Chapter Text
Jim ran his fingers over Spock's bare back in the glow of the ship's path lights. He'd seen Spock asleep in bivouacs on alien worlds, slept next to him in piled straw in prison cells, watched him flat and still and barely breathing in Sickbay. This Spock was soft in the low, amber light, on his stomach, head pillowed on his own arms. Warm to the touch -- Jim pressed his palm firmly to Spock's back. Definitely warm.
Spock stirred and said, "I raised my body temperature to thirty-seven Celsius."
"You can do that?"
"Yes," Spock said, and rolled over to face him. He brushed his fingers over Jim's face, and Jim kissed them as they passed over his mouth. "T'hy'la."
"Tell me what it means. Is it like a marriage?"
Spock said, "Very few Vulcans would see a t'hy'la relationship as an impediment to a marriage bond."
Jim flipped him onto his back and kissed him until Spock arched under him and made a rumbling noise deep in his chest. "I only care about what it means to you," he said.
Spock reached up and fit his thumb into the notch between Jim's collarbones. "I neither need nor want sexual fidelity," he said. "Only to know that I am yours. That you will be mine, when I need you to be mine."
Jim clasped Spock's hand and held it to him. "When Edith said you belonged at my side," he began, and trailed off. Memories of Edith still ached, bruised too deep for any protoplaser.
"Yes. She sensed something," Spock said. "I suspect her psi rating was remarkably high for one of your species." He tangled their fingers together, and Jim let everything he felt for Spock crest in him, wash over them both there in his bed, watched Spock shiver with the pleasure of it.
"You don't shield against me," he said. "I thought you might not." Spock opened his mouth, and Jim said, "No, hush. I know you're not reading my mind. I know it's only that you can feel it, when I reach out to you, like leaving your end of a connection open. You can only receive what I send."
"Yes," Spock said, and he was breathing hard, his hand still entwined with Jim's, his chest and ears flushed dark. "Or, more accurately, shielding against you is -- not impossible, but difficult. We are connected."
Jim bent down and kissed him, and thought, as loudly and clearly as he could, You're mine.
Spock spoke to McCoy, first, in his capacity as a physician. He had no desire to stress Sarek's heart, and thus far, his father's use of proxies might be seen as a reasonable medical precaution. It was also avoidance, of course, but Sarek rarely chose a path that accomplished only one task.
"Well, I wouldn't deliberately try for apoplexy," McCoy said. "Don't give me that unemotional line -- you know damn well the only reason you two haven't punched each other in the face is that it'd look bad in front of the other ambassadors."
Spock widened his eyes in false innocence and said "I am not a street brawler, Doctor. I do not make a habit of punching anyone in the face."
In the rooms his parents were sharing, he found both of them: his mother reading, his father making notes on a padd. "Father," he said, "I have come to speak with you about an issue of some importance."
"Yes," said his father. "I have been trying to discuss this with you for some time."
Spock shook his head. "No," he said. "I have come to say this: you must accept that I belong here. This is my place. This ship. These people."
"Must I?" said Sarek. "A Vulcan ship would be safer for you."
"All the risks you fear are mine to evaluate. My risks to run." He stepped into his father's space, and softened his voice. "You have missed half my life," he said. "I deny you the ability to interfere with it now."
Sarek blinked, and broke eye contact. "Are you still my son?" he asked, and suddenly he looked very old, and very tired. Amanda, watching them, had tears spilling over the fingers she had pressed to her mouth.
"I have been, and always shall be, your son," said Spock, and raised the ta'al. "Sochya eh dif, Father."
Sarek brushed his own ta'al against Spock's hand, as he had not since Spock was small. "Dif-tor heh smusma, my son," he said.
Amanda reached out and stopped him as he turned to go. "Spock," she said. "About Captain Kirk." Spock touched her cheek, briefly, and pulled away from her hand.
"He is my friend," he said.
The three of them -- himself, Bones, and Spock -- headed to the bridge together, after the last of the delegates beamed down. "Well," Bones said, in the turbolift, "I don't know but that I'm glad to see the back of them. D'you know how many hangover hypos I've had to distribute, the past two weeks?"
"And how many headache hypos for the crew," Jim said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I think I came in for three, myself."
Bones made a disgruntled noise. "And of course I got notice this morning that after two years of me requesting one, they're finally getting me a doctor who knows a damn thing about Vulcan physiology. Could have really used him, two weeks ago."
"You performed admirably in a challenging situation," Spock said, and Bones rocked happily on his heels before following Jim and Spock out onto the bridge.
"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Spock."
Spock tilted his head, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I assure you, I will not make a habit of it."
Jim laughed, and leaned into that feeling of connection, pushing happiness down it. Spock met his eyes, and Jim knew he felt it, warmth stretching between them like light as they took up their stations.
"On course for Rigel V, as ordered, sir," said Chekov, and Jim replied, "Warp factor 2. Steady as she goes." The Enterprise slipped forward, into the twisting light of warp, and in the corner of his mind, he could swear he felt Spock relax.