"I'm well aware of most human cultural taboos. Nyota instructed me well in that regard. I learned all too well that decency meant different things to different people."
Wrong, perhaps, to bring her name up in this conversation, but there it was. A person in spirit to fill the space between them. He saw what had been written. The disastrous blunder of what happens when a reckless, headstrong captain rushed forward without thinking, or even learning his own communicator before attempting to use it.
Then again, it wasn't like the Enterprise had come with an safety manual before Nero's attack, either.
A beat of silence. Then another. All the while that rage coils, unwinds, tenses again. It's contained, dealt with; helped by Jim intentionally not provoking him. This was not an "emotionally compromised" situation; just another of the Captain disregarding the rules.
He sighs, heavily, pressing his fingers more firmly together.
"I do not know what our next step should be. If we even should have one."
Despite himself, he flinched at her name. Her ghost settled heavy in the room, the knowledge of what Spock did in his time - the necklace, what it meant, just... everything. How much it had ached to see it around her neck, to learn what it was, even in the middle of a crisis. Easy to hide those feelings because of it, less so now when he had been stripped raw by everyone who had responded, much less the man sitting barely three feet from him.
"So we're on the same page about something, at least," Kirk leaned back into the sofa with a sigh. He licked his lips, tossing words about like dice, hoping some would come that made more sense than what could politely be called a word salad.
"I can't make that decision for you, Spock. At this point I am honestly hoping you do not outright disown me," he admitted, because god would he deserve it for this fuck up, but he seriously hoped that wasn't even an option in Spock's mind. "You saw it, when we kissed. We partially melded, right? I can't hide from you in a meld. So you know how I feel, and it's... I'll accept whatever you want of this now."
It was all he could really say, and it was the only right thing to say. No argument. No denial. He had to be the captain he was and take his punishment for his error in judgement.
They could never hide from each other during a meld, and perhaps that was partially why Spock had opened himself up so willingly before. That night in the hospital room, any time during Kirk's recovery thereafter. There was no need to say what they felt as it was almost always there between them, within a simple gesture.
It was something he intentionally avoided now.
"I will not disown you." He would alleviate that fear outright. "But. We should not be together, either. Not like that. You are my Captain, that will not change..."
There it was again, that crack in his voice right at the end. Just like with Jedao. He makes a sharp frustrated exhale through his nostrils, and stands suddenly. For all the spacious room provided, the cabin felt too stifling and small.
He did not want to pace, he wanted to leave, he wanted to remain, why couldn't things be simple? Spock looks over at Kirk, and he sees a clear glass door between them, locked. It hurts now as much as it did then. Only difference is when he felt the wetness in his eyes as before, the tear did not fall.
"I have been, and always shall be, your friend, Jim."
Was it a kind of insanity, having your heart broken by the same person
twice? Even though you knew to expect it, that morally and ethically you
knew you needed to hear the words to keep you from being the worst sort of
person? There was the salve of friendship, but it could never soothe the
acidic bite of seeing Spock with someone else, of knowing what could have
been or perhaps not.
Without thinking he rose from the couch as well, reaching out and grasping
at his fingers. Human emotion welled, unfettered before he could clamp it
down - relief, hope, guilt, acceptance, yearning. Defeat. Anguish. Love.
Romantic love.
“Thank you, Spock, and... and I know. I’ve always known.”
He couldn’t fathom his world without Spock, not for any longer than, say, a
stint as a Warden or some R&R or minor reassignments. Knowing he still had
him kept the knife in his chest from stopping his heart completely, but
deep within he wailed, raged at the unfairness of a universe who once again
showed him what he could not have. Emotion to strong to reign in,
unconsciously squeezing his hand before seeming to remember himself and
drawing back.
Perhaps he was not quite so good as Spock at hiding the wet gleam of his
eyes, the slight tremble of his lip before he mastered himself.
He should've pulled away, had wanted to, yet automatically, he presses their hands together, intertwining. Everything Kirk's feeling finds their matching pair in Spock, becoming amplified, wrapped up by betrayal, rage, anguish. For several seconds he's overwhelmed by this emotional whirlwind between them, a part of him wanting to remain, continue this downward spiral...
