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lonesomedreamer · 10 months ago

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SNW Liveblog: “Among the Lotus Eaters”

In which they’re mean to Spock for no reason, but Spock helps save the day anyway.

In its own way, this is scene just as staged/cheesy as anything in TOS…it’s also giving NBC Hannibal (not a compliment from me).

Look: I just don’t care about the supposedly corrupt bureaucracy and chain of command in Starfleet. When I watch Trek, I want to escape into a post-scarcity utopian society, and nuTrek can pry that out of my cold, dead hands!!!

Other things I don’t care about: Pike’s on-again, off-again relationship with Batel. Sorry. This show already has too many characters vying for screentime with too few episodes to develop them to be wasting time on this.

Love that Pike makes sure to put out the candles before he leaves…meanwhile his quarters has a huge, open fireplace that burns 24/7.

Not that everything they do on the Enterprise isn’t science-related, but… “science specialist”? Do you guys even WATCH the show??? Gold is for the command division, red is for operations/engineering, and BLUE IS FOR SCIENCE! At least pretend to give a shit about your show’s own universe. (Oh…wait…)

“Most of the time I fly the ship, which is cool, but can get boring.” Speaking for all the kids (and adults!) who have fantasized about flying the Enterprise for the last 55 years: kindly fuck off.

“Can’t you just say ‘two moons’?�� / “We get it, Spock.” Spock is the science officer (and ALSO Vulcan). Get off his back!!! His SNW crewmates nitpick him worse than Bones ever did.

I don’t like Ortegas much—she’s still written like garbage, no fault of the actor—and her perpetual bitchiness towards Spock is NOT helping.

“Doctors love being tasked for a mission because of their combat skills.” Maybe you should’ve thought of that three episodes ago when you were LARPing Wolverine in slo-mo against the Klingons for like ten minutes, M’Benga…

This line might have been okay by itself—McCoy-esque, if you will—except they’ve been giving Spock shit for Doing His Damn Job for the entire episode so far.

I love Christine, and SNW!Christine has grown on me, but…she’s not even the Head Nurse on this show. Why is she running Sickbay solo? Am I supposed to believe that the Enterprise doesn’t staff more than a single doctor??

“As long as it stays isolated to Uhura” Since they don’t know the cause and therefore whether the condition is infectious, shouldn’t they at least isolate Uhura? (They experienced a similar outbreak just a few episodes ago!!!)

Speaking of Uhura, seems pretty shitty of the writers to have Uhura be the first one to lose her memory: TOS already did that. (If it’s an homage, it’s not a good one.)

I adore Ethan, but sometimes his line delivery is weirdly stilted.

:')

There’s literally no one else left on the Bridge apart from Spock and Ortegas? Okay…

“It’s not the Spock show!” but it should be.

Whatever’s affecting the rest of the crew should affect Spock differently and/or belatedly due to his different genetic code. Then again, the only thing these writers seem to know about Vulcans is that they talk about logic a lot.

Not the computer having a ghost-of-Mufasa moment with Ortegas… (“Remember who you are.”)

“I feel like I know how to do this. And I’m the only one who can.” * Put a pin in this.

“Abso-friggin’-lutely.” Awful.

I didn’t think you can block a phaser blast with like...a physical shield?? Especially one (presumably) set to kill???

Kirk was involved in a lot of fights, but watching the captain of the Enterprise repeatedly kick/pistol-whip a guy who’s already laying prone on the ground is…surreal and horrible.

Trek’s always been two parts morality play, one part scifi, but can I get the scientific part of the reveal again? Something about radiation from an asteroid?? It sounds kind of interesting—but they’re just gonna gloss over it, aren’t they??

Also, the Enterprise is designed to protect its crew against all kinds of radiation—we know that because it was built to fly in SPACE, which is radioactive as fuck. So what’s special about these asteroids (and if the planet’s atmosphere is too thick to be penetrated by the Enterprise’s scanners, why can’t it protect the planet from the radiation coming off the asteroids that surround it)??

Please stop showing Pike punching this guy over and over again. It’s actually upsetting, I can’t see the point, if there is one.

Pike: “[Rigel VII] shows us who we really are…” Pike 30 seconds earlier: kicking and punching an unarmed man who’s sprawled out, bleeding, on the floor Pike: “The lives of my crew mean everything to me.”

sure-jan.gif

Look…TOS could be really unsubtle and on-the-nose about its messaging. It still did it with so much more grace and flair than THIS. “He was right. Not having a past…it can be nice for a while.” “I know what you mean. But maybe some memories are worth the pain of others.” / “The story of your life, the details…they matter!” Wow, what do you guys think is this episode trying to say?!?

*“No one but you could pull this off.” In “Mirror Mirror,” a visibly nervous Uhura hesitates after Kirk issues his orders; he then reassures her by earnestly saying “You’re the only one who can do it.” It’s meaningful because it’s true—Uhura is the only one both with the necessary skills and whom Kirk can trust in the mirror universe. Here, it’s just Pike stroking the ego of an officer who’s already an arrogant smartass…plus, while Ortegas might be the best pilot on board, the episode repeatedly makes it clear that she is NOT the only one qualified to “fly the ship.”

“I don’t blame Spock. He’s still got a lot to learn.” Why the fuck would anyone blame Spock for anything that went down here?!! The man was trying to analyze the asteroids—the very same ones that robbed everyone of their memories—at the beginning of the episode when everyone was rolling their eyes and saying “not now, Spock,” and look where it fucking got them!

And in the very next line, we learn that Spock came up with the solution that SAVED THE SHIP/CREW.

“It feels logical to me.” This is the kind of shit y’all should be angry about re: Spock, not him smooching Christine. It FEELS logical. Retch.

I know I sound really critical here, but I actually found this one a lot easier to watch (almost) straight-through than some of the previous episodes, i.e., without having to stop and scream in frustration. It was less mundane and plodding than the previous one (and left SNW!Kirk behind, thank God). That said, I did find myself tempted to fast-forward through some of the scenes on Rigel VII, and I did skip around during the Pike/Batel scenes. I also saw a lot of comments that this episode is very TOS...I guess so? Imo the resemblance is surface-level only, though.

