Chapter Text
“The last time I saw you, you were dead.”
Jim and Spock had only just made it to the drinks table when T’Pau’s familiar voice spoke up behind them.
The National Library’s grand opening of the new research center was the most significant event of this year’s Vulcan social calendar – and that had been even before the Enterprise had unexpectedly found stolen Vulcan scripts on a trading vessel. Evidently, the scientific world was in quite the joyous uproar over it – or at least what Jim would have called a joyous uproar. (He had even seen a newspaper headline that included an exclamation point.)
The surprising rediscovery had scored them two invitations to the event, and it had been a great evening so far: The speeches had been over faster than expected, and now people were drifting around the room in small groups. Spock had dinner plans with his parents later, and the bridge crew wasn’t expecting Jim for drinks and card games before ten.
The entire city was abuzz with restrained excitement. It had been quite the challenge, navigating through the mass of spectators in the Library Plaza outside. Everyone had been curious to see the new building, freshly peeled out of its scaffolding and fully illuminated for the first time. Of course T’Pau – one of the most influential Vulcans of their time – wouldn’t miss the cultural event of the summer.
Her name had probably been first on the invitation list.
Jim slowly turned around to face her, Spock at his side mirroring his apprehension. They both greeted her with a ta’al, and her eyes fixed on Jim’s hand for a long moment – long enough for him to wonder if he had gotten it wrong.
It had been a little more than a year since the almost-wedding she had been meant to officiate, and she still looked chronically unimpressed with the attendants gathered around her like constipated guard dogs.
Jim cleared his throat.
“You said one of us had to die, not that he had to stay dead. According to our good doctor, I was clinically dead for a good three seconds.”
She looked him up and down, then waved for an attendant to get her a glass of the sparkling hawthorn aperitif.
“The National Library is certainly appreciative that the condition was temporary,” she said with a deadpan expression, then nodded to the white ‘Ancient Artifacts Recovered.’ banner.
Spock straightened next to him.
“I can assure you it is not only the National Library.”
When T’Pau raised an eyebrow, Jim had to fight back a smile.
“Now, now, Mr Spock, let’s not get too enthusiastic. People might think you enjoy my company.”
“That would be a sensible conclusion to come to,” Spock said without the slightest hint of sarcasm, and that was so endearing Jim didn’t quite know what to say.
Some of the young Vulcans behind T’Pau were already throwing increasingly confused looks back and forth between Jim and Spock, and while part of Jim wanted to see how they’d react if he said something sweet to Spock in return, he didn’t think that would do much for friendly intercultural relations. Instead, Jim threw Spock a brief, warm smile before turning back to the clan matriarch.
“It is good to see you again, T’Pau. I hope you’re doing well.”
“I’m in excellent health,” she said drily. “Although my family seems intent on sending me into an early grave, I am persevering.”
Jim had no idea why so many people believed Vulcans had no sense of humor. It was plain as day where Spock had gotten his from.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go and supervise Professor T’Vala and Dr. T’Risik debating their research project funding before there are any fatalities.” She threw Jim a sarcastic side glance. “Temporary or otherwise.”
She floated off toward two middle-aged Vulcan women in embroidered robes and funky statement necklaces, both so stiff-backed that they looked in serious danger of pulling a muscle.
Evidently, Jim and Spock were dismissed.
They found an empty corner by the display wall – a sky-high bookshelf undulating upwards – where they could take in the party’s atmosphere in peace. Jim had to admit the building was breathtaking. The new lobby could have passed for an old-fashioned cathedral: classic Vulcan sandstone walls, tone-in-tone mosaic floors and a ceiling so elegant it looked weightless. Tonight, there were chairs and high tables set up around a makeshift stage, but from tomorrow on it would be a living, breathing building – people coming by to do research, browse shelves and drop their children off for art lessons.
Some Federation representatives had come, as had three interplanetary ambassadors and an admiral. But the majority of the crowd was Vulcan. Wide-eyed children, old folks in their nicest embroidered robes, groups of scholars in earnest debate and, inevitably, a wide array of pairs where Jim would have been hard pressed to decide whether they were spouses, friends or business acquaintances.
