Pre-Spirk: Spock regarded Jim carefully, watching the plead for acceptance ebb and flow at the edges of the young captain's eye, battling for dominance against the loneliness already there.

The Mark of Glory

"Wolverton, on the other hand, was horrified by emotion, keeping his feelings on a tight rein, he believed in the superiority of reason despite repeated failures at controlling his 'baser' impulses and unconscious motivations. In effect, his faith in the cult of logic blinded him to the reality of his situation: that the nonrational elements of his world could not be dominated, ignored, or explained into oblivion for long. In refusing to form a partnership with his id and his horse, his ego was constantly at war with life."

- The Tao of Equus; Linda Kohanov

Quarters of Captain James Tiberius Kirk

USS Enterprise

Stardate: 2260

May 12

2100 Hours

"Were there horses on Vulcan?"

Spock hand stilled it's grip on the rook.

The hybrid looks up to where Jim Kirk was sitting across from him. The young captain had been turning a knight over and over in his hand since he captured the piece forty five minutes before.

Spock had quietly watched while Jim ran the pads of his fingers over the figure, the classic arched neck and head of a war horse. Jim seemed to have been trying to learn the shape by memory, following the dished face, perked ears and curved neck. He was currently rubbing his thumb across the knight in short sweeps from the flared nostrils to the rounded cheek and joint of the jaw.

It was strange how easy it was to notice the infinitely small details of the pieces structure when the First Officer's attention was brought to it by the twitches and movements of Jim's hand.

Spock lifted the rook and placed it strategically on the board, knowing that he'd had the game several moves before and Jim was only making an attempt to resist most likely to extend their companionable quiet.

Spock had come to know that all the bravado and cocksure attitude that Jim flashed with Copenhagen smiles and flirtatious bats of cerulean eyes was a well knit and carefully designed personality that Jim had specifically for his role as a diplomat and captain of Starfleet's flagship. The overwhelming confidence and pride, the ability to turn a calm meeting into a firefight, the reckless, bold, wild courage that gave Doctor Leonard McCoy gray hairs, worry lines and Jim new scars. It was all real, as flesh and bone as Spock was. But it was a single facet in a multidimensional, twisting, living, pulsing existence within the young captain.

Eight months.

It had taken eight months of quiet, steadfast stability in the first deployment of the USS Enterprise, an eighteen month mission of short run outs into the edges of the Federation boundaries, providing aid and becoming a major factor in the establishment of the new Vulcan colony near the Outer Rim.

For eight months a fragile, tentative thread was born between himself and Jim. It stood outside their working relationship, as Captain and First Officer. Created by Spock's discretion to keep to himself the events of the Officer's Gala the passed summer. To be honest to himself, Spock had only kept to himself the knowledge for the simple reason of Jim's words to him.

'Then you don't understand…'

He hadn't. Still doesn't. The images of Jim side by side with horses and his quieted manner after the fact surfaced to Spock's mind from time to time and the half-Vulcan would meditate and replay the course of the memory over and over. Unraveling the thread of it and imprinting every nuance and movement and beat of Jim's heart or twitch of hands into his mind to understand.

But no enlightenment came.

Spock kept it to himself, not even speaking to Jim himself to try and better understand what Jim believed could not be explained.

In turn Jim's respect for Spock had carefully braided with a raw string of trust. Thin, fragile and barely there… but there.

And for eight months Spock utilized practiced and carefully groomed patience to cultivate the frail, narrow thread. It had been a mild surprise to himself that he'd proceeded to build beyond a working relationship, but once began the hybrid would not abandon the project.

The loneliness that he'd seen in Jim's eyes and heard in his voice intrigued Spock, it was a primitive throwback to a lonesomeness the half-Vulcan himself had felt at times. Far more raw and uncontrolled than his own recollection of the feeling but none the less it was similar.

