Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jim is done with his first semester of his first year at the Academy, on summer assignment to Vulcan, when he meets her. Her name is T’Mini and Jim thinks it’s ridiculously funny that there’s anyone as serious as she named after a Disney mouse. She’s been assigned as his mentor and when they first meet, she tells Jim that not a one of her students has ever failed the Master levels in the Starfleet Combat Training course.

“Of course,” she adds dryly, or at least Jim thinks it’s dryly, he hasn’t had much conversation with Vulcans beyond swift greetings and need to know information, so for all he knows her voice is as dry as Vulcan’s Forge all the time. “None of my students has ever been human.”

Jim doesn’t get angry at her condescension. This is the way Vulcans are, direct and honest, just as that one section mandatory to all cadets at the Academy had said. He merely decides, as he does every time it’s inferred he’s inferior, that he will kick ass and make the other guy take names; in reverse alphabetical order. In Pig Latin. Decision made, Jim then accordingly excels in all T’Mini’s instruction.

He smirks when she reluctantly admits that he is her best student, including those of Vulcan, in the Suus Mahna, and that, “Despite your illogical need for constant expenditure of energy, you are quite adept at Hayal’Ozh-dukal.”* He swears up and down that she smiled then but T’Mini denies it constantly. She’s always doing it with her right side lips quirked up, though, so Jim never believes her.    

The first time Jim is made aware of the to'tsu'k'hy** is three months in, after he managed to coerce T’Mini to teach him her language. He reclines in the bed, wine colored sheets entwined about his body as she stands in front of the window, setting sun illuminating the tempting vision of her nude body in a fiery halo. He’s chuckling after his thirty-fifth attempt to define it while T’Mini studiously ignores him, also studiously ignoring the fact that “Vulcans do not pout, James. That is associated with an emotion and-”

“Vulcans don’t experience emotions.” He speaks the words right along with her, having been lectured on that count more often than he would like to admit. “Though somehow, my haughty love, I don’t quite believe you.”

His smile, sly like the le’matya and T’Mini’s least favorite, provokes a most ferocious not-scowl out of her. Before she can launch an attack, Jim sits up, hands out and palms up, grin still in place as he continues, “The emotions thing, not your little snit because you are four times stronger than me, therefore, you are totally capable of judging when or when-not you are pouting.”

T’Mini slits her eyes and cants her head, decides something Jim, as he wakes with the worst headache known to man a few minutes later, wishes he’d been able to detect. He groans, exaggerates it for T’Mini’s benefit and says, “If I didn’t have you and the sex – two things of which I am irrevocably in love with – I would so deny you sex for that act of abuse!”

“I was merely demonstrating the to'tsu'k'hy. Maybe now, you will remember what it means. After all, do you Terrans not have a proverb ‘actions speak louder than words?’”

Jim scowls at her as he rubs the joint between neck and shoulder and moodily jerks the water cup out of T’Mini’s hand as she extends it toward him. He swears her lips quirk up, just a little, but it’s gone before he can be entirely sure and anyway, she’d deny the allegation in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, yeah. Nerve pinch. Got it.” He waits a bit as that sinks in, puts two and two together. His eyes go wide in excitement and he swivels toward T’Mini without a care for the liquid, water sloshing everywhere. “Could you teach me that? It’d be damn useful.”

She’s silent, like she always is, for long stretches when she wants him on tenterhooks, and Jim forces himself not to fidget. He’s not trying to be Vulcan, not by a long shot, but she hates it when he fidgets and he loves her so he tries. Finally, after an eternity that wasn’t an eternity, she nods, once, before slipping on her robe and leaving the room.

Jim smiles wide, the one that covers the whole of his face and is T’Mini’s favorite, allows his body to fall backwards, spread eagle and stares at the ceiling.

When he’s back in San Fran, he’s passed Master levels combat and receives for his trouble a grouchy doctor complaining, “Jim, what the hell do you need Masters level in combat anyway? Most of Starfleet cadets don’t even go for the Advanced classes and here you are, being all that 1%.”

Jim just tosses a half-smile Bones’ way and is about to suggest they go out to eat when his personal comm. beeps. He glances at the chrono and sees it’s a whole four hours before T’Mini would be calling but he’s 100% sure that’s her personal comm. signal. He shoos a nosy McCoy away, watching amusingly as his friend backs away by three feet - at least out of visual range – and then answers the comm.

His smile is radiant when he sees her blank face and before she can speak, he blurts, “Ah, you’re shining smile is a sight for sore eyes.”

T’Mini purses her lips, a sure sign she’s not-smiling, and refrains from commenting on the illogicality of another face being balm for pained eyes. She waits a beat, smoothes her hair, and then speaks.

“I know I am contacting you earlier than our prearranged time, but as you are human, I know that you would wish me to inform you the moment after I found out.”

Jim tenses, his knuckles turning white as they grip the side of the desk, and he leans forward, voice pained as he asks, “What are you dying of?”

T’Mini pauses, tilts her head as if calculating something, and then turns from inner to outer focus.

“I am not dying James. I merely wished to inform you that I will be birthing your child in six months.”

Jim is stunned. His eyes widen, and then squint, and then widen again as his mouth opens and closes, attempting to figure out a thing to say. It’s not easy, Jim’s never wanted to be a father, on account of how his own dad left him dangling in the wind, but he can’t deny the little ball of joy somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. And it just keeps growing. He’s about to shout in glee when he’s interrupted by a dire voice.

“Now hang on a damn minute here!” Bones strides into the picture, looking back and forth between Jim and the Vulcan girlfriend he’d never once believed was real. Jim would crow if the situation wasn’t so serious/joyous/fucking scary. He watches as Bones finally settles on a direction for his wrath, staring down T’Mini.

“I’m a doctor and I happen to know that Vulcan gestation periods are ten months long, give or take a day or two.” He stops to take a breath, or calm his breath, or gather his words, Jim is never really sure with Bones, but before he can continue, T’Mini interjects.

“That is true, Doctor. However, I have just discovered that I am four months along. Had the fetus been wholly Vulcan I would have known the exact minute it was conceived and would have apprised James accordingly, however, it is not. Therefore, I could not.”

Bones merely glares at her. She tilts her head once again and speaks in her sternest voice, “Satisfied?”

Jim suppresses a smile as Bones finally nods, slightly cowed. This doesn’t prevent the good doctor from castigating Jim once T’Mini signs off, the older man ignoring Jim’s pleas that he ‘was careful, damn it’ and ‘not even in the 23rd century is birth control infallible’. Finally, after hours of Bones inundating Jim with pamphlets and instruction on how to handle a baby and declarations that no one besides himself would see to the child’s medical needs, Bones grabs Jim and drags him to the nearest bar for celebration.

T’Mini moves to San Francisco, after she acquires a job with Starfleet Academy as interim astrophysics instructor. The Academy tries to convince her to take up combat classes, a crusade they had been at for years, but of course she declines. Jim never has any thoughts that she wouldn’t. They go weekly to Medical for scans and testing, Bones grumbling and groaning whenever he has to ask M’Benga for help, but he’s learning – studying his ass off really – and eventually, he’s capable of interpreting Vulcan and half-Vulcan physiology by himself.

Jim will never make a crack about Bones 'having his training wheels removed' again. That hypo had been unpleasant.

Even with this new facet of his life, a live-in girlfriend and baby-on-the-way, he’s still number one in his classes, doing even better than normal his professors say. Bones says it means he’s trying to impress his little baby and then proceeds to make sarcastic moony faces. Jim ignores him.

The point is, Jim’s happy, maybe not exquisitely so, but more than he’s ever really been. Satisfactory, is what T’Mini says and he finds he kind of likes the moderate way Vulcans phrase things. Of course, when it comes to his son, he’s always ecstatic, and that’s when T’Mini tells him to settle down or he will wear himself out before the child’s even born. Not in so many words of course, the Vulcans being what they are.

Six months fly by like nothing and the next thing Jim knows is that he’s being called from his Advanced Astrophysics class to attend the birthing of his son. He apologizes to Captain Ho’Vhanni’Lik as he gathers his belongings and makes his way to the door, only to be brushed off with a ‘Congratulations’ and a swish of the hands. As he dashes to Medical, he works on calming the rushing of his mind and the pounding of his heart, anything to make T’Mini more comfortable.

He slows as he enters the building, trying to regulate his breathing before he enters the maternity ward. T’Mini already believes that Jim being at the birth is illogical if it interrupts any one of his classes, so arriving like he’d rushed would just add fuel to her fire. He gets to the ward and is just about to walk down the hall when Bones comes careening around the corner, eyes searching the room frantically.

Smiling, Jim jogs over to Bones, greeting on his tongue when he notices the worry carved in the deep lines of his face. There’s sadness in his eyes and it’s like a switch was flipped. All the jubilation turns to fear and the heart-palpitations change representation. He slows to a stop, his breathing kicking up in a panic and whispers, “Bones?”

Bones grabs Jim’s arm, pulls him behind as he races down the hall; shouts over his shoulder, “T’Mini had to be moved to ER. There were complications. The baby’s fine but she’s only got a few minutes left. GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WAY!”

Jim’s almost hyperventilating by the time they make it to the room. Bones herds the lingering nurses and techs out, leaving him and the woman he loves alone. He’s almost too afraid to approach, heart breaking at being left when they’ve only really just begun. A soft mewling sound draws his attention to the little bundle of hair and ears in the crib next to the bed and he doesn’t know what to feel.

His son, his beautiful son has just been brought into this world, but his girlfriend is about to be taken out of it. It’s a juxtaposition he could have done without in his life, but it’s here and it’s now and no amount of wanting is going to change it. He grabs her hand, holds on for dear life, and looks into her eyes. His are dimmed by the tears he can’t stop and hers are sadder than he’s ever seen them.

She grips his hand back, tilts her head in that inquisitive way he loves and murmurs, “It is illogical to mourn for one who leaves this life well-lived. And mine will be complete if you let me hold our child.”

Jim can’t stop the small twitch of lip. It seems T’Mini can’t refrain from calling Jim illogical one last time and he’s never been so delighted to hear it. He nods, loosens his grip on her hand to gently cradle the baby, and settles him into the crook of one arm. The baby snuffles and wiggles, getting nowhere, but giving her a memory before she goes.

“When the contractions began, I started thinking of names. I believe S’Cha T’pur Soran Jasper Kirk is acceptable as per our former discussions.”

There’s a little gasp after her words, so tiny Jim would not have noticed if he had not been aware she was dying. He attempts to ignore it, as she is doing, and only nods. He smiles widely, but he’s sure his pain shines through and says, “That’s a wonderful choice, my haughty little love.”

There’s that almost smile again, weaker, but there. Her eyes flutter closed, then open, as her breathing becomes slightly more labored. Jim can’t even imagine the amount of control she’s expending not to make him see her in pain.

“There is one last thing…. I must do before I… go.”

Jim nods again, aware and waiting. He bends closer and rearranges Soran into his own arms, allowing hers to be free. She moves her hands into position; thumbs on chins, indexes to the cheekbones, remainders on the foreheads. He feels her diving right in, like a seal into the ocean, sure and smooth. Her mind slides and skims around his, drawing Soran’s into the action. He watches as she weaves together a beautiful, thin chain link. It’s an iridescent blue, much like his own eyes, and he wants to ask T’Mini if there is reason for the color or if she chose it or if all bonds are that unlikely color, but he doesn’t want to distract her.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, not unusual with a meld, but they eventually separate, T’Mini easing out of Jim’s mind like a whisper. Even still, Jim could feel the tiny little link he now shares with his son. It increases his tears and they finally overrun his control, spill down his cheeks at warp speed. T’Mini grabs his hand and one of Soran’s, holds tightly and Jim knows that soon, very soon, she will be gone. He lowers his head, buries his nose in his son’s unruly hair, and just breathes.

Seconds tick by and then, “Jim”, softly, breathily. He looks up and she continues, “I know you’ve… always wondered. My last… gift to you…”

As she lay dying, her lips, those gorgeous lips that Jim had once attempted to write odes to, spread and stretch, reveals the clean line of her teeth and… Jim’s heart skips a beat as her bewitching smile unveils the most enticing dimple Jim’s ever seen. He takes a mental snapshot of this mythical creature before him and then looks up into T’Mini’s eyes and whispers, “Not that you weren’t perfect without it. It was just an idle thought.”

Her eyes speak her acceptance and understanding, she takes one last breath… and blaring fills the room, startling a sharp cry from Soran and a jerk of the arms and head from Jim, as the heart monitors go haywire. Nurses spill into the room, they converge on the bed and the monitors and the empty body, and all Jim can do is step back, get out of the way, watch in surreal time, slow motion, as the only person he’s ever let himself get serious about just… disappears.

Hands clasp around his shoulders, startles him he’s sure but he can’t really feel it, he can’t even react he’s just too numb. He turns his head and sees Bones’ sad eyes, follows as Bones pulls him from the room and tries to listen as his friend starts to give him information. Not on ‘arrangements’ or on ‘informing the family’, Bones isn’t that uncouth. Even so that Jim is aware of what Bones isn’t saying, he’s just not aware of what he actually is saying. It’s a weird position to be in and one Jim never wants to be in again. He’s aware enough to know that and he’s aware enough to follow T’Mini’s instruction on how to block emotion and thoughts within a mind link. Soran’s first day is not going to be filled with sadness, not inside his mind at any rate.

For the whole rest of the day and through the night, Jim’s only aware of his son; how he breaths, the adorable little kitten noises he makes, the abundance of hair in such a way that Jim knows when Soran’s older will be a riot of curls, his perfect little pointy ears and tiny little fingers and toes… the fact that his mom’s not there and never will be. He knows, peripherally, that Bones is doing something, coming in and going out constantly, moving things, but he doesn’t care. Not for the moment. He just stares at his boy.

His mother transports in the second she gets off the comm with Jim. Jim's not sure of the legality of her actions but she somehow bums a few rides from friends on passing star ships, stating that this was not the time to shuffle through shuttleports. She gives Jim the biggest bear hug her smaller body can handle, pecks Bones on the cheek, and then beelines for Soran. She chatters about food and diapers and linens and cribs, of Jim continuing his Academy work and not fretting about having a baby on the loose during class time. She's there to stay, she tells a grateful Jim, "Just got transferred officially to run the Sumgai simulation at the Acadamy. It's always run at night, I know you know, so Soran's in your hands when I'm not free. We'll work this out, babycakes."

Her smile and wink at Bones' choking only encourage a fond smile from Jim and a shake of the head. She's giving up star travel to help her son raise his motherless child, the least he can do is allow her the very deliberately embarrassing childhood nicknames. It doesn't mean he won't get even though. He makes sure she knows this by putting honey in her shampoo that night. Her scream that morning, though waking the whole household - including one tiny half-Vulcan - was really quite satisfying. Only Bones gets her special Winona's Iowan-Modeled-After-the-English Breakfast that morning. Jim informs his mother that apples are better for his cholesterol anyway. He does not pout.

