After Sarek and his party were safely settled in their quarters, Jim headed up to the bridge. As he entered, he called out, "Status, Commander Sulu?"

"We're heading toward Xira at warp factor six. We should arrive in approximately 2.75 days." Sulu stood from the command chair, leaving it open for the Captain to take.

"Good." Jim settled into his chair, accepting a PADD that Chekov handed him from the navigation station.

"Our course, sir." Checkov remarked.

Jim looked over the projection that was displayed on the PADD. "Everything seems to be in order."

Leaning back, Jim got down to business. He swiveled in his chair, facing back towards the communications array, where Uhura was waiting for orders, expectantly. "We're hosting a diplomatic dinner tonight. I need the observation lounge converted over to a long table. We'll need seats for Sarek's party, for the Xiran team, and for our own people. To represent the Enterprise, Commander Sulu, Doctor McCoy, Lieutenant Commander Scott, Lieutenant Uhura, Lieutenant Marcus, and myself will be in attendance. Meals will have to accomodate Vulcan, Lurian, Xiran, and Terran tastes."

"Forward these requirements to Operations, Uhura, and notify the invited parties that the dinner will start at nineteen hundred."

"Yes, sir." Uhura turned her attention to the terminal, and Jim swiveled back to face the viewport. Time to type up a summary of his negotiations with Spock and to review reports from the various departments. Jim sighed.

"Keptin," Chekov piped up, "Zhere's something you should know." Chekov looked resolutely at the floor.

"What's that, Ensign?" Jim hunched forward, his hands on his knees, head tilting to the side.

Chekov looked back up, mouth tightening into a grim line. "It'z not directly to do with our mission, but zhe crew is abuzz with it. I have forwarded you some relevant media attachments."

"Chekov, you're scaring me a little. What's this about?" Jim quickly tapped on his PADD, logging in to his personal account and accessing his messages.

"Earlier today, an official press release went out to zhe media about zhe first contact with zhe Xiran Union and zhe ongoing effort to enact a treaty with Xira." Chekov gulped, pausing and finally meeting Jim's eyes. "Zhey also included zhe fact zhat Mr. Spock's a Xiran Admiral now. Zhey've branded him a deserter, and worse zhings."

Jim wearily ran a hand over his face. "I will review this in the ready room. Sulu, you have the conn."

Jim read through the press release from Federation headquarters. Their carefully-chosen words described the great possibilities of a treaty with Xira, mainly relaying background information about Xiran culture and specific statistics about the Xiran Union. The document was positively boring, until the end, where it mentioned that Commander Spock, decorated hero of Star Fleet and member of the famous crew of the Enterprise, had defected to Xira. There was no mention of the time travel, making his new rank of Admiral seem very suspicious. The release did not directly accuse Spock of giving Xira information about the Federation or its technology, but it did nothing to prevent readers from coming to that conclusion.

Reading over the release again, Jim's eyes stuttered over the words, "...Spock has refused to return to his post, deserting Starfleet and attaining a high rank with the Xiran Exploratory Force." Jim looked to the sky for a minute, as if in silent prayer. A mounting mix of sadness and anger colored his thinking, as he remembered all the good Spock had done as the First Officer of the Enterprise. They were intentionally destroying Spock's reputation. How was this necessary?

Grimacing, Jim reflected on his own state of mind. Perhaps he was a little emotionally compromised regarding Spock. He tried to understand why the higher-ups had not mentioned time-travel in the press release. They were still mostly in the dark about the workings of the rift devices and their use, though he and his crew were dutifully reporting every scrap of information they had. Omitting the time-travel still seemed like a bit of an unnecessary dig at Spock, though. The admiralty's anger must not have cooled yet.

Accessing the other attachment, he found himself watching a clip from a Terran news program. There was a disembodied narrator's voice over a clip of Spock holding the ta'al up on Earth in dress uniform after they had destroyed Nero's ship. "Why this acclaimed Starfleet officer has deserted his post is unclear, but the risks to Starfleet are quite alarming." The scene changed to one that must have been supplied by Starfleet from the documents they received from Spock. Xirans waved and cheered as Spock addressed the crowd from an elevated podium, the scene muted. The narrator's voice continued, "We can only speculate about how he has gained the position of Admiral or what he may have told the Xirans about our military." The scene cut to the news desk, as the anchors shifted moods abruptly. They changed the discussion to a new topic, something about the latest trend in Betazoid fashion. Jim tuned them out, closing the video before it ended.

