AN: Look who's back! Me! With a new chapter! Here begins the (Fake) Real marriage arc, in which Jim and Spock forget to inform Starfleet of their relationship, so when Spock is assigned Captaincy of a new ship and they get married something like a month after, Starfleet thinks their relationship is fabricated!

A bit of fluff and humor to recover from the heavy angst of the previous chapters, I guess.

Please, enjoy!

20

Giving

The first thing Sarek did when he let Kirk into his Earth apartment at the Vulcan embassy was ask: "Why isn't my son with you?"

Which, well, Jim could understand – Spock had promised he would come visit. But it had been less than four days since they'd all gotten back to San Francisco. Hardly enough time to warrant such an aggressive, if still cold, tone (for the sharp line of the Ambassador's left eyebrow was a telling sign the human had learned to recognise perfectly).

"Firstly, Bones is keeping him home till he recovers. Secondly, it so happens, on very rare occasions, that he and I exist in different spaces. Thirdly, he's preparing a lecture to give at the Academy on Monday."

The Vulcan stepped back, crossing his arms low over his belly, and gave a curt nod, thankfully accepting his explanation without enquiring further. He led the Captain into the living room, where Saavik and Michael were playing a game of Go; they both waved at him distractedly, then returned to staring at the board.

Sarek gestured for him to sit, but when Jim shook his head a little, the Ambassador merely arched an eyebrow, clearly the Vulcan equivalent of suit yourself, and again he did not insist. "How may I be of assistance?"

Kirk took a deep breath. The house smelled of spices and antique books, a scent vaguely reminiscent to that which still hung in his First Officer's quarters; somehow, it gave him a boost of courage. Checking to see that the bond was safely shielded – as they had agreed for the time being – he finally voiced the reason why he had sought the Vulcan out: "I want to ask Spock to marry me."

Behind him, Michael let out an excited cry, dropping the game to turn towards them. Sarek, far from looking surprised, merely offered the Captain a smug upturning of the corners of his mouth. "Are you asking for his hand? That is an outdated human practice," he said, though it was evident he was pleased by the developments. "Moreover, I believe you are already bonded."

"How do you…?" Jim began, save deciding he truly did not wish to broach the subject. "Never mind." He cleared his throat, letting his gaze wander over the many ancient artefacts displayed about the wide room. "I need you to tell me how it's done," he explained. "I mean, traditionally, on Vulcan."

"I have sensed the bond the moment it formed," the Ambassador told him after a beat of silence. "Needless to say, I wholly support your union."

Kirk, who had not been expecting such high praise from the stern Vulcan, let out a huff of a laugh, relief painted on his face for everyone to see. "That's… that's awesome. Thanks."

He smiled widely, then, as Saavik tiptoed by Sarek's side and pulled at his long sleeve to catch his attention. "Sarek?" she called in a satisfied little tone. "We won." There was a strange glint in her eyes that had the human take a step forward to examine it further.

"So it appears," the Ambassador conceded.

Confused, the Captain frowned at the two of them, hoping one would explain. "What is she talking about?"

"We had a bet going on," Michael piped in cheerfully, jumping to her feet; she picked a pear from a china bowl and offered it to Kirk, who took it without a word. "Which of you two would propose first. Saavik and I bet on you."

Here Sarek let out the most minuscule, invisible of sighs. "I, however, had more faith in my son," he admitted, letting his eldest daughter curl both arms around his elbow.

"I'll… make sure Spock never knows," Jim said dazedly, imagining his beloved's outrage at being the centre of a bet, of all things – it was bad enough that it happened frequently on the Enterprise, he didn't need his family to join in the practice too. "Anyway. Can you help me?"

"I would be most pleased to assist you in this," the Ambassador assured him. Again, he indicated the human should sit, and this time Kirk smiled and did so. "Spock will be happy," Sarek added, almost as an afterthought. "Very much so."

The first two gifts went by unnoticed, but Jim had been expecting them to.

They were cooking together inside Leonard's kitchen – or better, Kirk was cooking while Spock watched, occasionally poking his fingers here and there to snatch a taste. The human would have never thought his bondmate would be so childish around food, but he found it extremely endearing, and also a little humbling that he would feel so at ease in his presence to loosen up that much.

In the past week, the Vulcan had gained a little of his weight back, and he looked healthier, cheeks fuller and eyes brighter as they hung on his companion with a kind of warmth that spoke of home. He sat by the table and read aloud bits and pieces of his newest lecture so the Captain could comment on it, and his voice was clear and steady, full of life as he swirled his hands around in those measured gestures of his, in the vague sense of excitement that filtered through the shielded bond.