Spock had never laid out expectations beyond expected of a captain, kept himself an impassive judge, neither ruling for or against Jim. He stood as a pillar, steady and solid, in a way that Spock was sure Jim was unused to. To be present at the side of his command chair when Jim arrived on shift and to walk at the young captain's side as the shift turned over. Expanded his speech with Jim a little more each time they spoke, growing from clipped one or two word answers of acknowledgement to a short string of conversational facts or ideas. Baiting on occasion a response and interest from Jim.

The challenge had been deep seeded, like heavy lifting, gradual and taxing and more than once Spock had found himself needing to back track and begin anew when a misplaced comment or suggestion put a flicker of ferality in Jim's eyes and the tension coiled for the young man to bolt; the thin thread strung between them fraying and carefully knitting back together with delicate, cautious attentiveness.

Eight months before Spock was cautiously invited to observe and understand Jim Kirk differently. Invited, tentatively and nervously, to solidify the connective thread.

It seemed as if Jim was giving Spock a trial basis. Another month slipped between them. A month of sitting together for meals, of brief but growing longer conversations beyond the subject of the ship and all her workings, of walking at Jim's side on casual ambles through the decks, of carefully inserting himself as the new third party to a duo of companionship between Jim and McCoy; all of it tentative and cautious and weighted down with promise.

The ninth month gave way and it was a near shock to the difference that came with it as Spock was invited again to a deeper level of the young captain. It was Jim coaxing him forward now and Spock's effort was rewarded a tenfold as Jim willingly shook off his personality made for his rank and position and see a fraction of the raw creature beneath; laced with the fine edges of a fierce loyalty, raw trust and unshakeable devotion that Jim did not deal out easily. Even now Spock did not truly have it, Jim seemed to only dole out a single virtue at a time and for his first effort Spock had been gifted with honesty.

The quiet was what startled Spock most.

Jim's true nature was near silence. If he could Jim refrained from talking all together and when he did speak his tones were low, soft rumbles and a humbled tenor.

Everything about Jim's real nature was muted. His movements were reserved, conserved energy and done with only the lightest touches and pressures. His attention was focused and sure, listening intently and processing slowly to complete comprehension before reacting. His intelligence, surpassing high standards for humans, was humble and devoted to what Jim gave his attention. All of it soft, calm and attentive, all done gently.

Spock found that this quiet, gentle nature suited himself as well as it did Jim.

Companionable silence between them was a warm weight that settled comfortably as they sat opposite each other; working through reports and evaluations, eating or drinking or at times like this endeavoring in the complicated strategies and laws of chess.

It was not a friendship born with ease and it hitched, jerked and sidestepped along tentatively; sometimes stamping or prancing nervously in place before it was coaxed forward. It was far from easy, the slow growing thread between them, but it was natural and ran deep.

Spock could find no fault in the flawed, righteousness of it.

"If you'll repeat that, Captain-"

"Jim." The young man corrected, the old adage bubbling up but simmered forgotten. "Were there horses on Vulcan?"

"Horses?"

"Yeah." Cerulean eyes lifted and Spock saw a flicker of feral grey trickling at the edges. "Vulcan was kind of like the Middle East on Earth, right?"

"That is a fair similarity, yes." Spock agreed. "The deserts of Iraq and Iran can be considered akin to the conditions of Vulcan."

"Were there horses?"

Spock cocked his head slightly at the young man across from him, surely Jim understood the different courses of Earth and Vulcan would not yield the same biological evolutions.

"Vulcan was home to a large and diverse biological sphere, flora and fauna, most of which are now extinct with very few exceptions. But no, there were no horses on Vulcan. Nor a species that could be considered 'similar'."

Jim listened, intent and focused in his quiet, as always and nodded grimly when Spock finished speaking.

Spock watched Jim return to his fidgeting with the knight figure, intrigued when what he had come to understand was a truly quiet man continued speaking.