Things run themselves this way for the better part of a year and half, with Uncle Bones and grandmother Winnie helping out whenever they can. Jim's grades do not suffer, for which he is grateful, and his previous one-night stands have decreased a bit. Surprisingly enough, it's his mom who encourages him to go out when he's been without for four months.

"Jim, sweetie, I'm here and more than willing to spend time with my grand baby. You're still young and you're stressing yourself out. Go, dance, drink, and get your rocks off. The tension is not good for Soran."

Jim merely nods, not even lifting a brow at his mother's language. He's been used to it since the moment she found out his step-father used to hit him. Since then, she's never seen a reason to censor herself. Bones always tells Jim that he wished he'd had Winona as his mom. Winona laughs and pinches McCoy's ass; Jim usually gets the hell out of there by that point.

In any case, Jim knows he should listen to his mom. Soran is especially in tune with him, being psychically linked with Jim as he is, and Jim knows his tension is bleeding through. He nods his head and goes to get ready. By the time he's at the door, saying goodbye, he can hardly bring himself to leave. It's been like this ever since his child was born, an innate reluctance to leave his boy. He kisses his head and tangles his fingers in the curls of ebony hair, looking into exact replicas of his own vibrantly blue eyes. His arms lock as Winona attempts to extricate the two and he's only ejected from the house when his mom states, "Quit acting like a woman already. He'll be fine."

Jim scowls, hearing the laughter of his roommate and seeing the mischievous twinkle in his mom's hazel eyes. He throws her a raspberry and tosses a bird Bones' way before taking one last glance at his most precious dependent before taking off for the night. That's when he meets Gaila. Which is how he meets the pointy-eared bastard Vulcan. He's fairly certain he would have been better off not meeting the Orion.

"I'm not sure having Soran on the ship is a good idea, Bones. We may be all about exploration but that just means we'll meet new and hostile aliens that could conceivably rip apart the flagship vessel with their advanced weaponry and my child could go spiraling out into space, floating for an eternity all by his tiny little lonesome."

He really should start to expect scotch in his face when he goes all Harlequin on Bones, he really should.

"You make a valid point, my stalwart friend."

Bones merely glares at him, but that's really his default setting so Jim doesn't take it to heart. They settle in their customary positions in the lounge room, Bones slumped against the back of the couch with his med-padds and Jim situated in the comfy chair diagonally from Bones, with the perfect view into his son's room. A surprise, that, built into the plans under the Admiralty's *cough* Chris’ *cough* orders with their decision to make Jim the captain of this ship. When Chris gave him the rundown of all the extra shielding and personal escape pod built right in, Jim couldn't have been happier. It doesn't mean he doesn't worry. He sometimes thinks he should have taken his mom up on her offer of a home for Soran but he couldn't bear to be parted from his elfling and now here they are.

Statistically, it's the landing parties that get attacked the most often, so that makes Jim feel better; in a non-douchebag way he hopes. Bones assures him he's still a douche either way so it all evens out in the end. Bones snarks, "And the universe sighs in relief."

Jim revokes the 'good' doctor's baby-smelling privileges and Bones continually asserts for the next five days that he was not, in fact, pouting. Jim smiles 'yeah right' and claps his friend on the shoulder, all the while hiding a ping in his heart that T'Mini will never have baby-smelling rights herself.

It's a struggle, he's had to deal with it day one of Soran's birth, but it's gotten better and will continue to do so. He doesn't even really miss what they were anymore, which sounds horrible even in his own head, but they knew the other wasn't the grand love, the greatest passion of their lives. They knew that they were in love and that they wanted what they had and that it would be great and that was that.

Neither professed to nor expected professions of undying love when the other was gone and Jim could just hear T'Mini's voice if he'd even tried mourning her for the rest of his life. Her rants were that much worse for all the lack of emotion she delivered them with. It is fair to say that what Jim misses the most these days was someone to snuggle down in bed with, to hold and kiss, and tell his day to. He'll always love her of course, a special little place in his heart for his first love and the mother of his magnificent child, but her loss is not crippling; he has to remind himself of that sometimes, when his child is asleep and he's lonely in his bed.

"Captain."

Jim snaps out of his musings and looks up to spot his First Officer striding purposefully toward him, a stoic look (of course) on his face. When the Vulcan reaches Jim, he stops and proceeds to state, "My father is in need of transport to the Rylithion Conference in Quarter A. Starfleet has ordered us to transport him. I have assured that Lieutenant Sulu has made the proper course corrections as well as entered course change into the log."

Jim smiles tightly, murmurs, "Most efficient, Spock. Thank you." He nods once, watches as Spock reciprocates before he turns on his heel and marches off. He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, wishes he'd never discussed the alternate Jim and Spock with Elder Spock. Clearly those two had never had jagged edges that scrape against each other like tree branches against a window pane.

Bones' voice in his head growls, "At least he's getting things done, Jim, never mind you want him to ask or at least tell you beforehand." Jim tells head-Bones to throw himself into a blender before the captain heads back to his quarters. He wants to watch as Elder Spock teaches Soran Vulcan-y things.

Spock is surprised that the issues at hand did not, as the Terrans say, come to a head sooner than the present. He is also surprised at the hand that he himself has had in the proceedings and if Vulcans allowed themselves to feel their emotions, he would be feeling quite... ashamed. As it is, he can feel his father's radiating disapproval down to the very marrow of his bones in a way that has never once failed to make him feel five years of age.

As he sits in his meditation pose, trying but unequivocally failing to enter into his trance, his mind reviews the day. A voice suspiciously parallel to Doctor McCoy's own unpleasant drawl states that he is, 'A horrible excuse for a Vulcan, not only in impartiality and rules, but in observation as well. Why the hell are you the Chief of Science again?'

He closes his eyes and his brain conjures up the scene from lunch and it is as if he is living it over again.

/ He lifts his head in curiosity as the captain approaches their table, food in hand. There is no hesitance in his superior's stride, as there should not be. Kirk is not the sort for indecision and self-consciousness, as no captain ever really is. He is confident and strong, qualities Spock notes with satisfaction. Their eyes meet as Kirk comes to a halt beside the table and as he speaks, he casts his glance to Nyota as well.

"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind if I ate with the both of you?"

Spock raises an eyebrow in the closest thing to surprise he will ever allow himself before he opens his mouth to reply. This is most unprecedented. Nyota beats him to answering and it is only later that he realizes he should have stopped her.

"Actually, captain, we do mind. Don't you have a woman or plural of that nature to be plowing right now?"

The captain stills and Spock is sure he would be impressed at his excellent impression of a Vulcan if he was not in the process of trying to ascertain what he should do. Logic and duty dictate that he should reprimand Nyota for disrespecting a superior officer but his still-compromised emotional state veers towards support of his girlfriend. He says nothing and continues to eat, irrationally hoping everything will just go away. He does not wish to lose Nyota, as he has already lost one important woman in his life. They are currently off duty, he rationalizes.

"I beg your pardon, Lieutenant."

Spock is impressed that the captain could make a question sound like a command and before he can intercept Nyota, she is once again speaking.

"It may not have entered that Neanderthal brain of yours, Kirk, but some people - of whom are in a committed relationship - like to eat without interference from others."

Spock winces and grips his utensils, but still does not speak up. He is not exactly friends with the captain, despite his older self's claims. If Vulcans were prone to flights of fancy, Spock would have said his blood freezes in his veins with the captain's next words, and the tone that accompanies them.

"I am assuming, of course, that your use of the phrase committed relationship is meant as a slight against my person."

"If the womanizing boxer-briefs fit."

Spock lifts his eyes from his food and aims them at the captain, curious to note the statuesque expression that adorns his face... and the brief flicker of pain that skitters across his eyes. And perhaps Nyota has gone too far for once, but this is a personal feud between the captain and her and Spock wants no part of it.

He refuses to admit that the cloying heaviness in his stomach feels strangely like guilt. /

Nyota is not a mean-spirited person, not by nature or by design. She doesn't know, therefore, why she felt entitled to treat the captain, her captain and superior, the way she did and continues to do. The guilt of her implications are eating away at her as she sits in confinement in her quarters, but to be fair, she had not known Kirk had ever had a serious relationship, let alone that the woman had died on Kirk.

She's always liked Doctor McCoy, despite his bad taste in friends, and she's always taken for granted that the southern gentleman liked her as well. She wants to be friends with him someday soon. She can now throw that hope out the viewport, the look of total and complete disgust and contempt in McCoy's eyes as he confronted her burning into her brain.

She's never been castigated so strongly, so blisteringly as she has today, by that man or by anyone, in fact. She's never felt guilt so viciously before, learning that Kirk had been in love and that he had lost her. She wishes she knew why she'd made the flippant comment, "He managed to rope a woman into spending more than five minutes with him?"     

Frankly, she's surprised the doctor hadn't punched her in the face. She knows he wanted to and she also knows that he was holding back with the barest of restraint.

She feels mortified for her implications at lunch but that doesn't change the fact that one heroic display from an arrogant man doesn't change a man's core being. He's still the Kirk she knew and hated at the Academy and that's how she will continue to treat him. Spock's said nothing different to her actions thus far, and she can't be expected to suddenly change her opinions and feelings about a man who has been a complete thorn in her side for years now. They're the same age and friction is expected. She doesn't know that she will regret conveniently forgetting that for all intents and purposes, this is a military organization, and age and prior relationships have nothing to do with anything at all.  

Nyota settles her discarded cards onto the table and makes her selection to refill her hand. Spock notices her nod when Elder Sporac mentions having seen a Vulcan child only briefly while on his nightly constitutional.

"Are there any Vulcan officers aboard this ship? I was to understand that all Vulcans had resigned their commissions to return to the colony after the Narada incident."

Spock hides an irritated twitch at the unsubtle implication that he is not Vulcan and observes Nyota's not so subtle irritation of her own. She is a Starfleet officer, however, and must 'play nice', as she would say, with the visiting ambassadors. His father looks up in interest and, Spock notes with a bit of giddy satisfaction, slight annoyance himself. It can only be because of the slight against his son.

"No, Elder, Spock is the only adult Vulcan operating on this ship. No one really knows anything about the child, nor has any on this ship besides the doctor gotten within range enough to even see the child's features properly."

Spock feels a spike of smug gratitude that Nyota is capable of throwing out a sting of her own, encased as it was in diplomatic politeness. He quickly catches himself expressing, even if only  internally, an emotion and works swiftly to rectify the problem. He is therefore again master of himself when the elder speaks once more, "Should not the captain be consulted on this matter? A Vulcan child should be in Vulcan hands, not traversing through space amongst strangers."

"I have often wondered that myself, but it's not my place to question the captain."

Nyota's lyrical voice drifted in to fill the silence, but her words... Spock cannot help but think that she has no compunction about questioning the captain on other, more personal matters. Spock tilts his head to the right, and quells the brief flash of guilt for his disloyalty to Nyota.

Elder Sporac turns his gaze to Spock and states, "Please summon the captain to your quarters, Commander. As a Vulcan of the High Council, it is my place to question the captain on such a matter."

Spock raises his eyebrow and comments, "The captain is never summoned, Elder. He is requested." As Nyota raises her eyebrow, it occurs to Spock that that statement may sound in excess of loyalty. However, he merely maintains his blank facade and acknowledges the fact that it is a true statement; in consideration to the fact that none on the ship outrank him.

Spock's eyes catch his father's and if he is not mistaken, his father is quite amused at Spock's statement. This disconcerts Spock and yet pleases him and he has rather more trouble subduing his emotional reaction than he would like to admit. His thoughts are interrupted by the Elder as he states, "Request him to your quarters then, Commander. I wish to speak with him about his arrogance in keeping a child not of his own kind."

Spock merely nods, not in acquiescence to the elder, but because he too agrees that the Enterprise is no place for a Vulcan orphan. If things are settled quickly, his father will be able to take the child with him to the conference and then home to Dvasu. He reaches his communications unit, where it sits off to the side of his dining table and enters the routing information for the captain's quarters.

"Kirk here."

Eyebrow nearly elevated to his hairline, Spock deduces that now might not be the best time to bother the captain. His voice is tight and clipped and this indicates to Spock that he is in what his mother termed 'a foul mood'. He hesitates for a mere millisecond before he continues, deciding that ship's business, as this child is, cannot wait for the captain's moods.

"Captain, Elder Sporac wishes to speak to you. He resides in my quarters."

There is silence on the other end of the comm unit for 5.76 seconds before the captain finally answers, loud sigh echoing down the line, "I'll be right there, Kirk out."

It is curious, the surge of fluttering warmth that floods Spock's body at the captain's obvious exhaustion. Even worse is that Spock cannot decipher what feeling it should be classified as. Therefore, he sets the anomaly aside and continues with the game for the few minutes it takes Kirk to traverse the space between their quarters.

The buzzer on the door rings in the calculated time and Spock informs the computer to open the door. What Spock sees when the captain comes into view is surprising and... concerning. He is rumpled and unkempt, his eyes are bloodshot and swollen, and he did not even bother to change from his nightwear, something that until now, the captain had been quite diligent in doing.

Kirk ignores Spock's assessing gaze and ambles in, his gaze focused solely on Elder Sporac. "How may I help you, sir."

Spock quirks an eyebrow. The captain's ability to make a question a statement endlessly fascinates him. It appears, however, that Elder Sporac is not quite as interested. The old Vulcan gives the captain his sternest look and intones, "It has come to my attention that there is a Vulcan orphan residing on this ship. The child should be on the Vulcan colony, awaiting adoption. Why have you not done this and instead kept a Vulcan citizen on your starship, captain?"

Kirk does not look amused in the slightest. Indeed, the elder's accusations, subtle as they are, seem to have impacted the captain in a negative manner. The skin around his eyes is tight and his mouth is puckered. Spock observes that the captain takes several deep breathes before he attempts to speak. As he is opening his mouth to do so, Nyota takes a turn.

"Really, Captain, it was nice of you to adopt the child, but we all know he would be better off with his own kind at a time such as this. Besides, a man like you would be a horrible father to a human child, let alone a Vulcan one."

Spock does not wince. It is a near thing however. He notices his father glance at she who might be Spock's wife in disapproval as well as noticing the change in the captain. Where he had been mildly irritated, he is now raging. His blue eyes spit fire and for the first time, Spock understands that colloquialism. He tilts his head, awaiting the captain's temper as he idly notes that he and Nyota will have to have a talk about her insubordination. It concerns Spock that it now just truly bothers him.

Perhaps my mother's death left me more emotionally compromised than I had initially thought.

Chest heaving with efforts to control his breathing, the captain closes his eyes, lips moving. Spock leans slightly forward and notes that he appears to be counting to ten. He is dismayed to note that Kirk's similar temper management to his mother amuses him. This is neither the time nor is it at all in accordance with his upbringing. He will have to request more sessions with a Healer from his father. This makes Spock nervous. He does not want his father to believe Spock weak.

Spock turns his attention once more onto the captain as the human begins to speak.

