I'm just... doing what I know to do. Okay?"

"I just meant," McCoy said, "that the point of this whole... thing, was for him to come back. Which, you know. Means business as usual. Including you two." Jim met his eyes and McCoy looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Er... mostly."

Jim scoffed. "Somehow, I don't think Spock will have a problem with that."

"None we see, anyway," McCoy said, and it was unfair of Jim not to acknowledge that, they both knew. "And we're talking about you."

Jim's eyes drifted down to his desk again. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"Or burn it." Jim shot him a warning glare. "If the idea was not to lose him -- don't; all I'm sayin'."

"I don't intend to."

"Well, then... good."

"And if it takes time, and it will," Jim leaned forward, "I don't want you knocking on my door day after day reminding me to get on it."

"Time, I'll allow," McCoy agreed. "Stupidity, I won't. Or I'm a poor excuse for a friend." Jim did not dispute that and the doctor stood. "Poker night, tonight."

"I know."

"Pretty sure Chekov and Sulu missed you last week," McCoy hedged. "You play a far more captivating game than me, I'm told."

"Well, in all fairness," Jim said, and he leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a smirk, "that's not very difficult."

"So, you'll join, then." Like it was not a question. "Might do you good."

It might very well. Jim glanced down to his desk, smile gone. "I have work to do."

"Spock will want to return to the Bridge as soon as he's back," McCoy informed him. "You won't be able to hide out in here tomorrow."

"Which is why," Jim said, meeting his friend's eyes, "I need tonight."

McCoy studied him for a moment, but Jim already knew his answer would be acquiescence. His lips pursed, clearly holding back an unproductive retort, then he sighed and nodded, and headed for the door, mumbling to himself. When the door shut behind him, Jim leaned forward across his desk again, running his hands over his face and back into his short hair.

Spock would be home tomorrow. Spock was already married; had already made love to his new wife. Spock would be home tomorrow.

---

The punching bag was really far too resilient for Jim's tastes. People bled, breakable things could be destroyed, but there was little satisfaction to be had in this. But the only other option was a sparring partner, and the true harm he wished to cause, it would not be appropriate to inflict on a crewmember.

He missed Spock, even here. It had been a good year since Jim had sparred regularly with a Human; no doubt there were few on-board who could now keep up. Of course, Spock would be back today. And this activity, they could still participate in, granted with some potential for awkwardness.

Jim kicked at the bag, nearly knocking it loose of the heavy hook from which it was suspended.

He really needed a more productive -- or at least less destructive -- method of venting his frustrations. Violence was borne of habit, developed at a time of little control, when nothing but screaming and fists was even registered by others. He should be above that. He was an adult, and even if the personal scale was meaningless to his family, he outranked his mother now.

Jim snorted at the thought.

How did others keep their emotional equilibrium? McCoy drank and worked -- neither of which sounded healthy to Jim in excess, even if he would not classify the doctor as particularly unhealthy. Spock meditated. It hardly seemed Jim's style, and even had it been, he would require instruction, and sitting in a quiet room with Spock with nothing between them but what they were not saying, Jim could only imagine as a personal hell right now.

It took Jim a moment to register the intercom, beeping for attention, over the hard packing sounds of his wrapped fists. He took a moment to let his breathing even out, hands on his hips, then crossed to it, flicking the knob.

"Kirk here," he said.

"Sir, there's a signal from an approaching Federation long-range shuttle," he heard, and it must have been Lieutenant Farrell, from the sound of him. "Commander Spock is requesting to come alongside and lock on."

Still breathing heavily, Jim squeezed his eyes shut.

"... Shall I activate the tractor beam, sir?"

Jim swallowed. "Yes," he said. "Bring him in, Mister Farrell."

"Aye, sir."

Jim cut the transmission and numbly moved to snatch his shirt from where he had deposited it on a nearby bench. There would be no time for a shower; he had mere minutes before Spock was on-board again. Painful though it would be, Jim wanted him in his line of sight again, to watch him move, hear his voice, perhaps even reach out and touch his shoulder.

He left the gym and headed for the turbolift, unwrapping his hands as he went. "Deck sixteen," he instructed as soon as he was inside, and it pulled downward at the command.

He took the few free moments he had to breathe more. What would he say when he saw Spock? What would Spock say when he saw him? Perhaps Jim should have picked McCoy up along the way for moral support; he was doubting his ability to face this alone. He was unsure how to operate around Spock now. Their interactions would no longer be easy, at least not for some time yet, and it had been a while since he had been uneasy with Spock. It had taken them so long to get where they were; Jim dreaded returning to what they had been.

