The BLTS Archive - Alone
by T'Aaneli

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Archive: ASC/EM OK. Anywhere else please ask.

Feedback: Please.

Disclaimer: Paramount-Viacom Inc. owns all things Star Trek including
"the boys".  Anything that doesn't belong to Paramount, belongs to me.

I couldn't fall asleep one night. This is the reason why. I hope you
enjoy. A special thanks to Isalofhope, Hafital, and SamK for their
betaing and encouragement. Feedback would be treasured …

---

"Would you care for another drink sir?"  A soft voice broke Jim Kirk
out of his reverie. Looking down at his scotch--actually the dregs of
it-- he nodded to the waitress. As she left, he settled himself deeper
into the chair, allowing himself the luxury of closing his eyes and
simply listening. The sound of the guitar, its notes and chords,
created a rich weave of memories and images in his mind.

Kirk had never been to this particular local establishment-- as Spock
would call it--before. He could almost hear Spock's voice, see the
eyebrow quirking upwards at the prospect of venturing into a bar. Kirk
sighed. He already missed him.

Spock had left for Gol today.

After Spock had resigned his commission, Kirk had delivered him to the
airport. As they had bid farewell, Kirk had longed to ask him--why?
But Spock's cold, Vulcan mask, which he had begun donning more and
more often towards the end of the five year mission had stopped him.
How could he question what Spock said he wanted? What he needed.

So now he was alone. Again. As he nursed the newly delivered scotch,
he remembered a conversation about loneliness between him and Spock.
It had been several months ago, after the events at Sarpeidon.

Zarabeth. Her name still caused a chill in Kirk's blood. Zarabeth had
almost cost him both his first officer and his chief medical officer.

---

The doors slid shut behind him, leaving him in the darkness of the
observation deck. Its' only occupant, until moments ago, had
apparently opted to leave the lights dimmed.

Jim moved forward quietly, sinking down into the chair next to
Spock's. He joined Spock in staring at the vista before them: the vast
emptiness of space.

Together, they sat in silence. Finally he turned to look at Spock.
What he saw worried him. Spock's normally implacable face was etched
with lines of strain and obvious grief. A feeling of fear, deep in the
pit of his stomach, started to grow.

"Bones told me."

Jim knew his voice was rough, but he couldn't help it. His pain at
Spock's grief was tinged with his own jealousy--that Spock could
feel--no, *would* feel so strongly for the loss of another.

As Jim's voice broke the silence, Spock turned towards him. For a long
moment, Spock's eyes studied his, as if searching for some answer …
for some reassurance. Finally, he spoke.

"Zarabeth spoke about being alone. That feeling … of aloneness …
terrified her the most. I …  regret having to leave anybody in that
state, of aloneness because I, too, understood understand what it
means. To have been alone."  There was an undeniable shade of sorrow
in his voice which stabbed at Jim's heart.

"Yet…as the doctor and I searched for the portal, I heard you r voice,
calling for us. Your voice reached out to me, even in my altered
state, and I remembered our friendship. That, indeed, I am not alone."
Spock shifted in his seat, turning his body towards Jim. There was a
rawness to his voice which Jim had rarely heard. "You are my friend,
Jim. I thank you for that. I … no longer feel that I am alone."

As Jim listened to Spock, that deep ache of grief at his friend's loss
tinged with his own jealousy began to dissolve, replaced with a mix of
joy and relief at the realization that he not lost his friend nor
their friendship.  Jim reached out with his hand, covering Spock's
hand as it rested on the arm of the chair.  To hell with caution and
avoiding touch--if Spock didn't like it, then Spock would tell him.

But Spock didn't flinch from the touch. Jim felt Spock's other hand
rise and cover his, so that Jim's hand was surrounded. And with that
touch--that simple touch--Jim felt at peace with the world. Spock was
back, by his side, where he belonged.

Where he belonged …. that was how he thought of Spock. Always there,
next to him. His shadow. His shieldmate. The one person who truly knew
him. The one person he needed by his side.

