Chapter Text
“Check mate, Mr. Spock. That makes…three games in a row.” Kirk sat back, arms folded over his chest with a satisfied expression on his face.
Spock studied the board and considered the unpredictability of Kirk’s moves. Looking up into smiling hazel eyes, he raised an eyebrow as would be expected and watched as the smile spread to his captain’s mouth.
“Most illogical, Captain.”
“But effective, wouldn’t you say?” Kirk leaned forward and clasping the glass of whiskey, swirled it around a few times before taking a sip.
Jim was entitled to his smugness, Spock thought. Few Humans had bested him in chess, and none as consistently as Kirk had since taking over command of the Enterprise. “Indeed. I have yet to discern your strategy.”
Kirk replaced the glass on the table and picked up a bishop he’d captured from Spock earlier. “You already know – my strategy is that I have no strategy.”
Spock leaned back and, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair, clasped his hands together, steepling his index fingers as he considered his captain’s words. It was, perhaps, one of the biggest differences between them, that Kirk was largely a man of action, mostly stimulated by the outer world of people and things, relying on his intellect and intuition to read and respond to situations in the moment. By contrast, Spock was someone who was more comfortable with contemplation, preferring where possible to gather information and analyze it carefully, thinking through all the myriad possibilities and their outcomes before acting. He found himself frequently energized by his inner life of thoughts and reflections; it was also within that his constant struggle between his Vulcan and Human selves took place, for the most part unseen and unknown by the outside world.
It would be doing Kirk a disservice to take him at his word. He was a brilliant strategist unmatched, Spock believed, by anyone else of his rank in StarFleet. When playing chess, Kirk was able to read the board, in the same way he could read situations, taking it all in, in one fell swoop. The so-called ‘non’ strategy he employed, Spock suspected, was to have a number of them running simultaneously, switching between them impulsively, to appear random and capricious, to fly in the face of logic.
Spock allowed his eyes to soften, and Kirk smiled in response, as Spock knew he would. “I believe, Jim, that you derive pleasure from being deliberately unpredictable.” That was true not just with him, but with anyone his captain came across in a challenging situation. He seemed to thrive on doing the action least anticipated, and this tactic had saved the Enterprise many times over the course of the first three years of their mission so far.
The use of his captain’s given name widened the smile; in some ways, Kirk could be utterly predictable. “Does it irritate you, Spock?”
“Irritate, Sir? You ascribe an emotion where there is none.”
Kirk held up the bishop he grasped. “You know, back in medieval times, the clergy were seen as being next to God – beyond reproach and above the kind of needs and desires of the common man. What they portrayed as a symbolic figurehead to the masses, and how they really were in private, was frequently at odds.”
Kirk’s sudden change of subject was something he was used to in their discussions. Indeed, attempting to keep up with his captain’s mercurial thoughts was something he regarded as intellectually stimulating. He carefully considered Kirk’s statement. Having made a study of the main monotheist religions of his mother’s people, Spock was well aware of the double lives those clergy led. More than one pope had sired children, while others had committed acts of torture or even murder to further their own power and wealth.
“I am uncertain what you are implying. That I am above the needs of men, that I hold myself to different standards than others, or perhaps that I lead a double life?”
Kirk studied him in silence before answering. “Any of those – but maybe the last more than the others. There’s the Spock you allow us to see, and then there’s the real you.”
Kirk was uncomfortably close to the truth. But one of this man’s strengths, that Spock appreciated, was his perceptiveness.
“Is that not the same for everyone? We show a façade to the world, but choose to keep a part of ourselves private. I am certain there is much about you about which I have no inkling.”
Kirk ran his fingers along the edge of the table as he appeared to consider his response. “Yes it’s true that we all hold something of ourselves back, some more than others. But I’m not talking about that in the general sense. There’s something more about you…”
As Kirk’s voice trailed off, Spock considered his options. He knew he could pretend not to understand what Kirk was alluding to, but he also knew his captain would see the tactic for what it was – what he’d likely call a ‘smoke-screen’. Denial was always his preferred course of action when Kirk began to get close to the truth of knowing him better. It was a game they had begun to play early on in their budding friendship, but recently, he found Kirk was pushing more persistently.
This segue in the conversation had begun when Kirk had asked if his captain’s unpredictability irritated him. He would return to that, as it appeared ‘safer’ “Vulcans do not express emotions such as irritation or joy. With the disciplines ingrained in us from the time we are born, we are simply incapable of acting on them.”