The lift halted and its doors slid open. Jim stepped out and moved for the upper shuttlecraft hanger. This path, albeit in the opposite direction, had been the first he had walked aboard the Enterprise, two years ago.

It sounded like such a short period, when he really thought about it, for so much to have happened in.

He arrived early, as it turned out. He had to wait outside the hanger door for the life support systems to rebalance after the open airlock. Uhura and an ensign from Engineering, manning the controls, were the only others present. She looked up at Jim's approach.

"I didn't think you were on duty," he greeted her.

"I wasn't. I'm... not." She shrugged, facing the metal door again and peeking through the thick, circular window. "Farrell called me." She glanced at him. "Guess he called you too. This why you're up?"

Days had bled together recently. Jim sighed. "Is it late?" he asked, and he half meant it. It must have been, now he thought about it, Farrell worked gamma shift as often as Uhura and he himself worked alpha. The new Vulcan planet's rotation and ship's time were far from similar; no doubt Spock would have to readjust. "I just was."

There was a hissing pop and the ensign waved them through. They entered slowly. The shuttle looked dormant and still, waiting.

Jim nearly clutched at Uhura's hand when the hatch dropped, but he swallowed the instinct.

Seeing Spock when he finally descended was different than Jim had imagined it would be. Several scenarios had played out in his head, from Spock informing him marriage had not been necessary after all, to him walking right past Jim without a word. He had expected theatrics at one pole or another, and now, he could not remember why. It had been a childish thing to expect.

Spock approached them stiffly, looking tired from the shuttle ride. He halted before them and nodded to each of them in turn. "Lieutenant." And to Jim, "Captain." And if his eyes lingered on him a few seconds longer than Uhura, it was all Jim received that was out of the ordinary.

Jim's tongue darted over his lips. "Welcome home, Mister Spock."

It had felt like the right thing to say, but the moment it was out of his mouth, Jim understood that it was clearly quite wrong. Spock's expression, perhaps lax with fatigue before, tightened into a mask. "Thank you, Captain," he said.

A bizarre flash of memory shot across the back of Jim's eyes; Spock kissing him, inside him, fingers brushing his face, superimposed over Spock's stoic face now, dichotomized beautifully and horribly. It felt strange and unsettling, like the wired buzz of true exhaustion. Jim felt like he could not hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

He swallowed. "Everything go all right?" he forced out. Even Uhura tensed at his side.

Spock's only faltering was his clear hesitation. "My trip was... successful."

It took Jim some time to gather himself after that. He had not realized he had been clinging to a shred of hope that this would end up merely some nightmare until it was snatched from him. Successful.

"... You should get some sleep," he suggested.

Spock blinked. "On the contrary, Captain, I slept just sixteen point five three eight hours previously." He glanced off, out the door behind them. "No doubt the Bridge is currently manned; perhaps I could be of some use in the labs until alpha shift commences."

Jim cleared his throat. "Munroe'll be happy to see you; he could use the help." Ship's business was a far easier topic.

"I'll walk you up," Uhura offered, her first words of the encounter. "I'm heading to the comm labs anyway."

Spock arched a skeptical eyebrow. "It is oh two fifty-three, ship's time," he reminded her.

Uhura shrugged a shoulder, and Jim got the feeling that whether or not he had been waiting up for Spock, she certainly had. "So I can't sleep," she said. She jerked her head over her shoulder. "Walk with me. We'll let the captain get to bed."

Jim had no clue what her plan was, but he did not doubt that it would put Spock at ease, and he would not protest that. "Yeah," he agreed, and he dared to meet Spock's eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Spock held his gaze a moment, and then nodded. "Indeed," he said. "Goodnight, Captain."

"Goodnight, Mister Spock."

Jim had been looking at his chin as he said this and Spock lingered briefly, as though he wanted to see his eyes again one more time before he left. But Jim kept his downcast and after a moment, Spock passed him and Uhura turned from his side to accompany him. Part of him wanted to follow, hear what she planned to speak about. The other part knew he did not need to know.

He returned to his quarters, both under and overwhelmed.

---

The Bridge shift the next morning was uneventful, which was annoying on any given day, but particularly so on this one.

As much as Jim had felt Spock's absence burning at his back in recent weeks, he now felt his presence; just as, if not more distracting. He had been checking the urge to turn to him for the comfort of eye contact since his departure, but now he maintained that rule for fear of being presented with nothing but the Vulcan's back. He would hear Spock's voice occasionally, speaking to a crewmember in low tones. Perhaps he was waiting for Jim to speak to him. If things went on like this, he would. But he was not ready today.

