Imprint

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Imprint
Chapter Nine

Spock sank into the first level of meditation. An eidetic construction of the observation deck formed in his mind. Jim sat across from him with a calm smile and glowing blue eyes. The light glinted gold off his hair. The slow movement of stars in Spock’s periphery had a lulling affect. Chess pieces were divided between them, Jim’s collection larger than his own. The press of broken bonds became immediate when he left the sanctum of this memory. He’d reached his limit for the evening and chose to retire.

Sleep was another issue. He had not been entirely honest with Jim. Though lack of meditation induced irregular projections from his subconscious, it was the nature of his dreams that kept him awake at night. Nightmares, as humans called them, of his time on Thelos.

As he had the past seven nights, he startled awake shortly after falling asleep. Chills wracked his body and his heart hammered a terrorized beat in his side. Snatches of his dream lingered, near enough that when he closed his eyes the images were still playing.

He saw the clearing in which Jim had left him. The captain’s command shirt lay at his feet, exactly as he remembered, but in his dream it was spotted with blood. The dream always followed in the same altered reality. Jim returned for him and battled the Thelosian rebel, but the outcome was reversed. The rebel brought the rock down against brittle human bone even after Jim ceased struggling. He looked away from the gore only to spot his mother’s figure sprawled nearby, as unmoving as Jim.

“Lights, one hundred percent,” Spock said into the darkness.

The white glare made him wince, but the shadows fled and his dream faded with them.

As he crossed the room to his computer console, he eyed the door. Jim had extended the offer of companionship during such sleepless nights. He continued to the console. The hour was late and he could not justify impeding the captain’s sleep.

Instead, he made a tentative first entry in his personal log. Dr. Stayfield had insisted he make an attempt to catalogue his every experience. Documenting his time on Thelos and aboard the Enterprise would serve a greater purpose than what the doctor intended. There was the looming possibility that reversing his present condition would leave him without memory of the incident.

Spock dictated his thoughts to the computer. He started with his earliest memory on Thelos, the sight of striking blue eyes. He stopped short of the incident in the clearing. His dream was still too near. Veering from Thelos, he focused on Jim. He explained his initial surprise at the man’s intellect, fluency in Vulcan, and skill in chess.

“Jim has also lost his mother,” he said into the quiet of his quarters. “He shares my regrets and grief. He has become a source of fascination and comfort.”

/-/-/

By 0700, Spock had lost any relief gained from the previous day’s meditation. He stood before the bathroom mirror and checked his appearance. His black uniform was tidy and his hair sleek. Only the heavy bags beneath his eyes betrayed him.

When his door chimed, he wondered if Lieutenant Uhura had sent a replacement to retrieve him. He was aware that his manner following his emotional outburst in Dr. Stayfield’s office had been insulting and offensive by human standards. When the woman’s slender figure appeared, he considered her lack of emotionalism to be impressive.

Uhura stayed in the hall, hands clasped behind her back. She wasn’t pushing any boundaries that day. She greeted Spock with a short nod. “Good morning. Are you ready?”

“Affirmative.” Spock followed beside the lieutenant whose usual tendency to chatter was lacking. He had prepared a suitable apology for his behavior yesterday. Stopping mid-stride, he regarded her sharp profile and said, “Lieutenant Uhura, I owe you an apology.”

Uhura turned in surprise. The edges of resentment that had begun to form an armor around her heart crumbled when the boy looked at her with those big brown eyes. “You were upset. I understand that.” Understanding hadn’t stopped her from feeling hurt or for resenting the captain’s seeming infallibility in Spock’s eyes.

“Nevertheless, I apologize for my behavior. You have been nothing but kind to me since my arrival. I returned that kindness by shunning your aid.”

It took Uhura considerable effort not to fall to her knees and gather Spock into her arms. “Apology accepted.” Her smile wasn’t forced, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Seeing the boy each day had become more difficult. She kept searching for some sign of the man she knew. She was beginning to wonder if she’d ever known Spock in the first place.

They walked on to a nearby lift and then to the mess hall. As soon as they entered, Spock’s eyes roved the tables. He catalogued each person in gold, but none of them were whom he wanted.