Kirk put down the bishop and picked up the glass. “What about half-Vulcans? I’ve never bought that about you.”
Spock watched as he took a sip of his drink. He must have held the liquor in his mouth to savor it, as the expected swallow did not take place immediately. It was the kind of thing Spock had noticed previously – and when it came to James Kirk, he noticed a lot of things. He found the man…fascinating. What had started out as an objective evaluation of his new commander had long since become more than a personal interest. He had frequently sought an indication that that degree interest was reciprocated, but had found none beyond a wish to deepen their friendship.
After several seconds, he saw Kirk’s Adam’s apple bob and contemplated the path the liquor was taking, feeling unaccountably and illogically envious of the liquid’s intimacy, for being taken inside this man.
“As you well know, there has been no alteration to the uniqueness of my hybrid status – I remain the only half-Vulcan in existence. Even were that not the case, I would not attempt to speculate on the inner workings of another. Without evidence, any comments I may make would be baseless and therefore entirely redundant.”
As he attempted to deflect Kirk from his path, he knew the futility of it. Had he not known this man so well, the smile that played about his lips would have given him pause. Spock sat up straighter in his chair and, realizing Kirk had noticed his discomfort, crossed his arms in an attempt to appear nonchalant. Too late, he recalled that while the action was often associated with being comfortable, it was also seen as a defensive gesture.
After three years of working in close quarters and facing all manner of situations, the look on Kirk’s face was one he now easily recognized. Whether it was a beautiful woman at a diplomatic function or a hostile alien, the predator was easily discernible to him. He did the only thing he could do to head his captain off.
"If you will excuse me, Captain," he said standing up, "I have a number of experiments I must—"
“Don’t go, Spock,” Kirk said, sitting up. Spock paused, unsure if it was an order or simply a request. “You’re not running out on me. If you’re not comfortable with this conversation which, I might add,” he paused and smiled, “is an answer in itself, then we’ll talk about something neutral.”
Spock gazed down at the guileless expression on his captain’s handsome face and cursed his own weakness where this man was concerned. With an inward sigh, he subsided back into his seat, noting that having capitulated to Kirk’s request for him to remain, his captain avoided showing even a small sign of victory on his face.
“So tell me, how are Uhura’s plans for the Christmas party coming along?”
"It is not a—”
Kirk waved his hand to stall him. “—Christmas party; I know, I know. It’s just how I think about it, given my upbringing. Calling it a ‘Winter party’ just doesn’t sound the same. Besides, whoever came up with that politically correct name clearly never lived in Earth's southern hemisphere.”
Spock, as the coordinator of resources, relayed what had been done thus far in the preparations and, from there, the conversation naturally drifted into other aspects of shipboard life. Spock was more than relieved that further personal discussion was avoided.
~*~
He was, he concluded, likely confusing Kirk, giving off mixed signals – come in, don’t come in. It was testament to the depth of their friendship that Kirk never appeared frustrated by this, but patiently backed off as he had done this evening.
Something close to a sigh escaped his controls. He had come to a crossroads and, he believed, he could no longer procrastinate on a decision that he needed to make.
While he had long felt an attraction to Kirk, he had been content to enjoy and admire him in a purely platonic manner, believing his captain to be entirely heterosexual. That is, until a chance overheard conversation with McCoy, six months earlier, proved that belief to be erroneous.
This information had come to him while on a scheduled three-day visit to Starbase 16 for routine requisitions and maintenance. Kirk had visited Paul D’Aboux, someone whom he’d described as an ‘old friend’ who was stationed there.
On his captain’s return, Spock had tracked him down to sickbay, requiring a sign-off for some non-standard equipment he unexpectedly managed to procure for his bio-chemical lab. His sensitive hearing picked up that Kirk was in the midst of a conversation with McCoy and he paused to discern if what they were discussing concerned ship’s business, which could be interrupted, or if it was of a personal nature, in which case he would try later.
“So, you’re feeling a tad less tense, then,” McCoy said, and Spock could hear the smile in his voice.
“God yes. It was just what the doctor ordered,” Kirk chuckled, and McCoy joined in.
“Well now,” the doctor responded, the drawl of the vowels denoting a slide into his southern accent, “I don’t think it’s in the CMO’s remit to prescribe that particular type of stress relief.”