Jim loved him so very much.

According to traditions that dated back millennia before Surak had even been born, if one wished to court a Vulcan they should prove they could provide for their intended: because of this, they should bring the gift of water and the gift of food, for the desert was terrible and unforgiving, a vast expanse of burning reds it was far to easy to get lost in. And water was rare and precious – so precious that when the ancient tribes thought of a name for t'hy'la, they bastardised the word that used to mean oasis – while food was the fruit of one's labour and toil and cunning.

The human smiled as he placed a colourful glass of clear water in front of his love, letting the very tips of his fingers brush by Spock's as he automatically reached for his drink, and then he swirled away to tend to the pots and pans on the mostly-unused stove. Bones wasn't the type to cook much, even though he tried his best for Joanna when she was around, but Jim found a special kind of peace in putting together a meal by himself. It gave him security.

He had known hunger, and he understood the beauty, the importance of cooking for another; sometimes he thought the Vulcan got it too – after all, they shared a mindlink – but in a different way: to Spock it was an intimate thing, a show of familiarity and care, which he cherished but to which he had by now grown accustomed, ever since that first shore leave they had taken together more than a year before. He wouldn't question it further, nor would it ever occur to him to trace the gesture back to the ancient traditions.

As he carefully stirred the smooth orange soup he had learned to recreate to perfection, the human anticipated his beloved's surprise once he finally connected the dots and came to a logical conclusion.

"What are you thinking of so deeply, ashayam?"

The gentle question startled him out of his musings, and he turned to offer Spock another smile. "Nothing, babe, just lunch," he cheerfully answered. It wasn't precisely a lie, anyway. "Would you like me to pick you up at the Academy, later?"

"That would be agreeable," the Vulcan said, sipping thoughtfully at his water. He set down the Padd he had been reading from and looked at his t'hy'la with a raised eyebrow. "Where will you be?"

"I'm taking Jo-Jo to watch a movie and then I have a few errands to run."

Spock nodded and walked up to him to steal a chaste kiss before he began to set the table, and it seemed to Jim as if they'd been practicing that simple routine for a decade instead of the odd week, and he wondered at how far they'd come, how different things were from that day when the Vulcan instructor had brought him up to trial for beating his unbeatable test; he would have never imagined they'd end up like this, together, sharing spaces and minds and lives.

"This day next month marks seven years since we have met," Spock told him quite out of the blue, unknowingly echoing his thoughts. "It has been… an eventful journey."

"Yeah, no kidding." Kirk pressed his lips to the Vulcan's forehead, then took a seat in front of him. "Five years in space and we are back on Earth in one piece."

"Indeed. I am grateful for it, and for you." It was… easy, the way he said it, mouth curved upwards a little as he tangled their legs under the table, and the Captain beamed at him, cherishing the warmth and spontaneity of that so readily offered feeling. "I find myself illogically hopeful for the future that awaits us."

Jim squeezed his hand tightly. If there was one thing he had ardently wished to impart upon his t'hy'la was the sentiment of hope – and to have it reflected in his transparent eyes with no shame or hesitation was more than he would have ever dared ask for.

After that, they ate their meal in silence, enjoying each other's presence, and Kirk planned his proposal.

So Jim hadn't exactly lied – Joanna was watching a movie, after all, sitting with Demora on a pile of pillows scattered all over Sulu's living room. The two girls were sharing a bowl of animal-shaped cookies, squealing excitedly at the screen and only occasionally turning to demand the adults' attention.

Kirk watched them out of the corner of his eye, uncharacteristically keeping his distance as he spoke with the Sulus in hushed tones – not trusting Jo-Jo to keep her quiet if she was let in on the secret, he had decided to leave her in the dark, even if he was frequently assigned to baby-sitting duties because Bones was too much of a workaholic to spend his shore leave resting. "So… can you help me? I really can't knit."

Hikaru laughed brightly, ignoring the dirty look his Captain sent him, and clapped his back, leaning across his husband to collect a drink of water.

Vulcan tradition demanded the third gift be something woven. In the past it was common to present precious robes as courtship tokens, but the practice had faded long before the Industrial Revolution, leaving virtually nothing for a human to work on. Still, Jim was nothing if not resourceful, and he knew perfectly well how fond Spock was of the sweaters his mother used to knit for him: they were worn and battered – well-loved, one could say – and the Vulcan took special care of them to ensure they endured.

