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indeedcaptain · 1 year ago

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Spirktober 2023, day 25: Pon Farr

Rite (write ;) ) of passage for star trek ficcers!! Yes I made the same joke on my AO3 but it was too good to only post once!! I am very behind on Spirktober but I'm having too much fun to stop now so here's my accidental 6K fic about spock's first pon farr.

Also posted on AO3 here!

Archive warnings: explicit sex ahead! ahoy!

☆☆☆

After three years of having a direct line into Spock’s emotions, Jim was reasonably accustomed to his bondmate’s daily moods. There were, usually, very few surprises. So when the bond between them lit up with an unexpected one-two punch of lust and anxiety with no apparent cause, Jim was concerned, to say the least.

He shifted in the captain’s chair and thought down the bond, Everything okay, love?

There was not an immediate response, which was not necessarily a problem except for that the anxiety had not abated in the slightest and the lust was starting to make Jim’s skin itch. Spock? Hello?

Are you on the bridge? Spock’s mental voice was ragged, slightly breathless, and Jim’s own concern ticked up another notch. Are you safe?

Yes, I’m safe, he thought back, and pushed the image of what he was seeing to Spock. Sulu and Chekov at their stations ahead of him, the blackness of space and the occasional distant star on the viewscreen, and the general air of relaxation around him. Uhura was humming to herself. Are you okay? What’s wrong?

I do not know, Spock said, and that answer frightened Jim more than anything else so far. I find that I cannot logically pinpoint the source of this emotion nor can I compartmentalize it.

Spock, are you having a panic attack? Why do you feel like you want to jump my bones?

At “jump my bones,” Spock’s half of the mental link contracted so suddenly and painfully with arousal that Jim bit the inside of his lip to keep from gasping.

Refrain from considering such subjects until I leave the laboratory, Spock said, and his voice was strained.

You’re meeting me in Medbay. Head there now, I’ll be down soon.

Captain---

That’s an order, love. I’ll see you in a minute. At the promise of their meeting, Jim felt Spock’s stress decrease fractionally. He rolled his neck and stood. “Sulu,” he said. “You have the conn.”

“Sure, captain,” Sulu said. “For how long?”

“Ah,” Jim said, and scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know yet. Until I come back, I guess.” Sulu shrugged and stood to replace Jim in the captain’s chair. Jim walked into the turbolift and said, “Medbay.”

Spock was pacing the hallway in front of the Medbay doors when Jim arrived. “Hey, you,” he said as he exited the turbolift, smiling at his bondmate. At the sound of his voice, Spock whirled and was on him in a second. He slid his hand into Jim’s hair, tight enough to pull, pressed his face into the crook of Jim’s neck, and inhaled sharply. Through Spock’s hand against his skin, Jim could feel the trembling in his arms. Spock’s nose was pressed hard against him; he could feel the fluttering of his eyelashes against his neck.

“Hey,” he said again, soothingly. He ran his hands down Spock’s back, resting on his ribs. His heart was beating entirely too hard for anything short of active combat. “Hey, now. It’s okay. Everything is fine. Let’s go see M’Benga, okay?”

Spock took one more deep inhale against his skin before straightening. His cheeks and ears were flushed, like he had a fever, and he tucked his hands behind his back for only a moment before he released them to touch Jim again. Jim took his hand, despite their usual moratorium on PDA, and that seemed to steady him, before pulling him to the Medbay doors. As soon as they slid open, Spock pulled Jim behind him and stood between him and the rest of Medbay, eyes flicking from side to side like he was expecting an attack. The only person Jim saw over Spock’s shoulder was Christine, who sat with her legs stretched out in front of her on an unoccupied biobed, surrounded by a stack of padds.

She looked up as the doors opened. “Hey, boys,” she said, smiling. “What can I do for you today?” She frowned as she registered Spock’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I think he might be, uh. Having a panic attack?” Jim peered around Spock’s arm.

Christine immediately swung her legs down from the bed and approached, palms up like she was soothing an animal. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Spock’s defensive stance, the flush on his face, his unsteady breathing.

“Everything okay, Spock?”

“I do not know,” Spock said. His voice was tight. Christine took another step towards him, and his grip on Jim’s hand tightened as he crouched slightly. “Christine, please. I know, logically, that you are my friend. But do not come any closer.” She stopped immediately where she stood, and Jim saw her put something together.

“Oh, shit,” she said. “Is it that you don’t want me to come near you? Or near Jim?”

“Jim,” Spock said immediately, and pulled him further behind him.

“I’m gonna get M’Benga, because he can help more than I can, and then I’ll be right back. Okay?”

When Spock nodded, she spared Jim one nervous smile and vanished behind the partition wall, into M’Benga’s office. Spock ran his thumb compulsively over the back of Jim’s hand, and slowly Jim put together the pieces. He pulled Spock to face him, putting his free hand on his chest, making Spock look at him.

I think it might be your time, Spock.

No, Spock said immediately, but with no conviction. M’Benga said that I would sense it coming for a few days first.

He was taking an educated guess, love. He might have been wrong.

I fear for you, Jim. I am not ready. I do not want to hurt you.

You’re not going to, he said, but he privately made a note to call his mother-in-law as soon as he could. We’ve talked about this. We have a plan. It’ll be okay. We’ll just speed up the timeline a little bit.

M’Benga stepped out from his office with Christine, but maintained a healthy distance between himself and Spock.

“Doctor,” Spock said. “I think I must request leave.”

“Yes, I think you must,” M’Benga said, and he crossed the room to pull a medical kit labeled in Vulcan from a locker. “You and the captain are both on leave from duty for the next six days. If you need more time, it’s yours. The captain’s quarters have a replicator, no?”

“Yes,” Jim said.

“Go there, then. Captain, you must ensure your own nutrition and hydration. I’m not sure if Mr. Spock will remember.” A flash of guilt came over the bond, and Spock’s hand flexed compulsively around his. M’Benga placed the bag on the ground and shoved it, so it slid across the floor to them. Spock picked it up without releasing Jim’s hand.

“If there’s anything you need that isn’t in the bag and can’t be replicated, call us,” M’Benga said, and now he was talking to Jim. “We’ll bring whatever it is. Captain, I mean it. Whatever you need. Do not prioritize your privacy over your health.”

“Got it, doctor,” Jim said. Spock did not respond. “Thank you.”

Let’s go, sweetheart, Jim said, and when he pulled Spock by the hand, he followed. M’Benga and Christine watched him go, and she crossed her arms over her chest. When Jim looked back over his shoulder as the doors slid shut behind him, she mouthed, “Good luck,” and winked.

Well, at least one person thought he was going to have fun. He wasn’t so sure, himself.

☆☆☆

Jim had been sitting on the closed toilet seat for forty-five seconds, composing the most intimate and embarrassing padd message he’d ever written and bracing himself to send it to Amanda, when he felt the anxiety flare again. Three seconds later, Spock overrode the bathroom lock. He panicked, hit send on the message, and stood.

“Hi,” he said. “Okay there?”

Spock looked between the padd and the closed toilet seat and to him. “I do not wish to be apart from you right now,” he said, voice mostly even, but Jim felt his anxiety spiking through the bond. “Is… everything alright?”

“Yes,” Jim said. He stuck his padd in his pocket and crossed the room. I’m worried about you, he said through the bond. And about me. I messaged your mom for advice. He wrapped his arms around Spock, and Spock dropped his forehead onto his shoulder.

I am in control now, but I do not know what will happen when the blood fever comes. I am terrified to hurt you.

I know, baby. That’s why I don’t think you will. But… just in case. I wanted to tap in the only other human I know who has done this before. Spock rolled his head to press his lips against Jim’s neck and wrapped his arms around Jim’s waist.

Let’s lay together and watch holovids for a while. No rush. If it starts, we’ll already be in bed, Jim said. He stepped forward, pushing Spock backwards out of the bathroom, back into his quarters. He stripped out of his clothes before flopping onto his bed. Spock methodically removed his own uniform, folding it carefully, and placed it on his desk.

His padd dinged from where it had been abandoned in his pants. Spock retrieved it and handed it to him before climbing into bed beside him.

“Do you want to see what she says?” Jim asked. Spock rolled onto his stomach, face buried in his pillow, and mumbled, “No.” Jim stroked one hand over his bondmate’s hair before tapping on the notification from Amanda.

He closed his eyes, breathed in, and opened the message.

My dear Jim,

I’m so glad that you reached out to me, even though I can feel your embarrassment through the screen. Please do not be embarrassed. I wish that I had been able to ask anyone about what the plak tow was going to be like for our first pon farr together, and I’m glad that I can be that for you.

I am going to let you in on a secret, one that I hope will set your mind at ease and bring you and Spock closer together during this time. Vulcans are so private, and have been for so long, that I think they’ve forgotten the damage that their privacy causes to those who aren’t in the know. I know that the idea of this time terrifies Spock --- it has since he was small and first learned of it. I hope this message assuages his worry as well as yours.

Here is the secret: because you are already bonded, and because you love each other, it is going to be wonderful. Do not be afraid. The secrecy with which all Vulcans hold this time has only served to perpetuate the worst rumors from the worst situations.

Be prepared --- certainly be smart, and safe, and drink more water than you think you need --- but do not worry. He will take care of you.

I love you both. Talk soon.

Amanda

“Oh, my god,” Jim said. He read the message again, and then a third time. Spock, he said. His bondmate was still facedown in the pillow, with one hand spread possessively over Jim’s stomach. Jim threaded their fingers together. Spock, listen. He read Amanda’s message aloud through the bond.

Slowly Spock picked his head up and propped himself on his elbows. Jim handed him the padd for him to read for himself. He scanned the words once, and then again, before returning the padd to Jim and meeting his eyes. The worry that had clouded the bond since the first flare of anxiety this morning had not totally dissipated, but it was greatly lessened.

I knew you wouldn’t hurt me, Jim said, and he pulled up a Terran movie from the 2050s on his padd, propping it on his thighs and sliding down the pillows to lay on his back. Spock curled around him, head on his shoulder, arm across his middle.

Thank you for asking her, he said. I am less concerned for your safety now than I was before.

Less concerned? That’s all?

I do not understand.

Come on, you’re not even a little excited?

Excited? To behave like an animal for a week?

Have it your way, Jim said, trailing his fingers over Spock’s forearm.

After a few minutes of watching the movie in silence, Spock said, Are you excited?

In response, Jim pushed one of the fantasies he’d been nurturing ever since Spock had explained the pon farr to him along the bond and felt Spock’s arm tighten across his stomach. Only if you’re taking requests, Jim said.

I will see what I can do, Spock said, but Jim felt his tension dissipate further and the lust from earlier begin to take its place. He settled in to watch the movie and fell asleep with Spock on his shoulder.

☆☆☆

When Jim woke up, the room was pitch-dark and his body told him he had only been asleep for a few hours. His padd had been moved to his bedside table, and Spock was nowhere to be found.

My love? He cast the thought out through the bond as he felt around in the bed for Spock. He found no warm body beside him, but heard a shuffling across the room.

“Computer, lights to ten percent,” he said quietly, and the room illuminated enough for him to see what had woken him. Spock had gotten out of bed --- recently, if the state of his hair and the imprint of the lines of the sheets against his chest were any indication --- and he was digging through the bag from M’Benga, which had been abandoned on the coffee table. He pulled a large bottle of something from the bag and turned back to Jim, whose eyes flicked downward.

His bondmate was very, very hard.

You are awake, Spock said. His voice was ragged.

You’re awake too, Jim said, and sat himself up fully. Spock prowled towards him, tossed the bottle onto the bed next to Jim, and crawled across the bed to him.

I burn, Spock said, and he cupped the back of Jim’s head and pulled him into a human kiss. Jim opened his mouth to Spock, allowing him access, not awake enough to give one hundred percent but certainly awake enough to enjoy Spock’s attentions.

What do you need? Jim asked sleepily. Spock pushed him back down onto the bed, laying his weight over him, pressing him into the mattress. He nudged Jim’s head sideways, giving him access to his neck, and licked a strip up to his ear.

You, Spock said, and his voice was just a growl now, primal and assertive. Give yourself to me and I will give you everything.

Everything? Jim said, and wound his arms around Spock’s neck, sighing as Spock sucked what was surely going to be an enormous hickey into the skin below his jaw.

Whatever you desire, ashayam, it will be yours, Spock said, and he ran a hand down the length of Jim’s torso, halting at the waistband of his boxers. Jim felt his hands hesitate, and even though Amanda’s message had eased his concerns, he had not realized that giving his consent was part of the process. He had assumed that it did not factor in. But Spock had never once taken something that Jim had not offered, and it did not seem like he was going to start now.

Yes, he said. I’m yours, love. Give me everything. Spock’s hand slid into his boxers, nails dragging against his thighs, and he felt his hips being lifted and his shorts being removed. The dim lights shone against the darkness of Spock’s hair as he licked and kissed and bit his way down Jim’s body, halting for only a second to kiss the side of his dick, before he felt Spock’s arms twine under his body and flip him onto his stomach, fast enough to knock the wind from him.

Oh, shit, he thought, dizzy, and Spock was back at his head in an instant, nuzzling against his ear from behind, the heat of his body radiating into Jim’s back.

Ashayam?

Still here. Still good. Just surprised me. Not totally awake. Spock kissed his ear in confirmation and then licked a hot wet stripe down his back. Jim crossed his arms under his head and closed his eyes as Spock spread him open and licked from his balls to his tailbone. His body was waking up now, paying more attention to what Spock’s tongue and hands were doing, and it was only a couple of minutes longer before he was completely awake, hard, and grinding against the mattress and Spock’s face. He moaned into the pillow, and before he realized what was happening Spock had flipped him over again. He landed on his back, knees bent and falling open, and Spock put himself between them, grinding their dicks together, kissing the moans out of his mouth. The friction of Spock’s boxers was almost too much, and he groaned.

In one motion Spock stood, removed his boxers, and recovered the scarily large bottle of lube from where it had landed before crawling back to Jim. He sat back on his knees and flicked the cap open, squirting the liquid onto his fingers, and trailing them between his cheeks.

Please, Spock said. Jim let his knees fall further apart.

Please, Jim said, as he felt Spock’s finger trace a line down his hole. He hissed at the cold surprise of the lube, but it warmed quickly between his body and Spock’s hand, and sooner than he had expected Spock was scissoring multiple fingers inside him. Spock pulled his fingers out and Jim groaned. But a second later he felt the head of Spock’s dick push at him, and Spock’s hands around his hips.

Ashayam? Spock asked.

Yes, Jim said. Spock pushed inside him, less gently than he might have otherwise, sure, but he had been careful and methodical in his preparation and he seated himself inside Jim with no pain. The head of his cock brushed the bundle of nerves inside him, and Jim arched off the bed. Spock slid an arm beneath him, holding him up to Spock’s chest until there was nothing separating them but their skin, and then he began to move.

Spock was usually careful with Jim. And he still was, mostly--- Jim could feel his love leaking from every inch of the bond and from Spock’s hands on his skin --- but the leash had slipped. He thrust into him harder than he had before, pushing him up the bed against the headboard, driving his hipbones against Jim’s ass until he was sure that he couldn’t take another millimeter of him.

Jim leaked come onto his stomach, flying towards the edge of climax, but Spock showed no signs of slowing. Love, please, he gasped. I’m too close.

I will have your orgasm, Spock growled. Give it to me. Even as he drove into Jim with that punishing rhythm, he reached up to wrap one hand around Jim’s cock, a question in his eyes. Yes, Jim gasped, and all it took was for Spock to close his hand around Jim and tighten before Jim came like a supernova, spilling over his chest and Spock’s, crying out and digging his hands into Spock’s shoulder as he clenched around him.

Spock followed him over the edge, and as Jim was still coming down he felt Spock come inside him, muffling himself by biting into the meat of Jim’s shoulder. Spock convulsed once, twice, before pulling out gently and pulling Jim into his arms, cradling him in his lap.

Good morning, he said, head lolling against Spock’s shoulder. He was covered in his own come and could feel Spock’s dripping out of him, but he didn’t have the bones left within his body to get up and wash off. He was content to lay here in Spock’s lap until otherwise forced to move.

Thank you, Spock said, and Jim opened his eyes in surprise.

For what?

For giving yourself to me, Spock said. Jim closed his eyes again.

You’re welcome, he thought. That was… nice. Not what I expected from all the stories. He also didn’t expect the chest-deep amusement he felt from Spock in response.

My James, Spock said. This is only the beginning. Sleep now.

Despite the come drying on his chest and the awkward curl of his position, he obeyed, and slept.

☆☆☆

When Jim woke again a few hours later, it was because the mental bond was hot with desire. He opened his eyes to find that he and Spock had not moved from where he had fallen asleep after they had had sex--- Spock sat cross-legged beneath him, arms cradled beneath his legs and shoulders, holding him to his chest. He blinked and lifted his head. As soon as he started to move, Spock tensed.

You awaken, Spock said.

I do, Jim said, and moved to roll out of Spock’s lap. But as he did so, Spock’s arms tightened around him.

No, he said, and he sounded contrite even as he refused to let Jim go. Do not be parted from me.

Even to use the bathroom? Jim could feel and now regret not cleaning up after last night. His skin was tight and sticky. Spock lifted him from his lap, rose to his knees, and uncrossed his legs, all while keeping Jim held to his chest. He carried him across the room and into the bathroom before finally setting him on his own two feet on the cool tile.

Are you going to stand there while I pee?

Spock’s face flushed, but he made no further moves to leave the bathroom. I find that I cannot bear to let you out of my sight.

Have it your way, he said, and relieved himself, studiously ignoring the weight of his bondmate’s continued gaze. He finished and crossed to wash his hands, and Spock followed him, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind. Feeling a pulse of arousal through the bond, Jim watched in the mirror as Spock traced the dried evidence of the night before on his chest with two fingers. With every pass of his hand, he felt Spock’s interest grow through both the bond and his erection against his back.

Will you give yourself to me? Spock asked, and his hands tightened around Jim’s hips. Jim turned in the circle of his arms as Spock leaned down to kiss him.

Always, he said, and Spock lifted him and carried him to the shower.

☆☆☆

It had been twenty-four hours and Spock had refused to let him go more than three feet from him at any given point in time. After fucking him in the shower up against the tiles, Spock had carefully washed and dried him, toweled and brushed his hair, and then followed him step for step to the replicator. Jim thought that, if he hadn’t already picked up the fork himself, Spock would have insisted on feeding him. Through the bond he could feel the fever, some of it leaking through the connection and spiking his own arousal, and Spock had not said anything but some variation on ‘give yourself to me’ in hours.

Contrary to his and M’Benga’s fears that Spock would accidentally dehydrate him into a shriveled husk, Jim found that Spock was more attuned to the needs of his body than he was. Before he was even aware of his own thirst or hunger, Spock had stood, acquired whatever he needed, and returned, sliding his hand behind Jim’s head, lifting a glass or fork to his lips. Then, every hour or two, Spock would slip his hand between Jim’s thighs, waves of fevered arousal flooding him from the bond, and ask Jim to give himself to him. He would agree, and his bondmate would take care of him. After four rounds in four hours, his dick had given up on participation for the day, but Spock melded them after that point and he instead rode the mental high of Spock’s relentless ability to climax until his body was rubber and his thoughts slid off his brain like rain off a rooftop.