Uhura noted Spock’s search and the telltale slump of his shoulders when it became apparent that the captain was not at breakfast yet. She ignored a twinge of jealousy. Again, understanding did not equal acceptance. She couldn’t purge the instinctive response of resentment. She could only reason it into submission. It didn’t help that Spock’s preference for the captain was becoming more blatant.

“Do you know if Captain Kirk will be joining us this morning?” Spock asked.

“I’m not sure.” Uhura led the way to the food slots.

Spock scoured the room once more, just to make sure. Uhura watched out of the corner of her eye and gripped her tray tighter. She swallowed against the hot swell of tears in her throat. There was nothing of the man she knew in this boy. It was killing her.

/-/-/

The atmosphere on the bridge was subdued. It was another day and still no green light from Command.

As Uhura stepped off the turbolift, she was surprised to find the captain already at his seat. Breakfast with Spock had been brief as usual, and for once she hadn’t tried to draw it out. She hadn’t filled the heavy silences. She’d already exhausted topics on which to engage his interest. Even her best efforts had only earned clipped answers. All the while the boy kept checking the room for Kirk. So she’d arrived a solid half-hour early for her shift. Kirk was already ensconced in work.

As Uhura passed by the command chair, she said, “Spock missed you at breakfast.” She was compelled to relay this information if only to prove that she wasn’t affected by it. This wasn’t about her and she refused to be anything but supportive.

Kirk rubbed tired eyes. “I came on shift early,” he said. “I’ll make sure to catch him for dinner.” He would have promised lunch, but he doubted he’d even have time to grab lunch for himself.

“Captain, if you need an extra set of hands, I’m willing to help.” The captain’s yeoman could only sort through files and log paperwork like a secretary. Uhura had taken enough prerequisites for bridge certification and cultural relations courses for her linguistics that there had to be something on the captain’s docket that she could handle herself.

With an appreciative smile, Kirk said, “Thank you, but I’ll manage. Scotty tells me you were invaluable yesterday. I’d like you back in engineering once you’ve done your prelim on the bridge.”

Perking beneath the captain’s praise, Uhura said, “You were right about knowing more than I thought.”

“I just assume you know everything, what with the number of languages you keep packed in your head.”

“Thank you, sir.” Uhura turned back to her station, eager to finish checking the logs from the previous shift before heading down to see Scotty.

A moment later, Kirk remembered what he’d meant to ask Uhura the moment she’d arrived. “Uhura, how’d he look?”

“Sir?” Uhura swiveled around and lowered the transmitter from her ear.

“He hasn’t been sleeping. Did he look any better?”

Uhura shook her head.

Not sure what he’d expected, Kirk simply sighed. “We played chess last night,” he said. “I got him to talk about his mom. I thought it might have helped.”

Feeling deflated inside, Uhura couldn’t muster an assuring smile to go with her words. “Even before this mission, he was still in grief. For someone his age and under these circumstances, there’s not much you can expect.”

Kirk stopped short of a reply. Awareness of his surroundings made him regret even mentioning as much as he already had. He didn’t want to turn Spock’s personal troubles into ship’s gossip. He simply nodded to the lieutenant and turned forward in his chair.

Though his thoughts lingered on the boy, he eventually forced his attention to his revised proposal. He’d send it out with the schematics of the fortress and his own tactical analysis. He tried not to brood over the possibility that he could’ve already had Eldridge aboard the Enterprise in the time wasted on communications to Command.

/-/-/

When Kirk reached the engineering deck the scent of metal and grease filled him with longing. He smiled at his own nostalgia. His reason for tracking down Scotty was inspired by his mother.

A mechanic at heart, the woman had never been able to sit still in all the time Kirk had known her. If something didn’t need fixing, then it needed to be improved. When she was grounded between missions, she became high strung and tense. He remembered waking up in the middle of the night to find light from the barn filtering in through his bedroom window. His mother would be outside, even in the dead of winter, stripping and fixing Frank’s cheap hovercar.