But tonight, sitting in the dark, his hand clasped between his first
officer's hands, that need felt different. As the heat from Spock's
hands warmed him, he started to feel a slow heat building within him.
He felt an irresistible urge to take Spock in his arms, to protect
him, to banish away those dark goblins which seemed to haunt him.

He wanted to hold his friend, to feel the beat of his heart, to
reassure him that he would always be there for him. He wanted to feel
Spock in his arms, to dishevel that perfectly coifed hair, to … NO …
this was impossible. This was Spock. His Vulcan First Officer. His
best friend.

As confused thoughts swirled in his head, Jim felt Spock's hand
release his and saw him rise. He wanted to reach up and stop him, pull
him down into his arms, but he was immobilized. He heard Spock saying
something about resting and alpha shift in the morning. He heard
himself respond automatically. He heard the door open and slide shut.
And then he was left alone in the dark, with his own dark goblins,
warring within him.

---

As he sat in the bar, Kirk still remembered those confused feelings.
For several weeks after Sarpeidon his emotions had been chaotic. He
had spent hours questioning his relationship with Spock. Every
conversation, every gesture that both he and Spock made, was analyzed
for its context, its nuances, its possible meanings.

Finally one night, as he and Spock were playing a game of chess, he
had looked at his First Officer and reached a decision.

He had the best first officer in Starfleet as his shieldmate. Each
would die for the other if required. Of course he loved the man--just
as he would love his own brother. And that was it--simple, functional.
They were the perfect command team. Decision made. It was obvious that
he had simply over-reacted to Spock's near disappearance. It was time
that he banished his own goblins.

So why did he feel so alone tonight in this bar? Not just the
aloneness of losing a friend. No. This was an aloneness of the soul. A
feeling of absolute emptiness.

He heard a babble of voices coming closer. Looking up from his drink,
he saw a group of men, claiming seats at one of the nearby booths.
Young, thirty-somethings--all with a look of satisfaction and
contentment. No doubt they were out celebrating the success of one of
the group members. God knows he had done it often enough, both at the
Academy and afterwards with his shipmates.

He turned his attention back to the guitar player, allowing himself to
simply sit. There was no need to worry about where he should be or
what else might be going on.

As the waiter came around for another drink order, Kirk chanced to
look back at the table of celebrants. Their obvious joie de vivre
magnified his own loneliness.

As he watched the easy bantering going back and forth, his attention
was suddenly arrested by a stray gesture. His eyes travelled back to
the figure that had caught his attention. At first glance he saw
merely an attractive dark haired man, slim and well dressed.
Discreetly, Kirk studied him further, looking for what had attracted
him back to this particular individual. Then he saw it. It was the
hands. Long, slim fingers--musician's fingers. They were steepled in
front of him, occasionally releasing to accentuate a comment , but
always returning to that relaxed, steepled position.

Kirk looked away quickly. Of course it would be natural for his eyes
to gravitate towards a familiar gesture. After all, he had worked with
Spock for five years. If anybody in the bar were to raise a single
eyebrow, he'd probably break out in a smile. Or would he?

He heard laughter, and knew it was coming from the other table. He
chanced another glance. As he looked over, Kirk felt the dark-haired
man's gaze cross his, stop, and then return. He should have looked
away, but he couldn't.  The stranger's eyes rested on him, with a
curiously appraising look.  Dark brown eyes. Under very human
eyebrows. A smile tugged at the corners of the stranger's mouth as he
inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

Kirk looked away quickly towards the guitar player, as if he could
erase the look that had passed between them. What was he doing? You
don’t exchange looks with complete strangers in a bar unless you want
to be picked up.  And not that he hadn't done his fair share of
pick-ups in his past, but he was not here  looking for a bed partner.
Not tonight.

As the minutes passed and the guitar player finished his set, Kirk
began to relax. Perhaps he had completely misread an innocent
greeting. He was sure he had. No reason to get that tense feeling as
though something dangerous was about to happen. Just as he started to
congratulate himself on over-reacting yet again, he felt a presence
behind him. "Do you mind?" The owner of the velvety baritone didn't
wait for a response but slid into the empty chair across from Kirk.