“After all these years, I’d forgotten how well Paul and I had gotten on when we were at the Academy. It was like we’d never been apart, and the sex was fantastic.”
“Jim, please spare me the details if—”
Spock had heard no more of the discussion, fleeing to his quarters to sit on his bunk, his mind processing what he had just learned. It had not brought about a new-found understanding of his own sexuality, as Spock had been aware of his attraction to Kirk since shortly after his aborted marriage on Vulcan eighteen months earlier. It did, however, have the potential to alter the dynamics of the friendship they shared, to make it something more, if Kirk was interested in taking it there.
Kirk, Spock had realized early on in their mission, was a highly sexual individual and, for the most part, channeled that energy into the running of his ship. To Spock’s knowledge, he never fraternized with any of his crew, although he flirted at times with some of the more senior female staff. As far as Spock could tell, Kirk saved the satisfaction of his sexual needs for times when there was a suitable visitor on board or on Starbase and planetary stop-overs. He had assumed, since he had witnessed no evidence to the contrary, that all Kirk’s partners were female.
Spock unexpectedly found himself presented with an opportunity, and it had taken him months to analyze the situation, to unravel what it was he desired. He had considered all the potential scenarios that a relationship with James Kirk might encompass, and what he would be prepared to accept.
He was under no illusion about his captain’s playboy nature, having never witnessed any indication that Kirk was seeking domesticity. Indeed, in the aftermath of their nearly disastrous visit to Amerind, Kirk had made it clear that the only reason he had fallen in love with Miramanee, and enjoyed his time with her, was because he had forgotten who he was. When his memory had been restored, his captain had taken precious moments out of an emergency situation to stroke Miramanee’s face in farewell and he knew Kirk had privately grieved for his dead wife and unborn child. But his desire to return to his ship and the stars, to be back where he belonged had been expressed in something close to relief.
From all that he had seen and knew of Kirk, he believed him incapable of entering into a long-term, monogamous relationship. What he had spent so long contemplating since that overheard conversation, was not if he should explore the new-found sexuality with this desirable man, that had bloomed within him following his first pon farr. That was a given. It was whether he should follow an all-too-Human desire to conduct that exploration outside a formal relationship, or to follow his Vulcan need for Kirk’s sexual exclusivity.
This question went to the heart of the struggle that warred within him between his Vulcan and Human selves. The self-same facet of his nature, and its consequences, that he believed Kirk had been alluding to earlier.
He had rejected a scientific career founded on an education at the illustrious VSA, causing his father’s subsequent disownership of him, which in turn had resulted in his not having visited his home planet for eighteen years. Nevertheless, he had still chosen to follow the Vulcan Way as much as was possible when living and working with 430 Humans.
Despite his chosen way of life, he had eventually come to the conclusion that he was prepared to forego exclusivity, willing to allow Kirk his dalliances with others, if his captain would agree that he would always return to Spock. It would be a win-win solution that he was prepared to indulge in, until his next pon farr forced him to take a bondmate. More than likely it would be a Vulcan, and one who was willing to allow him to continue his career, though Vulcan propriety would dictate the bond would have to be exclusive. Until then, Kirk would have an outlet for his sexual energy and he would gain intimate knowledge of this man who fascinated him so.
The confounding variable in all his musings was, of course, Kirk himself. He had no idea whether his captain found him sexually appealing and even if he did, whether he would consider a relationship, of sorts, with his first officer. All his ruminations over the past six months may well have been moot.
Having made his decision, Spock began to consider how he might broach the subject. His reaction to Kirk’s probing that evening was a clear demonstration that his innate need for privacy, even with his closest friend, was so ingrained, that it would make a direct approach unlikely. It was not a risk he could take since he had sought, but found, no firm evidence, that his regard was reciprocated in the same manner.
While he and Kirk didn’t share the easy-going friendship his captain clearly had with McCoy, he did relax his guard around Spock and shared personal information and private thoughts with him on occasion. But there was also a distance between them – Kirk’s easy-going self when relaxed, his natural tactile nature, was rarely in evidence when they were alone together and, judging by what he’d accidentally overheard, there were clearly certain personal subjects that were off-limits. He found himself uncertain if it stemmed from Kirk’s respect for him as a Vulcan, or whether his captain simply didn’t view their friendship being as close to the one he shared with the doctor.
