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The good thing about running diplomatic missions is the free booze. Definitely. Kirk knows it’s an unprofessional observation, but it doesn’t make it any less true. He’s been to enough of them to be able to make such a statement with absolute certainty. It isn’t that the drinks are always great, but anything is better than the synthehol the Enterprise’s replicators provide. You can’t even get drunk with it. There is also something to be said about attractive aliens and the thrill of intercultural flirting, but free access to actual booze has the indisputable first place in Kirk’s list.
Not that Kirk drinks himself into a stupor during diplomatic operations. He doesn’t. Except for when he does, but that happened only one time, and Kirk can’t be held accountable for it. No one expected the syrupy beverage—served in a flower, of all things—to pack such a punch. McCoy wouldn’t have let him drink it, had they known. So, in short, getting drunk wasn’t really his fault or his goal back then.
Because on-duty Starfleet captains don’t get drunk. Except when they do. Like now.
But, similarly to the previous drunk incident, it’s not Kirk’s fault. He can’t be faulted for downing a drink or six when Spock is acting the way he is. Or not-acting. In truth, it’s Spock’s lack of anything resembling a reaction that’s driven Kirk to knock back seven flutes of some fancy drink in under an hour.
Kirk has read the reports on the Nyt’zi natives. More importantly, he knows Spock has; he is Spock. This means that his first officer is aware that the T’zet’zus talking to him is displaying all the signs of wanting to get him naked. Yet he isn’t doing anything to stop her, which is the issue.
Spock doesn’t get hit on often during these operations. If someone asked Kirk, he would reply that no one has actually ever tried. Even when a person shows an interest in Spock, they never approach, settling for longing gazes across the room. The natural deterrent isn’t anything more explicit than the way he carries himself—all business, parade rest, and science blues. One look at him and people just know not to bother him with stuff like that.
But T’zet’zi work on a different wavelength. They are more similar to Vulcans than Humans, at least where their minds are concerned. While they don’t reject emotions, logic and knowledge are the foundations of their society, and they, like anyone alive ever, revel in talking to people who share their interests. It isn’t surprising that Spock makes a good conversational partner for the looming bug people. Kirk just fails to see how that translates into making a good bedmate.
Not that Kirk doesn’t find Spock’s intelligence attractive. He’s just annoyed that someone else does and is being so damn blunt about it. There’s got to be a regulation somewhere that says a captain can intervene if an alien is hitting on their first officer. He tries to remember if there is and comes up blank. He scowls.
Maybe he should just go over and wrap an arm around Spock, perhaps even kiss him on the cheek or brush their hands together. That should get the T’zet’zus to back off, and maybe clue Spock in a little. Because, honestly, Kirk is getting kind of tired. He enjoys the hunt as much as everything else, but it’s getting ridiculous. Spock isn’t even playing hard-to-get. He’s just an idiot; ‘idiot’ being used as a synonym for ‘Vulcan’ in this context. Because Vulcans are emotionally-illiterate idiots.
And Kirk is tipsy and jealous. A recipe for disaster, he knows. Not because he is planning to make a scene, but because alcohol makes people unpredictable. Kirk already is that when he is sober. A little booze in his systems and who knows what he will do? At present, he isn’t interested in causing an interplanetary incident, but maybe in five minutes, he’ll decide that punching the T’zet’zus woman is a brilliant idea.
Kirk sulks into his drink. He wonders what his odds are against a bug-lady twice his size. Not very good, he supposes. His ribs are still healing from that incident two weeks ago, and he doesn’t have wicked scythes growing out of his wrists, unlike the T’zet’zi. Then again, he could just stun her. Ah, but the report on the planet’s native species said their carapaces were sturdy enough to be unaffected by phasers set to stun, and Kirk definitely can’t set it to anything higher. Damn it.
Luckily, Spock and his companion finish their conversation then. The Vulcan first officer bows and watches the T’zet’zus woman leave. Kirk watches him watch her. He tries to determine whether Spock’s unwavering stare is his usual blank one or not. From across the room, it’s hard to tell.