With trepidation, Jim navigated to FED News, a major conservative news organization. The front page of their feed featured several articles covering topics on the Xiran treaty, from its economic implications to the potential benefits of new tech. However, their featured article displayed an out-take from an official Starfleet portrait, taken after Nero had been defeated. Instead of the traditional mug-shot-like image, Spock was caught looking down and out of frame, his eyebrows drawn together in thought. Eye-catchingly, the lighting had been shifted, illuminating Spock from behind and below, casting spooky shadows across his face and emphasizing his alien features.

Under the image, a word was emblazoned, in red and all caps: "TRAITOR!"

Jim stopped reviewing the feed, feeling sick.

Jim's stomach flipped as he remembered that the data terminals in the VIP quarters granted to Spock and his team all had access to public news feeds. Quickly, he checked the last article accessed on Spock's terminal. Its rather ridiculous headline read, "Spock: Scientist Turned Secret Spy?"

"Shit!" Jim cried out, breaking the stillness of the ready room. Spock was definitely proud of his service to Starfleet, and they were tearing it all down. He was instinctively on his feet and heading towards Spock's quarters before he even had a chance to question his own motives.

Once arriving on the right deck, worry about Spock's possible state of mind consumed him. Spock could handle it, right? Or would he be… upset? An image of Spock's emotional, tear streaked face came to him unbidden, from right before Jim had died. Jim shook his head slightly, trying to clear the thought.

As he got closer to Spock's quarters, his pace slowed. What could he even say?

From around the bend of the corridor, he heard raised voices. The words were indistinct at this distance. Quickening his step, Jim strained to hear the particulars, but he could guess what was happening. The crew had been reading the news, too.

"... He's a traitor! A deserter! This disgusting, alien trash betrayed the Federation for a promotion!" Jim laid eyes on the gathering outside Spock's quarters as they hooted in agreement. Seven crewmen loitered, representing mostly Ops with no officers present. The man yelling was a burly human with curly black hair and a pale complexion. Luckily, the pair of Security officers posted to Spock were holding the crowd away from the door, and seemed to be preventing them from doing anything too rash. Behind the Enterprise's security detail, Filik and another Xiran were tensely positioned right at the door.

The crewman leading the rest of the rabble continued his tirade without noticing Jim's approach, focused deeply on yelling into Hendorff's face. "He's given up his post! I never liked him much, fucking robot, but this is unacceptable." Others in the crowd had noticed Jim's approach, going quiet.

Hendorff looked past the yelling man to Jim. "Captain, we've got this under control. These crewmen were about to disperse in an orderly fashion, including Crewman Second Class Miles here."

"Like hell I was!" Miles whipped around, turning to address Jim. "The Captain understands that loyalty is paramount. That you can't let stuff like this just slip by."

"The Admiral is a guest on our ship and will be treated as such. Move along." Internally Jim raged, but the crewmen had not really done anything punishable by Starfleet code.

Jim shouldered past the now red-faced Miles. As he moved, he felt Miles grab his upper arm, forcing him to stop and look back. Miles' eyes were bulging out of his face, rage evident in his tight grip. Jim could not believe the audacity of a person at any rank grabbing a captain's arm, but especially someone who hadn't even finished their training at the Academy.

Miles bellowed, "Are you some sort of chicken-shit turncoat too? You know he deserves to have his ass beat and spend the rest of his life in prison!" Addressing the remaining, considerably less enthused crowd, he cried out, "We can take the guards! Let's get the traitor to the brig!"

Roughly breaking Miles' grip on his arm, Jim shouted out, "Enough!" No one in the crowd moved, though Miles had adopted a fighting stance, fists raised.

"Lieutenant Hendorff, escort Crewman Miles to the brig for insubordination and planning mutiny." Miles gaped, then plainly drew breath to continue his tirade.

Before he could begin, Jim cut him off. "Don't dig yourself into a deeper hole, Crewman." Looking away from Miles, he noticed that a few crewmen had not yet moved on, staring curiously. "Move along, everyone. Show's over." Reluctantly, the crowd dispersed.

Hendorff and the other Security officer had quickly grabbed Miles' arms, pulling them back as Miles struggled and muttered all kinds of aspersions at Jim.

"Take him down to the brig. I'll babysit the Admiral until more Security officers arrive."

Holding Miles' arms back behind him with one hand, Hendorff cast a grim smile towards Jim, and then the group headed off down the corridor.

Jim looked back to where Filik was guarding the door to Spock's quarters. "Sorry you had to see that, gentlemen."

