(to separate one part of life from every part. spock refuses him because it is the logical thing to do. he knows that his first officer has no lack of feeling for him, but to ask him to choose one facet of life, one individual from the whole, and cherish them above the rest?
it's not the vulcan way.)
Then we'll carry on as we always have, Mr. Spock. (his voice holds something back, made thick with the effort.) With you at your station and me at mine.
(would that he could appreciate spock's sentiment now for what it truly is. later, alone, kirk will review what's been said. words any other man might take offence to, in actuality an echo of the unforgettable three he shared with him in the beginning. for now, however, this must end.
which brings them to his first lie:) I think I'd like to be alone.
It's exactly what he wanted to hear and he is not a man prone to hope. Why now, then, does it feel like he should be in mourning? Not for a reality he never thought he could truly grasp, but for the enjoyment of the illusion. There cannot exist, after the finality of his answer, that same hint in his captain's eyes, bathed as it was in warmth. There is no innocent question now when the harsh truth has been laid bare.
What he feels is sadness instead. Sadness and an illogical dread.
He must be alone. ]
Of course, Captain. I shall take my leave. [ Encouraging him to remain and have the house for as long as required feels presumptuous so he says nothing, instead turning away after a single beat of hesitation and making for the front door. He isn't sure yet where he'll rest tonight, but it will not be here. ]
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no subject
it's not the vulcan way.)
Then we'll carry on as we always have, Mr. Spock. (his voice holds something back, made thick with the effort.) With you at your station and me at mine.
(would that he could appreciate spock's sentiment now for what it truly is. later, alone, kirk will review what's been said. words any other man might take offence to, in actuality an echo of the unforgettable three he shared with him in the beginning. for now, however, this must end.
which brings them to his first lie:) I think I'd like to be alone.
no subject
You at your station and me at mine.
It's exactly what he wanted to hear and he is not a man prone to hope. Why now, then, does it feel like he should be in mourning? Not for a reality he never thought he could truly grasp, but for the enjoyment of the illusion. There cannot exist, after the finality of his answer, that same hint in his captain's eyes, bathed as it was in warmth. There is no innocent question now when the harsh truth has been laid bare.
What he feels is sadness instead. Sadness and an illogical dread.
He must be alone. ]
Of course, Captain. I shall take my leave. [ Encouraging him to remain and have the house for as long as required feels presumptuous so he says nothing, instead turning away after a single beat of hesitation and making for the front door. He isn't sure yet where he'll rest tonight, but it will not be here. ]