Chapter Text
Spock at his side always soothed Kirk’s mind and bolstered his confidence more than anything else. His loyal first officer was beside him now, standing to the right of the captain’s chair in his familiar spot. He was gracing Jim with that almost-smile he saved for moments of victory.
“Your signature, Captain,” Spock requested.
“Why certainly, Mr. Spock,” the captain said ceremoniously as he took the tablet and signed his James T. Kirk with a dramatic flourish.
Spock raised an eyebrow fondly, then handed the tablet to Uhura with instructions to transmit the signed trade agreement down to the Council on Lyra 10.
Dr. McCoy, on Kirk’s other side, slapped him on the back and said, “Well, you pulled off another one, Jim! Congratulations. I don’t know how you do it.”
“I remember when I didn’t have to do it,” Jim said. “Remember all of the experts Starfleet used to send us for missions like this? Diplomats, ambassadors, negotiators.... All I had to do was deliver them and ensure their safety. Remember those days? What happened to that?”
“You ran circles around them. Made ‘em all look like incompetent fools,” Bones reminded. “Starfleet decided if one Jack-of-all-trades starship captain could do the work of ten men, they’d let him!”
Jim chuckled. “So, I dug my own grave, huh?”
“Yep. I mean, look at Spock… you think they’re gonna pay for a science officer AND a first officer when one Vulcan show-off will do both jobs? I’m telling ya, Jim, you never wanna let ‘em know everything you’re capable of,” the doctor warned, “or you’ll be doing it forever… wear yourself down to a nub.”
Jim chuckled. “Well, I don’t think either of us are quite nubs yet,” he said, glancing back toward Spock, “but I am tired and glad this is over. It’s been a long week.” He stretched a languorous stretch and settled deeper into the captain’s chair.
“Trade negotiations not as exciting as battling malevolent entities?” Bones quipped.
Jim just grinned.
“Well, there’s a heck of a lot fewer injuries,” the doctor commented. “I’ll say that. It’s been months since I’ve had to patch up either of you two.”
Jim touched Spock’s arm lightly and smiled. It had been awhile since he’d had to worry about Spock’s safety. He was grateful for that. “Thanks for all of your help down there, Spock. You were invaluable, as always.”
“I am gratified that an equitable agreement was reached with the Lyrans,” Spock said. Jim watched him as he returned to his science station.
“Well, guess I’ll wander back to Sickbay, Jim,” McCoy decided. “Maybe someone has an ingrown toenail or a varicose vein.”
Jim smiled in amusement. “Okay, Bones.”
“See you planetside for the party tonight, everybody?” McCoy called over his shoulder as he boarded the turbolift.
“Yes!” “You bet.” “See you there!” The junior officers chorused.
Jim relaxed in his chair, content to do nothing other than watch the main viewscreen as Lyra 10 spun lazily beneath them. The Enterprise had been orbiting the lovely pinkish-blue world for a week. Tomorrow morning, they’d be leaving for Deneva. Jim would see his nephew, Peter, for the first time in three years. He was looking forward to that.
“Are you going to the farewell festivities tonight, Captain?” Sulu asked. “It’s supposed to be quite a party.”
“I heard they’re pit-roasting a tirinti,” Lt. Uhura added. “That’s the Lyra 10 equivalent of a wild boar.”
Spock’s subtle expression of distaste was hidden as he hovered over his science station viewer.
“There vill be fire-dancing, too, Keptin!” Chekov said with obvious excitement. “It sounds wery much like a luau!”
“It does!” Sulu agreed. “It’s right on the beach, too, I heard.”
Uhura smiled and stepped away from her communications console to be closer to the conversation. “I bought a dress at Space Station K-15 that’s similar to a sarong. I’m going to wear it tonight. It will be perfect. I hope there’s music and dancing… other than the fire-dancing, I mean. I don’t want to try that.”
Jim chuckled.
“It vill be nice to have a casual night out of uniform, von’t it?” Chekov said.
“Mmm, yeah,” Sulu sighed. “Tropical breezes and balmy nights... I love the southern archipelago of Lyra 10. I’m really looking forward to tonight.”
Kirk was pleased that his officers were going to be enjoying a pleasurable evening, but what sounded better to him, personally, was a quiet night in.
“So are you coming, Captain?” Uhura asked.
Kirk considered. “I’ll make an appearance at the ceremony that kicks off the festivities, but after that I think I’ll let Mr. Spock represent me. I know how he loves a good party.” Jim gave Spock a wicked smile as the Vulcan turned from his viewer to face him. “Do you have any Hawaiian shirts, Mr. Spock?” he teased with good humor.
“I do not,” Spock intoned, “but I shall be content to represent the Enterprise at this gathering if you wish to rest, Captain.”
“I really do. Thank you, Spock,” Jim said. “Bring me back some roast tirinti. I want to try that.”
“Certainly, Sir.”
“…and get a picture of Lt. Uhura in that sarong to fuel my dreams,” Kirk added, clutching both hands over his heart dramatically, shooting her a smitten look.
It had the desired effect. She laughed fondly and shooed away his nonsense with a wave of her slender hand.
