in critical moments
this is just a...possibility, because there are always possibilities. not necessarily Blair's nor my "canon" interpretation
1 - this simple feeling (TMP)
2 - happy birthday (TWOK)
3 - always shall be yours (TWOK)
4 - live long and prosper (TWOK)
5 - his soul the most human (TWOK)
6 - i feel young (TWOK)
7 - he would have found a way (TSFS)
8 - holding his body (TSFS)
9 - your name is jim (TSFS)
"What, Spock? What should you have known?"
If there was an opposite to deathly silence, it was this; the almost mirthful look of delicate rue masking Spock's face, made up in all gravity but also consummate, quiet joy. A Vulcan's peace, moving towards the future.
More was the grasp of gravity as Spock moved to shake Jim's arm, to offer his hand, to place the words, one two three, and Jim nodded, yes, I know, I know, love, yes, yes, but in Spock's gaze there was also something else.
Not pity. Indeed, approaching love. Sorrow. Eyes bright, and strong. Fierce, to retain their own hard-fought fire.
For Jim did not understand.
No message. None, that is, that Spock was conscious of. And so he let the moment drift.
Jim was proud as he clutched the novel, in every corridor and by every bulkhead. He was imbued, suffused; his pride shone and shone.
More than proud. More than simply triumphant, and more than those not only due to his sorrow in age and mooring.
When stood by Spock's side, that sorrow became less a distraction, more a vital component.
Did he know it?
Spock observed him. Spock watched, as he always did, for his captain's every detail. There was duty in it, and then again, of course, not only that.
Jim knew...happiness.
Jim was proud, once again, in Spock's quarters.
Of his own wisdom, and Spock's; of the situation's ease once reaffirmed into the precious space of declared loyalty and trusting destinies.
"I have been and always shall be yours."
What did such a thing even mean? For Spock had just said, equably, he would not presume, nor even bother, to remind Jim of known facts.
Was this new information, then?
Of course not. Of course. Whatever Jim needed to hear.
Take the ship.
What ship was there to take? They travelled together. What was Spock's was Jim's, in space and in time.
And Jim was proud, but he did not know it.
He was prepared for this to be their final dialogue, the communion place of all that had been years, stars and dates, in the making.
Certainly, he did not intend for the doctor, however mutually cherished, to be the conduit of all Jim had not been able to place, mystified, for the entirety of their acquaintance, holding in each other's hearts, pockets, minds...
"Live long and prosper."
(as long as you need and as long as you can stand, these conditions somewhat necessary and sufficient unto each other, as you would will it)
Would it even be possible?
Unimaginable, to meet the peace of his death, if Jim did not know.
He attended at his own funeral.
Jim would be so proud.
And Spock was proud of Jim.
It was a reductive approach, yes, but to call Spock's soul the most human was to meet his and his captain's own, to call them one and the same.
This, Spock knew above all else; twinned and twined, however whimsically termed, and McCoy's tender sarcasm came upon his own terms, too.
We will not debate. Yes, my friend, we will not.
But debate is not always external. That internal is what has comprised the discourse of my existence entire, and it does not end here.
You know all too well: it cannot end here.
Jim was just as reluctant to leave the Enterprise as Spock had been. His was no better rest, no better thing, for there were none, trials, beyond.
Spock had said not to grieve. He had not said what Jim should do with himself instead.
He had not known. He could never have found it in himself to encourage the perpetuation of such a grim falsehood, of saying that you're fine, that you're young, that all possibility is before you and you do not miss the past any more than any other ever has.
But Jim was not lying.
Jim was still floating, yes.
But what is youth if not beautiful simplicity?
He could not say, when all was said and done, that he was quite pleased with his father's intrusion.
Moreover, that Sarek had accepted that they were t'hy'la before Jim himself had, had been able to.
To the admiral in the bar, Jim's defense was more than admirable. Gorgeous, he might have called it, on a wry whim, and Spock would have mouthed the word, felt it tremble on his lips, and momentarily been plunged back into the inordinate unknown of complicated feelings.
Now that Jim understood the target, his thrust was immediate, was directed and simple.
Vulcan, where the answers had originated.
Earth, just another (gorgeous) stop along the way.
These occasions, when their minds touched, were all but one decorated in the absence, the prevention, of hands reaching out, physical contact melding warmth and cool, sun and sand, silt and star.
Jim's hands - arms cocooned in elegant sleeves of lavender, and Spock's limp, prone body still received some of the impression of that beauty, of that incalculably masculine-and-not-again form - carried urgency, as if Spock were impetus itself.
As if Spock did not direct his life, but compelled it.
As if he were located to the one key which translated every signal this world had ever sent him.
So confidently, Jim took it.
Life from lifelessness.
Apocrypha.
He was brought back.
It was not immediate, harsh nor harmful in its appearance. The name rose to the surface, approached to the broad orbit of suns.
That smile was itself another rise.
Spock had a quorum of catching up to do. In his quirked brow, he acknowledged that. But more, he acknowledged Jim.
Perhaps, he should have known. Perhaps, he always had, always would.
A confidence borne of love, and then of something more, unnameable, not in any language. Confidence does not in itself bring happiness, nor does it always certute despair. More...
It was a moment of knowledge, of comprehension. And in that moment, Spock saw what he needed.
For now, Jim understood.