But Amanda had been honest with him. The pain that he and Spock had both expected and feared for this time never came to pass. It was true that very little of his thoughtful, eloquent bondmate remained --- there was none of the usual scientific curiosity or quick wit through Spock’s half of the bond. But the bone-deep possessiveness, the love and care and protection that Jim had felt since the first day they were bonded, had been unleashed, and even when Spock left bruises on his hips and ass and neck he knew that Spock would not hurt him.

In the medical bag from M’Benga he found three more of the enormous lubricant bottles, a truly unholy number of condoms, emergency rehydration goo, nutrition bars, and a strange plastic wand labeled ‘internal dermal regenerator.’ He set the last aside for future use, because the state of his ass after just the first day made him think that it would be highly useful by day three.

Spock allowed him to nap as long as it was in his arms, and when he awoke near dinnertime to Spock’s hands sliding down his back to grope his ass, he wrapped his arms around his bondmate’s neck and said, before Spock could ask, I’m yours.

☆☆☆

Eighty hours after the last time Jim had left the bridge, the plak tow reached fever pitch. His sense of time had entirely abandoned him, but he felt the itch of want under his skin even before he registered Spock’s uneven breathing and blown-out pupils in the dim light. Spock’s hands against his back pressed hard enough to bruise, and when Jim called his name down the bond he received nothing in return but waves of possession and need.

“Spock,” he said aloud, voice rough from disuse. He grabbed Spock’s face, forcing him to look at him, and as Spock’s wild eyes focused on him the fever flowing from Spock’s half of the bond intensified until Jim was burning with it too. Against all evidence of human endurance he was hardening against Spock’s thigh, and he knew the moment Spock registered it because Spock rolled them, pressing him into the mattress, grinding down against him. He gasped under Spock’s weight, at the sudden friction of skin on skin. Spock’s head dropped against his neck, and he arched up at the feeling of his bondmate leaving another mark on the abused skin there. He had stopped looking at himself in the mirror after finding the necklace of hickeys Spock had left on the second day.

What do you want? Jim asked, but there was no response in words. He just felt the overwhelming needneedneed from Spock, the bone-deep urge to crawl inside Jim’s skin and live there, the need to make Jim orgasm again and again until he was shooting blanks, the need to claim him body and soul.

After three days of marathon intercourse he needed very little warmup, and he lost the entire rest of the day to the fever dream of his bondmate’s need. Spock was pressing him into the mattress, pulling him into his lap, holding him against the wall of their room and then the shower, and Jim had given up entirely on actively participating. He clung to Spock’s shoulders, burying his face in his neck, and between them flowed a river of yours, yours, yours and mine, mine, mine until he no longer knew who was claiming whom.

☆☆☆

At some point in the night Jim had fallen asleep, and he was reasonably certain that that had been the only reason Spock had finally been convinced to stop moving. But the urgency that had flooded the bond the previous day had abated, and Spock was sleeping next to him when he awoke.

He sat up, trying not to disturb Spock, but Spock’s eyes opened as soon as he had registered the flare of pain from pressure on his ass. He hissed out a breath as Spock sprang up, lifting him from the bed, holding him in his arms so he wasn’t putting any weight anywhere near his tailbone. Spock was still nonverbal, it seemed, but the bond pulsed with question and concern.

Baby, please. Can you grab the regenerator from the medical pack? Jim asked. Rather than set him down to retrieve it, Spock carried him across the room and settled them both in Jim’s chair as he grabbed the regenerator. For the first time in days, he saw a flicker of Spock’s normal disposition in his eyes as he turned it over to read the instructions. He stood, carried Jim back to the bed, and carefully flipped him over to deposit him on his stomach before rereading the instructions.

Jim slept on and off for the next four hours as Spock methodically and deliberately applied the dermal regenerator to and in his abused ass. The blood fever had abated enough that the lust had taken a backseat to Spock’s worry, and when his rear felt mostly back to normal Spock pulled him into his lap again and let him sleep for another few hours.

When the fever reared its head again later in the evening, some of the urgency had faded and Spock took his time bringing them both to orgasm twice. They fell asleep wrapped in each other and when Jim awoke again, it was morning.

He opened his eyes to find Spock watching him fondly, smoothing his hair back with a hand that was no longer shaking with need.

Hey, love, Jim said.

Ashayam, Spock said--- his first actual word in days--- and bent to kiss him. Kissing had fallen by the wayside in favor of wantonly gasping in each other’s mouths the past few days, and Jim was content to lay here and neck like teenagers for a while.

He eventually asked, Is it over?

Almost, Spock said, and Jim could feel through the bond the difficulty he had thinking in Standard. Jim curled up to him, wrapping his arms around his neck, and Spock sat up and pulled him into his lap. Spock mentally tapped on the bond.

Yeah, honey?

Instead of replying in words, Spock kissed the back of his head and pushed the fantasy that Jim had shared with him on the first day back along the bond.

Surprised, he asked, You want to? Spock nodded against the back of his head. He turned in his arms and captured Spock’s lips again, sliding his tongue into his mouth. He readjusted his legs to straddle Spock’s lap and ground down against him as Spock’s hands slid up his back.

He threaded his hands through Spock’s hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat for Jim to finally, finally leave a retributive hickey on him. He felt the tensing of Spock’s throat as he swallowed. He pressed a kiss to the point of Spock’s ear and asked, Will you give yourself to me?

Under his lips, he felt Spock’s inhale and nod in response, and he pushed Spock down on the bed beneath him.

Spock had always had a shorter refractory period than Jim did --- just one of the unexpected benefits of his Vulcan-human hybrid physiology. But when Spock had explained the mechanics of pon farr to him six months after they’d accidentally bonded and purposefully married, the first thing that Jim had thought about after the preliminary shock was how he could take advantage of Spock having a virtually nonexistent rebound period for their mutual appreciation.

He had to admit to himself that, after the fear and reluctance had melted away, he had enjoyed a week of being the absolute and unchallenged center of Spock’s entire universe, with no responsibilities to distract them. But their relationship had always been one of give and take, and he was ready to give as good as he had gotten.

Jim laid down next to Spock, one leg slung over his, and wrapped his hand around Spock’s dick. Jim had bet that Spock would be hypersensitive, and he was pretty sure he had bet right when Spock arched up, thrusting into his hand immediately. With his other hand he grabbed Spock’s wrist and dragged it to his face so he could slide two of Spock’s fingers into his mouth, and he was rewarded with a choked-off whimper of need. He set a loose pace with his hand, using Spock’s precome as lubricant, and swirled his tongue around his knuckles. Spock slid his other hand under Jim’s head and pulled it to him, pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses to his hairline. After less than two minutes Spock was keening with need, thrusting with abandon into Jim’s hand, and Jim said, Give it to me.

Spock came, wordlessly moaning even as the bond thrummed with JimJimJimJimJimJim. Jim released his hand from his mouth and kissed along his jaw.

So good, my love. He smeared his hand through the mess on Spock’s chest and slowly trailed his fingers along Spock’s dick. Again?

Spock rolled towards him, pushing his hips against his hand, burying his face in Jim’s neck. Jim lazily stroked him until, an absurdly short amount of time later, he was hard again. He crawled down the bed and Spock sat up to follow, but Jim pressed his hand against his chest and said, Stay.

Spock laid down with reluctance, and Jim laid between his legs and kissed and licked and bit the insides of his thighs until Spock threaded his hand through Jim’s hair and said, Please. Only then did Jim take him into his mouth and suck. Spock arched off the bed again, pushing his dick further into his mouth, and Jim hummed around him. He liked making Spock come; liked knowing that he was the only man to do it, the only one that got to see him fall apart like this. He wanted to take advantage of the pon farr to take him over the edge as many times as he could before Spock insisted on reciprocating. He had wondered how many that would be.

The answer, as it turned out, was six.

☆☆☆

When Jim awoke, it was because Spock’s half of the bond lit back up with the conscious and curious feel of his bondmate’s waking mind at 6:30 in the morning.

Good morning, Spock said when Jim opened his eyes.

Hey. You’re back online, Jim said, and caressed Spock’s face with the back of one hand.

So it seems, Spock said. He rolled over and stretched like a cat, exposing his back and the scratch marks Jim had dug into his skin over the course of the week. Jim ran a fingertip over one of the deeper green lines. They replicated breakfast and lounged in Jim’s bed together, and eventually Jim worked up the courage to look at himself in the mirror again.

He gaped. His neck was virtually one entire bruise, very little of the tan of his skin visible between the mottled purple and green love bites. He was supposed to be on the bridge again tomorrow, and though he did not think his team was under any illusions regarding where he had been, he wasn’t sure how much proof they needed. He stared at himself with chagrin until Spock kissed one of the marks apologetically and pulled him away from the mirror.

When he sat back down on the couch, he pulled out his padd and composed two messages.

Amanda,

Your message was a lifesaver. We can’t thank you enough. It made a huge difference in how the start of the week went. Everyone survived, with way less damage than originally feared.

We love you. Talk soon.

Jim and Spock

The second message was a group message sent via the inter-ship instant messenger.

>JTK: Hey

>JTK: Can one of you please bring a normal regenerator to my quarters? Preferably before my shift tomorrow?

>MBenga: Yes

>MBenga: Anything else? Bandages, antiseptic? Do you need a full physical?

>JTK: Appreciate it, but no

>JTK: I’m actually in perfect health. Honest

>MBenga: So the regenerator…?

>CChapel: omg

>CChapel: on the way

>CChapel: i want to see your historic hickeys

>STS: You will not be entering the quarters.

>JTK: Real professional, Christine

Jim set down his padd and pulled Spock down to rest against him. He kissed his forehead and said, We survived.

Indeed. With far less physical trauma than I had envisioned.

Do you think you’re going to be on a seven-year cycle? Or no?

I do not know. Why do you ask, ashayam?

I have ideas for next time.

Spock’s indignant and aloud, “Already?” was worth every bruise.

#spock #spirk #kirk #my writing #spirktober2023 #spirktober #k/s #kirk/spock #kirk/spock fan fic #k/s fan fic #pon farr #pon farr fic #plak tow #spirk fan fic

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indeedcaptain · 1 year ago

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Spirktober 2023, Day 4: Water

Two in one day! Who is she? She's powerful! I chose water for the theme of today because the idea of Spock learning to swim was irresistible. I hope you enjoy!

Also posted on AO3 here.

☆ ☆ ☆

Kirk had promised Bones that there was nothing on this planet that could possibly impact their away mission, which, upon reflection, was nearly certainly why things had gone sideways as soon as the shuttle entered the atmosphere.

It was a milk-run day, as the bridge crew called their less eventful assignments from HQ. They were on the edges of Alpha Quadrant, taking samples of air and water and microbiological life forms from a planet that hadn’t so much as developed a millipede yet.

The funny thing was, Kirk mused, as Spock carefully guided their dead shuttle towards the endless ocean beneath them, was that if they had decided to beam down to the surface instead, everything would have been fine.

But there was something in the atmosphere that had changed the combustion rate of the engine (“A 0.00085% chance of occurrence, captain,” Spock had said calmly as the engine stuttered into silence) and had derailed their plans for an uneventful couple of hours on the surface of the planet. They hadn’t even taken security officers. Spock’s favorite scientists were monitoring some high-touch fungi growth experiment, and Kirk knew that Spock himself was curious to study a planet so early in its development, so they had elected to go, just themselves. Like a date, Kirk thought, watching Spock expertly slow their fall with the shuttle’s emergency parachute, deploy the inflatable underlayer of the shuttle, and bring them to a careful landing on the surface of the ocean. Naturally our first date goes to hell immediately.

Spock checked the readouts from the dashboard of the shuttle and raised one eyebrow. God, Kirk loved that eyebrow. “The composition of both the ocean and the air are astonishingly similar to Earth, captain. Certainly M-class, with a breathable atmosphere for oxygen-reliant life forms and a sodium-heavy ocean. Ambient temperature reads at ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit, and water temperature at seventy-eight. ”

“So it’s safe to go outside?”

Spock hesitated. “Insufficient data. I am unable to determine what factor would have prevented the engine from continuing on impulse power.”

“But I am not an engine on impulse power, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, and smiled. He pulled his comm from his belt and flipped it open. “Kirk to Scotty. How are things up there?”

“Oh, just fine, captain,” Scotty’s voice said from the comm. “Everything alright down there? Looked like your engine turned off mid-flight.”

“Something like that, Mr. Scott. Is there anything on the Enterprise’s sensors about the atmosphere that we should be aware of?”

“Negative, captain. All normal readings for an M-Class planet, according to our Mr. Chekov. Shall we beam you up immediately?”

“Oh, leave us for a moment, won’t you? I don’t think there’s anything down here to cause us too much harm.”

“As you like, captain. I’m sure Mr. Spock would appreciate the chance to take what readings he can.” Spock inclined his head towards the comm, but if Scotty’s consideration of his desires took him by surprise, his face didn’t reveal it.

“Alright. We’ll check in by the hour. Someone ask Bones to be on standby, if you don’t mind.”

Spock looked up, eyebrow at high alert, as Scotty asked, “Problem, captain?”

“Not yet, Mr. Scott. But I’d hate to waste the opportunity for a swim, and better safe than sorry. Spock says the water’s warm.”

Spock spluttered, “I said no such thing, captain,” as Scotty’s cheerful laughter burbled over the comms. “I’ll let him know, captain. Enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scott. Kirk out,” Kirk said, and snapped his comm shut with his hip as he pushed himself out of the navigator’s seat.

“Captain, your leaps of logic never fail to astound,” Spock said, hovering a half-step behind him as Kirk shrugged out of his tunic and pants into just his undershirt and boxer briefs.

“Come on, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, and turned to smile at him. “We’re already here. You wanted to take readings of the water. The water is perfectly warm, and it’s a sunny day. There’s not even so much as a jellyfish on this planet to sting me.”

They climbed out on top of the shuttle. The sun was warm against the black of Kirk’s t-shirt, and a light breeze from the direction he thought might have been landward ruffled the surface of the water. Spock, still dressed in science blues and even his boots, relaxed minutely in the warmth.

“Nice weather, isn’t it?” Kirk said cheerily, and stepped towards the edge of the shuttle. It was less than five feet from the top of the shuttle to the surface of the water. He had dived from higher platforms on Earth for fun before. Spock peered over the edge of the shuttle next to him.

“Will you join me, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked. “You’ll have to get closer to the water than this if you care to take samples.” Spock gave the water a side-eyed glance that bordered on distaste, and then it dawned on Kirk.

“You don’t know how to swim!”

“Vulcan is a desert planet, captain,” Spock said stiffly. He had his tricorder gripped tightly between both hands. “Swimming would have been an illogical use of a limited and necessary resource.”

“Well, this doesn’t look like a limited resource to me.” Kirk sat on the edge of the shuttle’s roof and slid down towards the inflated platform that kept the shuttle from sinking. It rather reminded him of an inner tube from his childhood. It was rough under his bare feet, and the water that splashed up was pleasantly warm.

Spock peered down at him from where he remained on top of the shuttle. Kirk looked up at him and planted his hands on his hips. “How were you planning on taking these samples without getting in the water, Mr. Spock?”

“Starfleet standard-issue boots are waterproof, captain. I would have merely remained on the shore and taken samples from the shallowest points.”

“Ah, but then your samples would have been half-sand, anyway. If you come down here, you’ll get water. Better for your research, I think.”

Spock narrowed his eyes. He knew when Kirk was teasing him, but Kirk didn’t think he minded as much as he used to. “Come on, Spock,” Kirk said, and held his hand out. “I’m not going to let you drown.”

Spock didn’t take his hand, but that didn’t surprise Kirk. He did carefully slide down the side of the shuttle to join Kirk on the inflatable, however. “I am significantly more dense than you, captain. Should I fall off and sink, you’d be better off asking Mr. Scott to beam us out.” He levered himself carefully to a seated position, cross-legged, with his back against the shuttle and his tricorder pointed at the water. For a moment, Kirk had a mental image of a child-sized Spock, sitting cross-legged in the desert, watching some sort of insect under a magnifying glass, and his heart twinged. He turned away from his science officer and dipped one foot in the water. It was warm, and slightly gritty---just like he remembered oceans on Earth. He launched himself off the inflatable and into the water. When he resurfaced, Spock was wiping water off his tricorder screen with the edge of his sleeve and frowning at him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, laughing. “Did I ruin your readings?”

“No,” Spock said stiffly. Kirk smiled at him and tipped his head back, allowing the air in his chest to pull him upwards so that he was floating on the water. Sunshine, and water, and a breeze---these were not normally things he missed while in space. Normally the sight of the stars around him and the comforting hum of the Enterprise’s engine were enough for him. But now, while he had the comforts of gravity and water and warmth, he found it surprisingly pleasant. So, listening to the familiar rustle of Spock doing some sort of science just a few feet away, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift.

When he opened his eyes a few minutes later, Spock had taken off his boots and rolled up his pants and was sitting with his feet dangling from the side of the inflatable into the water. Kirk paddled over and treaded water nearby. “What do you think, Mr. Spock?”

“A curious sensation, captain, but not an unpleasant one.” Spock swung one leg forward, then the other, creating little ripples in the water.

“I’ll teach you to swim, if you want to get in,” Kirk said. Spock hesitated. “It’s not hard, I promise. Human children can be taught to swim at only a few months old.”

“I find that difficult to believe, captain.”

“It’s true! Something about it being a familiar environment after nine months in utero.” Spock considered this, and looked up at the sun in the sky above them.

“I won’t let you drown,” Kirk said again. “I’m a good swimmer.”

Slowly, so slowly that Kirk was certain that Spock was still considering the logic of submerging his desert-bred self into a body of water, Spock lifted the strap of his tricorder over his head and set it carefully aside. He tucked it against the wall of the shuttle and patted it once, like he wanted to be sure it wouldn’t fall off and float away, taking all his readings with it. Then Spock shuffled himself further towards the edge of the inflatable, peering down at the water. Kirk smiled at him encouragingly, and Spock gave one short, sharp nod. Then he shoved himself off the inflatable and dropped down into the water.

Something that Kirk had noticed about his first officer in the two years they’d been working together was that the man was graceful beyond reason. Something about his height, his posture, or his strength made his movements seem measured, as careful as his speech was, every action intentional. Sometimes, when they sparred together or Kirk was able to see Spock fighting on missions, Kirk thought he was wasted as a Starfleet officer. He should have been a dancer instead. It was distinctly humorous, then, that the same grace did not translate to Spock in water. Spock’s head broke the surface only a second after vanishing; not even enough time for Kirk to have to dive down to grab him. His hair was a mess, matted down around his eyebrows, the pointed tips of his ears breaking through the black. He spat water out and immediately swallowed more, his wildly swinging arms created waves around them.

“How are you doing, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked, staying clear of his arms. He could only imagine that his legs were doing the same beneath the surface, and didn’t care to be kicked.

“Poorly, captain,” Spock said. Kirk laughed until he cried.

☆ ☆ ☆

Spock learned quickly, and after a few minutes was floating next to Kirk, looking up at the sky. The composition of the atmosphere was different enough that the sky was not the blue of Earth but closer to a teal, a color Kirk found most pleasing. He could feel the occasional swish of Spock’s hands through the water as he adjusted his equilibrium.