"So it's pretty unlikely that you've ever ridden a horse… even after living on Earth…" At the borders of his words was a flicker of cautious hope. Spock would have liked to assure Jim, tell him that, yes, he'd ridden. But the distaste of lying to Jim out weighted that want.

"Sound logic. There was no species large enough to bare the weight of a Vulcan. 'Riding' was not a facet of my culture before our races crossed, nor after they were introduced to the human race and incidentally horses. Your assumption is correct that I never partook in the venture of riding a horse, doing so would seem… unnatural to me as they were not native the culture in which I was raised nor my homeworld."

"I just figured that it was possible, if it was like the Middle East." Jim shrugged a single shoulder.

Spock lifted and eyebrow.

"Horses are grazing animals, they thrive in cooler, greener climates. Vulcan's acrid climate and desert conditions is unsuited for the species. They would not have survived, as they would not in the desert of the Middle East if it were not for human intervention." Spock sat up in his chair as he spoke.

Jim's eyes flashed and fixed him with a look that pinned Spock in place. The grey that had been bleeding in at the edges of cerulean seemed to have spread further.

"You don't think horses could survive in the desert? A desert like Vulcan? Without human help?"

Spock nodded in agreement.

The fluid movement Jim made to get out his chair was nearly lost on Spock. The half-Vulcan watched as Jim quickly crossed his quarters first to a shelf where he brought down a small metal box and from it produced a slender, age rusted metal key. Jim then moved to a where a small couch was pressed against the wall, in front of it was a large, antique wood footlocker. The wood of the piece was worn and stained a dark sienna color. It served Jim as a kind of coffee table, sporting a few datapads and was often a rest for the booted heels of company in his quarters. Which as far as Spock understood was extended to McCoy and himself alone.

Jim swiftly swept the assortment off the top of the footlocker, unceremoniously dumping it on the cushions of the couch. Jim slid the key into the lock below the seam of the lid and turned it with a rusted, aching moan of metal sliding on metal.

Jim pulled the key back, setting it on the floor and pushed open the lid of the foot locker as he knelt next to it.

Spock sat up straighter, watching Jim's hunched back with some interest as the man shuffled through the contents of the footlocker shielded from Spock's sight. A few minutes dragged by until Kirk rose and turned back to walk to the hybrid's side. Balanced carefully in one hand while he slid through pages with the other, was a large, hard bound book.

Spock's eyebrows raised in surprise.

Bound books of paper had fallen out of favor on Earth some one hundred and twenty five years before. They had become a commodity reserved for the large libraries of the governments, museums and private collections. Books were hard to come by, rare by standards sold in obscure high end shops or in auctions fighting other collectors for rites to the brittle pages and cracked leather. And as the competition for books was high, as was the expense of purchasing, restoring and keeping them.

Even with the revelation of Jim's quieted nature it hadn't occurred to Spock that young captain would endeavor in books.

The large text held Spock's attention. The few books Spock had seen had been in different stages of decay and disrepair. But the one in Jim's hands seemed far from the brittle specimens of the hybrid's past experience. The pages were crisp and firm under Jim's fingers, they turned with loud passes of air. The binding was yet unbroken from use. The flashes of type and illustrations that Spock caught from his angle were glossy across the sleek surface of the pages. The black cover and spine stood without a jacket but sported no damage beyond a few scratches and slightly worn corners.

The condition of the book probably shouldn't have surprised him, it reflected Jim in it's gentle use as easily as any other personal effects that came under the young captain's hands.

Jim move purposely to Spock's side, standing over the half-Vulcan as he worked through the pages until Jim sharply shoved the chess set and board out of the way and set the book in front of the First Officer in the vacated space of Jim's desk.

"Here." Jim's voice was tight but unshakeable.

Spock resisted the urge to look directly to the book and instead tilted his head back and fixed Jim with a solid look of interest. Jim crossed his arms tightly over his chest and looked back just as steadily.