She’d tried to fill every moment so she didn’t have to think. For twenty-two years she’d kept herself distracted. Kirk would never know if it had helped her overcome her grief or simply helped her forget that she was grieving in the first place.

On the main floor, Kirk spotted Keenser on the top rung of a coolant tank’s ladder. He didn’t even need to voice his question. The lieutenant pointed him in the right direction, which was opposite his current heading. He called out his thanks and steered away from Scotty’s office.

Kirk came upon Scotty and Uhura on the catwalk that arched over one of the nacelles. Even as he trotted up the steps to reach them, he could hear Scotty’s overexcited lecture. He considered it his duty to save Uhura after he’d been the one to send her down here, but when he drew level with them, he read the communications officer’s expression of avid interest.

Uhura studied Scotty as much as she did the nacelle he gestured towards. The excitable engineer had fallen into a harsher brogue and made broad sweeping motions with his hands.

The clink of Kirk’s footsteps went unheard by the Scotsman who continued talking.

Uhura caught sight of the captain and set a hand on Scotty’s shoulder to grab his attention.

“What is it, lass? Am I getting ahead of myself again?”

“Captain on deck,” Uhura said.

On instinct, Scott snapped a hasty salute, which was unnecessary judging by the young man’s easy smile. “Cap’n, what brings ye to my neck of the woods?” The composite was finished and their guesswork on the base was as near to truth as it was going to get. “The lieutenant was humoring me a moment before we swung by the mess for lunch.”

“I’m glad I caught you then,” Kirk said. “I need a favor.”

“I’m all ears.”

Uhura excused herself. “Scotty, I’ll meet you in the mess.”

“It’s about Spock,” Kirk said. He angled his stance to include Uhura. “I’d like you to set him to work. Something non-essential that he can handle.”

“Cap’n, it’s delicate work all around. And dangerous for a lad.”

“Get him a synthesizer to reprogram or a computer to tinker with. Set him up where he won’t be in anyone’s way. Check in on him when you can?”

“Aye, I’ll do it. Not strictly regulation, but when have I been known for that?” Scott shared a knowing smile with the captain.

Kirk clapped Scotty’s broad shoulder. “You’re a good man, Scotty. Thank you.”

Uhura studied Kirk. Idle hands made Vulcans stir crazy. The most obvious solution was to give Spock something to do. She should have thought of it herself. “Spock will like that.”

“I hope so. It’s a distraction at least.” An alarm on Kirk’s pocket comm went off. He fished it out and shut it off. “I’ll let you two go. I’ve got a conference that I’ll be late for if I don’t run.” With an absent wave, he set off.

“That one never stops, does he?” Scott commented.

/-/-/

Spock entered the crowded mess hall for dinner. As usual, Lieutenant Uhura accompanied him. He canvassed the room to no avail. Jim was not there. “Did Jim not say he would be in attendance?”

“It’s still early.”

A voice spoke up from behind the pair. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Spock whirled around. “Jim,” he said, eyes alight. “I suspected your duties would keep you detained.”

“Everyone has to eat.” Kirk squeezed Spock’s shoulder gently. “Besides, you’re better company than the admirals. My conference ran long, but I booked it over here.”

Spock noted the slight flush to the man’s face. “Your haste was unnecessary. We have only just arrived ourselves.” Despite his claim, he was pleased that Jim had hurried.

Giving a tousle to Spock’s neatly combed hair, Kirk threw the boy a teasing smile. “Sorry I missed you this morning.” He didn’t wait for a reply.

Dinner saw heavier traffic than any other meal. Individual departments congregated together, forming entire tables of red, others of blue or gold. The colors would mix given time.

Kirk, Spock, and Uhura joined McCoy and Scott who were still in the middle of eating.

“Bones,” Kirk greeted, sidling up beside the doctor. He clapped the man on the back. “Miss me?”

“I saw you this morning. What’s to miss?” Though McCoy feigned indifference, he cast an appraising eye over Jim. He saw fatigue and stress. Damn the kid for working so hard. If it wouldn’t earn him a court marshal, he’d sedate the overworked brat and settle him in sickbay for the next eighteen hours.

