Inside us there is a word we cannot pronounce and that is who we are.

— Anthony Marra

1.

“Energize.”

The familiar staticky hum swallowed them up and a moment later, they found themselves in a copse of alien trees. Kirk looked around warily, but there was no one in sight. Spock was eyeing the stout, pale trees with interest: their limbs were strangely thick, and they did not appear to have leaves or needles of any sort. He made a quiet “hm” noise in the back of his throat, itching absently under his hat.

“Come on,” Kirk said in a low voice, and Spock followed him out into the sunlight.

The grove was in the middle of what looked to be a park. The scarlet field spread out around them, with aliens scattered like grazing sheep. The locals were indeed humanoid, Kirk could see that see from a distance. Their clothes were, however, oddly puffy—or was it their bodies?

“Perhaps the temperature,” Spock said, thinking aloud.

Kirk looked at him.

“It is a pleasant enough temperature for you, a human,” Spock said, “But perhaps, for this species, it is cold.”

“Is it a pleasant temperature for you?”

“No less pleasant than the room temperature of the Enterprise,” Spock answered, adjusting his tricorder. “This is 15.3 degrees cooler.”

Kirk frowned, turning back to their surroundings. He knew Spock was used to the sub-Vulcan temperature of the Enterprise. But it was always sad to remember that their home was, in such a fundamental way, inhospitable to his first officer.

“What else are you reading on the tricorder?” he asked.

“There is a settlement in that direction,” Spock replied, pointing. “About three kilometers.”

“You think the Decadendron will be there?”

“Perhaps not, but I can think of no better place to start looking.”

“Well then.”

The two disguised officers made their way across the red field. As they drew close to the first few humanoids, Spock began to take tricorder readings, but something about them caught his eye. What was it? He glanced down at the readings—chemical variations within the normal range—then back at the humanoids. One was eyeing the Captain with a similar mystification. Something was out of place. But what? Spock’s mouth was open before he quite knew what he was going to say.

“Captain,” he said, reaching out instinctively. Kirk stopped, feeling Spock’s hand on his arm. They were still 5.6 meters from the group of aliens.

“What is it, Mr. Spock?”

“Their... ears, sir,” said Spock. The words seemed to come of their own accord. He had not consciously noticed anything unusual about these aliens because, well, for him, it wasn’t unusual. But now that he said it, he registered it—they had pointed ears. All of them.

Kirk looked round in surprise and saw that Spock, of course, was right. Pointed ears. He turned back to his first officer with a look of—of what? Surprise? Bemusement? Chagrin?

Spock was looking rather pleased. He pulled off his hat and presented it to the captain.

“I believe... for once, I will not stand out among the local population,” Spock said.

Kirk took the hat and looked from it to his first officer. Spock’s eyes were smiling.

“I suppose it’s overdue,” Kirk said, pulling the hat on with a sigh. He tugged it down, then reached up unthinkingly and to fix Spock’s hair, where static electricity had left it standing up. “Planet after planet, humanoid species after humanoid species,” he said, stroking down the flyaway strands, “at least one was bound to have pointed ears, weren’t they?”

“Statistically speaking, sir?” Spock asked, as Kirk finished and lowered his hand. “One in approximately every 1004 humanoid species, according to current knowledge. Adjusted to include this new species we have just added to the data.”

“Bully for us,” Kirk said, with another glance over his shoulder. He tugged the hat down again, over his ears, frowning slightly. “Look alright?”

Spock stared at him for a second, eyeing the familiar features under the unusual headgear. They did not look so familiar now. The disappearance of Jim’s hair and forehead made him look... different, Spock thought. A slight shift in perception, surely borne of the brain’s overdeveloped facial processing center.

“It suits you, Captain,” was what he said.

Kirk’s eyebrows rose. “Why, thank you, Mr. Spock,” he said, and smiled at the unexpected compliment. There was a second of silence. Each held the other’s gaze, as if either or both of them wanted to say something more. But the second passed almost unnoticed, and Kirk said, “Shall we?”

Spock nodded and they resumed their walk towards the town. Alien eyes followed them as they crossed the scarlet grass.

*   *   *

Two Hours Earlier

Captain’s Log, Stardate 6045. The Oncocyclus Virus has broken out in the Section C quarters: highly contagious and deadly if left untreated. Doctor McCoy knows how to make the antidote, but we lack the rare compound needed to synthesize it... Science Officer Spock has determined the closest source of the compound, a plant growing on nearby planet Pardanthus. The plant is called...

“Oh, dammit. What’s it called?”

Beep. Kirk paused the recorder, jerking forward in his seat and picking up his PADD. Tap tap. “Ah.” Beep.

The plant is called Decadendron and its leaves contain the compound McCoy needs. So, upon our arrival at the planet, Mr. Spock and I are beaming down to collect the necessary samples.

*

Empty.

Spock breathed in deeply. He focused on the air rushing into his nose, down his trachea, into his lungs, filling his chest until there was no more space. Then slowly, even more slowly, he breathed out, controlling the flow of air with attention. It did not—should not—matter that he did this every day. To meditate properly was to defamiliarize, to focus on the everyday as sharply as if it were completely new. Breathing was not automatic now: he had to do it with purpose, with focus. In... and out.

With each breath, the concerns of the day washed away like imprints on a beach. Spock saw small, foamy waves, rolling over the imprints—Oncocyclus outbreak in Section C, most recent conversation with Jim, upcoming mission on Pardanthus, disguising identity from the Pardanthan population—and breath by breath, melting them into the sand. A few breaths later and Spock was submerged in the meditative trance, breathing in cool, clear water.

*

The complication in our mission is the population of Pardanthus. It is a society of intelligent humanoids, currently in their computer revolution—roughly corresponding to our own late 20th century. Thus the prime directive is in full effect, and Mr. Spock and I will have to beam in and out undetected...

It will be a great relief to have the crew back on their feet and the quarantine lifted. Lieutenant Sulu’s absence, in particular, is keenly felt. No one guides the Enterprise with the same... deftness.

Kirk paused here. Not much else to add, really.

“The temporary closure of the ship’s gardens is also keenly felt,” he continued absently. “Though perhaps mostly by myself. The Enterprise greenhouse is in Section C, and I miss... walking there.” He bounced his fist against the arm of his chair. “With luck, treatment of the epidemic will begin by end-of-day today.”

Beep.

*

Here, in the privacy of his own mind, the powerful currents of Spock’s emotions were unlocked and allowed to be felt. First and most violent, anxiety rolled over him, cold and harsh. Concern for his crewmates’ illness, that the mission to save them would fail, worry for Jim, who had been agitated since the epidemic began, larger worries about the ship and his place in it. The fear flowed through him and he let it, breathing in and out, letting it fill his lungs... It took a few breaths but it slowly ebbed away, leaving him cool and raw.

After anxiety came anger, guilt-laced, bubbling up like a volcanic vent. The unexpected surge of irritation towards McCoy during the morning meeting. A twinge of regret that, for the fifth day since the quarantine began, he could not take his usual walk in the ship’s gardens. Frustration with the basic premise of the upcoming mission. Because though it was the best and most logical option, it still put them dangerously close to violating the prime directive—but did that ever bother the Captain? Never enough to change course, it seemed. And the added liability of him, of Spock, his alien features on this alien planet—this would be another long day of hiding himself. Such missions always made him feel... No, not ashamed, he thought, correcting his train of thought, aligning it with what he was feeling. He would not be able to let the feelings pass if he did not name them accurately. These missions made him feel... guilty. As if being a Vulcan in a crew of humans was an inconvenience.

Other memories of minor irritations from the past day trickled by and one by one, Spock let them take their course. His internal clock told him it was 10:14:05. He had less than seven more minutes until projected arrival time at the planet Pardanthus.

The emotional tide was ebbing. Spock turned to face the last few waves. Negative emotions were not the only ones he had to master.

A wave of curious excitement washed through him. The files on Pardanthus were intriguing. He let himself indulge anticipation, for the people they would meet and the new discoveries they might make.

Next (6.4 minutes left), affection—affection for his crewmates, a tug of missing Sulu on the bridge, affection for McCoy despite his tasteless joke from earlier, affection for—Jim. Risks aside, he was fond of missions such as this, when it was just the two of them. Spock allowed himself to look forward to their mission together. Then with a final breath, expelled even that warm anticipation.

Last, Spock felt the familiar but powerful rush of hot, bright hope. A dangerous emotion—at times more dangerous than any other—but it was always there. (The last emotion at the bottom of Pandora’s Box, said a voice in his head not unlike Jim’s.) Hope their mission would succeed, that the crew would be healed, that the rest of their final year of duty would be fulfilling... fulfilling how? Spock did not know what he or his crewmates sought here, in the quiet, chaotic obscurity of space. But for a moment, as he did every day in meditation, he allowed himself to hope they would find it.

*   *   *

“Correct, Captain,” Spock was saying. “As of fifteen years ago, they were at the beginning of their computer revolution. What little we know comes from the aborted anthropological survey.”

The sickbay door shwooped shut behind McCoy as he entered with an armful of clothing, picked up on his way back from the Oncocyclus quarantine. “Delivery for landing party,” he said, dropping the clothes onto his desk.

“Aborted why?”

“The anthropologists passed over this planet. Records are not precise, but it seems there was an accident among the crew, and the remaining scientists moved on.”

McCoy looked up at his crewmates, frowning. Jim had been standing with arms folded while Spock, hands clasped behind his back, explained, both of them with their heads bowed in the same direction. When McCoy interrupted, their complementary poses lapsed back to businesslike. McCoy felt something barbed and familiar in his stomach, as if he were an intruder on the family grief.

“Thank you, Bones,” said Jim, striding over with clasped hands. “I hope you got something more flattering than last time.”

“I just grabbed what I saw in the 20th century section,” McCoy answered. “I’m a doctor, not a personal stylist.”

He felt Spock’s gaze move from the captain onto him, and knew the Vulcan had detected irritation above the normal levels. Well treating deckful of patients without the proper antidote will do that to a man.

“Well we appreciate it, Bones,” Jim was saying, picking up the jeans and red button-down. “I’ll get changed.”

Spock nodded and Jim disappeared into the exam room. The Vulcan approached the desk, eyeing the remaining four items of clothing. A shirt, pants, a blue knit hat, and a gray one.

“I brought two,” McCoy explained, bobbing on his heels. “Thought you might want to pick your favorite.”

“A preference between two utilitarian items of clothing would be illogical, Doctor,” Spock said. And why had McCoy expected any different? He felt his irritation spike.

“Well pardon me,” he said heatedly. “I know you don’t like disguising yourself on missions, I thought this might make it easier. After four years, I thought I might try doing something nice. But I guess four years hasn’t been enough to teach me that friendly gestures don’t count for a Vulcan!”

Spock raised an eyebrow. Even by McCoy standards, this was a trivial matter to get emotional about. “Correct, Doctor,” he said. “Such gestures have little meaning to us.”

“Well, now you’re just being rude.”

“Perhaps it is you who is being impolite,” Spock replied, “By continuing to disregard the cultural nuances of Vulcans, even, as you say, after four years of intimate exposure to one.”

McCoy’s mouth opened, but no retort came out.

“By continuing to apply human standards to my reactions and emotions, you only succeed in proving one thing, Doctor.”

“What’s that?”

“The illogic of humans,” replied Spock simply. Continuing to hold McCoy’s gaze, he picked up the clothes. He turned just as the exam room door opened and Jim exited, uniform balled up under his arm. Spock made his way in without a word, and the door shwooped shut behind him.

Jim sat down on top of McCoy’s desk to fix his shoe. “Everything alright, Bones?” he said.

McCoy frowned at the hats, both still lying on his desk. “I don’t know, Jim,” he said. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve gotten somewhere with Spock, like I’ve gotten a peek inside that shell of his... and then he bucks me again, and it’s like I never even cracked it.” McCoy sighed, more sad than annoyed. “You know?”

A thoughtful frown was growing on Jim’s face. “...No, I suppose I don’t,” he said.

“I guess you wouldn’t,” McCoy said irritably.

“No, I just... have never thought of Spock that way,” Jim said. “That his shell... needed to be cracked. I... suppose I just wait for him to come out of it.”

“A man can only wait for so long,” McCoy growled as the exam room door reopened.

Jim glanced at the doctor, and, done tugging his sock, stood up. “All ready, Mr. Spock?”

“Ready, Captain,” Spock replied. He cast a glance at McCoy. “We shall search for the Decadendron with all possible haste, Doctor.”

“You better,” McCoy replied as Jim made for the door. Spock followed, pausing at the desk to take a hat. He picked up the blue one and with a final look at McCoy, left the sickbay.

*   *   *

The walk from the park to downtown passed mostly in familiar silence. As scans had indicated, the planet Pardanthus was peppered with bodies of water—lakes, ponds, swamps—a perforated sphere. It seemed that this civilization had evolved in harmony with its environment instead of trying, like humans, to alter it. The Pardanthans had embraced their world of water, dug a network of canals in between the natural rivers and lakes, built their houses on poles. These buildings on stilts clustered like flocks of flamingos, high above the waterline—presumably for flood season.