The Good: Hey, they're on a STRANGE NEW-(to-the-viewer) WORLD! Imagine that! — La'an's costume and the way she's styled for the away mission. — Boring subplot aside, Batel also looks really nice. — The vibe, planetside, is trying to be like TOS. Gold star for effort? — A few funny lines. — Ethan gets a lot of flattering shots in this episode. :3

The Bad: A lot of time wasted between Ortegas' repeated “I fly the ship” mantra (both early and later on) and the Pike/Batel scenes that bookend the episode. — Almost everyone being critical of what Spock says and how he says it; it borders on unprofessional and mean and is ESPECIALLY bad since Spock then uses science to restore their memories (off-screen, of course). — Making Uhura the first one to get amnesia. — Failing to develop Ortegas at all in what I assume is supposed to be an “Ortegas episode.” — Christine's hair. My poor girl! — Spock forgets how to READ?!?? (I missed this while I was watching because it's just Too Stupid for me to believe they actually went there.) — Gratuitous violence from Pike that seemed to serve no thematic or symbolic purpose.

There better be Spockstine in the next one, because without it, Ethan’s face is still worth it…barely, though.

#i think i had more to say but then I just ran out of steam lol #this episode was better than the kirk one ('kirk'... ''''kirk''''...)#but idk not by a huge margin #luth liveblogs snw

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lenievi · 4 years ago

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12 Days of Spones - ficlet

day 12: creator’s choice

coda to Immunity Syndrome. I’ve been struggling with writing lately, so it’s mostly a rough draft, but I wanted to participate. No particular warnings apply. It’s just a bit melancholy, I guess.

---------

“You’ve got your Vulcan physiology to thank, but you’re fine.”

“As I repeatedly told you, Doctor.” Spock propped himself up on his elbows, meeting McCoy’s eyes. “You did not need to take twice as much time than required to examine me.”

“I wasn’t aware you got yourself a medical degree.” McCoy glared at Spock.

“No, but I do know my limits.”

“I doubt that, Mr. Spock,” McCoy said and pushed the button to lower the biobed.

Spock straightened, his black undershirt stretching over his chest. McCoy looked away.

“Don’t think I forgot about the botched acetylcholine test,” McCoy added and handed him his uniform.

“I collected other data, Doctor.” Spock held his tunic, looking at his hands. “If you are amenable, we can look at them tomorrow at nine hundred. You should find them interesting.”

“So now you want to let me share in this?” McCoy asked, his voice quiet.

“It was never a competition.” Spock stepped back and got dressed. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath. “As I said, you would not have survived it. Good night, Doctor.”

McCoy blinked. Before he could react, the door closed behind Spock with a swish. McCoy leaned his hands against the biobed, closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh.

It was late. It wasn’t a good idea, but something pulled him toward Spock’s door. Just five more steps and he would reach his own. Instead, he sounded the chime and clasped his hands behind his back. When the door opened, he rocked on the balls of his feet and flicked his eyes up and down Spock’s body to make sure nothing was amiss.

“Doctor?” Spock was not quick enough to compose his face, and McCoy glimpsed the confusion there. “Is something wrong?”

“Can I come in?”

Spock frowned but stepped aside.

“I won’t…” McCoy started and stopped.

Spock’s meditation mat was in the middle of the room, an asymmetrical candle holder with two burning candles in front of it.

McCoy felt a pang of guilt. “Should I…” He made a vague gesture, looking somewhere above Spock’s shoulder.

“Do not concern yourself, Doctor,” Spock said, not moving away from the door.

McCoy’s nails dug into his palm as he looked around the room. He was familiar with its decorations and red curtains, but it gave him something to do. His eyes stopped on the lute in the corner.

“I haven’t heard you play for some time,” McCoy said, looking back over his shoulder at Spock.

“Doctor, if you came here to discuss something, please proceed.”

McCoy’s shoulders dropped. “Can’t I just visit you?”

Spock straightened, clasping his hands behind the back. “In two years, thirty-six weeks, and two days you’ve never done so.”

McCoy whirled back, eyes narrowed. “I’ve been here before.”

“Yes, and every time you had a purpose.”

McCoy opened his mouth, but no words came out. A few hours earlier, there had been a moment when he— when they had thought Spock had died. He hadn’t wanted to accept it and had hoped and believed until the end, but the heavy guilt he felt after Spock had uttered “tell Doctor McCoy he should have wished me luck” would keep burdening him for days. He should have—

Spock touched his shoulder. McCoy raised his head. Spock’s eyebrows were furrowed and there was an unreadable, heavy expression in his eyes.

McCoy should have told him. Good luck. Two words. So simple, yet damning. Saying them out loud, saying them to Spock’s face would only make Spock’s highly probable death so much more real, and McCoy couldn’t—

Spock narrowed his eyes and his fingers on McCoy’s shoulder tightened.

McCoy sighed.

“If you keep frowning,” McCoy said and reached his fingers toward Spock’s face, “the wrinkles will—”

Before McCoy could touch the space between Spock’s eyebrows, Spock grabbed his wrist and pulled the hand away.

“Doctor, stop avoiding my question.”

“Do I really need to spell it out for you?” McCoy’s eyes flickered between Spock’s hand on his shoulder and his grip on McCoy’s wrist.

“Despite what you think, Doctor, I cannot read your mind.”

They watched each other for a while before Spock moved his hand down McCoy’s arm, putting it on McCoy’s waist.

“Would you like to spend the night?” Spock asked.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Spock pulled him closer.

“No, but it should make it easier to sleep,” Spock said softly, and for a brief moment, McCoy imagined that Spock meant both of them. “I am fine, Leonard.”

A shiver ran down McCoy’s spine, and he pressed his forehead against Spock’s shoulder, placing his free hand on Spock’s heart. The heartbeat was fast. Too fast to count without his instruments, but calming and familiar.

“I know our arrangement—” McCoy started, but Spock increased the pressure of his palm on McCoy’s lower back.

“Stay the night. To sleep.”

McCoy wet his lips. Getting into bed with Spock without the intention to have sex was new and disconcerting. And McCoy craved it. Craved the simple intimacy of it. It has been too damn long. He brushed his lips against Spock’s and whispered, “Okay.”