For a while, they watched the people around them in comfortable silence. Here and there between idle breaths, Spock’s arm brushed his, and Jim’s body hummed with the ancient prayer every child knew by heart – I hope your parents are late to pick you up.
“T’Pau didn’t seem surprised,” he finally observed. “To see me alive, I mean.”
“I believe she looked for your obituary and anticipated sending her condolences. She knew what it meant when no such obituary was released. She simply needed you to know that she disapproves of being tricked.”
Jim was about to make a joke that he’d taken punches that hurt less than mild Vulcan disappointment, but then realized something important. T’Pau’s disapproval, as tongue-in-cheek as it had been, could have major consequences for Spock.
Had it been a stupid idea to come here? In truth, he hadn’t needed to come himself – the Enterprise crew had received two invitations to the event, but they hadn’t been personalized. Jim had simply been so curious to see the library – to be surrounded by Vulcan culture and to watch Spock in this environment. To see how he himself fit into it, if at all.
“You don’t think she’ll reinstitute the engagement, do you?” Jim asked, unable to hold back his concern. “Now that she knows that I lived and that we didn’t fulfill the conditions of the challenge? Spock, should I not have come?”
Spock did not look worried in the slightest.
“T’Pring and Stonn were betrothed shortly after we left Vulcan. Three months ago, they were married. I sent them a gift off their registry.”
Oh.
That was good news.
Spock was in the clear, then. Why hadn’t he brought that up before?
“Wait, and you didn’t even let me sign the card?” Jim protested jovially. “I could have been her husband, too, if you think about it.”
Spock didn’t dignify that with a response.
Jim could hardly blame him. It was rather ridiculous to imply that he could have beaten Spock in that fight, blood fever and all.
“What did you get them?”, he asked, mostly to have something to say but also because he was curious what Vulcans put on their wedding registries. Sudoku pads? Encyclopedias?
“Some machine to do with… smoothies, I believe.”
“Smoothies… Huh. Well, Stonn does seem like the type.”
Spock paused with his glass halfway to his mouth.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he looked…” Jim scrambled for an explanation that sounded neither prejudiced nor overly interested. “You know. As if he might be interested in fitness. Physically strong… Objectively speaking.”
“Fascinating.”
Spock raised an eyebrow, and only then did it occur to Jim that Spock was teasing him. That Vulcan was a menace.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Jim laughed. “Stop making fun of me.”
“I was simply surprised that in between my blood fever and your near-death-experience you still had time to assess the physique of the local Vulcan population.” Spock did not drop his poker face for a second. “If those are your priorities–”
People had started to turn around toward them, and Jim wouldn’t have minded if it weren’t for the split second of fiendish joy that flashed over Spock’s expression. Now that was dangerous.
“I’m saying this for your own good, you know… I’m gonna end up making you laugh in front of all these people…”
“So long as you do it before my parents find us.”
“That an invitation, Mr Spock?”
A small, private smile – not much more than a shadow in the corner of his mouth. Jim smiled back, then looked away before he could think too much about it. It was already more than he would have dared to hope for tonight. A smile, and Spock’s joyful pulse.
He’d felt it for more than a year now. Not the clarity of a full meld, but another heart beating in canon with his, echoing at a dark, calming frequency.
They both knew it was there, but they didn’t really talk about it. Spock had brought it up only once, shortly before the Babel conference last year. They’d been the last people in the mess hall after a long shift.
“You may have noticed that there is now an established telepathic link between us,” Spock had said, arranging his fork and knife at the perfect angle to indicate he was finished eating.
There’d been a hint of nerves bleeding through the link, a slightly accelerated pulse, as if he wasn’t sure how Jim would respond.
“Yeah,” Jim had said with a reassuring smile. “I like it. It’s nice.”
“Nice,” Spock had repeated skeptically.
“Yes. I can tell if you’re nervous or calm. If you’re awake. It’s a nice little shortcut to knowing you’re alright. If I’m concerned by something on the bridge, I know right away if you agree with me or not. I like it.”