They kept him warm, which appealed to his logical sensibilities, and they held sentimental value, making them the perfect courting gift and a wonderful surprise for his bondmate.

"I think I can have it ready in a week," Ben told him with a shrug, smiling softly at his daughter when she waved at him before pointing at the screen; then he focused back on Kirk: "If you tell me how you want it."

A colourful smile lit Jim's face as he grasped his hand enthusiastically. "Great! I owe you one!" He pulled out his Padd and showed him the sketches he had doodled that morning while Spock meditated, then dumped a selection of silver and blue Vulcan wool on the sofa. "Here are his measurements, Michael gave them to me, and if you need anything just message me, okay? I guess it shouldn't be too difficult, right? Hikaru told me you've done much more complicated patterns, and this one is half-terran so, I mean, it should be fine?"

He was letting his mouth run, but it struck him all of a sudden how real it was – how a little over than three months before he wasn't even sure Spock was alive or dead, and now they were bonded and Jim was going to propose. It was as far from the future he had envisioned for himself as water from fire, and yet it fit; so completely, it fit, and he was eager and grateful and shocked that he might be allowed this, that he – they – had survived so much and had somehow managed to find each other in the midst of it all.

His cheeks hurt from how wild his grin had grown.

Again, Hikaru laughed at him, catching on to his elated mood. "So… when's the wedding gonna be?" he asked, interrupting his babbling.

Kirk frowned, pursed his lips. "He hasn't said yes yet, you know."

Both Sulus raised their eyebrows at him in clear disbelief, and the Captain chuckled at the sight of their amusement – it wasn't that he worried Spock would refuse him, but he couldn't very well make that kind of decision alone.

"So, when?"

"Shore leave ends in four months. I was thinking before that, but we'll have to figure it out together," Jim said, hoping to appease their curiosity. Anyhow, they couldn't get married on the ship during the mission – it would be unprofessional for one, and after how gracious Sarek had been about the whole accidental bonding affair it wouldn't do to provoke his wrath by not inviting him to the ceremony.

"You'll need one hell of a team to make it in time," Ben mused. "It took me and Karu six months and a half just for the planning part."

Jim had thought of that, but there was no alternative. "Speaking of which, Hikaru… Do you think you could arrange the flowers or something?"

"It'd be my pleasure."

The first thing Spock said when his t'hy'la presented him with the soft sweater a week later was: "Jim… I do not understand."

Bones had finally discharged them from house arrest, so they'd moved to Kirk's apartment with its unused rooms and missing furniture and gorgeous view of San Francisco's bay. Since their leave was to be a long one, they had agreed to begin the painstakingly long process of working on the place so it looked more like a living space and less like a storage compartment.

The amount of junk Jim had managed to accumulate throughout the years, considering he'd spent most of them on the Enterprise, was fairly ridiculous, but Spock sifted through it graciously, and after a day or two they had sorted most of it out. Soon the apartment was deemed habitable even by Vulcan standards, and they collected pictures of the stars and the desert and a few of the planets they'd visited and hung them all over, and it was so much like them, and for the first time in his life Kirk found the idea of home reflected in the walls surrounding him.

It was glorious.

The human had never seen his bondmate so relaxed, or so pleased; be it the fact that they were undeniably off-duty, or maybe that he was at last completely secure in their relationship, Spock seemed to have fallen prey of a state of perpetual delight that not even Leonard's unprompted medical examinations could damage. Jim found it extremely charming.

All things considered, he might have expected a more enthusiastic response when he sprung his gift on him, but he knew from experience just how graceless the Vulcan was at receiving presents, and so the flat confusion he was shown did not bother him in the slightest.

"This is unnecessary."

Jim smiled, undeterred, and offered him the bundle of warm wool, privately enjoying how delicately his bondmate took it from him. "Why? Yours are all ruined," the Captain said smoothly, hoping to win him over with simple logic. "I made it just for you – well, actually, Ben Sulu made it. I only designed it."

He gently coaxed Spock into spreading the sweater apart before his chest, so they could inspect the silvery pattern woven onto the dark blue background: a fine collection of stars and planets followed the line of the neck, dipping down along the arms until the hems of the sleeves. It was very elegant.

"I think it would look awesome on you," Jim added casually, meeting the Vulcan's eyes even as he tried to shy away from his gaze. "So do you like it?"

Spock cleared his throat, and there was the lightest of green blushes to dust his nose and cheeks as he traced a finger along the little woollen galaxies. "Ashayam, there was no need for you to go to such lengths…" he protested, almost a reflexive response, and the human wondered fleetingly whether Amanda's gifts were met with such demure objections too.