"Lieutenant, I have given you leeway for too long. We will discuss your punishment for insubordination tomorrow after your first duty shift." Spock observes as Nyota's jaw 'drops' and her cheeks color with indignation. Before she can speak again, Spock gives her a warning look. She glances at him in surprise.

The captain then turns to Sporac.

"Elder, forgive me, but the welfare of the Vulcan child on this ship is none of your, or your colony's, concern. I did not adopt him, as you erroneously believe. He is only half Vulcan. The other half of his genetics come from me. Now kindly drop the matter."

As Kirk turns on his heel and exits the room, Spock is curious to note that he is now experiencing the urge to gape, a most unpleasant sensation. He does not. However, he does note that Nyota seems to be in that perpetual state of shock. It is curious that this reaction from her is distasteful to him.
                                                                                                                                        

Jim pinches the bridge of his nose as he prowls into his quarters. His free hand runs through his hair viciously, pulling the hairs taut and, as one pulls loose, he winces. It's not as if he's been deliberately keeping his son from the crew, especially those on the bridge, but his son's always been delicate (damn Jim's allergies for that!) and Bones has always said to leave exposure to other 'disease-ridden, touchy-feely, unmannered as to sneeze in your face fucktards' for when Soran was older.

At least, that's the plan he'll tell everyone when inevitably questioned as to why they were unaware of their captain's child. In reality, the only reason Scotty and Bones knew about his kid and the others don't (or didn't, as the case may be) is because Chekov is afraid of him, Sulu's all zen, and Spock and Uhura are co-presidents of the I Hate Kirk Club. Not the most conducive atmosphere to introduce impressionable ears to.

Jim sighs and collapses onto his low, mud-gray couch and swings his legs up onto the equally height-challenged coffee table. He rests his head back onto the slightly hard backrest (he's got to commission a new one, seriously, what were they thinking putting a half-dead couch in sleeping quarters anyway?) and slumps into the corner of the seat. He releases a frustrated growl and bangs his head repeatedly against the back of the couch. As captain, he certainly could have handled the intrusive questions Uhura and the Elder had posed to him minutes ago in a more professional and polite fashion. He also knows that his extreme exhaustion, frustration and worry from a nightmare-plagued baby are no excuse for his curtness while engaging in professional duties. Clearly, he's going to have to learn to juggle a few things.

Bones' voice rings in his head, like an old-fashioned bullet shot ricocheting around and around and managing to hit every single metal surface that exists. "Jim! A baby! Do you know how much trouble that's going to cause! A baby! You'll be lucky if you survive through lieutenant, let alone make it to captain with a baby!"

The pounding headache that has been operating in the background of Jim's mind intensifies when Soran's high-pitched screeching penetrates his enervated fog. He winces exaggeratedly as sharp pangs grasp the fragile muscles in his forehead and temples and squeeze with all their vicious force.   

"Damn."

Levering his body from the seat, Jim allows himself less than a second to even contemplate crying before he rushes toward the extra bedroom Starfleet had added during repairs, feeling the terror and terrible loneliness his son projects blanket him like snow on the Russian tundra. He hits the room at speed and beelines for his son, sitting quickly and gathering the child close to his chest. Arms, tiny but already nearly as strong as Jim's own, wrap around him and the equally small fingers dig painfully into Jim's neck. He feels the indentations fill with blood already.

Snuffles and soft, aborted moans fall from Soran's mouth as he releases all his fear in torrents of tears. Jim squeezes his son tightly, presses his forehead to the top of Soran's head and murmurs his love and adoration and vows of protection, rocking back and forth as he does so. Soran shifts restlessly, lifting his head to stare trustingly into identical eyes. Jim smiles tenderly and stands, pacing towards their quarters exit as he projects all his fatherly feelings down their bond. Soran smiles, big as Jim's own, his fingers releasing their stranglehold on Jim's nape.

"Papa, sing me a song?"

Jim smiles and asks, "Vulcan or Standard?"

"Vulcan!"

"Vulcan it is. Let's see... hmm..." Jim glances at Soran, his smile beaming out of him as he decides.  He winks at Soran, who lights up like a Christmas tree, already knowing which song his father chose.

 
Elder Sporac and Uhura commence on their way, each retreating in their opposite directions, and Sarek speaks, "A word, my son."

Spock nods and follows his father out of the room, his father as usual preferring to perambulate as he speaks. "I have noticed a disturbing trend in your interactions with Lieutenant Uhura. She has undermined the captain five times in my presence, I do not know how many more outside of it, and you have done nothing."

Spock clasps his hands behind his back as he walks, nods along with his father's words. "Yes, father. I have noticed this as well. It has slowly been coming to my realization that I have allowed Uhura's and my relationship to interfere with my duty. I have been remiss in not reprimanding her when she speaks to the captain in such a way. I will rectify the situation forthwith."

Sarek nods his head approvingly and when he speaks, Spock knows he had understood the unspoken.  "I was concerned that the help you received had not been enough to rectify your loss of emotional control. I will speak with Starfleet and request a Healer be assigned here as soon as I repair to my quarters."

"It is appreciated, father." A tightness within his chest that Spock is unwilling to admit exists quickly unwinds, releases the tension, when his father acknowledges that Spock's errors did not disappoint him. "However, I am willing to take instruction from Elder Sporac. There is no need to hoard another Healer for me, father."

A sound surprisingly likened to a huff of disbelief dispels from his father's mouth. Spock quirks a brow at him and his father divulges his thoughts.

"Spock, it has not escaped my notice that you have a more than mild aversion to Sporac." Spock opens his mouth to dispute his father's very astute observations but is quickly silenced when his father continues. "Nor would I have your mind connected to such a closed mental presence, Spock. You are my son and I will not allow you to be belittled. It is something I have come to realize since your mother... It is something that I should have come to terms with and amended years ago. It is a pity that your mother's demise is what has made me see reason."

There is a burning in Spock's throat, a lump that clogs it, that Spock is at a loss to explain. He has never felt such a sensation before and he knows it bears further study - of the human kind he believes his father would say, now that he knows him better. He nods, his eyes catching his father's, and is about to speak when they are treated to a baritone voice singing in near perfect Vulcan. Father and son halt in their tracks as the singing approaches and Spock vaguely notes that they have traversed as far as the medical bay. The other part of himself, the bigger part, barely conceals its shock and... enjoyment(?) when the captain appears in view, that human being the origination of the Vulcan song.

The captain comes to a halt himself and sheepishly smiles at the two immobile Vulcans. "Sorry for mangling your language, but Soran likes my singing." He chuckles as he continues, "Can't imagine why. I sound like a caterwauling feline!"

At the mention of a 'Soran', Spock's eyes shift to the bundle encased tightly and protectively within the captain's arms. There, peeking up at him, is the tiny pointed tip of a Vulcan ear and it is accompanied by a littler version of the electrifying blue eyes the captain sports. The single eye spies up at Spock shyly through a thick mop of curly, dark mahogany hair.

"He has your eyes, Captain, as well as an interesting blend of Vulcan and your pigment in his hair." Sarek's voice makes the child jump, his visible eye darting to the older Vulcan and then back to Spock.

Jim's smile is slightly sharp, clearly unable to tell if Sarek's words are compliment or insult. "Thank you, Ambassador. I'm quite proud of him."

Sarek raises a brow just as his son and says, "That is all that matters." Jim darts his eyes between Spock's and Sarek's as he absorbs those words. His shoulders, tense with battle, ease as he comes to the correct conclusion.

"Yes, exactly right, sir." His smile, one Spock always notes seems to illogically 'light up a room', emerges and his eyes twinkle. He shifts his son from one arm to another, the strain of his denser bone makeup clearly getting to the captain. "I wanted to apologize for my curtness this evening, Commander, Ambassador. I was stressed out by personal matters pertaining to my son and I took it out on the Elder and the rest of you. I hope you accept my apology."

Spock's ears perk up at that. Not the apology but the stress. He glances at his father and notices that it has not slipped by him either.

"May I ask, Captain, what the trouble is? Perhaps your son would benefit from a Vulcan Healer." Jim's eyes narrow and, no doubt just as he is about to defend Doctor McCoy's medical skills, Sarek continues, "There are some things human or other medical expertise is not equipped to handle. I gather your son is suffering from nightmares? Possibly seems quite lonely?" Jim nods slowly, his eyes forgetting their defensiveness as they turn thoughtful.

"He projects a feeling of horrible loneliness, something he's not done since his mother died. The only thing that can calm it is when I project all my feelings to him along our bond."

Spock jolts in surprise upon hearing that his captain has succeeded in a two-way parental bond. This is a rare thing and one his mother had to master over long years of practice. Sarek, too, slips and shows visible amazement at this pronouncement before he quickly covers. He nods.

"Yes, this is expected and is proliferating throughout the remainder of the Vulcan race. It is a psychic shock, the result of severe and abrupt severing of peripheral mental bonds with the rest of his race. It must be dealt with if he is to heal his mind adequately. I am having a Healer sent aboard for Spock and would like to offer you and your son those services as well."

It is no surprise to Spock that his captain is almost unmatched in genius, but it is a surprise that he would readily accept such an offer, as he does.

"That would be great, Ambassador. Thanks. But just for Soran; his mother died at his birth and even then, we weren't bonded. My mind's not affected."

Sarek raises a brow once more, no doubt as curious as Spock as to why there had been no bond. He refrains from questioning the captain however and they both nod in ascent when Kirk gestures towards sickbay and makes his excuses. He then proceeds to sing his song as he saunters through the doors. Spock cannot help the slight twitch of a smile on his lips for the barest of a second when his father comments, "A most illogical song."

"Yes, quite illogical. Ironic, since it is called The Logical Song, Supertramp, 1979."

Sarek stares at his son in silence for a moment and then asks, "Amanda?"

"Who else?" A thread of amusement passes between them before they continue down the corridor, Spock's musings concentrated on the captain's incredible knowledge of his language. He cannot say why that sends a thrill down his spine.

Nyota sighs as she flops onto her bed, her loose hair scattering over the bedspread. The earlier shock she'd received when Spock had shot her a warning look has still not warn off, nor has her outrage from Kirk's reprimand faded. She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at the ceiling of her room as her mind wanders to Spock's visit later that night. She feels a giddy smile slip across her face. Spock rarely visits this late at ship's night, but when he does... well, that's when their relationship crosses into the bedroom. And if it was rare for Spock to acquiesce to sex, it was even rarer for him to initiate their intimate relations.

She tries to be patient, she really does, but she is a red-blooded woman and sex only six times in their two year relationship does get to her sometimes. She understands Spock's sentiments for the majority of their relationship, as she had still been his student not even four months ago, but now they were both fully fledged Starfleet officers and as long as they didn't allow it to interfere with their duties, Starfleet wouldn't take issue. She rolls onto her side and picks up Tubsy, the stuffed bear she's confided everything in since she was four, and says, "Tonight, I convince Spock that sex at least once a night is okay."

Tubsy stares at Nyota and she laughs. "Sorry, sweets, but even childhood stuffed friends have to grow up sometime." She kisses Tubsy delicately on the nose and jolts when her comm beeps, informing her that Spock is there. She tucks Tubsy onto the side table on her side of the bed, stands, and smoothes her uniform and hair before she calls, "Come in!"

Spock enters as formally, as stiffly, as always, his hands in a clasp behind his back. As the door whooshes shut, Nyota walks forward, arms already coming out to take her lover into her arms. Spock stiffens his body even more and his face stays as glacial as it was when he entered. Nyota halts abruptly, her arms hanging awkwardly in the air and a confused expression on her face.

Her hackles rise as the normally temperate air drops to subzero temperatures and her arms cross once again over her chest defensively. She doesn't know what this is, what's going on, but she suspects it has everything to do with the look he'd shot her in front of Kirk. She restrains the urge to huff, knowing Spock dislikes it intensely when she shows such 'infantile emotion'. Everything always comes down to Kirk and now he was screwing with her relationships. Damn that stupid man!

"What's wrong, Spock?" Modulating her voice so that it comes out merely curious instead of sharp and hurt is hard for her to do, but Nyota manages. She always manages. She's just never, ever thought she'd have to manage with Spock.

When someone takes a big, expansive breath before speaking, it usually indicates that the worst is yet to come. Nyota catches this, of course, and braces herself. "It has come to my attention that not only has the captain given you leeway on your behaviour, but so have I."

Nyota stiffens, her eyes widening in horror. Spock can't be taking Kirk's side! She readies her retort and is just opening her mouth when Spock casts her the 'it is not a glare, Nyota' glare that she's only seen him cast Kirk's and other fellow brash, over-confident moron's ways. She clamps her mouth shut, eyes tight in displeasure.

"It is the captain's prerogative, of course, to 'let things slide', as he says, but as First Officer, it is my duty to make sure the captain is given the respect due his rank on duty at all times."

Spock pauses for the merest second, but it is enough for Nyota to get the first of her words out. Spock rarely interrupts anyone when they are speaking.

"Spock, Kirk has been a thorn in my side since my second year at the Academy. It's been this way since we first met and you can't expect me to just... change my interaction with him overnight."

Spock blinks long and slow, absorbing her words. He cocks his head slightly to the right in that way Nyota always hates, in the way she knows he's thinking something, but she can never fathom what. She prefers when he never indicates his thoughts are working; it's much less nerve-wracking.

"What I expected," Nyota winced. It is never good when Spock emphasizes. "Was for you to act like a Starfleet officer. As it stands, my own father noticed five instances whereupon you have been insubordinate to the captain with him as witness and he does not even dare to guess how many times outside of his presence you have done so. I have witnessed too many for even myself to count in the past three months. Times when I should have spoken up and encouraged the captain not to allow an exception for you because it would only encourage, in your eyes, a weakness in the captain for you to exploit."

Spock's monotone voice resounds throughout her room and Nyota can't help but flinch at this evisceration of her character. She soon realizes that Spock's stop was not the end of the reprimand and tunes back in to catch, "... not the proper time. I should have realized that my compromised state would lead to lapses in my judgment, emotional and logical, and that I would cling ever more tightly to you, as you were the only familiar thing left to me in a newly unfamiliar world. I have been making allowances for you because I did not wish to lose this familiarity. This is not a healthy state to be in, either for you, myself, or the ship. Therefore, I am, as you humans say, stepping back from this relationship. We both need to reevaluate our status based upon the information I have gleaned to you. You also need to evaluate your place on this ship and what is expected of you, even when you are off duty. Captain Kirk is an easygoing man, I have noticed, but I have also noticed that he is not a man to be crossed. His patience with you has worn thin, so please do take this into consideration as well, in your deliberations."

Those last words barely penetrate Nyota's mind, encased in a shroud of fog as her brain is. She could hardly believe what she had heard, hardly countenance that Spock has broken up with her. It doesn't bear believing. As she watches, Spock turns to leave, his body seemingly bogged down by air thick as molasses. He steps to the door and it retracts into the wall, but before he can leave entirely, she blurts out, just to be absolutely sure, "You're breaking up with me?"