And then Spock’s eyes lock with his all of a sudden. Kirk’s spine stiffens. He grins and raises his flute, then goes to join Scott and the four natives he’s entertaining. He’s the captain. He’s supposed to be mingling. He is not avoiding Spock.
Scott and the small group of T’zet’zi surrounding him are discussing warp nacelles prototypes, which is interesting enough, and Kirk eases into the conversation with a practised smile. When he glances in Spock’s direction a few minutes later, he finds no one there. He pretends it doesn’t bother him.
After walking around the great room for a while, talking and laughing with as many natives as possible, Kirk makes his way back to the table with drinks, where he sets down his flute. It’s been empty for some time, and he could really use another one right about now.
He hasn’t seen Spock since he joined Scott’s discussion, and he’s beginning to think his first officer might have slipped out to have a meeting of his own with the T’zet’zus woman after all. Kirk knows it’s possible. He has had similar encounters during other diplomatic missions. Being annoyed at Spock’s lack of professionalism is hypocritical. He knows this, objectively. Subjectively, he wants to fake an allergic reaction so Spock will rush to him.
So he isn’t actually annoyed at Spock for getting lucky during a mission. He’s just jealous, which is stupid because he and Spock aren’t involved, so Kirk has no right to act like this. And even if they were and he did, he would be a pretty lousy partner for doing so. But he can’t help it. He was jealous of Uhura, then jealous of that diplomat that hit on Spock two weeks ago, now jealous of the bug-lady, and he’s sure he’ll be jealous of every living being who lusts after Spock for the rest of his days.
He just can’t help it. He isn’t proud of the way his chest seems to grow barbed wire and constrict his heart with it whenever he sees someone appreciating Spock the way he won’t. The way he can’t. He’s working on it, but it’s hard. More than hard: it’s agony, having something he wants so near yet so far. What was that thing the old Spock’s mind had whispered to his, back on Delta Vega almost a year ago? Never and always? That’s how it feels, pining after Spock. Never and always, with an emphasis on never.
“Captain,” Spock says.
Kirk is very proud of himself for not jumping out of his skin. He picks up a new flute and takes a sip, then looks up from his drink with an inquisitive hum. Spock says nothing, just standing there and looking at him. Kirk can’t deal with the intensity of Spock’s eyes on a good and ethanol-free day, so now he drains half his flute in four long gulps to break the eye contact, then lowers the container with a sigh.
His eyes stay on the empty flute for a few seconds, then he raises them to glare at Spock, which isn’t his intention. He just can’t seem to control his face tonight. Must be the alcohol. He sighs again, quietly this time, and tries to soften his eyes into something more welcoming.
It’s not Spock’s fault that he’s attractive and single, Kirk chides himself. Then he blanches. God, what if Spock’s considering sleeping with one of the T’zet’zi because he’s still on the rebound? Do Vulcans even do rebounds? Kirk doesn’t want to know. But it’s been weeks since the break-up, and Vulcans are supposed to be good at getting over emotions, so maybe that’s not it.
If it’s not that, though, then what? Would Spock really find it logical to sleep with a bug? A bug. Kirk knows he’s coming across as kind of phobic, but—giant praying mantis. Who in their right mind would want to sleep with a giant praying mantis lookalike?
“Is everything in order?” Spock asks. Because Spock is infuriating and wonderful at once.
Kirk shrugs and downs what’s left of his drink. He peers into it when he’s done, aiming for an air of nonchalance. “Why don’t you go ask your friend?”
He glances at Spock, and he almost gives in to the sudden need to lean in and kiss his first officer then: Spock’s eyebrows are pulled together into what Kirk has come to think of as his soft frown, his cute frown, and his expression is one of gentle yet utter confusion. He probably thought the alcohol wouldn’t make Kirk moody and maudlin, which shows how much Spock really knows him—and, jeez, isn’t that a depressing thought?
Spock clasps his long hands behind his back, looking at Kirk with calmness despite his obvious bafflement. Not curious, but wishing to understand. Because of that, Kirk loves him a little more.
“I am asking my friend,” Spock says.