The lines around Spock’s mouth softened, and McCoy looked away, embarrassed. “Okay,” he repeated and untangled himself from Spock’s half-embrace. “I’ll take a shower.”

Spock pulled out one of his black underwear and handed it over. McCoy nodded his thanks.

When McCoy came back, freshly showered, Spock had already blown out the candles and put the meditation mat away. He stood in front of the window, its screen down and the stars visible. It was unusual.

McCoy joined him, a drop of water trickling down his neck, and for several minutes they watched the dark space in silence.

Spock closed the window screen and turned to look at McCoy. Their eyes met, and McCoy raised his eyebrow in a question.

There was a slight hesitation before Spock answered, “It is… comforting to see the stars again.”

McCoy hummed in agreement. He remembered the darkness when they were inside the organism. And Spock had been all alone in a small shuttlecraft, without any connection to the Enterprise, without power, thinking that was it for him. Thinking that he would die in complete darkness.

McCoy’s stomach felt heavy and he reached out his hand. After a moment, Spock took it, his grasp firm and warm, and McCoy pulled him toward the bed.

In the morning they will have breakfast and go to the lab. They will examine the data Spock had collected and argue for hours. But for now, McCoy allowed himself to forget who they were outside of Spock’s quarters. He allowed himself to pretend this was more than just a moment of weakness. Pretend that what they had was real. That it was more than just an agreement to have casual sex.

That it meant something to Spock.

#12daysofspones #spones #Leonard McCoy #spock #my writing #i actually didn't expect the last part it just happened #this is not the immunity syndrome coda i wanted to write but i guess it wanted to be written #well i'm happy i managed to write something for the event so yay \o/

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thatfanficstuff · 5 years ago

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Seen - Spock

Pairing: Spock x Reader

Warning: OMG. It’s so freakin’ fluffy. I love it.

A/N: Picture whatever Spock you want. This was a request on wattpad. Song 1: Invisible by Anna Clendening; Song 2: Wanted by Hunter Hayes; Song 3: Let Me Love the Lonely by James Arthur. enjoy!

***

Your skills were legendary on the Enterprise. You could fix most anything and do it quickly and efficiently. In fact, you were often requested specifically. Not by your name or anything. Usually it was more along the lines of the quiet one, her over there or you know, that one girl. Regardless, Scotty knew who they meant and if you were available, he sent you off with a sigh.

Truth was, you preferred those little jobs that got you out and about on the ship where you didn’t really have to work with anyone and could get lost in your own head. You were glad to have found your place on the ship. Even if you didn’t have the all the friendships or the relationship you craved, you were needed, wanted.

At the moment, your head was buried in the wall of the ship as you worked on some hard to reach wiring in an isolated hallway. You started to sing old Earth music to yourself as you worked.

I'm in love with someone who doesn't know I exist I stare from afar in my hand-broken heart while I play pretend I'm in love with someone who doesn't know I exist And it's you, yes, it's true, you don't even know it, I can't ever win

As your voice faded with the last word, you heard a noise in the hall. Your brow furrowed as you finished soldering the last two wires and pulled your head from the panel. You glanced around, but there was no sign of anyone else around. This wasn’t the first time in recent weeks that you’d had the feeling of being watched only to find nothing when you checked. You made a mental note to discuss it with Scotty but you’d forget, just as you had all the other times.

***

Two days later, you were calibrating some equipment in the lab. It was routine maintenance that you performed every few months or whenever Spock asked. He wouldn’t allow anyone but you touch the equipment. According to him, you were the only engineer that understood the delicacy required for Scientific study. The corner of your mouth curled up as you remembered the last time Scotty had tried to send someone besides you.

You glanced over to the window of Spock’s office. He was the only one in the lab with you, but he had holed up in his office and was working diligently on his PADD. You were hoping he’d come out and talk to you as he usually did. He was one of the few on the ship you’d consider a true friend. In fact, he was your best friend. The two of you had spent hours discussing so many topics you couldn’t even keep count of them anymore. It seemed he was too busy to spend time with you today, though. With a sigh, you went back to your work. You began to hum which soon turned into singing. You looked up once to make sure you weren’t disturbing Spock before continuing.

'Cause I wanna wrap you up Wanna kiss your lips Won’t you make me feel wanted And I wanna call you mine Wanna hold your hand forever And never let you forget it Yeah, won’t you make me feel wanted

Those weren’t the exact words, but they were the ones you’d come to use over time. They just fit. As you finished up, you glanced over one more time to find Spock still at his desk though he appeared to be in contemplation rather than working at the moment. You rapped lightly on his door on the way by.

“Enter.”

You opened the door and smiled at him. “All done.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Did you want to double-check anything?” you asked.

He pursed his lips. “I do not believe that is necessary. I have never had reason to question your work.”

That was high praise coming from the Vulcan. “All right, Spock. I’ll see you later, I guess.”

He went very still and arched a brow. “May I assume from your statement that you will not be in attendance this evening?”

You frowned. Tonight? Suddenly, it dawned on you what this evening was. Once a month, there was a crew bonding event. It was something Kirk started though you had no idea why. It was more talent show than anything else. Spock was required to attend and you had tagged along often enough, it was kind of a ritual by now. You shook your head. “No, I forgot the date. I’ll be there. Save me a seat if I’m late?”

“Of course.”

It wasn’t as if you had anything else to do, and there was always the possibility that Kirk would get drunk and sing again.

***

You had actually managed to get off shift on time for once and now found yourself at a table with Spock, Kirk, Bones and Scotty. As usual, you sat between your boss and your best friend with your fingers wrapped around a glass of scotch. At least it was the real stuff tonight and not the replicated crap you usually had to drink. Thank you, Scotty.

“I believe we are next, Y/N,” Spock announced.

“What?”

He turned to look at you then, his brows lifted lightly as if surprised to be questioned. “Our performance is next.”

You raised your glass and examined the contents wondering what Scotty put in your drink.

The Scot chuckled beside you. “There’s nothing wrong with your drink, lass. You heard him correctly.”

Pure panic shot through you as you leaned toward Spock. “Are you out of your mind? What exactly are we supposed to be doing?”

“I will play my lute and you will sing, of course.”

“I can’t sing, Spock,” you hissed at him.