The moment was broken with the crackle of his comm, and with a sigh he pulled himself back to the inflatable. He grabbed the comm and flipped it open. “Kirk here.”

“Sorry to ruin your party, captain, but new orders just arrived. Someone --- or something --- crossed the neutral zone. We’re to rendezvous with the U.S.S. Valiant in two days, and Admiral Archer wants to speak with you.”

“Alright, Scotty. Give us a minute to prepare and then we’re ready for beam-up.”

“Apologies, captain,” Scotty said, and then Kirk heard the disguised laughter in his voice. “But Archer wants you right this moment.”

“Tell the admiral---” Kirk started,

“No can do, captain,” Scotty said, and Spock sat upright as a peal of Uhura’s laughter came through the comm as well. “Locked onto your signal, beaming you up now.”

“Scotty, I swear to---”

Kirk and Spock materialized, dripping wet, in just undershirts and boxers, onto the transportation pad in front of a laughing Scotty and Chekov. Kirk was standing, as he’d had the good fortune to be upright when the beam started; Spock, who had been mostly horizontal in the water, was laying flat on his back. Kirk offered him a hand, which Spock roundly ignored in favor of climbing to his bare feet while his clothing squelched around him. He straightened and clasped his hands behind his back; the dignified posture did nothing for his hair, which dripped water steadily onto his forehead and down his nose.

“Truly, my apologies, captain,” Scotty said, wheezing. “But Archer said immediately, and we’ve already got the shuttle in a tractor beam.”

“Please ensure the safekeeping of my tricorder, Mr. Scott,” Spock said, in funereal tones.

“Yes, Mr. Spock,” Scotty said. “Shame to lose any of the work you did.”

“Indeed,” Spock said. He inclined his head to Kirk. “Excuse me, captain.” He walked away, and every step left a watery footprint behind until the door to the transporter room slid shut behind him. Only when Spock was gone did Kirk allow his own laughter to bubble out.

“I’d like to be a fly on the wall when an ensign dares to do a double-take at him, gentlemen,” Kirk said. “Now let’s go see who’s starting trouble.”

#spirk #spock #tos #kirk #spirktober #spirktober2023 #star trek fan fic #spirk fic #fic #my writing #kirk/spock #k/s

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indeedcaptain · 1 year ago

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Spirktober 2023, day 23: Married

HELLO HERE IS THE LAST CHAPTER OF ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS! Fluff, kisses, schmoop, weddings, etc.

Also posted on AO3 here!

☆☆☆

“James Kirk, you are not getting married in sweatpants.” Winona stood, aghast and agape, in the middle of the kitchen.

“Mom, we’re on shore leave. I didn’t even bring a uniform home, let alone a dress uniform. And they’re joggers.”

“Absolutely not. I forbid it. Spock’s parents are going to think that you were raised in a barn.”

“This is a farm! You did raise me in a barn!”

Winona threw up her hands and turned her back on him in disgust, peering out through the window over the sink to see how George and Lieutenant Sulu were faring with the barn in question. Nyota sidled in beside him and watched James and his mother square off in the kitchen.

“What did you intend to wear, Spock?”

Spock crossed his arms over his chest. James’s t-shirt stretched across his shoulders. “My uniform.”

She side-eyed him. “You brought your uniform on shore leave?”

“It is logical to be prepared,” he said stiffly. He did not add on the fact that he had not even considered the idea that he would have confessed to his feelings for the captain, let alone acted on, consummated, and committed permanently to those feelings, and brought the uniform in the case that he had to return to San Francisco earlier than planned to avoid discussing them at all.

“That won’t do,” she said. Louder, she said, “Winona, I’ll take them out to get suits.”

“Nyota, as far as I can tell, you are the only sensible person on the whole crew,” Winona said, and James rolled his eyes.

Nyota recruited McCoy to assist, shepherded James and Spock into the backseat of George’s truck, and drove them into downtown Riverside with only minimal grumbling from James.

☆☆☆

Suit shopping was a more complicated affair than Spock had imagined. He had not known that there was a human tradition about not seeing one’s future spouse in their wedding garments ahead of time, so Nyota had sent James and McCoy to one store before dragging them to another. He had allowed James to steer much of the planning process, as there had not been very much to plan, and now that he was being asked for his opinion he found that he did not know what he wanted.

The events of the day, week, month had deviated so drastically from what he could have possibly imagined that he was having a difficult time imagining what came next. He could picture James in a suit easily: dashing, handsome, smiling, an image from several diplomatic missions that he had carefully ensconced in his memory. But he was unable to picture himself in the same attire. Despite the time they had spent over the past month talking, clearly communicating expectations and desires and plans for their shared future, he could not imagine himself in a human suit at the end of the aisle. Somewhere, deep in his mind, the remnant echoes of T’Pring’s disdain and her cruelty during the kal-if-fee iced over his joy.

He very much wanted to be married. He was less sure of how to want to have a wedding.

After the third suit Nyota brought to him evoked no reaction, she took the garment from his hands, laid it down, and sat down next to him.

“This isn’t working for you,” she said. She sat close enough that he could feel the warmth of her arm against his.

“I have never before thought about a wedding,” he said. “A human wedding was never an option for me.” She looped her arm through his and clasped her hands together.

“What are you looking forward to most?” She asked.

“Our bonding,” he said immediately. This answer he knew. “James has agreed to a mating bond--- I believe he desires it as much as I do. That is what I look forward to most.”

“That sounds beautiful, Spock,” she said quietly, and she laid her head on his shoulder. “Wait!” She pulled out her padd and searched for something. “I have a better idea. No suits.” She stood abruptly, hung the abandoned suit on the return rack and strode from the store. Spock followed her, bemused, as she called a thank-you to the clerk and flung the door open.

Nyota followed the map on her padd until they arrived at a small, brick-fronted building. There was no discernable signage, but Nyota pushed the door open. There was a melodic tinkle from a bell above, and they stepped into a dusty room.

There was only one person in the entirety of the store, and they sat on a stool behind the register, shrouded in the dim light. It wasn’t until Spock and Nyota approached and the shopkeeper turned that Spock was able to see that they were not human either, but Andorian.

The woman smiled, and as she sat up straighter her antennae became more apparent. “Welcome to Secondhand Silks,” she said. Her face was lined with wrinkles, and her hands were dappled with dark blue age spots. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

“Yes,” Nyota said confidently. “Anything from Vulcan?” The woman smiled, eyes and antennae flicking to Spock. “Of course,” she said, and she led them deeper into the store.

☆☆☆

It was not logical to be nervous, especially in front of Nyota, and yet he felt a twinge of something in his abdomen as he dressed out of the changing room to face her and the mirror.

Her eyes went wide. “You look beautiful,” she whispered, and she came to stand next to him as he beheld himself in the mirror.

This garment was right, in a way that the suits had not been. It was traditionally Vulcan, in a way that the suits were not. It was deep green, and the front was beaded, and the collar was asymmetrical and created a line from his neck down the left side of his torso. Tails flowed down his thighs and draped against the trousers, which were the same deep green. It fit him as if it had been made for him.

“I would like this,” he said. “This is right.”

“Yes,” Nyota said affectionately. “It is.”

The Andorian woman wrapped it up and Nyota purchased it for him (“it’s a wedding gift, Spock, don’t fight me on this”) and by the time they met McCoy and James back at the truck the sense of overwhelm that had threatened him earlier was gone.

☆☆☆

Apparently humans were not supposed to see each other the night before their weddings either, which Spock did not appreciate, but he had acquiesced when his mother and Winona teamed up to assert that it was important. For the first time since his first night in Iowa he laid in the bed in the guest room by himself.

So much had changed since that first night. He remembered the way James had almost reached for him, and had not--- they had not been in the habit of touching each other then. He had been so prepared to keep his hands clasped behind his back for the entirety of the trip, to call James ‘captain’ the entire time, in order to maintain both his professional decorum and the privacy that had hidden his true feelings from James. And all of those shields were gone now. He was allowed to touch James and be touched, to accept the human comforts he had never expected to be offered, and he had discovered an entirely new side of James in the process: one that would allow himself to be cared for by Spock, held and cherished.

He would accept one night apart in exchange for the promise of sharing a bed with James, wherever they may go, for the rest of their lives.

☆☆☆

Some feat of engineering had been accomplished in the barn by George and Montgomery Scott, and when Spock walked in with his parents it was as though he had walked into a cloud of warmth and light. String lights swung between the ceiling beams. Amanda and Sarek walked one step ahead of him, hands gently in the ozh’esta, and he followed them: the Vulcan tradition symbolizing how a parent leads their child on a path of logic. As they entered, his friends stood to look at them, and over Sarek and Amanda’s shoulders he could see their smiles.

They progressed down the aisle. His parents stepped to the side as they reached the front row of the folding chairs that George and Winona had hustled from somewhere, and he bent to accept a kiss on the cheek from his mother before continuing forward to stand beneath the chuppah that his mother had brought from Vulcan. It was the same one that she had used at her own wedding, and it had crossed over thousands and thousands of lightyears over thirty years to be hung in James’s parents’ barn today. Spock thought it was fitting for two such as they, who would spend more time on a spaceship together than they did on any single planet, to be married beneath such a spacefaring fabric.

Then James entered, and all other thoughts vanished. He wore a suit, and he was beautiful. He was accompanied by his parents, and he was beautiful. There was nothing else in the room but James, and the warm golden glow of his eyes and his smile and his hair, and he was beautiful. He glanced around at their friends, and he smiled at them as he saw them all, and then his gaze landed on Spock, waiting for him.

There you are, his eyes said. I’ve been looking for you. He walked with his parents down the aisle, and he kissed his mother and shook his father’s hand and kissed him too before depositing them in the chairs next to Spock’s own parents, and then he turned to meet Spock beneath the chuppah.

“James,” Spock said quietly, taking his hand. “You are exquisite.”

“You look amazing,” James breathed. “I can’t believe we’re here.” Spock pulled him closer until they were chest-to-chest and wrapped one arm around James’s waist.

“Are you ready, ashayam?”

“Hell yes,” James said, and Spock heard a few of their friends laugh at his characteristic eagerness. Spock intertwined their fingers.

“Parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched. We meet at the appointed place,” Spock said, and lifted his hand to James’s face.

James breathed in deeply. “Parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched. I await you.” He tilted his head, allowing Spock access to his psi-points.

Pressing slightly into James’s mind, Spock said, “I would bond with thee, ever, and always touching and touched.”

He felt James’s mental agreement even before James whispered the words back to him, and then they were both gone.

Golden and midnight blue, twisting together, shimmering into a thousand million sparks until they were both standing before each other, no longer in the barn or on Earth but somewhere for just them. James looked around them. “It’s not usually so clear,” he said in wonder.

“No,” Spock said, watching him, feeling James’s excitement through the air between them. “This is deeper than we have gone before.”

“Dirty,” James said conversationally, and took Spock’s hand.

“Are you prepared, James?” Spock asked.

“I think I’ve been ready for this for a long time. I knew from the moment we met that you were important to me, and every day since then has just confirmed what I already knew.” He squeezed Spock’s hand. “Spock, I’m a better man when you are with me. Even before this trip, I would have done anything to keep you at my side. All I want for the rest of my life is for us to explore together.”

Spock squeezed his hand in return. “James, you have shown me the best of humanity, even when I could not accept it in myself. It was serving alongside you that I finally understood where I fit in the universe. There was and is nothing that could take me from you.”

James’s eyes shone with warmth and tears. “Bond us, Spock.”

Spock raised his other hand to James’s face and placed his fingers on his psi points. “This may be uncomfortable,” he said. “Psi-null individuals frequently find deeper psychic connection to be difficult at first.”

“I trust you,” James said, and he kept his eyes on Spock’s as Spock said, “Ever and always---”

But he did not have time to finish the sentence before James’s mind was opening to accept him. The warmth of James, his optimism and joy, his love and affection and faith, flooded outwards, basking him in sunlight.

“Touching and touched,” James said, and he raised a hand to Spock’s psi-points, mirroring the gesture on Spock’s face. As his fingers brushed the psi-points, the world around them exploded in light.

☆☆☆

For one second, Spock became aware of himself and James, still pressed against each other. His hands were both on James’s face, and as their friends and family watched James lifted his hand to Spock’s cheekbone.

“Touching and touched,” he said, and his fingers found Spock’s psi-points. Psychic energy cracked between them, sparking. Then Spock’s hands, still around James’s face, began to glow. The glow, green like Vulcan blood, grew from his hands and flowed down his forearms to his shoulders, up to his own face and James’s hand. When they were both covered in the green glimmer, Spock felt it erupt between them: a permanent mental bond, deeper than anything he had ever felt. It was deeper than the childhood bond he had shared with T’Pring; it dove deeper into his mind than any healer or elder ever had; and it was anchored deeper within him than even his familial bonds with his parents. James’s eyes widened, reflecting the glow of the psychic energy.

In Spock’s mind he felt every memory they shared flowing down the bond: the first day they met on the Enterprise, every away mission, every time they had put their bodies in between the other’s and danger, every vigil sat in Medbay, chess matches and meals, late nights of paperwork and condolence letters and a thousand of James’s easy smiles. Friends, brothers in arms, lovers.

“T’hy’la,” Spock whispered, and James surged forward to kiss him. Under the chuppah, in front of their friends and family, James held his face in both his hands and kissed him as boldly as if they had been alone. Spock slid his hands into James’s hair and around his waist and kissed him back as the people who loved them most cheered.

☆☆☆

The Kirk family farmhouse had never been so full of laughter and merriment as it was on that day. James remained glued to Spock’s side, with a glass of champagne in one hand and Spock’s hand in the other, basking in the celebration. Joanna hung off his waist and had demanded an introduction to Spock, and she had offered a terrible but endearing imitation of the ta’al and said that she liked his eyebrows.

“I tried to teach her on the train ride up,” McCoy said gruffly, watching his daughter wind through the legs of the adults but somehow always manage to locate James. “Fine motor skills are still developing.”

“Her attempt is deeply appreciated, doctor,” Spock said. “It was considerate of you.”

“Yeah, well,” McCoy said. Spock waited, but the rest of the sentence was not forthcoming. He stood next to Spock and watched Nyota and Christine charm James’s parents and catch up with Captain Pike.

“Funny about them too,” he said eventually. “I told Christine not to pine after the bridge crew, Lord knows the lot of you are heartbreakers, but maybe I was wrong.” He glanced at Spock sideways. “Maybe I was wrong about all of you.”

At another point, Captain Pike and Number One sidled up to Spock, and Una tapped her glass against his.

“So this was the time-sensitive assignment Kirk pulled you off to when you bailed on me? Being wooed?”

“It seems so, captain,” Spock said. “My apologies. I had intended to assist with your cadets, but James has a habit of deconstructing my schedules.”

“No apologies necessary,” Pike said. He and Spock watched James, who had begrudgingly been separated from Spock to have a conversation with Sarek and Amanda across the room. Sarek had yet to indicate his approval or disapproval, but Amanda was beaming at him, taking both his hands in her own. “I can’t think of a single person who would be better for you, Spock. You balance each other.”

“Thank you, captain,” Spock said, and he meant it.

Over the course of the evening, their friends floated through the house and out to taxis that would take them to their hotels in Riverside proper. Winona had offered Sam’s bedroom to McCoy and his daughter with only a few tears shed, and McCoy had embraced her for it. Amanda and Sarek stayed in the guest bedroom, Spock rejoined James in his bedroom, and Nyota and Christine had been installed on the pullout couch in the living room.

James sprawled on his bed, watching Spock carefully remove and fold his wedding garments. “I have one more thing for you,” he said, and he reached into the top drawer of his bedside table.

“Is it more lubricant? That bottle must be nearly empty,” Spock said, placing his wedding garments onto the dresser and coming to lay beside James on the bed. James rolled his eyes at him and pulled out a small, black, velvet box.

“Har, har,” he said. “No, it’s something else. I wasn’t sure, culturally, if this would work for you, but once I thought about it… I had to ask.”

“I would appreciate anything you give me, James,” Spock said, but he beheld the small box curiously. “What is it?”

James opened the box and held it out to him. Within were two metal bands. They were a silver-blue--- Spock estimated tritanium--- with a different metal inset in the middle that he could not identify by sight.

“Wedding bands,” Spock said softly. “You want--- to display that we are married?”

“Only if that’s alright with you,” James said. He pulled one out, with a slightly smaller diameter than the other. “If you want it, this is for you. Do Vulcans wear wedding rings?”

“Vulcans do not,” Spock said, and before the flash of disappointment that he felt though the bond could appear on James’s face, he continued, “But I do.” He offered his hand to James, whose smile was as soft and loving as anything Spock had ever seen. James took his hand and slid the ring onto Spock’s finger.

“I ordered these after the first night you slept in my bed,” James said quietly, running his finger over the band on Spock’s. “They’re tritanium--- like the Enterprise--- and meteorite. I always thought meteorites were a little romantic… that even though so much of space is just a vacuum, a tiny piece of something landed on a little planet somewhere and was noticed.” He looked up at Spock before looking down again, blushing slightly. “Like us. Even though we’re from different planets, we still found each other.”

“James,” Spock said softly, and reached out to brush his other hand across his cheek. “Do not be embarrassed. I would be honored to wear your ring.” He pulled the other band out of the box and lifted James’s hand.

James’s breath caught in his throat as Spock slid the ring onto his finger. “You ordered these the night after we slept together for the first time?” Spock asked.

“Yes,” James whispered, and he threaded their fingers together so their rings clicked together gently. Spock pulled James to him and caught his lips with his own before pulling James down to lay on his chest. James laid his hand over Spock’s ribs, his ring laying over his heartbeat.

“I still can’t believe you agreed to come with me,” James sighed after a few minutes, and drummed his fingers against Spock’s ribs. “You might have stayed in San Francisco and I would still be pining after you and all of this would be a distant dream.”

“I never would have stayed,” Spock said. “The decision was made as soon as I saw you standing at my door. James, I would have followed you wherever you had asked.”

James propped himself up on his elbow, eyes searching Spock’s face. “Honestly?”

“Honestly, captain,” Spock said. James laid back down. Spock pressed a kiss to the top of James’s head, just as James had to him on the first night they made love.

“You haven’t called me captain in weeks,” James said. “I almost missed it.”

“I will call you captain as frequently as you would like,” Spock said. “Captain.”

“It’s our wedding day, Spock. Call me ‘husband’ or something.”

“As you wish, Captain Husband.”

As James’s laughter rumbled against his chest, James’s soft hair brushing the underside of his jaw, and James’s hand with its wedding band resting possessively against his heart, Spock closed his eyes. As he fell asleep with his bondmate in his arms and a wedding ring on his finger, he thought that he was going to be forever grateful for every plan of his that James had ever disrupted, because every disruption had led him here.

#spock #spirk #kirk #tos #my writing #spirktober2023 #spirktober #k/s #kirk/spock #kirk/spock fan fic #k/s fan fic #space husbands #star trek fan fiction

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indeedcaptain · 1 year ago

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Spirktober 2023, day 29: Promotion

Happy NaNoWriMo :) I'm on a writing trip with some friends so I've had lots of time to think about finishing these prompts, and I think I'm going to wrap them up in a multi-chapter fake married adventure :)

Also posted on AO3 here!