Spock's head turns and he looks at her. She's not sure, and she hopes she's wrong, but she thinks she sees pity in those dark glittering eyes. "I am not severing all contact, Nyota. I am merely advocating a return to our previous friendship, for the time being. I need time to adjust to a life devoid of a psychic 'buzz' persistently in the back of my mind, need time to mourn my mother's death, and need time to stabilize. You need time to adjust from being a cadet to becoming an officer. When we have done so and, if at such a time we still deem our relationship logical, we may reconvene and attempt a romantic entanglement once more." Piece spoken, Spock tips his head once, turns, and walks out the door, not even a glance back.

Nyota's face pales, the loss of blood at such a rapid pace making her dizzy. She stumbles to the nearest seat, her desk chair, and collapses heavily, so distraught she's almost unaware of the tears spilling from her eyes. She can't think straight, her mind a dizzying whirl, and the only thought that she can catch is I thought Sarek liked me.

Jim is in his quarters after a hard day of diplomacy, his head is pounding, and he is in no mood for confrontations. But it's been three days since he promised Lieutenant Uhura punishment for her attitude and if he doesn't get it over with now, he will most likely be interrupted by another emergency that just can't wait. He doesn't want to do this in front of the crew or make Uhura uncomfortable in her own quarters, but his son is happily playing with his puzzle blocks and this is not the sort of thing Jim likes to subject his child to.

He sighs and closes his eyes, rubbing them hard with his thumb and fore finger, trying unsuccessfully to bring them back to full capacity. His eyes are stinging from burning the midnight oil, no doubt red and puffy and Bones is sure to give him hell soon, and his stubble is scratching his chin. Soran's not delicate with the puzzle blocks, banging them about, and the sharp sounds penetrate Jim's mind like a Starcorgian Kindle Worm burrowing into his brain.

Moving his fingers from his eyes, Jim switches to rubbing his temples, counter clockwise and then clockwise, constantly shifting directions. His mom used to do that for him when he was a child, when his tension headaches were the worst, and he's pleased to note that it still works, if a little less. Mom Fingers are always the best. There's love in every pad, Winona Kirk always said. He lets out a huff of laughter, missing his crazy-ass old bird like no one's business.

'Ass!'  Jim jerks his head up, glaring at Soran's grinning face. "You know very well you are not allowed to use those words young man, even if it is only mentally." He points and wags his finger at his son, but he knows his amusement shines like a beacon down their bond. Really, he is the worst father in the universe. After all, his child's first word had been ass-stacker. Jim likes to blame his mom for that. He's never once added 'stacker' to a curse word.

Soran's giggles fill the spacious ready room of the Captain's quarters and eases Jim's headache that little bit more. His heart fills with warmth and he settles his head on one hand, gazing at his pride and joy as the boy picks up his Rubix cube and goes at it with a vengeance. This time, Soran is attempting to make it resemble an overlarge die. Jim has no doubt his baby will achieve it. He watches in silence for a few more minutes and is about to advocate bath-time when his door-comm beeps.

Bones is buried to his ears in paperwork, thanks to the recent crew check-up, and Scotty is busy trying to maim and or kill Keenser last Jim saw, so he's surprised that he even has a visitor. Soren puts down his cube and tips his head to the side, curious as ever, as Jim calls, "Come!"

A booted foot Jim recognizes (there is only one being aboard who takes boot shininess regulations seriously) announces that Spock is his erstwhile visitor and Jim's eyebrows fly into orbit. Spock's never attempted to step foot within Jim's private domain and now, Jim's curious.

Stiff posture, frowny face, and hands clasped behind his back, Spock comes to a halt in front of Jim's desk. "Captain, I must first apologize for the intrusion."

Jim smiles lopsidedly, waving away Spock's formalities. "S'all good, Spock. So, what can I do you for?"

Jim's surprised, and quite entertained, when Spock's eyebrows reach for the roof themselves, both of them, which is quite a feat, Jim's learned.

"Captain! I must apologize again for whatever indication I may have made that would give you the impression that I was asking for sexual favors-"

Jim's laughter has never been so robust, so out of control, as it is just then. His chuckles rumble through the room and shake his chair, the vibrations so strong that the water inside his untouched glass ripples like a stormy sea. Soran starts cackling as well, not understanding the context (thank all the stars in the sky, Jim thinks) but tickled by his father's amusement anyway.

Spock startles at the high-pitched squeals and turns on his heel, his face showing even more horror (if that was even possible) at the fact that he'd just said 'sexual favors' in front of a toddler. Jim's laughter increases and pretty soon, his face is ruddy and he can't breathe, his body is convulsing, stretching, in a vain effort to corral more air into his lungs and that just makes him laugh all the harder. Spock swivels about to face Jim again, alarm strong on his features, though Jim knows he will forever deny it.

He tries to speak through the tearful guffaws, to reassure Spock that, no, he was not in fact dying (Jim doesn't ever want his child to grow up in a world where near-death experience by laughter has never been seen, heard of, or participated in), but he can't get the words past his happy gurgles. He waves one arm at Spock, trying to communicate without speech, but he is entirely certain he merely distresses Spock more. He's also almost entirely certain this situation shouldn't be this funny, but damn if he isn't tired!

Spock steps forward swiftly and reaches past Jim to hit the comm for the Med Bay. He is about to contact Bones when Jim forces himself to reign in his hilarity and reaches over to shut the comm off. Jim's laughing slowly winds down, occasional little whines slipping out of his mouth. His hand, near to Spock's, settles temporarily atop the back of Spock's and he squeezes once before letting go. Spock looks up and stares at Jim, who lets out a small snort of amusement before finally subsiding completely.

Soran rolls around on the floor, his own giggles calmed as he sticks his fingers in his mouth and grins at his dad and Spock. Spock's eyes dart between the two and Jim could detect a bit of fascination in his commander's eyes towards Soran. Interesting.

Jim collapses back into his chair and smirks up at Spock, who says, "I do not understand."

"Spock, for one, when I asked what I can do you for, I meant 'how can I help you?' For two, that was a perfectly survivable laughing fit. You've never seen one with Uhura? For three, where the hell have you been hanging out to have that question imply sexual favors first?!"

Spock's face flushes green to the tips of his nicely turned ears and he determinedly looks past Jim's head, eyes resisting every attempt on Jim's part to capture them. Really now, all Jim wants in the universe at that moment is to know that story. Silence falls as Spock does his best impersonation of a statue and Jim just looks at him, twinkle in his eye. Finally, Jim gets tired of the contest of wills and asks, "What did you need?"

Spock turns sharply back to Jim, his eyebrow quirking at the carefully stressed words and Jim knows he notes the suppressed smile on Jim's face. A flash of what Jim believes is amusement flits through Spock's eyes before he suppresses it and speaks.

"My father has informed me that the healer has arrived. I came to ascertain whether you would allow me to escort Soran to the sessions or if you would prefer to accompany us both."

Jim's forehead furrows in confusion as he checks his calendar. "He wasn't supposed to arrive until we made dock at Starbase 1."

Another quirked brow, this one higher and emoting concern, decorated Spock's face before he answers slowly, "We have docked at Starbase 1, Captain. We did so at 2300 hours."

Jim flashes his eyes to the chronometer and notes that it is passed midnight, creeping slowly into the wee hours of ship's morning. "Arrgh!"

Jim runs his hands frustratingly through his hair, scrubs hard, and then drags them down his face, rubbing at his eyes as he passes. "Sir?"

Jim rests his hands over his tired eyes, mumbles through them, "I'm so stressed Spock. Do you know how hard it is to juggle a ship with a baby who has constant nightmares?"

There is silence. Jim waits a moment before he peeks one eye through a slit in his fingers, examining Spock's face. He has a thoughtful look, his head tipped to the side in such a way that Jim knows he's thinking hard and Jim loves it. He can't help but compare Spock to a curious puppy when he does that. He smiles and comments, "Don't break anything, Spock. It's a rhetorical question."

Spock nods his head and says, "I believe that is why my father suggested this course of action... Jim."

The last word is said softly, hesitantly, as if Spock is unsure whether he should be speaking his captain's name, even in an effort to comfort. It makes Jim feel all tingly inside, so he smiles to show Spock it's okay. Spock's shoulders release their tension and his face somehow, infinitesimally, becomes softer.

"I'd really appreciate that, Spock. I have a few other things I need to take care of, but Soran really does need some help. Come."

Jim heaves himself to his feet and, once again, feels warm and slightly giddy inside, when Spock makes an aborted attempt to assist Jim. He thinks that maybe there can be a friendship here. He thinks that maybe one has already started. He thinks he likes that. Once he gains his feet, Jim leads Spock the short few strides to the public part of the quarters, bends, and picks up his son.

"Soran, you remember Spock, don't you?"

Soran nods slowly, then ducks his head shyly into the crease of Jim's neck, a soft gurlge-giggle falling from his mouth. His left hand covers the side of his face and he stays that way, occasionally peeking out and repeating the sequence all over again. Jim can't help but beam in adoration, his son the cutest thing in the whole damn universe.

"Indeed."

Jim glances up at Spock, his eyes wide in surprise and a slight red flush on his cheeks. "Did I say that out loud?"

"Indeed." Spock looks smug, no doubt satisfied that he's elicited the same reaction he'd had minutes ago...

"Wait! You agreed!"

Spock tilts his head in that way Jim loves and comments, "One cannot help but agree with a scientific fact, Captain."

Jim stares, astonishment clear on his face, before a slow smile spreads, until he's beaming. "And people say that Vulcans don't have a sense of humour."

Spock stares at Jim, face stoic but for the gleam banked in his eyes, "The Vulcans do not have a sense of humour that we are aware of."  

Jim snorted a laugh before he went back to coaxing Soran from his shell. "Hey, baby. Come out for me, okay, big guy? Come on. This is a... friend of daddy's. Come on, pi'khaf-spol,* come out and say hi."

Soran lowers his hand and lifts his head, staring at Jim all the while. Jim ducks his own head to catch his little one's eyes and smiles encouragingly. "Na'shaya,"* Jim whispers, his voice lilting up on the 'shy' sound.

Soran smiles widely and whispers back, "Na'shaya," voice copying Jim's pattern. Jim can't resist and ninja kisses Soran's nose, resulting in a tiny wrinkled button of a nose and a giggle. He turns to Spock in time to catch some sort of expression on his XO's face that he can't decipher before once again, it’s a blank canvas.

Soran turns his head towards Spock too and waits for Jim. Jim takes Soran's miniscule hand and rubs the fingers his son wraps around his bigger one. "Soran, this is First Officer S'chn T'gai  Spock." Jim ignores Spock's questioning eyebrows and continues, "Spock, this is S’Cha T’pur Soran Jasper Kirk, my son."

Spock bows his head once and intones, "It is an honor to meet you, Soran."

Soran immediately beams and Jim is glad Spock is willing to play along. Soran is ridiculously easy to please when he is treated with the respect accorded to Jim and he is wondering if Spock is now aware he's made a friend for life. His first officer lifts his head and meets Jim's eyes and Jim knows Spock is very much aware of the significance of Soran's smile. He thinks he should be wary, concerned, but all Jim can feel is ecstatic. Maybe they will have an epic friendship after all. One can only hope.

Spock walks silently beside Soran for the twenty-third time, listening as the boy details his every move that day, as they head toward the Healer's quarters. He is certain he should feel that he is being illogical, indulging the child, but all Spock can feel is contentment as Soran's chatter washes over him. He nods in the appropriate places, absorbing all that the young one says, but he ponders the change in his circumstances that had been wrought over the past three weeks.

When he had embarked upon the relationship with Nyota, he had never even contemplated the thought that he would sever that connection. However, he had never thought he would lose his mother and his whole world, either, so this is easy to understand. Had he and Nyota been bonded, their staying together would not have even been in question, but they were not. He has never even melded with her and as such, did and continues not to know her intentions with regards to their relationship. Therefore, he clung harder to her after his mother's demise, willfully overlooking insubordination that he would not have had he not been severely affected by the near annihilation of his species.

In addition, he believes that the realization 'of all that they could be' with Kirk was on the horizon, as his mother used to say. Over these three weeks, he has learned much about the man he had once thought of as nothing more than a brash and rude delinquent. Indeed, just today, he has learned that Jim (Spock relished being able to call the captain that; he was within a select group who were) plays chess. He has scheduled a game with his captain for 2100 hours tomorrow and he finds that he simply cannot wait. Illogical.

"Spock! Are you even listening?" Spock focuses his eyes and mental attention onto Soran, his left eyebrow quirking at the emphases on the -ing, amongst others. It has been three weeks of listening to this child and still Spock believes Soran has quite the most fascinating habit of accentuating suffixes that Spock has ever heard. Of course, it is no wonder he has such a unique way of speech, considering his father.              

"I am listening, kan-lap*." Soran giggles at the nickname and Spock is content. He will not allow Healer Malick to take away this child's joy. It is the way Jim has chosen to raise his son and as such, none have the right to tell him otherwise. However, Spock wishes Soran's joy for himself, as well. He had thought, upon first meeting, that he would be disgusted by the sheer emotionalism of the half-Vulcan, but he finds it suits all concerned. He finds that his days would be duller were he never to hear that musical giggle again.

Malick, he knows, finds his thoughts concerning. He is not disgusted by Spock's or Soran's half-Vulcaness, but he does not condone the full-engaging of emotion Soran enjoys nor Spock's curious desire to hold on to some of his own emotion. It is not as if he wishes to go around displaying his feelings for all to see, but he desires to keep some for himself (and possibly Jim, a strange voice whispers in his mind), nonetheless. It is all the legacy his mother has left him.

As the two half-Vulcans round a corner in the corridor, Spock spots Nyota coming towards them. She does not look happy. A note of concern spikes through Spock's heart and he fervently hopes that her rare demeanor has no connection to their separation. He knows when she sees them, as she visibly slows and swallows. It has been three weeks since he has seen her and Spock is aware that it is because Jim has taken her off active duty. He is not aware of the rest of her punishment, however. Perhaps that is the reason for what his mother would call the 'sourpuss face'.

The three of them come to a halt in the middle of the corridor, Soran casting a wary glance Nyota's way before he hides behind Spock's legs, little fingers grasping the material of his pants tightly. Spock places one hand atop Soran's head in comfort, having to slightly bend to reach. Nyota's eyes track every movement and he is aware of the moment when she realizes that his being entrusted with Soran must mean that he and the captain are decently close, even friends.

Her eyes widen and she stiffens. He is cognizant of the fact that she must see this as a defection, a betrayal, and Spock is ashamed to note that he never informed her of his change of mind upon Jim's character dating back to the beginning of their mission. Her belief that he was 'on her side' then was compounded by that fact and his inaction when she was unprofessional towards the captain. Spock nodded to himself. If he'd had any doubt that severing their intimate relations for the time being was a bad idea, this was confirmation enough to dissuade him of those thoughts. Communication was key to interaction on any level and he and Nyota had not been communicating. It is surprising that such an emotional technique was learned from his healer.