And flood season could be soon, Spock reflected, because, to his great interest, most of the water was frozen. They had chanced upon a very interesting time of year to observe this civilization: winter. The main canal, beside which they were walking, had a channel broken in the middle, but the rest of the rivers and smaller canals branching off were frozen solid. The primary mode of transportation, right now, seemed to be ski-doo-esque vehicles that slid along the ice, and they saw more than a few skaters. Every passing citizen they saw was warmly dressed.

“So, it is winter,” Kirk said at length.

“So it would seem, Captain,” Spock said, with another look at his tricorder. “But it is not below 32 degrees. It is 56.6 degrees.”

“Not cold enough for water to freeze.”

“No. Most interesting. This cannot be pure water—it is either water containing another chemical, one with a higher freezing point, or it is a different liquid altogether. I should like to take some samples.”

“Mm.”

“It will be interesting to learn how this environment has influenced the development of this particular culture,” said Spock. “I am surprised an anthropological study would pass over such a place.”

“Yes,” said Kirk absently. “Strange.”

Spock watched another ski-footed vehicle zoom past. Based on signage and the size of the buildings, they seemed to be getting close to the center of town. It was not a large settlement by Earth or Vulcan standards—it with its frozen canals and long-legged structures, it reminded Kirk of Old Earth Venice, though in size and format only. The buildings were (to his human eyes, anyway) practical, not ornate. Below the poles that held most buildings ten-odd feet off the ground, marsh grass and wild alien plants flourished. It almost resembled an eco-tourist resort, he thought. But it was no resort. It was a town where people lived their lives.

Bright red flyers started to appear on the support poles, proclaiming a Spring Festival. Though the date notation was, of course, foreign to them, it soon became clear the festival was today. As they continued along the canal, the more flyers and banners appeared. More and more Pardanthans appeared, flowing towards the music in the distance. Bundled-up kids on parents’ shoulders waved alien flowers made of fabric. Kiosks by the canal’s edge sold food and light-up trinkets. A nearby local blew an exuberant horn, startling Spock.

Kirk began to fear getting separated in the crowd, and getting sidetracked. They needed directions, a destination. He tugged Spock’s sleeve and together they navigated laterally across the flow of people. On the red grass below some building, near a crowing street vendor, Kirk leaned against a pole and got his bearings. The street vendor’s sharp voice rang out, claiming he could give psychic readings. 

“End of winter, then, I suppose?” Kirk offered.

“If not now, then soon,” said Spock. “Captain, I suggest we ask a local for directions. As interesting as this festival might be...”

“We’re not on a sightseeing mission,” Kirk finished for him. “You’re right. I’ll—”

“Gentlemen!”

Both turned.

“Psychic readings, only fifteen for five minutes,” the fortune-teller said. He was tall and thin, in a crisp green suit of some sort, and he was gesturing theatrically at his table. It was set up with trinkets that, presumably, held a mystical connotation for Pardanthans; to them, it was an unusual set of geometric shapes and what looked like some tree branches.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Kirk said, turning back to Spock.

“A skeptic, eh? Think I’m a hack?”

“We’re just in a hurry, that’s all,” Kirk replied without turning. To Spock, he made a face.

“You don’t believe me!” said the fortune-teller, voice theatrically shrieky. Passers-by were beginning to look over. “I can see what is in your heart, stranger! I know the secrets you each keep!”

Spock raised an eyebrow at that. “What would be the point of asking you about our own secrets?” he said.

“You doubt me too! They doubt me!” he said, and pointed at them dramatically. A few passers-by slowed down.

Kirk finally rounded on him. “Sir, we didn’t come here to—”

“You! I know your secret! Stop right there, don’t come closer.”

Spock stepped up behind the captain. The onlookers would be confused by a nerve pinch, but it might become necessary.

“Listen—” Kirk began.

“And you!” said the fortune-teller, pointing at Spock. “Do you know... that he... is not a man?”

“I beg your pardon?” said Spock.

“Not born a man, anyway!” the fortune-teller cried. The onlookers exchanged looks. Kirk’s shoulders stiffened. Not this. It was always a risk on less advanced planets, but it was so unlikely to come up...

“If you are referring to the Captain’s gender, it is no secret to me,” Spock replied. “And you are doing so most tastelessly.”

The fortune teller frowned at Spock’s lack of surprise, but quickly regained his balance. “And you!” he said again, pointing at Kirk. “You do not even know his true name!”

The anger flickering in Kirk’s stomach flared. Forget about a nerve pinch, he was going to punch this guy outright. Spock’s hand closed on his arm.

“Thank you sir, but we do not—”

“Listen, you don’t know the first thing about—”

“That’s enough!”

A new voice cut in. All three turned. A thin man with tan skin and an orange hat over his (presumably) pointed ears broke from the crowd and stepped in between them.

“Let’s go,” he said to Kirk and Spock, and before they could protest, he had them herded out from under the platform and into a paved alley. The fortune-teller’s shriek soon blended with the babble of the crowd.

The orange-hatted stranger turned, anxiously twisting the sweatshirt he held in his hands. “Gosh, I am so sorry about that,” he said. “Are you two alright?”

“Quite alright, thank you,” Spock replied.

“I’d hate for you to get a bad impression on your first visit,” the Pardanthan said. “This is your first visit, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Kirk said.

“I could tell,” orange hat said with a grin. He gestured at them. “Didn’t know how cold it would be, huh?”

Kirk laughed politely, forgetting.

“Aren’t you freezing?” he said, looking aghast. “You, you don’t even have a hat!”

“Well, where we, uh, come from...” Kirk began, looking at Spock. But Spock was looking at the stranger.

“I am somewhat cold,” Spock said straightforwardly.

Kirk’s eyebrows rose.

“Do you want my sweater?” orange hat said, holding up the one in his hand. “I brought it just in case, but you won’t be able to enjoy the festival if you’re shivering.”

He untied it and held it out. Spock hesitated—but, it was logical. The man was offering. And he was cold. He took it.

“Thank you,” he said. “Very generous of you, sir.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you,” the man said with an apologetic look at Kirk. Kirk looked back at him, mouth open. He was still processing the cumulative shock of getting outed by a psychic, and witnessing Spock accept help from someone. Now he was being offered warmer clothes by a stranger when it was nearly sixty degrees. Kirk, in fact, was rather hot in this hat.

“That’s... quite alright,” was what he said. “Thank you.”

“So,” said the man hesitantly. “Do you two... gentleman... know where you’re going?” At the word ‘gentleman,’ his eyes flicked away from Kirk. Kirk’s stomach lurched.

“In fact, we do not,” Spock replied. “If we could impose upon your generosity once more. We are looking for a botanical institution, or a university with a botanical research department. Do you know of any nearby?”

“Oh, you mean the Institute?” the man said. “With the museum?”

Spock glanced at Kirk. “Yes,” Kirk said.

“Sure, that’s not far,” he said. “If you follow the main canal up a ways, look for the glass conservatory dome. You’ll see it. Ask for Professor Dorian.”

Spock bowed his head. “Thank you very much.”

“Of course,” the man said with another easy smile. “I hope that you enjoy the festival, and the rest of your stay.”

“If our acquaintance with you is any indication, I am sure it will be most pleasant,” said Spock. The man grinned and gave them both a stiff, closed-fist wave before disappearing up the alley.

Spock turned as soon as the man was gone. “Are you alright, Jim?”

“Yeah, yeah...” said Kirk, staring at a wall beyond Spock’s shoulder. “I just...” He blinked, and met Spock’s concerned gaze. “Just haven’t had to deal with that in a while.”

The thin line of Spock’s mouth widened in what Kirk knew was a sympathetic frown.

“Nice fellow, though,” Kirk added, jerking his head after orange hat.

“Yes,” said Spock, folding his arms. “I would be interested to know if such generosity is culturally expected on Pardanthus, or just particular to that gentleman.”

“Are you really cold?” Kirk asked, knowing immediately it was a stupid question.

“This area is well below the average temperature of Vulcan. This sweater is helpful.”

Kirk scrubbed his jaw, looking at his first officer. “I’m sorry, Spock,” he said. “I should have asked...”

“You would not have been able to help.”

Kirk nodded slowly, lost in thought. Spock watched him with concern.

“I suppose we’d better... go see this Professor Dorian then,” he finally said.

Spock nodded. He cast Kirk a last look, then turned and led the way back to the main canal.

They rejoined the flow of people and let it carry them, bubbling and excited. Spock felt more focused now that he was not so cold, but he could sense Kirk’s continued disorientation beside him.

“Captain,” he said after a few minutes. “Are you quite sure you’re alright?”

“Mm? Yes. I’m fine.” Kirk wrang his hands vaguely. “A lot of rather... minor things going on, that’s all.”

“You are bothered by what the fortune-teller said,” Spock said.

“Yes,” said Kirk slowly. “I mean, first of all, how did he know any of that?”

“He may have genuinely been a telepath. But a poor one. And tactless,” he added.

Kirk smiled humorlessly. “It’s not what he said about me that’s bothering me. Nothing I haven’t heard before, you know.” He shook his head, frowning at the pointy-eared Pardanthans walking in front of them. “No, actually, what he said about you bothered me.”

“Captain?”

“That I don’t know your ‘real’ name,” said Kirk, frowning. “I suppose I never thought of it like that. But you go by Spock. That’s all that matters. Right? I’ve never... wondered about your full name." He looked at Spock. “Should I have?”

Spock thought about that. “No,” he said. “I do not feel it is important.”

“What does your family call you?”

“They call me Spock. Sometimes, my ‘full’ name, as you say. But, as you know, it is not pronounceable by humans.”

Kirk looked away, troubled somehow.

“But you can pronounce it,” he said, “Obviously. You could say it to me, if you wanted me to know.”

“As I said, Captain,” Spock said. “I do not consider it important.”

There was a pause.

“Are you curious about it?” Spock said.

Kirk shook his head mutely. He was bothered by this Spock fact he didn’t know, but it was not that he wanted to know—he was bothered by its very existence. He wished the fact itself did not exist.

They walked a few more paces in silence, riding the flow of the excited crowd.

“I have never asked about your birth name,” Spock said unexpectedly.

Kirk looked sharply up at him.

“Are you curious about it?” Kirk said.

“No,” Spock replied. “It is not your name. It is essentially trivia.”

Kirk had his mouth open to reply, but at the ‘trivia’ comment, he huffed a laugh.

“Incisive and correct as always, Mr. Spock,” Jim Kirk said. "Indeed it is."

*   *   *

As orange hat had said, the Institute was easy to spot. It was a beautiful old building, on lower stilts than the rest. A couple of glass domes netted with metalwork like the wing of a fly. The sun lit certain angled windows with rainbows, and Kirk had a sudden childhood memory of spilled oil in a supermarket parking lot. Spock noted the scaffolding on one of the domes, probably for restoration work.

As they reached the top of the staircase, a sign above the entrance proclaimed “Free Admission for Spring Festival,” but inside was deserted. Kirk chatted with the front desk attendant, asking about the Institute and the professor, while Spock read some brochures.

“She’s here today,” Kirk informed Spock after a few moments.

“The professor?” he said.

“Yes. He says her lab is on the other end of this wing.” Kirk pointed. “Fancy a stroll through the gardens, Mr. Spock?”

Spock’s eyes smiled at him from his usual impassive face. Kirk grinned wide enough for both of them.

Through the heavy doors, they saw at once that this was unlike any conservatory on Earth or on Vulcan. Tall, thick trees grew like pillars, arching overhead like church buttresses to those shimmering windows. A tumult of plants grew at the foot of the enormous trees, and like the plants outside, the leaves here were all red. Brick, scarlet, magenta, vermillion, crimson—the garden was a riot of color, but not discordantly so. The aesthetic language of this culture was, of course, alien to them, but there was something in the arrangement of colors and shapes that was... harmonious. Almost reverential. Mist drifted down as slow as dust.

Kirk and Spock’s footsteps thudded softly as they passed below the trees. Kirk found himself holding his breath. They could see a fountain up ahead, where, in a church or temple on Earth, the altar might have been.

“Captain,” said Spock, breaking the humid silence. His voice was rough and he cleared his throat. “Captain—did the receptionist tell you if this Institute is also a place of worship?”

“No...” said Kirk slowly. “No, it’s not, anymore. It’s a museum now, part of the Institute. But you’re right, it used to be... I got the impression that, whatever religion this was part of, it’s mostly extinct.”

Spock nodded thoughtfully. They had reached the fountain and stopped in front of it. It was cut into a curve of rock, with a large, exotic flower growing on top. Dark red shrubs bowed over the pool, their reflections shivering in the water below.

Kirk wiped the dew off the explanatory plaque while Spock studied the flower. It was most comparable to an earth Iris, but even that was a stretch. It was... beautiful, Spock thought, with an unbidden twinge of the heart. Its long, burgundy leaves shone with mist, below the blossom, a subdued yellow-green.

