Chapter Text
Jim’s smile. His laugh. His loyalty. Bravery. Kindness.
To put it simply: Jim’s everything.
To explain everything Spock loved about Jim would take days, charts, stories, and even then Spock would not feel as if he explained it sufficiently.
Spock kept it to himself, the feeling like an itch in the back of his throat. He would almost cough it out every day. The way Jim sang and danced in their bathroom. Jim showing Spock he cared. The brilliance thrumming inside of Jim just under his skin.
Spock had an idea. He had seen it in an old Earth movie. Being under the influence of alcohol would create a situation where it was acceptable to state things aloud that they usually would not, without fear of full repercussions that would typically happen if the protagonist were to be sober.
This idea was not terribly sound, as he had not put in previous research into how much he would need to consume, but patience lost Spock when it came to Jim. The decision not to complete any prior research was unfortunate, as it lead Spock very astray.
Jim had been invited to Spock’s quarters for chess one night, which was normal. Spock brought up that he was given alcohol from Bones, which wasn't normal. Spock invited Jim to share the bottle with him, which was even less normal.
There was definitely something off with Spock, Jim could almost say the first officer looked nervous. Cute, Jim couldn’t help but think, as he watched Spock pour two glasses for them.
Their chess game started normally, Spock almost automatically gaining the upper hand. As the game progressed and their glasses emptied however, his face was screwed into one of intense concentration for a game he typically dominated with ease. Their usual small talk was slurred, until it was dropped completely, from both men who were very much inebriated attempting to focus. Kirk watched Spock carefully, because even in his hazy stupor he was aware of how rare the sight in front of him was. Spock was much more expressive drunk. He ran his hands over his face roughly, and scrunched his nose up. Drink made green creep up in his cheeks, nose, and ears, which made Kirk’s thoughts wander off to places other than their chess table.
Jim shook his head suddenly, and tried to bring himself back. He noticed Spock was looking down at his hands.
“Spah?” Jim asked, his tongue feeling thick.
“I find… myself aaah, compromised.” The words were still well-formed, but mumbled. The ‘aaah’ made Jim raise his eyebrows.
“Do you wan’ talk about it?”
“No, nirsh, nnn.” Spock waved a hand and said, his voice trailing off as he set his head in his hands.
The longer the silence lasted, the more concerned Jim got, looking at Spock’s bent form. He wanted to reach out to him, hell he always did, but especially now, the alarming amount of vulnerability thundering from the Vulcan. Jim wanted to touch his shoulder. The one that matched his own. To pull his chin up gently and look into his eyes, brush a thumb across his cheek like he had always wanted to. To kiss his lips, just like he always wanted to. To comfort, to hold and be held, by Spock and only Spock. Jim felt helpless, fearful that if he acted on these emotions or even attempted to comfort him it would only make Spock withdraw.
That’s what stopped Jim from doing anything at all.
Finally, Spock spoke. “It is… illogical, Jim, but…I feel...”
Jim held his breath. Spock speaking about his feelings, unprompted, was unheard of.
“I feel sorrow. It is inescapable. I miss Vulcan.”
Jim could feel his eyes widen, but tried to keep a blank face, trying to nod sympathetically. His whole body felt rigid.
“Missing my ko-mekh…. mother… is a natural instinct. I allow myself to indulge into that emotion temporarily in private because it is not completely baseless. But I find myself missing aspects of the terrain of my planet as well. I haven’t admitted this before but… Vulcan schooling was hard for me. As well as my failing attempts to control my stress and anger.” Spock pulled himself up so he was sitting in his usual sober manner, rigid back and all, but he was swaying slightly, staring into the distance. Jim could see how badly Spock’s eyes were glistening, and he felt his throat tighten.
“To calm myself… I would step outside and inspect the stars at night. Memorizing their patterns would distract my mind, and they were…” His lips curled up into an almost smile. “Pretty.” The smile fell, and Jim knew Spock was about to cry. He blinked repeatedly, and looked up at the ceiling.
Jim was dumbstruck, overwhelmed thinking about the sheer amount of trust Spock was putting in him. He wondered if Spock had told anyone else what he was telling him now.
“It is illogical, as we are surrounded by stars wherever we go.” Spock said after a pause, finding his resolve. Jim could physically see Spock’s walls raise back up, as a tear that had formed in the corner of his eye fell.