Kirk blinks fast, his brows raising in surprise. Spock holds his gaze, the rings of his eyes dark and warm, steady as tree roots and sweet as cocoa. Kirk looks down at his flute again, tapping the rim of it against his lower lip to try and hide the dumb and honest smile that’s spreading over his face.
“Are you,” Kirk murmurs into it, his breath fogging the inside of the crystal.
“Indeed,” Spock says, then adds, “Captain, if I may—your drinking container is drained of its contents.”
“So it is.”
“Thus raising it to your mouth as if to drink from it serves no purpose,” Spock continues.
“Quite right, Mr Spock,” Kirk replies, still smiling. He straightens, glancing at Spock in a way that matches the crinkles around his eyes. “But I don’t think I need another.”
“A sentiment which I share,” Spock says. “You have been quite . . . prolific in your drinking tonight.”
“Free booze.” Kirk waves his empty flute. “Tastes nice.”
“I would suggest moderation,” Spock says, modulating every sound to let Kirk understand his suggestion should be taken as something a bit less optional.
Kirk chuckles. “All right. I think this stuff isn’t too long-lasting, though. I was feeling tipsier an hour ago, when I’d only had three. Now I’ve had about ten, I think, and I’m feeling pretty good. No double-vision, no slurring, no queasiness.”
“I would not say you are entirely unaffected.”
“True enough. But I’m not, like, über-affected. Trust me. I know me when I’m drunk, and this isn’t it.”
“While I trust you to know your limits, I do not believe it is in your nature to respect them.”
Spock plucks the empty flute from Kirk’s hand, their fingers almost brushing. The crystal clinks gently when Spock sets it down on the table. Kirk blinks when his first officer immediately grabs a tiny bowl from a neat pile and dips it into the small fountain that stands amidst all the flutes. Spock hands it to Kirk.
“Drink.”
“Um . . .”
“I was informed this is a natural counteragent to the alcoholic beverages offered in this gathering.”
“Oh. I thought it was, you know, a fountain.”
“It is.”
“Yes, but—oh, you know what I meant,” Kirk says, nudging Spock before drinking from the bowl. The taste is bland, like apple juice that’s been watered down to death, but something in Kirk tells him to keep drinking. When he finally stops, it’s because there’s no more juice in his bowl. “Wow.”
“I have been told it is very refreshing.”
“No joke.” Kirk brings a hand to his chest. “I can feel my cells regenerating.”
“I doubt the effect is quite so elevated.”
“You drink it first, then you tell me.” Kirk dips the bowl into the fountain and drinks it dry again. “Damn, this is the good stuff. I can’t believe I’ve been drinking space-champagne all evening when I could’ve been drinking space-ambrosia. We’ve got to bring back some for Bones. He won’t believe the only time he managed to skip a diplomatic dinner was when there was something he would’ve actually found cool.”
“Indeed, Dr McCoy seems to have ‘poor timing’.”
“Yeah, well, that and poor luck.” Kirk grins. “Serves him right for deserting us.”
“A most unforgivable slight on his part,” Spock says, and Kirk laughs. His first officer takes a step back, unclasping his hands from behind his back. “It would be sensible to get back to consorting with the natives, Captain. We are here in representation of the Federation, after all.”
“Right, yes.” Kirk picks up a flute to hide his disappointment, then turns back to Spock with a smile. “For appearances,” he promises, gesturing at the flute. “Besides, I drank the hangover cure, so I’m good. And while it’s true that it’s very refreshing and I wouldn’t mind having a glass each morning with my breakfast, I’m here for the booze.”
Spock breathes disapprovingly, because that’s something he can do, and then says, “Do not forget to drink the ‘space-ambrosia’ for every five ‘space-champagnes’ you consume. T’zet’zus liquors are milder than those to which Humans are used, but they apparently have the habit of affecting imbibers in a rather sudden manner, from what I have been told.”
“Who told you?”
“Pardon?”
“Who told you that? You friend?”