The shadow heartbeat in his chest had slowed faintly, and Jim had found himself smiling at the physical reassurance that Spock believed him. How could he not love this? How could he not want to keep it?
“Is it… permanent?”
“As far as I know,” Spock had said, somewhat stiffly, realigning the already flawlessly placed cutlery.
“Good,” Jim had said softly. “Cause I’d be a bit sad if it weren’t.”
And that had been the end of that.
Feeling Spock’s heartbeat became normal so quickly that it was strange to imagine there had been a time when he hadn’t felt it.
And with it came a closeness that was both self-evident and unimaginable – the rhythm of the other’s heartbeat soon became so familiar that the encoded emotions slipped through effortlessly. The loud drums of triumph, the sharpness of panic, the staccato bursts of joy like a knife cutting lemon slices.
Quicker than morse code, and sweeter still.
In the beginning, Jim had worried that if he wasn’t careful, his heartbeat might tell Spock secrets he wasn’t ready to give up yet. But after a month had passed, and then another, weeks and weeks of Spock sensing the hopeful run Jim’s heart broke into whenever they touched by accident and never bringing it up–
Maybe they could just not talk about it. Maybe they could just continue listening and enjoying.
So they did.
They ate meals, they played chess, they shared glances on the bridge and they stood next to each other as the transporter room disappeared into glittering light.
They spent more time in each other’s quarters, too, and when Jim happened to be in the room when his mother called, Spock always insisted that he stay.
It was odd, that there was so little privacy between them now and yet that last irreversible indiscretion was still so out of reach.
Just like right now, with Spock standing next to him but so lost in thought he may as well have been a million miles away.
Jim watched him quietly, the long lines of his limbs, his head lifted toward the arches of the sandstone ceiling, the champagne flute suspended in his hand like it weighed little more than air.
“Are you nervous about dinner?” he asked quietly.
Spock turned his head to look back at him, the stark, elegant lines of his face softened by uncertainty.
“Considering my… slowly improving relationship with my parents, I believe it will be a strange experience for me… but overall an uneventful one.”
“That’s not a no,” Jim observed.
Ever since Sarek’s rather close call with death on his visit to the Enterprise, Spock and his mother had begun calling each other more often. At the end, she always passed Spock on to his father and they talked for a minute or so, usually about the same three topics: if all was well on the Enterprise (yes), if Sarek was in good health (yes) and when they would next be near Vulcan (unclear). Sometimes they talked about articles from scientific journals they’d both read. Solar storms, warp field dynamics, programming languages. It all seemed a bit awkward to Jim, but considering how long Spock and his father had barely spoken to each other at all, it was definitely progress.
More to amuse Spock than anything else, Jim said, “I can invite myself and come along if that would help.”
Spock quirked an eyebrow.
“In what capacity exactly?”
“I’ll think of something. Maybe I’ll say I got demoted to yeoman and now I need to shadow you everywhere. Just say the word.”
He could tell that there was a part of Spock that wanted to say yes. But the rekindled relationship between Spock and his parents was still new enough that bringing someone over uninvited might be a setback.
“Tempting,” Spock finally said, his eyes warmer somehow. “But… no thank you, yeoman.”
“Anytime.”
Jim smiled into his drink as he finished it. He loved when Spock let a little bit of humor slip into his deadpan expression.
“If you do not mind, I will step away for a moment to speak to T’Pau…” Spock began, but broke off when his gaze caught on something behind Jim. “It looks like that conversation might have to wait for now.”
Jim turned and saw Spock’s mother in the middle of the room, one hand lifted to wave at them. In the room of calm academic satisfaction, her human smile stood out. Jim waved back jovially, then smiled encouragingly at Spock.
“To an uneventful evening,” he whispered, his empty glass half-raised as if to deliver a toast.
Spock looked unconvinced.
When his parents had finally managed to make their way across the room, he and his father greeted each other with their usual reservedness.