Accepting Kirk's lack of protest as an assent, he continued. "I
couldn't help but notice that you were enjoying the music. I was
curious as to whether you're a follower of Savard. I know most of the
regulars and I haven't seen you here before."  He smiled in a way that
Kirk wanted to misinterpret. "My name is Tomas."

"Jim. You're right. I haven't been here before. I just happened to
come across it tonight. It seemed to be a good place to spend a few
hours." Jim reached out a hand. For a brief moment, or was it
imagined, Tomas seemed to hesitate, but then Kirk felt the handshake
being returned. And as Tomas' hand clasped around his, Kirk felt a
warmth starting to grow in his groin, the warmth of attraction. Of
sexual attraction.

He let go of Tomas' hand as quickly as possible but not before he
found his eyes locking with the dark brown ones in front of him. With
an effort, he looked away, regrouped, and starting discussing Savard's
set.

An hour later, Kirk found himself relaxed. Tomas had invited him back
to his table, introduced him to his friends. They were an assorted
group as Kirk had suspected, all young professional males, all taking
time out from work, families, and spouses to celebrate the recent
promotion of one of the men.

Kirk had found himself quickly falling into a comfortable routine of
conversation. One of them had recognized Kirk from a holovid as the
successfully returning starship captain, up for promotion to Admiral,
Chief of Operations. For several minutes, he had been the centre of
attention, fielding questions with the practice of a pro, but when the
second set began, the attention faded. By the start of the third set,
they had returned to their normal patterns of conversation. His brief
notoriety was set aside as the group discussed more pressing concerns
such as the latest stats on the Federation's Amateur Boxing Games and
whether or not Savard's new guitar had a more melancholy sound than
his former one.

After the final set, the group quickly disbanded with hurried
negotiations over lunch engagements and dinner parties. Soon Tomas and
Kirk were left sitting alone at the table.

"Well, I suppose I should pack up and head out too. Tomorrow's going
to be a long day." Kirk reached for the padd in order to settle his
debt. Before he could close his hand on it, he felt Tomas' hand cover
his lightly, stopping his movement. Kirk looked up, startled by the
sudden touch. "Jim. Would you like to go for a walk? There are several
beautiful paths down by the waterfront at this time of night. You
shouldn't miss the sight of the moon on the Bay."

As Kirk looked into Tomas' eyes, he felt that warmth start to grow
again. No thanks, he thought. "Yes. I'd like that."

---

For over an hour, they walked along the paths by the waterfront. They
discussed music, careers, literature and domestic politics. Kirk
learned that Tomas was a successful author, that he had graduated from
Berkeley.

When Tomas invited Kirk in for a drink at his house, Kirk didn't
hesitate in accepting the offer. Tomas' home was only a short walk
away. Situated in the old Marina District, the homes had a patina and
character which appealed to Kirk. In a different life he could have
seen himself settling down in this District.

As he followed Tomas inside, his eyes scanned the large loft area,
approving the subtle taste displayed in the choice of décor. It spoke
of someone with quiet wealth, good taste, a sense of themselves--or a
very good interior decorator.

"A drink, Admiral?" He felt Tomas' presence beside him. For a human
male he had an uncanny ability to move quietly and gracefully. More
and more, Tomas reminded him of another.

"I'd rather you didn't call me Admiral. Jim will do fine." It felt
strange telling someone to call him Jim. It had been so long since he
had met anybody outside of Starfleet circles. Even longer since he had
gone home with anybody. What was he doing here?

Almost as if he sensed Kirk's discomfort, Tomas stretched out a hand,
hesitantly, resting it lightly on Jim's arm. "Jim. I'm not going to
waste time, or use euphemisms. I have long since discovered that
life's too short for that. I brought you here because I find you
attractive. I hope the feeling is mutual. If it's not…not to worry. I
don't take things personally. You're free to enjoy your drink and go."