“Were you ill, Jim?” Spock asked. He took the remaining space at the end of the table on Jim’s other side.

McCoy’s scoff drew everyone’s attention. “Jim likes to think he has a medical degree, so he’s been hounding my team in the labs. How early did you come in, again?”

Kirk shuffled his peas around. “Not sure. I just wanted an update.” He didn’t bother pointing out that Bones had been in the labs even earlier than him. The doctor was literally working around the clock to understand what had been done to Spock. The man’s hazel eyes were bloodshot. He wished he had the authority to order bed rest, but that particular mandate came under the CMO’s jurisdiction.

Spock studied Jim’s profile, looking for signs of sickness. When he found none, his eyes strayed to the man’s tray. As he’d noted on past occasions, there was no meat. In place of the fish or poultry that most others had on their trays, there was a salad. He wondered if Jim was a vegetarian. Before he could ask, the doctor’s arm snaked around the captain’s shoulders.

McCoy leaned in and said in a low voice, “Chapel found your glasses.”

“Where were they?” Kirk spoke in a whisper. He’d lost them somewhere in sickbay. They were his only pair, which had been his own oversight. He’d had the same pair for five years. Freak accidents aside, he hadn’t thought it likely that he’d need a replacement pair.

“Wedged behind the bio-bed.”

Spock overheard the exchange, his eyes trained intently on the doctor’s hand that had settled on Jim’s neck, skin touching skin. He could not wrench his gaze from the intimate display.

McCoy finally dropped his arm. “They’re in my office. You can grab them later.”

With a wry grin, Kirk said, “You think I’m vain.”

“I know you’re vain. Glasses aren’t so uncommon. No reason not to wear them all the time.”

“I don’t need them all the time.” Kirk’s far-sighted vision could read text up close, but hours on end gave him a headache.

McCoy shook his head in exasperation. He recalled the first time he’d spotted Jim wearing the thick lenses, blue eyes wide and bug-like. The kid had been studying and caved to the need of his glasses, but hadn’t counted on McCoy returning early from the hospital. Jim wasn’t vain about the glasses, but the need for them was uncommon and hinted at a disability.

Spock overheard the private conversation, unable to understand the secrecy surrounding it. While he considered possible motives, the table’s conversation moved on without him. He ate his meal absently, tasting little and savoring nothing. It wasn’t until Jim nudged his shoulder that his thoughts turned outward. He was surprised to notice that both Dr. McCoy and Lieutenant-Commander Scott had departed.

“Feel up for chess tonight?” Kirk asked.

“Affirmative.”

Uhura stood from the table. “I’ll call it a day.”

Kirk tried to read past the woodenness in Uhura’s dark gaze. “Goodnight, Lieutenant.”

“Goodnight, Captain.”

Spock simply nodded his parting to the lieutenant.

Kirk took Spock’s tray and piled it atop his own. “She’s brilliant, you know,” he said, searching the boy’s bland expression for some reaction.

Not understanding why Jim had spoken such a non sequitur, Spock simply agreed. “Starfleet would not have employed her as a chief communications officer if she were not qualified for the position.”

Kirk let the issue go. He knew Spock’s distant attitude toward Uhura hurt her. Though he’d buried the hatchet with the lieutenant, part of him wondered if she weren’t more troubled by Spock favoring him of all people. Shaking his head, he dismissed thoughts that he didn’t have the time to brood over. “Let me get rid of these and we can head to my quarters.”


/-/-/

Chess proved more fascinating that evening. Spock became aggressive in his moves, attempting strategies he had avoided in the past. Jim’s responding moves were defensive, but no less effective than the previous night. He would lose this game as well.

After moving his queen, Spock said, “May I make a personal query?”

“Go ahead.”

“Would you not prefer to spend your evening with Dr. McCoy?”

Kirk’s hand stilled mid-air. There was a strange determination behind the boy’s placid expression. “No. You’re good company.”

Better than Dr. McCoy? Spock wanted to ask. He remained silent.