It was in case it was the former, that Spock had begun to relax his control when alone with Kirk, and while not openly flirting, his small smiles, which clearly never failed to delight Kirk, and his willingness to be more open were, he believed, steps in the right direction. He even occasionally touched Kirk, usually to gain his attention, and he was certain that his captain noticed such occurrences.
However, despite these small overtures, that distance stubbornly remained. Thinking that he was perhaps being too subtle, he had tried – and failed – to imagine a scenario where he would simply tell Kirk of his desire; the failure was not because he was ashamed of his attraction, but because he was unwilling to open himself up to that degree only to have Kirk turn his offer down.
He had reason to believe the offer also presented another, more tangible danger, if his suit was rejected and it made their working relationship untenable. Kirk had been known to transfer members of his crew off his ship on occasion when he judged their ‘crush’ had become unhealthy and interfered with their ability to do their job effectively. Unresolved tension between captain and first officer would certainly fall into that category, and Spock had no intention of becoming another in an unsurprisingly long line.
Spock had come to the conclusion that he’d have to bide his time and wait for an opportunity to arise when he could make his interest known more overtly. It would have to be carried out in a manner that ensured, if not a positive outcome, then at least one in which, if Kirk were to show no interest, his position as first officer on the Enterprise and his continued friendship with Kirk were both assured. To achieve this, he had decided the method would require a degree of subterfuge. It would, in all likelihood, also necessitate him having to step well outside his comfort zone in order to seize the opportunity and act quickly, since it was unlikely such a situation could be foreseen in advance and planned for. He would have to, as the saying went, take a leaf out of Kirk’s book and act in the moment.
While Spock had been capable of sexual relations prior to his first pon farr, it was as if that event had triggered some switch in him, causing him to require occasional physical release, a need that had not been present before. He was certain that it was not his ability to control such a need that had diminished, but rather that his sexual drive had become stronger. The need for release was at its strongest following his spending off-duty personal time with his captain. It had begun with night-time emissions during sleep, which were most inconvenient due to the mess that ensued; he had discovered the issue was easily remedied by masturbatory means.
Having spent the evening with the man he desired, and then contemplating what it might be like to share an intimate relationship with him, he found himself aroused. Now, as he lay naked in his bed, his cock half erect, there was a low general ache in the region of his groin that he recognized would require alleviation through manual stimulation.
He reached out to his nightstand and, opening the drawer, took out a small bottle of oil. Pushing the bedding away, he poured a little onto his hand and then reached down to take hold of his cock, feeling it immediately respond, hardening beneath his grasp as though it were an entity and his touch could endow it with life.
He had learned, early on, that instead of focusing on the physiological changes wrought by his stimulation, imagining scenarios that were of a sexually explicit nature – what he knew Humans called fantasies – hastened his ejaculation. He had also discovered that certain scenarios more than others – the ones that had the greatest potential to really occur – caused the physical sensations that accompanied his release to be stronger and more pleasurable. While he might not label those his favorites, he did display a certain bias towards them.
Tonight he chose the cave scenario. Stranded on a planet, out of contact with the ship due to a severe ion storm that had continued for several days, he and Jim were alone in a cave, a raging blizzard outside. Although the cave was small, no larger than his and his captain’s quarters combined, the temperature was kept tolerable as a result of geothermal resources, most notably steam from several vents and a small hot spring. However, there was still enough of an icy blast from the mouth of the cave to require the sharing of body warmth while sleeping.
As the familiar images came to Spock’s mind, the thought of his captain lying sleeping at his back, his warm, humid breaths gusting across his neck, he gripped his cock tighter. In its erect state, the green of the head was darker, and a drop of pre-ejaculate formed at the slit, which he wiped away with a swirl of his thumb, the touch to his already sensitized glans causing him to inhale sharply.
He imagined waking up, feeling Kirk’s morning erection pressed against him, feeling his own penis harden in answer, Kirk waking, rolling away and sitting up, embarrassed.
He’d learned, when masturbating, that his personal preference was to start out slowly, to build the tension, with strokes that were long and unhurried, only just brushing against the swollen head as his free hand reached lower, caressing and rolling his testicles.
His fantasy self is bold. Sitting up, he suggests that if his captain needs release, logically Kirk should remedy the situation. His captain protests; he wouldn’t do something that intimate in front of his first officer, even if he were to undertake it the corner. Just knowing Spock is aware of what he’s doing would deny him the ability to achieve release. Perhaps, Spock then suggests, if they were in a similarly intimate position, his captain might feel less self-conscious. Spock then shows Kirk that he is suffering the same physiological issue.