Jim looked up. It felt so odd to be looking up at a man. It had been a
very long time. "No. I … want to stay."

Tomas' dark eyes locked on his, as if by staring into his eyes he
could see into Kirk's soul. His voice was low and husky when he
finally asked, "Why are you here?"

The question rocked Kirk. Why was he here? "I don’t know. Because I
want to be here. Because I need to be here … tonight." It was the only
answer that he had.

Tomas stared at him for another long moment, and then as if satisfied
with the honesty of the answer, he drew him slowly into the curve of
his arms. For a long moment, the two men were still, Tomas' arms
holding them together. Kirk made a conscious effort to relax. He
allowed himself to lean against the other man, allowed himself to
enjoy the feel of being held. What a simple pleasure, to hold and be
held, one which he had denied himself for far too long.

Tomas' hands began a slow, rhythmic caress of his back. He could feel
the heat of his fingers through his wool jacket. He felt himself
responding, allowing his own arms to reach around Tomas' waist. His
fingers started exploring, tracing the smooth line of a spine, lightly
brushing across a pair of shoulder blades.

He felt Tomas lean backwards, slightly. Looking up, Kirk felt his
breath catch. There was a smile on those lips, a sweet, warm smile
that made Tomas' lips look so inviting that Kirk knew he needed to
feel those lips, needed to feel welcomed.

Kirk reached up, pulling Tomas' head downwards. As their lips brushed,
softly, Kirk heard a soft groan escaping Tomas. The kiss became
deeper. What had begun as a slow exploration, a gentle touching of
lips was deepening into a need which had to be satiated.

As he tightened his arms around Tomas, his own lips became demanding.
Hands began roving with urgency, fingers began undoing buttons. Kirk
felt a tongue dancing a trail across his chest, wreaking havoc with
his nerves. He felt himself being guided towards what he could only
assume was the bedroom, almost tripping over the tangle of clothing as
piece after piece was strewn behind them.

Suddenly he felt the coolness of a sheet underneath him. Startled, he
stiffened for a moment, then relaxed and drew Tomas' lean body closer
to him. For a moment, they embraced quietly, two bodies moulded
together, each savouring the simple human contact. But even as they
enjoyed that brief moment, the heat began to rise between them--a
pure, simple, physical desire--needing to be satiated. And so began
the release.

---

Kirk lay in the bed, his body relaxed. Good old fashioned sex.
Sometimes it was the cure for all evils. But not tonight.

He turned onto his side, looking at the lean form beside him. In
sleep, Tomas looked angelic, his dark lashes fanning out, his lips
slightly parted. He was beautiful.  But as he stared at Tomas, Kirk
knew. Every kiss he had deposited on Tomas' body, every touch he had
used to awaken this man's senses, to appease both of their hungers,
had been meant for another.

Lying in the dark, Kirk closed his eyes, and allowed the memories to
wash over him. Of long fingers caressing a console, of eyes watching
him with concern, of an eyebrow which could speak volumes in one
simple movement. He remembered the feel of a body, lean and hot, steel
underneath a Starfleet uniform, the fleeting touch of a hand as he was
steadied, the smell of cinnamon.

Alone in the darkness, he knew. That overwhelming desire to take Spock
in his arms, to protect him, to comfort him--it had been more than
friendship. He wanted Spock. Emotionally, spiritually, physically. He
wanted to possess him in every way conceivable. And he wanted to be
possessed by Spock.

No. It was even more than wanting. He needed Spock.

Kirk rose from the bed and walked towards the open balcony.
Absentmindedly, he picked up a robe and wrapped himself into it.
Stepping through the doors into the cool air of the Bay, he breathed
deeply, as if the air itself could take away his loneliness. But as he
exhaled, he felt the pain. Now, only now, after realizing what he
needed, did he realize what he had lost … the very essence of his
soul.

"Spock. I need you… " The words were a quiet, anguished plea, wrenched
from his throat, lost in the winds off San Francisco Bay.

----alone----

The End