“Good evening, Ambassador,” Jim said when it seemed like Spock and Sarek were finished assessing each other, and raised a hopefully solid-looking ta’al at Spock’s father. “It’s good to see you again, Amanda.”
Amanda, probably just as happy to see another human as Jim was, reached out for a brief hug from her son, then squeezed Jim’s shoulder.
“How nice to see you both. Hello, darling. Hello, Jim…”
During her calls with Spock, they’d already been through the song and dance of ‘ Amanda, please – then you must call me Jim – Oh, I couldn’t, Captain’ often enough that they no longer needed to bother with it now.
He tried not to let it go to his head that Spock’s mother seemed to like him. That sort of thing just stirred up false hope. Things were great as they were. No reason to ruin that with overthinking. That strategy had never served him in chess, and it certainly wouldn’t now.
“We were seated at the opposite side of the room,” Sarek announced. “We hope you did not spend too much time awaiting our arrival.”
“Oh, not at all. Couldn’t get bored with a scenery like this, right, Spock? Beautiful building.”
“It is above all functional,” Sarek said, already sounding characteristically underwhelmed barely ten seconds into this interaction. “Though it is certainly important that its aesthetic match the adjacent buildings. I did tell Professor Dr T’Vala she should have spoken more about how function and form of the library buildings interact. What did you think of the speech, Captain?”
Against his own expectations, Jim had actually enjoyed the professor’s speech very much. It had been devoid of the rhetorical playfulness he usually enjoyed, but also straight to the point. Construction is finished, the building will be open at all hours, please have a complimentary drink, there will be a special exhibition in the archive next month.
Jim had feared that there would be a big fuss over how the Enterprise had recovered the newest additions to the archive, but there had only been a sensible five seconds of applause for him and Spock before she asked them to sit down again. Very efficient. That woman should be running Starfleet meetings.
“Very informative,” he said, and meant it. “She seems…” Passionate was probably the wrong word. “... very dedicated to her research.”
Sarek seemed content with that answer.
“Her work as an archivist has brought the National Library many accolades. The material you recovered might bring an opportunity to regain lost knowledge.”
They talked for a bit about the mission, how lucky it was that they had gotten lost on their way to meet with the traders’ captain, how Spock had identified what the artifacts were, how Jim had insisted that they’d be brought aboard by shuttle to rule out a potential disintegration in the transporter – “ours are well-calibrated, of course, but you can’t be careful enough with antiquities” – which Sarek called a prudent decision.
If that was what passed for Vulcan small-talk, Jim thought he was doing alright so far.
As Amanda began asking a series of linguistic questions about the artifacts which Spock was having increasing trouble answering, Jim’s eyes fell on a young Vulcan girl pulling on her mother’s sleeve. She was holding a small ceramic cup of dates and was evidently very proud of her hunting trip to the snack table.
“An adequate portion.” The mother gently adjusted her daughter’s hair which needed no adjusting whatsoever. “Well done.”
When Spock had survived the mini-interrogation (his mother could clearly not wait until the exhibition would be opened), Jim gently nudged Spock in the side and nodded toward the girl and her snack cup.
“Maybe while we’re down here we can go to that shop where I got your cup from. We can see if there’s anything else you like.”
“Oh?” Amanda said curiously. “What shop?”
Jim frowned as he tried to recall the name of the site he had ordered from. The delivery had been a few weeks back, but the name had had something to do with the moon…
“Moonrise Ceramics,” he said, the name suddenly coming back to him. “Their store is here in Shi’Kahr. I got Spock a cup with a special glaze because he doesn’t like the texture of Starfleet regulation cups.”
Amanda opened her mouth as if to say something, then frowned and looked up at her husband. Sarek held her gaze for two seconds, then looked over to his son. Spock, unhelpfully, looked as if he’d been caught with his hand in the candy jar.
“They leave much to be desired if you have tactile sensitivities,” he finally said.
Sarek meaningfully inclined his head, as if that was a rather kind understatement for how subpar Starfleet cups were for Vulcan touch. Noted.