“‘The aphra ara,’” Kirk read aloud quietly. “‘A fascinating and beautiful plant in its own right, this icon of the Aphran Church came into the Institute’s possession almost twenty years ago, and is here preserved for both its rarity and historical importance.’”

Spock glanced at his captain, reading from the plaque. Jim had taken off his hat, and beads of mist peppered his hair, clung to his eyelashes and the fine hair on his cheeks and chin. Spock felt his gaze pulled back to the aphra ara and let his eyes drift away from his captain.

“‘Though not the greatest of Pardanthus’s spiritual institutions, the Aphran Church was the last to endure. But with the rise of information technology in the late 1050’s and early 60’s, even Aphran Church membership dropped off sharply. Pardanthans born after the 1070’s report less than 30% belief in life after death, and less than 10% belief in the spiritual network of flora their own grandparents once believed in. But in the words of the famous priest, Even the worship of earthly things may die with the onset of reason.’”

Kirk smiled sadly. He lifted his gaze back to the apparently famous flower with a glance at Spock. He did a double take.

“Spock?”

“I—my apologies, Captain,” said Spock hoarsely. His eyes were fixed on the flower, and his cheeks were wet—not with mist, but tears.

“Spock?” Kirk repeated dumbly as another tear slipped free. “Are you—?”

His first officer was wiping his face with the cuff of the borrowed sweatshirt, as hastily as dignity would permit. “I’m—sorry, Captain, I do not know what has affected me,” he said. “It will not happen again.”

Kirk put his hand on the Vulcan’s arm. “It’s... there’s nothing to apologize for, Spock.”

“Most unprofessional,” Spock said, voice congested.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kirk said softly.

Spock’s face was pale, but where he had rubbed his eyes, his skin was flushed green. Kirk stared up at him, hand on his arm, trying to say silently that he would not—could not—judge him for what he could not control. Least of all for a show of emotion. Spock stared back. At last he gave a tiny nod, and Kirk let go.

“Through here, I think,” Kirk said, still in a low voice. Spock nodded again, and led the way.

They passed into a tiny waiting room with bookshelves, a reception desk, and more than a few potted plants. It was of the same modern construction as the Institute lobby, but the books and patterned carpet created a warmer atmosphere. The desk plaque said ‘Offices of Professor Dorian.’

“I suppose we wait here for her,” Kirk said, glancing at one of the chairs and back at Spock. He touched his elbow lightly. “You alright, Spock?”

Spock nodded.

“She’s here,” said a high voice. Both looked towards the desk in surprise. A head rose up from behind it. “Professor Dorian is in her lab, through there.”

The speaker was a girl of probably fifteen, with wavy brown hair, tan skin, and pointed ears. She surveyed them with the look of a teenager deciding between caginess and acquiescence.

“I can call her for you, if you want,” she added, in a tone that clearly asked, but what will I get out of it?

“Will she be back soon?” Kirk replied, approaching the desk.

The girl shrugged.

“Are you her secretary?” Kirk said, knowing the answer.

“Maybe,” replied the girl, sitting up straighter in the desk chair. She closed the novel in her hands.

“And you don’t mind being cooped up inside on the day of the festival?”

“What, the spring festival?” she said, with a distasteful squint. “We get off from school, I’m not going to waste my day there.”

Seeing Kirk’s unchanged expression, she added, “It’s more of a little kid thing.”

“Right.”

“So what do you want with m—with the professor?”

But at that moment the door behind her opened and a brown-haired, lab-coated woman appeared. The girl slumped back in her chair, looking quickly down at her book.

“Hey honey, are th—oh,” said the woman. “Hello, how can I help you?”

“You are Professor Dorian?” said Spock, coming up behind Kirk. “Professor of evolutionary botany?”

“That’s me,” she said. “This is my daughter, Lyda. I trust she gave you a polite reception.”

“Absolutely,” said Kirk with a quick glance at the girl, who looked back at him impassively. The mother and child were very noticeably related. “My name is Jim Kirk and this is my friend Mr. Spock. We’re looking for a particular local plant and we hoped you might be able to help us.”

The professor looked a little strangely at them, but nodded. “Sure, I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “Come on back.”

*

If there had been a lot of potted plants in the waiting room, the professor’s office was almost a second greenhouse (though on this planet, perhaps it would be more rightly called a red house). Alien plants short, tall, from scarlet to magenta, grew in pots on almost every flat surface. She led them in and sat down behind her desk, offering them both wooden chairs with scratchy cushions.

“Won’t you take off your hat?” she said to Kirk as Spock shrugged off the sweatshirt. Kirk shook his head with a smile.

“I’m alright, thank you.”

“So you two aren’t from around here?” she said.

“No, madam,” Spock replied.

“Warmer, where you’re from?” she said to Kirk, leaning on her elbows.

“Colder,” he said with another smile.

“Too cold for this ‘plant’ you need?” 

“Decadendron,” Spock said. “We require some leaves for medicinal purposes. But it is...” He glanced at the captain. “...a matter of some haste. So rather than wander the local wilderness, we thought it best to consult an expert.”

“Decadendron,” she said.

“Indeed,” Spock said.

There was a pause.

“So what sort of medicinal purposes do you need it for?” the professor said, tucking her dark hair behind her pointed ear. Spock eyed the ear—a small, curved ear, like Earth’s crescent moon.

“A... friend of ours is a doctor,” said Kirk. “He needs it to create a special antidote, an antidote that requires...”

“The compound choniastrum,” Spock finished for him.

“...Which is found in the Decadendron plant,” Kirk continued, as if it were one unbroken sentence spoken by both of them.

“Alright,” the professor said. “But antidote for what? What’s the illness?”

Spock raised an eyebrow, glancing at the captain. Prime directive, Kirk thought, feeling his glance. What a foolish tiny detail—an unheard-of disease on an alien planet where they knew no native diseases to name instead—and even if they did, a scientist like her would undoubtedly call their bluff. The officers’ eyes met. Kirk finished processing the dilemma in less than a second and his mouth made the decision for him.

“Oncocyclus,” he said to her.

The professor looked back at him, expression unchanged.

“Hm,” she said. “Haven’t heard of that one.”

“It is quite deadly,” Spock said. There was another pause. What was it she wanted? “We can, of course, offer payment for your assistance...”

“Oh” she said. With a businesslike gust of breath, the professor straightened up in her chair. “No, that won’t be necessary. We’re a public institution, we’re here to help. I have some Decadendron samples in my lab.” She looked from Spock to Kirk again. “It’s just not every day a pair of foreigners come to my office looking for a mundane local shrub, saying it can cure some mysterious disease.”

Neither officer spoke. There was a question in her eyes that Kirk recognized, but could not answer.

At last she stood. “My lab is this way.”

They followed her down a hallway and through another door into a cramped, crowded laboratory. It was packed with instruments of unknown purpose and function, and lined with display cases of leaves and seeds and roots. Spock paused at one of the machines, examining its odd interface. The professor led Kirk the rest of the way to the display cabinets, and pulled out a ring of keys. A file cabinet stood in the corner below a skylight, with a large, almost cactus-like plant on top of it. Kirk eyed it—the only living plant in the lab.

The professor was thumbing through some drawers. “Deca...deca... aha.” Click. She pulled a plastic case out and presented it to Kirk. “Decadendron leaves. Dried sample from the Institute gardens.”

Kirk took the box with a grateful smile. “We really appreciate it. You’re certain you won’t accept payment?”

“That little box is worth more than those leaves,” she said with a wry smile. “I can get a fresh sample any old time.”

“Thank you...”

“No problem.”

The professor’s bright eyes searched Kirk’s face. He almost had to bite his tongue, so strong was the urge to confess to her. To tell her the truth. He somehow knew that she would understand.

It was she who broke the connection, looking up at Spock as he approached. “Anything else I can help you fellows with?” she said.

“Nothing comes to mind...” Kirk said, turning to Spock with the question in his eyes. Spock shook his head.

“No, madam,” he said to her. “You have been most helpful.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she said.

Back in the waiting room, her daughter was immersed in her book. Lyda looked up as soon as they entered.

“How long will you gentleman be in town?” the professor asked.

“We’ll be leaving... tomorrow, most likely,” said Kirk. “We have to get these samples to our doctor as soon as possible.”

“What if they don’t work?” said Lyda.

All three adults looked at her.

“I mean, if they don’t work, will you have to come back?” she said.

Kirk and Spock looked at each other. The professor’s eyes widened, looking at her daughter.

“I suppose we will,” Kirk said.

“All the way back? That’ll be pretty inconvenient, won’t it?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. Both these women were clearly very perceptive, but also very indirect. Perhaps circumlocution was a local quirk. But if Spock’s theory was correct, that should not make the difference...

“Professor Dorian,” Kirk said to her, with a friendly nod. She returned the nod along with that hand signal, the stiff closed-fist wave. Kirk returned the gesture, as did Spock.

“You have our thanks,” Spock said.

“For the leaves, and the box,” said Kirk.

The professor smiled.

“A pleasure meeting you both,” she said.

*

Professor Dorian watched the conservatory door clack shut behind Mr. Kirk and Mr. Spock with a bemused look. “Very odd,” she murmured.

“So who were they?” Lyda asked.

“I don’t know,” her mother said frankly.

“But they were weird, right?” Lyda said. “There was something up with them. Like, where were they from?”

Dorian’s stomach clenched. Dangerous territory. “I... don’t know.”

“And what was their, like. Vibe?”

Professor Dorian looked at her daughter. “Vibe?”

“You know, between them,” Lyda said, gesturing. “Were they like... together?”

“You mean were they a couple?” her mother said.

“I think they were,” Lyda said, looking back at the door, her expression almost morbidly fascinated. “You didn’t see them in here, when they thought they were alone...”

“That’s enough, Lyda,” Dorian said more sharply. “I saw them. Whatever their relationship is, it’s not for us to understand.”

*

They walked out the front door of the Institute and paused, looking at the sun setting over the city. A few blocks away, there was a cloud of light over the festival. They would need a secluded place to beam back up unnoticed; they headed along small canal shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Spock,” Kirk said after a moment.

“Captain?”

“Are you alright?” he asked, thinking of the aphra ara. “Earlier, you...?”

“I am quite alright, Captain,” Spock said stiffly.

They turned into a small alley.

“I don’t want you to feel... embarrassed,” Kirk said. “Some things just make us cry, with no reason—”

“Embarrassment is a human emotion,” Spock replied firmly. “And tears are a physiological reaction. Captain, I would prefer not to discuss it.”

Kirk looked at him, feeling some human embarrassment himself. His first officer did not meet his eye. However much more forthcoming Spock was with him, he still had a limit to what he would share with Kirk. Usually, the captain came close to that limit without hitting it. Separately, both officers felt a twinge of betrayal: Spock, that the Captain would ask such a thing, and Kirk, that Spock would not share it.

“My apologies, Mr. Spock.”

*   *   *

Captain’s Log, supplemental. Stardate 6045.9.

Mr. Spock and I successfully obtained a sample of Decadendron leaves from the planet’s surface and delivered it to Doctor McCoy. He is currently synthesizing the antidote. His progress report is due in the next half hour.

A strange mission, a strange day. We beamed down on the outskirts of a city and walked in on foot... where we were... accosted by a local claiming to be a psychic. It seems he did have some telepathic ability, because he knew about my being trans and not knowing Spock’s full Vulcan name...

Kirk’s voice trailed off. Just have to get through the log, he told himself, then sleep. He continued:

We were then ‘rescued,’ in a manner of speaking, by a friendly local who gave us directions to the botanical institute. We made our way there, where we saw... a famous Pardanthan flower. Then we met Professor Dorian: a very interesting woman. She gave us the Decadendron leaves we needed, but it took some... circuitous conversation to get them without blowing our cover.

Kirk’s fist bounced on the arm of his chair, remembering the professor’s intent eyes.

It seemed she knew, almost from the first, that we were not from her planet. She would not come out and say so directly, but something about her... Kirk spoke slowly, thinking aloud. Some sort of longing... Not the longing of an explorer, bound to her homeworld, but something else... I believe that the professor... is not from the planet Pardanthus.

That was it. Of course. Now that he said it...

I do not know where she is from—Vulcan, perhaps, or else her pointed ears are surgical enhancements—but Professor Dorian knows that we are from the Federation because she is too.

But why, then, didn’t she just ask us outright?

Beep-beep.

“McCoy to Captain.”

Click. “Kirk here.”

“Bad news, Jim. The choniastrum compound isn’t working.”

“Not working?”

“No. The leaves are dehydrated. Too brittle to extract properly. The techs tried rehydrating them, but the compound keeps breaking down. We need fresh samples.”

McCoy sounded as exhausted as Kirk felt—too exhausted even for crankiness. Kirk sighed.

“I’m sorry, Bones.”

McCoy grunted.

“We’ll return first thing tomorrow and get fresh samples. Will that be enough time?”

“It should be enough,” McCoy said with a sigh. “There’s still twenty-four hours before patient zero goes past the point of no return. But we’ll be cutting it close.”

