AN:Hello, everyone! This is my first fiction on and in this fandom! Please be nice! The story is set after Star Trek Beyond (please note!) thus there will be minor (or major) spoilers of all the reboot movies! I have a fairly good idea as to where I want to go with this, and I hope I'll get the characters right! Also, I'm a huge Spirk fan, so that's what you have to expect when reading this... It'll be somewhat slow build, but there will be Spirk, t'hy'la and all. (I just might have been watching Frozen when thinking about this... the songs truly are inspiring)

Please enjoy!

1

Conceal, don't feel

He had never found himself in the embarrassing situation of having to fear lunch: to have lunch was, fairly simply, the most immediate way of acquiring the amount of nourishment necessary to sustain his body functions. It was logical. It was coherent. Especially considering that he, being a Vulcan, logically harboured no personal preference when it came to food, so he had no problem whatsoever handling the poorly tasting meals provided by the replicator. Thus, logic dictated lunch to be uneventful and irrelevant. And yet, three point six-seven years into the Enterprise's five-year mission, lunch had indeed become a somewhat uncomfortable, even threatening experience, when he dealt with it alone.

Spock silently set a plate on a table right into the quietest corner of the mess -and the closest to the door- and looked down at his vegetarian soup as if attempting to dissect it with his mind; such an attempt was futile, though, as he knew perfectly well its contents and their properties. Perhaps, then, he was searching for something that would distract him from the general chatter of the humans surrounding him.

He found it sadly amusing that, while they never failed to point out just how alien he was to them, they often forgot he could easily overhear their noise, due to his Vulcan senses. Sometimes he caught himself wishing he couldn't -wishing, that was bad. It led to emotion and possible breakdown. Such an urge had to be stopped, cast away deep down his mind where it would not disturb him. And stop it he did, taking a spoonful of soup and relishing in the warmth spreading down his throat and into his body: it was secretly soothing, as it reminded him of home, of the blissful heat that had once belonged to his lost planet. And as much as he now regarded the starship as some sort of surrogate home, he constantly felt cold there.

He relaxed minutely and kept eating quickly, focusing on the experiment he was currently working on in the labs, one he was also forbidden to tend to because he was supposed to be on medical leave. After the latest mission the Captain had been quite unable to perform duty, so Spock had taken the whole of his tasks upon himself and, as Doctor McCoy had hissed at him not 6.9 hours before, he had "worked his green-blooded body into exhaustion".

Had he been fully human, he probably would have sighed: thanks to his friend's uncalled for concern, he was facing an unproductive day away from the bridge (and Alpha shift, and Alpha crew, also known as the only group of Terrans to understand and tolerate his presence), the labs and anywhere else worth being on the Enterprise. And if Bones -as the Captain enjoyed calling the grumpy man- discovered he had done something other than "getting one hell of a well-deserved rest" during his leave, he was sure to end up tied on a bed in sickbay, as illogical as that would be.

Deciding upon using his free time for some desperately needed meditation, he finished his lonely meal and got up, heading for the safety of his warmer quarters. He tried to move as fast as possible while remaining perfectly dignified, but that didn't prevent him from hearing the venomous comments shot at his retreating back by a pair of ensigns passing him by.

"Just 'cause he's smarter than us common mortals doesn't mean he's a freakin' God!"

"Pointy-eared hobgoblin has no value for human life…"

Discarding these comments as illogical and ill-willed, Spock squared his shoulders and walked on.

Too Vulcan to be with humans.

Emotions are highly dangerous and must be kept in check. This he learns on a hot afternoon while listening to his parents argue over his Vulcan education and the Vulcan bullies that treat him, to say it with the humans, "like shit".

He is not liked amongst his peers. He is not even expected to live: no one -not his flawless father, nor the distant, uncaring Healers, nor his sweet, over affectionate mother- seems to realise what damage such a knowledge can do to a six-year-old child, but of course he's expected to be perfectly in control of his feelings by now.

He is not.