Spock’s cute frown makes a comeback. “I would not call any of the T’zet’zi an acquaintance, much less a friend. If you must know, however, Leader Zyt’zn provided the information while we were conversing thirty-seven point nine minutes ago. I assume she is the T’zet’zus you have in mind.”
“Hm.” More importantly, she is the one Spock has in mind. Kirk licks his lips and tries to relax. He really hates being so jealous when it comes to his first officer. It isn’t fine. It isn’t good. It makes him feel awful, even dangerous, and he wishes he could just will it all away. “She’s nice, right?”
“She is not unpleasant,” Spock replies, his frown deepening.
“Cool. That’s cool. If she’s cool, I’m cool with that.” Kirk clears his throat. “Anyway, we’d best get back to it. You go right, I’ll go left. Cover more ground this way. Just two more hours, and then we’ll beam up.” Kirk raises his flute and steps away. “See you later, Mr Spock.”
Of course, Kirk ends up saddled with talking to Leader Zyt’zn. In his defence, she sought him out especially, and pulled him to a quiet corner so they could speak without interference. Kirk didn’t go looking for her. He wasn’t looking to start a fight, and he’s still not trying to.
Spock was right—she isn’t unpleasant. Still a bit too insect-looking for Kirk, but her manners are smooth and her voice oddly reminiscent of violin strings. She has a soothing presence that matches her organised thoughts. He can see why Spock would find her a suitable conversational partner.
Kirk succumbed to his nerves the moment she approached him and has had six flutes of alcohol since their conversation started. That was ten minutes ago. He is feeling definitely light-headed again. Maybe he should have some space-ambrosia, but then what if Leader Zyt’zn goes looking for Spock when Kirk turns his head? He can’t let that happen. He squints down at his drink and tries to decide just how tipsy he is. His eyes can’t focus on the bubbles very well. The verdict is very.
“I would inquire after the Honourable Male Spock,” says Zyt’zn, mandibles clicking. “He is a perceptive individual.”
Kirk takes that as his cue to guzzle down his drink. He sets down the drained flute and grabs another. He does so love free and actual booze, and tonight, he’s determined to use it to forget he ever saw Spock flirting with a bug. Not that he was, but he didn’t rebuff Leader Zyt’zn advances either. That pisses Kirk off, which is just terrible of him, and it makes him feel terrible, so he takes a long gulp of his newest flute to feel less terrible about being terrible.
For Christ’s sake, he can’t be jealous of Leader Zyt’zn. There’s no way. He is Captain James Tiberius Kirk; she is an insect. A literal insect, and a huge one at that. Her species is officially classified as ‘average-to-large insectoid’. Kirk is an open-minded fellow—he can’t deny being curious about what a T’zet’zus’s mandibles and antennae and several appendices might be able to do behind closed doors—but there’s no way in hell he’s letting Spock get chummy with a bug. If it were up to Kirk, Spock would be banned from getting chummy with anyone ever again unless it were him.
Leader Zyt’zn seems to be waiting for Kirk to acknowledge her comment. It’s hard to tell. Kirk is no expert in insectoid body language. But the way she’s standing is the same way women—men and others too, but mainly women—stand if they think you are tuning them out. Kirk would know. He’s been caught red-handed doing exactly that more than once.
He takes another sip of his flute and says, “He’s perceptive, all right.”
“We the T’zet’zi find such a trait alluring. It is the mark of a desirable mate,” Leader Zyt’zn explains, her many pseudopupils boring into Kirk. He’s always said he likes big expressive eyes, but this is overdoing it. “Does the Honourable Male Spock remain unattached at present, or has he already chosen a mate for the season?”
Season. Do bugs have those? Kirk has no idea. He never bothered to check, though he supposes there are more insects flying around in the warmer Terran months. He wonders if spring is coming soon on Nyt’zi. But he doesn’t want anyone who looks so much like a praying mantis near any of his crew members, much less his first officer.
Still, Kirk is pretty sure mating is a dog thing, mostly, with the heat cycles and all that. Reptiles, too. Or at least Komodo dragons. He read an article about it once. In any case, all that isn’t really important at the moment. Whether Terran bugs have mating cycles or not, these ones do, and this particular one wants a piece of his first officer, perhaps more literally than Kirk is willing to know. He decides to navigate the situation with the proper amount of care these circumstances require.