“Aren’t we always?”

McCoy grunted again.

“Try and get some sleep, Bones. Kirk out.”

*

Empty.

Spock emptied his mind, breathing deeply. The last thoughts of the day—processing the mission, the news that the choniastrum had failed and that they would have to return to Pardanthus—were loud and stubborn, unwilling to be quieted.

Once in his meditative trance, Spock tried to let his feelings take their course in the usual manner. He let the panicked thoughts about the failed antidote and the twenty-four hour deadline play themselves out; he let pass his hurt at McCoy’s hat-related outburst; he examined—but made no effort to release—his sympathy for Professor Dorian. Her position could not be easy. Such an emotion need not be dismissed.

But Spock found his daily emotional roll call bizarrely short. After those three, nothing more presented itself. His mind rolled back over the events of the day, chastising his processing center. There was a lot to go over. First of all, why had he cried in that church-garden hybrid? Spock dove in determinedly, but could find no tangible reason. He collected and dropped several theories. Nothing made rational sense. Frustrating. It took a few breaths to return to empty peace.

Drifting again, Spock re-engaged with the question. He could sense them there, those emotions he did not want to acknowledge. Like his shadow, darting along on the ocean floor. Acknowledge them now, here, where it’s safe. But something in his conscious mind dragged him up, like gravity pulling him to the surface.

He broke the surface and gasped. The waves tipped and slid around him. Spock spat the saltwater out of his mouth, rubbing his eyes. When he opened them, there was Jim, treading water beside him, the spray clinging to wisps of hair that stuck out from under his hat.

“Nothing to apologize for, Spock,” he said.

Spock jerked awake. He fallen asleep mid-meditation. Some Vulcan, he thought to himself with no real malice. There would be time to process tomorrow morning. The first officer of the Enterprise stood and made his way to the bathroom.

2.

It happened that morning in the turbolift.

“Transporter room,” said Kirk after the doors had shut. With a familiar hum, the lift rose a few floors before stopping to admit one passenger.

“Morning, Spock.”

“Good morning, Captain.”

Spock took ahold of the handle and the doors re-closed.

“Sleep well?” Kirk said.

“Not very well, no,” Spock replied.

Kirk looked at him with mild surprise; unusually candid, for Spock. The Vulcan was dressed in the 20th century shirt and pants again, and, Kirk found himself thinking, they suited him. There was some untouchable nostalgia in those short sleeves and that large collar, the gridded print tucked into the high-waisted pants. Kirk had an impression of leaves changing in autumn—as if Spock were a maple turning red. He was holding the borrowed sweatshirt in his other hand.

“And you, sir?”

“Not so well, either,” Kirk said with a sigh. “I was thinking about the Oncocyclus outbreak. And the professor.”

"Indeed."

“Spock,” said Kirk slowly. “She...”

“Is not a native of Pardanthus.”

“No! That’s what I thought too,” Kirk said. “How did you know?”

“Among other things,” he replied, “She has physical characteristics reminiscent of an acquaintance of mine.”

“A Vulcan acquaintance?”

“A half-Vulcan, half-Romulan acquaintance,” Spock said, looking at him.

Kirk’s eyebrows lifted. “Half-Vulcan, half-Romulan...” he repeated thoughtfully. “You think Professor Dorian is too?”

“It is a possibility.”

“I was thinking of asking her.”

“Outright?” Spock said. “She seems unwilling to discuss it.”

“I can make the offer, without actually talking about it. There’s ways of doing that.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Diplomacy,” he said. “I am familiar with the concept.”

Kirk felt laughter fizz in his chest like a shaken soda. He grinned at Spock, not knowing why this tiny, routine sarcasm was so charming in that moment. Not wondering.

Spock looked back at his smiling captain, and he suddenly felt a strange force shudder between them, a staticky resonance. It was as if uncountable moments were overlapping—moments from their past, moments from a million possible futures, they all seemed to converge between himself and Jim. Like an accordion they stretched and then compressed and Spock, paralyzed by the hum of the moment, could only stare, wide-eyed, at his captain’s smile.

Kirk’s laugh faded amiably, his eyes still on Spock. His first officer had a strange look on his face.

There was a pause.

“Spock?” said Kirk.

Spock’s voice sounded like he was making a call through heavy interference; “Yes, Captain,” he said.

With a woosh, the turbolift door opened. A startled ensign holding a PADD stood on the other side.

“Captain,” she said in a high voice.

Kirk turned. “Good morning, ensign,” he said.

“Is the lift working, sir?”

Kirk glanced at his first officer. “Has there been a delay?”

She nodded, swallowing.

“Our fault ensign. She’s all yours.”

*   *   *

“Good morning, Professor Dorian! Good morning Lyda.”

“Good morning,” she said distractedly to the receptionist. “Any deliveries?”

“No, are you expecting one?”

“No,” Dorian said, digging through her bag for something.

“But you do have some visitors,” the receptionist said.

Dorian’s head snapped up.

“Visitors?”

“Yeah, two guys. They’re waiting in your office.”

She closed her bag slowly. Lyda bobbed from her heels to her toes.

“One tall with dark hair, the other sort of... round?” Lyda said. “With a hat?”

“Yep, a hat,” confirmed the receptionist. “Were they here yesterday, or...?”

But Professor Dorian was already hurrying away, yanking her daughter by the arm. “Let go!” Lyda protested.

They burst through her waiting room door. Both men stood up.

“Professor.”

Dorian smiled. “Mr. Kirk and Mr. Spock. What a pleasant surprise.” She came in slowly, letting the door shut. Lyda pulled out of her grasp. “I trust you’re both well?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Mr. Spock said. “Lyda,” he added with a nod to the girl. Kirk smiled at her. Lyda folded her arms.

“What can we help you with?” Dorian said.

“We unfortunately need another favor," Kirk said. "Although hopefully, it’s a simple one."

“The Decadendron you gave us,” Spock said, “Was dehydrated. Our doctor requires fresh leaves to better extract the Choniastrum.”

“Oh,” she said. “You want directions to a Decadendron shrub?”

“It sounds silly, but, yes,” Kirk said with an easy smile. “And, we wanted to return your box.”

He produced the clear plastic case she had given them yesterday, and held it out.

Dorian smiled again, slowly took the case. “Well... that will be easy. There’s plenty of Decadendron growing in the Institute gardens.”

“The—?” Kirk jerked his head, indicating the conservatory of the aphra ara.

“No, no,” she said. “The arboretum, the outdoor gardens. This way. Lyda, you stay here.”

Deaf to her daughter’s protests, Dorian led them through the door and down the hallway to the fire exit.

The Institute arboretum was a beautiful place in the summer, a riot of reds; now, on the verge of spring, it was mostly bare. But she still found it beautiful, the vein-like branches and quaint ponds and gloomy patches of marsh. The cool air soothed her flushed face.

Dorian's time for deliberation was almost up. She was going to have to choose, and soon.

“There,” she said, pointing. Two sets of eyes followed her hand, over the creek to a line of auburn shrubs. “You’re lucky they keep their leaves year-round.”

“Indeed we are,” Spock said.

“One thing,” Dorian said, holding up a finger before either could start down the stairs. “Today I... do require payment.”

Kirk and Spock exchanged a look.

“Of what?” Kirk said.

“A conversation,” she said, pointing at him, “With you.”

Kirk smiled rather smugly at that. “Why, Professor Dorian. I was hoping you would say so.”

*   *   *

Back in the professor’s leafy office, Kirk settled into an uncomfortable chair and folded his hands, listening to the muffled mother-daughter argument on the other side of the door.

After a few minutes, the exterior door shut and the professor reappeared, alone.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “Teenagers—you know.”

“Only from having been one,” Kirk replied. She smiled, sitting down at her desk.

“So,” said the professor. “You and Mr. Spock.”

“Me and Mr. Spock.”

“You’re... from the Federation,” she said slowly.

Kirk unfolded his hands and nodded. “I’m Captain James Kirk, of the Starship Enterprise. Mr. Spock is my First Officer. We're from Starfleet.”

She nodded slowly. “I thought you might be.” Her face was blank and focused, as if she had come to a decision.

Kirk looked at her.

“So the Decadendron. It was just a cover. You’re here... to get me.” The professor sat up straighter. “To arrest me.”

“Arrest you?” said Kirk, letting show the surprise he felt. “Is there something we should be arresting you for?”

“Violating the non-interference directive?” she said. “I’m half-Vulcan, half-Romulan. I don’t belong here.”

“But have you interfered?”

“I’ve done my best not to, but...”

She was distressed but controlling it well. Kirk leaned closer, clasping his hands on the desk.

“Professor Dorian,” he said. “I assure you, our need for the Choniastrum is very real. Eleven of our crew have Oncocyclus. Our finding you in the search was pure coincidence.”

The professor looked at him with disbelief.

“Does Lyda know about your origins?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then how... long have you been here? Were you marooned?”

She shook her head again. “No, Mr. Kirk, I...” The professor sighed, and shifted in her chair. “I’m from the mission. The anthropological study, from twenty-one years ago.”

Kirk’s eyebrows lifted. Ah.

“My team and I were surveying developing alien civilizations,” she said. “We came upon Pardanthus in the second year of our survey. We beamed down, began our studies, all routine. But I was fascinated. An advancing people, advancing in harmony with their environment. A red replacement for chlorophyll. Water with a 60-degree freezing point. The cultural and ecological complexities were endless.”

Kirk nodded.

“And the people here... they were so kind and interesting. They were like me, and they were unlike me. No more like me than my crew—mostly humans, you understand. But something about this world... I don’t know. The people, the environment. It took me in. I didn’t want to leave.”

“So you sabotaged your ship?” said Kirk.

“What?” the professor said. “Oh, no. My crewmates understood. They faked an incident, reported me dead. And I stayed,” she finished simply.

Kirk nodded. Something unidentified tugged at his heart.

“This was twenty-one years ago,” he said.

“That’s right. So I found work at a university and started teaching. Obviously I couldn’t teach anthropology, since all the cultures I had ever studied were from other planets. So I started doing research on evolutionary biology.”

“And is that where...?”

The professor caught his meaning. “Lyda?” She smiled. “That’s where I met Lyda’s father, yes.”

Kirk smiled. But the professor’s smile was a sad one.

“He was the university’s botanical curator—took care of our research gardens. Never quite made it as an academic. Not enough guts was what he always said, but I always said it was 'cause he was too nice.”

Kirk chuckled.

“We got married sixteen years ago, had Lyda a year later,” she said. “Years passed. I took a new job here here. Lyda got older. He got sick. He died five years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Kirk murmured.

“Thanks,” the professor said. She paused, eyes adrift over his shoulder. “It’s been difficult. Being a single mother. Being a single person, without that... partnership.” Her mouth twisted. Then she sighed. “But, we do what we must. For ten years, he was the best part of living on Pardanthus. But he wasn’t the only good part. I’m managing."

Kirk nodded silently.

"You know, he’s the one who gave me that plant," she said. "I saw you noticing it yesterday.”

“Plant?” Kirk said.

“The big one, in the lab.”

“Oh yes,” Kirk said. “Yes I was noticing it. It’s very... unusual.”

“More unusual than all the other alien plants on this planet?” she said, smiling.

Kirk chuckled.

The professor stood up. “You know what, let me go get it. Wait here.”

Once she'd left, Kirk stood and wandered to the window. He could see the arboretum from here, and his eyes found Spock among the bare branches. Spock was picking leaves from one of the red hedges, putting them into a clear sample bag. Kirk, looking at him in his borrowed sweatshirt, was struck with the strangest notion that maybe Spock would want to stay too. That was absurd—probably. His heart tightened just thinking about it.

He heard the door open and turned.

“Pro—oh.”

“Hi.”

“Hello, Lyda,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

*

Spock clipped the leaves in the cool, humid quiet of the arboretum. He took leaves from various branches of various bushes, leaves young and old, trying to account for every possible variation. He knew it would make little difference, and that, in terms of material, one leaf had more than enough Choniastrum—but he felt an urge to give Dr. McCoy every possible option, and he did not fight the urge.

He glanced up when the bag was nearly full, and his eyes found the professor’s window. He could see the S-curve of Jim’s back through the window, leaning against the sill. His red civilian shirt was rumpled near the base of his spine, and the back of his hair poked out from beneath the hat. A cloud passed gently across the glass between them, and Jim moved away from the window.

Spock zipped up the sample bag and looked around the hibernating garden. His feet moved slowly, carrying him back towards the frozen stream that divided the garden. He should give the professor time to talk with the captain, and there were some budding aquatic plants he wanted examine.

From what he could deduce, spring was coming quite soon; perhaps it was already here. There was no exact border for such things, Spock reflected, stepping carefully onto the frozen stream. Unless this climate was different from every other atmosphere ever studied, spring would come in stages. It would gain ground, grow warm, but get pushed back by the cold; then inch further, and, slowly, breath by breath, win out.

Had it already begun?

*

The teen looked at Kirk with impassive hazel eyes.

“You wondering what I was talking to your mom about?”