“You know,” Chekov said, “people think of the Havaiian Islands vhen they think of luaus, but the luau was actually inwented by 17th century Russian sailors who became marooned on…”
After nearly five years of Chekov’s tall tales about glorious Russia, the bridge crew didn't even bother to hide their sighs and eye rolls anymore.
***
The Lyran air was sweet with blossoms and the sun had just set over a calm ocean as the ceremony concluded. Balmy breezes lifted the captain’s hair and rippled through his casual pale blue shirt. The pleasant sound of drums set a relaxing rhythm as the fire pit was lighted and guests began to mingle on the shore. Kirk stood off to the side, giving Spock some last-minute directions before he retired to the ship. He surveyed the scene with a smile, pleased to see his crew enjoying themselves among the locals.
Even Scotty, who was usually happiest reading his technical journals, was here with his junior staff, eager to sample the local drinks and soak up the atmosphere. He walked over to where Kirk and Spock were standing on the shore, at the edge of the venue. He had a dainty flute of red liquid in his hand that didn’t suit him, but he was smiling like he couldn’t be happier.
”Sure you canna stay a wee bit, Captain? It’s such a bonnie spot an’ these drinks are fantastic!” Scotty emptied his tiny glass with a satisfied, “ahh.”
Jim smiled. “Have a good time for me, Scotty. I’ve got some things to attend to.”
“Aye,” Mr. Scott nodded. “A captain’s work is never done.”
“Mr. Spock will stay… just to make sure no fights break out,” Kirk jabbed for fun.
“Sir!” Scotty acted affronted. He knew his captain was ribbing him about the time he’d thrown the first punch on Space Station K-7, after a group of Klingons baited him and his men with insults.
Jim smirked and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Enjoy yourself, Scotty. I doubt anyone here will insult the Enterprise.”
Mr. Scott gave a sheepish grin. He was still embarrassed that he’d only punched the Klingon after he called the Enterprise a garbage scow and not when he’d called the captain a tin-plated, overbearing, swaggering dictator with delusions of godhood. Kirk was apparently never going to forget that.
“Well, I’ll see ya tomorrow then, Sir,” the engineer said.
“Goodnight, Scotty,” Kirk said.
The Scotsman headed eagerly back to the party to get his glass refilled, leaving Jim and Spock alone on the beach. Although the captain craved rest and solitude tonight, he had to admit it was lovely being with Spock in this setting. Spock had chosen a lightweight dark burgundy shirt with a v-neck and loose sleeves that billowed in the steady onshore breeze. Kirk had never seen it before and found it most becoming on his first officer. He was about to say so when a group of young Lyran women spotted him and headed his way.
“There he is. That’s Captain Kirk!” one girl said while she pointed and waved. Luckily, the group was distracted briefly by some friends wanting to greet them.
Jim seized the moment. “I better get outta here now, Spock, or I never will.”
“Very well, Captain. I will see you in the morning,” Spock said as Jim whipped out his communicator and called for a quick beam-up.
“Give them my apologies,” he said before turning to a shower of gold and disappearing.
Spock stood with his hands clasped behind his back as the girls approached. He didn’t like having his sensitive hands touched and found that this posture worked well for preventing it.
“Mr. Spock, I’m Councilman Lerrint’s daughter. Do you remember me?” the teenager asked.
“Indeed. Good evening, Miss Lerrint,” Spock said, inclining his head respectfully.
“Where did Captain Kirk go? I wanted my friends to meet him,” the girl asked with a frown, her eyes searching up and down the beach.
“He was compelled to return to the Enterprise,” Spock explained, leaving them to assume that it was duty which compelled him.
Over the years, Spock had grown adept at making tactful excuses for his captain when he preferred to retire to the solitude of his quarters. Jim was a gregarious person, but only to a point, and when he reached it, he reached it. Spock understood.
“Well, tell us about Vulcan then, Mr. Spock,” Miss Lerrint suggested. “I heard it’s all dry and dusty there.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “That is somewhat of a generalization. While it is true that my home planet has fewer inches of rainfall per year than any other populated Federation world, there are mountainous regions which....”
He would educate. He would circulate. He would endure the unappealing aroma of meat being cooked, and represent Starfleet to the best of his ability on this final night on Lyra 10… for Jim.
***
“Ahh,” the captain sighed, as he entered the silent sanctuary of his cabin. It was a welcome refuge. This mission had been a success, but a party wasn’t how he felt like celebrating. This peace, this freedom to finally switch off his professional persona felt like a gift. Thank you, Spock, he thought fondly as he slipped into his softest robe.
He pulled some extra pillows from the cupboard and arranged them against the headboard of his narrow bunk. Sitting in bed and reading an old-style book sounded perfect to him right now. Then, he would go to the computer at his desk for awhile to catch up on news and his personal correspondence. The chronometer read 20:06 and he told himself he’d turn in no later than 22:00, since he really needed some sleep. The ship was heading for Deneva in the morning, a 17-hour journey that would hopefully be uneventful.