“We could get a small set for the next time we have Vulcan guests,” Jim suggested to Spock. “I think that might be nice. We could meet tomorrow, maybe? If you don’t already have something planned with your family, of course.”
Spock actually looked relieved at the suggestion.
“If you wish to visit the artisan quarter, I can certainly show you around. We both have shore leave for another thirty-four hours.”
“You’d know,” Jim teased.
Sarek looked back and forth between his son and Jim with a raised eyebrow, and Jim felt a sudden need to explain his comment.
“Your son offered to take over the formal approval of shore leave requests. Whoever coded the scheduling software is my arch nemesis.”
“The user interface is not well-programmed,” Spock agreed hesitantly.
“A crime against humanity is what it is,” Jim sighed. “The only problem is now that I’ve handed over the reins into such capable hands, he insists on scheduling shore leave for me from time to time…”
“Humans perform better when well-rested, that is a scientifically proven fact.”
Jim looked up at him with a mischievous smile.
“Well, we can’t let people know what I’m capable of when well-rested. I better get another one of these aperitifs to dull my intellect a little.” An excellent opportunity to walk away and let Spock talk to his parents for a bit. “Can I get you anything?”
“I can accompany you,” Spock offered.
“Nonsense, I’m already going. Got two hands, right? Would be illogical to not use both of ‘em.”
Spock let his gaze linger for a second as he decided, fondness mingling with exasperation. Finally, he inclined his head.
“A compelling argument, Captain. Who am I to hinder your logical education?”
There was a note of tension in the familiarity of their teasing. Jim could only hope that it would have dissipated by the time he returned.
He turned toward Spock’s parents, but was cut off before he could begin saying his goodbyes.
“Oh, Jim, before we lose each other in the crowd, we wanted to ask–” Amanda said with a side glance to Sarek, who did not hesitate to jump in.
“We’d like you to come to dinner as well, Captain.”
“We’d be happy to have you!”
Jim blinked in surprise.
“I… certainly,” he said. “Thank you for the invitation.”
Spock cleared his throat audibly.
“Jim… Earlier, you said you have plans to–”
“Oh no, that’s alright. I can move some things around. If you want!”
Spock nodded briefly, and Jim smiled up at him. He hadn’t wanted to invite himself, but this was quite nice. He didn’t take Sarek for the kind of person who invited people to his house only to be polite. Even if he was – at least that meant he cared enough about the relationship with his son to want to be polite to those close to him. That was a win in and of itself.
“We live close by, so it shouldn’t be too far out of the way for you, I hope,” Amanda said. She seemed pleased with Jim accepting the invitation, which was a relief considering that Sarek’s expression was still a mystery to him.
“It is a short distance,” Spock agreed before turning to Jim to explain. “It’s right past city hall and down the promenade.”
“City hall… That’s the building with the mosaic façade?”
“Exactly.” Amanda smiled. “You know, Spock, back when your father and I got married, they held the ceremony on the scenic balcony. We had a view of the whole city. Very pretty. Have you–”
“Excuse us a moment, please,” Spock interrupted tersely.
He looped a hand through Jim’s arm and began pulling him away. Jim let himself be led, but not without a brief confused protest.
“Spock, what…”
“Alright, we’ll see you later,” Amanda called after them. She seemed very amused by the picture they painted.
If Jim hadn’t known any better, he would have said Spock’s cheeks were coloring. Was he blushing?
Jim couldn’t shake the feeling he had committed some sort of faux-pas. On the other hand – wasn’t it much more forward for Spock to literally grab onto him as he led him away? The Vulcans around them certainly seemed to think so: The other guests parted before them like the red sea.
When they’d arrived by the table with the drinks and Spock’s nervous grip around his arm still didn’t lighten, Jim lowered his voice to a murmur and brought his face closer to Spock’s. “You know, if you don’t want another arranged marriage, there are easier ways to let T’Pau know than fondling my elbow in front of two hundred Vulcans.”
Spock exhaled loudly and let go of him. For a moment, Jim saw a glimpse of the exasperated smile he was fighting down.