☆☆☆

Kirk pulled his hands behind his back and accepted the call in his ready room. “Admiral April,” he said, smiling. “What can I do for you?”

April frowned at him, no niceties present. “You can stop blocking Spock’s promotion.”

Kirk’s stomach dropped away from him as he swayed on his feet. Spock? Promotion? Blocking? Spock’s leaving? He heard a rushing in his ears as he said, “I’m sorry, Admiral--- I’m not sure what you’re referring to. Spock’s…?”

“Yes, Kirk. Your first officer? The only man to turn down acceptance to the VSA? Who has been following you around and cleaning up your messes for years? Does that ring a bell?”

“I know who Spock is, Admiral. His… promotion?”

“With the retirement of Captain Bergara, he’s the obvious choice. We haven’t been able to get a hold of him at all, Ambassador Grayson is giving us the cold shoulder, and your padd has been bouncing back all messages referring to Spock from admin for two weeks.”

“My padd?” Kirk was not following this conversation at all, and not only because he was blindsided by the idea that Spock might leave. As far as he knew, he hadn’t received any personal messages from the admin at HQ in months.

“Stupid doesn’t suit you, Kirk. I know you rely on him, and Lord knows you might be the only human being in the universe that he actually likes, but he’s too talented to be a first officer forever.”

Kirk blinked, rapidly trying to clear his head and only somewhat succeeding. “Admiral April, I swear--- this is the first I’m hearing of this. I haven’t received any messages about Spock being promoted.”

“I know. Because they’re blocked on your padd. As I said.”

Kirk spluttered as April continued, “Your reputation as a computer genius precedes you, Kirk--- don’t play dumb with me. Read my messages. Talk to Spock. Convince him to do what’s logical and take his own captaincy. April out.”

April broke the connection and Kirk was faced with his own reflection on the black screen. Dumbfounded, he stared at the console as he played over the conversation in his head. The admiralty wanted Spock to be a starship captain. That made sense. Kirk had thought for years that Spock was sometimes a better strategist than he was. But he hadn’t received any messages about it, and Spock was playing hard to get, and apparently even Amanda was refusing the calls from her home planet about it.

“Computer, where is Mr. Spock?”

“Mr. Spock is currently in his quarters.”

Kirk killed the lights on his way out and headed there immediately.

☆☆☆

Kirk knocked on Spock’s door after only a few minutes of agonizing about what to say. As he had strode down the long hallway from the turbolift to Spock’s door, he had realized that, though he might be a whiz with computers himself, Spock’s knowledge far outpaced his own. If Amanda was neglecting her duty as an ambassador from Earth to Vulcan, she would likely have a damn good reason. And Spock himself was playing coy with the admiralty.

The door opened and Kirk stepped inside. Spock’s room was warm--- he always set it hotter than the rest of the ship--- and smelled like his meditation incense. God, the idea that, soon, there would be no more Vulcan incense filling their bathroom and the hallway with its smoky sweetness made his heart ache. The Enterprise without Spock?

“Captain,” Spock said, standing next to his desk. “With what can I assist you?”

“Mr. Spock,” he said, entering the room. The lights had been dimmed, and the sweet smoke of the incense floated from a recently extinguished firepot. Spock’s Vulcan instruments hung from the walls, and the shelves were filled with both Vulcan artifacts and the other accoutrement he had collected on their travels. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

“Certainly, captain,” Spock said, and he clasped his hands behind his back. His face was perfectly impassive. Whoever said Vulcans couldn’t lie had never known one for more than a few days--- or never knew one who had spent significant time with humans.

“Have you heard from the admiralty recently?”

“No, sir,” Spock said. He held Kirk’s gaze, and then Kirk knew he was hiding something.

“Is that because they haven’t reached out, or because you personally haven’t seen the messages?”

Spock closed his mouth, and Kirk knew that he had him. He walked further into the room and set himself halfway on Spock’s desk, crossing one leg over his knee.

“Did you hack my padd?”

“Not yours specifically, captain.”

“Will you tell me what you did?”

Spock’s eyes flashed in the dim light, but Kirk held his position. He had to at least know what Spock had done and what he wanted before he could make any further decisions. Finding out that the admiralty wanted Spock on his own ship without Kirk had thrown him off-guard, but the knowledge that Spock had been avoiding the request soothed the sting. He would make his peace if Spock wanted to leave. But if Spock didn’t, and the upper brass was trying to force him out… well, Kirk had gone to war with them before for less. To keep Spock? He would do anything.

“I would apologize if my actions have put you into a difficult position, captain.”

“I don’t care if you broke my padd or hacked the ship. But I just got off a call with Admiral April, asking me why I was blocking your promotion. The promotion I didn’t know about.”

“Captain, I---”

“Spock. What’s going on?”

Spock sighed, and his posture slumped minutely, and he braced himself against his desk with one long-fingered hand. “The admiralty has requested that I leave my position as first officer and take command elsewhere.”

“But you’ve been avoiding their calls. And your mother has too.”

“I am not interested in talking to them. And my mother knows what I intended for my career,” Spock said.

“So you don’t want to leave.” The fist of tension that had clenched Kirk’s heart since April’s call was slowly releasing its grip.

For the first time, Kirk saw shock in the set of Spock’s face. He squared his shoulders, facing Kirk, and said, “No, captain. I do not want to leave.”

Kirk slumped on Spock’s desk, bracing his hands against his knees, and smiled at his first officer. “That was all I needed to know.”

“You will not… discipline me? For interfering with the ship’s messaging system?”

“Oh, is that how you did it? No, Mr. Spock. I wish you had told me first, but I’m not going to court-martial you. I had just feared…” He trailed off. “I was afraid that you wanted to leave but did not want to tell me.”

“I did not want you to endure any hardship or disciplinary action on my behalf. I thought that if I prevented you from having to respond to the admiralty, you would not feel obligated to obey their commands.”

Kirk gaped at him. Spock’s eyes were trained on the ground by his feet, his hands clasped behind his back, and his face revealed nothing. “Obligated? Spock, if you did not want to leave, the admiralty would have to take you off the ship over my dead body.”

Spock’s eyes flicked to him, covertly, hopefully. But then he broke eye contact and pointed them towards the wall over Kirk’s shoulder. “I hope it will not come to that, captain.”

“I would prefer that as well.” Kirk laughed. “But I’m serious, Spock. You can tell them no. There are other captains. I’m not going to let them take you if you don’t want to go.”

Spock inhaled through his nose, closing his eyes, and for the first time Kirk registered the stress in the lines of his shoulders. He reached out, closing his hand around Spock’s upper arm.

“We’re a team,” he said, as Spock’s eyes opened again. “I don’t want you to leave either. We’ll figure out something. They can’t take you if you don’t want to go.”

“I wish I shared your faith, captain,” Spock said, but he gestured to their abandoned chessboard from a few nights previous and, when they sat to complete the game, a little of the tension had left his posture.

Spock wiped the floor with him, but Kirk couldn’t complain. He would let Spock win every game they played for the next three years if it meant he wouldn’t leave.

☆☆☆

“I’m sorry, but I’m breaking up the band. We need him on this science vessel, and you can have anyone else you want for first officer.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” Kirk said, trying very hard to keep the child-like petulance from his voice. He kept his hands clasped behind his back to prevent them from shaking on-camera. “And First Officer Spock doesn’t want to leave.”

“It’s not about what you want. It’s about what Starfleet needs.”

“He told you. He doesn’t want a captaincy. He doesn’t want command. That attitude does not exactly make for a stellar captain. You’re going to make him do it anyway?”

April glared at him, and even over the hundreds of thousands of lightyears between them Kirk felt his disapproval. The other admirals behind him avoided Kirk’s eyes. “Change his mind, Kirk. Or we’re sending someone out for him. April out.”

The screen between them went black and Kirk slumped back against his desk. He had thought--- after April’s first call--- that Spock saying no would have been the end of it. But Spock wanted to stay, and Kirk wanted him to stay, and he was going to lose him anyway.

He dropped his head into his hands, running his fingers through his hair as he thought desperately for a way to make this work in their favor. Then his padd dinged.

>CPike: I don’t envy the position you’re in. I would have felt the same way.

>CPike: How well do you know Fleet regs?

>JTK: As well as any captain. Why?

>CPike: [Attachment: StarfleetRegulationManual.pdf]

>CPike: You’d do anything to keep him?

>JTK: Yes

>CPike: I don’t mean to make any assumptions. But take a look at the regs about who can and can’t be separated.

>JTK: I’ll take a look. Thank you, Chris.

As the hint of an idea percolated in the back of his mind, Kirk tapped on the attachment and the familiar document opened on his padd. He scrolled past all the introductory monologues about the values of Starfleet and searched for “separation.”

He flipped past all the entries about being fired, losing limbs, and getting lost in space, until he landed on the entries about crew fraternization and inter-crew relationships.

The next entry that came up in his search read:

Married Partnerships; on ships, on starbases, at the Academy.

Starfleet regulations prohibit the separation of legally bonded couples while serving on the same ship, starbase, or at the Academy or Headquarters.

Kirk read the simple paragraph three times. He chewed on his lip as he re-read “legally bonded couples.” If they were married, they could not be separated. He thought about marrying Spock so that they could not be separated. He thought about them being able to serve together for the rest of their careers, regardless of who was placed where. He thought about not being able to marry anyone else for him and Spock to pull this off.

"Computer, where is Mr. Spock?"

#spirk #kirk #spock #spirktober2023 #my writing #kirk/spock fan fiction #k/s fan fiction #star trek fan fiction

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indeedcaptain · 1 year ago

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Spirktober 2023, day 30: Cuddling

Spirktober may be over but it lives on in my heart and also in my NaNoWriMo goals. I am firmly of the belief that Spock would be a HUGE snuggler if not for the repression, so here's a little of that leaking through.

Also posted on AO3 here!

☆☆☆

The first time that it happened, Kirk laid awake the entire night. Terrified to move and accidentally wake Spock and break the moment, terrified that Spock would read his unshielded emotions in his sleep and learn the depth of his feelings, and terrified that Spock would roll away anyway and release him, he laid as still as he was capable. For the next four hours, he lay perfectly unmoving in the unexpected embrace of his best friend and tried not to think about how much he liked it.

Spock’s chest was pressed to his back, and he felt his even breathing ruffling the shorn hair on the back of his neck. His arm was slung loosely over Kirk’s stomach, fingertips dangling down, barely brushing his stomach when he breathed in. He had rolled over in his sleep --- which was a surprise, because Kirk assumed that he slept in his preliminary corpse-like position until he had rested for precisely the necessary amount of time --- and he had not hesitated before he crossed the middle line of the bed into Kirk’s space.

They weren’t even supposed to be sharing a bed. There had been a miscommunication of some sort, assumptions had been made between the diplomatic corps and the host planet’s delegation, and Uhura had apologized to them profusely until Spock had said, in his gentle, even tone, “It is of no matter, Lieutenant,” and she fell silent. But now, as Kirk tried not to breathe too deeply or enjoy the sensation too much, he wondered exactly what had been of no matter, because it mattered a lot to him.

It mattered too much to him, actually. More than was wise, more than was responsible, or appropriate, and it was the only secret he had ever kept from Spock, and as long as he didn’t fall asleep and dream he might still keep it yet.

When Spock woke up, he was so close to Kirk that Kirk felt his eyelashes flutter against the back of his neck. Spock froze, and Kirk’s heart sank as he gently but firmly extricated himself from Kirk’s personal space and rolled over. He gave Spock thirty seconds to himself before he rolled over as well, pretending to wake up.

“Hey,” he said. “Morning.”

“Good morning, captain,” Spock said, sitting on the edge of the bed, not looking at him, and then he fled to the bathroom. As the muted thunder of the sonic shower turned on, Kirk pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and tried not to groan. Intimacy with Spock, even just as friends, was always one step forwards and three steps back. He didn’t want to consider how many steps back accidentally taking your captain in your arms would put them.

☆☆☆

The second time it happened, they weren’t even sharing a bed. The jail cell that they shared was underground, with only a tiny slit in the door to let in the ambient light from the hallway. Kirk, Spock, Chekov, and their security officer, Lieutenant Aisha, had been captured by the leaders of a rebel faction and unceremoniously deposited in the only cell in their so-called stronghold before the door was slammed behind them. They sat for hours, half-heartedly attempting to raise the rest of the crew or the Enterprise on their comms, until Aisha stretched with a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Shifts?” Aisha asked.

“I’ll take first watch,” Sulu said. Kirk laid down in the corner, feeling some sort of straw or hay beneath him, and crossed his fingers that he wasn’t about to discover another allergy. In the darkness he sensed movement close beside him, and someone radiated inhuman body heat at him. He was suddenly and electrically aware of the body next to his. He wished he was less tired so he could focus more on how unnecessarily close Spock had chosen to sit, but after the events of the day he could barely keep his eyes open in the dark.

He fell asleep to the sound of Spock’s even breathing beside him. At some point in the night, he woke up again to movement behind him. A strong arm in Starfleet-grade fabric was sliding across his stomach, pulling him back against a broad chest, long legs entangling with his. Jesus Christ, Kirk thought, as his first officer settled into stillness again. His nose was against the back of Kirk’s neck, his forehead pressed into his hair, and his hand had come to rest possessively over Kirk’s heart.

The first time had been an absolute surprise. Kirk had never seen Spock so much as give someone a hug upright, let alone cuddle in his sleep. But, as he started to drift off to sleep again, he found that though his mind had not considered the idea, his heart had been hoping that it would happen again. He could feel Spock’s steady heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt, against his ribs, and the heat of his hand scorched his chest in a way that he wished would leave a mark. Despite the terms of their confinement, despite being trapped away from the ship with a fight looming on the horizon, he couldn’t bring himself to be upset about how things were going. He memorized how it felt to have Spock pressed against him, bony ankles digging into his legs, before he fell asleep.

At some point in the night he because aware that Spock had disentangled himself from him to take a watch shift, and even as he slipped back into sleep he registered that it was cold without him, and he missed him.

The next time he woke, Spock had tapped him lightly on the shoulder and said, “Your watch, captain,” as he struggled awake. The cell was still dark, and he could no longer determine what time he thought it was, but he sat up and said, “Thank you, Mr. Spock.” He leaned against the wall near where he had been sitting as Spock laid down beside him again, and he resisted the urge to place his hand over Spock’s shoulder.

Was Spock aware of what he was doing in his sleep? Was it a reflection of his conscious desires, or was it just an instinctive urge to be warm? Was it about Kirk, or was it just about having a warm body nearby?

Kirk wasn’t sure if he was ready for the answers. For now, as long as he didn’t know, he could indulge the dream that Spock might someday reciprocate his feelings. He replayed the feeling of Spock’s hand resting against his chest, and when their cell door opened a few hours later he gratefully gave himself over to the mindless repetition of fighting and pushed the evening, and his wants, from his mind.

☆☆☆

Kirk was pretty sure that this was going to be the last time. They had been huddled together in the cave for so long that his teeth had stopped chattering, which could not be a good sign. He knew that the Enterprise crew had to be looking for them, would have started a search party as soon as the ice shelf had crumbled under their feet, but they had fallen quite a ways, and the snow would have already covered their tracks. He thought there was a high chance that they would die in the cave they had found, but the fear that the idea might have inspired was partially dampened by the fact that he was with Spock, and Spock was holding him, and they were both awake.

His head was tucked under Spock’s chin, and he was essentially in his lap, with Spock’s arms wrapped around him. They had fortunately had their packs with them, and had layered all the spare fabric and emergency blankets they had over the both of them. Spock’s body heat had originally warmed them both, but as the hours passed the heat leached away until they were clinging to each other and trying not to think about the inevitable. Kirk’s body had passed the point of feeling painfully cold and was no longer feeling much of anything. He was only aware of Spock’s arms around him, and his own hands tucked inside Spock’s shirt, and the rise and fall of Spock’s chest against his shoulder. Everything else had been stolen by the ice.

“Sorry, Spock,” Kirk eventually mumbled.

“For what, captain?” Spock’s heartbeat had been slowing in the cold, like a Terran reptile’s, and his voice was quiet.

Kirk squeezed, arms wrapped as they were around Spock. “This can’t be comfortable for you.”

Spock was quiet for a long moment, and Kirk was afraid that he had fallen asleep before he said, “On the contrary, captain.” Kirk blinked. Spock reclasped his arms around Kirk, pulling him more securely against his chest, and lowered his head to rest his cheek against Kirk’s hair.

“Really?” Kirk asked, lips numb, trying to keep the balloon of hope swelling in his chest from changing his tone. “I was under the impression that you were not in favor of physical touch, Mr. Spock.”

Another brutal pause. “I owe you an apology as well, captain.”

“For what?”

“For any discomfort I may have caused you previously.”

“Discomfort, Mr. Spock?”

Spock hesitated, and he never hesitated. Kirk forced his eyes open again. He wanted to remember this conversation, be present for it, even if it wasn’t going to matter in a few hours. They were finally talking about it. “On previous missions. When we have had to take rest overnight.”

Ah. Those nights. The two nights that Kirk thought about every night before he went to sleep, alone, in his own bed, remembering the feeling of Spock’s hand on his heart. “You never caused me any discomfort, Mr. Spock. I feared that you were uncomfortable.”

“You did not… mind?” Spock’s voice had lost its surety, and Kirk felt the rumble of it against him.

Kirk laughed softly, and his breath fogged the air between them. “No. I did not mind. And I don’t mind now.”

Spock didn’t say anything, but Kirk could feel the gears of his brain turning. As Spock held him and did not pull away, he made up his mind. He thought that, here, at the end, he could be afforded a little recklessness.

He lifted his head from Spock’s chest, and it took far more effort than it should have, but he wanted to see his friend’s face. Spock raised his head to look down at him, and their faces were so close that Kirk could feel Spock’s breath against his skin. His eyes were nearly black in the dim light reflecting off the snow outside. The alien planes of his cheekbones and eyebrows were familiar and lovely.

“Spock,” he said. “I didn’t ever mind.” Spock inhaled sharply, and his eyes searched his.

“Jim,” Spock said, and the desperation with which he said his name gutted him. His eyes were dark, and fixed on him. The cold had tinged him green where the tips of his ears were exposed. “I did not consider that my contact would be welcome. I had feared that our friendship would be damaged by my actions, which had exposed the desires I could not voice.”

Kirk smiled at him, even though the motion hurt his face. “What desires were those?”

Spock pulled him closer again, settling him against his chest so Kirk’s head was pillowed in the hollow of his neck, and rested his chin against Kirk’s hair. “The desire to sleep alongside you and hold you. To be close to you. Like this.”

The balloon of hope inside his chest had expanded three times in size. “I wanted that as well,” he murmured into Spock’s neck. “I want it still.” Spock’s arms tightened around him, and he thought he felt Spock’s lips press against his forehead.

Against his best efforts, his eyes slid shut. Despite the cold, despite the dire straits in which they found themselves, he was warm. He wanted to fall asleep here and drift away, in the arms of the man he had loved for far too long. From somewhere very far away, he could hear Spock’s voice, but he could no longer make out what he was saying. He sounded upset. Kirk wanted to soothe him, to tell him everything was going to be alright because they were together, but he could not find his mouth to say the words.