He settled in comfortably with The Chronicles of Commander Spirek, an historical nonfiction book. It was a survival story from five centuries ago about a doomed expedition of Vulcans who crash landed on Andor. Facing the bitter cold of the ice planet, attacks from Andorian beasts, and starvation, the Vulcan crew fought hard and eventually succumbed to their fate with dignity. Written by the commander of the tragic mission in the form of his many log entries, it was a book taught at the academy.
Spock had taken it upon himself to do a re-translation, as a personal project, during lulls last year. He didn’t feel that the Vulcan-to-Andorian-to-Standard translation accurately captured the original meaning as well as it should. Spock was granted access to Commander Spirek’s actual logs from the Vulcan Historical Society and began his own painstaking translation directly to Standard based on his excellent knowledge of that historical period and the subtly different meanings of Vulcan phrases and expressions during that era.
The Chronicles of Commander Spirek had never been “dry” reading per se, but Spock’s translation brought it to life and showed the Vulcan explorer’s vibrant mind and yes, emotions, in a truly gripping way. His fear and determination were palpable now. Spock’s efforts had made this story as rich and poignant as it was in the original Vulcan language. He had done a remarkable job.
After his translation was published, Spock ordered Jim a paper copy and gave him the book as a birthday present last month. Uhura planned a big party, even though he’d asked her to keep it simple. Spock helped him duck out early and they’d spent the remainder of his birthday playing chess in Spock’s quarters. Then he gave him the book and went over some of the parts that had given him the most challenges. They’d had a terrific evening which Jim remembered as the best part of his birthday.
He’d read the book several times since then, and found new things to enjoy each time. Tonight, he lost himself in the story for about an hour, until he read the line, Oh, Solek, my late brother’s son, who will guide you when I do not return? and Kirk’s thoughts turned to his nephew.
The boy had been orphaned on Deneva three years ago and this upcoming visit would be the Enterprise’s first time back to that planet since then. Kirk was lauded as “The Hero of Deneva” by the grateful population he’d liberated. He knew this from news stories and Peter’s letters. He was to be officially honored in some fashion when the Enterprise arrived, but he hadn’t received the details yet.
Jim put the book down and moved to his desk. In a few moments he had Peter’s most recent letter up on the screen:
Uncle Jim,
I am so happy to hear that I’ll get to see you in person soon! Warning: Everyone is going to want a piece of you. I’ve never seen the city this excited… the whole colony really! Since Governor Coffman announced your visit on the news, it’s been all people can talk about.
Hopefully, you can come to my house and visit for a little while before the official stuff, or maybe after. You’re welcome to stay with us overnight if you want. We have a nice guest room that my mom wants me to offer you.
The houses here are built in groups of 12. Mine backs up to a park shared by 11 other families. Those neighbors are our friends and my mom and dad are planning a little picnic for you and your officers here. It’s really pretty. There’s a lake. We’ll have fun and it will be semi-private unless someone blabs. See you soon!
Your nephew,
Peter
So, Peter was calling his guardians “mom and dad” now. Jim rubbed his chin and tried to decide how he felt about that. He knew he should be glad that Peter felt secure and loved enough to think of them that way, but he realized he was scowling. Somehow, it felt disrespectful to Sam. He wondered if the Nelsons were encouraging him to forget his parents. Perhaps their deaths had traumatized the boy to the point where forgetting them was the only way he could cope.
He certainly seemed excited to see Jim, but he suspected it may be more for his celebrity status than his family status. “The Hero of Deneva” indeed. He scoffed and shook his head. He was not looking forward to the fanfare the colony’s leadership was apparently planning. A nice picnic in the sun, getting to know Peter better did sound good, though. He was glad his officers were invited. He wanted Peter to meet them and vice versa. He pictured Spock meeting him. He would no doubt call him “Mr. Kirk.” Nothing like Vulcan formality to remind the kid who he was, if he’d forgotten.
Jim wrote a quick reply returning Peter’s sentiments and accepting his offer to stay overnight, then looked at his computer’s list of suggested news stories. Spock had set it up to alert him of anything pertaining to their old missions. He would just peruse some headlines, then hit the rack.
LIBRARY ASTEROID MEMORY ALPHA INSTALLS DEFENSIVE CAPABILITIES
Long overdue, Jim thought. Too bad they had to learn the hard way.
EMINIAR VII AND NEIGHBORING VENDIKAR STILL KEEPING THE PEACE.
I called it! …or I got lucky. Jim smiled to himself.
FOUR CLASS L PLANETS SELECTED FOR KELVIN COLONIZATION FROM ANDROMEDA
Good work, Federation science teams. That was fast. The Kelvins can’t even get here for 300 years.
HOUSE OF HORRORS: TANTALUS TORTURE DEVICE REASSEMBLED FOR NEW DOCUMENTARY
The Tantalus V penal colony? The neural neutralizer? Jim wondered with a grimace and a cold shiver.
That “treatment” room had been a nightmare for him and dozens of vulnerable mental patients. The swirling, pulsing lights of the device could erase a person’s memory, make them susceptible to suggestion, and cause excruciating pain when resisted. Kirk resisted and Dr. Adams had cranked it up to maximum power. Jim remembered how it felt to his naked mind: like all of his social connections had snapped and everyone close to him was being pulled away at light speed, leaving him empty and utterly alone.