Before Kirk pulls away, Spock had already begun to do so, with his fingers forming into the trademark goodbye that every Vulcan, and most humans, knew well.
The gesture remains in the air a few seconds after their hands are no longer joined. Nothing more to say, or that he even could say, if he knew the words. It feels like a cord has been severed between them, even as the love remained and lingered. So instead of saying anything, he nods, turns on his heel, and walks out.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
universal_charm) wrote2037-01-06 03:24 pm
no subject
Wrong, perhaps, to bring her name up in this conversation, but there it was. A person in spirit to fill the space between them. He saw what had been written. The disastrous blunder of what happens when a reckless, headstrong captain rushed forward without thinking, or even learning his own communicator before attempting to use it.
Then again, it wasn't like the Enterprise had come with an safety manual before Nero's attack, either.
A beat of silence. Then another. All the while that rage coils, unwinds, tenses again. It's contained, dealt with; helped by Jim intentionally not provoking him. This was not an "emotionally compromised" situation; just another of the Captain disregarding the rules.
He sighs, heavily, pressing his fingers more firmly together.
"I do not know what our next step should be. If we even should have one."
no subject
"So we're on the same page about something, at least," Kirk leaned back into the sofa with a sigh. He licked his lips, tossing words about like dice, hoping some would come that made more sense than what could politely be called a word salad.
"I can't make that decision for you, Spock. At this point I am honestly hoping you do not outright disown me," he admitted, because god would he deserve it for this fuck up, but he seriously hoped that wasn't even an option in Spock's mind. "You saw it, when we kissed. We partially melded, right? I can't hide from you in a meld. So you know how I feel, and it's... I'll accept whatever you want of this now."
It was all he could really say, and it was the only right thing to say. No argument. No denial. He had to be the captain he was and take his punishment for his error in judgement.
Consequences.
no subject
It was something he intentionally avoided now.
"I will not disown you." He would alleviate that fear outright. "But. We should not be together, either. Not like that. You are my Captain, that will not change..."
There it was again, that crack in his voice right at the end. Just like with Jedao. He makes a sharp frustrated exhale through his nostrils, and stands suddenly. For all the spacious room provided, the cabin felt too stifling and small.
He did not want to pace, he wanted to leave, he wanted to remain, why couldn't things be simple? Spock looks over at Kirk, and he sees a clear glass door between them, locked. It hurts now as much as it did then. Only difference is when he felt the wetness in his eyes as before, the tear did not fall.
"I have been, and always shall be, your friend, Jim."
no subject
Was it a kind of insanity, having your heart broken by the same person twice? Even though you knew to expect it, that morally and ethically you knew you needed to hear the words to keep you from being the worst sort of person? There was the salve of friendship, but it could never soothe the acidic bite of seeing Spock with someone else, of knowing what could have been or perhaps not.
Without thinking he rose from the couch as well, reaching out and grasping at his fingers. Human emotion welled, unfettered before he could clamp it down - relief, hope, guilt, acceptance, yearning. Defeat. Anguish. Love. Romantic love.
“Thank you, Spock, and... and I know. I’ve always known.”
He couldn’t fathom his world without Spock, not for any longer than, say, a stint as a Warden or some R&R or minor reassignments. Knowing he still had him kept the knife in his chest from stopping his heart completely, but deep within he wailed, raged at the unfairness of a universe who once again showed him what he could not have. Emotion to strong to reign in, unconsciously squeezing his hand before seeming to remember himself and drawing back.
Perhaps he was not quite so good as Spock at hiding the wet gleam of his eyes, the slight tremble of his lip before he mastered himself.
no subject
Before Kirk pulls away, Spock had already begun to do so, with his fingers forming into the trademark goodbye that every Vulcan, and most humans, knew well.
The gesture remains in the air a few seconds after their hands are no longer joined. Nothing more to say, or that he even could say, if he knew the words. It feels like a cord has been severed between them, even as the love remained and lingered. So instead of saying anything, he nods, turns on his heel, and walks out.