He fell asleep and did not dream.

☆☆☆

The first thing he heard was the beeping of a biobed. Kirk would have known the steady thrumming of the heart monitor anywhere. He was on his back, in Medbay, and he recognized the familiar humming of his ship around him.

When he opened his eyes, it was to the tiled ceiling of a private medical room. He was in a biobed, as he had thought, with intravenous drips coming out of both arms and three blankets piled on top of him. He wiggled his toes and bent his knees and found that everything seemed to be, for the most part, in working order.

He struggled to remember how he had gotten there as he sat up, but there was nothing. In his mind, he could only imagine the cold, and the cave.

And Mr. Spock. He had been with Spock, and they had been slowly freezing to death together. Spock had told him… oh.

Kirk flung the blankets back, throwing himself from the bed. His legs responded slower than he expected and he staggered to the wall, leaning against it as he picked at the tape holding his IVs in. The biobed scanner beeping increased in volume, distressed at his sudden exit, and within seconds of the change Bones threw the door open. He crossed the room to Kirk in three huge steps, grabbing his hands, pulling them away from the IVs.

“Jim, calm down, leave them alone---”

“Where is he?” He pulled his hands from Bones’s, but Bones grabbed them again, steering him by the forearms back towards the bed. He was weaker than he thought. Since when had Bones been able to manhandle him? The backs of his knees hit the biobed and he sat heavily.

“You’ve been through some serious nerve regeneration, Jim,” Bones said. “Stay.”

“I’m fine,” he said, but he was not. Now that Bones mentioned it, he could feel the tingling and buzzing in his skin that told him he had spent a significant amount under a regenerator, and his bones ached.

“You almost died, Jim,” Bones said. He held a cautioning hand out to Jim, and after a moment Jim slouched on the bed, the fight in him leaking away as Bones’s words sunk in. Bones sat down next to him on the bed, and the slump of his shoulders told Jim that he had been on his feet for hours. Jim leaned over, pressing his shoulder against his.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I owe you. Again.”

“You owe Mr. Spock more,” Bones said, and leaned back against him. Kirk’s heart constricted painfully, and he closed his eyes.

“Is he…? Is he here?”

The silence between them felt like it lasted for an eternity before Bones said, “He’s here.”

“And he’s…?”

“He’s alive, Jim,” Bones said. Kirk let out his breath and laid back on the biobed, leaving his legs danging over the side. “It was a close thing, though. Damn desert species.”

“How did you find us? The snowstorm…”

“The hobgoblin tied you to his back and climbed out.”

“Climbed out… of the cave?”

“Of the gorge you fell into.”

“He climbed… out of the gorge? The ice gorge?”

“The very one.” Bones turned to look at him. “As soon as Spock cleared the top of the ravine Scotty beamed you on board, and it was almost too late. You were both a mess.”

Kirk covered his face with his hands and felt the skin on both burn with the contact. “How bad was the damage?”

“To you or to him?”

“Bones.”

“The worst for you was the hypothermia. You mostly had nerve damage, and your organs had taken a beating. For him, though… the hypothermia was bad, sure, but the worst was his hands. Climbing the ice shredded them. With how sensitive Vulcan hands are… I have no idea how he got both of you out. We patched them up and he’ll be fine after a spell, but he’s going to be in the healing trance for a good while.”

When Kirk thought he could speak without his voice shaking, he said, “I need to see him.”

Bones sighed, but he stood and started gently removing the IVs from Kirk’s arms. “I thought you might say that.”

Bones shut the door behind him, and Kirk was alone. Spock had also been placed in a private medical room, away from the noise and bustle of the central medbay room, and he lay perfectly still in the bed. Kirk approached, and the thick wrapping of bandages covering both of Spock’s hands broke his heart. He perched on the edge of the bed. He knew that the trance was deep enough that nothing he could do would wake him up, but he couldn’t defeat the urge to move quietly.

Spock’s chest rose and fell with a comforting and steadying regularity. In his head, he heard Spock’s voice again: To be close to you.

They had wasted so much time dancing around each other. They had almost died without knowing. Spock had sacrificed his hands against the ice to save them both, and he wasn’t going to waste the second chance that dangerous gamble had bought them.

Kirk carefully adjusted Spock’s arm, crossing the bandaged hand across his stomach, and slid into the bed beside him. He curled around him protectively, resting his head on his shoulder, sliding his hand across Spock’s stomach to press his palm to Spock’s heartbeat.

He would wait until the trance was over and Spock was healed, and then they could figure out together what came next for them. For now, it was enough to hold Spock the way that he had held Kirk before, and know that he was wanted, and wait for Spock to wake.

#spirk #spock #kirk #my writing #spirktober2023 #k/s fan fiction #kirk/spock fan fiction #star trek fan fiction #hurt/comfort #protective spock

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indeedcaptain · 1 year ago

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Spirktober 2023, day 7: Air

The air prompt truly has very little to do with the plot but there are no rules. I love accidental bonding and a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do

Also posted on AO3 here!

☆☆☆

The sadistic little countdown clock that their captors had hung on the wall was taunting Jim. Yes, five hours was plenty of time for the rest of the away team to come and find him and Spock, and he didn’t think that the Arduans --- slimy, long-tentacled creatures, with no identifiable defensive skills and a tendency towards monologuing --- were much of a match for La’an’s away team. But it didn’t help that he didn’t know what the countdown meant.

Jim and Spock sat side-by-side, backs against the white plastic walls of their cell. Spock sat cross-legged, hands resting on his knees; Jim had his legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed. It was just an eight-by-eight cube; there were no visible seams or vents, and no other distinguishing characteristics besides the countdown clock, which had ticked steadily down for the past hour. There was no sign of La’an, and the frown on Spock’s face as he stared at his tricorder screen grew deeper and deeper.

“Hey,” he said eventually. Spock shook his head.

“What?”

Spock lifted his hand and held it over the side of Jim’s face. There was a question in his eyes, but Jim didn’t know what it was.

“What?” he asked again. He could tell that Spock --- whose expression had remained utterly unbothered through their whole mission until recently, even when they had beamed onto the ‘abandoned’ ship straight into the middle of a trap --- was preventing himself from rolling his eyes at Jim. Jim thought that was a little unfair. They had made an excellent team, up until they’d been surrounded by Arduans who had been displeased to find them instead of Captain Pike.

“We will run out of air in four hours. Speaking aloud will use the air we do have more quickly. Therefore, I propose we strategize via meld.” He made an elegant little movement with his hand in the space next to Jim’s face.

Ah. So that’s what the countdown was for. Jim considered what he knew about mind melds: aside from what the Vulcan High Council had provided to Starfleet when Spock joined, it was very little. He had to admit to himself, though, that he was curious about them. The Vulcans were so secretive, and he wasn’t immune to the rumors that had floated through the Academy: the concept of touch telepathy had been romanticized, sexualized, demonized, and every other -ized that he could think of.

He nodded. What felt like static electricity sparked between Spock’s fingers and Jim’s face even before Spock settled his fingers along his psi-points. Spock whispered, “My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts.”

It felt like being struck by lightning. The room around them vanished as Jim’s mind spiraled inward, or upward. He felt Spock around him, felt surrounded by the same easy comfort he had recognized since the first time they met. His whole self was on fire, but he didn’t burn: he felt warm, genuinely warm and safe for the first time since… well, since Tarsus.

I did not know you were on Tarsus, Spock said, and though Jim heard Spock’s usual flat tone in his head he also felt something beneath the words -- rage, grief, and an unexpected urge to protect that flared and was stifled immediately.

Yeah, well, it’s not exactly a fun story to tell at parties. At parties, the blurry darkness around them settled, and the feeling of spiraling melted away. They stood in Captain Pike’s quarters. A pot of tomato sauce bubbled on the stove, and something aromatic was roasting in the oven. Glasses of wine and cocktails were scattered across counters and on Pike’s coffee table, but he and Spock were the only people in the room.

Fascinating, Spock said, and none of the possessive protectiveness that had underpinned his mental-voice remained. Jim wondered if he had imagined it, in this strange in-between place. Our meldspace has taken the form of the dinner party we attended three weeks ago.

It had been a nice party. Jim had been shadowing Una again, and when Pike heard that he would be staying for a few extra days he had put together what he called ‘nothing special’ but had become one of Jim’s favorite memories.

Jim loved serving on the Farragut, he did, but there was something in the air on the Enterprise that filled his heart in a way that was missing on his current ship. He had friends, and respected his captain, but he had laughed more with Pike’s bridge crew the night of the party than he had in the entire previous month on his own ship. He had told and been told dirty jokes while sitting between Ortegas and Chapel, had toasted to becoming a first officer with Una, and had dried dishes for Pike while the older man told stories of their recent travels. But what he remembered most was sitting on Pike’s couch for hours next to Spock, just talking. When Chris had eventually kicked them out, they had ended up in the observatory for ‘just one more drink,’ and Jim had nursed the same subpar replicated glass of wine for an inappropriate length of time, just so the night wouldn’t end. But the night had ended, and upon his return to the Farragut he had blocked Spock’s face in the starlight from his head until he had almost convinced himself that the attraction he had felt wasn’t real.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. When Spock looked sidelong at him, there was a subtle hint of amusement in his eyes. I enjoyed that evening as well.

Jim’s stomach dropped. How much of his emotions was Spock getting? Spock said, the amusement even more evident in his voice, There is no hiding in the meld.

Moving on. Why fascinating? Jim said, pulling his thoughts from how much he enjoyed Spock’s company and back to Spock’s original comment. Though it may be a futile effort, he would try to keep any secret feelings secret as long as he could.

I have melded with humans before, Spock said, looking around Pike’s room. Psi-null individuals do not have the mental fortitude necessary to shape the meldspace. I had intended to create a neutral location to prevent any unintentional harm from psychic energy. But I was not responsible for this.

Maybe we’re just on the same page.

Perhaps, Spock mused. But regardless -

Bigger fish to fry, Jim said.

Not the phrase I would use, but accurate.

Where is La’an? The away team?

I do not know. I had estimated the probability of them finding us before the time was up to be near 75%. But we have 3.75 hours of breathable air remaining, and I believe the most logical course of action would be a proactive one.

Agreed. Any thoughts on how we might make our escape?

Jim received a flash of an idea - his prone body with eyes closed, Spock screaming at the walls, the Arduans entering to see what the problem was, and then a spectacular display of violence from them both - and immediately started nodding.

I believe we are more valuable to them alive than dead. Forcing them to re-enter the room before we run out of air may be the best way to get out. We can then rendezvous with Lieutenant Noonien-Singh.

I like it. Ready?

Ready. Jim felt Spock break the connection, felt Spock’s hand fall away from his face, but there was still a warm little wiggle in the back of his mind that reminded him that he wasn’t alone. When his eyes had readjusted to the ugly fluorescents of the cell and his brain was firmly back in his own body, he tipped himself over and started to twitch. Spock’s amusement was tangible, but none was apparent in his voice when he roared for the Arduans to help him. The invisible door slid open and he and Spock surged through it, and Jim found himself in awe at how attuned they were even as they fought the Arduans and took off down the hall. ‘On the same page’ might have been an understatement.

They found La’an and the away team within thirty minutes, and stole a shuttle and escaped from the Arduans’ compound within the hour. All in all, Jim thought it was neither the most exciting nor the most dangerous mission he had participated in with Pike’s crew, but he couldn’t keep himself from thinking that having the opportunity to meld with Spock had made the excursion worth it. Even after Spock had broken their connection, he felt a warmth in the back of his mind, a feeling of bone-deep satisfaction, like he had just put the last piece of a puzzle into place.

On the shuttle, he took a seat near the back while Ortegas and La’an took them skyward. After checking in with Pike, Spock took the seat next to Jim. Jim couldn’t help but notice that Spock looked more tense now, as they soared towards the Enterprise in orbit, than he had been in their plastic, airtight cell.

He leaned over, bumping his shoulder against Spock’s. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Spock said, but he frowned. “Are you experiencing any mental distress from our meld?

“Not at all,” Jim said immediately. “I feel great, actually. Is melding always like that?”

“It is not,” Spock said. “I am gratified that you are not experiencing negative effects, but I must request that you visit Dr. M’Benga after we return to the ship to be sure.”

“Are you experiencing any… effects? You seem tense.” Jim didn’t know how he’d ever thought the Vulcan was unreadable. Even as Spock gazed neutrally at the wall opposite them, Jim could read the emotions under the surface like words in a book. He felt responsible for Jim’s well-being, and was concerned that the meld hadn’t gone as he expected. Jim could tell he felt protective of Jim, and he tried not to let that knowledge fuel the crush he’d been nursing since the day they’d met.

“I am experiencing… residual emotion. From our meld.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Highly.” Spock was uncomfortable, so he let it drop. Jim just hoped that his less than professional feelings in the meld weren’t the cause of his discomfort.

☆☆☆

Christine waved a tricorder around Jim’s head, but he wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying. Spock had vanished into Dr. M’Benga’s office with him, and Jim found that he did not like that he couldn’t see where Spock was. Was something wrong? What if melding with Jim had caused damage to Spock’s brain?

“Kirk.” Christine’s voice was impatient. Jim realized that she had said his name multiple times.

“Sorry, Christine,” he said, smiling apologetically. “I’m a little distracted.”

“What’s on your mind?”

He opened his mouth to respond honestly, remembered the proclivity the Enterprise crew had for gossiping, and shut it again. But Christine looked over her shoulder at M’Benga’s closed door. “Hmm,” she said, noncommittally. “I get it.”

“Get what?”

She grinned at him and said, “There’s something about him, isn’t there?”

Jim dropped his face into his hand. “Please don’t say anything.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” she said, winking. “I think everyone on this ship has been in that position at one time or another, myself included. What happened?”

“We melded,” Jim admitted. “To communicate silently. And it was… it was really nice.”

“Ooh,” she teased. “That’s big. He doesn’t meld with just anyone, you know.” He put his other hand up to his face, hiding the smile that threatened to overtake him.

His stomach dropped with disbelief, and shock, and worry. He gasped.

“Jim?” Christine lifted the tricorder again, reading the results above the biobed. “Hey, bud, take a few breaths with me. Everything is okay. You’re safe. What are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and put his head between his knees. “What’s happening? I felt fine, and now…”

“Do you have a history of panic attacks?” Christine scanned through his medical file. “Wait…”

“Not since I was a kid, and they never felt like this.” He scrubbed at his arms. He felt like his skin was burning. “Something is wrong. Somewhere. Can you go get Spock?”

Christine paused. “What did you say?”

“Can you please go get Spock? Something is wrong. This doesn’t feel right.”

“You melded with him,” she said slowly. She looked up at the scan results and then back to his file, eyes narrowed. “Your chart says you’re supposed to be psi-null.”

“Yes, I did, and yes, I am, and he asked if something was wrong afterwards! I think something is wrong!” Jim’s skin hurt. He was overwhelmed by guilt, and remorse, and, oddly, a sense of excitement that caused more guilt. Christine turned abruptly over her shoulder, and yelled, “Joseph!”

But when M’Benga’s office door slammed open, it wasn’t the good doctor standing in the doorway. It was Spock. There was a green flush on his cheeks and his pupils were blown huge, almost entirely obscuring the brown of his irises. M’Benga followed him out immediately, and Chapel said, “Kirk’s showing psychonexaline ---”

“I know,” M’Benga said. “Spock is---”

Spock’s eyes met his and in a flash of lightning the Medbay was gone.

☆☆☆

They were in Pike’s quarters, sitting on his couch again. What’s happening? Jim asked, and Spock’s eyes were full of regret.

The probability of this occurrence was so low that I did not consider it necessary to warn you, Spock said, and his mental-voice was ragged.

The probability of what? What’s wrong? How did we get back here?

This place exists for us now, Spock said.

That’s not so bad. Why do you feel like you’ve ruined everything?

You feel my emotions?

Jim thought about it, and he realized that the emotions clouding his brain didn’t feel like his. They were tinged with different colors, a stoicism and repression that he had never experienced. I think I’ve been feeling you since the meld. Did M’Benga say something to you that made you worry? I felt it. Christine thought I was having a panic attack.

Spock closed his eyes. Lieutenant --- James --- I am so sorry.

Spock, tell me what’s happened.

Spock took a deep breath. Sometimes… when two minds are particularly attuned, when mental compatibility is immediate and certain… a bond forms spontaneously during the first meld.

A bond? What type of bond?

I did not know this would happen. I am so sorry. I will ask Captain Pike to allow us to depart immediately. I believe there are Vulcan healers stationed on Starbase 14; the VSA has an experiment running in a nearby nebula; you will never have to think of this again---

Spock, wait. Why do we need a healer?

A healer is necessary to break it. When Spock said the word ‘break,’ Jim felt his despair, felt the shame at the emotion and the effort to hide it.

Stop! Stop. Back up. Explain the bond first. Jim felt his face flushing. He wasn’t able to reconcile the rightness of being in the meld and Spock’s panic. He was four steps behind in this conversation, and Spock’s fear and grief were leaching the color out of their meldspace.

It is… it is more than an engagement and less than a marriage. It is similar to what existed between myself and T’Pring before we ended our betrothal.

Oh. He and Spock were compatible enough to spontaneously get psychically engaged and Spock didn’t want it. His crush flowered and wilted simultaneously. I see. And you don’t want to be engaged to me.

It is not a matter of want, James. I will not subject you to a permanent relationship which you neither consented to nor desired. You are human. Vulcans do not court each other in the way that humans do.

What the hell do you mean, it’s not a matter of want? Of course it is!

James, please. A spontaneous bond, especially with a psi-null individual is so rare as to be nearly unheard of. You do not understand what this would mean for you.

So help me understand.

Spock hesitated. He stood, paced in front of the coffee table. Jim spread his arms along the back of the couch and said, Bring it on.

If we do not break the bond soon, you will be bonded to me forever. You will be mine, as I will be yours. We would have to serve together, fight and live and die together. You would… Spock’s embarrassment colored his face green, and Jim felt it turn his own stomach. You would have to assist me through a biological period of necessity in the future, one which Vulcans never speak of to outworlders. I may hurt you without meaning to. To change your mind after consummation would mean undergoing the most extreme type of mental trauma known to Vulcans. We may both die of it. I offer that we break the bond so you are free to choose a partner of your own volition, rather than be forced into partnership with me simply because we are compatible. Spock stood in front of Jim, clasped his hands behind his back, and waited for his response. His face was impassive.

Why are you so sure that I don’t want this? Jim closed his eyes and felt for the warm space in the back of his mind. He concentrated hard and probed into it, like pressing on a bruise. Beneath the cool surface of control that Spock presented to the world, a hurricane raged. Jim was swept away in the intensity of what Spock felt: his fear for Jim’s safety and wellbeing, his desire to protect Jim from all danger, and (Jim was gratified to learn) the physical and mental attraction he felt. He felt the awe Spock felt at discovering the depth of their compatibility, the rarity of their bond even on Vulcan.

Deeper than that, he felt Spock’s fears: that Jim would say no and he would be alone, that Jim would say yes and change his mind later, and that he would never be good enough as either a Vulcan or a human to deserve a partnership like the one he had accidentally found.