“Bones gets enough of me already. And tonight I think he’s sending a comm to his daughter.” Kirk smiled to himself. Bones was a nervous speaker when it came to recording messages, so he stuck to the written word. The problem was that he was also a bad speller and fretted over each line, afraid his daughter would think less of him for bad English. As if earning his MD at 25 weren’t proof of his genius.

“You have a child?” Spock gripped a captured bishop too tight and felt the tip of it bend.

“Me?” Kirk intoned with evident shock. “No, I said Bones’ daughter.”

A furrow formed between Spock’s eyebrows. “I do not understand. If you are bonded with the doctor, is the child not also your own?”

It was several moments before Kirk realized Spock’s misconception. He gave a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. Heat crept to his face. There had been rumors and speculation at the academy, but it had been awhile since he’d been suspected for his close camaraderie with Bones. “We’re not bonded. Not how you’re thinking. We’re good friends. Nothing more.”

Discretely, Spock pressed the head of the bishop back into place and set it aside. “I apologize if I have overstepped my place.”

“It’s fine,” Kirk said, a little slow to assuage the boy’s worry. He didn’t like feeling as though he were in a fishbowl, his every move catalogued. “You said it was a personal question.”

“Indeed.”

Kirk recognized the dissatisfaction in Spock’s eyes. “Is there something else?”

“It is another personal query,” Spock hedged.

“Let’s hear it.”

“I was given to understand that humans were tactile by nature. However, I had not anticipated the degree to which this applied to their interactions with one another. In particular, you are more tactile than most I have observed. Dr. McCoy likewise expresses himself when in your presence. Is it the nature of being human or the nature of your friendship that results in such intimate physical displays?”

Kirk let his head fall into his hands. Spock made it sound like sexual harassment. “You don’t hold back, do you?”

Spock bowed his head. “I have offended you. I apologize. That was not my intention.”

“Don’t be sorry for asking a question.” Kirk had to stop himself from quoting Ambassador Sarek. He struggled for an answer that would satisfy the endlessly observant Vulcan. “Humans are too different from each other to generalize all of them as tactile. Some people are, some aren’t.” He paused to consider himself. “If I’ve been too tactile towards you, I’ll stop.” Spock had complained those first nights on Thelos, rejected his touch and explained the need for distance. He hadn’t given those arguments any thought since their return.

“I did not mean to suggest your mode of expression was unwelcome,” Spock interjected. “It is simply a source of fascination.” Jim’s touches were gentle and fleeting, harmless if his shielding were adequate.

“To answer your question about me and Bones, it’s probably a bit of both. Bones is the best kind of doctor. He doesn’t need a scanner to figure out what’s wrong with someone. He can tell by touching them.” Kirk wanted to change the subject. He eyed the board and moved his rook. “Check.”

The game continued. Kirk relaxed into it. When he saw the game’s end only a few moves away, he broached the subject of putting Spock to work. “How would you like to work in engineering tomorrow?”

Eyes searching the board for a means of escaping a stealthy trap laid by his opponent, it took a moment for Jim’s question to settle in. Spock met the man’s gaze across the table. “You are assigning me duties?”

“Not mandatory,” Kirk said. “But you could pull a full shift if you felt up for it.”

An undignified excitement bubbled inside Spock, but he held tight to his control. “I am not qualified or certified to aid in the ship’s operations.”

Kirk shrugged. “I’m the captain. I’ll sanction it. It won’t be anything that takes training. I assume you’ve worked with computers and programming.”

“I have a tren’es-vok grade of proficiency. I am uncertain what this would equate to by Starfleet standards.”

“You done any calculus?” Kirk asked. Math was the surest way to judge the level of someone’s education.

“Affirmative. However, I have not completed my advanced calculus studies.”

“That’s more than enough.” Kirk thought that tren’es might mean trensu, which he vaguely remembered to mean master. It was all the assurance he needed. In the end, he trusted Scotty to watch over the boy.

At the prospect of becoming an active worker, Spock’s excitement became nearly uncontainable. He was flattered at Jim’s trust in his capabilities. “Will you not be cited for a breach of regulation?”

