Chapter Text
At night, Jim retreats to his master’s side, and Spock doesn’t see him. Spock stays awake at night for hours on end, expecting the doors to creak open, but they don’t. Spock doesn’t probe at their connection, mostly because he’s afraid of what he’ll see. When he does finally manage to lose consciousness, it feels like a small miracle.
In the morning, he doesn’t feel rested in the slightest. He feels heavy and nervous and sick to his stomach—nearly as bad as he did during pon farr. He wants to stay in bed, but he also wants to run far, far away and never come back.
He stays in bed for an inordinately long time—far past what’s acceptable. He half expects Sarek to come and scold him, and he would almost welcome it as a sign of normality. But things aren’t normal, and he remains bleakly alone.
Jim doesn’t come to bring him breakfast. He wonders if the table’s set with food waiting there, but there’s a process before he can go. He has a sonic shower. He changes into his best robes, then decides otherwise and switches to loose pants and a grey sweater his mother made for him. Sarek will remember when Spock received it from her, and perhaps it will soothe him, or at least remind him how important family is.
...Or perhaps it will remind him that he can recover from the loss of a family member, but Spock hopes it isn’t that.
Spock hesitates too long in front of his doors. Though it’s tenuous, he feels safer here. It’s scary out there. So filled with unknowns. The thoughts are beneath him: childhood demons summoned back. He forces himself to step forward. He makes his way into the corridor and stiffly down the hall.
He breaks and presses at the bond, and he experiences a tremendous amount of relief to find Jim unharmed. Jim’s nervous, very nervous, and still upset, but he’s healthy and all his vitals are stable. If Sarek had beaten Jim, Spock thinks he would know. Something about Jim’s demeanor hints that Sarek hasn’t touched him at all since the discovery, and it makes Spock ponder if his father’s disgusted to find they’ve shared lovers.
Jim opens up to Spock but doesn’t stay long. The reassurance is enough to keep Spock composed.
In a sudden spurt of logical bravery, he checks his father’s study on the way to the kitchens, but he finds it ominously empty.
He finds Sarek seated at the dining table, devoid of any dishes. Spock hesitates on instinct, then summons the strength to behave accordingly; he’s a disobedient child. He hangs his head and stays in the doorway, politely awaiting further instructions.
Sarek summons him with a curt, “Be seated,” and Spock snaps to move, strolling forward. There is no other sensible option; he takes the seat across from Sarek. Sarek, frowning sternly, tells him, “You will summon James.”
Stifling his shock, Spock tentatively obeys. He doesn’t want to drag Jim into this, but he knows Jim already is in it.
So he reaches through the bond to take Jim’s hand, and he feels Jim’s held breath and unsteady exhale. Spock whispers, I am sorry. But you must come.
Jim takes a moment to reply, I understand. I’m in the garden. I’ll wash up and come to you and... and him?
He is here.
...I will be there. But Jim’s terror has spiked, and it’s clear that he doesn’t want to. He’s always brave. He does anyway. Spock slips back in the interest of at least paying his father the respect of full attention. By the look on his father’s face, however close to its normal emotionless gaze, he’ll need a lot more to survive.
He will survive, he supposes, when he’s cast out. Disowned. He’ll have nowhere to go. He doesn’t think his father would sell him into slavery; there would be too much shame, detachment or not. It’s more likely that Spock will be shown the door without any credits to his name, and he’ll be forced to find a menial, backwater service job that won’t require any family status, and he’ll spend his days struggling in obscurity and loneliness. ...And eventually, perhaps someday far off, when he’s gone through half a dozen pon farr cycles, he’ll earn enough to afford transport on a vessel and lodging on Earth and Starfleet tuition, and by the time he’s old and grey, he’ll reach the stars, with no one at home to write letters to.
Nameless, he would never be able to purchase a slave. He wouldn’t see Jim again. He might die from the next pon farr without. But perhaps he could sneak back anyway, and they could struggle through an impossible, torrid affair, despite all odds and sanity...
He’d break apart in the process, he thinks. And he certainly wouldn’t be Vulcan anymore; he would lose everything he is. But he’s no longer in charge of his options. He waits to hear his fate, but his father doesn’t speak to him in the several minutes they wait for Jim’s arrival.
When Jim does arrive, he hovers near the table for a few tense moments, until Sarek asks him coolly, “Have you forgotten how to serve, James?”