“On the contrary, you sing quite well, Y/N.” Before you could argue any further, he stood and made his way to the little stage. Uhura brought him his lute and gave you a little wave before hurrying off with a giggle.

“Get up there, Y/L/N. That’s an order.” You didn’t care much for the spark of amusement in Kirk’s eyes and rolled your own when you stood to obey him.

Spock nodded as you joined him and took your spot at the microphone. “You are in so much trouble, Vulcan.”

“I anticipated such a response. You should know that the song was chosen with you in mind. You will do fine, Y/N.” You weren’t sure if he truly meant to be comforting or not, but you did feel some of the anxiety leave you at his announcement. You took a breath in an attempt to calm yourself further. It wasn’t as if everyone here hadn’t heard you sing already when you were repairing one thing or another.

You gave Spock a nod to let him know you were ready. As his fingers plucked the strings, it didn’t take you long to recognize the song despite how different it sounded. You sucked in a breath and darted your gaze over to Spock. He said he’d picked the song with you in mind. What had he meant by that?

The corner of Spock’s mouth curled up as he played the first verse again since you had completely missed your entrance. This time, you hit it perfectly.

You laugh at all the jokes Even the ones you know Funny I'm doing that, too Alone in a crowded room The one string that's out of tune Trust me, I feel like that, too

It didn’t take you long to get lost in the music. The words dripping with the loneliness you felt every damn day of your life. You kept your eyes closed as you sang and just let yourself feel.

Let me love the lonely out of you

Let me love the pain you're going through I think I'll save myself by saving you Let me love the lonely out of you

How many times had you wished for someone to say something similar to you? To tell you that they understood and you no longer had to be alone?

Lighthouse without the lights

You smile without your eyes I know, 'cause I do that too Your own worst enemy You think that no one sees I do, 'cause I'm like that too

Your mind couldn’t help but drift to Spock’s earlier words. Had he selected this song because it suited your voice or because he saw you? Saw that part you tried so hard to keep hidden from everyone else?

Let me love the lonely out of you

Let me love the pain you're going through I think I'll save myself by saving you Let me love the lonely out of you

Oh, we can light a fire to warm our bones, yeah

This world is much too cold to sleep alone

Let me love the lonely out of you

Let me love the pain you're going through I think I'll save myself by saving you Let me love the lonely out of you

Let me love the lonely out of you Let me love the pain you're going through Think I'll save myself by saving you Let me love the lonely out of you

By the end of the song, there were tears in your eyes. And you’d lost at least a few down your cheeks, as well. It was one of those songs you just couldn’t help but feel in your heart as you performed. There was a long beat of silence after you sang the last note before everyone broke into applause.

You opened your eyes to find the crew on their feet. You laughed in surprise and relief. Spock’s gaze was heavy on you, but you didn’t look at him. You didn’t dare, afraid he would see how much you wanted him to be the one to love you.

When you stepped off the stage, Uhura wrapped you in a hug. “That was amazing, Y/N. I’d heard you sing when you were working before but I had no idea. That was fantastic.”

“Thank you,” you said as you released her.

Bones threw an arm around your shoulder and tugged you into his side. “Who knew a quiet little thing like you had that in her? Nicely done, Y/L/N.”

You shook your head at his antics. “Thank you, doctor. I’m going to grab a water from the bar. I’ll be back.”

“Of course, darlin,” he responded. As he moved back to the table, you heard the others ask where you were going.

It felt like it took forever for you to reach the end of the bar as you were stopped multiple times on the way there. Finally, you settled onto a stool and ordered a water. You drank it quickly and passed the glass back to be refilled. This time you just sat for a moment and stared at the condensation on the outside of the glass. You needed a minute to center yourself.

A familiar blue uniform entered your peripheral vision as Spock sat beside you. “Are you quite alright, Y/N?”

Your lips twisted in a little smile at that. “Yeah, I’m fine, Spock.”

“Then why will you not look at me?”

You ran a finger around the rim of your glass and glanced at him from the corner of your eye. “When you said you picked that song for me, how did you mean that?”

“I meant that the song was the perfect pitch for you.”

Your heart sank. That’s what you’d suspected, but you hoped you were wrong.

Suddenly, Spock placed his first two fingers against the back of your hand as it rested on the bar. You froze, your eyes locked on the gesture of affection from the Vulcan. “It also conveyed a message that I seemed to be unable to say myself despite many attempts to do so.”

You looked at him then and the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “Do you mean that?” you couldn’t help but ask.

He nodded once. “It is my intention that you never feel invisible or unwanted again, Y/N.”

You grinned then and leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

The tips of his ears took on a slight greenish tint and you chuckled.

Still grinning, you stood and leaned closer to his ear. “Brace yourself, Spock. I’m about to do something scandalous.”

His mouth opened, but before he could voice his protest, you took his hand fully in yours and dragged him back to the table. He was as green as a seasick sailor by the time you rejoined your friends.

#spock x you #spock x reader #spock imagine #spock #star trek #star trek imagine #fluff

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soap-brain · 7 years ago

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My prompt isn't part of the hug list and is kind of really angsty so feel free to ignore it if you want! XD I've read a lot of stories where the authors had Spock act like an asshole to make Jim run into Spock Prime's arms and it always makes me sad because I feel that it's unfair to expect Spock to act like his counterpart when SP had decades to accept his human side (1)

(2) so here's my prompt. Spock catches SP and Jim in a intimate situation (kissing or acting intimately or other situations) for whatever reason of your choosing (Spock and Jim had a fight, SP melded with Jim and the emotional transfer made them both act strangely...). The rest is completely up to you :)

it’s finally done!! this was a trip, man. at first i had /no/ idea what to write, how to write it, what you wanted exactly. then i started and it was slow and odd and then it began feeling good as long as i was careful, and now i’m SO PROUD OF THIS!! it’s my new favorite fic (sorry @ His Silver Lady)

i hope you like it though, it’s completely different from what and how i usually write, and i researched some interesting stuff (hey did you know they finished the golden gate bridge in 1937? and did you know there’s already a concept for roads to be replaced with solar panels?? the more you mcfreaking know i guess)

so, without any further ado:AOS Spirk, mentions of AOS Jim Kirk/Spock Prime, mentions of sex, established TOS Spirkwarnings for: a metric ton of sadness and Spock Prime whump, also references to suicide ideation; misuse of Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, ABBA, Pacrim 2, The One With The Whales and a fuckton of odd metaphors

Rating: probably T??Wordcount: 4742

(it’s under a cut because it’s so damn long)

How can I then return in happy plightThat am debarred the benefit of rest,When day’s oppression is not eased by night,But day by night and night by day oppressed,And each, though enemies to either’s reign,Do in consent shake hands to torture me,The one by toil, the other to complainHow far I toil, still farther off from thee?I tell the day, to please him, thou art brightAnd dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven;So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild’st the even. But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, And night doth nightly make grief’s length seem stronger.