He dreads the day when he will look into his mother's eyes to see her crying and begging for him not to die (illogical, yet still heart-warming); he values every single moment he spends with her, lets her hold him regardless of what he's supposed to do, sometimes (albeit rarely) holds her back, careful of not breaking her fragile body, seeks out her company whenever he can, going as far as requesting her presence while meditating. Living with a human certainly has affected him in ways that are both enormously frightening and oddly comforting; he is conflicted, he is torn, he is unbecoming and indecorous and does not belong.

His eyes are wet but he can't shed tears: I am a Vulcan. I am a Vulcan. I must be. It is my chosen path. I am not allowed to feel.

Yet he does feel: he feels unwelcome and he feels inappropriate.

He takes in a deep, steadying breath and pushes down the waves of emotion so that they will not be visible but for the depth of his wide, too-human eyes. He has long learned that he must not feel. Failing that, he will conceal.

He will prove himself not only worthy, but better of any other of his peers; he will make them see he is part of their world thus reducing their deliberate mocking into a series of illogical, meaningless assumptions.

Facts will provide evidence that the world is wrong, and he is right. Spock is a Vulcan. A Vulcan, nothing less.

As he walked down the corridors in order to get to sickbay and demand a reduction of his medical leave, he was intercepted by Uhura, who had apparently ended her shift early. He felt a rush of fondness wash over him as he approached her swiftly to take a place by her side, and gifted her with his best I'm a Vulcan and won't show emotions but I hold you in high value so my eyes will warm up just infinitesimally look.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant," he greeted, lifting upwards the corners of his mouth and waiting for her to smile in return. When all she did was awkwardly stare at the sterilized floor, the Vulcan quirked an eyebrow at her in a wordless question: Is something wrong, Nyota?

The woman sighed heavily, brushing her fingers through her silky dark hair and sliding a loose strand behind her ear, and Spock's sharp eyes followed closely that uncharacteristic display of nervousness, trying to understand her motives. "Nyota?" he prompted after 2.13 minutes of tense silence.

"We have to talk, Spock," she said, grimacing, then she stopped walking altogether and stood facing him gravely.

"That is… precisely what we are doing, Nyota," he murmured, confused. He was starting to get an unpleasant feeling -which was rare and never, ever good.

Uhura bit on her lower lip, lifting her hands slowly to gently brush his forearms in a gesture she knew to be relaxing to the Vulcan. "Look, Spock: we cannot fix the unfixable."

"Quite a logical statement, if not a little out of contest," was all he could answer; his brain was busy coming up with a million possible ways to read and interpret her declaration, and a million possible ways to react accordingly. Perhaps a serious malfunction had occurred to the ship's engines and they were trapped in the middle of nowhere? Somehow, that didn't seem likely.

Once more, she sighed, then finally gave him a tiny, rueful smile and tapped a foot on the floor with a loud clack that, had he been anyone else, he would have deemed ominous. "Just the fact that you want us to be together doesn't mean we should."

Spock cocked his head to the side and automatically took a step back to distance himself from the woman who was going to bring forward the fifth terrible blow of his life (the first and second being the disappearance of his planet and his mother, the third Admiral Pike's murder and the fourth his Captain's almost death). His eyes, face and countenance became significantly colder, as if to reaffirm his position: I am a Vulcan. I shall not submit to human emotions.

The communications officer shook her head swiftly and her dark ponytail cut the air with a sharp, hissing sound. "I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry, Spock, really."

"I… do not doubt that," he whispered, nodding slowly, completely at a loss on what to say. I doubt myself and my ability to form long lasting relationships with beings different than my own mother.

"Listen, Spock, it's never been a bed of roses, between you and me…" Uhura shifted uneasily at the sight of his evident (well, evident for her) discomfort, but she was certain she was doing the right thing, for both of them. "You can't make me happy, Spock. And I sure as hell can't make you happy."

"Happiness can be vastly misinterpreted," he muttered, attempting to keep his rapidly building emotions from showing; he was torn between the need to retaliate and the urge to apologise. "And it is up to me to decide whether or not you can make me happy."

Nyota brought a hand up to caress her temples. "I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you but it's just not… working."