Evidently, he hadn’t wanted Jim to leave him alone with his parents.
In that case, it was lucky that Jim had scored that invitation.
“Look how that worked out. I get to go to dinner with you.”
“A lucky turn of events,” Spock said, but he sounded like he was still deciding whether that was true or not.
*
At around eight, after some time browsing the foyer and walking around in the first level of the library, Spock stepped away for a moment to speak to T’Pau.
It was hard to tell whether they were discussing their favorite courtroom shows or matters of interstellar importance. As far as Jim could tell, Spock didn’t seem eager to be rescued, so he decided to use the alone time to talk to Amanda. He’d just seen her looking at the ceiling architecture while Sarek waited in line for the cloakroom nearby.
“Amanda.”
She turned around to him. “Oh, Jim! I already told Spock – there’s no need for you to come with us right away, you know. We won’t start eating until nine. We’re just leaving early to get things set up.”
“Right. You’re absolutely sure I’m not intruding?”
“No! Of course not.”
“I know you’ve not had a dinner with just the three of you for a while–”
“You sat the Captain’s chair with a punctured lung so Spock could save his father’s life,” Amanda said firmly. “You’re not intruding.”
True. He couldn’t argue with that.
Jim certainly had a long history of medically irresponsible decisions, but that one he could not bring himself to regret. That didn’t mean it made him any less nervous to look into Spock’s mother’s face, knowing that she saw how much he would give up for her son.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “Thank you. Do we… bring anything?”
“Oh no, don’t be silly. We probably made too much food anyway.”
The cloakroom queue released a few more of its hostages, and Sarek joined them again, now wearing a light summer robe with vertical calligraphy stitching across the chest.
“Ready to go?” Amanda said, beaming up at her husband.
“Yes.”
“See you later, Jim.”
“Goodbye, Captain.”
Amanda chatted animatedly as they walked out, and Sarek listened to her talk as if he was watching the sun come up. They walked far apart enough for their elbows not to touch, and yet there was such intimacy between them that Jim instinctively found himself turning away to give them some privacy.
He found Spock standing at an interactive panel showing the different library departments.
“Your mother said we’ll eat at nine o’clock,” he said, really just so he had something to say. “Bit late for dinner, isn’t it?”
“I believe some humans in warmer climates also prefer to have a longer break around midday, which inevitably delays the evening meal. Inhabitants of Vulcan have a similar circadian rhythm.”
Jim didn’t think he could find any piece of information in this entire library that would have made him happier than this new fact.
“Hold on, are you telling me Vulcans have a siesta?”
“The siesta is a human concept that does not apply in a Vulcan context.”
“You do, don’t you? That’s adorable.”
They got lost in a few more teasing remarks, a little bit of playful clicking around on the map, a bit more leaning in that was technically logically necessary, but when the initial magic had cooled down to its familiar glowing embers, Jim suddenly felt watched. He turned to look around the room and saw T’Pau a few feet away.
She stood next to the academics from earlier, but her gaze was trained on Spock and Jim. When she caught Jim’s gaze, she sighed visibly, raised her eyebrows and emptied her glass.
*
His hotel was nearby, and Spock insisted on walking him over. The young Vulcan woman at the reception had not appeared overly interested in the group of human Starfleet officers when they’d all checked in earlier, but she cast Spock a long look as he settled into a sofa in the middle of the lobby.
Jim was unsure whether Spock was that much of a local celebrity or whether she simply found it odd that they’d come to the hotel together.
“See you in a minute,” Jim said.
“Ambitious. The elevator rides alone will take you forty-seven seconds.”
Jim narrowed his eyes teasingly as he stepped into the elevator. “Time me.”
To the elevator, he added, “Deck eleven.”
“Floor eleven,” the elevator corrected him before it set off.
The last thing Jim saw before the doors shut were Spock’s dark eyes.
There was no time for a proper shower, so when he got to the room, he quickly rinsed and toweled himself off. The outfit he’d laid out for bar-hopping with the bridge crew – dark slacks and a loose white linen shirt – seemed somewhat appropriate for dinner as well. Finally, there was only one thing left to do.