Filik meerly grunted in reply, still obviously agitated. He stepped aside without prompting as Jim moved closer to the door though, which Jim took as a good sign.

Before Jim could use the door's chime, it opened, revealing Spock. His face was unlined, calm, his uniform unwrinkled, and he stood there without a hint of surprise at finding Jim at his door.

Answering Jim's unasked question, Spock said, "I heard your voice amongst the shouting, Captain. These bulkheads are only soundproof to human ears. Please, come in." Spock stood to the side, gesturing to the inside of his cabin. Jim slid past him, anger from the near-altercation in the hall still coloring his mood.

"You heard all that?" Jim wanted to go back and punch Miles in the face. He paced around Spock's quarters, unable to settle.

"It was a logical though perhaps overly-emotional reaction to the news of my change in status."

"I expect my crew to conduct themselves better than that." Jim sighed, trying to calm himself. "And I didn't like the xenophobia obvious in some of Miles' comments."

"I have experienced his mindset before."

Something about Spock's serene acceptance of his biased treatment pissed Jim off even more, reminding him of the media articles he saw earlier. He was fed up. "What dicks! All of them! How are you so calm, Spock? This is awful! Your own crew!"

"My crew?" Spock's eyebrows drew together tensely. "I am no longer your First Officer, Jim. This is not my crew."

"Yeah, I know, for you it's been hundreds of years, you're at peace, blah blah blah. But for them, for the crew and all of the Federation, you were a fucking hero until this morning, and they just forgot all that because some piddly shit Admirals have gotten their asses bent out of shape."

"As I recall, all the Admirals on the Starfleet Command inquest panel had earned their place there." Jim cast Spock an irritated glance at his unnecessary clarification. Ignoring the glare from Jim, Spock continued, "Their press release fit with their reaction at the inquest."

"You gave them proof that you didn't simply desert. The situation's more complicated than that. They didn't have to lead the whole Federation into thinking you're a traitor." Jim stopped pacing, facing Spock. "Not to mention your father."

"A much more complex explanation would have had to be penned to come close to explaining my true history to the media. In addition, I would prefer to leave the rift devices and time travel in general out of the news cycle. Sarek's views are illogical, however, considering he must have access to the files I delivered to Command."

Jim scowled slightly at the mention of the rift devices, recalling Spock's reticence to sharing anything about their workings. "So you're, what? Fine with this?" Jim's anger was slipping away as he thought more about Spock's reaction.

"I am not." Spock looked away from Jim, fists clenching at his sides. "Occasionally, I have allowed myself to speculate about what a return to this spacetime would be like."

Jim sought Spock's gaze as he smiled ruefully. "And this wasn't exactly what you had hoped for?"

"My hopes were met in some regards." Spock took a step toward Jim, closing the distance between them. He lifted a hand to gently trail it up Jim's side.

Shivering lightly with reignited desire, Jim tried not to react to Spock's attentions. "Which regards were those?"

"My expectations for our reunion have been met adequately, to this point." Spock slowly slid his hand under the back of Jim's command tunic and black undershirt. He leaned in, kissing Jim softly at the junction of his collarbone and neck.

"To this point? What else are you expecting, Admiral?" Spock's huff of hot air against his neck made Jim's toes curl.

Spock simply captured Jim's mouth in a searing kiss, pulling away briefly to answer, "No comment." Looking at Spock's straight face but mirthfully twinkling eyes, Jim felt light, unburdened, like he did before all this Xiran business had started. He kissed Spock again, reaching to find Spock's silky hair and entwine his fingers in it. Heat gathered in his belly, pooling outwards until he felt engulfed by it.

As he reached up to cup the back of Spock's skull, his hand was intercepted by Spock's. Their fingers tangled, and Jim diligently set to work on testing out Vulcan-style kissing.

Spock groaned quietly into their kiss, pushing Jim backwards against the bulkhead. This close, Jim could feel the hot, hard length of him pressing into his belly. He took his hand out of Spock's hair to boldly reach lower.

Correctly gauging Jim's intent, Spock gracefully intercepted Jim's hand. Pinning both of Jim's hands at either side of his head, against the wall, Spock broke their long, impassioned kiss. Jim gasped breathlessly, wantonly rolling his hips against Spock.

"Impatient," Spock growled, keeping Jim frustratingly stuck in place. Spock canted his head, allowing only a nearly-chaste peck.