When Jim opened his eyes again, he found Spock watching him. Did you find what you were looking for? Spock asked.

Yes, said Jim. He looked at Spock and pushed his emotions at him, everything he had been feeling for the past year: his immediate attraction to Spock, his admiration for his mind and abilities, the crush he’d been nurturing since the day Uhura introduced them, and the feeling he’d had as they had stayed up late talking in the observatory after the dinner party. He pushed that memory at Spock: Spock in the starlight, and the little voice in his brain that whispered, “I want to do this forever.”

You would never be able to leave me, Spock said softly.

You would be trapped with my illogical brain forever, Jim countered.

You would never be able to lie to me.

You’ll have to deal with my Tarsus baggage.

Spock paused, weighing his response. Jim’s heart already hurt. If Spock didn’t want the bond, didn’t want to be linked to a human with trauma forever, then he would just have to be okay with it. He would make himself be okay with it.

It would be my honor, Spock said. That was it. Jim launched himself off the couch at Spock and kissed him. It felt like he was being held, and submerged in a bathtub, and burned alive in the most pleasant way possible. But it didn’t feel like a kiss.

We are still in the meld, Spock said, in response to Jim’s confusion. Physical sensation is not the same.

Right. Can we leave? I’d like to do that in the flesh.

James. Are you sure you want the bond? I am not convinced you understand the depth of the partnership that you are so cavalierly accepting. Vulcans are possessive and protective when it comes to their bondmates. It is not a human relationship.

Spock. I’ve wanted you since the moment I met you. You’re saying that our minds are so compatible that we accidentally got engaged on the first date, and I didn’t even have to go through the bullshit of human courtship rituals to find out? Count me in.

When he opened his eyes, he was flat on his back on the biobed and Christine was waving a tricorder over his head. She and M’Benga were reading his scans with an intense and (in his humble opinion) slightly inappropriate level of medical curiosity.

“Welcome back,” M’Benga said.

“Where’s Spock?” Jim sat up. Christine smirked. As Jim sat up, Spock’s eyes flashed open and he crossed the bay in three enormous steps. Without a word to his crewmates he lifted Jim off the biobed and started carrying him to the exit. Jim wriggled. “Hey! Excuse me!”

Spock slung him over his shoulder instead --- that seemed slightly more dignified than being bridal-carried --- and did not break stride. Jim waved goodbye to Christine and M’Benga from upside down.

“You good, Jimbo?” Christine called as the turbodoor slid open.

“I think I might have signed up for this, actually,” he called back, and he could hear her laughter as the door slid shut behind them.

#for someone who reads the nastiest smut i can find my own fic has turned out to be surprisingly prudish?????#spirktober 2023 #spirktober2023 #spirktober #k/s fan fic #kirk/spock fan fic #k/s #spirk #my writing #kirk/spock #accidental bonding #yes yes i know it is no longer the 7th but i was busy yesterday

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indeedcaptain · 11 months ago

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Regulatory Relations, chapter 12: The Tourists // The Hacker

HELLO ALL. I hope you're having a lovely January and I haven't missed too many cool trends or posts or what have you. Behold, a fucking monster of a chapter that I should have split into two!

some fun links! first, here is a crinoid. i didn't even make it up, that's really what it looks like. second, if you like the natural history museum as much as kirk, spock, and i do, you might like this book: otherlands. these links will make more sense after reading.

This chapter is also posted on my AO3 here. :)

Okay. Here's the chapter. Off I go again to play too much Tetris. Hugs and kisses.

☆☆☆

Kirk woke up with a crick in his neck and a twinge in his spine. His alarm sounded suspiciously far away, and it wasn’t until he peeled his eyes open that he remembered his rash decision to sleep on his couch. His alarm beeped aggressively from its spot next to his bed, and he dragged Spock’s blanket over his shoulders as he shuffled across the room to turn it off. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed as the lights came on, absentmindedly rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric of the blanket, which still held the slightest reminder of Spock.

He felt like someone had wrung out his spirit like a sponge, but at least a night of sleep had rubbed the sharpest edges off his emotions. For a moment he considered laying down on his bed, dragging the blanket back over his head, and giving up on the day before it had really begun--- but he was the captain. He had responsibilities. He pulled the blanket to his face one more time, inhaling as much as he could, before standing, dropping it back on the couch, and heading into the bathroom to shower.

He and Spock had fought before. In the early days of his captaincy, before he had understood that the Vulcan’s questions and disagreements were the logical outputs of a logical mind and not a personal attack on his leadership, they had fought frequently. But slowly, over time, they had settled into a rhythm that forced them both to be better than either of them were individually. Kirk could only hope that they would be able to find that rhythm again. He would apologize as soon as he could find the words. As soon as he felt like a real human being again and not a faded copy of one.

Kirk stepped out of the sonic, shaved, dressed, and left their quarters before coming to an abrupt halt. A white wall stood in silent judgment in front of him. With a sinking heart, he realized that some small part of him had been hoping that, despite everything, Spock would be standing outside the door. The turbodoor closed behind him as he stared at the wall, willing Spock to materialize. But he did not. Kirk walked down the hallway alone.

☆☆☆

Bones and Uhura were eating breakfast together at a square four-top table, but Spock was nowhere to be seen when Kirk entered the officers’ mess. Bones was probably still angry with him for vanishing out of Medbay, and if Kirk had to guess he would assume that Uhura would take Spock’s side in their breakup, if that’s what it was. Kirk had to admit that, if he were her, Kirk would too. Didn’t she say, right at the start, that he had better be good to Spock? He stood in the entrance to the mess, frozen, the beginnings of a cage forming around his lungs. He had wrecked his relationships; he had lost Spock, and then Uhura for good measure, and pushed Bones away and the woman in whom he had placed all of the trust he had left after Tarsus had lied to him and hurt Kevin in his name---

“Jim!” At the sound, Kirk snapped to attention. Bones waved at him with a half-eaten piece of toast, and when their eyes met Bones kicked the chair next to him out from the table. Kirk blinked, but made it across the mess mostly and slid into the chair Bones had indicated.

“If there’s ever been a man more in need of a cup of joe, I haven’t met him,” Bones said to Uhura, and she nodded solemnly.

“I was just about to get another. Would you like one, captain?” Her voice was perfectly even; her liquid-dark eyes met his without hesitation.

“That would be nice,” he said, the first words he’d said that day coming out rough, and she nodded. As she walked away, Bones turned to him.

“How are you holding up, Jim?” The kindness in his eyes was unexpected. Kirk, undeserving, turned away from it.

“Are you going to remove me from command?” It wasn’t the question he meant to ask, but in the end, it was the only one that mattered.

“Jesus Christ, Jim, absolutely not,” Bones said, shocked into stillness, and the authenticity of his reaction pulled Kirk’s eyes back to him. “You still owe me about a hundred more answers, and they had better be honest ones this time, but it’s not an impeachable offense to get in an argument. I wish you hadn’t fled while I was holding some poor kid’s skull together--- he’s fine, by the way, just an idiot--- but I’m glad you went to go talk to the lieutenant. If I had known enough about him, I would have told you to see him myself.” Bones patted his arm as Uhura approached with two steaming mugs. “You’re not suddenly a bad captain because someone lied to you, Jimmy. We’ll sort this out.”

Uhura handed him the mug as Bones’s words settled into his mind, easing away some of the tightness that had taken root in his chest. She slipped back into her chair and wrapped both hands around her mug, breathing in the rich, warm smell.

“Thank you,” Kirk said, sipping from his own mug. She flapped her hand at him in acknowledgement, and even that was friendly. He cast about for a safe topic of conversation before giving up on that idea. “So,” he said, trying to sound casual. “How’s Spock?”

Uhura and Bones traded a glance that was far too immediate and synchronized to be insignificant. “He’s fine,” she said. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday lunch, though. He was working on some research project of his all night in the laboratories.” Kirk felt a slight thrill of vindication that he had guessed correctly where Spock would be, but he squashed it.

“He’s… fine?”

“Yes, captain,” Uhura said, in a tone that she might have adopted to explain something to a child. “He is fine. But you’re going to have to talk to him yourself if you want any more detail than that.” If Bones wasn’t angry, and Spock was fine, and Uhura was on speaking terms with Kirk, maybe, just maybe, there was a way that he could salvage his life on his ship. If he could figure out how to apologize for how he had behaved while still maintaining the boundary that he had placed between himself and Spock, maybe things could go back to normal.

Bones pushed his tray in front of Kirk as he took another sip of coffee. “Toast?”

Grateful beyond measure for the both of them, Kirk snagged a piece. It was slightly burnt, and Bones always put an amount of jam on it that should have been illegal. It was delicious.

Kirk noticed three strange things when he stepped onto the bridge with Uhura, four minutes before the start of alpha. The first was that Scotty stood on the bridge, chatting with Sulu, when his typical work schedule indicated that he should have been down in Engineering. The second was that the science station was empty, even though Spock usually arrived six to ten minutes before the start of his shift.

The third was that Starbase 27 loomed enormous in the viewscreen ahead of them, despite the fact that they weren’t scheduled to have been anywhere near it for another sixteen hours. Kirk blinked vigorously at the improbable sight, and then glanced to Scotty. Scotty beamed at him.

“Morning, captain,” Scotty said, and those two words were so gleeful that Kirk half-expected steam to start whistling out from underneath his thatch of dark hair. There were a few other engineers leaning against the security station behind him, chatting amongst themselves, who also should have been down in the engine rooms rather than crowding his bridge. “Where’s your better half?”

Kirk floundered. “In the laboratories,” he said faintly. “He was working on some research project.”

“Isn’t he always,” Scotty said. “Well, we should wait for him to arrive.”

“Wait for? Scotty, what’s going on? How did we even get here?” Kirk gestured to the starbase in front of him, the one that should have been lightyears away from their current position. Behind him, the turbolift door slid open and Spock appeared, somber and handsome, as the ship’s clock ticked over to 0800 precisely. He tucked multiple padds into the pockets of his pants as he went straight to his station, long legs eating up the distance in three steps.

“Mr. Spock! Just the man I wanted to see!” Scotty grinned at Spock, who straightened slowly and looked at Scotty with a completely blank face. For once half-second his eyes flicked to Kirk, as if to gauge Kirk’s thoughts on the matter, but then his gaze returned to Scotty before Kirk could react.

“Good morning, Mr. Scott,” Spock said, and his voice was gritty in the way that Kirk knew meant he hadn’t slept at all.

“As I believe you can all tell, we have arrived at Starbase 27 a wee bit ahead of schedule,” Scotty said, clasping his hands excitedly in front of himself. He glanced at Spock again, who gave him an indulgent head tilt. “Just a wee bit. Nothing too wild. And any and all unregulated adaptations made to any and all engines have been reverted. So don’t ye worry. But, captain, commander…” Scotty looked over at the other engineers, who grinned. “Behold: yer wedding gift from the engineering department.”

Kirk narrowed his eyes, parsing through exactly what Scotty was saying and not saying. “What did you do to the engines?”

“Aye, never mind about that, sir,” Scotty said cheerfully. “But Janice helped us all arrange it, shift-wise. So here’s our gift to you.”

“A starbase?”

“As much of a honeymoon as we could provide,” Scotty said, and the engineers behind him bumped fists. “Before we pick up the brass and get real orders again. Time for you and Mr. Spock to be off-ship together.” Uhura covered her smile with one hand as Kirk’s heart sank. It was an ingenious feat of engineering, impossibly thoughtful, unbearably kind. He couldn’t possibly accept. There was no way that Spock would be willing to spend twelve hours with him on a honeymoon after yesterday, after skipping their morning routine.

“Scotty…” Kirk breathed, mentally digging for a way to let Spock out of it. But Spock’s eyes flashed to him again, and then Spock was speaking over him.

“This is a thoughtful and considerate gift, Mr. Scott,” Spock said. “We are grateful for the effort you and your engineers exerted to do so. But,” and Kirk closed his eyes. There was the but. They were going to get divorced right here on the bridge and then Spock would leave.

“I recommend that in the future you simply do not mention any adaptations.” Kirk opened his eyes, and Scotty beamed at Spock, who favored him with a teasing eyebrow.

“Duly noted, Mr. Spock,” Scotty agreed. “Mr. Kyle is waiting in the transporter room for you, at your convenience.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scott,” Spock said, and finally turned to face Kirk. When his eyes met his, they were unreadable. But he said, “After you, captain.”

“You have the conn, Scotty,” Kirk said, and with all the conviction he could muster: “Thank you.”

“Our pleasure, captain,” Scotty said, and he took Kirk’s spot in the chair as Kirk walked on numb legs back to the turbolift. Spock walked a half step behind him, and turned to face the door as it closed between them and the bridge. Kirk’s eyes snagged on the proud set of his shoulders, the hard line of his jaw and the slight discoloration under his eyes that evidenced his lack of sleep. He needed to apologize. He wanted to take Spock’s hands in his again and let Spock do the awful work of sorting through his conflicting and contradictory desires. Maybe Spock could figure out the most logical path forward for them. Instead he said nothing.

Spock stopped the lift halfway to the transporter deck, and Kirk stiffened. The sudden silence made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Without turning to meet Kirk’s eyes, his gaze still steadily ahead, Spock asked, “Do you wish for the dissolution of our marriage, captain?”

Kirk’s stomach dropped, and he snapped his eyes away. Of course he didn’t. If he lost Spock to another position after all of this, he would resign his commission and go back to Iowa to build ships instead. But he said, “I’ll do whatever you want, Spock.”

“That is not an answer to the question that I posed,” Spock said. Kirk turned at Spock’s firm tone. Spock’s eyes were locked on him, his head cocked slightly, and his cold anger from yesterday had been replaced with a probing intensity. “I asked what you wanted.”

He could lie to Spock again. He could tell him that he wanted a divorce, and free them both from the path that he had set them on. He would lose his best friend and grieve for the rest of his life, but he could force himself to say the words. But he thought of Bones’s shock-slackened face at Kirk’s admission, and Uhura’s kindness this morning even though he had been cruel to the man they both cared for, and he thought of Kevin Riley’s silent suffering at the recommendation of the woman who had shaped him.

“No,” he said. The word was out of him before he could convince himself that it was wrong. It was reckless, maybe irresponsible, but it was what he wanted. “I don’t.”

Spock’s shoulders loosened the slightest amount, and he restarted the lift. When he looked back at Kirk at the corner of his eye, there was almost a smile in the tilt of his head.

“Good,” he said. Kirk gaped at him, but he fixed his eyes forward again. Before he could pose any of his follow-up questions, which mainly consisted of ‘what the hell?,’ the turbolift deposited them in the empty hallway that led to the transporter. Spock stepped out, but Kirk hesitated. He at least owed Spock one more graceful exit from what was sure to be an unpleasant and awkward day.

“Spock…”

Spock swung around immediately, hands clasped behind his back. “Yes, captain?”

“We don’t have to do this,” Kirk said.

“Clarify.”

“You don’t even like shore leave,” Kirk said. “You could---”

“But you do,” Spock said evenly. Kirk opened his mouth, but Spock continued over him, “Your stress levels have been unacceptably high for the past eight days. Your efficiency is decreased by 10.2%, your general morale lowered by more, and I do not foresee a better opportunity for you to relieve this stress before we spend the next two weeks with the admirals onboard, which, historically, has not been what you would describe as a ‘pleasant’ experience.”

Kirk spluttered. “My stress levels are fine, Spock---”

“They are not,” Spock said calmly. “And I understand that human beings consider it rude to reject a gift, especially when such effort was exerted to provide it. Therefore, we are going to the starbase.” Spock turned and started walking again, and Kirk strode after him to catch up. Before Kirk could drag him around by the elbow and force Spock to explain himself, even though he didn’t have a single leg to stand on when it came to demanding explanations for anything, Spock reached the door to the transporter and it opened before him. Engineer Kyle was already at the command board, grinning at them.

“Mazel tov, sirs,” he said, and Spock inclined his head. Kirk smiled at him as best he could and followed Spock onto the transporter pad.

“Thank you, Mr. Kyle,” Kirk said. “Energize, please.”

They arrived in the busy transport bay of an enormous, arched hall that seemed to stretch for miles in either direction. They moved rapidly off the pad as other groups around them materialized or vanished, and Spock hovered by Kirk’s shoulder as Kirk blindly made his way out of the thronging crowd and to a quiet space along the wall of the space. Above them were hovering lights of a thousand colors, combining to create something similar to natural light, and along the walls of the throughway were signs for attractions, events, sales, and locations to visit. Storefronts peppered the hall, and more species than Kirk had ever seen before in one place mingled and shopped and ate and talked. It was beautifully boisterous, and for a moment he let the noise of the crowd wash over him.

“Captain, I researched the attractions on this base before our arrival, and had intended to visit a museum of some interest if given the opportunity. I believe you would enjoy it, if you cared to accompany me.” Spock stood with his hands behind his back, peering around at the sights with his permanent scientific curiosity.

Kirk frowned. First Bones, then Uhura, and now Spock. Where were the consequences of his outbursts from the day before? He had lost control of himself, and there were supposed to be consequences for it. Kirk turned to Spock. He should let it go, accept the second chance he’d been given, but he couldn’t help himself. Spock looked as he always did, but Kirk was the one who had been changed. Facets of his identity, the rules that he lived by, had gone unchallenged for years and overnight someone had pulled the keystone out. The arch threatened to crumble.

“Spock, what is going on?”

“We are on a starbase---”

“No,” Kirk said, swiping his hand through the air as if to erase what might have been Spock’s wry humor. “I don’t understand. Yesterday, I--- I was unkind to you, and I upset you, don’t pretend that I didn’t, and now we’re on a starbase and you’re talking about my general morale and asking if I want to go to a museum with you?”

Spock watched a gaggle of young Andorians in school uniforms run down the tiled pathway towards the other end of the causeway before he said quietly, “I cannot deny that I had hoped, captain, that your trust in me would be sufficient to allow me to provide assistance or support when you were distressed.”

“It’s not about trust,” Kirk started, but Spock cut him off.

“It is. And I apologize for touching you after you revoked your permission to do so, but I was concerned for you. I wished to help you. However,, captain, it would be illogical for me to refuse to consider your needs now solely because of that situation. My duties to you are quite clear.”

To cover the rising tightness in his throat, Kirk said, “I’m fairly certain that the first officer handbook doesn’t say that you have to be nice after your captain is an asshole to you.”

“It does not,” Spock agreed. “But as you confirmed for me earlier, ‘for better and for worse’ still applies.” Kirk stared at him, dumbfounded, as Spock watched groups of people walk by. “So yes,” he continued. “I did ask if you would like to visit the museum with me.” He turned back to Kirk with one eyebrow raised.

Spock did not reach out to touch him, but the warm brown of his eyes, his unwavering eye contact, the familiar set of his face, had the same comforting effect as the way he had passed his hand up and down Kirk’s back. A weight fell away from Kirk’s shoulders. He had been so convinced after yesterday that he would have to work for months to earn Spock’s forgiveness, and he had been willing to do it. He had thought that he had lost Bones’s and Spock’s trust on the same day, and lost Uhura’s respect as a casualty, and instead his friends had shown him such easy grace that he felt ashamed for having doubted them. The permission that they offered to him to be imperfect blindsided him.