"There is no need for explanations." The Science Officer was now wearing the coldest of his poker faces (the name being a courtesy of his Captain), ever the calm and collected Vulcan. "If it is your decision, I shall not force myself upon you."

The woman dipped her head, seemingly lost in thought, then raised it almost immediately to look him in the eyes; her expression was one of sorrow, mixed with affection and regret. After 0.75 seconds of stillness, she declared: "It is my decision."

"Then live long and prosper, Lieutenant Uhura." The alien's voice was, if possible, even icier than usual, leaving no room for any kind of feeling -yet he was well aware he was going to require a generous amount of meditation in order to get over this one, as his Captain would say.

"Ni'droi'ik nar-tor." Again, an apology. "I wish you the best, Spock." She was sincere, that much was clear, nonetheless he refused to acknowledge her politeness, choosing instead to reply with a harsh: "Wishing is illogical."

"Of course." She turned on her heels, walking away with her brisk grace, proud and strong and human. He could not help but call her back: "How have I failed you, Lieutenant?" he asked. It was almost a plea, and he flinched internally: he was disgracing himself and his name with that question, with that blatant display of disappointment if not pain.

She smiled gently and he found he suddenly couldn't stand the look of pity (because it was pity, wasn't it?) that was painted all over her pretty face: "You have not failed me, Spock," she assured him before leaving, "I simply asked too much of you."

He understood her meaning perfectly, but failed to see how it was in any way different.

Too Vulcan to be with Nyota.

Spock decided that perhaps going back on the bridge wasn't what he needed most at the moment, so he submitted to the CMO's admittedly logical orders and moved to withdraw into his quarters. He had, after all, an impressive amount of paperwork and research to finish before the start of the next mission, in 14.08 hours, and he would be safer from McCoy's inquisitive eyes if secluded in his room. (It wasn't as if he'd be lying or pretending; the doctor would simply make his own assumptions that he was asleep or meditating and leave him be. Sometimes it served him well to be James Kirk's friend.)

He wondered if it was to become a habit when this time he was interrupted by none other than his Captain in person. "Spock! Hey, Spock, wait up!" He flew at him as a golden tornado, blue eyes alight in worry, and managed to slip inside the turbolift before the door could slide completely close.

"Captain," he murmured stiffly, not at all in the mood for social interaction.

For once, Jim did not correct his choice to address him by his rank and not his first name; he grimaced -a sympathetic expression- and lightly patted his shoulder twice. "Uhura told me…" he explained, preventing him from inquiring. "She… uh… seemed to think you'd need help? Company? Shoulder to cry on?" He chuckled at that, shrugging a bit sheepishly, and made another face -different from before, a curious combination of annoyance, humour and concern, if Spock wasn't mistaken. "And don't give me that 'Vulcans do not cry' look. You know what I mean."

"No, as a matter of fact, I do not." The First Officer stepped quickly out of the elevator, willing his Captain to understand that the only thing he desired at the moment was privacy. He was also more than a little irritated by Nyota's -the Lieutenant's- decision to confide to the boisterous, mischievous human such personal matters, yet he found it slightly appeasing to have him run to the rescue (an expression he had recently learned) and try and cheer him up (this one was old; it had been one of his mother's favourites) so soon, as if he had nothing better to do.

"As a matter of fact you do perfectly well, and I know it." Jim crossed his arms and frowned deeply at him, wrinkling his nose a little; as per usual, he was conveying a large variety of different messages through the way he walked and gestured, but by then the Vulcan was quite adept at reading him, and focused on his eyes and words. "Seriously, though. How are you feeling?"

"I do not feel, Captain." And if I do, I conceal.

Kirk immediately backtracked, lifting his hands to show empty palms: "I get it, I get, wrong question!" He laughed softly so he would see he wasn't angry at him (he had noticed Spock had a knack for taking things too personally and way too literally). "Jee, you're so stiff I bet your spine's gonna crack! My back hurts just by looking at you!"