"You're a tease, Spock." Jim muttered, leaning forward as much as he could to relish the feeling of Spock's lips on his again. It was getting harder to think clearly.

Spock released Jim's hands, traced his fingers along Jim's jawline, and pulled slightly away. Spock tugged on the button on Jim's uniform pants and let his hands play over the ridge of Jim's already-hard dick. Gasping, Jim barely had time to process Spock sinking to his knees. Fleetingly, he had a moment of doubt about continuing their assignation, but as he looked down at Spock, he felt only lust.

The haze of want made him tremble as Spock opened Jim's pants and drew his cock out. Jim couldn't look away as Spock leaned in, licking the head, eyes hooded.

"Spock," Jim panted, trying to keep his hips still. He couldn't help himself as he buried one hand in Spock's hair, tugging him closer gently.

Spock began jerking him off, meeting his eyes, his deep voice rumbling out, "T'hy'la." He added a slight twist at the end of the stroke of his hand, bolts of deep pleasure arcing out from his ministrations.

Jim cried out, allowing his head to rest back against the wall. As he counted the ceiling tiles, trying not to lose control, he felt Spock lean forward, dropping light kisses on the head of his dick.

"More," Jim begged, helplessly thrusting forward. Spock obliged him, taking Jim into his mouth deeply. Jim barely had time to process hot and wet before Spock set up a fast rhythm, bobbing his head.

He looked down, losing all pretense of restraint. Nothing prepared Jim for the sight of Spock wantonly sucking him to the root. And the feeling. Jim's mind was utterly derailed; only simple thoughts like again and more flickered into his awareness. The rest of his consciousness rode waves of pleasure, thrumming along the fast beat of his heart.

Spock did something complicated with his tongue, tracing and lightly tapping at Jim's frenulum, and blindly grabbed Jim's hand. As their fingers laced together, tightening desperately, Jim knew he was about to come. White hot bliss short-circuited his brain and darkened his vision for a long moment. As he returned to himself, he watched Spock swallow his release, humming quietly.

Settling back on his heels, Spock looked like the cat that got the canary. They both paused temporarily, breathing hard but maintaining eye contact. Spock lovingly tucked Jim's spent cock back into his pants. Jim's heart did a flip as he smoothed Spock's hair down.

Standing up, Spock kissed Jim again, great satisfaction evident in his languid motions. "I refute your statement that I am a 'tease.'"

"I think there's evidence to support that." Jim drew away from the wall, pushing Spock slightly back. "I'm not a tease, either," he smirked, guiding Spock backwards until the back of his knees hit a chair. Spock gently stopped him.

"I believe your claim. Demonstrating it at the current time, however, is... unnecessary."

"Oh?" Jim dropped his gaze, blatantly checking out Spock's package. "Oh!" he exclaimed, suddenly understanding.

Spock's eyebrow quirked. "I felt what you felt, Jim. Vulcan touch telepathy has interesting applications in sexual relationships."

Jim's thoughts spiraled as he considered what a mind meld during sex would be like. Wrapping his arm around Spock's neck to pull him into a sensual kiss, he imagined Spock finger-fucking him as he brushed against the psi points on Spock's face.

"A fascinating proposition," Spock remarked, cheeks stained green, though he disentangled himself from Jim's embrace. "We should consider the time; I must meditate before our evening meal."

Jim scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Yeah. I should go deal with Crewman Miles." Jim scowled, thinking back to the events in the hallway. "Make sure you travel with your security entourage, since tempers are running hot."

Spock tilted Jim's head, claiming his lips again. "I will be careful, ashayam."

Pulling away, Jim tried to keep his thoughts carefully neutral. Beloved? The idea of returning the endearment still made him feel uncomfortable, knowing that his relationship with Spock would be brief. Yet he could not bring himself to tell Spock off, to break the careful bubble of a relationship they were building. Seeing Spock in his foreign uniform suddenly was more than Jim could handle.

Jim turned his back on Spock. "Gotta go," he said, adopting a casual tone and a confident stride as he exited the quarters.

Jim arrived at the observation deck before anyone else; he took stock of the way the long table was set before the wide windows looking out into space. Fifteen chairs sat around the rectangular table, one at the head and seven along each side. There were place settings with glasses for water set before each seat. Otherwise, a few sofas and armchairs were arranged throughout the large room.

As he checked in with the officer placed in charge of planning the event, Jim heard the doors to the room swish open. Distinctive voices carried over to him.

"... cannae be his fault that the fumes burned his arm!"