“He’s taken,” he says, tone flat. “For all seasons.”
Which is not true at all. Spock’s not taken. Spock can hook up with Leader Zyt’zn if that’s what he wants. The mere idea makes Kirk’s heart shrivel up and die, so he doesn’t recant his lie. He finds it physically impossible. Just thinking about doing it makes his jaw lock up. He is a mess.
Leader Zyt’zn cants her head in that abrupt way all T’zet’zi have. It’s very disconcerting, to borrow a word Spock would use. Kirk would call it creepy. He kind of wants to take a step back. Leader Zyt’zn’s pseudopupils stir and blur and shift with the change in angle before settling. Kirk’s wish to put some distance between the tall and intimidating bug-lady and himself doubles, but he stands his ground.
“All seasons?” Leader Zyt’zn asks.
“Yes,” Kirk replies.
Leader Zyt’zn makes a low chittering sound. Her antennae and ridges flatten against her head. “I apologise if my line of inquiry caused you discomfort, Honourable Male Kirk. We the T’zet’zi are not yet familiar with the Federation’s mating rituals.”
“No, no. It’s, um—it’s fine, really.”
“Is it correct to assume the Federation’s Honourable Males mate for life then?”
“Not all of us. And it’s not just an Honourable Male thing. I mean, everyone can mate for life. Male and female, honourable or not. Some do, others don’t.” Kirk smiles at her and hopes he isn’t saying anything that will cause an intercultural fiasco. “I guess you could say we exercise our free will on that. Spock’s, uh, subgroup of people, though, the Vulcans—they’re big on commitments. Lifelong.”
“And you have adapted to suit his needs?”
“Well,” Kirk drawls. He scratches the back of his head, looking down at his flute. All of a sudden, he wishes he were a bit less tipsy. “Actually, Humans kind of like the lifelong thing too. Some of us. It depends. I wasn’t that interested in commitments of that sort until a while ago but, well, you know.”
Kirk’s eyes slide to the left, only to find Spock talking with three T’zet’zi across the room. His back is to Kirk, his posture straight but his hands joined in a relaxed clasp behind his back that lets Kirk know Spock is enjoying himself. It makes sense. Everyone is so intelligent and composed on this planet. Spock—or any other Vulcan, for that matter—would fit right in. He might find the restrictions imposed on males by the matriarchal society bothersome at first, but he would adjust.
“Your one has come along,” says Leader Zyt’zn.
Kirk blinks up at her. “Sorry?”
“The Honourable Male Spock. It is clear you cherish him,” Leader Zyt’zn says, her pseudopupils stirring and blurring again as she diverts her attention to something. Probably Spock. They blur back into focus as she returns her gaze to Kirk. “I am sure he cherishes you as well.”
“Oh, well, yes. He’s fond of me.”
“Fond?”
“Vulcans don’t really express their emotions,” Kirk hedges.
“Mayhap not vocally, but all creatures express themselves through action—or a lack thereof.”
Definitely Option B here, but Kirk doesn’t want her to know that.
“Yes.” He smiles. “You’re right, of course.”
“I wish you both many seasons,” Leader Zyt’zn says, which Kirk thinks is a sweet way to tell a couple you hope the best for their future together, especially considering you have the hots for one of them. It also makes him think that maybe females of this species aren’t into deadly passions, unlike the Terran praying mantis.
“Thank you,” he says, and the hopeful sincerity in his voice breaks his own heart.
Perhaps lying to Leader Zyt’zn was a bad idea. Of course, Kirk knew this from the start. He just didn’t expect it to backfire quite so fast. But just ten minutes shy of kissing Nyt’zi and its natives goodbye, Kirk spots Leader Zyt’zn conversing with Spock, her whole demeanour indicating platonic admiration rather than physical attraction. Her antennae and ridges are also firmly flattened against her head.