Under his attention Jim shifted, twisting as the feral grey threaded deeper into the cerulean pools of Jim's irises. It rumbled and thrummed like a threatening storm. The muted, calm of Jim's body creaked and crackled as the low hums and chanting whispers slowly seeped up from the depth of his bones and muscles.

It had been nearly a full year since Spock had seen it but the ancient, tribal language flushed under Jim's skin as easily as if it had been only moments before. It hummed and pulsed, soft spoken words in foreign tones Spock couldn't grasp to understand. Jim's nostrils flared as his breathing changed, evening out and tightening in his chest. The young captain's skin twitched and shifted, as if it was too small and tight a fit to be suited for him.

There was none of the intensity that Spock remembered, as if strict bars of restraint were in place.

Spock continued to watch in abject fascination, the book forgotten as this third, unnamed facet of Jim's existence struggled and brimmed just under the surface, seemingly muffled only by sheer force of will.

Jim jerked his head towards the book, eyes flicking back and forth expectantly. "Go on."

Go on…

Those exact words had been encouraged to a palomino yearling not a year before. Spock tore his attention reluctantly from his captain and looked to the pages. The fixation shifted easily after the moment of hesitation and Spock's attention was filled with neat, small text, large and attractively placed images and carefully designed and positioned keys and symbols.

Spock carefully lighted his hand on the edge of one of the pages, physically trying to show Jim that he respected the text.

"The Arabian Horse." Jim spoke, drawing attention to be divided between himself and the book. His tone was almost venomous, as if he'd been insulted. "The oldest and purest breed in existence. Thousands of years of evolution defined him in the deserts and rock 'wastelands' of the Middle East. Thousands of years before he was touched by humans. There isn't a breed or sub-breed in existence, extinct or otherwise, that doesn't feel the pulse of Arabian blood."

The images of the breed enclosed Spock's vision, even in the pictures the Arabian's character and expression was visible. Large expressive eyes, small perked ears, deeply dished face and flagged, high set tail. The long, elegant sweep of the neck that ended in a tight and proud arch at the skull and jaw.

"His brother, the Barbary Horse, was built in the desert too, younger but has just as much pull. Mostly in the Spanish breeds, though."

Spock caught the hesitation and tone of awkward knowledge on the edge of the words. Spock dragged his eyes away to look towards Jim. The ancient rumble had soothed, giving way to a tightness in Jim's muscles and words. The crossed arms remained over his chest but had loosened and Jim was consciously rubbing his hand over his own bicep and shoulder, digging his fingers into the muscle and bone. The storm had all but died out in his eyes, receding to a thin edge of quicksilver around his retinas. His weight shifted and his eyes moved restlessly.

It was if Jim had divulged too much information and it had only just caught up with him the ramification of the actions he'd made.

Spock watched as the fidgeting grew worse and flinched inwardly when in a desperate attempt to distract himself Jim cracked the knuckles of his left hand.

"You believe that this animal could have survived on Vulcan wild?" Spock asked, cocking his head slightly.

Jim's eyes flashed to his for a moment. "I know he could have."

Spock turned his eyes to the page, catching a phrase before pulling back to the young captain. "Because of it's history of evolution on Earth and its… uniqueness of self to other horses?"

Jim nodded once curtly.

"Explain to me it's uniqueness." Spock propositioned gently. He knew, as well as Jim knew, that he could easily take the information from the pages laid before him.

Jim shifted, lifting a hand to tug at his ear lobe as his eyes shifted restlessly over the book and then back to Sock before retreating to the book again. The hand moved from his ear to scrub at the back of his neck. His weight shifted a final time before Jim moved that half a foot closer, his hip pressed into the arm of Spock's chair and against his forearm. Jim bent over the half-Vulcan's shoulder, set a hand firmly on the table and used the other to draw the book closer towards them, his restless hand lighting and pointing out subtle distinctions in the images as he spoke.