"Lieutenant. If I may ask, are you well?"

Nyota nods and responds, "I'm fine, Spock. And you?"

Spock tilts his head, chin dipping to the left as he observes her. "I believe we are still on duty, Lieutenant. I am content."

He sees her flinch at his clipped response, but then she straightens, hardens her face, and nods. "That's good, Commander."

Silence ensues and Spock decides to forgo mentioning the sarcasm attached to his title, before Nyota glances back down to Soran. Spock notes that she has been resisting the urge for 33.6 seconds to do so. "I see the captain already has the crew locked into babysitting for him." Spock hears her unspoken 'typical'.

"In fact, I have taken it upon myself to escort Soran to and from Healer Malick's quarters. He is Vulcan as well and suffers from the same mental disconnection as every other Vulcan. As skilled a father as Jim is, he cannot help with things he has no knowledge of."

Noyta catches Spock's use of the captain's given name, as he had intended, and she closes her mouth tightly. If they are to embark upon an intimate relationship at a later date, she will have to understand that Jim is his friend now and that she cannot expect Spock to give him up. She nods curtly once, murmurs, "Excuse me, I'll be late for Sensitivity Training," and skirts around Spock and the boy she barely glanced at. Spock watches her go calmly, head once again tilted, chin pointing to the left. He sees in his peripheral as Soran copies him, also watching the woman walk away.

Seconds later, Spock says, "Come, Soran. We will be late." Soran follows immediately and Spock suppresses the surge of adoration, induced by the image that burns in his mind's eye; that of Soran, adopting a favorite mannerism of Spock's. It feels... great to be a role model for a youngling. He knows Jim will find it precious.

Nyota storms down the corridors, her temper piping hot from her day. She could just imagine how she looks, steam pouring from her ears and the top of her head, her eyes devil-red, and her nostrils flared like a bull's. Much like those ridiculous cartoons humans used to watch in the 21st century. She releases a growl as she rounds the last turn and sails into her room, locking the door fiercely behind her. She throws her PADD down onto her desk, stomps the few steps to her bed, and falls gracelessly on to it. Her arms, crossed over her chest, tighten further as she fights tears.

Her thoughts buzz around her mind. To take stock, Spock now wants me to call him Commander, he's on a first name basis with Kirk, and he willingly takes charge of the kid. Does he even miss me at all?

It was humiliating, being brushed aside like this. As if what they'd had meant nothing. To add insult to injury, the punishment she'd received for her unprofessional attitude took her off the Bridge, away from any contact with Spock, and into a classroom where she had to learn to be sensitive. She was sensitive, damn it! It's how she's done so well in all her linguistics classes! She growls again and slams her head into the mattress. When she'd questioned Kirk on his choice of reprimand, she'd gotten a glare and a curt, "It's my choice, Lieutenant" before he'd dismissed her from his quarters.

The next day at lunch, she'd noticed Doctor McCoy eating by himself and had dared to approach. She'd been surprised that he'd allowed her to sit with him, albeit very reluctantly. She remembers being vaguely envious of the friendship that sort of loyalty belonged to. When the doctor had growled at her to 'get on with it!' Nyota decided she should just blurt her question out.

"Do you know why Kir- the captain has me in Sensitivity Training? That's all part of being a linguistics officer!"

McCoy had glared at her and sniped, "It's a wonder you even graduated then." She'd jerked back, stung, her cheeks flushing and her throat closing. The Doctor took a deep breath, sighed, and said, "It was my idea. Jim just wanted to confine you to quarters for a few weeks, keep you off landing parties, that sort of thing. I told him that if he wanted to see a real change, he should put you in sensitivity courses, seeing as it's your job as a linguist to look past the surface and read what's underneath in conjunction with words. You've interacted with Jim a total of, what? Four times before the whole Narada incident, right? And you based your entire hatred of him on tales you'd heard of him, on the few times he flirted with you, but not once have you recognized what he's done for this crew, who he really is, in the past five months. If you can't do even that, with someone you know at least a little, then Jim can't trust you to be able to do it with new, unexplored species, now can he?" Speech over, the doctor had grabbed his food, not even finished, and strode out of the mess.

It is humbling, what he'd said, but it still doesn't make it any easier to swallow; or her any less angry. What is even more of an eye-opener is the fact that, until today, she hadn't even realized just exactly how much Kirk had been going easy on her. Today had been her first class with other officers, others who had been insubordinate to a superior officer, insensitive to others. She'd tried to make friends, say hello, so that she wouldn't be alone for her three month long punishment, but the others knew that she'd apparently gotten a free pass from the captain, that this was her first punishment, and they hadn't liked her for it. She's never been ignored once in her life and she finds it's not a very nice feeling. To top it off, she is the most senior officer in that class, aside from the instructor, and the rest of the class had basically run rough-shod all over her. It irked her, to know what Kirk felt every time she had snapped at him. It also made her feel guilty. Especially as Doctor McCoy's words come back to her.

She's been on the captain's case since he took command on the Enterprise's first voyage. He’d been an ass when he’d taken command from Spock, but she knew he’d done it for the right reasons. And not once has he attempted to provoke any reaction from Spock since they’ve been on their mission, nor has he pretended to know everything that came with being a captain. More than once before their breakup, Nyota had entered Spock’s quarters to find Captain Kirk and him in an intense discussion about protocol or diplomacy, usually with Kirk asking if this or that was okay or across the line. Thinking back on it, she’d not even seen him wink at an officer that served under him, nor had she heard the usual rumors.

Nyota let out a long, sincere whine, her hands bringing her pillow up to smother her face. Her anger drained away as she realized that yes, she’d definitely been in the wrong. Not once has Kirk disrespected her, or anyone else for that matter, and she’d done so to him many a time. Plus, his kid is adorable.

Spock gauges the placement of his opponent’s pieces, eyebrow twitching but not yet rising as he realizes that Jim has taken the game. No move he can fathom will release his king from checkmate so he reaches forward and knocks the piece over. A glance at Jim shows him that his captain is overly smug at the win and this is when Spock’s eyebrow finally raises.

Smiling, Jim drawls, “Hey, what can I say? It’s a coup for me to beat you at a logical game when you’re all logical towards me every day. So, pttttht!”

Spock allows his amusement to shine through, even as he tucks the image of his captain ‘blowing a raspberry’ at him deep into his mind. “Indeed.”

Jim chuckles and leans back, his legs sprawling before him. Spock catches himself as his eyes dip to his captain’s covered groin and he flicks his eyes quickly up, face heating slightly. He does not know why he did that. It is most inappropriate. Jim reaches forward and grabs Spock’s tea cup, tipping it in invitation. Spock nods and as his captain leaves the table to fetch more libations, Spock sets the chessboard back up.

“May I make a personal query, Jim?”

“Go for it.”

Spock pauses at the ambiguous statement before he continues setting the pieces in their proper starting positions. “I am curious about your relationship with Soran’s mother.”

Rather than seeing, Spock senses Jim’s pause. It is infinitesimal, but Spock believes that Jim will rescind his earlier offer. He is therefore surprised when Jim speaks.

“What did you want to know?”

Spock ponders his first question as Jim sets their drinks down and then settles into his chair. He makes his first move before he says, “You informed my father and myself that you and your mate were not bonded.”

“That’s correct. Is that strange?” The tilt Spock notices at the side of Jim’s mouth informs Spock that Jim is completely aware of the strangeness of this fact. He answers anyway.

“Indeed. It is imperative that a Vulcan have a mental connection with their mate.”

Jim makes his own move, mind obviously not on the game, and then glances up at Spock through lowered lashes. He folds his arms across his chest and considers his words for a moment before he begins his tale.

“Her name was T’Mini.” Spock’s brows, both of them, rise as he connects that name with Soran’s Vulcan surname and Jim smirks. “Heard of her, I see.”

“It is a rare Vulcan who has not.”

“We met when I spent the summer between my first and second semesters of my first year on exchange to the Vulcan Combat Training Facility. It was pretty much love at first condescending Vulcan’s-don’t-do-insults insult.” Jim stops speaking here, eyes far away to the distant past. “We didn’t really fit, not mentally. She was able to get her fill of mental stimulation by melding with me, but our minds didn’t want to connect on a permanent level.”

Spock quirks his head to the side and he is delighted to observe that this action does not displease Jim as it does Nyota. It is quite the opposite, in fact, if the fond look upon his face is anything to deduce by. “If your minds were incompatible, why then did you not separate?”

Jim’s smile peeked out, quick as you please, as he responded. “Because we loved each other. We may not have been the perfect fit, but we were each other’s almost-perfect puzzle piece, as T’Mini used to say. And that’s all that mattered to either of us, really.”

Spock has never heard of such a thing, partners staying together merely out of emotion rather than compatibility. He finds it is quite… romantic, if one were so inclined in that direction. His mother would no doubt have found Jim’s story a ‘fairytale’. Spock would have as well, once upon time. He makes his next move on the board, contemplating his next question, when it occurs to him that he did not feel the customary pang he usually does when thinking of his mother. He furrows his brow in consternation. This realization troubles him.

“Jim, I must diverge from this course of conversation and ask something else.” Jim nods and waves his hand. “I have just thought of my mother. I did not feel a pang of loss with this thought and it concerns me.”

He glances up at the man across from him, seeking assurance of some kind. A warmth that Spock knows is compassion fills Jim’s eyes. He reaches out and covers Spock’s hand and a tingle runs up Spock’s arm, resulting in Spock jerking back in surprise. Jim blinks and pulls back, something resembling hurt filling his face before it clears. He smiles, murmurs an apology, and says, “That’s normal, Spock. There’s a saying on Earth, ‘Time heals all wounds’ and that’s what’s happening. I’ve lived with a Vulcan and I know they, you feel, so I’m pretty confident in telling you that it’s just time healing your heart, that your love for your mother isn’t being overridden by the reinforcing of your mental disciplines. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Spock breathes deep, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. Not having experience with allowing himself to feel, it had… scared him to think that his mother’s importance could be brushed aside so easily. As McCoy says, Jim had hit the nail on the head. A sense of satisfaction washes over Spock, that Jim knows him well enough to guess his burdensome thoughts.

“Thank you, Jim.”

He watches as Jim reaches out for his hand once more before stopping and reaching for the bowl of olives at the side. It is a poor attempt at hiding his true intentions and Spock wishes he had been able to hide his shocked flinch. He does not know how to reach out himself, Nyota having been the initiator throughout their interactions. All the same, Spock does not wish Jim to think his touches are unwelcome so he forces his hand to move towards Jim’s, just barely grazes it with his own, before he pulls back and focuses on the board. If it is possible, and since it is currently happening, Spock can feel Jim’s mile-wide smile.

It is very difficult, more than when he was a child weaning himself from his mother’s overindulgent touches, to suppress his own smile. He manages, even though he believes it does not matter. Jim’s foot tapping his under the table makes Spock think Jim knew it was there anyway. He finds he does not mind.

She’s had a lot of time to wander about the ship, what with being grounded, and Nyota’s noticed something. Not a one of the ship’s crew has a bad word to say against Kirk. He’s done his job, he’s kept them safe and alive, or as much as one captain of one starship can do out in the great vast openness of space, and he’s genuinely interested in his crew’s lives. This doesn’t mean he’s everybody’s best friend of course, but with a compliment of over 1000 and not one of them she’s run into speaking bad about the captain, it does mean that Nyota’s the only one who has never seen it. ‘Blinded by first impressions,’ her mom always says. ‘Never trust what you see upon first meeting,’ she always warned her daughter.

It is immensely disheartening to realize that she did the exact opposite of what her mother had cautioned. It’s equally ego-popping to know that she allowed her animosity toward a man she truly didn’t know to interfere with her work as well as put a strain on her boyfriend. And if she thought about it further, she can slightly recall that those she’d met at the Academy only had glowing reports about Kirk, even the females she knew he’d been with. Sure, they were sometimes irked by his cockiness and there were the odd few jealous of his intelligence and popularity, but the majority had nothing bad to say. Not even Gaila when she’d admitted to telling Kirk she’d loved him and he’d freaked out.   

She’s not even really sure why she dislikes, or disliked, Kirk anymore, if she ever really knew at all. She hadn’t been charmed when he tried to pick her up in that Iowan bar, that’s for sure, but she hadn’t had any true disgust for Kirk either. If anything, she had been amused. That is, until his hands had grabbed her boobs and he’d sort of grinned. Then she’d gotten angry. Thinking back on it, however, reveals that he was still drunk out of his mind, which contributed to his being dazed. That punch to the face didn’t help either, but the point is that she’s never heard of Kirk just up and grabbing a woman’s personal items like that and that punch further reminds her that he’d been thrown her way. He may have been drunk enough to show some appreciation, but sober, Kirk just wasn’t That Guy. How everything had snowballed the way it had is beyond Nyota because she is just not That Girl.

She sighs as she slumps into a corner seat of the mess, her food staring at her accusingly. A frown mars her delicate features as she contemplates the fact that, even though Spock knew that she knew that he wasn’t as oblivious as he seems sometimes, he still found it within himself to intone, “Food cannot glare, Nyota, unless it is still alive and annoyed at being hunted.” She thinks to herself that in the beginning, that had been cute. Then again, in the beginning, she’d thought he really was that confused.

Spock sips his tea as he watches Jim and Soran play an illogical game called ‘Slap Jack’. As far as he is able to ascertain, the object is to win all the cards and to do so, each opponent must attempt to slap any Jack that may appear as the top card in the pile. It serves no purpose and when he asks Jim why they play it, he is merely laughed at. It confuses Spock and he is not partial to being confused. Additionally, Jim seems not to be intent on winning, but merely allows Soran to win, slapping a Jack every once in a while to maintain appearances. Spock is aware of this parental practice, himself having to tell his own mother that it was not appreciated when she awarded him a win that he had not earned. It still baffles him why parents continue with this practice. So he asks, quietly and when Soran is distracted, as Jim approaches his sofa.

Jim flashes that smile and Spock’s stomach does a flip. “I love him.”

A flush infuses Spock’s face, but he maintains his stoic expression and tilts his head. “If you love him, would not your time be better served by making sure he betters himself by working for his victories?”

The only sound besides Soran’s educational computer game is the tinkling of glass as Jim pours himself some of Spock’s mother’s Special Brew. His captain settles into the back of the sofa, holds both hands around his mug, and breathes deeply before he turns his attention to Spock and answers.

“Spock, he’s only two. Continually crushing a child that age at games would only serve to make him feel bad about himself. By allowing him to win, it gives him the confidence that he can win at anything. Gradually, when he gets older, I will win the occasional game, until we are both giving it our all and may the best man win!”

Spock raises his eyebrow pointedly. Sheepishly, Jim admits, “Or maybe it’s an ‘I just want to see him smile all the time’ parental thing, you know, whatever. Same difference and all that.”

Spock nods, but asks, “Jim, how can it be a ‘same difference’? By definition, one cannot be identical to another if it is different.”