Kirk grips his flute so hard, the crystal creaks. “Oh, no.”
Had Kirk not drunk three bowls from the fountain a little bit ago, right now he would probably be succumbing to panic on top of feeling horribly queasy and lightheaded. As it is, he only experiences a rush of panic before he strangles it, the pleasantly soft buzz of Nyt’zi liquor having seemingly evaporated from his bloodstream in that single moment of alarm.
“Captain?” Scott asks.
Kirk grows pale when Leader Zyt’zn gestures at him, her pseudopupils coming into focus for an instant before she goes back to looking at Spock. His first officer turns around, his eyes finding Kirk’s for a microsecond before Kirk spins around and gives Scott a grin that borders on manic. He excuses them both from the small group discussing theoretical portable transporters and drags Scott aside.
“I fucked up,” he declares.
“Oh. Well, I’m sure we can fix it, sir, can’t we? Let’s just pop over to where Mr Spock is—”
“No.” Kirk clutches Scott’s arm and shakes his head. “No, bad plan, Scotty. We’ll stay here. Far away.”
“But Mr Spock’s our problem-solver,” Scott argues.
“And you’re our miracle-worker.” Kirk’s grin is a bit less frantic now, but he can tell it’s weirding his chief engineer out. “So I need you to work me a miracle, Mr Scott. Undo my fuck-up. Better yet, undo me. Delete me. I don’t want to have to deal with my mistakes.”
Scott snorts. “Aye, that’s a big relate right there, sir.”
“Yes, I know. Okay, change of plans. Go make nice.” He nudges Scott toward the group they were talking to not a minute ago. “I’ll find Leaders’ Leader Mizyn and tell her I’m beaming up five minutes early due to some emergency or whatever. You and Spock are right after me in rank and considered honourable by the T’zet’zi, so it’ll be fine.”
“And that’ll solve yer fuck-up?” Scott asks.
“No, but it’ll postpone it long enough for me to come up with a plan.”
“Ah,” Scott says, his eyes crinkling up. “So yer problem isn’t staying here, is it, sir?”
Despite being pale before, Kirk feels his cheeks heating up now. “Uh.”
“Ach, s’fine, you dinnae have to explain it to me.”
Scott pats Kirk on the arm, then gives a quick salute and returns to the group to continue squealing over the possibility of portable transporters. Kirk turns around to make sure Spock hasn’t sneaked up on him. He hasn’t, which is good, but he’s nowhere to be found, which is bad.
Kirk leaves his empty flute at the nearest table and begins looking for the Leaders’ Leader. He looks over his shoulder every now and then, incapable of shaking off the feeling that he’s being watched. Dumb feeling. Paranoid feeling. Spock isn’t some sort of predator. He isn’t lying in wait to corner Kirk at least feasible moment. If anything, he probably told Leader Zyt’zn the truth and then they slinked away to ‘get better acquainted’ or whatever it is nerds call their sexcapades. Kirk doesn’t want to think about it.
“Captain.”
“Jesus!” Kirk spins around. “Spock. Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”
“Contrary to popular belief, experiencing myocardial infarction due to becoming startled is quite uncommon.” Spock clasps his hands behind his back and raises a brow. Average enough for Spock, but his shoulders are stiff. Kirk stiffens in response. “You accelerated pulse is a natural reaction brought on by your sudden shock.”
“Right. Yeah. Well, I was looking for Leaders’ Leader Mizyn to say our goodbyes. Have you seen her?”
“She is preparing to wish us safe travels in the anteroom. The T’zet’zi believe welcomes and farewells to be private affairs.”
“Right,” Kirk says again. The mission report had mentioned that, and they were welcomed only by the Leaders’ Leader and her council of eight when they beamed down. “All right, so I’ll go—”
“I have already informed Mr Scott to make himself present in the anteroom without delay,” Spock says. He gives Kirk a look, but Kirk can’t tell if it’s meaningful or simply reproachful. Maybe both. “I was looking for you.”