How do you know something is missing? Something you never had - how do you know you’re missing it? You feel displaced, a bit empty, searching, maybe. It’s certainly not the best feeling there is, but it’s also far from the worst.

Because the worst is having been searching for all your life, and then you find what you were looking for - love and acceptance, given completely unconditionally. And then you lose it.

Of course, you had it. For a while, you were happy. You had everything you could wish for - and more.

And then you lose it.

You lose it and there’s no replacement, because that thing is gone. Forever. It’s not coming back, you can’t get a second one, no second chances, no winning in life.

You’re alone, lost and broken. Forever.

*∞*∞*

Blue. It’s the first thing he notices. Blue, like … like a summer sky. Like a warp trail. Like a science uniform, like the eyes of a dear friend. On the wrong person maybe, but still … still …

Well. He doesn’t quite know what to say. Not … right, certainly not, more like jarringly wrong, like an atrocious deformity. Everything is wrong about the stranger. He’s too tall, too slim, too different, too wrong, not sunshine-and-honey, more starlight-and-ice.

Perfectly wrong, perfectly right.

He’d thought he’d die here, alone, in the cold, finally, maybe, because he’s not entirely sure he wants to see what this universe becomes, out of time out of space out of order infinite entropy in infinite combinations different and wrong and perfectly, perfectly right after such a long time. Like coming home to a new place.

A difficult concept to explain or grasp, without a doubt.

“James T. Kirk.”

The confusion on his face is all wrong, epidermis scrunching up in the wrong places. It’s perfect.

“Excuse me?”

He found him.

“How’d you find me?”

Not that he’s surprised, exactly. This is a Kirk, after all.

“Whoa, whoa. How’d you know my name?” Confusion, worn so beautifully. Not what he wants to see, of course - not how he’d like to see it, certainly! - but … he’s grateful for everything by now.

“I have been, and always shall be, your friend.” It’s a miracle his voice doesn’t break. Or maybe it does, but can you blame him? Miracles like this don’t happen.

He’s not alone anymore, not lost, not broken. Not anymore.

*∞*∞*

My glass shall not persuade me I am old; // So long as youth and thou are of one date.

They have no place in this universe. Or, well, he doesn’t. Jim, Jim, beautiful Jim - he does. He deserves so much. He’s so young, so bright, so fearless, so, so beautiful.

Spock found his missing half again. His t’hy’la, his sun, his everything. Like the universe falling back into alignment, a pendulum with unending weight and no mass.

And then it swings past.

There’s a marvelous ship launching, a goddess in her own right, and her crew is beaming sparkling smiles, turning their backs on Earth with no regrets.

Is this what an abandoned pet must feel like? Watch those it loves and admires turn their backs and walk away, not a glance spared?

His knees want to buckle under the merciless weight of the stars, of years and years lived and forgotten and never happening. Because - because they never were.

Six sets of eyes, blue, brown, golden-sunshine-and-laughter. They never were. And nobody remembers, because they never lived.

Now, they are brown, they are green, they are grey, and a bright, burning blue. Like a shooting star: can’t touch, can’t feel, but all you want to do is latch on. It won’t let you.

What is there to do, when you have nothing? Nothing left, everything taken. Nothing ventured and nothing gained - but. What to venture for? What is there left to fight for?

For the first time in his life it seems like maybe giving up is the right way to go. Maybe - maybe it was enough.

The thoughts don’t come at night, under glittering stars, so far away, held dear in memory. The thoughts don’t come at day, under burning sun, merciless. The thoughts are already here and they won’t leave.

You become used to it.

Have you ever tried reaching out to the stars? Even if they aren’t yours, all wrong because they are exactly the same - have you tried touching them? Fingers stroking over a cheekbone. The eyes should be phoenix-gold, but they’re a morning sky. And the memory is but a dream.

“‘Let me help.’ A hundred years or so from now, I believe, a famous novelist will write a classic using that theme. He’ll recommend those three words even over ‘I love you.’”

So he will help. If nobody ever knows who for, then so be it. He can’t chase after a lover that was never his to have.

*∞*∞*

“Do you genuinely believe he likes me?”

Sigh. “He is me, and I do know myself. Yes, Jim. Spock likes you.”

“He doesn’t act like it though.”

So different. So much less calm. Exactly the same.

A smile the other man surely doesn’t see often from him - or his counterpart.

“Vulcan education doesn’t make it easy to act on our feelings, if we even admit we have them.”

“But - he doesn’t even use contractions when speaking! Hell, he told me off for using them in official reports! And you - I’ve heard you parody Bones’ accent!”

“Jim, all I can ask of you is to give my counterpart time and ample supply of possibilities to change. I am over a hundred and ninety years old, and the majority of that time was spent in Human company. It … wears you down, eventually.”

Jim flips the stylus he’d been fiddling with. “I did everything you said though! We’re playing a lot of chess, we have dinner together, I ask to hear him play the lute, I get him little trinkets, I’m trying to be as respectful as I can be, I’m practically flirting with him non-stop - how many more situations should I needlessly and weirdly bend over something? How dense can a guy be!”

“Always so impatient - ack!”

He’s so close all of a sudden, invading a personal bubble that hasn’t been invaded in a long, long time (actually, never. Because it never happened), smelling and feeling wrong, and exactly right.

Feelings are a confusing thing, but is there anything that’s quite as good?

“What’s wrong?”

A hand on his elbow, and bright blues looking worried. A momentary lapse of control, and suddenly it’s so much harder to regain his balance, externally, internally, eternally. Of course it’s his presence that set the timer off, tick-tocking towards doom, the shallow contact on Delta Vega, the most intimate connection, a mind recognizing its counterpart, no matter how distorted.