“Scotty will throw you in a jumpsuit. No one will think twice.” Kirk doubted anyone would care. Spock wasn’t going to be in anyone’s way and most of the engineering crew wouldn’t even see him.

A jumpsuit. Spock pictured it. Instead of standing apart in his black clothes, he would blend in with every other crewmember in engineering. “I would welcome the learning experience,” he said, struggling to keep a neutral expression. His mouth twitched an answering smile to the one Jim gave him.

“Checkmate,” Kirk announced. He laughed when Spock’s gaze narrowed and darted to the board.

“Once again, you have proven yourself superior.”

With an easy chuckle, Kirk sat back in his seat. “Tell that to the computer. It still beats me half the time.” Head cocking to the side, he studied the boy. “You actually programmed it. The coding has your signature.”

“It is not my program.” Spock’s words were sharper than he meant them to be. The admiration in Jim’s voice was meant for a man he had not become yet.

“You’re right,” Kirk said. “Let’s call it a night. You should sleep early. Alpha shift starts at oh-eight-hundred.”

On his feet, Spock gave a small bow. “Good night, Jim. Thank you for the game.”

Kirk noted the dark circles and thin frame once more. It seemed cruel to let the boy trot off and fight his demons alone in his quarters. “You’re still not sleeping, are you?” he asked, needing to remind Spock that he didn’t need to grieve alone.

The question was unexpected. Spock straightened.

With a wave towards his desk, Kirk said, “See that mess?” The boy’s eyes swept over the clutter of datachips and pads. “I’ll be awake for awhile. Remember what I said last time. If you can’t sleep, come get me.”

“Do you not also require sleep?”

“I’m in better shape than you, buddy.”

Spock agreed only because Jim’s earnest expression demanded it. “Very well.” With another bow, he took his leave.


/-/-/


The same dream came to Spock that night. A shout for his mother was on his lips when he shot awake. Beneath the stiff Starfleet issue blanket, he was chilled through.

He called for the lights and sat a moment longer in bed before standing. Around the privacy screen, the desk console across the sitting room waited for him. He was halfway across the room before he stopped and debated taking advantage of the captain’s sense of responsibility. Not responsibility, he realized. He remembered the look of genuine concern in Jim’s eyes.

Spock took the first of sixty-two steps that brought him to Jim’s quarters. The remaining steps passed too quickly. He stood outside Jim’s door, displaced and uncertain. When he pressed the door’s chime, its whistle aggravated his ears. He was certain he had woken the entire deck. A moment passed without an invitation to come inside. He was ready to turn around, certain that an exhausted Jim had slept through the noise.

The captain’s door slid open, the quiet hiss an invitation in and off itself. Jim stood opposite the threshold in black flannel pants and a loose fitted white t-shirt. The thin wire framed glasses that Spock had never seen before were nestled atop wayward hair. He was suddenly at a loss for words. He met blue eyes and doubted for a moment whether the man had ever suggested he come over, as if he’d imagined the offer.

“Misery loves company,” Kirk said. He stepped back and waved Spock inside. “I can’t sleep either.”

Spock wondered at the veracity of Jim’s statement. Perhaps the man was simply being polite. He entered the cabin anyway.

Dragging his thumb and forefinger over sore eyelids, Kirk stifled a yawn. He glanced at the chessboard that he still hadn’t returned to Dr. Stayfield. “I’m not thinking clear enough for chess.”

Still at loss for something of worth to say, Spock said nothing.

Kirk directed the boy to the grey sofa in his sitting area. A blanket lay at one end and an earmarked book sat propped against the armrest. “I was reading,” he explained. “Have a seat.”

There was room enough on the couch to seat three or four persons, but Spock took the far end regardless. He sat on the edge of the cushion. Unable to discern the title of the book, he finally had something to say. “What work are you reading?”

Kirk snatched the blanket and threw it over the back of the couch. He sat down with a groan. “Hamlet,” he said, taking the book in hand. “I have a weakness for Shakespeare.”

The Terran playwright was not unknown to Spock. His mother had a collection of his works, though he had never read them himself.