"Well, make sure his colleague checks there aren't any other crewmen near the vent next time." Scotty and Bones strolled over to where Jim was standing. "Should be standard procedure. Speaking of, what's the procedure for tonight, Captain?"

"Just be your normal, carefully diplomatic selves. We're going to have some eggshells to walk over. Sarek basically denied that Spock is his son."

"So it's not to be a simple family get-together, is it? More like 'Vulcan Family Feud?'" quipped Scotty, eyebrows wiggling.

Jim nodded, tensely.

"Great. This is going to be fun. I'll mind my manners by sitting way down here." Bones gestured to the seats on the end of the table, far from the head. He and Scotty moved to occupy them, continuing their conversation.

"There's a seating chart!" called Jim, though the two seemingly ignored him.

Jim checked the time: five minutes until nineteen hundred. He went to the door to receive new attendees. In short order, almost everyone had shown up, but neither Spock nor Sarek had. Of course, Vulcans were always perfectly punctual.

They arrived at the same time, precisely at nineteen hundred, Sarek entering slightly before Spock.

"Captain," Sarek stated, continuing past Jim without further comment to stalk up to the bank of windows. Jim wearily watched him go.

Spock still stood in front of Jim. "Greetings, Captain." His expression betrayed nothing of what they had shared in Spock's quarters.

Somewhat bashfully, Jim replied, "Good evening, Admiral. How was the trip over from your quarters?" Jim was genuinely curious about how Spock and Sarek had passed the time together, since they both came from the same deck.

"Uneventful." Spock walked into the room with Jim at his heels. "...perhaps unsatisfactory," he reluctantly continued. Spock's gaze lingered on Sarek, silhouetted in front of the stars.

Making sure Sarek stood out of earshot, Jim said softly, "Did you guys even talk?"

"Negative."

Jim scowled. "That's not ideal."

Spock did not comment, instead stepping towards the table. As if his movement was a signal, the other scattered groups approached it, taking their seats. Sarek turned away from the windows, reluctance evident in his slow movements. Jim pulled his chair away from the table, seating himself.

Sarek sat to Jim's left, with Spock at Jim's right. Farther down, Nyota and Shalisa were already engaged in a conversation about the differences between Terran and Xiran fashion. Jim tried to think of something safe to break oppressive silence.

"How was your trip aboard the Bryant, Ambassador?" Jim asked warily.

Sarek's steely gaze made Jim feel small. "Adequate."

A pair of crewmen were handing out drinks, mainly synthohol wine in red or white, though the Lurian aid received some bubbling green liquid.

Spock spoke up, saying "I recall that you were leading efforts to restore the Vulcan Science Academy. Have there been any new developments, father?"

"I would not reveal any such information to a traitor." Sarek did not meet Spock's eyes.

"I did not realise that the construction was considered classified," said Spock. "Also, I would like to clarify that my situation is more complicated than you portray by referring to me as 'traitor.'"

The crewmen distributing drinks reached the head of the table. Jim virtually leapt to his feet to make a toast, thankfully interrupting the exchange between Sarek and Spock.

Clanking his knife lightly against his glass, Jim surveyed the upturned faces of those gathered around the table. The Xirans looked confused, yet curious. Clearing his throat, Jim began.

"There's a little tradition on Earth where the host delivers a short speech. I'd like to indulge in this tradition tonight. We are here to begin a communal mission: to forge a new alliance for the benefit of both our peoples. It may be complicated to straighten this mess out, but we shall persevere, even in the face of our differences. To our future success!"

Glasses clinked and Scotty cried out, "Hear, hear!" Jim brought his glass to meet Spock's, then Sarek's. He watched as Spock and Sarek warily brought their glasses together, previous argument abandoned. Perhaps they stood on better ground, now. As Sarek promptly ignored both Spock and Jim, he thought again.

Watching as Bones escorted Veersha to the door, Jim stood by the tall windows. Bones had made certain that Veersha was seated right next to him, and the two had spoken to only each other the whole night. He looked out into the inky blackness of space, throwing back the remaining wine in his glass. Overall, the dinner had gone well, though Sarek had continued to look constipated whenever he regarded Spock. Jim had found himself comparing their past adventures aboard the Enterprise to tales spun by Spock about missions he had undertaken with the XEF.

Spock maintained his cool exterior, though half-way through the meal, Jim felt a sturdy boot come to rest right next to the toe of his, tapping lightly. Spock's eyebrow lifted slightly, during a natural pause in his story, and no one commented on Jim's wide, genuine smile.