“No,” she said, obviously untrue. “I just wanted to read in here.”

Lyda crossed the room and slumped into one of the squishy armchairs. Kirk leaned on the windowsill, surveying her with a smile he kept to himself. She sat slouched without opening her book.

“So I talked to a mutual friend of ours yesterday,” she said, fiddling with the corner of her book.

“Oh?” Mutual friend?

“Yeah. He told me you...”

She was visibly balancing between nerves and fascination. Curiosity won out.

“He told me you... weren’t born a man.”

Kirk, nonplussed, said, “Does this friend of ours wear an orange hat?”

Lyda nodded.

“How do you know him?”

“He’s my friend’s older brother,” she said. “I saw him last night, told him some weird guys came to visit my mother. He said he met some weird guys too.” She shrugged. “Small world.”

Kirk nodded. There was a pause.

“So... can I... ask you about that?” she said.

“About what?” Kirk said. “About being trans?”

Lyda stared, then nodded.

“Not much to tell, really,” Kirk said. “Though you got one thing wrong.”

Her eyebrows met questioningly.

“I was not ‘not born a man,’” Kirk said. “I’m a man. I was born a man. Any body I’ve ever had... is a man’s body.”

“Then how—?”

Kirk shook his head. “People think the body has something to do with it. It... doesn’t.” He hesitated. “I mean, it has something to do with it. I certainly feel better with the body I have now. But it’s not... the answer. It’s not the definition.”

Lyda was squinting at him. “But what’s it... like?”

“It’s not really like anything,” Kirk said. “It’s just who I am. If you want to hear stories about people being inconsiderate or discriminatory, or the friendships I lost when I transitioned, I guess I could...”

Lyda shook her head quickly. She was flustered. “I’m just... curious,” she said. “Sorry. Like... How did you know?”

“Know?” Kirk scrubbed his face with his hand, looking out the window behind her head. “It was sort of a slow realization, when I was... Well, your age,” he said. “I can’t really explain it, I’m sorry. It just... felt right.”

Lyda just frowned.

“But... how...”

Kirk almost slipped and started to explain how it was on his home planet, but caught himself. “Where I... come from, it’s not terribly common, but it is accepted. Medicine is at a point where gender-affirming procedures are pretty simple; and most other people, like you, they’re curious—but they don’t think the less of me for it. I still have the job I would have wanted, if I had been born a cis man. For the most part, my life is the same as any other man's.”

Kirk’s eyes wandered out the window again. “Though, I sometimes think it's the reason I work doubly hard, as if in defense of some unspoken comment.” He looked back at her. “So that no one could say it affected my work. But no one ever has said so. No one important, anyway.”

Lyda was still frowning, eyes on his elbow. The adolescent standoffishness had faded; she actually looked a bit upset. Her mouth formed a question that she seemed unable to put into words.

“I’m sorry I can’t explain it any more clearly. I could no more explain why I...” He gestured vaguely, “Why I picked my career. It’s... Inextricable from my identity.” He looked at her. “I didn’t grow up feeling wrong, raised as a girl. But I grew older and being a boy felt... it just felt right.”

Lyda finally met his eye.

“Do you ever feel that way?” Kirk asked quietly.

Her eyebrows met. “No,” she said, in a familiar voice. But Lyda’s eyes searched his and Jim recognized something in them.

He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment the door opened and the professor’s back appeared.

Both looked up as she turned, entering awkwardly with the massive potted plant in her arms. She pivoted, closing the door with one hand while supporting the pot like a washerwoman. “Here—” Kirk said, starting over, but she steered to her desk, saying, “No, please.” She set down the plant with a huff and dusted off her hands.

“The ariza loriinae,” the professor said, clasping her hands. “Sorry it took so long. I had a few other things to take care of.”

Kirk nodded. “Of course.” He glanced at Lyda but didn’t say anything of their talk. She—they?—glanced at him, then at the professor. “So, it was a gift from your husband?”

The professor nodded, tearing her gaze away from the plant.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes it was. It’s actually a flower. See here?” She pointed at a closed red shape that Kirk took to be a bud. “It blooms for one day a year.”

“Once a year.”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s very sensitive to the climate. It blooms right before spring starts, forecasting the thaw. Usually, that is,” she added.

“Usually?”

The professor smiled sadly at him. “It seems I’ve slipped in my plant-parenting duties. I don't think the Ariza will bloom this year.”

Kirk frowned. “Why not?”

“It would have bloomed yesterday.”

“Yesterday...?” said Kirk. A thought occurred that their visit had disrupted the normal cycle of things, somehow. “Wait. Yesterday?”

“Oh, yes,” said the professor. “The thaw started today. Why do you ask?”

Kirk’s body reacted before his mind caught on. He was on his feet and at the window, eyes scanning the garden.

Empty.

“Mr. Kirk?”

But Kirk was already wrenching open her office door and dashing down the hall—he burst out the fire escape door and clanged down the stairs. His rational mind was not putting the facts together. He just knew, as unquestioningly as he knew his left foot from his right, and how to put them in front of one another.

Bushes and trees flashed by and Kirk was at the edge of the pond in no time. His eyes darted around and locked on it—there. A hole in the ice.

Spock had fallen through.

Without thinking, Kirk charged out onto the translucent, half-melting ice. He immediately slipped, almost lost his balance, and steadied himself. He slowed to a shuffle, and slid as quickly as he could towards the hole, arms flapping for balance.

“Spock?” he called. “Spock?”

He was almost there now. The ice around the hole was an unsolved puzzle, a fringe of broken pieces still bobbing in the black water.

Then Kirk saw—under the ice, a meter or two away, a dark, moving shape.

“Spock!”

He shuffled over desperately, slipping, falling fully this time. He scrambled forward on his knees.

“Spock!”

A hand materialized, pressing against the translucent ice.

“Spock—” he breathed. Kirk struck the ice with his fist but it didn't even crack. His mind brought up possible courses—phaser (no, he didn't have a phaser), call for help (no, no time), find a rock and break through (no time! He’s a Vulcan, he’ll freeze!)—discounted them all in a second. “Spock!”

*

Spock’s mind was almost blank, a sheet of panic held up by a thread of action—what to do—but nothing yet had worked and no new idea presented itself. His hand, moving of its own volition, was grasping at the smooth underside of the ice. As if that could make a difference. But the desperation that wrapped him in cold arms would only be expressed in his scrabbling hands.

A dim shape was moving above—Jim, surely—and he heard a dull sound. The cold was digging in deeper now, dragging him down. Kirk was yelling something. Spock’s kicks slowed. It would not work, and Jim himself would fall through, Jim, don’t...

Kirk’s hands disappeared. Spock blinked heavily. His vision was dimming—lack of oxygen was taking its toll. His internal clock told him he had twenty-six more seconds of consciousness and 2.3 more minutes of life.

*

Kirk was on his feet. You are not a captain for nothing, he thought to himself, focus. Survival. How do you save someone trapped under ice?

He remembered instantly. They had to swim to shallow water, where they could get footing, stand up, and break the ice from below. Kirk looked round for the closest shore—only a few meters away.

“Spock!” he said. Would Spock hear him? “Follow me!”

Purposefully, sliding one foot at a time, Kirk shuffled towards the shore. His arms waved uselessly. The dark shape of Spock started moving—following.

*

Spock saw the figure above him moving deliberately away, and followed instinctively. Jim was leading him somewhere—he knew it without knowing it, without a thought. His cold limbs were heavy, almost too heavy. He followed.

*

The ice in the shallows was thinner so Kirk stopped, waiting for Spock to find his feet, to figure it out. Spock would figure it out. As long as he still had enough oxygen in his brain, he would know. Catching his breath, Captain Kirk stood waiting.

*

Spock’s half-dead feet bumped something solid. With a jerk, he felt forward with his feet, and—yes—solid ground. Paddling with his arms, Spock stumbled forward in languid slow-motion. At last, he planted his feet in the dirt, braced his shoulders against the ice above, and pushed.

*

There was a sucking, slushy crack and the ice broke from below. Spock’s head and shoulders burst out and Kirk surged forward. It worked—now he threw captain’s composure to the wind. He rushed forward, broke the ice with another crack, and splashed into the shallows beside Spock. He was gasping, choking, gulping in the air, vision still clouded, feeling the cold air on his face and the captain’s hands under his armpits, heaving him towards shore.

Spock hacked and coughed, struggling, trying to say—

“Spock, don't,” Kirk panted, dragging them both through the last few feet of thin ice. It broke apart easily. “Shh, don’t worry...”

They collapsed on the shore, Kirk dropping to his knees and Spock all but crumbling, chest still heaving, both of them soaked and shivering. Kirk’s hand found his pocket and dug for his communicator. No one would see—and even if they did—it could not matter now—

Chirp chirp. “K—Kirk to Enterprise.”

“Scott here.”

“Emergency beam-up, im—mediately,” Kirk managed. “From these coordinates. Alert m—medical.”

“Aye, sir,” Scotty’s grainy voice said. Kirk’s violently shaking hand dropped the communicator.

He was kneeling next to Spock, his leg digging into his side, the only slight warmth in Spock’s entire shivering frame. Spock was still struggling to breathe—to sit up—but he had to say—to say—

“Spock! Lie back, help is coming,” Kirk panted, catching his rising first officer by the shoulder. “It’s alright.”

“Jim...” Spock whispered, letting Kirk push him gently back down.

“It’s alright...”

The familiar static hum of the transporter beam filled their ears.

As they began to disintegrate, a shaking hand rose to touch Kirk’s face. Fingertips brushed his wet cheek, knuckles brushed the strand of hair that poked out from below the hat. A drop of cold water ran onto Spock’s hand.

“Jim.”

*

Lyda burst out the side door and hurriedly scanned the arboretum. She spotted Mr. Kirk on the ice near the opposite shore, looking at something. She squinted. Then suddenly the ice near him broke, and Mr. Spock appeared from below it. Her mouth opened in shock.

“Lyda wait!” said her mom’s voice from inside, hurrying to catch up. But Lyda plunged onward. She rushed down the stairs, down the familiar path, and within a minute she was at the edge of the pond. They were slumped on the opposite shore, and Kirk was holding something. He dropped it.

“Mr. Kirk!” she yelled. “Hey! Over here! Over—What...?”

The two figures disintegrated. They seemed to... sparkle for a second, and then they dematerialized. They were gone. Lyda blinked, squinted, and rubbed her eyes. But she knew what she had seen.

“Lyda!” said a breathless voice from behind her. “There you are—where—”

Lyda turned to look at her mother, eyes wide. “Mom?”

Professor Dorian halted, panting, and she saw then that Lyda knew. They stared at each other for a long moment, the truth bearing down on the unspoken space between them. Then Dorian beckoned.

"Come on Lyda," she said. "It's time to talk."

* * *

Three Years Earlier

“Your move, Captain.”

Kirk scrubbed his face thoughtfully, surveying the board. He moved a pawn, then watched Spock calculating the effect of the move. They were across from each other in the rec room, amidst the pleasant murmur of after-hours crew chatter. A laugh rang out—Uhura’s—and Sulu answered indignantly. The whole group laughed.

Spock moved a knight, blocking the plan Kirk had vaguely formed.

“So, Mr. Spock,” said Kirk. “How have you been feeling?”

“Perfectly normal, Captain,” he said. He controlled his expression, preventing a frown. The Captain did not usually ask such things. It was hardly his concern.

Kirk put his finger on a different pawn, considering, then moved to a different piece.

“And you?” Spock added, remembering human conversational custom.

“Oh, I’m doing fine,” Kirk said, deciding on a move. “I’ve just been thinking about what you said last week. You said that, on Omicron Ceti III, you felt happy for the first time.” Kirk looked up at him. “Are you unhappy onboard the Enterprise?”

Memories of that recent turmoil rose, and Spock let them pass. He knew with time they would fade. “My happiness is not relevant,” Spock replied, making a move and lowering his hand. “No feelings are relevant to my duties.”

“Are you fulfilled, then?” Kirk asked, studying his first officer.

Spock did not answer. Kirk was good at reading his subtleties, and could see that the Vulcan was not upset, but also not comfortable. He tried to shift his approach.

“Of course, you don’t have to answer,” Kirk said, looking away and fiddling with a knight. “This isn’t performance review. I simply like to keep tabs on my officers’ state of mind.” He shrugged. “It’s my management style.”

Spock looked at the captain, wanting to humor him.

“Fulfillment isn’t a feeling,” Kirk clarified. “Perhaps a better question would be, intellectually, are you fulfilled? Do you feel as though your skills are being put to use? As though you’re growing as a person?”

Spock folded his hands on the table in front of himself. “You are still describing a feeling, Captain.”

Kirk made his move and nodded to Spock, who immediately moved his knight and took one of Kirk’s bishops. Kirk smiled.

“It’s a mix of emotions. In a good way,” Kirk added. “A mess of emotions that can’t be untangled from each other. Fulfillment is not a fickle mood or a volatile emotion, ideally, it’s a... state of being.”

Spock raised his eyebrows. “If you say so, sir.”