Leaning up on his toes, Jim bent forward to steal a quick kiss, effectively silencing him. "Oh, shush," he merrily commanded. "Try it on."

He manoeuvred the sweater from the Vulcan's hands and pulled it over his head, mussing his neat hair in the process, and his smile grew when his bondmate merely let out the tiniest sighs and submitted to his gentle treatment. When he was done, he took a step back to admire his work – he had been right: it did look exceptionally good on him.

Spock's lashes fluttered and he cocked his head to the side, fixing an awed stare upon him as he hugged himself to feel the warm, silky texture of the wool. "It is… outstanding, Jim. Thank you," he murmured, offering him an ozh'esta. Then his tone softened a little, turning almost apologetic: "I regret that I do not have a gift for you."

Jim had been expecting that too, and he shook his head quickly, reaching up to brush his bangs back into order. "I like surprise gifts better, honey," he told him over a wink. "Now come on, let's head out. I want to show you off around campus."

He was about to push him towards the door, but Spock caught his wrist in a firm hold and pulled him back to himself, until they were close, so close in fact their chests brushed at every breath they took and the human could count the freckles that had yet to fade from his bondmate's lightly tanned skin. The Vulcan's eyes were suddenly fierce, reflecting the depth of his appreciation, the high esteem he held Kirk in.

"T'hy'la," he said, and it alone was a statement of feeling. He carded his fingers through his Captain's hair and kissed him deeply, passionately, nipping at his lips and grasping at his neck, wrapping himself all around him like he could erase the space between them, merge their atoms together.

Their bond flickered open at the telepath's gentlest nudge, and a tendril of love insinuated itself in Jim's mind, taking residence there for an instant before Spock retreated, both from his brain and from the kiss, smiling faintly at his dazzled expression.

"Thank you."

For the fourth gift, Jim asked for Sarek's help.

He let the Ambassador lead him into the depths of the Vulcan neighbourhood in San Francisco, where the air was still and the buildings curved and twisted towards the sky like the desert mountains, soft reds and opaque blacks put in stark contrast with the silvery aesthetic of the 23rd Century. The wind carried about the rich scent of spices and here and there white light flashed from the many greenhouses that had been erected to try and breed the lost flora of a vanished planet.

It was disturbing to think that probably that district was the oldest Vulcan settlement one could find in the Galaxy.

The goldsmith's shop they visited was small, unassuming – a simple plaque written both in traditional script and elegant Standard, an opaque glass door – but the inside left Jim speechless, in awe at the sinuous architecture and the dimmed orange illumination that bounced off every metal piece with tender grace, eroding each sharp angle and edge into an appearance of softness. Many were the phrases etched in alabaster and onyx, and even more the figures and scenes carved in volcanic stone and jade and amber – in the colours of sand and blood and the sun.

To the human, it was like visiting a museum, or a sacred place, and he felt as if he should walk carefully lest he upset the delicate balance between art and history, shared memories and pure invention.

In his dark robes and regal composure, Sarek glided uninterrupted into the shop – his feet made no sound against the marble floor – and came to a stop before an elderly Vulcan whose eyes were exceptionally light, almost yellow as they fixed first on the Ambassador and then on the Captain.

She cocked her head to the side and raised her hand in the ta'al; her dark skin was painted in shapes of gold. "Ambassador. Captain Kirk. It is an honour," she graciously greeted them. "How may I be of assistance?"

Kirk smiled at her his brightest smile yet, and made quick work of explaining to her what it was that he was seeking. Sarek listened to him just as intently as she did, and his eyebrow raised in interest and perhaps surprise as he heard the human's request.

The goldsmith narrowed her eyes by a millimetre or so and turned towards the Ambassador. "Ah, yes. Is this for your son?" she asked, twining her fingers above her well-ordered table. "I seem to recall your late bondmate purchasing a similar gift."

Sarek nodded deeply. "Indeed."

"That's… that's kind of the point," Jim interjected quickly, wanting to convince her; out of all the five gifts, this seemed to him to be the most important, the one that Spock would hold most dear, that would be proof of healing and security and love. "I know you don't take the same request twice, but this is very important. Could you make an exception?"

Not a muscle moved on her face as she appraised him in silence, as if valuing his conviction, trying to decide whether he was worthy of her efforts or not.