Spock lifted an eyebrow very slowly, wearing what the Captain seemed fond of referring to as the you're too illogical to be allowed and we are both well aware of that face. "Indeed. I would suggest a visit to sickbay. I believe the doctor will be only too happy to relieve you of your pain with a Hypo or two."

He watched as Jim flinched at the thought. "I spent the best part of last week in sickbay, thank you very much!" he lamented, "I'm totally sick of that damned place! Pun not intended."

When they reached Officers' Deck, the alien proceeded to make his way to his own quarters, but the Captain caught his arm in a firm grip and planted himself in front of the door. "No you're not going there alone to sulk about your sorry Vulcan ass."

"Vulcans do not sulk," hissed Spock, finally losing his patience and letting a tiny bit of control slip. "Vulcans do, however, meditate. In peace and loneliness and quiet."

"Whatever you wish to call it, Spock, you're still not going." Jim presented him with his best grin, pressing both hands on his shoulders in an attempt to steer him away. "What you need now is some good old distraction."

"Forgive me, Captain, but I have to disagree." Once again he caught himself in the curious situation of wondering when exactly he had given this particular human permission to touch him so freely and why by the name of Surak he was unwilling to break the contact. "What I require now is meditation." A good amount of meditation.

Jim was not one to surrender so easily: "Spock, stop being so damn difficult. Look, I understand -I totally do. So let me help you, ok? Fancy a game of chess before dinner?"

"I do need meditation."

"Trust me on this one, please? You need to think about something other than your terrible, heart-breaking split-up with your three-year-now-ex-girlfriend." Kirk said sternly. "Besides, I am under the impression that 'Vulcans do not drink alcohol nor do they participate in any similarly infatuating activity that would result in a loss of control'. Am I correct?"

"Correct, Captain."

He smirked. "Thus, chess."

Spock thought about his suggestion. "Your logic is sound," he conceded after 12.04 seconds. "I shall accept your offer."

"Good."

As the Captain set the pieces across the tri-dimensional board, the Vulcan stood unmoving behind a chair, waiting for the human to give him permission to sit; after a good 2.36 minutes of disbelieving staring and a strong "Don't be preposterous,", though, Spock settled down in front of his friend, still frozen, still waiting. For what, he wasn't sure.

Jim gave him a fleeting look that he couldn't place, then his whole face lit up with a grin as he pushed the chessboard towards him: "White's on you this time," he declared, snapping his fingers. "I'm gonna win anyway," he added, nodding smugly and waiting for the witty remark that was sure to follow.

But his First Officer stayed quiet, sliding a pawn forward with just the tip of his finger, and never once raised his dark eyes to meet his questioning gaze. Shit. He's turning into a stone… he must be very compromised if he's willing to let me make my 'illogical assumptions' without comment. He sighed.

"So, Spock. How about I get you something to eat from the replicator? Or a tea? Would you like a tea?" He was starting to feel a little nervous at the sight of the all-too-stiff Vulcan, who appeared to be retreating deep into his own mind (which, as Bones had not-so-graciously explained, was never good aside from meditation. It meant either physical collapse or emotional breakdown. Not a sight he wanted to witness the evening before the start of an away mission.) "Hey, Spock. Tea?"

Finally, Spock raised his head, lifting a rook to place it in lieu of Jim's bishop. "Nan," he said, recalling the Captain had expressed a wish to learn his native language. Check. "You are fretting," he stated calmly. "There is no need."

"No need?" Kirk laughed openly at that, steering his Queen away from danger with a fluid motion, then he unexpectedly jumped to his feet. "Did you even hear my question?" he demanded, leaning towards him and resisting the urge to grasp his chin and make him listen. Invading his personal space was definitely not the best way to approach a non-grieving Vulcan. Spock blinked at his sudden proximity, yet he made no attempt to retreat, and simply shook his head no: he had no idea what the Captain had asked him. Maybe something about the incoming away mission?

"Would you like some tea, Spock?" Jim repeated patiently, smiling in a vain attempt to lure the other into relaxing. "From the replicator?"