"Everything about him is unique. I mean, his metabolism is different and the way his body absorbs and uses water is kind of like a camel. At worst times they could go days without water and longer without fodder. He breathes differently and his lungs are bigger than his chest should allow. They don't have a real trot pace. You know how most horses the gates are walk, trot, lope gallop? He skips the trot because the sands of his birthplace are too unstable to move at a trot, the most common pace for an Arabian is a lope or a dead gallop. A trot comes in when they live on solid turf instead of dunes. You don't see a lot of black ones, they tried to breed black out because they thought it attracted heat, like how a Vulcan's skin is light pigment? The majority of Arabians are grey or other pale colors. Their skeletons are different than every other breed, too. He has seventeen ribs, five lumbar vertebrae and sixteen tail bones. Every other breed has eighteen ribs, six lumbar and eighteen tail bones. His skull is different, too. The mitbah is the angle that the skull joins at the spine and it makes his head extremely mobile for horse standards. The jibbah is the rise on his forehead, it's shaped like a shield and it bulges out a little… its supposed to be where Allah left the Mark of Glory and His blessing."

Jim paused and looked towards Spock's face. The nervousness had died in his voice, giving way to quiet confidence and assurance. As if his choice of Spock to divulge this knowledge wasn't poorly made after all. Spock listened with rapt silence and true interest, following Jim's fingers tips over the pictures. The way his hands moved, sure, quick and practiced they seemed wasted on a flat photograph and the lesson was only truly worth hearing if the animal itself were there for Jim to touch and demonstrate on.

Though, Spock had a mild tightening in his chest at the thought that if the Arabian had been in the room with them, to Jim Spock himself would cease to exist. That he would be cast aside for the companionship of the horse. It made a muscle in his jaw twitch unpleasantly and Spock swallowed it down.

"The Mark of Glory and a blessing." Spock prompted for explanation.

Jim faltered, hesitating and he chewed the inside of his cheek. Spock felt the tightness returned between Jim's shoulder blades and he started to fidget.

Uncharacteristically, at the sight of his captains discomfort, Spock pushed instead of standing down.

"I wish to understand, Jim."

The young man's eyes flashed to catch Spock's for a moment before he reached around and pulled the empty chair around so Jim could sit at Spock's side instead of across from him. The young man let out a shuddering sigh and licked his lips before speaking, slowly and carefully, while holding Spock's gaze.

"It's… a lot to understand Spock… to much…"

Spock hardened and lifted his chin slightly, the barest inclinations of pride. "If you believe my intelligence is lacking-"

"No. Spock, no-"

"Then it is a taboo subject of the human race-"

"No-"

"Then is it something in your personal interest that believes I am incapable or unworthy-"

"Inaji!" *

Spock silenced himself at the outburst, looking at the young man next to him with a new interest. This was the old language, the ancient rumbles and whispers that pulsed under Jim's skin. This was one of the words, spoken aloud.

Jim took a long, shuddering breath and let out a sickly sigh, pressing finger tips into his temple.

"Iyena… Iyena mitawa tokahe… miye okiye… Spock…" *

The return to standard English threw Spock off for a moment before he regained himself. But he quickly dominated the space he'd been given.

"Do you believe me so unobservant to not understand that this subject is important to you? Perhaps even vital to your life? This is why I wish to understand Jim. As you have shown respect and competence for my interests, I wish to return this to your favor."

Jim sighed and slumped back in his chair, lifting his hands to scrub his face as he let his head fall back. He muttered to himself unintelligible for a moment.

"Jim-"

"They believe that Allah gave the horse a blessing and the Mark of Glory because they believed that Allah favored the horse above all creatures, at times even above man. They believed Allah made the horse to rule over all animals, hung happiness from his fetlock, good for the pursuit as for the flight, fortunes made in his mediation and that Man would follow where ever he went."