Jim smirks and says, “Spock, not even humans can agree on what that phrase means. But we use it frequently. Try to wrap your logical Vulcan brain around that one.”

Spock remains silent, unwilling to be drawn into one of their most illogical arguments once again. He glances at Soran and comments, “He has grown much in the past three months. It is unprecedented for a Vulcan child.”

“Yeah, well, he’s part Kirk and we all grow like weeds. Or bamboo. I prefer bamboo, really, because it’s got a nice connotation. Weeds are just irritants and no can ever say Kirk men are irritating, now can they?”

Spock feels a light flick on the tip of his right ear at this preposterous announcement, but he only comments with, “Indeed.” If it is in his driest tone, no one except Jim need be the wiser. His ‘burn’, as Jim likes to call it, hits the mark and he hears that wonderful, robust burst of sound again as Jim heaves in the throes of a belly laugh.

He slaps Spock’s shoulder, much like he did on their first mission together, right after his comment about knowing each other, and states, “This is why I totally love you, man.”

Spock freezes, even as warmth comparable to the desert winds of the now eradicated Fire Plains bursts through him. He feels Jim still as well and they remain so, the chronometer ticking and Soran making illogical battleship noises in the background. Quirking his head, Spock attempts to see Jim’s expression. It is impossible, however, as Jim seems preoccupied with his fingernails. Spock sets his eyes straightforward again, swiftly mining his brain for something to say. The silence extends longer and he is unsure as to why this moment is so awkward. He had been assured by his mother when he left for the Academy that many men did declare their platonic love for each other; this should not be different and yet it felt… monumental.

Illogically, Spock believes he can hear the start of chirping crickets so his mind seizes the first thing it can grab ahold of. “Soran does not sound like he is playing an educational game, Jim.”

A whoosh of air is expelled from Jim, sounding suspiciously like relief, before his friend comments, “He’s studying strategy.”

An explosion can be heard from behind the partition, prompting Spock to respond with, “By playing Battlefield: 1942?”

Jim shrugs and Spock finally turns to him. The moment seems to have passed. “He’s learning strategy and history and having fun blowing up Nazis in the process. It’s a win-win… win situation.”

Spock cannot help the release of his sigh. “He is part Vulcan and he is two. Yet you allow him to play violent World War II games. It is a relief that I have taken charge of him on a daily basis or he would have turned out a psychotic killer.” He takes a sip of his now tepid tea, observing Jim’s bewildered facial expressions. It is quite satisfying. That is, until he gets a bowl of pasta dumped down his shirt. Needless to say, that is where their interaction for the night ends. He walks with dignity out the door, listening intently to the deep chuckles, storing them away for the night.

It is not until he is just entering deep trance that he realizes he has barely thought of Uhura these past four months. Before he clears his mind completely, he makes a mental notation to ascertain her amenability to a renewal of their previous relationship. He does not need her any longer, the Healer is quite adequate for that, so he believes their interaction can now be as it once was.

The fork falls out of Nyota’s hand, clattering to the table unheeded. She watches as Kir- the captain (captain, she has to keep emphasizing that) smiles indulgently as his son (and Nyota’s mind is still officially blown on that) enthusiastically demonstrates what looks to her like a careening ship-to-ship crash and ponders. Deeply. He is remarkably good with children, or at least his own, that’s for sure and it makes Nyota uncomfortable. She’s not exactly sure why.

It’s just one thing to understand the regard her crewmates have for the captain and entirely another to see what they see, she guesses. Oh, this is actually the first time K- the captain has brought his son into the purview of the ship as a whole. He’s never once brought the kid to the mess, until today, but the concept of raising a child and running a ship is essentially the same, so she gets it. She’s also unpleasantly aware that, if this crew were the captain’s children, she’d be the troubled, rebellious one, indulged on her whims because of some sort of guilt or whatever on the captain-dad’s part. Or something. She’s not sure that analogy really works, but the first bit, that totally fits.

Soran’s (that’s his name, according to rumour) just finished with his apparent epic tale and digging into his asparagus macaroni cheese with gusto, while the captain patiently snaps on a bib. It’s superfluous by that point really, Nyota observes, as she spots a big glop of cheese in the middle of Soran’s chest. Ki- the captain hasn’t noticed it yet and Nyota’s not at all sure if she should tell him. He might still be angry with her and she’s come to find that she doesn’t like it when the captain is angry with her. She’s still trying to figure that one out. She doesn’t like the captain, certainly, but she’s come to find that she doesn’t hate him. Reflection and all that, but she still shouldn’t care if Captain the Man is still mad; only if Captain the Officer still is.

It’s a confusing set of whatevers and it’s giving Nyota a headache, so she’s grateful when her PADD beeps with a newly received message.

Nyota smiles at the overly formal invitation even as she types in ‘yes.’ She sends the message and then sets the PADD aside, focusing in on her food. The captain’s private life is no affair of hers and she likes it that way, so she studiously refrains from glancing in his direction again.

She’s had another flare up, she’s disgusted to admit, even if only to herself. It’s hard, this adjustment thing. It’s like rewriting her entire hardware to accept a subroutine that was never meant to fit in the first place. A bit like the Kobyashi Maru and Captain Kirk’s handling thereof – nothing but trouble.

She’s glad that her uncharitable thoughts had been inside her head, though and not escaped through her, quite shockingly, undisciplined mouth. It seems that having ‘exceptional aural sensitivity’ when it comes to linguistics means absolutely jack-fucking-shit when there’s an unexplainable dislike festering like a boil on the face of society deep inside her deceptively sweet chest. Yeah, she thought she’d let go of it. Apparently, cute kids can’t fix everything and thinking that thought is a bit like hearing that, ‘no, Santa does not really exist, children.’

“Nyota.”

Snapping back to reality, Nyota glances up at Spock with an inquiring look on her face. Her… boyfriend?... just date? says, “I inquired as to whether anything was amiss.”

She smiles half-heartedly and is about to respond when a particularly enthusiastic (Ironic, considering the source, she thinks) clashing of drums fills the room, making her wince. She grits her teeth and bears through it and when the music dies down to a comfortable drone, she continues, “Everything’s fine. Today was my last day of Sensitivity Training, so yay!” She waves her closed fists in joy beside her head. As usual, Spock lacks reaction. She sighs.

It used to be more fun, this dating Spock thing. Somehow, though, Spock is rubbing her nerves raw. Her brain heaves its last dying breathes when the Vulcan lyre plucks through the room and she’s certain that this was once her favorite song. She sets her fork down, smiles across the table, and stands. Spock follows her with his disconcertingly dark eyes.

“I think it’s time I get to bed, Spock. This was delicious.” Not her usual parting line, but it will have to do. It’s awkward, this getting to know you once again stage. It’s worse than before. She makes an aborted movement toward Spock, reviews the night, wonders what he’s thinking, moves in again and places a delicate, dry kiss to his cheek. She’s not sure if it’s a goodbye or a thank you or even a good night. She’s not sure of anything anymore and she hates that. Unfortunately, she can’t really blame Kirk - the captain, for this, not anymore. It sucks having her eyes wide open. Which really means that it sucks being an adult.

And it looked so fun from the eyes of a child.

Soran crawls into Jim’s lap and snuggles in for the long haul, Jim notes, as his son pulls his crocheted blanket onto their laps. Smiling softly, Jim sets his work aside and wraps his arms around the little heat furnace he’d recently acquired, murmurs, ‘elfling’, and gives him a loving kiss to the forehead. Soran beams.

“Where’s father?”

Jim starts, his eyes darting down in confusion. He searches Soran’s inquisitive eyes and asks, “What do you mean? I’m right here.”

Soran sits up, his fingers clenching his blanket, and shakes his head enthusiastically. Jim’s concerned he’s going to dislodge something and places his hands either side of the boy’s head, stilling it. His wide, wide cerulean eyes gaze up at Jim as he says, “No, you’re daddy. Spock is father. I apologize for not informing you both of your titles. Where is he?”

Jim hasn’t moved since his son put the words Spock and father in the same sentence. He’s… stunned, to say the least. He doesn’t even know how Soran had connected those dots, but, surprisingly, Jim’s not miffed or angry or disgusted. He’s actually kind of fuzzy inside, which is strange in and of its self. Jim’s always been jealous of his child’s attention, never liking the thought that he’d ever call someone else ‘mommy’ or ‘papa’. But with Spock… it somehow fits and isn’t that a rude awakening.

And shit-damn, he has to realize he might, maybe just a wee little bit like the idea of Spock being other daddy to his kid on the very same night Spock is renewing his relationship with Uhura. Why does his life like laughing and pointing at him? Why?! Jim blinks and turns back to his son, relegating his own private soap opera to the hopefully forgotten annals of his mind’s history and tries to think of an answer. Hopefully one that will not break his son’s heart.

“Soran, baby, Spock and I… we’re not together that way.” Soran’s impossibly huge eyes blink in incomprehension and he bites his bottom lip. Jim’s heart twinges painfully, knowing there is no other way to put it than straight.

“Spock’s not your father, baby. He’s not going to be your father. He’s with Lieutenant Uhura right now. They have a special relationship, okay? One that includes neither of us.”

Soran stares at Jim, unblinking, unmoving, before he quietly shifts into the crook of Jim’s arm and sticks his thumb into this mouth, sucking slowly. Jim winces. Soran never sucks his thumb unless he’s upset times the nth power. Leaning down, Jim sticks his nose in his child’s hair and takes a huge whiff, inhaling all that beautiful baby smell. He hugs the boy tightly and whispers, “I’m so sorry, baby.” It’s all he has. Soran sends warmth, albeit tinged with sadness, through their bond and Jim knows it’s all right. Or at least that it will be, in time. It’s all he can ask.

In order for things to go back to normal, or normal sans snark, Nyota decides it will be a good idea to sit with the captain at lunch. It’s taken her a week from the time of her and Spock’s first date to get to a point where she can stomach it so she’s not going to retreat, even with the captain looking like someone told him his captaincy was being revoked. She grabs her order, takes a deep breath, and marches over to the table, asking cheerily,“This seat taken?”

Her superior glances up, his eyebrows hiking, as he observes her. She stands there, her awkwardness like a banner in footage of those ancient gay pride parades. She thinks the captain is going to cut her, like she’d done to him, but eventually, he drawls, “No, go ahead.” She is about to beam in triumph when he continues, “I was just leaving.”

Setting her tray down and collapsing into the seat, Nyota swallows her pride and says, “No, captain. Please stay.” He does, with a strange expression on his face that she can’t decipher (and that, as having nothing to do with anything really, bugs the hell out of her). Not an auspicious start, admittedly, but it will have to do, she decides. “So…”

Uncomfortable silence befalls their table. The captain picks at his wilted salad and Nyota takes a generous helping of her pomegranate ice cream and shoves it into her mouth. She ponders how to start the conversation when it occurs to her that pomegranate ice cream is not the biggest favorite around the galaxy. Swallowing, she comments, “It’s strange that Starfleet has this flavor ice cream programmed into the replicators. Even with all our diversity, it’s not that well known.”

Kirk glances at her mauve cool treat, then back down to his plate. Her brow furrows as an alarm goes off in her head. The captain’s acting too strangely for the problem to be mere awkwardness between them, but before she can comment, he says, “The Enterprise wasn’t, but I overheard you talking to Spock about it just after we left docking, so I had Scotty input it into the program.”

“Oh.”

She’s wilting as much as that salad had, she knows. All that time she’s thought Kirk nothing but a douchebag and it turns out, eight months later, that said douchebag is responsible for her having her most favorite food item available. She knows for a fact that others must suffer the lack of theirs, having heard more than once in the Communications department whining and moaning that their comfort food was not on the menu. She didn’t know it was possible to feel any lower than she already did and yet, here she was, so low there isn’t even a word for it.

She glances up at the captain, who, by all rights, should be gloating, but he is merely staring off into the distance, and quite tragically, if Nyota did say so herself. She stands, which catches the man’s attention, so she says, “I’ll just leave you to your… gazing. Sorry to interrupt.”

She hurries off, leaving her ice cream behind, determined to make her room as quickly as possible. She can feel a migraine coming on and she’s sure it’s from the memory flashes bursting through her brain. Stupid Kirk and his stupid thoughtfulness has set off other, similar, occurrences that she never even gave a thought to, so absorbed in her self-constructed picture of him as she was. She doesn’t like what that says about her and she’s thankful she’s within range of her room because she might cry, the strain is so terrible.

Sure enough, the moment she steps foot into her quarters, she feels tears streaming down her cheeks. She throws herself onto the bed, burrows under the pillows and weeps, with her mother’s voice echoing in her head.

‘Realizing we got a little high in the instep are we now, my love?’  It is not comforting.

Jim clinks his glass against Bones’ as he watches his son sleep. He is always an angel, the purest child anyone could ever ask for, but when he sleeps, it’s like the heavens open up and smile upon him. Jim lets a rueful grin quirk his lips for a moment. When he gets maudlin, he gets poetic; how disgusting.      

A light slap to his bicep catches Jim’s attention and he turns to look at Bones. “What?”

“Didn’t I tell you hanging around with that hormonally imbalanced elf would do nothing but harm?”

Jim sighs and drops his head back, but a reluctant smile stretches his lips. He twirls his glass about slowly, the amber liquid inside sloshing from side to side. He can’t see it, but he knows Bones is wincing with every precarious tip, lamenting the loss of some damn fine scotch. He’s probably already writing its eulogy; something about wartime and dying heroically. He has some shit-ass weird friends.

“It came out of nowhere Bones. I’ve never been attracted to men and the next thing you know, I’m not minding the fact that my son is calling one, not me, ‘father’.” He stops to take a sip of his drink, relishing the burn as it slides smoothly down his throat before he continues. “I mean, it’s not like I had any clues or anything. I didn’t, like, catch myself ogling him.” He ignores Bones’ overly dramatic gagging sounds and talks louder. “I did realize I was touching his hands more and more often, but I’m that kind of person! How was I to know that it was different?”

He pretends to miss the rolled eyes of his friend and focuses back onto his son. Soran twitches in his sleep, his right leg jerking and the fleece blanket that is covering him slips halfway to the floor. Jim contemplates his boy for a moment, then sets down his glass.

“I need to get him into his bed.” He nods once in the direction of the couch, needlessly, and doesn’t even wait for Bones’ acknowledgement. He approaches the sleeping child and gently slides his hands underneath the limp body, gathering the tiny thing against his own and heading to the nursery. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he hears the comm to his door, but he’s preoccupied with his son and thinks they’ll go away or leave a message or come back. At the moment, it’s not more important than tucking his son in. If it was an emergency, he’d already be aware.

Spock straightens his shirt and smooths the wrinkles out as he awaits entrance into Jim’s quarters. It has been a week and he is concerned that he has not seen Soran (or Jim, off duty) in that time. Concerns that there might be a medical problem had prompted Spock to seek his superior out, or so he tells himself. After an interim of 3.4 minutes, the doors finally open and to Spock’s displeasure, he comes face to face with Doctor McCoy.