“I do trust you,” Kirk said. “And I’m sorry. For how I treated you yesterday.”

“I am aware,” Spock said. “And I accept your apology. But I do hope that someday you will trust me with whatever this may be as well.”

Kirk wanted to tell him that it wasn’t about him at all, that he didn’t doubt Spock’s trust but his own worth. But instead, as he felt the stirrings of his first genuine smile in forty-eight hours, he said, “So what’s this museum?” Spock kept his hands clasped behind his back, but walking side-by-side with him down the causeway, alone with him in the hustling crowd, made Kirk feel as though something integral inside himself had been repaired.

☆☆☆

“Holy shit,” Kirk breathed. Spock had been right. This was a museum of some interest. As the front-line diplomats of the Federation to new cultures and civilizations, the vast majority of the Enterprise crew’s time was spent either meeting the primary sentient species on a planet or assessing its flora and fauna as a threat. He so rarely got to appreciate the infinite diversity of organic life for what it was. But this museum was a masterclass in appreciation.

It was built into four huge levels of the base, sprawling for at least a mile on each deck, with an intricate system of stairs, elevators, and escalators placed strategically for visitors to the starbase to follow the themes of evolution that most interested them. He couldn’t fathom the effort that it must have taken to assemble a display of this magnitude: each floor was dedicated to one of the four nearest solar systems, with a series of rooms devoted to each planet in the system, split within those rooms by form or function. A veritable army must have been necessary to create the casts of the skeletons and fossils and plant life, then paint and construct and model them among murals and dioramas that depicted what the organisms may have looked like in context. The lighting on each floor and in each room was based on the solar system’s primary star, and the planet’s unique characterisitics. One room was a cheery golden light not unlike Earth’s, whereas another was hued in pinks and purples because of the makeup of the atmosphere. Kirk could have happily moved into the museum, set up a tent in one of the summery plains dioramas, and never left.

In front of him was a creature unlike anything he had ever seen. The closest Earth analogue would have been the giant ground sloths of the Pliocene era, but only if it had been amphibian and unconstrained by Earth’s relatively heavy gravity. A cross-section of its bone had been replicated for children to touch, mounted on the wall, and Kirk couldn’t stop himself from running his fingers in wonder against the curious texture. It was pocked with holes all the way through, which made it easier for these enormous and muscular creatures to swim through the highly salty waters of their indigenous oceans. The top of Kirk’s head only came up to the complicated hip joint of the model.

“Indeed. I would be interested to see the method by which it swims,” Spock said, peering at the hip. “The range of motion of its legs must be immense.” Spock stood comfortably next to Kirk: not pressed against his shoulder, as he might have been before yesterday, but only a few inches separated them. His hands were clasped loosely behind his back, and for all that Spock had said about Kirk requiring shore leave, Kirk thought that unstructured time wandering through a museum might have been good for Spock as well. They walked slowly between the dioramas. Rather than following one of the suggested paths, they had, without discussing it, decided to move through the museum linearly in order to see every exhibit. They had the time, after all. To Kirk’s delight, he learned immediately that Spock was the type to read every single informative panel before progressing to the next room. Kirk was the same way, when he was unrushed, but Sam had never had the patience to move that slowly through museums when they were children. They passed the hours of the morning meandering slowly through the rooms of the first two floors. They learned about the entirely aquatic planet of Shindon III, where amphibious peoples lived in sprawling coral cities in places where the currents carried warm water. The oceanic sloth creature was from this world, and was called the mother of the seas because of its role as the primary underwater pollinator. They witnessed a demonstration on the mechanics of how the enormous, bear-sized otters of Shindon V used acid to hunt smaller creatures, and watched a documentary on the symbiotic relationship between the nomadic populations of Detra IV and the nimble, camel-like quadrupeds that they rode across the steppes of their mountainous planet.

The only time that Spock was more than a few feet away from Kirk was, in another aquatic room on the second floor, Kirk moved on after reading the panels and only realized after a few moments that Spock had not followed. He doubled back through the winding sandy maze of the room until he rounded a corner and halted. Spock stood still, bathed in the blue-green light of the display panel, hands hanging open by his sides as he stared, entranced, at one of the creatures. It was called a crinoid, and some adventurous spirit had swum deep into the depths of the ocean on Detra III with a camera to film its movement. The invertebrate was made entirely of long, feather-like arms that it used to move itself with rhythmic flicking motions, and its feathers undulated in the currents of the green waters around it. For a moment Kirk watched Spock watch the crinoid. Deep beneath the veneer of professionalism, he thought that this might have been what had driven Spock to accept the five-year mission posting: this joyous curiosity, and his boundless love of the unknown. Kirk’s heart twinged to see it, and displayed so openly.

After another minute, Spock’s shoulders jerked, as if he had given himself an allotment for wonder and his time was now up, and he turned to leave. As he turned, his eyes alighted on Kirk, who was still leaning against the wall. Kirk smiled at him genuinely, fondly; he couldn’t help himself.

“I know you said no pets, but what about this one?”

Spock’s eyes were soft as he came to join Kirk again, hands returning to behind his back. “I do not believe we have the capacity to responsibly house a creature such as this,” he demurred, but he looked back over his shoulder once more as they continued on. “But I admit that I found its form fascinating.”

At the end of the second floor was a food court, and Kirk discovered that he was ravenous. There were different kiosks dedicated to the culinary traditions of the nearby systems, and he and Spock agreed to split off to find their lunches and reconvene at a table near the entrance. Unfamiliar with this region of the galaxy and with no strong preferences arising, he picked one with less of a line and headed towards it.

“Good afternoon,” said a tall, handsome person in accented Standard. They had a shiny, waxy coating to their purplish skin, enormous brown-black eyes, and a long, intricately beaded ponytail. “What will you have?”

“I’ve no idea,” Kirk said cheerily, and scanned the menu behind them. He didn’t recognize most of the titles, but the images alongside the listings all looked wonderful, and the smell wafting from behind the counter was enticing. “Whatever you recommend for lunch, I suppose.” He glanced down at the counter before him. Among the bottled drinks were scattered trinkets and souvenirs, marked with the logo of the museum. He spied a box with a feather on the front and picked it up. Within the box was a clever little perpetual motion machine, a tiny moving simulacrum of the crinoid that had so ensnared Spock’s attention. “Whatever you recommend and this, then,” Kirk amended, and handed over his credit chip. He tucked the little box into his pocket, took the tray of something that looked and smelled delicious from the cashier, and turned to find Spock.

Despite what Spock had said earlier, Kirk was still shocked to sit across from Spock and listen to him muse about the evolutionary implications of different organisms that they’d seen. He had expected for Spock to display a residual distaste for him, at the very least. But it seemed that Spock had genuinely accepted his apology; he met Kirk’s eyes without reserve, and, so subtly that at first Kirk didn’t realize he was doing it, rhetorically tugged at Kirk until his own scientific interest emerged.

“Would you like to see the next two floors, captain?” Spock asked eventually, when their plates were empty.

“Definitely,” Kirk said, and pushed his chair back to stand up. Before he could reach for his tray, however, Spock had snagged it, stacked his own on top of it, and left the table to return them to the disposal area. As he watched Spock wend through the tables, he was reminded of the day, one week previously, when Spock had insisted on carrying his tray through the mess for him. But there was no audience here, no one to convince of his intentions.

No one except for Kirk. Kirk’s brain stuttered to a halt as he stared at Spock, methodically unloading both of their trays into the appropriate recycling receptacles. There was no way. Spock could not possibly still carry any interest in him after what he had done yesterday. He had shut down Spock’s confession, told Spock that he didn’t want to be touched by him, had forcibly erected a boundary between them and brooked no discussion.

But, the hopeful little voice in his head whispered as it roared back to life, Spock had known that Kirk was lying.

Spock returned from the tray disposal, and Kirk followed him onward to the next level of the museum. Though the flora around him was just as intriguing as on the first two floors, Kirk found his attention more drawn to the man beside him. Spock continued to point out different contradictions, facts he found interesting, pausing to watch the movement of different creatures, but Kirk watched Spock instead. How much had it cost Spock to pick his moment to approach him, to confess that he had enjoyed their charade for the crew? How much had it cost Spock to admit that he felt something for Kirk?

And yet, despite Kirk’s dishonesty and dismissal, he had been forgiven. Spock was here, talking quietly to him about hunting patterns, the same steady presence by his side that he had been for years. Even while Spock respected the boundary that Kirk had set and did not cross the line between them, he orbited around Kirk’s space like a planet around a star. He moved in response to Kirk’s movement, a complicated waltz that Kirk had never before been aware of. They progressed through the rest of the museum, taking the better part of four hours to do so, and they emerged at last from the last purple-black room of the museum into the warm early-evening sunlight of the central causeway. Blinking at the sudden shift, Kirk felt as if they had returned from a journey through a different time before suddenly, shockingly, returning to the present. Had the spell of the museum been broken, and Spock would remember that he should have shunned him? But Spock turned to him, a calm, settled grace in the curve of his spine, and said, “What did you think, captain?”

“I loved it,” Kirk said, and was surprised by the force of his own response. “It was wonderful. What did you think?”

“I found it fascinating,” Spock said. He gently steered himself and Kirk away from the exit so as to allow the other patrons to leave. “I find myself still thinking about the crinoids. I have never seen a creature such as they. If the images of them were the only exhibit in the museum, it still would have been worth the visit.”

Kirk pulled the simulacrum from his pocket. “I got this for you,” he said, offering it to Spock. He took the little box from him and gently pulled the top flap open to reveal the machine inside. For a moment, Spock silently watched the gentle undulation of the feathers within, and Kirk watched him. When Spock finally looked back up at him, the muted delight on his face floored Kirk.

“It is beautiful,” Spock said. “I thank you.” He looked at Kirk like there was no greater gift in the universe that he could have been given than this little museum trinket; like Kirk had bestowed upon him jewels and riches beyond measure.

“You’re welcome,” Kirk said, and looked back down the causeway, away from the weight of Spock’s warm gaze. “Dinner?”

They wandered down the tiled pathway as the lights above them slowly shifted colors from a bright day through a cozy twilight, and the ease of the day combined with the bustle of the crowds lulled Kirk into a contented stupor.

“Do you have a preference for anything, captain?” Spock asked, and Kirk was about to shake his head when he was hit with a wave of nostalgia so powerful that he stopped in his tracks. The smell of something deeply Iowa-like was wafting down the causeway, and it dragged him forward.

“Whatever that is,” he breathed. He followed his nose down the way, Spock amused beside him, until he pulled up in front of a restaurant emblazoned with a neon sign: “The Best of the Midwest.” Within was a checkered linoleum floor, diner-style booths and tables, with a high-top bar in the back and cooks in the little folded paper hats he could have recognized from a mile away. His relationship with what he would call ‘home food’ was complicated for a thousand painful reasons, but what it came down to was this: if it was available, he would eat it. There were multiple buzzing packs of people waiting in front of the restaurant’s opening, and only one or two open tables inside.

“This is where you would like to eat?” Spock’s voice was by his ear. Kirk almost nodded, but he hesitated.

“I don’t want to wait, it’ll be hours. We can go somewhere else.” Kirk turned and almost walked directly into Spock, who had not moved. Kirk found himself with his nose nearly against Spock’s neck, and he could feel the warmth of Spock’s body as Spock looked down at him.

“One moment, please, captain,” Spock said, and stepped around him to approach the hostess stand. Kirk turned to watch him go, and saw Spock say something to the hostess, leaning over the stand to make himself heard. She was a young human woman, no more than twenty-two, and she popped a piece of bubblegum even as she ran her finger down the paper pad in front of her. To Kirk’s surprise, she nodded and shot Spock a megawatt smile before snagging two menus from the stand and stepping out from behind it. Spock turned to meet his eyes as the hostess waited for them, and Kirk came to meet them as she led them to one of the two empty tables.

“Table for two, Mark will be taking care of you, thank you for visiting the Best of the Midwest,” she chirped, and deposited their menus on the table before heading back to her stand. Spock sat in the chair closest to the entrance and pulled one of the menus towards himself as Kirk dropped into the other chair. He put his hand flat on the menu Spock lifted, forcing it back down to the table.

“What the hell was that, Spock?” Even as he said it, he couldn’t stop the disbelieving smile from spreading across his face, and Spock met his eyes with a deeply satisfied look.

“A reservation is an Earth custom where one contacts a restaurant---”

“Stop that,” Kirk said, and glanced around the table to find something that would be appropriate to throw at him. His search was fruitless. “How did you know?”

“How did I know what, Jim?” Spock unrolled the napkin that had been set at his place and draped it over his lap as he crossed his legs under the table. They were on a first-name basis again? It was a good thing Kirk was not a betting man, because he would have lost a significant number of credits on how he thought this day would have gone.

“All of it! This restaurant, the reservation, being on the starbase, the museum…”

“I am sure you are intimately familiar with the sound of the ship at warp,” Spock said.

Kirk blinked. “Sure. Don’t change the subject, though. How---”

“I am as well, and I was awake this morning when I heard the pitch of the ship’s engines change,” Spock said. “It increased, implying that we were moving faster than we had previously. Navigation did not indicate that we were going anywhere other than our originally plotted destination. Lieutenant Commander Scott is a friend and an extraordinary engineer, if somewhat irresponsible. From these facts I surmised what might occur, and took the appropriate steps to prepare.” He raised his menu, but Kirk pressed it down again.

“So you knew we’d have leave time. But this restaurant?”

“You have said before that when North American food, and specifically the food from your home region, is available on shore leave, you prioritize it. When I saw that this restaurant was an option and that it was popular, I only ensured that it would be available to you if you desired it.” Spock lifted his menu again, and this time Kirk retracted his hand to allow him to study the options.

Kirk stared across the table at the Vulcan sitting across from him. His eyes traced the elegant points of his ears, the sharp angles of his eyebrows, the surprisingly soft line of his mouth. Even after Kirk had rejected his advances and lost his composure entirely, Spock had taken the time from his research project to ensure that Kirk would have what he wanted. Spock flipped the menu over.

Kirk asked, “Why?”

Spock did not pretend to misunderstand. He said, “‘For better and for worse’ did not come with caveats.” He glanced up at Kirk, chocolate brown eyes meeting his, and his expression remained self-assured and steady even when Kirk could not respond.

Mark, a human being either from the Midwest or with a stellar ear for the accent, came to take their order before swishing off again. Kirk ordered comfort food in the form of a pork tenderloin; Spock ordered the only vegetarian option, which was macaroni and cheese. Their conversation ranged from Spock’s mistrust of the dubiously named ‘cheese product’ to their favorite organisms from the museum, when Spock pulled his crinoid from his pocket again to watch its movement fondly for a moment, and then to reminiscing about various missions.

“It might have been scientifically valuable to have retained some of the pods from Omicron Ceti III to study their healing capabilities,” Spock said at one point, and Kirk scoffed.

“And risk losing the capabilities of the crew somewhere millions of lightyears away from help? Sounds like a nightmare, if you ask me.”

Over their meals, Kirk admitted that he still had not told his parents that they were married, and Spock offered that, even after the blood transfusion debacle en route to Babel, his relationship with his father remained strained. As Mark cleared their plates away when they were done and subtly deposited a dessert menu between them, Kirk said, “Would you have sought out Vulcan food if you were on your own?”

Spock threaded his fingers together, steepling them on the table. “I would not have,” he said.

“Why?”

“I do not feel the same connection now that I might have before,” he said. “I have access to the food, my instruments, on the ship. But after the kal-if-fee I feel no strong bond to the homeworld.” He met Kirk’s eyes. “There is no one to draw me there.” Spock’s long fingers drew delicate patterns over the table before he snagged the dessert menu and peered at it disinterestedly.

“You asked earlier about my behavior towards you today, even after yesterday’s events,” Spock said suddenly, and Kirk’s attention, which had been drifting towards the ideas of home and sleep, snapped to him. “I told you a partial truth earlier. It is true that it would be illogical for me to ignore your needs after conflict. However, you were correct in assessing that your words perturbed me in the moment.”

Kirk closed his eyes in a relieved sort of dread. Now, would the ramifications finally arrive?

“I found myself to be unsettled by the idea that you would lie to me, especially when you were distressed, and I sought a period of meditation to recenter myself. You, typically, are an honest man. But in meditation I was able to understand exactly what I found so unsettling about our exchange.” There was a light knock on the table near Kirk’s hand where it rested, and he opened his eyes as Spock’s arm retracted back to his side.

Once he had Kirk’s eyes on him, Spock said evenly, “You lie to me when you believe that it protects my safety or well-being, or that of the crew, even at the expense of your own.”

Spock’s eyes were molten now, and scorched him. Kirk opened his mouth to argue, but Spock’s carefully guided and uncharacteristic trip down memory lane was suddenly cast in a new light. Though not intentionally, he had allowed Spock to think that he had killed him in order to end his pon farr and depart Vulcan alive. He had lied to Spock to break through the control of the spores on Omicron Ceti III, even though he had put himself at the mercy of Spock’s unbridled strength to do it. And he had lied to Spock on the journey to Babel to give him the peace of mind necessary to relinquish command and save his father, despite the still-gaping stab wound in his chest. Kirk stared at Spock as the restaurant spun around him: Spock knew. Spock knew him. Spock knew that he was hiding something, and still orchestrated a day for them to spend together with his own brand of logical, unflinching kindness, and now sat across from him and offered him safe passage through the consequences of his own actions.

“What I have not yet deduced, regarding yesterday,” Spock said, as he laid the menu down and slid it across the table to Kirk, “is what, precisely, you believe that you are protecting me from.” He folded his hands in his lap and looked at Kirk, shoulders square, eyes alight. Checkmate, game to Spock. “Would you like dessert?”

☆☆☆

“Welcome back, gentleman,” Scotty said as they materialized together in a shower of golden light onto the familiar transporter pad of the Enterprise. “How was your day?”

“Satisfactory,” Spock said.

“Great,” Kirk said.

“Sounds about right,” Scotty said, and, after shutting down the command console, followed them out of the room. “Did ye get to see the gladiator arenas?”

Kirk laughed as Spock pulled his crinoid out. “We spent the majority of the day in the natural history museum complex,” he said, and showed the movement of the little creature to Scotty. Scotty took one glance at the undulating sea creature and shuddered.

“Beautiful,” he said unconvincingly. “Best left in the ocean, methinks.”

“Perhaps,” Spock said. The three of them departed for the officers’ quarters, Scotty informing them of everything they had missed on their day away. They had missed very little, and April and Pike were still scheduled to arrive late the next morning.

“Thank you again, Scotty,” Kirk said, as they arrived at the door that used to be Spock’s. “It was a great day.” Spock inclined his head to the engineer.

“T’was my pleasure, gentlemen,” Scotty said. “Neither of ye take enough leave as it is, and after this we’ll be out in the middle o’ nowhere for ages. I’m glad we could give ye more time to celebrate properly.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. This pleasure would be entirely linked to a gift well-given and not any unregulated engine upgrades, would it?” Spock asked. Scotty grinned at him, wolf-like, before unlocking the door and vanishing into his room, which now looked more like half of a warp core than a bedroom. The door slid shut behind him, and Kirk and Spock were left alone in the hallway. Without his input, Kirk’s feet took him to his own door, and Spock walked alongside him in companionable silence.