Spock hesitated to make out the words, muffled by Jim's palms and fingers pressed into his face. "You must explain further, Jim."

The young captain sat up, hunching on the edge of his chair and worried his hands. Flexing and relaxing the muscles and sinew and bones. For a long moment Jim's eyes stayed on the floor before with deep set resolve lifted his head and looked at Spock.

The half-Vulcan would have expected defiance or anger but all there was to read in Jim's eyes was that deep, eerie loneliness and a plead for understanding.

"Spock… to tribes… tribes throughout the world, throughout history of the human race, to individuals and cultures… to me… the horse is sacred."

Spock felt his head tilt as his eyebrow perked. "Sacred."

Jim swallowed and spoke slowly, measured and careful, but his eyes are unfocused and looking beyond Spock and the book and his quarters. "We are… unworthy of his companionship… of his loyalty after what we did to him, what some still do to him… still he stands with us, walks with us into battle, suffers with us, stays when others leave…"

Jim eyes moved to focus back on Spock.

"He is our brother."

Spock regarded Jim carefully, watching the plead for acceptance ebb and flow at the edges of the young captain's eye, battling for dominance against the loneliness already there.

"Jim I must confess you are right."

Something flashed in Jim's eyes before it dulled, tightly controlled.

"I do not understand. It seemed illogical to me to put such faith in an animal. I see now why you speak haltingly about such a belief."

Spock could see Jim's muscles starting to tighten, the Vulcan could almost feel their carefully built companionship shaking. Spock pressed on quickly but cautiously, coaxing Jim back.

"My lack of comprehension at this moment is not a precursor of later events. Your confession of this philosophy has not deterred my earlier resolve. I still wish to understand this."

Jim watched Spock warily but the tension had bled from his muscles. There was no fidgeting or tension, just cautious attention.

"May I borrow this?" Spock asked, carefully closing the book and lifting it carefully in his hands, feeling the weight of the text.

Jim didn't move, his gaze never shifting as he tried to see under Spock's skin. "Even though its… 'unnatural' to you, you want to understand?"

Spock thought for a moment. About the faith and declaration Jim has made. The weight that had been settled on Spock with this pure honesty and plead for acceptance. About the almost assurance of the lack of logical standing on the subject and the frustration that would most certainly come with the way that Spock would approach his study of it.

"Yes."

Jim regarded him for a moment longer before getting to his feet and crossing the room again to the footlocker. Spock rose from his own chair and stood, holding the large black book securely in his hands. Jim dropped to a knee and rustled through the contents of the footlocker with a gentler hand than before and he drew out another, much smaller hard bound book. The cover was a dark, navy blue and sported, slightly flaked white lettering along the spine and front cover.

"Here. This one too." Jim offered the book and Spock gently lifted it from his hands and turned it to read the words.

"The Tao of Equus?"

Jim only nodded but said nothing about the recommendation.

"May I make a personal query?"

Jim's head dipped to his chest in assent. The quiet had settled securely back into place after the brief trauma of their conversation.

"It is custom of the human race to have favorites. I believe you were insulted at my conclusion that horses could not survive on Vulcan. You reaction and explanation of the Arabian Horse has led me to the belief that this is your favored breed. Is my conclusion correct?"

Jim shook his head and fixed cerulean eyes with chocolate ones.

"Then may I inquire?"

"Paints."

A/N: Translation! Whoot! The language used here is (very roughly translated) Lakota Sioux, a Native American tribe that was historically nomadic across the Great Plains and were well known as a horse tribe as well as a warrior nation.

1. "Inaji" --- Stop

2. "Iyena… Iyena mitawa tokahe… miye okiye…" --- Enough… Enough my first… help me…

I have no clue what Jim Kirk's favorite breed would be, I made it American Paint Horses only because that's my favorite.

Yeah, everyone read The Tao of Equus. Is most excellent.

No trivia this time. Much love to everybody for reading and keeping up, more to come if there is more interest.