#acesexualspock

“It sounds like it.”

“I am– attempting to– ask you,” he said, clearly exerting great effort to ensure all his words were in the correct language, “to reduce– lights to a not-bright setting.” He frowned, then muttered, “Not bright? No, that cannot be correct…”

“Dimmer?” Jim offered, gently.

“Dimmer!” he echoed, with a measure of vindication. “Lights forty percent dimmer.”

The room grew darker, as requested, seemingly to Spock’s relief. 

“Glad we got that one translated.” Jim moved to sit on the edge of his bed. “Has this been happening since you beamed up?”

“Since the start of my treatment. It is somewhat experimental, as you know. I was briefed on the various impacts it may have upon my psychological condition, so an event such as this was not entirely unanticipated. Additionally, it is not uncommon for individuals to revert to their primary language in times of acute stress.”

All this Jim knew. But he let him ramble on, perhaps a bit longer than he would on duty. A talkative Spock was a reminder that his beloved was alive, and at his side. And any thought like that was comforting. 

“Well, you won’t have to suffer the translation barrier too much longer, I’m sure. McCoy’s already on the case.” Jim grinned, “Or else we’ll have to get you a language tutor, won’t we?”

Through the dimness, he saw something change in Spock’s expression.

“Mesh-tor t’tu than kah, ashayam?” 

He did not understand the sentence - not on a cognitive level, at least. But Jim knew the last word well, and knew the man who called him beloved. He felt the hesitance in those words, the uncertainty.

Jim shifted forward. “There’s something more that’s troubling you, isn’t there?”

There was a pause. The air was filled with only the soft pulse of the bio-reader above them, and whatever Spock was clearly debating within.

“Yes.”  

Slowly, Spock sat up. 

“On average, it takes a Vulcan child two years and four months to achieve a proficiency in Standard. It is one of the foremost marks of kash-to’es, a measurement of one’s academic potential, and a means of testing commitment to Surak’s principles. To learn is to share in the common good. To join the work of the Federation, the many.”

His gaze fell to his lap. Jim saw him bring his bottom lip into his mouth for a brief moment.

“It took me five years, seven months to master Standard.”

There was so much that was said beyond the words themselves. Jim recalled the flashes of Spock’s memories that he had been privileged to witness. The hatred of his Vulcan peers. The painful loneliness, on Vulcan and on Earth, the longing, the doubt that he could ever belong in either place, in any place. 

“Spock,” he whispered. “You haven’t lost your fluency. And it wouldn’t matter if you did. You mean too much to Starfleet for your position to be jeopardized by–”

“It is not my position that I fear for.” 

What a concession. Fear. Jim’s heart squeezed at the word. 

“My ability to speak Standard is negligible. It is…my relationship with you that concerns me.” 

Spock shut his eyes, turned his head away. This seemed to cause him pain to admit, to speak of.  

“Please attempt to understand my position before you contradict me. There has been so much about me that has proven unlovable to so many before you. Statistically, it is only a matter of time before I fail to meet your expectations. Therefore, I have come to the conclusion that the only logical course for you to take is to–” 

“Hold my hand.”

It made Spock stop, look around at the hand Jim held between them. The evidence of his self-disgust was still present in the furrows of his expression, though a measure of surprise softened his gaze. 

“What?”

“I take your point. But I have a counter offer.” Jim nodded to his hand, waiting for Spock’s. “Please trust me.”

Carefully, his gaze flicking back and forth between their fingers and Jim’s eyes, Spock did. 

A familiar rush of warmth swept over them, as hand brushed hand. Jim shifted his touch, so that their palms cradled each other. 

“You are probably correct about my expectations. No one is perfect all the time, and I’m just as likely to idealize as any other human. And you’re right that I wouldn’t understand much if you stopped speaking Standard. But I do know one phrase in Vuhlkansu.”

Spock gasped, as gently, tenderly, Jim brushed his first fingers across his. 

“Taluhk nash-veh k’dular, Spock.” 

And it echoed through the touch. A swell of emotions rushed past his thoughts - surprise, joy, are you certain, is this really…? 

“You’ve met my expectations, surpassed them. There’s nothing more that I could ask of– Spock?” 

Jim felt his smile fall, looking up to see a wet streak tumbling down his stoic first officer’s face. He let go, reached for his shoulders. 

“Sweetheart? No, please don’t be upset! I’m not going to leave you, now or ever. I love you. I–”

“I know.” 

Spock enclosed Jim’s hands in his own. He nodded. 

“I understand my oversight now, I can…feel that your declarations are sincere.”

“Of course.” Still, Jim freed one of his hands, brushed away the tears from Spock’s cheek. “That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“No. It is quite gratifying.” He inclined his head. “Ashau nash-vesh tu, Jim.” 

And though it wasn’t in his language, that made Jim feel a little tongue-tied nonetheless.  

* 

Translations: 

Nuh’ ugelik - too bright

ne-tor ha’gelan - lower the lights

Mesh-tor t’tu than kah - would it shame you, beloved? 

kash-to’es - intelligence