Ironically, Dr. Adams had later died in that chair, a victim of his own invention. His mind emptied, he had essentially died from loneliness.
As they left Tantalus’ orbit, McCoy had remarked, “It's hard to believe that a man could die of loneliness."
“Not when you've sat in that room,” was Jim’s sober response.
Both Bones and Spock had kept a watchful eye on him after that comment. For a week or more they always seemed to be there at mealtimes, in the rec room, the gym… wherever he was. He knew what they were doing, but it felt good to have his friends close. He woke panicking a couple of nights that first week and sought them out. They were always there for him.
Jim feared maybe the neural neutralizer had permanently damaged him, but McCoy said he just needed time, and that turned out to be true. He had a few counseling sessions with Dr. Helen Noel, their staff psychologist. She understood the situation well because she had been involved. Gradually, Jim began to feel more like himself and his friends sensed it, giving him his standard amount of space again.
That was four years ago.
Why on Earth would they reassemble that thing?! What is Van Gelder thinking? Kirk’s anger roiled as he opened the story.
It turned out that Dr. Simon Van Gelder, himself a victim of Dr. Adams’ “treatment” room, had retired several months ago. The new head of the penal colony, Dr. Bruges, made the choice to allow a film crew into the secure facility to make a documentary about the neural neutralizer. Apparently, there was a large donation made to the facility after Bruges agreed to reassemble the mysterious device, so they could film it operating.
Oh, for the love of God! Money talks, Jim thought.
He skimmed through the story. There was a quote from Dr. Bruges explaining that all settings except the very lowest intensity level had been disabled. He guaranteed that no one would ever sit in that chair again and Dr. Adams’ original treatment room had only been recreated “for cinematic purposes.”
“Storytelling is very important, so that nothing like this can ever happen again to innocent patients,” Bruges explained.
…or innocent starship captains. I hope they don’t contact me for this documentary, Jim thought. He really didn’t want to reopen that particular can of worms.
From across the room, his bedside chronometer showed 21:55. Five minutes until his planned lights-out time. He’d even set the lights to go off automatically at 22:00, so he couldn’t fudge. He chuckled softly at how strict he was with himself sometimes, but he owed it to his crew to be rested and at his best.
As he reached to switch off his computer, he noticed that there was a 2-minute video attached to the neural neutralizer story. He decided to watch it…
***
The room was dark except for the faint blue glow of his blank computer screen. Jim was at a loss to explain it. From his desk chair he could see the red shining numbers of the chronometer by his bed.
22:04.
Why hadn’t he gotten in bed by 22:00? He was mad at himself.
I had it timed so perfectly. What happened? Did I fall asleep in the chair?! I must have been reading something really boring.
He couldn’t remember what he had been doing. Writing a report? A letter?
Yes. I was writing to Peter. Did I finish? Wow, I must be more tired than I thought. I’ll finish tomorrow.
He took off his robe and climbed into bed. At first the pillow felt soft and relaxing under his head, but after ten minutes, he still wasn’t asleep. He kept opening his eyes to check… something. The darkness of his quarters felt strange in some way. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but it disquieted him.
He thought about how Peter had called his guardians “mom and dad.” He was sure now that he didn’t like it. Sam had been forgotten. He pictured Sam holding Peter on his shoulders when he was little. Sam loved that boy so much and died trying to protect him.
Damn it! Sam was gone and Peter didn’t even care. Oh, Sam, my brother! It occurred to Jim as if for the first time that Sam was dead. Dead and buried and he would never see him again. Why hadn’t he been more upset about this? He was alone, his only sibling GONE. A panicky feeling rose in his throat and he sat up.
I’m alone. ALONE.
It felt like he couldn’t breathe. He switched on the lights and was able to catch his breath a bit.
I need Bones. Something’s wrong with me. He reached for the comm, but then remembered McCoy, Spock, and his other officers were down on the planet at the party. The party. That’s where HE should be.
It was my choice to be alone, he remembered. That decision seemed foolish to him now. I should be with my friends. I want to be with my friends! The need seemed urgent, like a matter of life or death and he threw his casual clothes back on and raced to the transporter room.
“Beam me down, Halloway,” Jim said to the transporter operator on duty. “Has anyone beamed up from the party yet?”
“A few, Sir, but most are still there,” the young man answered.
“Spock and McCoy?” he asked as he positioned himself on the platform.
“Still planetside, Captain,” Halloway said.
“Good. Put me on the beach where you beamed me up earlier, if possible.”
“Certainly, Sir.” The young man was proud of his precision.
“Energize.”
“Energizing.”
Kirk appeared in a sparkly column of sudden light that was immediately noticed by nearly everyone there.
“Captain Kirk! You’re back,” Miss Lerrint called from the middle of a large group of party-goers near the tree line. They all turned to look at him. “Come join us!” another girl called. Scotty and Sulu were in that group and beckoned him with welcoming waves.