His stomach ‘drops’ and a strange heat disperses through his body as he assesses the Doctor’s state of dishevelment and aura of comfort, as if the Captain’s quarters are his second home, that surrounds him.

The man scowls at Spock and Spock merely levels a blanker face than usual at the man.

“Commander. What are you doing here?”

Spock quirks an eyebrow and responds with, “That is none of your concern, Doctor. I presume the captain is present?” The Doctor nods slowly, arms crossed in what Spock believes to be a defensive posture. He is completely blocking entrance.

“May I enter?”

McCoy quirks a brow of his own, contention glittering in his eyes as he responds with, “You’ll have to ask Jim that.” He smirks and does not move.

Spock compresses his lips into a hard line and suppresses the frustrated urge to lift McCoy by his lapels and toss him out of the way. He tightens his hands into fists and he is thusly grateful that they are currently behind his back, in his customary parade rest position.

“Would you inform the captain that I am here?”

The Doctor shrugs his shoulders in a deleterious fashion, his glee at seemingly humbling Spock apparent. He glances over his shoulder and calls softly, “Jim, Spock’s here.”

Spock watches as Jim exits Soran’s room and nods at him. A pleased tingle races through Spock’s mind and he tilts his own head in acknowledgement. It is short lived as McCoy and Jim share an indeterminable look between them. Even when he and the captain were not on social terms, Jim has never made Spock feel left out. He does not like that he feels such an emotion now.     

“Well, I’m off. Paperwork to do, patients to torture, that sort of thing. Jim, later. Spock.”

The doctor nods in both men’s directions before he exits the room. Spock thinks that the atmosphere will go back to what it usually is between himself and Jim, but he is corrected of such an assumption when he enters the room and Jim smiles weakly at him. It is no doubt meant to be a full smile, one that Jim gives to him often, but Spock knows Jim as he knows his own mind and he cannot be fooled. His concern increases by the power of ten and yet, he does not know what to do. There is something wrong between the two of them and he does not know if he is the one to attempt to fix it. He is not even sure what has happened to change their friendship.

Jim haltingly gestures towards the sofa and offers as he does, “Tea?”

“Please.”

He sits rigidly at the edge of the seat, his hands folded into his lap. He watches as Jim just as rigidly fills their drinks and comes back to the social area, sitting next to Spock but with an added distance that had disappeared when their acquaintance had become friendship. The conversation is stilted, Jim’s eyes continuously finding other places to look at that were not Spock and Spock’s eyes boring into Jim, hoping fervently that he will look at Spock, tell him what the matter is and how it can be resolved.

He wonders, briefly, if the problem exists in the fact that he has resumed his relationship with Nyota, but then immediately dismisses it. Jim is not the kind of man to hold the fact that his friend’s significant other is hostile towards him against Spock. So he sits and he stews, painfully navigating through alternating silence and uncomfortable conversation.

As another silence befalls the room, Spock takes a sip of his tea and ponders his situation. His eyes roam about the room, refusing to settle on Jim and see in his eyes that he wishes to revoke their friendship. The Healer’s voice suddenly echoes through Spock’s mind, The key to interacting with others is communication, Spock. Though we suppress our emotions, we still need to speak about their impact with those in our lives so that nothing such as what occurred with you and Lieutenant Uhura occurs again.

Spock takes a deep breath and nods to himself. He sets his teacup onto the glass table in front of him and then slides closer to Jim, taking his cup and setting it aside as well. Jim’s eyebrows jump in surprise, but he does not move away. Indeed, he seems to lean towards Spock, as if he is the negative polarity to Spock’s positive. Fascinating.

“Jim, you are avoiding me. In addition, your actions seem to have impacted Soran’s, as he has not been in my presence for a week. I wish to know what has occurred to make you so uncomfortable around me.”

Jim seems to freeze, his chest stalling for 5.6 seconds before kicking in again, this time faster. His feet seem to have become ‘antsy’ and if Spock was not mistaken, this was the human ‘fight or flight’ response, currently, it seems, set on flight. Spock tenses, not sure if he should allow Jim to run or to force him to talk this out, when Jim seems to decide that he should answer. He slumps against the couch and stares at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry, Spock. This isn’t fair to you.” His head falls to the side, eyes catching Spock’s. Smiling deprecatingly, Jim shrugs.

“It’s- it’s not anything you did, Spock. Soran… he asked me, a week ago, where his father was.”

Spock’s eyebrows twitch and he does not know what to say to this. It is strange that Soran asked his own father where his father is, but it also does not make sense as to why this is their problem.

Jim sighs knowingly and turns back to the ceiling, glaring fiercely at it.

“I told him that I was right there, but he said that I’m his daddy and that-” Here, Jim stops to take a deep breath before proceeding. “That you are his father.”

Spock starts violently, unable to suppress the jerking movement, and he is grateful he had set the hot tea down. Jim nods resignedly, the weak smile back. “Yeah. He just needs time is all. Then you’ll both be back to being best buds.”

Spock crinkles his forehead. “Time? Whatever for?”

Jim chuckles and states, “Spock, I had to tell him that you’re not his father. He’s hurting. He doesn’t want to see you right now. He needs to heal.”

“I see.”

It is hard to say why he is pleased. Certainly he holds a deep affection for Soran and Jim is his dearest friend, but he is also certain that mere friends do not want to be thought of as said friend’s child’s father. Yet, it is one of the greatest moments of his life, hearing that Soran has called him father. He tilts his head and thinks, Fascinating.

Nervous movement in the corner of his eye brings his attention back to Jim. He is still self-conscious it seems, so Spock does the only thing that he thinks will calm him. He moves his hand and settles it atop Jim’s own and he squeezes. Seconds pass, Spock holds his breath, and then Jim’s hand turns, his fingers curling around Spock’s palm. They brush slightly against the pads of Spock’s hands, sending a tingle down Spock’s spine. His breath hitches and his face suffuses with heat. He is sure his face is as green as an unripe tomato.

Jim reaches over and grabs Spock’s tea, placing the cup in Spock’s hand, and takes possession of his own. They sit in comfortable silence, hands clasped.

Nyota sighs and rolls over, breathing deeply as she finally removes the pillow from her head. She doesn’t know why adjusting is so difficult. She’s always been adaptable, but there is something about Kirk that just grates on her nerves – and then she has to find out he’s a sweetie-pie under all that arrogance. So she’s been thinking. Well, alternately crying and thinking and sometimes even crying while thinking and, along with a severe headache, she’s gained two conclusions: one, she is a Constitution class star-bitch and two, she doesn't like Vulcan music. She's pretty sure the first is much more heinous.  

But the second, well, the second is an eye-opener too. She’s sure her relationship with Spock is over. Just like the music, certain of Spock’s mannerisms grate on her nerves. She still adores him, of course, but she’s not sure she was ever really in love. Infatuation, maybe, a schoolgirl crush, definitely. But love? Is it really love when she adopts a favorite song just because it’s his favorite song? Is it love when she wants Spock to be more open, more emotional, to suit her when she knows that it’s just not him? She doesn’t think so.

She knows now that Spock was right. Staying together during such a devastating time had not been the right thing to do. Things would have just gotten worse and then they would have crashed and burned and nothing could have saved their friendship. And Spock and Jim would most probably not have befriended each other and everything would have just been one large disaster area.

Tonight, she is breaking up with Spock and with that decision, a weight is lifted from her shoulders. It almost hurts to admit that it’s the best she’s felt in ages.

Spock’s meditation usually helps him come to important decisions, but sitting here, with Jim and holding his hand, can bring epiphanies too. Spock is not shocked by this. He has and will always be comforted by Jim, his mind always will be able to calm itself. There is, of course, the added bonus of Jim being the topic of Spock’s decision.

He is unaware of Jim’s feelings on the matter of Spock being as another father to Soran, unaware of Jim’s feelings towards Spock, in particular. Communication being the key to adequate relationships does not help when one is too… scared, for lack of a better term, to know the answer. His mother would be disappointed in him, preferring uncertainty to definitive answers. Indeed, he is disappointed in himself. However, if Spock does not ask, he will always be able to hope that Jim loves him as he loves Jim.

He will have to release Nyota from their relationship, a mere week after reinstating it. He is certain this is not considered polite, but it would be even less so to allow Nyota the belief that his heart is hers. And on that note, he is sure it never really was. He cares for Nyota, of course he does, but it could not have been romantic love he held for her. He has never felt any of the emotions with Nyota that he feels for Jim; the hot and the cold, the fluttering in the stomach… the fervent wish to be a father with him… he hopes Nyota will understand, will not hold this against him, and will consider being his friend again one day.

Spock’s hand tightens on Jim’s reflexively, catching his companion’s attention. Jim’s thumb rubs soothingly along the top of Spock’s hand as he asks, “Something wrong?”

“Negative, Jim. However, I have a meeting I must attend to in five minutes. It will most probably be short, so if you would not mind setting up the chess set and ordering in, I would be quite satisfied.”

A slow smile spreads across Jim’s face and he nods.

“Yeah, no problem.”  

Spock nods once, squeezes Jim’s hand again, and then stands. He girds his loins, as Jim once said, and exits the premises, heading towards Nyota’s quarters. He buzzes her comm and awaits her response, illogically agitated in his wait. He should not feel nervous about ending something that never really had a future and yet, he is. It would be fascinating if it isn’t so nerve-wracking. He straightens his back and places his hands at parade rest, while he regulates his breathing.

Seconds later, the door slides open to reveal the… nervous grin upon Nyota’s own face. Spock cocks his head to the side, curious, and watches as Nyota narrows her eyes at his gesture. Has she always hated such a gesture? Spock cannot quite recall.

“Spock! You’re early. Come in.”

She steps aside to allow him entrance, her hands twisting each other about in the front of her uniform. She would have to replace it, were she to be going back on duty this shift.

He takes a deep breath. Then narrows his eyes as she takes a deep breath. He opens his mouth and states his intentions, Nyota simultaneously fulfilling her own.

“I believe we should sever our romantic liaison permanently and forthwith.”

“We need to breakup for good, Spock.”

Nyota’s mouth snaps shut, her teeth clicking together jarringly and, Spock assumes, quite painfully. He himself is no better, yet better at hiding it as a Vulcan he is. His breath catches the tiniest bit at her decision, not in pain, but in surprise and, yes, relief that she feels the same. He quirks his lips slightly and watches as she blasts an amused smile too.

Well.

“Well.” Nyota sighs this word, her agitated hands stilling into comfortable rest at her sides. Her shoulders, formerly rigid, relax and she breathes deeply. Spock nods at her word.

“This wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be.”

“Indeed.”

She tips her head to the side, resting it on her shoulder and asks lightly, “Still friends?”

“It is illogical to assume otherwise.”

Her perfectly symmetrical, wonderfully aesthetic face breaks out into another brilliant smile, but Spock’s heart does not skip a beat, his mind does not stall. If he’d had any doubts, of which he had none, this would have eradicated them.

“May I ask how you came to your conclusion, Nyota?”

She smiles in a most intriguing way before she speaks, her eyes twinkling merrily. “As it turns out, I don’t like Vulcan music.”

Spock blinks. This answer is nonsensical to him. He steps closer and gazes into Nyota’s laughing eyes. He tilts his head again, deliberately, but she merely smiles wider, no irritation visible this time. It is then that he understands that her answer is meant to confuse him. He does not understand this. She giggles once, then bites her lip to keep any more traitorous sound from escaping. He now knows why his head tilt did not ‘get’ to her. She is having too much fun ‘getting’ to him. Fascinating.

He quirks an amused eyebrow and then bows, once, before turning to leave.

“Spock, my turn.”

He turns back to her, showing only inquisitiveness. She crosses her arms across her wonderful chest and mock glares. “Do not even pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Spock relents, opens his mouth to inform her of his thought processes, and then remembers what Jim had said to his son once, a few weeks ago. Two can play at that game, buster!

“Knight to L4.”

Nyota stops short, her triumph over Spock rapidly descending into confusion. “What?”

Spock twitches one lip, arches one eyebrow and says, “Exactly.”

Before Nyota can recover from her surprise, Spock spins on his heel and marches out of the room, pleasantly amazed that everything had gone so well.    

The door is just closing when Nyota releases a long, very loud laugh. He imagines in his mind’s eye that she is holding her stomach and either leaning against the wall or collapsed on the floor at this moment, as she is wont to do. It is nice to know it will not be the last time he sees it, fault of a broken heart.

Word spreads like wildfire around the Enterprise. If Spock hadn’t told Jim the night of, he would have found out the next day that Spock and Uhura had unanimously broken things off for good. If, too, Spock hadn’t told Jim, he would have been able to do his funky-chicken-glory-happy dance in response. As it is, he had to wait until Spock left to jig around the room. Not the most dignified or adult reaction, maybe, but Jim never claims to be grown up and the day he does, he might as well be dead.

Soran’s ecstatic about the news, but Jim needs to remind the boy often that they can’t just jump in without testing the waters first. Plus, going in for the kill right after the breakup makes for rebound. Jim doesn’t want to be the ball that misses the basket. He wants to be the slam dunk. So… waiting. He can do that. Judging by a few wandering eyeballs in the mess, though, means he might have to play devious in the meantime.

That’s nothing strenuous. It’s all strategy and he is the top tactical mind in Starfleet. Jim settles back into his chair, eyes searching out potential threats, mentally eliminating them, and committing how to memory. Nothing but a breeze.

A rattling tray hitting the tabletop pulls Jim’s mind from airlocks and slutty nurses named Chapel to Spock and lovely, pointed ears. He smiles brightly and watches as Spock’s cheeks turn a curious green. He’s not sure why Spock’s been blushing, but he hopes it’s because something’s there. He’s almost completely certain, but still, testing the waters.

“Fa- Spock!”

Spock turns his burning eyes onto Soran and Jim watches as the intensity in them turns soft. Interesting. Maybe he won’t need testing at all, just time.

“Hello, kan-lap.” Jim grins, ablaze with happiness the likes of which he’s only known, briefly, on the day of his child’s birth. He knows Spock caught Soran’s slip and if the increased green in Spock’s cheeks, added with the distinctively joyful crinkles at the corners of his eyes, are anything to go by, Spock likes it. Yep, testing period – over. Jim knows he’s good, but he’s never completed a test in so short a time before.

It must be because it’s Spock and Kirk – Kirk and Spock, together. And Jim doesn’t give a good rat’s ass how cheesy that sounds, as long as he never says it aloud. He doesn’t want to scare Spock off with such sappiness, now does he?

No he does not!

Jim suppresses a smile at his son’s answering squeal. He’s going to have to ask one of his Spocks to teach him some shielding techniques. As much as he loves his connection with his boy, now that he’s growing, becoming more able to control his mind, it would be prudent to be able to block any and all sexual fantasies that run through Jim’s head at any given time.       

Jim shivers. That would be worse for Soran than the time Jim walked in on his own mom having sex with the hardware store owner when he was 9.

“Jim? Are you adequate?”

