The older man stared down at his folded hands a moment then pushed to his feet. "You won't believe me if I tell you."
"Dammit, Bones." Kirk's agitation rose.
McCoy turned. "Let me rephrase that. Jim, I don't think I'm going to tell you." He smiled impishly.
Kirk's whispered confession caressed the Vulcan, gently stirring the embers of hope.
Through slitted eyes, Spock watched his captain watching him. There are no words to describe your beauty, Spock thought, taking great pleasure in the play of light and shadow over the expressive face. What can I do? How can I say the words you need to hear?
James Kirk rounded the corner in corridor 4B at his usual determined pace, almost plowing over his Chief Medical Officer.
"Bones, keep to the right!" Kirk sternly reminded him of the procedure to avoid such collisions while firmly clutching the doctor's arms to keep him upright. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I think so," McCoy grumbled, righting himself. "Where are you going in such a hurry, anyway?"
"Science lab. Spock should have the preliminary report on that object we recovered orbiting Alpha Epsilon V."
Kirk sat in the chill of the little room. Arguments, pro and con, struggled against each other. He knew a little about Vulcan bonding and marriage practices. Teasingly his mind immediately taunted him with a vision of a sexual encounter with his best friend. He was not disgusted by the concept of sex between them, but neither had he ever actually considered the possibility. Now he was . . . .
Kirk hated the new uniforms. Not only were they uncomfortable, but the dull bluish-gray was just that dull. About as dull and meaningless as his life had become. One year into a second five-year mission and all his former enthusiasm was drained, to be replaced by a lethargic and unenthusiastic concession to routine. He rarely thought of anything more than just getting through another day.
"You still miss him, don't you?" the doctor said softly, bringing the captain back to the present.
"I think I always will," Kirk responded, unable to hide his deep sadness.
"We've talked about Gol before. It's long behind us. If there is blame, then it's both ours and we can call it a draw. And we've talked about Genesis as well. You had no choice in that matter. You didn't ask to . . . die."
"But I left you." The simple sentence was a soft wail.
Kirk rebutted swiftly. "And you could say that I left you by letting you go."
September 1990