The music, appetizing smells, and social scene drew him up the beach like a magnet. A Lyran lady put a drink in his hand and he was instantly swallowed up by the small crowd, surrounded by compliments and questions. Everybody wanted to congratulate him on the signing of the trade agreement and get a chance to talk to him a little. His earlier feelings of panic and aloneness evaporated in the balmy breeze and torchlight. He charmed them easily with his natural gift of gab and friendly manner. He felt good again. Really good. Right as rain.
Scotty had gotten pretty tipsy by now off the local fermented juices the Lyrans favored. He slapped the captain on the back several times and called him “laddie.” Jim loved it.
Sulu said, “Captain, everyone was asking about you. I’m so glad you got to come back.”
“Thanks, Mr. Sulu. The Lyrans throw a fine party.”
“They sure do,” Sulu agreed.
From the corner of his eye, Jim saw Uhura approaching in her lime green and turquoise sarong. She looked radiant, so he said so.
“You look a little radiant yourself, Captain. Are you having a good time? I thought you weren’t coming.”
“What, and leave all this natural beauty for my crewmen to enjoy without me?” he gestured his hand in such a way as to encourage the dual meaning of the tropical scenery and Uhura. He winked at her and she melted. The captain’s charisma when he unleashed it was a powerful force. All of the ladies present felt it and were vying for his attention.
“Let’s dance!” he said suddenly and she gladly took his outstretched hand and let him lead her to an area near the drums where other people were dancing. He held her in his arms, enjoying her good company as they swayed to a slow song. Why on Earth had he wanted to skip this party? It was splendid! His heart felt so happy, his mood so light. Uhura was smiling in his arms, pleased to see her captain so obviously delighted with the moment.
The music changed to a song with a rapid, pounding beat and Uhura broke away and started doing some dance Kirk didn’t know. He tried to follow along, imitating her movements, but there was a lot of stomping and hip swiveling and she couldn’t help but start laughing at him. He laughed at himself.
“Here,” she said, putting her hands on his hips to guide them. He got the rhythm soon enough and people started gathering around to watch them. It was a very sexy dance, but Jim was just having fun and letting loose. Uhura knew this. She was having fun, too. It was rare they could act this way around each other. It felt great.
There was someone Uhura wished could be seeing this. Her friend, Mrs. Baharia, one of the ladies who worked in the galley had once remarked to Uhura in her Louisiana accent, “Our Captain Kirk is one beautiful man, isn’t he, child? Mmm mm!” Since she was 62, the oldest person on the Enterprise, she could get away with saying things like that. She thought the world of the captain and always made his favorite foods for him on his birthday. Uhura usually planned the party, and Mrs. Baharia cooked some real, non-reconstituted food by hand just for the captain. Kirk never failed to ask for seconds and reward her with a boyish grin and glowing words of gratitude. She adored him.
As they danced, Uhura glanced around, looking for Mrs. Baharia. She wouldn’t want to miss this! It was pretty late, maybe she’d gone up to bed. Nope! There she was on the edge of the dance floor, swaying to the music and clapping like many other people had begun to do. Her face said she was loving every minute of their dance. Uhura caught her eye and the lady gave her a thumbs-up and mouthed “beautiful man!” Uhura smiled and waved at her.
“Is that Mrs. Baharia?” Jim asked. “Mrs. Baharia! Come join us,” the captain called.
At first she demurred, but Jim danced Uhura right over to her and drew her out onto the dance floor. The three of them danced together and Jim felt thrilled to have two partners with such rhythm. Mrs. Baharia’s beautiful yellow scarf floated on the breeze, wafting around her dark skin as the captain whirled her in circles, while holding Uhura around the waist with his other arm.
Out of nowhere, Chekov appeared and made a playful, drunken attempt to cut in, on whom no one was sure.
“Beat it, kid. The adults are dancing,” Uhura said.
Kirk thought this was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. He was mildly aware that he was acting tipsy, and that might not be wise in front of the Lyrans, but everything was just so pleasant and lively. All of the people and the festive spirit and… Spock.
“Spock!” Jim called out loudly over the music when he spotted his first officer… as if Spock might miss him if he didn’t identify himself.
It would be incorrect to call Spock a killjoy, but his presence did tend to have a dampening effect on people’s high-spiritedness sometimes. He didn’t disapprove of his human shipmates’ need to “let off steam” and socialize, but his facial expression, paired with his lack of participation, made him seem more disapproving than he actually was. Spock looked dour compared to Dr. McCoy, who Jim just noticed was with him.
“Bones! Spock!” Jim realized he was almost too out of breath to call to them and reluctantly decided to take a break from dancing.
“Ladies, you are both exceptional dancers. Thank you for the pleasure of your company.” He bowed his farewells and as he walked away Uhura and Mrs. Baharia hugged each other in glee. “Oh, the manners on that boy!” Mrs. Baharia said, fanning herself.
Realizing the ladies had lost their partner, Sulu and Scotty stepped up. The captain wasn’t the only one with good manners.
Jim greeted his two best friends with a big smile. He moved them away from the drums a bit so they could talk better.
“Boy, I forgot you can really cut a rug, Jim!” Bones said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dance with such gusto and for so long. Wish I had your stamina.”
“How long were you two watching?” Jim wondered. “I didn’t see you.”