“Spock. Talk to me!”

“Selek.”

“No, you’re - you’re Spock!”

He sits up again.

“Jim …”

“Is it a medical condition? Do you need a doctor? Oh god, I’ll call Bones right-”

“Jim.”

“Yes?”

“It is, in fact, a medical condition of sorts, but nothing modern medicine can help me with. Or you.”

“What do you mean?”

Sigh. He doesn’t want to lie - his body craves the relief, the closeness, like a starving man craves food, the most delicious buffet laid out right in front of him.

If he touches it, it will wither away, leave, run, snarl in disgust. He won’t be able to survive that. The other alternative - abstinence, depriving himself - seems almost better.

Selek - Spock has never been strong. His mental restraints are mainly born from self-hatred, indoctrinated into him at a very young age. It makes it easier to deny himself.

But it has been so, so very long that he almost wants to give in.

Weariness goes deep - to your skin, after a long day. To your bones, after years. To your soul, after a lifetime of almost only mourning.

“Tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it.”

Let me help.

‘The history book on the shelf is always repeating itself’, after all.

“I can’t let you. This is something I have to bear myself.”

“No. Nobody is ever alone. Let. Me. Help.”

*∞*∞*

To have known him, to have loved himAfter loneness long;And then to be estranged in life,And neither in the wrong;And now for death to set his seal—Ease me, a little ease, my song!By wintry hills his hermit-moundThe sheeted snow-drifts drape,And houseless there the snow-bird flitsBeneath the fir-trees’ crape: Glazed now with ice the cloistral vine That hid the shyest grape.

Giving in is, in a way, always harder than abstaining. It opens up places inside of you - deep, dark, horribly twisted places. Of why you shouldn’t have given in, ever. Of why you shouldn’t have abstained, ever.

Sensorimotor memory is another fascinating thing. It digs deep and leaves grotesque scars, and touching them again shakes you to your very foundations.

*∞*∞*

The first day feels like happiness. Pure, unadulterated happiness. Like seeing the sun for the very first time in your life.

The second day is bittersweet. You can already feel it ending, a bit, even though you’re just cresting the highest peak.

The third day is regret and lack. It’s already over, almost. Sanity is returning.

Hour zero, day zero, ground zero afterwards is disgust. Not normally, no. But in this case - golden head on a pillow, bare shoulders and back covered in marks, a picture of utter exhaustion - it was wrong.

When you’re very young, and your mother tells you off for stealing your sister’s treats, and you’re unhappy and angry with yourself that you did something, took something you had no right to, already loathing the bliss you found in it.

This Jim, with this blue eyes and bright smile - that one hadn’t been meant for Spock. And he took him anyways.

He stands there, in the open bedroom/living space, mug of tea in his hand, looking down at the sleeper, and he resents every mark on the pale skin, every memory revolving around those marks.

There’s a chime at his door and he knows, instinctively, who it is. He allows admittance. There’s nothing to hide. Like a thief caught red-handed.

His counterpart barges in, chock-full with questions, and he stops dead in his tracks.

There’s shock, then there’s realization, and then there’s anger.

Selek watches him. He doesn’t have anything to hide, all his crimes out here in the open for Spock to judge.

“You - you - he.”

Is there anything quite like fury choking your every word? Spock has every right to feel cheated, betrayed, stolen from.

And then his features fall.

“It was you. Not me. You. He wanted you.”

Selek shook his head. “No, Spock. He wanted you. I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Why I did what I did? I’m old, Spock. I’m old and foolish and I’m alone. I don’t belong here. I’m weary. I don’t know whether giving in made it worse or better; it doesn’t matter. He’s not meant for me. And he only wanted to help. He doesn’t want me.”

“But … you are more than me. Why - why wouldn’t he choose you?”

“The simplest explanation I can give you is that he’s not my Jim, and I’m not his Spock. There’s a Jim and a Spock in every universe, and they belong together. But … this isn’t my universe, Spock. This isn’t my Jim. My Jim … was different. I’m sorry.”

Spock stares down at the golden head on the pillow, fighting emotions that remain unseen. Selek knows them all.

“I need you to leave,” he chokes out, and Selek nods. Of course.

He dresses himself, puts on shoes, makes for the door.

“There’s a dermal regenerator in the bathroom,” he says. There’s no answer. He doesn’t deserve an answer.

*∞*∞*

Spock sits down, hands shaking, knees suddenly unable to bear his weight. Jim is still motionless, deeply exhausted from -

Something ugly rears its head in Spock, dark and snarling. From servicing his counterpart, taken like some kind of whore. Jim is his, his, his alone, and he wants to hurt Selek, make sure he never lays a hand on Jim again. Illogical? Yes. But justified. Jim is his! Selek should have taken better care of his own Jim, then he would not be alone.

He trails a hand over Jim’s shoulder, fighting the urge to dig his nails in and mark Jim. The Human moves under his touch, pressing against it. Yes. Jim knows who his Spock is.

It is terrifying, if Spock is honest with himself. This urge to mark Jim, claim Jim, like his consent is of no importance.

“Sp’ck?” He’s turned his head, lashes fluttering open and revealing crystalline blues.

“I am here, Jim.”

Jim rolls around more, until he’s on his side. He stares, and then his eyes widen.

“Spock! I - I can explain!” He scrambles to sit, bedsheet pooling around his waist.

“There is no need.” It comes out colder than Spock wanted.

“No, listen, I need to explain. Please!” Jim rubs a wild hand over his face and through his hair. “I - I - I don’t know how to say this, but please listen to me!”

Spock cocks his head.

“I - oh god - I didn’t mean to - look, I had no idea how to interpret the signals I was getting from you, and Selek needed help. Spock, I couldn’t just - I couldn’t just let him die. But … I - Whatever we had, I -” He swallows harshly. “I destroyed it, didn’t I? Everything we could’ve had.”

“I didn’t know you wanted - anything.” Spock exhales. There’s something in his chest, tight and loose at the same time. “I didn’t think you’d want … me.”

“I did. I do. If you still do then I’m, I’ll.”

Spock closes his eyes. He had always tried to quench optimism with realism, or pessimism if his heart grew too bold. He had not dared hope - but he had thought. Had thought of Jim, just Jim, with him. As if nothing else mattered. (It didn’t.)

