shezan

laurajv

Sarek threaded his way through the narrow corridors of the transport vessel. Spock -- his Spock -- would have been tucked away in some corner, reading; Sarek did not know where the other Spock was likely to be.

He finally located him in the ship's mess, reading from a tricorder screen and sipping a hot, dark beverage Sarek could not identify. Spock raised his head and met Sarek's eyes; Sarek stifled a wave of unease. "Ambassador Spock," he said, "may I join you?"

Spock's mouth quirked. "Of course, Ambassador Sarek."

Sarek took the empty chair across from this man who both was and was not his son. He steepled his hands on the table. "I have many questions," he said.

Spock set down the tricorder; Sarek tried not to notice how Spock's hands were the hands of one past his prime.

cupiscent

ficrecs

When Jim gets back to the bar he elbows in between Chekov and a couple of comms guys. The kid's bouncing away to music that Jim hasn't even noticed was playing before now, but the smile he offers is sort of watered down. Jim claps him on the shoulder. "Whatever you're drinking, I'm buying." Making his own smile as convincing as brazen forgery is the first skill he ever perfected. "You did good," he adds.

And Chekov's grin blooms. Jim can't remember ever being that young. "Thank you, captain," he says.

Jim huffs a laugh, signalling the bartender. "I wouldn't get used to calling me that."

When he glances back, Chekov is visibly (wisibly? Shut up, Jim) confused. "But you saved us." He gestures. "I tell them that. Everyone tells them that. You are a good captain."

Living his life like it's that simple may be a habit he has no wish to break, but lying to himself once the dust's settled isn't something Jim really wants to get the hang of. And he knows. He knew before the panel reiterated precisely every single mistake he'd made. He knew before the long, considering looks. He knew before they said, Thank you, you may go.

He's going back to Iowa. He hasn't thought of it as "home" in at least three years.