“Feelings and thoughts aren’t completely inextricable,” Kirk said.

“Perhaps not, for a human.”

“Perhaps,” Kirk said. Separately, they both considered the obvious fact of Spock’s half human nature. But neither voiced it. Kirk moved his queen out of the trap Spock was setting.

“And you, Captain?” Spock said, reaching out to set a new trap. “Are you fulfilled on the Enterprise?”

“Yes,” Kirk said without hesitation. “That was why I couldn’t leave the ship, not even under the influence of those spores. The Enterprise, the mission, the relationships, the challenges... Even under a spell, there is nowhere else I'd rather be.”

Kirk made a move and sat back, folding his arms. Spock reached for a rook, paused, and moved his hand to a pawn. He had lived among humans for years now, but none walked the line between insightful and respectful quite like Captain Kirk. In most of his relationships with humans, their emotions became an inconvenience—but he felt comfortable inquiring about Kirk’s, even curious.

Spock moved the pawn and looked at the Captain. “And you value those things over a permanent feeling of happiness?” 

Kirk nodded. “Wouldn’t you?” he said.

“In theory,” Spock replied. Kirk made a move.

“So, are you saying you don’t have those things now? On the ship?” Kirk said, watching Spock move his rook. “Challenges, rigor, relationships you want?”

“Check, Captain,” Spock said.

Damn. Kirk looked at the board with a surprised frown. He had been too intent on the conversation.

He moved his king into safety, then opened his mouth to repeat his question, but Spock raised a hand and pointed at his queen. He looked at the Captain with smiling eyes. The trap had worked. Spock won.

“Damn,” muttered Kirk. Behind them, the chatting security team erupted in an unrelated roar of laughter.

Spock picked up the box to put away the pieces, but Kirk raised a hand to stop him. “Wait, Spock. Aren’t you going to take me out?”

Spock looked at him, eyebrow raised.

Kirk nodded towards the board.

Spock lowered the box, and with his other hand, picked up his queen. He slid it across the board and politely knocked Kirk’s king over.

Kirk smiled.

When they had put the pieces away, Spock stood to leave. “A good game, as always, Captain,” he said.

Kirk stood too, putting his hands on his hips. “The same to you, Spock, as always.”

Spock nodded and turned to go, but Kirk reached out and lightly touched his arm.

Spock turned back.

“Spock, I just want to make sure you know...” He folded his arms. “I want to make sure you know that you’re an indispensable part of this crew. In both a professional and personal capacity.”

Kirk tilted his head back just slightly, the way he had to when they stood close together and he wanted Spock to see what he was thinking. Spock’s impassive face softened a tiny bit, and for Kirk, that was answer enough. Kirk only hoped he had not made Spock uncomfortable. But he did not think he had.

He nodded, and Spock nodded back, understanding the dismissal. He walked out, hearing the Captain greet the security team before the door closed behind himself. Kirk’s effusiveness did make him uncomfortable sometimes. But Spock was grateful for his regard, and for a relationship where a reply was not always expected of him.

*   *   *

Dr. McCoy, working at his desk, looked up. The two steady beeps from the other room had turned to one. He sprang to his feet. He knew exactly what was going on in there.

“Spock!” he barked, striding through the door. The Vulcan was sitting up, halfway out of bed. “Are you out of your mind? Lie down this instant.”

“Doctor,” Spock began, but his voice came out as nothing more than a wisp. He looked at the doctor’s burning blue eyes, startled.

McCoy gave him an I-told-you-so-didn’t-I? look, and Spock let himself be lowered back onto the bed. 

“Don’t try to speak,” McCoy said. “You swallowed a lot of that stuff.”

Spock’s eyebrows met, and McCoy understood the question.

“It wasn’t water—well not pure water, anyway,” he said. “It has a mineral in it that’s usually harmless, but when it reacts with copper, it forms a corrosive agent. It reacted with your Vulcan blood and did a number on your Vulcan trachea.”

Spock raised his eyebrows slightly, wanting to ask what mineral it was, but McCoy didn’t catch on. Instead he said, “And we got the leaves you picked. I synthesized the meds and Nurse Chapel is administering them now. We should see improvement immediately.”

Spock took a deep breath: “The Captain?” he croaked.

“Jim’s fine,” McCoy said. “Just got a bit of a chill from the water. He’s resti—Spock!”

Spock had sat up faster than McCoy thought possible in his injured state, and in a swift, stiff movement, was off the bed and plowing past the doctor. McCoy darted after him.

“Spock! So help me, I’ll call security—”

Spock reached the captain’s bedside. McCoy stood on the opposite side, looking up at the monitor. All the readings were normal.

“What is it?” McCoy asked, looking back at Spock.

Spock frowned at the sleeping captain. Jim’s face was frowning too.

“He said something,” Spock said.

Kirk let out a moan. Spock leaned closer.

“Jim?” McCoy said. “You awake?”

“N—no...” Kirk muttered. “No...”

His face twitched. A nightmare. McCoy frowned sadly.

Then Kirk’s hand jumped up. He was reaching for something.

“No!” he cried. “Spock!”

McCoy’s eyes widened. He turned his glare on Spock, but Spock was, of course, not looking at him. He was leaning towards the Captain, bracing one hand on the side of the bed and raising the other.

“Spock, what are you—?”

Spock’s eyes slid shut. His face was focused, slightly pained, hovering inches above Kirk’s. The words died on McCoy’s lips.

Fog. Ice. He was stumbling across a massive glacier towards a tiny, distant house. A crack behind him—he turned, saw nothing. Keep going. Another crack. Turn. It was the glacier, the entire thing was crumbling, breaking apart—he would never reach the house, never reach—Spock!—

Spock’s hand moved as if on its own. Gently, expertly, three fingers pressed against Jim’s face. Closing his eyes, Spock inhaled, then exhaled, sending ripples of calm through his consciousness, out, into Jim’s. Kirk stirred. Spock breathed again, sending calm from his mind to Jim’s. His breath pooled in the space between Kirk’s head and shoulder and pillow, and puffed back against his face.

One more breath, one more swell of calm, one last quiet sigh from Kirk. He could sense the dream dissolving, and so withdrew his hand, standing back up. He felt a little dizzy.

McCoy’s blazing blue glare met him.

Spock straightened up. “Doctor?” he said hoarsely. “Are you concerned because I did not ask the Captain’s permission?”

McCoy folded his arms. “I’ll bet you never even say thank you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“For saving your life, Spock,” McCoy said. “For, what, the third time this month? I bet you never even thank him.”

Spock’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Why should I thank the Captain for doing his job?”

“It’s not the Captain’s job to save his first officer from his own self-disregard!” McCoy snapped.

Spock frowned. McCoy couldn't stop his outburst—a week treating this damned outbreak, and now this—he was on his last nerve.

“You throw yourself in harm’s way, and Jim comes tumbling after!” he said, waving his arms. “You’ve got some kind of martyr complex, Spock, I swear. But when you get yourself in trouble, you get Jim in trouble—so often, apparently, that he has nightmares about it!”

“Doctor, I am no expert in dream interpretation,” Spock said coolly, “But I do not believe that was the nature of the Captain’s dream.”

McCoy jabbed a finger at Spock over Jim’s sleeping body. “If you had even a shred of empathy, you would know how much the Captain worries about you.”

Spock’s gaze slipped away from McCoy for a moment. He glanced down at Kirk. One hand rested on his stomach, rising and sinking like a buoy as he breathed. Uncountable nightmares flashed before Spock's eyes. He had seen Kirk die a hundred ways in dreams; he had seen Kirk die before his own eyes, at his own hand. To have such a friend, after a lifetime alone, still, sometimes, seemed impossible to Spock. Sometimes, the possibility of losing him felt more real than the friendship itself.

It was only a second’s glance—he looked back up at the doctor’s accusatory finger.

“But empathy and gratitude,” McCoy snarled. “Those are human emotions, aren’t they? And you don’t have any of those.”

Spock’s hand shot out. He grabbed McCoy’s wrist and wrenched his hand up, jerking McCoy’s whole body forward.

“That’s enough, Doctor.”

McCoy stared at him, eyes wide.

“If my emotions were any of your concern,” Spock said, his voice hoarse and low, “I would tell you that gratitude for such actions is implicit, a waste of time, and impossible to express verbally. But they are not. So instead, I must reprimand you for intentionally provoking your own patient. It is highly unprofessional.”

The doctor withdrew his arm, and Spock let him. Day after day, he tried to draw a reaction out of Spock. Yet when he got one, it seemed to frighten him.

Spock returned to his bed and laid gingerly back onto it, closing his eyes. He heard the sound of McCoy returning to his office and sitting down, the beep of his computer turning on. He had lost control. He had let himself be taken over by the combination of physical distress, McCoy’s prodding, and worry about the Captain.

With a shuddering sigh, Spock closed his eyes. McCoy’s alarmed face swam before him, and the house on the glacier from Kirk’s nightmare. He focused on his breathing. Less-than-ideal conditions for meditation, but he had rarely needed it so desperately...

Spock was asleep before McCoy’s computer had finished booting up.

3.

Captain’s Log, Stardate 6047.

Kirk stared at the divider in his quarters. His finger hovered over the record button.

It was the morning after the near-drowning in the Institute gardens. McCoy had discharged him begrudgingly, saying the damage was “no worse than usual.” So Kirk had left Spock (still asleep in sickbay), checked in on the bridge (all systems normal), the infected wing of Section C (no longer under quarantine, all patients improving with administration of the antidote), and then returned to his quarters to catch up on his log.

Well, say something, said a voice in his head not unlike Bones’. He took a deep breath—for once, no idea where to begin.

“We...”

The word wilted in his mouth. A long silence wound out of him, creeping through the tiny green-lit room. He found himself wondering about the color associations of the people of Pardanthus. If plant life was red there, did it stand for what green stood for on Earth? What color was their blood? Was that the color of anger and passion for them too?

I beamed down with Science Officer Spock to obtain a fresh sample of the... Decadendron leaves, Kirk said finally, his voice a little raw. We spoke with the professor, who...

Skipping that conversation—both conversations—against regulation, but hardly even a question.

...Who showed Commander Spock where to find the leaves. Commander Spock... unaware that the planetwide thaw had... begun...

Kirk broke off. Silence filled the cabin again.

“How did I know?” he murmured. “And what if—what if I had not?”

Kirk swallowed.

It was not as if he had not considered the possibility. It was not as if he had not almost lost Spock before—worse ways, more brutal ways, even, ways directly resulting from his own failed judgments—but this...

“This... is... different somehow,” Kirk said aloud. “Something is different.”

He ran his palm around his jaw, felt the stubble there. He had to take care of that. He would finish the log later. Maybe.

*  *  *

In the late afternoon, McCoy cleared Spock for release from sickbay, but not active duty. Reluctantly, McCoy had given Spock permission to beam down with Kirk to say goodbye to the professor—provided he stay away from all bodies of water. All parties involved in the negotiations knew McCoy could not truly stop Spock from doing what he intended, but the two officers reached their resolution diplomatically.

Kirk and Spock materialized in an empty alley near the Institute, and proceeded out together: Kirk wearing his hat and Spock in his sweatshirt, carrying the gift they had brought the professor.

In uneasy silence they walked down the canal towards the glimmering conservatory. The thaw had set in quickly, breaking up the frozen river into a jumble of creaking floes, all jostling downstream. Kirk felt like he had something important to say, but he didn't know what; all he could articulate was useless small talk, and Spock’s hoarse, brief answers were not encouraging. When Kirk asked about the mineral in the Pardanthan water, Spock went into another coughing fit.

“Spock,” said Kirk, once the coughs had eased. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, Captain,” said Spock hoarsely, straightening up.

“But you—”

“Captain, there is one way you could aid in my recovery,” interrupted Spock.

Kirk looked at him. "Anything,” he said.

“If you would desist in your attempts at small talk,” Spock said stiffly, “It would help. Speaking is not comfortable for me.”

“My apologies, Mr. Spock.” Kirk’s mouth set and he looked back at the canal. “I should have realized.”

In the professor’s now-familiar waiting room, they could hear her speaking with someone in her office. It sounded like a student. The two officers sat in chairs next to each other, elbows nearly touching but not quite.

At length the professor came out, bidding goodbye to her student, and nearly turned back to her office before she noticed them.

“Oh!” she said. “Gentlemen.”

They both stood, Spock with his hands behind his back. She folded her arms. “You ran out on me yesterday and when I got to the garden, I didn’t see either of you. Did you beam up? Did the Choniastrum work?”

“Yes, and yes,” Kirk said. “It worked. Our crew is expected to make a full recovery. I’m sorry we left so abruptly yesterday; I ran out and found that Mr. Spock had, uh... had an accident...”

“I fell through the ice, Professor,” Spock croaked. His mouth set determinedly, composure to patch the ragged voice.

“Oh, gods,” she said. “Are you alright?”

“Quite well, thank you,” came the hoarse reply.

“In any case," said Kirk, "We came to say a last goodbye, and thank you for your help. And, to assure you of our... discretion.”