He wanted to touch Spock. Badly. He had been away from him for two weeks before, had even received, in essence, the same sort of greeting upon a return, but usually by now, the next morning, there had been sex. Lots of sex. The idea that his fingers had not even brushed Spock's skin in the past sixteen days felt drastically insufficient. His nails were scraping at the arm of his chair with the urge.

Later, in the officer's mess (which Jim had not set foot in for the duration of Spock's trip, yet did that night, much as it pained him, so as not to alienate his first officer), Uhura plunked her tray down across from him and sat, looking expectant. Jim looked up, still chewing, and raised both eyebrows at her.

"Spock's taking his meal in his quarters," she informed him and Jim carefully swallowed.

"Oh," he said, and he meant it to be a question, a prompt for her to continue, but it only came out sounding dejected, even to his own ears. He glanced up again. "He tell you that?"

"No. Just know him."

"And I don't?"

Uhura stared at him, unimpressed. "Jim," she said, and he was unsure he had ever heard his first name out of her pretty mouth. It was like popping an inflating balloon. "Imagine how much trouble you're having-" she said.

"Don't have to," Jim grumbled to his food.

"-And then imagine you think it's your fault," she went on and Jim paused. "And that you're afraid the other person might too. And that you're Vulcan."

Jim took a moment to be duly chastised, and then sat back, abandoning his fork. "How much did he tell you?" He felt righteously indignant, though he was unsure of the righteous part.

"None of this," she assured him. "Out loud, anyway."

Jim returned to his food after a moment, tearing his roll into little pieces. He could hear her hesitation before she even leaned forward again.

"... Her name is T'Pid."

Jim tossed the hunk of bread aside and sat back again. "I don't want to hear this," he told her firmly.

Uhura held her hands up and it might have looked defensive on someone else, but on her, it was the movement of someone trying to calm an animal ready to bound away at the slightest movement. "I just thought you might want to know some of these things... but might not want to ask Spock yet."

He understood where Uhura was coming from; he might have even done the same for a friend, himself. She was trying to make it easier for him and he was grateful. But in no way did he want to talk to Spock, who for the past year had been closer to him than anyone in the universe, through someone else. He knew things could not return to normal, at least not right away, but if he was making the attempt, he expected it of Spock as well. Or McCoy was right -- they would lose each other. Uhura could only impede their communication this way, even if her goal was the exact opposite.

"Uhura," he said. "I get it, I do, and... thanks. And I'm glad you're there for Spock, and that you've made sure I know the same goes for me. But let me do this in my own time?"

She blinked like a five-year-old had just explained compound fractions to her, and Jim did not know whether to be amused or insulted. "... Okay," she said.

She never did expect him to handle anything like an adult. Jim was not sure he could blame her for that, but perhaps he should make it a personal goal to prove his maturity to her more than twice a year.

"Thanks," he said again, and then stood, gathering his tray to empty and not caring that he was only half-finished; he wasn't hungry anymore. "Actually gonna take care of some of that now, if you're okay alone?"

She nodded. "There's Scotty," she told him, eyes flicking off over his shoulder, and he peeked himself to confirm this. "I'm good."

"Good." Jim gave her a little wave and nodded at the engineer as he passed him on his way out. He dumped the contents of his tray and then headed for the hallway, stride purposeful. Spock might avoid him forever, if he let him and that was dangerous to the flow of ship operations, if nothing else.

By the time he had reached his first officer's quarters, he had worked himself up enough to be mad that the door's codec made knocking unnecessary; he kind of wanted to bang on something right about now. Before, as long as he did not think he would have been interrupting anything, he would have felt free to walk right in, and the fact that he could not now (or could, but should not), only angered him more. He pressed the button. Really hard.

"Come," he heard after a moment, and even the two seconds it took for the door to slide open frustrated Jim.

Spock was seated at his desk when he entered, probably catching up on all he had missed. Jim had taken care of it all, but he would want to be up to date, he knew. A covered tray sat on the desk's left corner, untouched as of yet. Jim was looking at it when Spock looked up.

"Captain," he said, and Jim could read nothing in it. He wondered if Spock was surprised.

"You're eating in here," he said, inanely.

"I am."

Jim made himself think instead of yell. "Is that because you have a lot of work to do," he said, eyes darting to the stylus in Spock's hand, "or because of me?"

There was a definite hesitation. "Captain," Spock said, "I have been in your presence the majority of the day."

Which was not an answer. "That's different. You don't have to talk to me there."