He took out his communicator and pressed Bones’ speed dial.
There was a great deal of rustling on the other end as Bones tried to get the communicator out of his pocket. In the background, Jim could hear Chekov going on about the rules dictating “a ban on stacking plus fours” , only for Scotty to interrupt him with a booming “Don’t make me pull rank, laddie. I’ll stack whatever I damn well want to.”
“You’re at the bar already, I take it?” Jim grinned.
“After Eight Bar and Restaurant. You’ll never guess when they open.”
Uhura chuckled in the background as Chekov demanded Bones put the Captain on speaker to resolve the plus four debate.
In all honesty, Jim was a bit sad that he was missing it. Tables filled with Vulcans having a sensible one point three drinks in the same room as the bridge crew, who tended to get unreasonably competitive over UNO while still on their first sip of Limoncello Spritz…
“You’re all done at the library, then?” Bones said.
Right. How was he going to explain the dinner invitation to a man who seemed to comment on most everything that Jim said about Spock with a knowing “uh-huh”?
“We are, but I’ll need a raincheck for tonight. Spock’s father invited me over for family dinner.”
Thick silence, then an even thicker accent. Jim normally found it funny that it seemed to get stronger when Bones was having fun. Today, it seemed like a personal attack.
“Is this a secure line?” Bones drawled.
“Don’t make me hang up on you.”
Loud cackling.
“You tell me if it’s secure,” Jim interrupted, more to keep Bones from laughing than to actually hear whatever embarrassing comment he was about to receive. “You’re the one who took my call in the middle of the bar.”
There was a brief pause and more shuffling before the background noises got quieter.
“Jim, how the hell did you skip ahead to meeting his parents without even going out with him first?”
“I have met his parents. So have you.”
He could practically hear Bones rolling his eyes.
“Sure. Go ahead and act stupid. But if they ask you to save their son’s reputation after all your illicit meetings and scandalous touching, don’t come crying to me.”
“Any more of those remarks and I won’t reschedule our night off.”
Despite the fact he was using his Captain voice, it sounded like an elementary schooler threatening not to invite his best friend to his birthday party. Bones seemed appropriately unimpressed.
“Have fun at dinner, Jim.”
Jim hung up on him.
*
“Seven minutes twenty-six seconds,” Spock greeted him when the elevator doors opened.
“Terrible estimate on my part,” Jim sighed. “I better draft my resignation. Does the outfit work, by the way? I wasn’t sure what to wear to a Vulcan family dinner. Is it inappropriate?”
Jim had rolled the sleeves up to his elbows on account of the temperature. Maybe he was showing too much arm? Honestly, he expected nothing more than a quick nod from Spock. But Spock paused, tilted his head and let his gaze trail down his body, all the way down to the shoes and back up until he met Jim’s eyes again. It was a serious look, earnestly assessing.
“No, you look…” Spock nodded slowly, lips parting in the search for the right word. “You look very appropriate.”
There was no music in the lobby. Only the two of them, Spock still in his dress uniform, Jim in his nicest linen shirt, standing two feet apart. Jim felt exposed all of a sudden. Silly. Obvious. Chest opening like a music box, humanity at its most embarrassing – tell me I’m pretty, wind me up and watch me spin for you.
“Thank you,” Jim said, traitorous warmth seeping into his face again, bleeding through his resolve to act like a goddamn adult for once. “You… uh… you call the shuttle already?”
“No need. We can walk from here.”
“Huh. That is close by.”
Jim checked the clock on the wall – they still had twenty-five minutes – then said goodbye to the receptionist, who hastily looked down at the papers her pen had been hovering over. Her ears colored subtly.
Jim idly wondered what she thought of them, wondered if she believed they were a bonded couple. This happened every once in a while – at least some of the bystanders at the reception tonight must have assumed something along those lines. He found himself smiling at the thought.
There was something addictive about the idea of belonging to Spock, even if it was only in other people’s minds.