Kirk looks unsure, but Spock can see he is wavering. To encourage him, he lies back down and begins to undo his zipper, aware that Kirk is watching intently. He removes his penis and begins to stroke firmly, hearing his captain gasp. A moment later, a rustle of clothing, and he knows Kirk has given in. Through slitted eyes, he watches as Kirk takes hold of himself and begins to pump, and it takes a second or two (because he is somewhat distracted) to notice that Kirk is matching his rhythm. Kirk is watching him.
In a voice that he struggles to control, and with more than a hint of audaciousness, he suggests to Kirk that since the touch of another provides greater stimulation and will achieve a more gratifying result, that they should manipulate each other to climax. Kirk agrees that that would be a logical course of action and rolls close enough to Spock that they are almost touching. Lying on their sides, facing each other, Spock reaches out a tentative hand to grip Kirk. It feels much like his own (here, his imagination fails him, having no direct experience to pull on), as his hand slides up and down the rigid shaft. A moment later, he feels himself taken into a cool fist and it is all he can do not to thrust his hips.
As he focused on the fantasy, of bringing Kirk pleasure and having it reciprocated, Spock began to speed up his movements. Bending his knees and parting his thighs, the hand that had held his balls now inched lower, massaging along the perineum until he reached the tight knot of his sphincter. He rubbed it gently, feeling the sensations permeate throughout his groin, as his sensitivity heightened. He imagined what it would feel like to have Kirk do that to him as a precursor to entering him.
His whole body gripped by desire, his breath beginning to come in sharp gasps that echoed in the silence of his quarters, he pushed a finger gently inside, as his other hand moved faster. He could feel his testicles begin to contract, feel some nameless energy curl around his lower stomach and back, a building pressure deep in the base of his cock. Quivering on the brink of orgasm, he pressed against his prostate, imagining Kirk’s erection brushing it as he thrust with sure strokes, plunging deeply into him.
Caught up in the moment, his control evaporated, and his hips began to jerk upwards until suddenly the dam burst as orgasm crashed over him in wave after wave of sensation, the contractions gripping his sensitive finger as his stomach and chest were bathed in strings of viscous liquid.
Spock barely had time to recover and regain a more normal breathing pattern, when his comm. unit sounded. Being deep into gamma shift, the only reason anyone would contact him would be for an emergency. Leaping out of bed and ignoring the wetness cooling on him, he carefully hit the audio-only control.
“Spock here.” His voice sounded remarkably composed given what he had been doing moments earlier.
“Spock.” The sound of his captain’s voice made his still half-hard cock twitch. “We’ve been ordered to Ardana at maximum warp. Can you come to my quarters and I’ll give you a full briefing.”
“I will be there in four minutes, Captain.” The timing he gave was based on past such occasions. Normally it took him three minutes to dress and be presentable enough, but he added a minute in order to clean himself up. There would not be time for a sonic shower and he found himself thankful that the Human olfactory modality was far less sensitive than that of Vulcans; it was highly unlikely Kirk would be able to surmise what he had just been doing.
“Right, I’ll get dressed now.” Spock didn’t need an image of an unclothed Kirk to add to his already sexually heightened state.
“Very well, Spock out.”
Three point seven minutes later, Spock stood in the corridor and pressed at the door control. He knew he could have simply entered Kirk’s quarters via their shared bathroom, as he sometimes did, but knowing his captain had been in a state of undress, his sense of propriety and privacy prevented him from doing so.
“Come,” Kirk called as the door slid open. Kirk was turned away from him, pulling on a boot and inadvertently providing his first officer with an unhampered view of his posterior. Spock might have been able to enjoy the view dispassionately were it not for a secondary factor that immediately came to his attention, causing him to clamp firmly down on his physiological controls. As he stood at ease in the center of his captain’s cabin, his olfactory senses caught a strong scent that suggested he had not been the only one to have been partaking in some solitary physical relief.
Fully clothed and booted, Kirk turned around and leaned against his desk. “Well the situation, as I understand it, is Merak II is experiencing a pandemic botanical plague – and I don’t need to tell you if all their plants are killed off, they’ll lose the means to produce oxygen. Shit,” he added, shaking his head, “it doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“Zenite is considered to be the most effective means for halting such disasters,” Spock offered.