“Well, with two beautiful women to dance with, you didn’t need to be lookin’ at us,” McCoy joked.
Although they had moved a fair distance from the dance floor, they were still talking very loud, Kirk realized.
“Spock, does this music hurt your ears?” Jim asked.
“No, Captain, though the decibel range does make conversation difficult. May I suggest we walk down the beach if we wish to continue conversing?”
“Good idea. Let’s go,” Jim said.
“I never thought I’d hear Spock suggest a midnight stroll on a tropical beach,” Bones teased.
Spock didn’t bother responding.
“I’m glad you’re having fun, Jim. It’s been a long week,” Bones said. “Spock told me you weren’t in a party mood, though, and you’d stuck him with merry-mingle duty.”
“I do not recall saying that, Doctor,” Spock protested.
“He’s been doing one hell of a job, too. You know how many drunken councilmen and trade experts he’s had chewin’ on his pointed ears tonight?”
“Oh, I’m sorry Spock,” Jim said. “I don’t mind taking over all that now, if you want to go back to the ship.”
They had moved far enough down the beach by now that it was quiet. There were a few lovers strolling hand in hand, talking, while the small waves made a gentle swoosh against the fine sand. The moon reflecting on the water was brighter than Earth’s moon and shone with more of a pinkish hue. It cast a lovely light over the scene.
“May I ask why you changed your mind about attending tonight, Captain?” Spock asked.
In the warmth of his friends’ company, Jim’s strange episode of panic in his cabin seemed far away and silly. He had no idea what had made him feel so lonely and desperate, but he didn’t feel that way now, so he decided not to mention it. Instead he settled for, “I couldn’t sleep.”
If he told them the truth and said the event was preceded by thoughts of never seeing Sam again, Bones would probably just say that he hadn’t properly worked through the death of his brother. That was no doubt true, but he didn’t want to talk about that now.
Not now, with Spock looking so spectacular in that burgundy shirt of his and Bones in such a fine, grouchless mood. He had the impulse to walk arm-in-arm with them, with himself in the middle. Bones wouldn’t mind that, but Spock might. He knew Spock’s hands were sensitive and he didn’t like having them touched. Jim wasn’t sure about the Vulcan’s arms. Perhaps that would be all right. He’d touched Spock’s arms many times and he never got the feeling Spock minded. Jim had his best friends on either side of him, shoulder to shoulder, but it didn’t feel like quite enough somehow. He wanted the intimacy the couples on the beach were enjoying.
Oh, for Heaven’s sake! I’ve known Spock for nearly five years. Bones even longer. Jim decided to just do it. He slipped his arms through theirs as they walked. Bones smiled warmly. Spock gave no reaction but didn’t pull away. As they continued up the beach, the doctor remained chatty, but Spock grew silent.
“Is this okay with you, Spock,” Jim checked, “walking with our arms linked like this?”
“Yes, Captain, though I am not sure I understand what it denotes.”
Bones snickered, but let Jim explain, since he wasn’t 100% sure either.
“Friendship, camaraderie… I guess I’m just getting nostalgic,” Jim said wistfully.
“Nostalgic, Captain?” Spock questioned.
“Our 5-year mission is almost up. We’ve had some good times… and they’re going to end.” Kirk sighed.
“Not necessarily, Jim,” McCoy said. “You don’t know yet what Starfleet Command has in store for us… wait, do you?”
“No, I haven’t heard anything,” Jim assured them. “I’ll let you know when I do.”
“You still thinkin’ about going to that Vulcan country club in the mountains of Gol, Spock, when the mission ends?” McCoy asked.
Spock had described Gol to them as a kind of retreat of enlightenment. Neither McCoy nor Kirk knew what it really was.
“Yes, Doctor. It remains one of my considerations,” Spock said noncommittally.
Jim grit his teeth. What would he do without Spock? The thought sent a jolt of worry through his whole body. As they walked, he let his hand slip down until it was touching Spock’s. He knew Spock would allow this, provided McCoy couldn’t see… and he couldn’t.
He held Spock’s hand loosely, hoping perhaps the touch-telepath could hear his thoughts. Please don’t go to Gol. I’ll be lost without you. Lost.
Spock turned his head and looked at him, but Jim couldn’t tell from his expression if the message got through or not. He became self-conscious under Spock’s scrutiny and reluctantly let go of his friend’s hand.
Just then, McCoy slowed down and said, “We better be heading back. We’ve gotten pretty far away from the party. I can’t even hear the drums anymore.”
Spock could hear them, and he could still hear the echo of Jim’s feelings in his mind.
They turned around and started back. “It’s too quiet,” Jim said. “Somebody tell some jokes.” His mood was slipping sideways and he wanted to regain the warm feelings he’d had a few minutes ago.
“Okay, Spock, you heard the captain. Lay your best jokes on us,” McCoy teased.
Spock raised an eyebrow.
“Bones, I think the floor is yours,” Jim suggested.
“Hm. Let’s see,” McCoy considered. “All right, I’ve got one: Three Vulcans walk into a bar….”
After a few beats of silence, Jim said, “Well?”
Bones started chuckling.