After the pause seemed to stretch longer and longer, and Jim began to wonder if he should speak again, Sarek chose to intervene: "Captain Kirk is my son's bondmate," he said, taking one measured step forward. "He is trying to honour the ancient tradition of Kaukuh-Tan."

A hint of fleeting surprise passed into the Vulcan's stony eyes, and she, too, arched her eyebrow, if only minimally. Kirk suddenly noticed that Spock's father was actually quite expressive when compared to the rest of his people – but then, he was a diplomat, and had undoubtedly made several concessions to put his alien counterparts at ease.

"Most unusual," the goldsmith mused, at last conceding. "Very well. I am amenable."

They were lying in bed when Jim gave his t'hy'la the fourth present.

He hadn't been planning on revealing it so soon, but Spock was so beautiful, lazily melting into his pillows, lashes fluttering as he breathed deeply, green-tinted lips stretching over his blissful smile… There was a certain softness about him he never truly showed, and his unguarded gaze was fixed on him, unwavering and vulnerable and full of secrets Kirk could name and explain.

It was the very image of intimacy, and when he twined their hands together between them, the human was simply overwhelmed by how close they were, how warm. He traced the side of the Vulcan's face in a gentle caress and felt his answering purr vibrate into his fingertips, and it was so true and so easy that he wanted it for his own, even more so than it already was, he wanted to affirm their union in every possible way and then again.

Oh, he was so happy it hurt – love coiled in his chest and made it squeeze tightly for each touch they shared, each word Spock whispered into the small space separating them.

Keeping silent, Jim leaned in for an unhurried kiss, grateful for that moment that stretched and stretched and stretched because they were on leave and they were free and they could watch the night fade into dawn if they wished, or hold each other till they fell asleep, or play chess amongst the sheets until they grew tired of it.

Instead, they kissed. Slowly, tenderly, and it was enough – it would be enough for the entirety of his life, the human knew, and he wanted Spock to know it too. So he let seconds build into minutes but eventually he pulled away, millimetre by millimetre until there was air between them again.

"I have something for you, love," he murmured softly, turning to open the first drawer of his nightstand. "Since yours was lost."

The Vulcan pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning towards him, and Jim waited until he met his curious eyes before he let a silvery chain fall into his cupped hands.

"Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations," he softly said, sliding his fingers beneath his bondmate's as he saw them tremble finely. "To you who taught me this meaning."

Spock blinked at him in confusion, then looked down at the delicate pin safely nestled in his palms: an onyx circle broken by a silvery triangle that carried on its vertex the tiniest yellow diamond, in the oldest surakian symbol one could find. He raised the gift to his face to watch the low lights catch onto the metal, and his lips shook as he tried to form words. "Jim… I," he began, and then fell quiet.

Jim leaned closer, placed a quick kiss on his forehead. "I know your mother had one made for you, and I know it was really important," he said in kindness, opening the thin chain so he could hang it around the other's neck. The pin came to rest on his chest, just above the sternum, and Spock's hand came up to cradle it, pressing it into his skin. "I'm not saying that this can replace it, but…"

The Vulcan shook his head curtly to interrupt him, and suddenly he had cupped both the human's cheeks between his palms and inched closer, brushing their noses together. "Jim, this is…" His whisper was low, tender, and his eyes shone in the colour of tea, wide open and transparent and strangely wet. "It is everything."

Slowly, reverently, he traced the shape of Jim's mouth, down his chin, until he came to rest his hand onto his heart. "I cherished that pin because it reminded me of my mother's love," he told him in earnest. "Now it holds yours as well."

Kirk smiled brightly, and they kissed.

Jim proposed as soon as the rings were ready – Bones and Nyota had helped him pick them, and now they rested safely inside a velvety box in his pocket. It was early afternoon, and they were killing time before they'd go out again: there was an art exhibit Spock wanted to see, and an Italian restaurant Kirk was dying to try; but they had a couple of hours left, and the Vulcan was sitting on the sofa, reading intently from his Padd.

In retrospect, the human should have known something was off from the very beginning – he should have known from the stiff line of his bondmate's spine and the little annoyed dimple that had popped into existence at the left corner of his mouth, from the hard grip he had on his inseparable device. Still, Jim was too worked-up to notice, and so he carried on as he had planned.

He sat by the Vulcan, cleared his throat to get his attention, then took a moment to gather his thoughts.

After all they'd been through, after all they'd proved to each other, he'd figured there wasn't a need for grand gestures. Breathing in deeply through his nose, Jim grasped Spock's hand and held it tight. "So… I was thinking," he began.

Smooth, Kirk, smooth.