With a look of unspeakable gratitude, the professor unfolded her arms. She nodded.

Spock shifted and Kirk, reminded, added, “And we have a small thank-you gift.”

“Oh no, that’s not at all necessary...”

“Professor,” Spock said hoarsely. “You have saved the lives of eleven of our crew. It is our honor to present you with this.” From behind his back, Spock produced a small green cactus.

“Karanji,” the professor murmured. She looked up at Spock. “From Vulcan.”

“If you think the color will draw undue attention...”

“No, no, it’s...” She reached for the plant, a smile breaking across her face. “It’s just been over twenty years since I saw one.”

“From our ship’s greenhouse,” Kirk said. “You have our thanks.”

The professor jerked her head. “Come in here,” she said. “I want to show you something.”

Kirk glanced at Spock, and they followed her into her leafy office. She placed the Vulcan cactus gently on her desk. Then she beckoned them towards the window.

“Over here.”

They gathered around the windowsill, the one overlooking the garden. The enormous Ariza plant was sitting there in the afternoon sun.

It had bloomed.

The red bud from yesterday had opened into a chrysanthemum-size blossom, a beautiful yellow-green. The inner ring of petals was tight and soft, dark green, and the outer layer cupped the inner one like a satellite; long, thin petals of a yellower green reached out like the prongs of an umbrella. It had a slight, indescribable fragrance. The shell of the red bud still clung to a few petals, hard protection against the winter cold.

“I came in this morning, and it had bloomed,” the professor said with a smile. “Maybe because I moved it in here. I don’t know. A little late, I suppose, but better late than never...”

Spock glanced at Kirk beside him, expecting him to reply. But Kirk’s eyes were fixed on the beautiful flower, full of tears. The captain was crying.

Spock’s hand rose, touching Kirk’s elbow gently.

“Captain?” he murmured.

“God, I’m sorry,” Kirk said, with a slightly choked, self-deprecating laugh. He wiped his eyes, casting Spock a reassuring glance. “Must be something in the air around here.”

The professor smiled sadly. For a horrible second, Spock thought she might cry too—but she just sighed, and her face took on a peaceful look.

There was a click and all three adults turned. Lyda came in, out of breath.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hi, Lyda,” Kirk said.

“Are you guys leaving?”

“They came to say goodbye,” her mother said with a look at the visitors. “And to give us a gift... from Vulcan.”

Lyda’s eyebrows rose. Kirk and Spock looked at each other. So the professor had explained their heritage to Lyda.

Spock stepped forward. “Lyda,” he said. “It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am told you know the owner of this sweater.”

“Yes, I do,” Lyda said.

Spock shrugged it off and folded it, then held it out to her.

“Would you do me the favor of returning it to him?” Spock said. “With my thanks.”

“Sure,” Lyda said, taking the sweater. “Absolutely. Nice to meet you, Mr. Spock.”

Spock raised his hand and did the Vulcan salute. With slight hesitation, Lyda returned it. Spock wondered fleetingly if her mother had demonstrated the salute of their ancestors, or if this was the first time she'd ever done it.

"Live long and prosper, Lyda," he said. 

"Live long and prosper, Mr. Spock," she answered. 

Spock stepped back, and Kirk stepped forward. “It was nice meeting you, Lyda,” Kirk said, bowing his head so they could see into each other’s eyes a bit better.

Determination chased fear out of her eyes. Lyda said, “It was nice meeting you too. And talking with you.”

Jim put a hand on her shoulder.

“You’ll be alright,” he told her. “You’ll grow up and you’ll become who you are. Whoever they might be.” He emphasized the pronoun just slightly, and could see that Lyda understood.

Lyda nodded. “Take care.”

“You too,” Jim said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. He wanted to hug Lyda, but he didn’t know enough about local custom to know what was appropriate. If this kid was even a quarter Vulcan, she probably wouldn’t like it.

They left professor and child in the leafy office. Outside, the late afternoon sun shone warmly—mid-70’s, if Kirk’s estimate was right. He glanced at Spock in his short sleeves, hoping this weather was comfortable for him without the sweater. Spock was looking out at the rushing, half-melted canal. His expression was deeply calm. An impulse struck Kirk that he did not want to fight.

“Spock,” he said. “Do you want to walk back to the park? To the our original beam-down point?”

Spock looked over at him. “That will take thirty-two minutes on foot, Captain,” he said in his hoarse voice. “Not the most efficient route back to the ship.”

“You’re not on duty,” Kirk reminded him.

“You are.”

“I am,” Kirk said, “But maybe my orders are to take one last stroll on this beautiful, deadly planet.”

“If you were to give such an order,” Spock said, “It would be improper for me to argue.”

“Well, Mr. Spock,” said Kirk, opening his hands, “If you think it’s illogical, it would be improper for you not to question my judgment. Isn’t that your job?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. Kirk smiled wryly.

“Shall we?”

Afternoon was bordering on evening now, in the clear spring sky over the city on stilts. They walked along the main canal, among pointed eared locals heading home from work and humming boats cracking their way through the remaining ice. The thaw gave this world a breathless air, like a humid exhale after a long time holding one’s breath. The two were mostly quiet aside from Spock’s occasional cough; the tension from earlier seemed to have dissolved with Kirk’s unexpected tears. Once, after Spock coughed, Kirk opened his mouth to say something about it, but stopped himself—didn't break the comfortable shell of silence around them.

They passed through the gate and into the vast park. The scarlet grass was brightened by both the weather and the setting sun, and dotted with Pardanthans in knots and pairs and solitude. Kirk and Spock walked unhurriedly towards their grove of pale trees. Their shoulders bumped once or twice.

Inside the ring of alien trees, the orange light slashed through bars of shadow. A slight breeze rustled the thick branches, and Spock looked up at them as Kirk flipped his communicator open.

“Kirk to Enterprise,” he said. “Two to beam up.”

“Scott here. Transporter room ready, sir.”

Spock looked back at Kirk, who was staring at him in the half-shadow, holding up his communicator between them. Kirk raised his eyebrows, as if he expected something of him. He did not expect what Spock did then.

Spock reached over with two hands and tugged the knit hat off the captain’s head. As Spock lifted the hat away, his wavy hair stood up and sank back down, foreignly messy. Kirk was holding his breath. Spock lowered the hat with one hand, and with the other hand, smoothed down Kirk’s hair.

“Back to normal?” Kirk said quietly, and his voice came out a bit hoarse.

Spock didn’t reply. He just stared. Then he shook his head ever so slightly.

“Captain?” said Scotty’s voice from the communicator.

Kirk opened his mouth, eyes still on Spock.

“Energize,” he said.

With a buzz and a shimmer, the two men disintegrated from the copse of trees. The warm spring wind rustled through the tree branches, shaking them down to each little twig, where tiny red buds were starting to open.

*  *  *

Captain’s log, 6047.9. We have left orbit around planet Pardanthus. We bid the professor and her child goodbye. The crew is recovering, and the quarantine lifted. All systems... normal.

Kirk bounced his fist against his chin, studying the divider in his cabin. There was nothing more to add, truly this time. Yet it felt like... it felt like there was.

Something had changed, or awoken. He was almost too frightened of it to name it, but without the word, he could still sense it. Inside, he stepped carefully around it.

Spock.

What would that do to their relationship? Their relationship? He barely gave their relationship a conscious thought, in the day-to-day. Spock and he were as constant as the shift schedule of their beloved ship. This, this could... could disrupt everything. And the thought of that, of a change to that, was equally as frightening as a change in his duties or his ship. In some ways, it was the same thought.

Kirk’s eyes moved to the spiny plant on his desk, frown deepening. He could not stand to sit here thinking about this in silence. And it was certainly not fit for a captain’s log. He brought his fist down on the record button, cutting off his log with a beep. Kirk stood and strode out of his cabin. He needed to take a walk and then he needed to talk to Spock.

*

Spock took another deep breath, closing his eyes serenely. Sometimes the meditative trance took a little longer than usual. That was not unheard of. He would not let himself get annoyed or embarrassed by it, he told himself. He would not. But it’s never taken longer than 10.3 minutes, he reminded himself. It had now been 27.6.

He and Kirk had returned to the ship and parted, Kirk for dinner and Spock for his quarters, to rest. But his mind was full of disjointed thoughts, shooting off in cycles in his head. This was when he needed meditation most. He depended upon it as much as food or sleep. Yet it eluded him.

Spock took another shuddering breath, the air still raw in his throat. Perhaps that pain was distracting him? He did not even delude himself with the thought. Emotions, not physical pain, gripped his mind, holding it back from the meditative state he so needed. What emotions? he tried to ask himself. But naming them now, outside of the trance, was uncomfortable and undisciplined, more like seeking shapes in clouds than true self-reflection.

Spock felt a wave of frustration, so strong his fists clenched. 28.4 minutes. If it was not working, it was illogical to keep trying. A different approach was needed. Spock took one last deep breath and stood, unclenching his fists. The quarantine had been lifted. He headed for the ship’s greenhouse.

*  *  *

Kirk breathed in the familiar, humid air of the Enterprise greenhouse and sighed out with a peaceful smile. His favorite part of the ship. He smiled around the jungle room, looking up at its distant vaulted ceiling. The simulated ship-time sunset was turning the glass pink. It lit the leafy green with a rosy glow, not unlike the red-hued Pardanthan forests they had just left.

Soft footsteps sounded behind him, and Kirk turned.

“Mr. Spock.”

“Captain.”

“What are you doing here?”

Spock, who had stopped a few meters away, folded his hands behind his back. “I am simply taking a walk, Captain, as is my habit. And you?”

“Funny,” Kirk said. “I came here to think, but I was planning to come talk to you afterwards.”

“What about?”

Kirk jerked his head, turning, and Spock strode up next to him. Side by side, they walked through the garden.

“Feeling better?” Kirk asked.

“Somewhat better.”

They walked a few more paces.

"McCoy tells me I was talking in my sleep, yesterday afternoon.”

Spock nodded.

“Did I say anything odd?”

“No, Captain. Merely murmurs. You were having a dream.”

Kirk’s eyebrows knit. A vague, intangible memory rose, of a massive glacier crumbling apart. “Ah.”

Spock looked at him sideways. “I had in fact been meaning to bring it up, Captain. In an effort to soothe your... distress, I...” His hands moved uncertainly. “I used the Vulcan mind-touch.”

“On me?” Kirk said in surprise.

“I did so without permission, and though undoubtedly you would have given it, I still wish to apologize...”

Kirk put up his hands, halting them both. “Spock, Spock. Don’t worry about it.”

Spock frowned, facing him. “I believe I meant it as... reciprocation,” he said, thinking of McCoy’s words. “An expression of gratitude, perhaps. For rescuing me.”

“You don’t need to say thank you for that, Spock.”

Spock looked at him. “I know, Captain. That is why I did not say it.”

Kirk smiled softly at his friend. The draining sunlight shone on his dark hair, gleaming purple.

Then Kirk nodded to the side and they resumed walking.

“Perhaps it has something to do with the mind-touch,” Kirk said after a moment, “But, Spock, there’s something else I... can’t figure out. How did I know to come and save you?”

“You did not see me fall?”

“No.”

Spock frowned thoughtfully, looking ahead.

“I do not know for certain, Captain,” he said.

“A theory, then?” Kirk said. “Something to do with the mind-touch?”

Spock stared ahead. “It is possible. Repeated telepathic contact over time can create a more... permanent link between Vulcans. I have at times thought such a link has formed between us, Captain.” He looked over at Kirk. “I have had similar inklings of danger, about you, on certain missions.”

Kirk nodded thoughtfully. It made sense; but he felt an odd, slight disappointment that their connection had a biological basis. That a name for it existed already.

“I was more frightened than usual, yesterday,” Kirk admitted.

Spock looked at him again. “Though the mission was routine?”

“Yes, almost mockingly routine,” he agreed with a small smile. “No, something about that, about such an ordinary accident—was... more alarming than an enemy. No malice, no evil. Just blind chance. I really thought I might lose you, that time.”

Spock felt an unexpected twinge in his heart. “That is always a danger, Captain. On any mission.”

“I know,” Kirk said. “But I never seriously consider the possibility. Of losing you. I know, rationally, that it is... possible; but I suppose I never take it seriously. It just seems...”

Kirk gestured, as if grasping for a word. But none presented itself. That was not so, for Spock; he looked away, dispelling the familiar nightmare visions. Kirk’s shoulder bumped against his.

“But this time... it really seemed possible,” Kirk went on after a pause. “I suppose I was already thinking about losing you, in some unconscious, abstract way. Hearing the professor grieve for her husband, watching you blend in so well with the locals, seeing your interest in their culture... I somehow got it in my head you might want to... to stay.”

“To stay?”

Kirk nodded, looking at Spock. They stopped walking.

“Like on Omicron Ceti III.”

Spock looked away. “Hm.”

“I worry, sometimes, Spock, that you don’t feel like you’re...” Kirk gestured with a hand between them. “...Part of our crew. That you don’t feel like you belong. You know that you do, don’t you?”