"There are indeed several instances which would require-"

"Spock," Jim stressed. Spock met his eyes. "You don't have to talk to me there."

Spock did not reply to that, and Jim took it as a concession.

He had come angry, and it still simmered beneath the surface, but now, looking at Spock, the need to touch him again overwhelmed it. Jim had to push it down.

Nam-tor du panu, Spock had murmured against his skin once, you are my world, wrapped around him from behind, fingers tangling, the first time he had ever called him t'hy'la. Jim wanted to ask if it was still true, still could be. Spock would probably think emotional reassurance illogical, let alone now, when it would do no good for Jim to know whether it was true or not.

"Kaiidth," Jim thought again, aloud this time before he realized it and Spock's eyebrow lifted.

"Indeed," he agreed.

Jim sighed and stepped closer, lowering himself into the chair across from Spock, and leaning forward to lace his fingers together on his own end of the desk. When he did, Spock faltered for the first time, withdrawing his own to his lap, and too quickly to be natural, at that.

Jim watched the move and then shrugged, nonplussed. "Can't avoid me forever," he said.

Spock stared at his stylus. "It was not a... conscious effort."

"I believe you." Spock slowly placed his hands back on his desk, a good distance from Jim's, but he still wanted to reach for them. He actually caught himself staring for longer than was appropriate. "I think we should talk about this." His heart started beating faster the moment he had said it.

Spock's eyes were still on their hands as well. "I do not believe there is anything to discuss, Captain."

"Jim."

Spock looked up at him. "Captain," he repeated.

It hurt. Jim made himself speak again. "Spock. I don't know about Vulcans, but Humans generally require some measure of closure with this kind of emotional situation. I'm not saying it will change anything, just that talking might make us feel better about it." He shrugged. "Or me, at least."

Spock's brows drew together and it took Jim a moment to recognize the expression as offense. "Are you implying," he said, "that I am unaffected by our situation?"

Jim hesitated. Indignation on his own part was immediate, but then... was he? When he considered it, yes, it was possible he was. But all he said was, "Just that you'd deal with it better. Are you implying you're not?" A shitty and volatile way to go about obtaining that emotional reassurance, but the words were out of his mouth before he could check them. He waited.

"... Jim," Spock said this time, jaw tight, and his stomach leaped. "I understand that I have been less than forthcoming in regards to emotional expression over the course of our acquaintance." He swallowed. "But that is insulting. And unwarranted."

Less than I expect of the man I know, Jim remembered him telling him, in a far different situation where he had been needlessly risking his life, and that tone had not failed to make him feel like shit then either. He really wanted to touch Spock's hand. "I know. I'm sorry." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know how to do this. I want to blame someone."

Spock was silent for a moment. "Illogical though the impulse is... I, too experience such an urge," he admitted quietly. Jim watched him, surprised. "... This is my doing."

"Spock." Jim shook his head. "This isn't anyone's doing."

"It was in my power to prevent, and so it is my doing," Spock insisted, like he was quoting sensor readings. He looked up. "Had I possessed the emotional fortitude to resist-"

"What about me?" Jim broke in. "It's not like you dragged me, kicking and screaming."

"I was aware of the pon farr. You were not."

Jim did not have an answer for that. He did not wish they had never acted on their feelings by any means, and yet, he could neither say that some part of him did not hold Spock responsible for their current predicament.

"It doesn't matter," he eventually decided on. "None of that matters, now." What mattered was how they handled this, how they moved forward. And they did have to do that. "Uhura," Jim ventured, and Spock looked curious, "she told me her name."

Spock managed to look decidedly uncomfortable without moving a muscle.

"... What's she like?"

Spock thought for a moment, his diplomacy face on. "She is... high-born. Intelligent. Well mannered. I believe kind. She is well suited." Spock's gaze lowered to Jim's hands, still resting a foot from his on the desk. "And she is not you."

It was said almost as though that fact were a surprising disappointment; as if Spock had been expecting to find otherwise. Jim swiped at his mouth and sat back.

"Yeah, I can't do this," he said, and Spock looked relieved, or at least unsurprised. Jim shook his head at the room at large. "Maybe... but not now." He glanced to Spock's face. "I really want to touch you," he informed him. "... So I'm going to go."

"I will... endeavor to take my meals in the officer's mess."

Jim nodded and stood, unsure if more was needed at first, before deciding that even if something was, he did not know what it was. So he left with only another nod to Spock, returning to his own quarters through the shared bathroom rather than the hall, where other people milled. He wanted no questions.

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