“I do.” Said quietly, screamed across the rapidly shrinking distance between them.

Jim is smiling. Their foreheads touch without either of them consciously allowing it, so close together.

“I do,” Spock repeats, watching the tentative smile on the Human’s face turn brilliant.

*∞*∞*

It’s an interesting trait, Human sentimentality. Certainly one of the greatest flaws and greatest strengths of their race, decidedly not to underestimate. Take this bridge, for example. 323 years old, it would be considered a waste of space and resources, logically, and would be set for destruction. Maintenance and continued safety checks cost a fortune that could well be invested elsewhere.

If you would propose that same course of action to any of the locals, you would decidedly not endear yourself to them, but the fact remains that the upkeep of the bridge doesn’t follow any kind of logical way of thought.

The paint alone, specially synthesized to protect the ancient materials, costs a fortune. A colorful metaphor for Human sentimentality.

If Selek were another man, one and a half centuries younger, not yet worn down, he would surely have chuckled. A joke. He doesn’t make those very often, the references he makes with his punchlines far too obscure for anyone to understand, and, as in this case, they never happened in the first place.

The sidewalk isn’t made from concrete and stones anymore - a series of large remodeling projects allow all of San Francisco to be powered exclusively by solar panels that have been integrated everywhere. Roads now have a dull shine to them, looking far more finely fashioned than cracked concrete.

Selek wishes for the concrete. Watching where to step, careful to not bump into the man beside him, no matter how much he may want to, yearning for something half-remembered, half-forgotten.

‘Admiral.’ - ‘You used to call me Jim.’

He used to, yes. In another time.

Now, it doesn’t hold the same meaning. Now, it’s a hollow ache, desperation, a void refusing to be filled except with unjust, unhealthy appropriation.

It used to be the warm glow of belonging.

And the yearning for it is a Human feeling, through and through. Sentimentality.

The pier is more or less deserted - it’s hardly the weather for a nice stroll. There’s only one person, ahead of Selek. They’re leaning over the little wall between the walkway and the stony shore, robes flying in the wind.

It’s for the better. As though less people would see Selek’s shame.

It was a selfish act, meant to resurrect whatever he once was and making it about himself. Selek has lived for other people. It used to be his primary enjoyment, fulfilling him.

A life, devoid of meaning now. And for how much longer? Physically, Selek doesn’t feel that old yet, and his luck has been bad. How much longer? Twenty years? How do you live twenty more years after almost a lifetime without your heart, briefest glimpse of happiness, those few years, so long gone?

“And Quoth the Raven “Nevermore”!” the stranger exclaims, pushing away from the little wall. “Oh, you Humans. Always so doomy and gloomy. Find some enjoyment in life! Live a little!” He clasps Selek’s shoulder. “Oh, apologies. You are half Vulcan, after all. But do you hear yourself think? There’s more humanity in you than anything else.”

“Can I help you?”

The stranger winks. “Oh, maybe, yes. Do you happen to know a man by the name of … Admiral James T Kirk?”

Selek stops dead in his tracks.

“How -” His voice fails. “How do you know that name?”

“About 5’10’’, brown eyes, brown hair, a bit curly … used to be blond! He likes horses, Shakespeare, flowers, astronomy … Do you know him?”

“Who are you?!” There’s an age-old anger shaking in his chest, at the name seemingly used in vain by this stranger.

The stranger smiles like a cat that got the cream. “I am one of the Q.”

“What’s your name? Who are you?”

“Q.”

“How do you know - how do you know that? Him.”

“Mmmmmh, let’s just say I have my sources. But if I may: You two were fantastic for each other. A perfect fit.”

I know.

“But then, he had to step on the, what was it, Enterprise-B and, well, the rest is, as they say, history. What a sad story. Such a bright, bright man, and he gets himself killed before his time. Pity.” The stranger grins, entirely too off.

And then he leans close to Selek. “Or did he? He was presumed dead. Did he die, Spock? Did you ever see a body? How do you know that he’s really dead? The bond? What if it broke because he’s inside a singularity that transcends dimensions?”

“What do you want?” Selek is shaking by now.

“It’s called the Nexus. I’m pretty sure he’s still alive in there!”

Selek starts walking again, trying not to shake, not to stumble, keep his lips pressed thinly together and blinking away the overboarding emotions, throat weighed down with ‘Ambassador Spock, sir, apologies for interrupting, but there has been a message from the USS Enterprise-B.’ on top of the scalding emptiness of knives in his heart, memories, memories, loss, over and over.

The hand on his shoulder almost makes him buckle; the bridge offset in dark, garish red against gray skies bleeds away into lush green, a garden, wild, but beautifully maintained, with crops and flowers; a chestnut horse nibbling on some grass, a black cat with a red spotted cravat prancing after butterflies.

“Spock? Spock! There you are! What a feisty kitten! Come here!”

It’s a voice Selek would have recognized anywhere. His heart stops, free-falling; whether it’s relief or breaking, hollow sadness he couldn’t say, nostalgia and fear and yearning and ecstasy mixed together.

The caller comes into focus and Selek can’t help himself but reach out. Just one touch. One fleeting press of fingertips against fabric, against skin, against hair, and he would be content for eternity.

The vision fizzles and fades, replaced instead by the heavy gray around. It’s started to rain. Q is nowhere to be found.

*∞*∞*

“They were thigh-la,” Jim says absent-mindedly, running his fingers over the fabric of Spock’s robe. It is not as though Spock minds - he has waited far too long for this. But Jim’s statement is perplexing.

“They were what?”

“Thigh- Thigh-la? It’s a term Selek used, I think it’s Vulcan.”

“There is no such term. Perhaps you misheard.” “No, no, it’s a thing! Um, they were like … it’s going to sound stupid, but they were - soulmates, so to speak.”

“Oh. You are referring to the bond of t’hy’la.”

“Yeah! Exactly!” Jim sits up to face Spock, excitement sparking from his eyes. Spock finds he misses the warm weight of the Human’s torso against his. “What does it mean, exactly?”

“Like you said. Soulmates.”

“Oh.” Jim leans against Spock again, tethering him back to the universe that is wide open and, for the first time, welcoming. Smiling. Like coming home to a new place.