The First Officer swallowed a little too awkwardly for his usual collected behaviour, but his eyes did warm up by a degree. "That would be… most welcome, thank you." Again, he focused the whole of his attention (or lack thereof) on the board.

"Forget chess," muttered the Captain, crossing the room quickly. "Go sit on the couch." He flinched slightly when Spock simply got up and followed his order without complaint, yet he restrained himself from commenting and moved to sit by his side.

"Here," he murmured as he handed him the hot tea, putting extra care into avoiding contact with the Vulcan's sensible fingers. "You look miserable. I know it's hard, but don't worry: you'll get over it."

The alien breathed into the spiced scent of the tea -so much, too much like home- and stretched his mouth into a tight line. "I should not look miserable. As a Vulcan my emotions should not be visible to the world. It is…" he paused half a second to meet his Captain's blue eyes, then whispered, so low it was barely audible: "Disgraceful."

"So what? You're showing emotions, big deal!" Kirk's laughter filled the room again, but before Spock could even begin to think he was laughing at him, the human elaborated: "I'm no Vulcan. I don't judge. You know I'll never judge, don't you?"

He nodded, feeling some of his tension ease away with Jim's carefree grin, and decided he could, after all, afford to lean his back against the couch.

"So now tell me: how do you feel?" The question was warm and gentle and caring; he realised the superior officer had inched towards him, almost closing the distance between them, in a very human wish to convey physical reassurance. He couldn't bring himself to mind.

"I… do not know."

Slowly, very slowly, just enough that he could choose to withdraw if he so wanted, the Captain wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing lightly. "It's f…" he caught himself before he could say 'fine', not wanting to offend his Vulcan sense of logic, and said instead: "It doesn't matter. It's ok if you don't have an answer."

Spock closed his eyes, going so far as to lean against him. (The human was warm and it was only logical to search relief from the Enterprise's cold environment.) Kirk stilled completely. He was reminded of his childhood in Iowa, when sometimes a bird would land on the palm of his hand and he would hold his breath until once again it sore through the sky: he was as much afraid to move as if the Vulcan had been a wild animal that he could easily scare away.

A heavy silence filled the room, and long after it was the alien who broke it, speaking slowly and softly. "There are 13.37 hours left until tomorrow." he stated, folding his hands in his lap and lowering his head. "Tomorrow is…"

"I know what tomorrow is." The anniversary of the destruction of Vulcan. Four years now since all he's ever called home was lost to the void. Jim stared at his First Officer's unmoving form, searching his brain for the right words to say: "Ka'i." I'm right here. He hoped the pronunciation was at least adequate. "Tushah nash-veh k'du." I grieve with thee.

Heaving a small, almost non-existent sigh, Spock opened his eyes again, offering a weary look that somehow managed to be full of soul-deep gratitude. "Th'i-oxalra, t'hai'la." I thank you, my friend. And right there, right then it seemed to him as if the Captain's use of Vuhlkansu had brought a significant change to how he perceived him; as if it held some kind of meaning he couldn't quite place.

Jim smiled gently and kept his unusually collected demeanour -it was crystal clear that he was carefully keeping himself in check just for his sake, and it was, indeed, a much appreciated gesture. "As I said, it's hard, but you'll get over it. Eventually. It takes time; it'll feel like betrayal, it'll feel like you can't breathe; you'll believe there are nothing but dead ends waiting for you. But you will get over it, this much I assure you."

How can you be so certain? This he wanted to ask, but something in his Captain's eyes -a hard, barren light he had never seen- prevented him from speaking; instead he listened to the human's heart beating that was the only sound filling the otherwise silent quarters. He thought he understood what physical reassurance was: proof of life, proof of care and trust, wordless promise of help and sympathetic kindness. He lingered there for a while, basking in this new discovery that was both logical and simple, then he gently disentangled himself from his friend's embrace and took his leave, dismissing dinner as not necessary.

He stopped by the door and turned in time to see Kirk sprawl on the couch, stretching arms and legs like a cat; some part of him (the human part, no doubt) wanted to laugh at the sight, and sure enough the corners of his mouth lifted in the ghost of a smile. "Thank you, Jim," he said again, for once not bothered by the illogical action of repeating himself.