Spock glanced up at him, looking like he was about to talk, but then their eyes met and he closed his mouth, cocking his head to the side; he obviously sensed Kirk's emotions through their contact, and he twined their fingers as if offering comfort for whatever it was that had him so agitated. He returned the human's smile with a faded one of his own and brought his hand to his mouth to kiss its back.

"About us," Jim said then. "Our relationship, I mean."

Spock raised an eyebrow in surprise and set down his Padd. "I hear you."

"I know we're already bonded, but we haven't really made it official."

A moment passed in which the Vulcan waited for him to continue and Kirk chased the pretty words he had collected in the course of the past week, words that could give shape and meaning to his wishes, that would paint the image of their future. But now that he was actually giving that future voice he found they tasted shallow on his tongue and so he traded them for simple truths that he hoped would be received just as well.

"And I want it to be official. The Vulcan way… and the human way." He turned Spock's hand around in his own, traced a line down his palm just to watch the little tremor that ran across his fingers from the teasing touch. "Parted and never parted, never and always touching and touched, till death do us part."

He heard more than saw the Vulcan's sharp intake of breath as realisation dawned, and finally he raised his head again to look into his eyes. Even if he had tried, he wouldn't have been able to erase the grin that bloomed upon his face at the sight of his bondmate's growing wonder.

"I guess what I mean to ask is… will you marry me?"

In an unexpected gesture, Spock retracted his hand, but it was to wrap it around the soft wool of the dark-blue sweater he was wearing. "Jim, you… The five gifts – Kaukuh-Tan," he whispered in amazement, reaching back for him almost instantly, as if unable to bear even that minimal distance for a moment longer. "The gift of water, the gift of food, something woven, something precious, and the gift of self. Is this what you have been doing?"

"Yeah," Jim easily revealed, inching closer to press their thighs together. "Sarek explained it to me, and it seemed too good to pass up."

The Vulcan's smile grew more pronounced, and he leaned down to rest his forehead against his shoulder, speaking into the hollow of his neck. "T'hy'la – you must understand how grateful I am for your efforts at recreating Vulcan traditions…" he breathed. "You do not have to, and yet…"

Kirk laughed merrily. "I take it that's a yes?" he quipped.

Spock pulled away enough that he could look into his eyes when he replied: "Yes, t'hy'la." His voice was steady and there were joy and pride vibrating within that even tone, a mirror to the naked feeling that had lit up his face. "Every day for the rest of my life, yes."

Afterwards there was a kiss that held the same taste of the sky when it cleared just before spring, and then Jim opened the little velvet box to reveal the rings he had engraved with t'hy'la written in ancient Vulcan script and Standard. They tried them on for a moment or two, placed them back carefully to be exchanged at the wedding, and they laughed in the quiet of the afternoon.

Spock had settled in his bondmate's lap, playing with his hair. "Is this why you acquiesced so easily when I proposed to shield the bond for the time being?" he asked, pulling lazily at the golden strands that curled around his fingertips.

"Yes, and the fact that listening to you think in the back of my mind all day long can be pretty distracting," Jim told him, patting his knee affectionately to show just how much he had enjoyed the distraction.

"We shall have to practice."

"Yeah, there's still time before the mission." The Captain pressed his lips to the Vulcan's cheek, tenderly, before a chuckle escaped him, puffing hot against the green-hued skin. "I can't believe we're getting married."

"Indeed," Spock purred. And then, abruptly, as if an unwanted thought had crossed his mind, he stiffened, and all his earlier displeasure returned to break the warmth they had created around themselves. "But, Jim, I foresee… a complication."

Without uttering another word, he reached for his Padd and unlocked it, passing it to Jim so he, too, could examine the official-looking letter that filled the screen. It was from Starfleet headquarters, arrived less than half an hour before, and it demanded the Vulcan assume Captaincy of his own ship – a scientific vessel that had recently been completed.

For a minute, Kirk stared at the newly-issued orders as if they might somehow change. "Shit," he groaned. "We're fucked."

"I concur," said Spock flatly.

AN: So this is it! Another chapter for the 100 Words series! I hope some of you are still following and can forgive my tardiness... I came very close to abandoning the project, but I'm happy to say I'm definitely working on it again - and that after this arc I'll delve into TOS territory!

Oh, and also, if you like my fics, I have a lot more posted on AO3. I go by HanaSheralHaminail there as well (same for my tumblr!)

Thank you so much for reading up to here! LLAP, I love y'all! (Please leave a trace of your passing?)