Then: “Are you angry at him? Selek, I mean.”

Spock allows himself a deep exhale, Jim’s pulse loud in his fingertips on his neck.

“I think … I think I am lucky to be unable to understand his motivation.”

“What do you mean?”

“Selek is … broken, beyond words. I cannot imagine - such a life, only so few years with your counterpart, and then all the time spent alone. I cannot be angry at him for - for being desperate. For wanting.”

“I wanted to help him. I really did. I still do. But … unless we find my counterpart, there’s no helping him, is there?”

“I am afraid not.”

“So he’ll never know love again.”

“No. And not even - what you gave him, Jim, though well-meant - it was not the love he needs. You are not what he needs, even though it is of course easier for him to delude himself to think that you are. I do not blame him.”

*∞*∞*

They see Selek again for their departure, the first time since, well, since. The Enterprise is set to a set of coordinates that presumably hold a singularity, and Selek will be coming with them. Presumably. Dear Creator, Humans certainly are one of the most delightful species.

Command hadn’t given them a reason for any of this, and it hadn’t seemed like any of them even know why the Enterprise needed to go there. The Humans find it odd, but have decided not to argue.

Jim’s only barely keeping himself from touching Spock. They’re not exactly out - Spock had felt the need to inform Nyota, and Jim had of course told Leo, but to everyone else they were still Captain Kirk and Commander Spock, nothing more. Delightful in their insecurity.

Selek holds himself differently, even more of a paradox than he’d been before, more straight, more lively, but like someone else was pulling the strings. Hm. As easy as all these little beings are, they certainly are fascinating. You can never really know how they’ll react.

“I’m happy to have you on board,” Jim ventures. He’d been worried about the old half-Vulcan, but then pre-departure-preps had hit him and he hadn’t found the time to check up on him, and in true Human fashion he had resigned himself to hoping that he was alright.

Selek reaches out to touch his shoulder, and Spock steps closer to Jim, warning, threatening.

“I learned my lesson, Spock. And I’m grateful you didn’t take it amiss. Learn from my mistakes, Spock.”

Selek keeps to himself. The Enterprise shoots through the stars, brimming with eagerness as she always does, always did, in every universe, in every dimension, a beating heart bright like the sun, a beacon of hope. They all hope, each for their own sake, and the ship carries the hope out into the void, a cheerful resistance against inevitability.

Oh, they have no idea.

A flick, a flimmer of thought, and the Enterprise stops, dead, out of power, shining brightly among the eternal night.

Inside, there is mayhem.

They can’t see it of course, but the Nexus is there, waiting. Not an entity that had endeared itself with kindness usually - it’s a grotesque, ugly thing, devouring, feeding off life energy, the immortal souls trapped within. Paradisical for lower lifeforms, no doubt - that was, after all, the Nexus’ spiel - but for anyone with a bit of a mind to see beyond the veil, it appeared more of a parasite.

Its maw was gaping, tongue trying to reach out to the tiny silver ship braving its edges, like a predator in waiting. Thank the Creator for chaining it at the Junction; otherwise, it would’ve been unstoppable.

The old half-Vulcan doesn’t seem to be interested in the when’s and if’s and but’s presented in increasing desperation by the Enterprise’s crew.

“It’s where I have to go. Please, let me. Allow me this one last thing.”

Ah. So he can feel it then. Splendid.

Jim Kirk doesn’t cry as he allows Selek a shuttle and wishes him farewell. Maybe there’s a part of him that understands.

And then the shuttle takes off, a tiny speck of silver, a shooting star, falling right into the abyss, the beast’s open maw. The Enterprise crew doesn’t see it, doesn’t hear it, only the shuttle’s life signals cutting off as though it never was. In a way, it wasn’t. The nonexistent prime timeline dies with Selek - Spock. This one will be different. Far, far different, except for the constants that vein every timeline, every universe, every dimension, a tether to the greater order.

Perhaps it is only merciful to give the Enterprise something to explore here. The Nexus can’t touch them anyways. Their time hasn’t come yet.

So, an oddly colored nebula sparkles into existence, flickering in and out, a proper scientific problem. It will let them discover several properties of dark matter instability years before they should have that knowledge, but then again it’s nothing but a drop in the ocean.

*∞*∞*

The shuttle begins gradually fading away, mattering less and less in this - wherever, whatever. Then, there’s only the forest. Trees rushing in the wind, birds singing, golden sunshine and bright green, stones and leaves crunching underfoot.

The path is narrow but worn, boot prints and hoof prints engraved deep into the ochre soil. Around a bend and over a wooden bridge crossing a stream, until there is a small artfully rusted gate. It swings open easily.

The garden is lush green, wild, but beautifully maintained, with crops and flowers; a chestnut horse nibbling on some grass, a black cat with a red spotted cravat prancing after butterflies.

“Spock? Spock! There you are! What a feisty kitten! Come here!”

There’s the call again.

The rusted metal is real under his fingers; the roses smell lovely and the leaves are green. It’s like coming home to a new place. Different, but home.

*∞*∞*

Let me not to the marriage of true mindsAdmit impediments. Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds,Or bends with the remover to remove.O no! it is an ever-fixed markThat looks on tempests and is never shaken;It is the star to every wand'ring bark,Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeksWithin his bending sickle's compass come;Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.

there we go that was it!!! i really, really hope you enjoyed it, and i’m sorry for the super duper long wait. i’ll post it to ao3 some day, i think, as soon as i manage to come up with a title

thank you for that wonderful prompt, anon!!

if you found every reference and stolen quote, let me know :D

also, disclaimer: i’ve seen the first four eps of tng, that’s how well i know q. i’ve never seen generations, of the poems i used i only ever analyzed one (the last one, aka my favorite). AND ofc it’s not beta read at all or anything, yikes!!! :DD

i think @gumballgladiator wanted to be tagged in this when it’s done? if anyone else wants to be tagged in stuff lmk!!

bye i’ll go to the gym now, i’m mentally exhausted :p

#spirk #aos spirk #spock #jim kirk #spock prime #star trek #star trek aos #fanfic #my writing #this is my non plus ultra i think. wow i love this fic. please be nice to it it's my child #my post #anonymous

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