Jim shakes his head quickly, mutters an apology, and hurries off to the kitchen. Spock, surprised, follows the movement with his eyes until Jim disappears around the corner. He reappears shortly with an elaborate fruit tray and pancake squares. He sets it in the middle and places down their separate plates and chopsticks and then returns to the kitchen, presumably to fetch their drinks. Spock doesn’t dare eat, though Sarek begins to move various pieces of fruit to his plate. Watching this instead of Spock, he says, rather tersely, “I am aware that I am partially to blame for this discretion.”
Eyebrows rising in all the more shock, Spock is temporarily rendered speechless. That was not what he was expecting. When he regains the ability to speak, he quickly insists, “Father, the fault is entirely my own, you have done nothing—”
“I bonded to a human,” Sarek says sharply, cutting Spock off. “I birthed you to that human and sired what I knew to be a flawed offspring. I have done everything in my power to raise you above that faulty beginning, but I see now I should not have expected to turn you into what you are not. You are part human; that fact is no longer deniable.”
Spock knows better than to interrupt, but his heart is thudding against his side. His hands are folded in his lap, but they clench imperceptibly at the callous mention of his mother, though, of course, he understands the logic in his father’s words. And he knows his father loved his mother very much, but that doesn’t change the fact that Spock’s inherited half her flaws.
“When you were younger, I was resigned to the knowledge that your human blood would betray us. It was foolish to assume that threat had been eradicated simply because of your exemplary schooling.” Sarek doesn’t mention the fact that Spock’s bonded another human, but he does say, looking up to catch Spock’s eyes, “However, you must know that bonding to a slave is entirely unacceptable.”
Spock dares a nod, head falling, and a quiet, “I know that, Father. I am deeply sorry.”
“Dissolve your bond.” Spock’s chin snaps back up, eyes widening. Sarek simply rolls on, perfectly calmly, “I can see by your reaction that it is not an option. I did not expect it to be. Do not say you are sorry if you do not mean it.”
Spock gulps. He tries to restrain the visibility of his pain, but he can’t help but insist, “I only mean to regret my actions in the shame it brings to the family.” And he thinks he should say more, but he doesn’t quite know what or how, so he doesn’t. Sarek doesn’t acknowledge his apology.
Sarek, no longer under the pretense of eating breakfast, pushes his plate aside. Spock gets the distinct impression that they’re meant to go on eating afterwards as though the sky isn’t suddenly falling. Sarek clasps his hands on the table in a very ambassadorial pose and tells Spock gravely but pointedly, “I have given considerable thought to our limited options, and I have decided there is only one viable solution. You must leave.”
Spock feels a sudden well of despair, not his own but somehow even greater. He shifts his gaze to the end of the dining room, but Jim hasn’t reappeared. He’s tucked away in the kitchen, listening through Spock’s mind, reacting with sorrow. The presence is a comfort, though not nearly enough to lesson the burden. Spock opens his mouth, but he has no words to give. He has no defense for his actions. He isn’t shaking like he thought he’d be—perhaps his senseless dread beforehand has prepared him better. Now he’s merely numb to a fatal future he knew was coming.
He’s resigned to that fate when Sarek smoothly continues, “Starfleet is the logical choice.” Spock snaps to attention, nearly reeling. “It will not be the honoured place among our people that our family has always maintained, but you will at least be able to salvage some interstellar respect and eventually retire to the Vulcan consulate on Earth, which is still considered a somewhat respectable position. The Starfleet population is rather diverse, and, fortunately, the Vulcan ways are a mystery to the vast majority of them. Should you manage to place on a ship, it is highly unlikely any of your crewmates will understand Vulcan bonding. I trust, of course, that you would not be foolish enough to enlighten them.”
Though Spock’s mouth has gone inexplicably dry, he somehow manages to croak, “I would not, Father.” He wouldn’t dare.
He feels vaguely like he’s five again, being played a cruel prank upon. But adult Vulcans don’t play such pranks, and Sarek’s face is utterly solemn. Spock is... overwhelmed.
He licks his lips, half a second later realizing it’s a transferred habit from Jim’s presence in him, and mutters, “I was sure you would disown me.” His amazement must show on his face, because Sarek lifts an eyebrow.
“I have no wish to lose my son and heir, however thoughtless he might be. I am operating, of course, under the assumption that you will grow wiser as you age and never do something so imprudent again.”
“I will not, Father,” Spock promises with perhaps too much conviction. “I will make you proud.” ...Or as much so as he’s capable of doing, off in an ‘unworthy’ arrangement. At least now he’ll have the chance to try.