Kirk gives a dry chuckle. He notices that the T’zet’zi are beginning to quietly leave the room, their dainty insectoid feet barely making a sound. In fact, most of them have already left. Kirk’s been so wrapped up in his own world, trying to avoid Spock and then to decode any hidden messages he may be sending, that he didn’t notice.
A T’zet’zus catches Kirk’s eye across the room and bobs her head. He puts on a smile and returns the little bow. With no further interaction, she slips out into a balcony and climbs down. The T’zet’zi don’t use their wings when they have visitors; they say the thunderous noise they cause has scared off many prospective allies.
“Well, congrats, you found me,” Kirk says. “Let’s get going. Anteroom’s that way, right?”
“Yes.” Spock’s hand on Kirk’s elbow stops him from running off. “Captain.”
“Yeah?” Kirk squeaks.
“I wished to express my appreciation for your actions tonight.”
“Um.” Kirk stares. “Um?”
“With Leader Zyt’zn,” Spock clarifies. “Since she is from a matriarchal society in which their males have little say in choosing with whom they are paired for the season, I was unsure of how to reject her advances in a safe manner. I was fairly certain she would take offence if an unattached male refused her attentions, no matter how undesired. Your intervention was most welcome.”
“Oh. Oh, my intervention. Yeah! Right, well, I noticed she was, you know, flirting pretty hard, but you kind of weren’t reciprocating, so, er, yeah.” Kirk shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m glad I didn’t misread the situation. That would’ve been awkward.”
“Indeed, your intervention was most fortuitous,” Spock says. He gestures at a particularly ornate archway, which leads into the anteroom. “Shall we?”
“Yeah. No, wait.” This time, it’s Kirk who stops Spock by grabbing his elbow. “I lied.”
“Beg your pardon, Captain?”
“I lied to Leader Zyt’zn.”
“Of that, I am aware. I have already expressed my gratitude—”
“I lied for entirely selfish reasons, Spock.”
Kirk keeps his eyes on the place where his fingers connect with Spock’s blue tunic. His chest is becoming gnarled again, barbed and bleeding. He derives comfort from this minimal contact, from the fact that Spock is allowing it to continue. Of course, Spock steps away the moment Kirk thinks that, almost as if he knew. Kirk tries not to look too disappointed by the sudden loss.
“We will continue this conversation at a later time, Captain,” Spock says, his tone aloof. “Right now, we must leave.”
“Right, yes.” Kirk gestures with a hand. “Lead on.”
They exchange farewells with the T’zet’zi Leaders in the anteroom. Leaders’ Leader Mizyn, a looming insectoid with equations gracefully painted onto her aged carapace, sends them off with a copy of her first academic paper. Her gesture is apparently a great honour in the T’zet’zi’s scientifically-driven society. Leader Zyt’zn sultrily flares her translucent wings in farewell, but otherwise keeps a respectful distance.
She’s teasing, Kirk realises, then it dawns on him that she thinks he won’t take it badly, or probably has no right to. He plasters on a smile and wonders if this is reverse-sexism or plain sexism or what. He decides he’s just a lowly captain with an affinity for coding, and Uhura can figure out the sociocultural stuff since that’s her area of expertise.
Kirk, Spock, and Scott beam back aboard the Enterprise without a hitch. Scott hops off his transporter pad the moment the golden light fades, faking a yawn and complaining about missing dinnertime. He disappears into the turbolift a second later, regaling Kirk with a cheeky grin before the curved doors slide shut. Kirk scowls. He was planning to make his escape in that turbolift.
Spock steps off the pad and turns back to Kirk. “Captain.”
Kirk turns to the person handling the transporter console. “Lieutenant Yilneloni, you’ve performed your duties admirably so far today. Take a break. Return to your post in five.” Kirk glances at Spock’s stony face. “Better make that ten.”
“Aye, sir.”
The man exits the room in what has to be record time outside of a red alert, his purple tail tucked between his legs. Poor guy. No one wants to be around when the command team’s having a domestic. Kirk waits until the doors slide back shut to face Spock again. His expression is still shuttered. Kirk doesn’t like that.