Jim jerks out of his thoughts, slightly embarrassed and wondering how long he’s been out of it. He nods sheepishly and picks up his fork, twirling it in the mound of saucy noodles. He stabs an overly large meatball as he says, “Yeah, sorry. Just, Soran’s getting better able to control his mind. As he does, he tends to wander into mine a lot. “

Spock’s eyebrows jump in concern. Jim wonders if said eyebrows ever wanted to run away to the circus. Soran giggles. Jim sends an amused glance his way and, sure enough, Soran now can’t stop staring at them. Jim turns to Spock, noting the suspicious glance being cast their way. He smirks.

“Anyway, it’s nothing serious. It means comfort and home to him, but I need to wean him and be able to have… private, not kid-friendly thoughts, and I’m sure you know what I mean.”

Spock cocks his head in that endearing way, cheeks burning green, but understanding in his eyes. Jim catches Soran turning his head the exact same way, an act he’d stopped the week prior, and he shakes his head fondly. The kid has it bad. Sighing, Jim stuffs his mouth and admits that, so does he. A small bump against his leg startles Jim and he glances up. Spock is focused on his own lunch, calmly buttering his corn, but Jim knows his Vulcans, and as such, realizes that Spock is concentrating waaaaay too hard on a piece of vegetable. He looks back down at his own lunch and smiles his secret, shy little boy smile. Never has he wanted to pull some pigtails as badly as he does right now.

He bumps back and gets the brush of a hand in response. He may not want to be the rebound, but maybe the best way to keep Spock’s attention from being caught by another was to flirt a bit. He catches Soran’s knee and squeezes gently. Yeah, flirting’s always nice.   

Nyota would like to know when, exactly, she became the go-to girl for boy advice. Especially for boys she didn’t particularly like, but didn’t particularly hate either. Like indifference, but with an attitude. It’s not as if she wasn’t expecting this. It had taken her three days to figure out what, exactly, Spock had meant by that ‘knight to L4’ business, but when she had asked Spock to dinner two weeks ago and been told that he was playing chess with the captain, it had all fallen into place.

The captain would have known the exact move, or moves, (she’s not a chess player, she doesn’t know how many there could be) and would have responded with it. Spock being as clever as he is, he knew her comment, confusing to him as it was, meant something to her that it didn’t to him and he’d responded in kind. So it didn’t exactly take a starship engineer to connect the dots.

Since then, she notices the way the two dance around each other; really, the way they’ve been doing since they met and she doesn’t even want to digress to that, love and hate and thin lines notwithstanding, so she goes back to the matter at hand and decides to just blurt it out. She’s a linguistics maestro, she can read body language, something she’s been brushing up on since her screw up with the captain and she’s objective now, so she knows she’s right when she lets it spill.

“Spock!” He stops mid-pace, turning to her attentively. “He loves you too, all right? I can see it. I would’ve seen it sooner if I hadn’t been bogged down in that totally late – and primo lame – teenage-emo-rebellion stage, whatever the hell, for the better part of four years. So just ask him out already, I swear if you don’t, I will rip my hair out!”

Spock seems surprised. No doubt trying to figure out what her hair has to do with his love life, but Nyota is so not on with that. She has her own love issues that she wishes to resolve.

“If you are right, why has he not asked me to a romantic destination?”

Nyota sighs, loudly and with vigor, and then rolls her eyes for optimum effect. “Spock, I am not Kirk’s brain! I do not have a secret wiretap connection, we don’t have slumber parties and gossip about boys, and I certainly do not have telepathy!”

She collapses back onto her bed, quite dramatically, and flings her arms out. The only sound in her room is the fabric of Spock’s pants as he shifts position. She knows he’s awaiting her verdict. She growls in annoyance and then lifts only her head, the awkward angle straining the muscles in her neck, but she’s too annoyed to care.

She closes her eyes when she sees the oddly vulnerable light in Spock’s own, his hands clenched tightly in front of him. Flopping her head back, she finally answers.

“My guess would be that he doesn’t want to be a fling.”

Spock is absorbing that, she knows, silently taking it in. Then, he asks, “Why would he believe I would ‘fling’ him?”

Despite herself, Nyota lets slip a small, amused smile. She knows Spock’s meaning, knows that he’s only trying to word it correctly, so she answers instead of correcting.

“Humans tend to have flings, or what we call rebound relationships, after a serious relationship has ended. It’s a way to heal, to feel better, appreciated, beautiful, without any risk to already fragile hearts.”

She rolls over, pulling her body so that it’s parallel to the bed, and curls her arms under her head. Her feet rest on her pillow, bare toes curling in the downy softness. She smiles gently at Spock, all irritation gone.

“It’s never anybody’s dream to be a rebound Spock, unless someone happens to be an intergalactic playboy, of course.”

Spock nods. “I see. Is he waiting for me to start up a… rebound?” The distaste in his voice is clear, but so is the determination. Whatever would get him closer to being in the captain’s arms, she supposes.

Laughing at this, Nyota squeals, “No! Spock, people only enter rebounds when their hearts have been broken. When they need time to heal, but don’t want to be seen as available to anyone. The captain must be unaware that our relationship ending didn’t break your heart. That it, in fact and in part, ended because of your love for him.”

Spock tilted his head, absorbing this information once again with relief easily visible on his face. Nyota is surprised to learn that this quirk of his doesn’t annoy her now that they are just friends. She is brought back to the subject at hand when Spock moves towards her and sits.

“So, you are saying that I should initiate the first move?”

Smiling, Nyota runs her hand across Spock’s shoulders lightly, brushing off imaginary lint and murmurs, “Yes. I know it makes you nervous, I know that you waited for me to make the first move, but this time, the king is in your court.”

Spock nods and intones, “In actuality, though the pieces are named after an empirical hierarchy, the board is not a court as such-”

Nyota unceremoniously pushes Spock off her bed. The thump he makes is quite satisfying.

Spock inputs the data into the computer almost mindlessly. His thoughts are with his captain, his Jim, and he knows that they should be with his work. He is on duty, on the Bridge, and perhaps that is the problem. Jim sits mere feet away, his masterful presence filling up the large command chair. It is intoxicating.

His mind continues to wander to acceptable scenarios that Spock could entice Jim with for their first romantic outing. Nothing seems appropriate and Spock knows that he is merely stalling. It has been a month since his conversation with Nyota. All he gets from her these days are disappointed glares. No amount of protesting that the times are not right appeases her. He wonders when it was that Nyota had become almost more invested in this not-relationship than Spock.

“Captain, incoming from Starfleet Headquarters. It’s Admiral Pike, sir.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. On screen.”

Spock glances up as the admiral appears on the view screen, seeming larger than life. His face breaks out into a smile as he greets them.

“Jim! Spock! How’re my favorite boys?”

Jim looks at Spock and grins, prompting an equal, yet quelled, reaction within Spock. Jim sees right through him, sending a thrill through Spock.

He turns back to Pike.

“We’re as awesome as ever, sir.”

Pike laughs heartily and it seems to be contagious, as Spock observes a similar reaction in the majority of those on the Bridge.    

“Quite right.” Pike quiets a moment, then sobers and departs his message.

“There’s a regatta ball in Sector 8, a traditional spaceshow one of our newest members puts on every ten years.” He puts up a hand, palm up, to forestall Jim’s protests. “I know, I know. Not your thing. Truth be told, not mine either, but it would be a dire insult were our best ship not in attendance. You only have to stay for a day, most of that time on your own ship, occasionally visiting the ambassador’s personal ship. At least you’ll be able to see a lot of cool personal space vehicles, Jim.” He stops to smile fondly before it turns slightly devious. “Oh, and bring a date if you don’t want to be mauled. A military captain is quite a catch for Glappins. Pike out.”

Jim harrumphs and sends a pout Spock’s way. Spock lifts his customary brow, all the while illogically crowing on the inside. Here is an opportunity to ask Jim to be with him in a date setting as well as having leeway to brush it off if Jim is in fact not interested in Spock romantically. What is that offensive in three sectors earth saying?

Oh, yes. I could kiss you, Admiral Pike.

Jim is at his wits end. He thinks now would be the perfect opportunity to let Spock know he’s interested, but he’s not sure that a month and a half is sufficient time for a Vulcan to get over a relationship. It’s generally not for humans and Spock’s only half that. He turns to his dinner partner as he shoves aside his PADDs.

“What do you think?”

Soran looks up at him, eyes wide and mouth in a moue of confusion. He drops his fork and raises both hands, shrugging them up with his shoulders. “I dunno. I’m only almost three!”

Snorts fall from Jim’s nose as he lets his head fall forward. He’s pathetic, really he is, asking dating advice from his only almost three year old son. Laughter short lived, Jim glances back up. He smiles and tweaks Soran’s nose, gaining a giggle in return.

“Speaking of, what sort of cake do you want next week?”

Soran crosses his arms and sticks his bottom lip out, eyes rolling upwards. Jim loves to watch him think. He doesn’t realize it, which makes it even more precious to Jim, but Soran emits a low humming noise when thinking or reading. It’s comparable to the sound of a hummingbird’s wings, if one is ever quiet enough to get so close.

“Rigellian mint and raspberry over angel food!”

Jim smiles and opens his mouth when someone beats him to it. “Fascinating combination, Soran. I am looking forward to trying a piece.”

Soran gasps and claps his hands. “Fa- SPOCK!”

If his intentions hadn’t been clear enough at the start, nearly two months of ‘Fa-Spock’ had to have informed Spock of Jim’s aims. So, it was now or forever hold his peace.

“Jim, I would like to speak to you alone, if I may.”

Well. Nodding, he directs Soran on not feeding the lily plant his orange juice and about keeping the fish tank clear of any cheesy broccoli, and then motions for Spock to follow him into the living area.

He turns to face a… nervous Spock? To borrow a phrase, fascinating.

“What did you need Spock?”

Spock straightens, clears his throat and finally speaks.

“There is a rhythmic ceremonial ritual coming up.”

Jim stares at Spock, wondering why the man can’t just say ‘ball’. Silence stretches and Jim concludes that this might be all Spock wanted to say, which, um okay.

“Yeaaaaah…”

His prompting seems to have worked because Spock steps closer, swallows, and continues. “I was wondering if you happen to be free and in need of a date.”

Jim, on the other hand, needs no prompting and a pleased smile spreads across his face in seconds. “Yes to all three questions Spock.”

Spock is pleased as well, his eyes being quite the windows, but he scoffs, “Jim, I only asked two.”

“But a third was in the offing. I was merely being expedient.”

“Indeed.”

Silence envelops them as Jim grasps Spock’s hand, entwining their fingers tightly. He pulls Spock closer, aiming unerringly for those gorgeous, full lips and is about to finally, finally taste them when a high-pitched voice interrupts.

“Does this mean I can finally call him father?”

Jim hesitates, glancing at Spock uncertainly. Spock gazes into Jim’s eyes and then turns to Soran. He releases Jim’s hand and settles onto his knees, arms held wide for Soran. Soran rushes into them eagerly as both Kirks hear Spock’s answer.

“Yes.”

Wide brown eyes glance up at Jim through inky fringe. “I think it would behoove us all if we were to be expedient, even in this, Jim.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that, Spock, ‘cause I was done shopping around a long time ago.”

Pale hands lift Soran as Spock stands. Their eyes never stray from their locked gaze and Spock whispers, as he moves in close, “As was I.”

Jim finishes the distance, lips landing softly onto Spock’s for a kiss so sweet he swears his knees went weak. He’ll never tell Spock though. He’d never live it down.

“Jim! What a wonderful day!”

Jim laughs and hugs his mom with his only available arm. Spock’s refused to let go of the other one since they’d tied the knot. He gladly suffers through motherly kisses and then hardly holds it together when she attacks Spock, his defenses totally wrecked by that one woman army.

“Spock, welcome to the family.”

“I thank you, Mrs. Kirk.”

Scandalized, shocked, nay appalled, Winona gasps, loudly and dramatically. It calls Sarek’s attention and he strides over, concerned, Jim knows, though he’d never admit it.

“Spock! I am your mother in law! Call me Winnie or mom. None of that Mrs. Kirk shit!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Winona is silent, glancing between Jim and Spock, and Sarek when he finally arrives. “He capitulated swiftly, Jim. I take it he knows why you put on the wedding invite, ‘Watch out for the Mama Kirk?’”

Jim smirks, not bothering to hide it, when Bones turns a swift tale and merges back into the crowd, though not before his mom does the ‘I’m watching you’ gesture. He really, seriously does not want to know what goes on between one of his besties and his mom. Really.

“Neither Spock Sr. or Jr. believed me, mom. I told them they would when the day was out.”

His mother snorts and grins a grin any self-aware shark would run from. Jim can’t but roll his eyes. He warned them. No one could ever say he didn’t try.

“May I ask, James, why you held your wedding day on your son’s third birthday? Vulcans do not hold such days in special esteem, but I am aware humans do. It does not seem the ‘thing’ to do, when such is the case.”

Jim beams as he looks over to his son, safely ensconced in Scotty’s doting arms. It was Spock, however, who answered.

“It was Soran’s one birthday wish, father. The only present he wanted.”

Sarek turns to observe his newly acquired grandson.

“Fascinating.”

Jim laughs and is about to ‘like father, like son’ the moment when Sarek stiffens alarmingly fast. He sighs in exasperation, closes his eyes, and rubs them hard with his palms. It’s a sad situation when he doesn’t even need to look.

"Mom, kindly remove your hand from my father in law's, no doubt, tightly tensed ass. Please and thank you and you said you would behave yourself (though only God knows why I believed you)."

Tinkling laughter follows his gripe, accompanied by, “Aww, Jimmy! Where’s the fun in that? You never used to be so uptight, you know, until you got this captain gig.” She casts a glance at the stiffly disapproving Sarek, hands coming up in front of her in a ‘see, unarmed’ gesture and comments, “You can unclench now, Sarek.”

Jim rolls his eyes and refrains from commenting that captaining is not a gig. He does, however, mention that it’s a really good thing she retired from Starfleet before she went mental.

“It is, isn’t it?” She smiles once more, ninja!kisses both Spock and Jim, tweaks Sarek’s ass once more for good measure, and then trots off, calling sweetly for Bones. Jim thinks he sees his friend’s familiar shoe peeking out from beneath a table cloth. Again, he does not  want to know.

Spock is looking at him, he can feel it. Sarek’s just as intense.

“I know, I know. I never stood a chance at normality. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

Jim’s not sure if he actually saw Sarek’s ass tuck and run, but he knows he’ll tell the story like it really did to his grandkids one day. He’s not the only one in this fucked up family who’s going to have an embarrassing story or two. No way in hell. He smiles as Spock’s arms tighten around his shoulders and he does the same around Spock’s waist as their slow song comes on, Soran clinging to their legs as they dance.

He turns his head and winks at Uhura who mock-scowls in return, before she nods and smiles. It’s never easy, this journey, but when you get there… when things finally balance, you can’t ever understand how it never was like this before.