At the door, Spock halted. “Did you enjoy yourself, captain?”

“Yes,” Kirk said immediately. Spock’s eyes did not meet his, exactly; they were fixed on a point beyond his left ear. “God, yes. I…” He paused as he read Spock’s physicality: his shoulders were a tight, straight line, and his arms had vanished entirely behind his back with the force of his grip on one of his wrists. He still hadn’t made eye contact.

“It was perfect,” he said softly. “You were right. I needed time off the ship, and it was… it was wonderful. Thank you for picking the museum, and making the reservation, and for not letting me say no this morning.”

At his words, the tension in Spock’s posture released, and when he met Kirk’s eyes he pressed his lips together in the imperceptible motion that was almost a smile. “I am glad to be of assistance,” he said. “I will leave you to your rest.”

“Where are you going?”

“I must review today’s work and updates from the ongoing experiments,” Spock said, and his gaze dropped away from Kirk’s face. Without the warmth of his eyes on him, Kirk suddenly felt cold. “I did not anticipate missing an entire shift before the admirals’ arrival and do not wish to be unprepared tomorrow.”

“Right,” Kirk said. “Very logical, Mr. Spock.”

“Thank you, captain,” Spock said. “Good night.” With one more lightning-fast glance at Kirk, expression unreadable, he nodded firmly once and turned to leave.

Kirk turned to his door to unlock it. Then he turned instead to watch Spock go. Time seemed to slow as Spock’s footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, and each step that took Spock away from him brought forth another memory. Spock telling him that he didn’t want to leave. Spock gently teasing him in the mess. Spock catching his head in the gymnasium. Spock kissing him against the bookshelf, in front of the crew, running his hand along Kirk’s spine, taking him to the museum, making a reservation in the quiet hours before alpha shift to make sure that Kirk had what he wanted. He thought of Spock taking his tray at lunch, his delight in his little crinoid, his satisfaction at Kirk’s pleasure in the restaurant. A small seed of fear gripped him as he inhaled: what if he was wrong? But in his head, Spock’s sure, steady voice said, “‘For better and for worse’ did not come with caveats.”

Kirk called, “Hey, Spock!” Spock halted and spun. Their eyes met across the distance between them. Sharp-edged hope cut through him. “Do you have time to help me with something?”

At this distance he didn’t hear Spock’s response, but his mouth formed a shape that looked like “always.” He finally turned to open his door, and by the time it swished open Spock had returned to his side.

“What do you need, Jim?”

They stepped inside their quarters, and Kirk waited until the door slid shut behind them. Then he said, “I need your help breaking into the Starfleet personnel directory.”

Spock inhaled through his nose, eyebrows drawing together. “It is public access to officers, is it not?” It was a sensible question, but behind the cool facade Kirk could see the gears of interest beginning to turn.

“Most of it is. But someone lied to me. And I intend to find out why.” Kirk dropped into his office chair and booted up the console as he explained what he had done the night before. When he had brought Spock up to speed and pulled up Elise’s profile, he swapped spots with Spock, allowing Spock to have the chair and leaning over his shoulder to watch what he did.

“And who is this person?”

“She, ah…” Kirk started, and then blanked. Where could he even start? He didn’t want to open with, “Well, she was my Starfleet-assigned therapist at school, because I needed one.” He didn’t want to start with Tarsus. The idea of it made him nauseated. After four seconds of him choking on air, Spock said, “It is fine, Jim. You do not have to tell me.” His fingers flew nimbly over the keyboard. Then, with a slightly smug tone, he said, “I will find out who she is soon enough.”

Kirk half-smiled at that and rapped his knuckles against the back of the chair. “I have no doubt of that.”

After three frustrated hours, Spock was coldly radiating his distaste for Elise, the directory, and every Starfleet computer programmer who had ever lived, and Kirk was half-asleep in his uniform from that day on top of his covers, still wearing his boots.

“You ought to prepare for rest, captain,” Spock said, peering intently at the back-end code of the directory.

“I’m not the one who stayed up all night,” Kirk said, but he dragged himself into the bathroom, changed into pajamas, and prepared for bed. He had just reentered the room, Spock still hunched over the console, when their padds dinged simultaneously.

“I’ve got it,” Kirk said, as Spock slowly pulled his eyes away from his puzzle to regard his padd with disdain. “I’ll let you know if it’s important.” He reclaimed his padd from where it sat on his bedside table and sat down, back against his headboard and his feet crossed in front of him. He tapped open the message.

SUBJECT: RE: Regulation Revision, 6245-B: Field Officer Recommendation

To: schntgaispock@enterprise

CC: jamestkirk@enterprise

From: kathleenlee@headquarters

Commander Spock,

Greetings from afar! Thank you for this most recent contribution. Your revision is, as usual, meticulously researched and logically argued. I’ve submitted it to the upcoming regulatory board meeting as an agenda item and will keep you apprised of the outcome, though I think we can take a pretty good guess at what that will be.

I noticed that your CO got dropped off the original message, so I’ve CC’d him here.

Please let me know if I can be of any other assistance at this time.

Best,

Lt. Cmdr. Lee

P.S. Congrats :)

Spock frequently submitted regulation revisions; he might have been the only person in all of Starfleet to keep the regulatory board in meetings. Of course he was on smiley-face level with the regulations administrator. Spock’s recommendations were usually about research protocols, but the regulation number snagged Kirk’s attention. 6245 referred to lifesaving missions. He scrolled down to view Spock’s original message.

SUBJECT: Regulation Revision, 6245-B: Field Officer Recommendation

To: kathleenlee@headquarters

From: schntgaispock@enterprise

Lieutenant Commander Lee,

Greetings. I have attached a regulation revision submission pertaining to food storage on deep space exploratory missions. Please see the attached report for my findings and conclusions.

LLAP,

STS

The message had been sent at 0759 that morning, and the attachment was two hundred pages long. Was this the research project that Spock had been so absorbed in? He had been working on a regulation improvement the day that he moved into Kirk’s quarters, but hadn’t mentioned it otherwise. Kirk tapped the attachment open. He scrolled past all of the standard forms--- Spock’s name, rank, the regulation he was updating, and a thousand other useless pieces of data that Starfleet collected and never used, to the meat of the report.

Starfleet is, in many respects, an observatory organization. Though it performs admirably as the diplomatic arm of the Federation when engaging new cultures and civilizations, the vast majority of Starfleet man-hours are spent on scientific research in space, far from the turbulence of on-world life.

However, when called to do so, Starfleet ships can and do act as the first responders to crises. There are not many important similarities between the populations that comprise the Federation, but one universal constant is the need for sustenance. Exploratory vessels are frequently the first ones to receive distress signals from far-lying locales, there are infrequent opportunities to restock solid supplies in deep space, and the small scale at which food can be replicated can hinder lifesaving efforts. This report will analyze five previous instances of Starfleet’s reaction to crises before making recommendations for regulatory updates to advance and improve Starfleet’s capacity to respond to acute and life-threatening scenarios. The primary lesson of the case studies presented, and the primary recommendation of the author, is that all California-class ships and newer and all ships commanded one (1) or more AU beyond the current boundaries of Federation space should henceforth increase the volume of solid, unreplicated, immediate-use foodstuffs maintained onboard by 235% from current standards. The mathematical model for this increase is attached to this report as Annex A.

Kirk pressed one shaking hand to his mouth and continued skimming. Spock had meticulously detailed five lifesaving missions that Starfleet ships had undertaken, outside the normal purview of their work, analyzing common successes and failures before wrapping them into a tidy, logical conclusion of how to save lives. He had listed a planet whose entire sky had been blackened for three years by volcanic eruptions, a generations ship whose soil recycler had broken down, and three agricultural planets that, for one reason or another, had devolved into complete famine: Alexii I, Gradient V, and Tarsus IV.

He downloaded the report and looked at the metadata. The document had been created two hours after he told Spock why the broken replicators made his heartbeat skyrocket. Kirk turned to stare at Spock, who still bent determinedly over his console, having eschewed the touchpad entirely to type commands directly into the black screen. He looked down at the report in his hands.

“Residual stress,” Kirk had said, when he hedged around genocide by calling it a period of scarcity. He had tried to keep Spock from seeing how it haunted him, and Spock had offered him a hand in comfort and his faith in Kirk’s abilities before moving on, which was far more than Kirk had expected. Kirk had thought that that would be the end of the conversation. But then Spock had forsaken sleep to move the entirety of Starfleet’s behemoth interstellar bureaucracy with the strength of his will alone, so that Kirk might feel more secure. Even after their fight, after Spock had left their quarters, he still spent his entire day on an effort that would make Kirk’s life easier.

And he had left Kirk off the message. If Kathleen Lee hadn’t looped him back in on her response, Kirk would never have known of the monumental act of service that Spock had done for him. Kirk stared at the back of Spock’s head, the sleek hair that hid his beautiful mind, and it was at that moment that Spock spun, triumphant.

“Jim, I believe that I---” Spock halted at the expression on Kirk’s face, eyes glancing to his padd and back up. Kirk stared at him, seeing his dear, dear face for the first time again, as something fiery and huge, uncontrollable, unfolded in his chest. Spock had not thought him weak, or unreliable, or untrustworthy. He had accepted Kirk’s fears and needs as fact and shifted the universe around him to accommodate him instead. Kirk had challenged him, lied to him, and pushed him away, and yet Spock had remained steadfastly where he had been for years: by Kirk’s side.

“I have gained access to her service record,” Spock said. “What are you reading?”

“Your report,” Kirk said hoarsely. “You… did this?” Spock slid the padd from his limp hand and flipped it around to look down on it.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I did.”

Kirk asked, “Why?”

Spock’s eyes, warm and open, met his, and he tilted his head as if to say, “I’ve already told you why.” Kirk’s breath caught in his chest as the wall between his head and his heart crumbled entirely. In sickness and in health, for better and for worse. Spock had proven that he was willing to take Kirk at his worst, as much of it as Kirk had been able to show. But what did better even mean, for someone like him?

His eyes slipped to the console behind Spock. If Elise had not been a real medical professional, then an enormous aspect of his so-called recovery had been a sham. If his recovery had been falsified, strategically manipulated, then there might be a reason for his continued struggle beyond his own weakness.

If he was still hurting so badly because he had been refused help, then maybe that meant that he could still get better. Spock deserved better.

He made his decision; he reached for Spock.

Kirk shifted to the end of the bed and closed the space between them. He took the padd out of Spock’s grasp and slid his hand into Spock’s, pressing their palms together. For a second Spock sat, unmoving, staring down at Kirk’s hand in his, and Kirk waited for him, serene in his choice, trusting Spock to respond when he would.

With the barest hint of a smile at the corners of his eyes, Spock took his hand in both of his own and raised them to press Kirk’s palm flat against his chest. His eyes closed as their fingers threaded together. He felt Spock’s steady heartbeat through his shirt, the warmth of his body.

“I need to tell you something,” Kirk whispered, and Spock’s eyes opened.

“You can tell me anything, Jim,” Spock said, and Kirk felt the rumble of his voice through his palm. He opened his mouth to say it, to tell him, and his throat constricted. He felt the panic trickle through his bloodstream, and Spock’s expression turned concerned. Kirk looked down at his lap to the padd sitting in his other hand.

Spock already knew about what had happened on Tarsus, if he had created this report with Starfleet resources. He just needed Kirk to connect the dots. Kirk bit his lip and rapidly paged through it. He pulled up the correct page, with its clinical TARSUS IV heading, and turned it back around to show Spock. Spock glanced between it and him, eyebrows pulling together. Then he blinked, and his hands tightened over Kirk’s.

“No,” he said.

“Yes,” Kirk said, and his voice cracked. His stomach heaved with nerves. Spock’s eyes scanned over his face before dropping back to his report. He took it and turned to put it on the desk even as he kept Kirk’s hand pressed to him.

“You are one of the survivors,” Spock said, and Kirk nodded, clenching his jaw against his sudden nausea. For a moment Spock considered, his thumb rubbing slowly over the back of Kirk’s hand, and Kirk saw the fine muscles in his jaw twitch as he sorted through whatever he was thinking. But for once, the waiting didn’t fuel his anxiety. Though seeing the brutality of Tarsus in print sent spikes of panic through him, and telling him now made him feel sick, the knowledge of Spock’s report and everything it meant to him was the bulkhead between him and his ghosts. He was safe in his quarters, on the Enterprise, and Spock was with him, holding his hand.

Spock nodded, like he had made some decision, and he stood, dragging Kirk up with him by their connected hands.

“Jim,” Spock said. “May I touch you?” Kirk met his eyes and nodded. Spock slid one hand along his outstretched arm, running it up his shoulder, until he was cupping the back of Kirk’s neck. The other hand he wrapped around Kirk’s, cradling it against his chest, and he stepped forward until they were sharing breath. Then he released Kirk’s hand, wrapped his other arm around Kirk’s waist, and hugged him tightly to him, pressing him to the length of his body. The thumb of one hand smoothed down the short, shorn hair at the back of his neck, and the other arm held Kirk flush against him. He rested his cheek against the side of Kirk’s head and breathed.

Kirk wrapped both arms around Spock’s waist, and he buried his face in the side of his neck, and he let himself be held. He leaned against Spock’s warm solidity and breathed in time with him, until Spock pulled back to look down at his face.

“Is this what you would protect me from?”

“Partially,” Kirk said. Spock waited. “And from what came after.”

“Your nightmare from yesterday morning,” Spock said, and Kirk blinked, bemused, as he remembered that the dream hadn’t even been about Tarsus. It had been about Elise.

“Yes. No. Adjacent,” he said, and leaned around Spock to look at the screen of his console. The screen was filled with text that he couldn’t read at this distance, but Spock had said that he had found her information. “What did you find?”

“Are you intentionally changing the subject?”

“I’m not, honest,” Kirk said. “It’s related.” Spock’s eyes narrowed.

“How do you know this woman?”

“What did you find in her profile?”

Kirk stared him down, and Spock broke first. He reluctantly released his hand from the back of Kirk’s neck, but kept his other hand on his lower back as he turned back to the console.

“Her entire file is redacted,” he said. “Everything that she did after her first posting is confidential. I have some theories about what her career may mean, but I will need to conduct more research first. I would state, with 97.4% certainty, that she was an officer with Starfleet Information and Intelligence Operations.”

Kirk’s whole body went cold in a shiver. “Like a spy?”

“I do not believe so,” Spock said thoughtfully. “More in line with propaganda, or information access and control.”

“Huh,” Kirk said. His hands had gone numb. “That might be worse, actually.” Spock wrapped a hand around his wrist, but instead of it feeling like a cage, it became an anchor.

“Please sit down,” Spock said, and steered him back to sit on the edge of his bed. He knelt in front of him, hands bracketing him on the bed frame. “You are unwell. I apologize, Jim, for---”

“No,” Kirk croaked as his throat tightened. “I asked. I need to know.”

“Who is she to you, Jim?” Every angle of Spock’s body, his entire focus, was attuned to Kirk. When they had first met, Kirk had been unsettled by his inhuman intensity. Now he was comforted by it. Maybe the Spock protocol would apply to every area of his life.

“Starfleet assigned her as my therapist when I got to the Academy,” he said. “I thought she was a psychologist until four days ago.”

“Four years after you were rescued from Tarsus IV,” Spock said. Kirk nodded. “You were eighteen.” Kirk nodded. Spock bowed his head, staring pensively at Kirk’s knees. Then the material of the bed frame cracked under his hands. He unclenched his hands from the ruined wood and glanced at the splinters reproachfully before flexing them open.

“My apologies, captain,” Spock said, and one corner of Kirk’s mouth twitched up, despite himself, as he reclaimed one of Spock’s hands. He held it in his lap between both of his.

“It wasn’t just me,” he said. “I know of another survivor who also had her. He confirmed to me that she used us to keep each other quiet.”

Spock’s eyebrows pulled together. “The sequence of events on Tarsus IV has been extensively documented. The only unanswered question that I was able to find was---”

“Kodos,” Kirk said, and his stomach heaved again. When was the last time he had said that name aloud? In his mind, a flash of gray hair, and the wet spatter of blood on dirt. Bile rose in his throat and he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth.

“Indeed,” Spock said, and he watched Kirk with concern. “Do you have any theories as to why information control would be necessary amongst the survivors?”

The answer came to him immediately. It was what had so upset Dr. Johns during his physical recovery, the first topic that Elise had convinced him to keep inside. He saw the fire, and the flash of the gun, and the body. He nodded even as his chest tightened and his stomach flipped inside-out.

He tried to speak, and his jaw clenched. He tried to speak, and his tongue swelled in his mouth as his brain filled with the buzzing static of an impending meltdown. Be the bulkhead, be the bulkhead, be the bulkhead---

He closed his eyes as the nausea swelled inside him and pressed a hand to his face.

“Jim?” Spock was very close to him, his voice gentle, and Kirk could feel the warmth of him. He leaned forward, seeking him, and Spock pressed his forehead against his. “Be still,” he said, and Kirk nodded against him, tamping down the urge to vomit or pass out.

Kirk opened his eyes. Spock still knelt in front of him, hands braced on the mattress by his hips, face scant inches from his. “We do not have to continue this discussion at this moment. I will call the doctor if you are ill, and we can broach the subject again when you are better.” His apparent concern warmed Kirk, but if they didn’t keep going now, he was afraid that he wouldn’t have the courage to continue tomorrow.

“I want to tell you,” Kirk said, and for the first time in his life, he meant it. “She--- I need to know why she did this to us. So I can start to fix it. But I--- I can’t. I can’t say it.” Even talking about talking about what he had seen threatened to overwhelm him, and it was only Spock’s hands, coming up to his shoulders, that kept him upright.

“Do you wish to show me?” Kirk looked up in surprise. Spock’s gaze was steady.

“No, Spock, you don’t want to---”

“I would not have offered if I did not mean it.”

Kirk swallowed, his throat like sandpaper. “This is going to be the ‘worse’ part of ‘for better and for worse.’”

“No caveats,” said Spock. “Jim, let me help you.” Kirk paused, his head spinning, and then nodded. Spock stood, stepped away to remove his boots and place them meticulously by the door, and then returned to Kirk.

“Please lay back,” Spock said. “I believe it will be more comfortable for you.” Kirk scooted himself backwards and lay down, and Spock laid down next to him. He rolled over to face him, Spock lying alongside him.

“Somehow, when I thought about the first time we might share a bed, this wasn’t how I imagined it happening,” Kirk whispered, and he half-smiled despite his fear.

“But you did imagine it,” Spock said, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Jim, are you prepared?”

“No,” Kirk said, and laughed weakly. “But go ahead anyway.” As Spock lifted one hand to Kirk’s face, he reached between them with the other. Kirk met his hand and laced their fingers together. Spock’s fingers settled along Kirk’s psi-points, and he closed his eyes.

“My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts.”

#spirk #spirk fan fiction #k/s fan fiction #kirk/spock fan fiction #regulatory relations #my writing #kirk/spock #spirktober2023 #THIS IS TECHNICALLY A SPIRKTOBER PROMPT!!!!! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN!!!! SIXTY THOUSANDS WORDS TO FULFILL A PROMPT!!!!

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