“I lied because I wanted her to stop,” he says, picking up where they left off. He steps off the transporter pad and stands there, feeling hopeless. “I wasn’t doing you a favour, Spock; I was doing myself a favour. Because seeing her flirt with you was just—no.” Kirk covers his eyes. “God, I’m trash. I’m sorry. I’m really trying to be less like this.”
Silence greets his words. After a moment, there’s a gentle tug on the sleeve edge of his raised hand. Kirk doesn’t move, so the tug repeats itself, just as gentle. That convinces him to uncover his eyes. Spock is there, the first thing in his line of vision. He’s holding the edge of Kirk’s golden sleeve between thumb and forefinger, staring at him as if he were someone different—someone new. If Kirk didn’t know better, he would say Spock even looks a little hopeful.
“You . . . care,” Spock utters, and Kirk remembers Zyt’zn saying ‘you cherish him’.
“I’d really like to deny that,” Kirk replies, smiling ruefully, “but I don’t think I can get away with it now. So yeah. I care, Spock. A lot. I hope you don’t mind. Not a lot I can do about it if you do, so I’m hoping you’ll take pity on me and let me live thinking you’re cool with—what—that’s—”
“Yes,” Spock says simply.
He finishes sliding his fingers between Kirk’s and raises their arms so their palms lie flat against each other. There’s nothing special about it from a Human perspective: holding hands stopped being taboo or an explicitly romantic gesture over a century ago on Earth. But this? This is a Vulcan holding Kirk’s hand. This is Spock holding Kirk’s hand. This is everything.
“Are we making out?” Kirk asks.
“Not at present.” Spock’s voice is soft and warm. “I would need to lower my shields for it to become a romantic touch. At this instance, we are merely holding hands, not partaking in a finger-embrace. Although I must mention that already this is highly intimate by my people’s standards.”
Kirk takes a step closer. “I wanna finger-embrace.”
Spock arches an eyebrow. Kirk squeezes Spock’s hand. Spock squeezes back harder. For a moment, Kirk feels something like a tingle at the nape of his neck. Then Spock releases his hand and steps back, taking the pleasant tingle with him.
“You just totally made out with me.”
“No.”
“Yes. I felt it. I felt it here.” Kirk gestures at the back of his head. “You sneaky.”
Spock’s eyes flicker to Kirk’s lips. “It was a mere peck.”
“Sneaky,” Kirk repeats, grinning. Then he falters. “And I really am sorry, even if you don’t mind.”
“Your deception?” At Kirk’s nod, Spock nods back. “Your behaviour was neither appropriate nor reproachable. Had I been interested in Leader Zyt’zn’s advances, of course, my opinion would probably be less forgiving. However, I was not, and so I hold my original statement: your intervention was most welcome.”
Kirk smiles again. “If you say so.”
“I do. And I hope the knowledge that there is no reason for you to experience jealousy when it comes to my person will aid you in your attempts to control your insecurities.”
“Insecurities?” Kirk gives Spock a funny look. “Say what?”
“Jealousy is a manifestation of insecurity, Jim. It is one of the many forms it takes.”
“Okay, first, you called me Jim, which I seriously love and hope you’ll do always from now on. Second, I’m not insecure,” Kirk argues, then relents, “Well, maybe a little. A little! And don’t tell Bones I said that. He’ll tell me to see a shrink or whatever. I swore those off when I was fourteen.”
“Very well.”
Spock clasps his hands behind his back, shoulders relaxed, and Kirk could kiss him right then and there. What’s to stop him, really? The security cameras? He isn’t afraid of having people know. Besides, Spock Vulcan-kissed him, or at least that’s what it will look like to whoever’s on monitor duty. It’s almost a given that he wouldn’t mind a public Human-kiss.
So Kirk goes for it. Leans in, smacks their lips together, and leans out. Spock blinks like an owl at him, then his eyebrows twitch. It’s as though his cute frown is trying to form, but Spock’s too shocked to relay the order to his facial muscles. Kirk laughs, then moves past Spock and calls the turbolift. When the sleek doors open, they step in together, and Kirk leaves all his barbed wire behind.