He means to ask about Jim, but he doesn’t dare push his luck, not yet. Sarek, like reading his mind, carries on. “Furthermore, I do not consider myself a cruel man. While your bondmate may be a slave, he is not without his... temptations.” It’s Spock’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Sarek spares a sidelong look at the kitchen before continuing in Spock’s direction, “But I have no need of a slave that would prefer my son. ...Though you have not earned it, I see little choice if I wish to not be the tyrant I deny. I will gift James to you, on the condition that no one will ever know you are bonded to a slave. I am one man, and I cannot change his records; his status is as it is. How you regard that beyond closed doors is your own business, but I insist that those doors remain closed.”
Somewhere along the line, Spock’s hands have risen to grip the table very, very hard.
For only the second time in his life, he is experiencing the want to race around the table and throw his arms around his father’s torso. He’s facing an undeniable wave of appreciation and love, and all he can seem to get past his lips is a brittle, “Thank you.”
“I will transfer the appropriate amount of credits to your account, and I will expect you to have an exotic slave sent to me after you have surveyed the Terran markets. I am not due to return to Earth for some time. ...Out of respect to your mother, I would prefer a male.”
Spock is torn between laughing and weeping with joy, but in the interest of making his wonderful father proud, he schools his face blank and merely says, “Of course, Father.”
Spock didn’t eat a thing, and it doesn’t matter. He politely sat and watched his father eat, sitting and contemplating and meticulously planning out his future so as to bring as much honour to his father’s name as possible. He would like a space faring vessel, but he would also like a position geared towards an ambassador advancement, so to follow in his father’s footsteps. While his father remains entirely stationed on Vulcan, Spock could at least visit him often.
They’ll write, of course. Spock will be sure to relay his success and his findings, such as scientific advancements that could only come from off-world pursuits. Perhaps, should he do well enough, he will please Sarek in his own way.
Jim stayed in the kitchen, but Spock isn’t surprised when Jim comes to his room only a few minutes after his arrival. His Starfleet application, sure to be accepted after his father’s illustrious influence, is up on the console, currently only bearing the address. Spock closes the file as soon as he senses Jim’s presence; he can compose and send his application later tonight.
For now, he turns to Jim with as calm a façade as he can manage, not at all surprised to see Jim beaming. Spock stands from his desk, and Jim flies at him, practically melting into his arms. Jim’s cheeks are stained with water, and he’s still crying, but Spock knows the sobs are from only joy. Shocked, overwhelming joy. Over Spock’s shoulder, Jim murmurs, “Will you take me?”
“Everywhere,” Spock promises. To the ends of the universe, if that’s where life carries them. When he thinks about it, when he holds Jim against him and imagines their future, he can see Jim easily in the stars. Jim fits there, somehow: his destiny’s always been space. Even now, Spock can sense his unbridled intelligence and curiosity itching to explore, and the galaxy is the largest undiscovered frontier. They can do so together, as bondmates should.
Jim chokes, “I’m so happy.” It’s a needless confirmation of what Spock already knows. But Jim goes on, pressing a kiss to Spock’s neck, then his cheek, then pulling back to peck his lips, “I always wanted be a part of Starfleet, even if it’s as a slave.”
Spock’s fingers are already moving to Jim’s neck. He traces the collar, and he detaches it, pulling it back to toss aside. It hits the floor and rolls away, while Spock says firmly, “When we are alone or when you are in my quarters, you are not a slave. You are my mate and nothing less.” Jim smiles so broadly and tries to wipe away his tears, even though they’re still falling. Another time, the display of emotional might make Spock uncomfortable, but at the moment, he completely understands the sentiment. They’ve somehow wound up accomplishing the impossible.
Jim chokes a little laugh and says, “If I’m yours now, I suppose I should ask if I can make dinner tonight—I want to cook Ambassador Sarek something special.”
Spock agrees, “That would be best. I am afraid my culinary skills do not extend beyond the Synthesizer.”
Jim laughs louder, shaking his head. “Then I’ll take a care of it and at least let him eat good, home-cooked meals before we traipse away.”
That seems reasonable. Honestly, Spock never contemplated having a slave before, but he doesn’t imagine he’ll be demanding any of those tasks from Jim now. If anything, Jim is likely to become a sort of yeoman to him, and behind close doors, a consultant. And always a t’hy’la....But they’ll work out those nuances later, at the brink of their new life.
For now, they’re together, and that’s what matters. Jim lifts his hand before Spock, two fingers raised, and Spock lifts his own to caress them. He slides softly up one side, down another, and wraps around them, anchoring himself in. Jim leans in to kiss him, slow and perfect.
They drift towards the bed and fall to the sheets, tangling in each other’s arms and properly, truly becoming one.