Spock said, “I believe that is the entirety of the ‘joke,’ Captain. The doctor finds my race’s disinclination toward imbibing intoxicants humorous.”
“Wow, Jim. Spock got it before you did? You’re slipping.”
“Well, I’ve imbibed some intoxicants tonight,” Jim defended with a smirk.
“Me too,” Bones chuckled. “They were delicious. The Lyrans brew some quality stuff.”
“Ferment,” Spock corrected.
“Huh?” the doctor grunted.
“The Lyrans employ the process of fruit juice fermentation by combining…” Spock began, but was cut off mid-sentence by a scoff from McCoy.
“Leave it to you to know exactly how it’s made, but not how it tastes,” the doctor jabbed. “Do you ever cut loose, Spock? I’d love to see you dancing with abandon sometime like Jim was tonight.”
Jim smiled sheepishly. He was beginning to feel a bit embarrassed about that and hoped he hadn’t made too much of a spectacle of himself. The thing is, he wasn’t drunk. Not even a little bit. He’d only had two sips of that drink the lady had handed him. Just the energy of being around people had been intoxicating to him. He’d felt supercharged from it. Such a stark contrast to the frightening emptiness he had felt in his quarters.
He suddenly wondered if he’d feel that way again when he returned to the solitude of his cabin. Jim didn’t want to find out. He wanted to stay here at the party with his friends until he was utterly exhausted. He felt such a strong love for them, such a consuming need for their presence.
They were approaching the torchlight and music of the party now and Jim wanted to sprint up the beach, dragging his two best friends with him, and return to the festivities that gave him such a sense of well-being. He wondered if Spock would dance with him if he asked. No, probably not.
“How about a race?” he suggested instead, bolting ahead of Spock and McCoy. When he was a few feet ahead of them, he spun awkwardly around on the dry sand and jogged backwards, coaxing them to accept his challenge.
McCoy glanced at Spock, then back at Jim. He wanted no part of this. “Soooo, Spock comes in first, you’re second, and I’m third,” he predicted with certainty. “There. Now we don’t have to actually race.”
Just then, a portly Lyran man called to them from the venue. “Captain Kirk! Your chief engineer is in need of assistance. Can you spare your doctor?”
Alarm shot through them. “What has happened?” McCoy called, quickening his pace.
“Well… it’s not so much that anything’s happened to him. He just… requires some medical attention after… um, overindulging a bit.”
“Ah,” McCoy said, gathering his meaning.
Spock and Jim exchanged a look of understanding. Scotty could usually hold his liquor, but these fermented fruit concoctions were deceptively potent and had apparently gotten the better of him.
“Well, Jim,” Bones grumbled, “looks like I’m gonna be puttin’ a Scotsman to bed. You and Spock stay, enjoy the party. I’ll make sure he’s tucked in tight with his plaid jammies and teddy bear.” He spared a moment to wink at Spock. Bones had never forgotten Spock’s mother mentioning that his childhood pet resembled a fat teddy bear.
Spock gave him the partial eye roll he expected.
Jim laughed. “Okay, thanks Bones. Are you going to come back?”
McCoy glanced at the venue. “Looks like things are gonna be wrapping up here soon. I think I’ll just turn in. See you two tomorrow.”
“Oh. All right then,” Jim said hesitantly. He watched as McCoy trudged across the sand, following the stout man until they both disappeared into the tree line. It felt like part of himself was being pulled away. He turned back to Spock.
“Well, Spock, how about that race now? Just you and me.”
Spock looked at his captain’s hopeful face. It was glowing from the dancing, walking, and pink moonlight. Spock knew he could refuse him nothing. He nodded.
“Great!” Jim said with a big smile. “I have an idea, though…. Bones was right; you’ll beat me easily without a handicap, so I’m thinking we’ll run down the beach to that far pier and back… but you run on the dry sand and I’ll run on the wet. That way, I just may have a fighting chance.”
“A reasonable accommodation, Captain. I accept the challenge.”
Jim was glad Spock approved. He couldn’t tell if his friend was excited about the race or not, but he was willing to indulge him and that was good enough.
“Okay, you stay here and I’ll go down to the water,” Kirk said. As he turned, he called over his shoulder, “On ‘GO,’ we’ll race down the beach, touch the pier, turn around, and this will be our finish line.”
“Very well, Captain.”
Kirk had asked Spock to call him ‘Jim’ when they were alone dozens of times over the years. Sometimes Spock just didn’t seem to want to. Jim didn’t mind. It made the occasions when Spock did use his first name all the more intimate.
Jim’s adrenaline was surging now, as he formed his runner’s stance on the damp sand. Vulcans didn’t have adrenal glands. Their baseline level of arousal was always adequate to any physical task. It wasn’t likely Jim would win, but he was going to try his darnedest.
“On your mark. Get set. GO!” he shouted.
They dashed down the beach, sand flying from their heels. The shore was deserted now, so no one was watching them. Just a human and a Vulcan testing themselves against each other in the warm embrace of the night. Spock was a lithe, powerful runner, and not unaccustomed to running on sand, but it was slowing him down a bit, as Jim had hoped. What a pleasing figure he cut in that billowing burgundy shirt, moving swiftly against a background of shadowy trees. The pink moonlight gave his skin a human appearance.