Jim gave him a very solemn look: "Anytime, Spock." It did sound like a vow. Then the moment was over, and the Captain was suddenly standing in front of him: "Listen, how about dinner?"

"No."

"Come on! Don't Vulcans eat, too?"

"No."

Spock hurried away before the human managed to coerce him into joining Alpha shift at the mess, followed by Kirk's chiming, good-natured mirth.

"You know, that was damn perfect timing, Uhura!" The Captain exclaimed, chewing on a potato chip and slumping down on a chair between McCoy and the Lieutenant. "Really? Did it have to be today?"

"Sorry, Kirk," she muttered, offering him an apologetic look, "I didn't realise it was this close. I lost track of time…"

Jim curled his lips in a half-snarl, almost ready to snap at her, but was interrupted by the Doctor, who was angrily picking into his plate. "You idiot," he hissed, "What happened to the healthy diet I prescribed?"

"Bones, please, not now!" whined Kirk, shielding his greasy, mayonnaise-filled burger from his friend's furious glare. "It's been a week since I've actually ate some real food! Shoo!"

"Shoo?" McCoy bellowed, welling up with sheer outrage: "I'll give you shoo when you have a heart attack!" he threatened, stabbing his chest with a menacing finger.

"You're gonna give me a heart attack," mumbled the Captain under his breath, inching away from the incoming storm.

Thankfully, Chekov chose that particular moment to show up, carrying a tray of food which he promptly set down next to a laughing Uhura. "Keptin! Ze doctor iz angry at you again, yes?"

"When is he not?" chuckled Sulu, all but flinging himself on a chair and huffing in exhaustion. He stifled a yawn before leaning against the Russian, who somehow managed to hide a blush and started eating quickly.

"So, Jimmy." McCoy turned towards his friend, ignoring the snickering passing around the table, and kept a serious face as he regarded the youngest Captain of Starfleet. "What am I to expect? Tomorrow? The away mission that'll sure turn into mayhem? Ring a bell?"

Jim shook his head in mock misery: "Bones. What did we say about taking care of the crew's morale?" he reprimanded, patting the CMO on his shoulder with a resounding clap.

Leonard growled, contemplating the consequences of murder in cold blood. "I don't give a rat's ass about crew morale when it comes to your safety, fool."

"Aw, just relax, Bones! It's a diplomatic away mission. Lots of boring bla-bla. Spock'll be there and it'll go fine! We'll be fine!"

The good Doctor was positively appalled. "'Spock'll be there.' You say it as if it's supposed to be safety warrant or something!"

"Well it is, actually!" Kirk crossed both arms and legs and looked at Uhura for back up.

Preventing the Lieutenant from making what was sure to be a sarcastic remark, McCoy got up and slapped the back of Jim's golden head. "You might be under the delusion that the green-blooded scientist is some kind of magician, but I know better. He's as much of a fool as you are, if not more."

That surprised a gasp out of Sulu, who jerked up and awake in the blink of an eye and gaped at the Medical Officer. "What?"

"I'll go get sickbay ready for the two of you. I have a feeling I'll have to patch you up. Again." With a death scowl that made everyone but the Captain flinch, Bones left the mess. "My Tricorder's started calling you idiots by your first names…" he grumbled darkly.

"There you go!" James Kirk clapped his hands and grinned down at his Alpha crew, "If anything goes wrong tomorrow, it's his fault, not mine! He jinxed it!"

AN: Me again! I hoped you liked this first chapter! I think that went well... Please note that I'm not native English! If any of you natives has something to point out, I will be happy to learn!

Also, for the use of the term "T'hai'la" instead of "T'hy'la": I read on the Vulcan Language Dictionary that the first is used to define a friend or brother, while the second is the iconic friend, brother, lover. With this story, I want them to grow from t'hai'la to t'hy'la!

All Vulcan words taken from the VLD ^_^

Live long and prosper! (And please, do leave me a comment)