Kirk tilted his head, trying to catch Spock’s eye.

“We’d be lost without you. I’d be lost without you.”

Spock was considering, eyes fixed on Kirk’s shoulder. “Yes...” he said slowly. “I do know that, Captain. But thank you for saying so,” he said. He met Kirk’s eye. “I can see where your uncertainty originates. I did not feel that way at first. Gradually, my ‘roots,’ metaphorically speaking, grew. Once I had passed a year as your first officer, I found I felt like I ‘belonged’ among the crew, as you say.” Spock paused. “There is nowhere else I would prefer to be.”

Such an admission of feeling was no small concern, and it probably cost Spock to voice it. So all Kirk said was: “Good.”

There was a pause.

“Was that what you wanted to discuss, Captain?” said Spock.

Kirk put one hand on his hip, one on his mouth. He hesitated. He felt a bit better now. That was one thing out of the way—but now that this layer of worry had been broken through, there was another one. And this layer scared Kirk. This feeling had taken root and it was going to crack their very foundation if he didn’t say anything.

But before he could find the words, Spock nodded his head to the side and they were both walking again, leaving that moment behind. They came into a clearing ringed with willow-like trees, all bathed in indigo shadows. Stone benches ringed the clearing, each illuminated by a retro-styled lantern. They made their way slowly toward the furthest one.

“I confess, Captain,” Spock said after a moment, “I too found this mission emotionally compromising, despite its routine nature. I found myself... oddly sensitive to everything.”

“Sensitive?”

“Yes. To the flora, the population, and culture of Pardanthus,” Spock said. They had reached the bench now, but did not sit. They stood side-by-side, facing it the pool of light. “To the professor’s grief,” Spock continued more slowly. “To the seasonal shift.”

“The seasonal shift...” echoed Kirk. He gave a small smile. Such a very Vulcan thing to say.

The seasonal shift.

Yet somehow, those words seemed to open a door. A silent dialogue, one that they both felt, perhaps, could not be verbalized. Both of them felt it open, and each knew the other did too.

Kirk could feel Spock looking at him, but did not meet his gaze. They stood in front of the door.

Without looking at him, Kirk lifted his hand where it hung between them, and reached for Spock. His hand connected with the familiar uniform fabric, and he felt the solidity of Spock’s arm beneath. Kirk slid his hand slowly down, fingers grasping around his elbow, down his forearm. He felt his first officer’s gold braids under his fingers, one, then the other, then the edge of the sleeve. Then without hesitation he slid his hand around Spock’s wrist.

Skin-to-skin contact between them was far from unusual. But the closer to Spock’s hands it was, the stronger the telepathic response, if his shields were not raised. Spock felt the captain’s hand on his wrist, moving down towards his hand. Instinct started to raise the shields, but Spock pushed them down. Held them down.

Kirk slid his hand down, firmer and slower, around the outside of Spock’s thumb and the back of his hand, holding the hand inside his own. Then, slowly, he spread his fingers, pressing them in between Spock’s.

Spock responded minutely, opening his fingers. The telepathic charge was warming up, like footsteps coming closer down an echoing hallway. Warmth flowed from their linked hands through their bodies.

Unhurried but deliberate, Kirk pressed his fingers between Spock’s, his palm against the Vulcan’s knuckles. He slid back a few millimeters, then forward again. Kirk knew he did not imagine the tiny intake of breath he heard from Spock. He was thinking abstractly how much it helped to talk things out, but that some things could not be said with words...

In a single motion done by two, they turned to face each other. Their hands turned around inside each other’s, Kirk’s sliding around the back of Spock’s and lifting it up. He held Spock’s closed hand up inside his own, as if they might start waltzing. Their eyes locked.

Kirk instinctively wet his lips, and saw Spock’s eyes dart to his mouth. A smile tugged at him then, and with a deliberate motion he slipped his fingers down, under Spock’s, and pushed them up, so that the pads of their fingers finally touched. Spock shuddered, his eyes sliding shut for a moment. Spock was sensitive, surely he felt it more than Kirk—but Kirk felt it too. The waves of warmth, the indescribable pleasure of two minds brushing one another.

Kirk pressed fractionally harder with his fingers, dragging his skin against Spock’s, and the Vulcan inhaled sharply, before he could stop himself. He opened his eyes. He did not have to stop himself. He stared into Kirk’s hazel eyes, aglow in the lantern light. His open expression of fondness said the same thing that the emotions flowing between their hands said now. Hesitantly, Spock lifted his other hand to Kirk’s jaw, slid it around his cheek, and leaned towards him. He saw Kirk’s eyes flutter shut, and then he kissed him.

The kiss was like the first warm wind of summer. Kirk’s lips were soft and alive, parting around Spock’s and pressing back against his, closing again, re-opening. Quiet gusts of breath escaped from his nose, pressed against Spock’s, and their heads turned in sync—noses bumping past each other, lips slanting together.

Spock cupped his cheek more firmly, and Kirk sighed, pushing up slightly harder into Spock’s mouth. Spock kissed him back, a sigh escaping from his own lips as their heads turned again, their mouths breaking apart. Kirk inhaled, the heady smell of their warm, mingling breath filling his lungs. Spock rubbed his nose against Kirk’s and then the Vulcan reclaimed his mouth, his lips parting like a blooming flower.

Their hands had frozen against each other, but Kirk remembered them now. He slotted his fingers between Spock’s and slowly, shifting in and out, slid his fingertips down towards Spock’s palm. The Vulcan’s breath hitched, lips pulling away from Kirk’s for a second before Spock caught him again. His mouth moved slower, distracted, and Kirk felt a smile tug at his lips. He pressed on, sliding his fingers down.

“Jim...”

The hoarse word escaped between their mouths, and all at once, Kirk brought their palms together, clasping Spock’s hand with their fingers fully interlocked. Their minds surged together.

Spock gasped, the hand on Kirk’s cheek sliding around behind his neck, pulling him closer—but though their mouths opened, they did not kiss. Their minds flowed together like rivers meeting, waves of emotion surging through. Many already shared—love, respect, admiration—and the rush of it made Kirk sway, squeezing his eyes shut. Spock tilted his head back with a long sigh, tugging Kirk closer. He brought Kirk’s head to the crook of his neck and Kirk sighed against his throat.

For a long silence they stood, heads bowed and hands clasped. Kirk’s face buried in Spock’s neck, their thoughts rushing each through the other. The sturdy coolness of Spock’s mind opened to Kirk’s dynamic, driving one. The human’s bright thoughts flowed into the cracks formed in a lifetime of calculated restraint, and his insecurities were met with the Vulcan’s bedrock faith in him. Memories, associations each had with the other, flashed before their closed eyes. Shared moments and moments alone, thinking of the other. Memories of fear and affection and years of comfortable, invaluable companionship.

Kirk slid his free hand around behind Spock’s back, and pulled their bodies closer together. They pressed together, trapping their clasped hands between their two shoulders, breathing together. Sharing their thoughts. Then in silent agreement, they let their hands slip apart.

Spock let out a shaky sigh.

Kirk leaned back, and his face was warm where it had rested against Spock. He lifted his arms and took Spock’s face in both hands, gazing at him. His first officer stared back, and the devotion in his bright eyes and heavy eyelids was almost as overwhelming as the mind-meld. Utter, unqualified devotion. Spock looked at him like nothing and no one else mattered. Kirk exhaled with a shudder and pulled them close again, resting their foreheads together.

“Spock, I...” He searched for something to say—found nothing. “Spock,” he murmured.

Spock unexpectedly angled his face up again and caught Jim’s lips in his, and the captain sighed, kissing him back. Kirk’s hands cupped Spock’s face gently. There, between Jim’s hands, the moment tipped—it suddenly seemed to Spock precarious, unsustainable, dangerous. Impossible that it existed in the first place.

With a sudden desperation, the Vulcan wrapped his arms around Kirk’s back, pulling the human tight against him. Kirk’s arms slid over his shoulders and wrapped around his neck. Spock exhaled, urgently pressing closer, tighter. As if he could no longer stand to have any space separating them. In a practiced motion, Kirk extricated his arms without breaking them apart, and shoved both hands up under the back of Spock’s shirt.

Spock inhaled sharply through his nose, shuddering under the captain’s touch. But somehow his fervency ebbed, as Kirk’s familiar hands rubbed across his back. Over his spine, the planes of his lower back, up towards his shoulderblades. Kirk had never felt so at home in another person’s arms, and he let that calm radiate from his hands into Spock’s skin. 

The desperate moment passed.

Spock kissed him again, more gently. He broke the kiss and for a long moment they rested their foreheads together.

“That was,” Kirk murmured at length.

“Jim?”

“That was what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Kirk looked up, meeting Spock’s eyes where they watched him from inches away. He smiled. Spock smiled back, in his way.

“I don’t know what changed,” said Kirk in a low voice, “Or if anything changed at all.”

“Nor I,” Spock murmured.

“Any theories?” Kirk said with another smile.

Spock hesitated, then shook his head, making them both sway.

“Spock, we...” began Kirk, but the Vulcan moved his hand, placing it gently on Kirk’s cheek. Their foreheads broke apart, and Spock gazed into his eyes.

“Jim,” he said hoarsely. He shook his head a tiny bit. Kirk, with a twinge of concern, looked at his first officer’s face, trying to read it.

Maybe the link between them was still open by their touch, but as Kirk gazed at Spock in the dim light, he felt his understanding shift. The Vulcan was raw from what had just happened. Not because he did not desire it—perhaps because he so deeply did—he was not yet ready to speak about it. He was still the same emotionally and verbally reserved Vulcan he had always been. He was still Spock.

To speak of it would not make it any more true, would not expand on the intimate truths they had just learned about each other in the meld. But Spock was not Jim. He was not given to oaths and speeches. Whatever Kirk's reputation was, the real man of action between themselves was Spock. He lived by behaviors, not words. Given time, they both knew, Spock would learn to discuss their relationship between them—it would be necessary. But not now.

Because Kirk had seen it in the meld, the way Spock felt about him. It was not any ordinary human affection. It was the illogical loyalty of a half-Vulcan half-human who had spent a lifetime fighting himself. Who had at last found a human who, in his eyes, had all the best of the humanity he had so long recoiled from. But it was not just the human in him who loved Kirk, it was the Vulcan half too, with its cause and effect fatalism, its fierce adherence to fact. He loved all that he saw in Kirk, and he knew Kirk saw him for all that he was—talent and turmoil both. And if their relationship was changing now, it was an incredible risk.

Spock meant so much to Kirk he could have talked for hours without properly expressing it. And Kirk meant so much to Spock he could not stand to say it aloud. Not out of shame, nor fear, but because it was too deep inside. Unpronounceable. To speak it aloud in this moment would be to tear out something vital.

So Kirk touched his cheek gently and nodded. Understanding resonated between them. Then Kirk tugged his sleeve and sat down in the leaves, leaning his back against the stone bench.

Spock sank down beside him, letting his shoulder rest against Kirk’s. Kirk had a fleeting thought that it was a shame they could not simply hold hands like two humans, but it was almost like someone else’s thought. He didn’t care about that. The thought passed. He rested his head against Spock’s solid shoulder, and Spock exhaled quietly.

They looked up at the greenhouse ceiling, high above. The last light of simulated sunset had faded, and the glass ceiling now showed the space outside. Artificial night on the ship was simply a reflection of the true night that always surrounded them; stars drifted by in the blackness.

Spock let his frame relax against the cool stone and the warm body at his side. They would talk about it, and soon. Spock had seen, in Kirk’s mind, the unbearableness of letting this stand unsaid between them. It was the reason Kirk had wanted to talk to him as soon as the feeling struck him. Spock felt a wave of gratitude for that, for the fact that the feeling had struck them simultaneously and that Jim was the way he was—so open, effusive—for, had it struck Spock alone, he would have let it wither him in stoic silence.

The captain shifted, sliding an arm around Spock’s waist to rest above his beating heart. Kirk lifted his head for a second and placed a kiss on Spock’s shoulder, then rested his head there again. Gratitude was overwhelmed with a rush of affection so strong it stabbed Spock’s throat. He shut his eyes and let out a shuddering breath, summoning all his rational control to keep from tearing up. He wrapped his arm around Jim’s shoulders tightly, pulling the captain close.

Kirk felt the silence growing too heavy. He nestled a bit, getting comfortable in Spock’s embrace, and murmured, “We’re passing out of the Gamma Trianguli Sector soon, aren't we?”

He pointed up at the starry ceiling above them. Spock looked up, studying their slow but visible movement in relation to stars.

“Correct, Captain,” he said.

“How soon?”

Spock looked out the window brought to mind the star charts he had studied a few hours earlier. He determined their position, then their speed, and calculated the time left to the border of the sector.

“We shall be out at 0842 hours tomorrow morning,” he said after a moment.

“And then where will we be?”

“We will then be in uncharted space.”

Kirk smiled, closing his eyes. “Where we belong,” he said.

Spock nodded against him.