Concentrate, Jim told himself. Spock was a tough competitor; he wasn’t going to let him win out of deference. That wasn’t Spock’s way. Jim respected him for it. There were a few shells and stones on the wet sand that could trip him up if he weren’t careful, so Kirk kept his eyes forward and focused on getting to the pier. They touched it and turned at nearly the same time. Spock’s pivot was more efficient and he gained maybe half a second on Jim.
His heart pounding and lungs heaving, Jim started to fall further behind. They were almost back to the starting line when the unlikely happened… Spock tripped. A piece of driftwood or possibly a hidden tree root caught his foot and he went down hard, sprawling on the sand. Momentum carried Jim across the finish line, then he ran to where Spock lay and crumpled down in an exhausted heap beside him. He could tell his friend wasn’t hurt, but he asked anyway.
“You okay, Spock?”
“Yes,” Spock said, sounding displeased with himself. “Congratulations, Jim. You ran a good race,” Spock offered, as he propped himself up on one elbow.
The Vulcan rarely lost at physical challenges, but when he did, he was invariably gracious in defeat.
The praise, paired with the use of his first name, made Jim’s heart swell. He put his hands on his friend’s chest, pressing him back into the cool sand instead of helping him up. He looked at his parted lips and into his dark eyes with such a fond, yearning expression that for a shocked moment, Spock thought Jim was going to kiss him. Instead, he slid his hands around Spock’s torso and hugged him tightly, laying his head against the Vulcan’s chest.
“Oh, Spock,” was all he said.
Spock was at a loss to understand what had prompted this ardent display of affection. He didn’t mind Jim’s touch, but they had just been competing in a sports contest and he struggled to understand the context. None of Jim’s skin was touching his and he had no access to his emotional state. Earlier, though, when Jim had taken his hand, Spock had sensed anguish. His captain was a complicated man. Often his inner emotions did not match his outward demeanor. Spock was like that himself, although he was loath to admit it.
He didn’t want to embarrass Jim by saying the wrong thing, so he said nothing and just laid his hand on his captain’s back and lay still, allowing the embrace. Jim was still breathing heavily; perhaps he just needed to rest a bit and Spock’s chest was a way to keep his head off the sand. It seemed like more than that, though.
If Spock were honest with himself, he was never more gratified than when he was supporting Jim, in whatever capacity the captain needed. He hoped he was giving Jim what he needed right now. His friend had been the very picture of carefree abandon tonight, but he’d sensed a dark undercurrent when he held his hand.
He wanted me to see it, Spock thought. It was what humans might call “a cry for help.”
Unsure of himself, Spock slid his hand slowly up Jim’s back until his long fingers reached the bare nape of his neck. Jim was too preoccupied listening to Spock’s heartbeat to realize that the Vulcan was attempting to ‘take his psychological temperature.’ He sighed reflexively as Spock rubbed his neck. All Spock sensed in him now was contentment. He could feel Jim’s pleasure in his company, the warm feeling of connection Jim was deriving from their physical contact.
Jim’s feelings for Spock were profound. Spock already knew this, but their intensity tonight surprised him. He found himself desiring a proper meld, so he could hear Jim’s thoughts and commune with him on a deeper level. The captain had been so confident at the party, but his current actions spoke of a vulnerability that Spock wanted to understand.
Gradually, Jim became aware of Spock’s concern and raised up, not wanting to cause him distress. “I’m okay, Spock,” he assured, rolling off of him and standing up. He brushed off the sand quickly and offered his hand to help Spock to his feet.
“I’m tired. Let’s go home,” Jim said, when they were both standing. He helped Spock brush the sand off his clothes and finally gave him the compliment that he’d been aching to give all evening: “That shirt looks splendid on you. The color, the fit… everything.”
“Thank you, Jim,” Spock said.
The texture had felt amazing, too. Jim’s face had been pressed to that shirt for five…? Ten minutes? How long had it been? He’d been sailing on a calm sea where time didn’t exist.
Oh, Spock. Jim wanted to reach for him again. Touch him. Feel him inside his mind.
“Jim, perhaps we could...”
Whatever Spock had been going to say was cut off by the beep of his communicator. Jim watched as elegant fingers gracefully pulled it from a concealed pocket somewhere and flipped it open.
“Spock here.”
“Mr. Spock, Ensign Braniff here,” the night-shift navigator said from the bridge. “Am I disturbing you, Sir?”
“State the problem, Ensign,” Spock directed.
“Yes, Sir. It’s the navigation computer. It’s not taking coordinates correctly. I have plotted our course to Deneva, but my console won’t accept the instructions. Since we’re leaving orbit at 06:00, I thought I’d better contact you now, Mr. Spock, so you could take a look at the problem.”
“I will be there momentarily, Mr. Braniff. Spock out.”
“Hm, I wonder what the trouble is?” Jim said. “Sounds like it could be serious.” He whipped open his communicator. “Kirk to transporter room.”
“Halloway here, Captain.”
“Two to beam up.”
Kirk took one last look at the beautiful surroundings before the scene dissolved in a shower of gold.