Drawing once more on his family for inspiration, Kirk said, “How ‘bout I read to you?” How many times had Sam sat awake with him, making up stories about spaceships and planets until he’d fallen asleep? On the nights that he’d settled Spock against him, he’d felt like a child playing dress up. It was the same now. Just a kid trying on his big brother’s shoes. Even if he’d taken over Sam’s role as the big brother, he would always be a little brother himself.

Kirk levered up from the couch and disappeared into his bedroom before he returned a moment later with a pillow. “Here,” he said, pillow held out to Spock.

Spock accepted the pillow, its muted red color a match for the one in his quarters.

“Lay down,” Kirk prompted when Spock simply stared at the pillow as if it were a math problem. He waited for some kind of protest, but the boy obediently set the pillow against the armrest and settled down. He threw the blanket over him.

There was spice on the pillow, faint and sweet. This was Jim’s pillow. Spock flushed at the realization, but didn’t lift his head. He watched intently as Jim sat at the other end of the couch. His feet would have touched the man if he stretched out.

Kirk thumbed to the beginning of the play. It wasn’t until the small print blurred that he realized he wasn’t wearing his glasses. He’d shoved them aside out of habit when the door had chimed. He settled them into place again, satisfied when the print focused.

“Why do you not undergo corrective surgery?” Spock asked. From the exchange he’d overheard at dinner, he gathered that few people had seen Jim wearing spectacles. Seeing the man thus, dressed down in sleepwear with his glasses, it became the single most intimate moment he had shared with another person, excepting his mother.

“My corneas are too thin for Lasik.”

Sitting up to speak on an even level, Spock said, “There are alternative corrective measures.”

“I’m allergic to Retinax V, the drug used in those procedures.” Bones had always told him that there were worse things to be allergic to.

Though Spock had not known what to say earlier, now he had too many questions. Jim seemed more complex and fascinating for his physical defect. He wanted to know everything about this human who was flawed and yet superior in so many ways. His next question came out rushed. “Are you a vegetarian?”

Shadows formed beneath Kirk’s eyes when he tilted his head in consideration. “You’re full of questions tonight.” He was suddenly grateful to have his glasses on. They hid part of his face. He felt exposed. Vulcans were nosy by nature, but it was innocent curiosity. Spock hadn’t meant to trigger him.

Spock did not understand the strange look that overcame Jim. Guarded and wary, blue eyes no longer friendly. He repressed the inclination to apologize. Nevertheless, he spoke in an apologetic tone. “You are under no obligation to answer. It was simply a query based on observations of your meals.”

Sighing, Kirk gave a small smile. “Yes, I’m a vegetarian. Now lay down and I’ll read.”

Spock complied, chin tucked in close so he could still see Jim at the other end of the couch. His body was exhausted. His addled mind couldn’t parse the unfamiliar dialect, but the rich timbre of Jim’s voice washed over him. Heavy limbs sank deeper into the couch. He did not follow the story, or what little of it Jim managed to read before he fell asleep. There was only Jim’s voice and the solid warmth of the man near his feet.


TBC…

--Author’s notes– (It’s long because I won’t be posting until next year)

I have surprise! Fair warning, I’m not a poet or an artist, so the piece I plan to post might traumatize you for life.

Here's the link to the creation on my LJ: http://db-mmxx.livejournal.com/21287.html

Now onto notes that actually deal with this chapter.

I’m not a fan of secondary pairings in a fic. I especially dislike it when a Kirk/Spock fic makes a point of pairing Uhura up with someone else after she and Spock have broken up. As if throwing her together with another man is necessary to her happiness or makes it okay that a serious relationship just ended. To use a cliché, Uhura is a strong, independent woman. So despite whatever hints I drop about her and McCoy, or her and Scott, I’m not going to have her become involved with either of them. Uhura/Scott is TOS canon. A lot of AOS fics put her with McCoy. There will be hints of potential for both, but I’ll leave whatever happens in the future up to your imaginations.

I put this admission at the end in the hopes that no one has kept reading my note this far. I totally sold out on the ‘Spock becomes jealous of McCoy’ cliché. I wasn’t going to do it. Then I did and I liked it, so now I’m a hypocrite.