“Right, so our orders are to head to Ardana and pick up two hundred and fifty kilos of the stuff and get back to Merak II before the situation becomes critical. I don’t know the extent of the crisis – to be honest, it’s a bit of a mess at the moment with conflicting messages flying between the Federation official channels, Starfleet, and the two planets involved.”
Spock had been party to hundreds of briefings, but perhaps because this was in Kirk’s quarters, where he was more relaxed and freely included personal comments on the situation, that Spock found himself unable to bury his awareness of the proximity of Kirk’s body. It was difficult to ignore the knowledge of what he had been doing only minutes earlier, smelling the evidence of sex in the very air he breathed. He wondered how Kirk might react if the tables had been turned, if he had known what his now calm and controlled first officer had been doing, who said first officer had been thinking about as he’d touched himself intimately.
He was equally fascinated by the fact that Kirk showed no outward sign of his earlier intimate activity – no evidence of post-sexual languor, of a generally relaxed physical state. In fact, were it not for the odor of sex that, even as he stood there, was diminishing as the ship’s air-conditioning system did its job, he would never have known. Clearly Kirk’s ability to control certain outward manifestations was stronger than he would have given him credit for.
Ruthlessly pushing such thoughts to the back of his mind, he returned his attention to the briefing. “Have we been given the critical time frame in which the mission must be accomplished?”
Still perched on the desk, Kirk arched his back into a stretch and Spock noticed that his face was a little more pale than normal – clearly he had not had a chance to sleep. “Not exactly, but I don’t think we’re even talking days here from what I understand. We should get an update on the situation once the details become clearer.”
Spock was aware that the Beta Cygnii system, of which Ardana was one of several planetary bodies, was located in the same quadrant the Enterprise was currently traversing. At Warp 7, they would be there in a matter of hours. “Do we have an ETA, Captain?”
Kirk twisted to glance at the chrono on his desk console behind him. “Just under an hour – I’ve got Scotty pushing her to Warp 8 as it’s only for a short time. The Federation’s already made a request to the Council. Uhura’s hailing them to let them know we’re on our way and to arrange collection of the consignment.” Kirk pushed himself off his desk, pulled his shirt down and ran his fingers through his hair again. “Do I look presentable?”
There were a number of answers Spock could provide, but none that would be professional. “Adequate,” Spock answered. Knowing the reaction his answer would elicit, he allowed a slight smile.
Kirk grinned in response. “Adequate, Spock? Remind me never to fish for compliments from you.” As if he had pressed an internal button, he switched into his command persona. “Right, let’s get up to the bridge – we’ve got a planet to save.”
Spock immediately noticed Kirk shift gears from casual to professional and contemplated it as he followed his captain towards the turbolift. While Kirk was relaxed in private with him, it wasn’t often he witnessed such a radical and immediate shift in persona, as situations such as this rarely occurred with little or no notice while they were off-shift. It gave him pause to consider, for the first time, that perhaps the depth of friendship they shared wasn’t so different after all, compared to that between Kirk and McCoy.
Over the course of the next hour, Spock watched as Kirk’s frustration mounted. Starfleet’s orders had been to transport direct to the mines, collect the consignment of zenite and proceed to Merak II ‘with all due haste’. However, the High Advisor of Ardana was requesting to meet with them on the cloud city of Stratos. This was one of a number of the confused messages Kirk had alluded to earlier.
“Tell the High Advisor,” Kirk said to Uhura with barely concealed impatience, “that we request to dispense with the welcoming ceremonies due to the emergency, and that we're beaming directly down to the mine entrance in order to ensure the fastest possible delivery of the zenite. The need is urgent.”
“Aye, sir.” Spock watched Uhura’s fingers fly over the communication board as Kirk turned to him.
“Mister Spock, come with me.” The captain, realizing his message to Ardana was perhaps not the most courteous, added, “Oh, and tell them that we appreciate the honor and that we look forward to some visit in the future.”
Standing in the lift to the transporter room, Kirk’s face looked grim. “The last thing we need is to have a diplomatic incident over this. They’ve already agreed to the consignment, so why can’t they just let us do our job – get it and go?”
Spock knew it for the rhetorical question it was, his captain needing to vent his frustration, and remained silent. In the transporter room, Scott was waiting for them, looking a little less than his immaculate self, testament to the probability that he’d likely been asleep when the orders came through and had had to rush to engineering to prepare the engines for maximum warp speed.