Jim finally found his voice.
“No, Spock it makes sense.”
Spock looked him dead in the eye, for what was probably the first time of the night.
“Your judgement is impaired Jim.”
Jim shook his head. “Nno, no I get ih’. Your constellations won’ look the same unless it is looked at from the same exact spot Vulcan was. Ih’was still a loss. Don’ feel bad for feeling sad.”
The walls didn’t collapse, but Jim could tell they softened.
“What else d’you miss?” Jim asked quietly, half expecting only silence in return.
“The spices. The way they made my home smell more than anything.”
Once Spock started talking, he found it difficult to stop. Yet another trait Jim pulled out of him.
The plan was a disaster. Spock was hungover, embarrassed, and painfully aware that his confession plan had failed. He could vaguely remember Jim standing to offer Spock a hug, normal for a friend to offer physical comfort, and he could vaguely remember accepting that hug. It produced a warm feeling, one that lasted longer than expected and made his chest feel light whenever he saw Jim on the bridge. Jim’s left hand on his back, the other on the nape of his neck, fingertips just brushing Spock’s hair. An overwhelming sense of safety.
Jim did not bring up the events of that night, to the point where Spock questioned if Jim even remembered it. They also temporarily stopped playing chess at night, as whenever Spock asked Jim, he would break eye contact and say he was busy.
Watching Jim walk away always hurt. Guilt crept into Spock, into his fingers and along his spine, down to his stomach. He should have known better than to have let it get that far. He eventually gave up on asking Jim if he wanted to play chess.
A two weeks and three days had passed.
“Hey Spock?” Jim asked. He was sitting in the captain’s chair, fingers tapping the armrests.
“Yes captain?” Spock replied, ignoring Jim’s faint wince.
“Are you free for chess tonight? Your room? I’ll bring over the set.” The tentative edge to his voice was uncharacteristic for when he was sitting in the captain’s chair.
“...I accept.”
A fast exhale. “Alright. 21:00?”
“Affirmative.”
Jim had left the bridge early that night, claiming a headache. He reassured Spock that he should be better by 21:00, and even if he wasn’t, he would attend anyway.
Spock inclined his head, and thought nothing more of it, attempting to channel all of his brainpower on his work.
First, it was Uhura who stopped Spock to talk. It was nearing 21:00, and Spock was on his way to his room, hoping to beat Jim there so he could mentally prepare himself for alone time with him. It was small talk, and Spock stood it for as long as he could before he excused himself as politely as possible.
Then, Sulu pulled him into the botany lab, under the guise of showing him the new plant they had picked up on their last mission. It was indeed aesthetically pleasing, but nothing for Sulu to call Spock in for. It was now past 21:00.
Next, Bones called for Spock to help up Chekov, who had fainted for no apparent in the hall in front of Spock’s room. Bones reassured Spock that he was fine, but Spock helped carry the ensign back to med bay anyway, and once more made his way to his room.
Finally, it was Scotty who attempted to speak to Spock, but before he could get any more than a ‘Hello’ out, Spock held up a hand.
“I must apologize, Commander Scott. I have a previous engagement that I am late for.”
Scotty looked crestfallen, and watched as Spock moved past him.
Scotty spoke softly into his communicator, in case Spock was still within hearing distance.
“Spock coming your way, captain.”
As Spock had expected, Jim was waiting for him in his quarters. Oddly, there was no chess set. Jim looked very pale, and kept wringing his hands as Spock inspected his room.
“Okay, so I fibbed a bit,” Jim said when Spock finally looked back at him.
“What are you implying?”
Jim shifted from foot to foot.
“I don’t wanna play chess tonight Spock.”
Apprehension gripped Spock right in his side.
“I made a surprise from you instead. Do you uh- trust me?”
There was apprehension in Jim’s eyes, and that somehow set Spock at ease.
“I always have, Jim.”
Jim let out a huff of breath and smiled, his lips twitching slightly.
“Alright. So part one, I need you to close your eyes. And when I tell you to breathe in, breathe in through your nose. You got it?”
Spock raised an eyebrow, but listened anyway. He shut his eyes. He listened to the rustle of Jim pulling something from his pocket. Something unfolding.
“Hold your breath for a sec. It might make this better.”
He did.
He could sense Jim’s hand less than an inch from his nose.
“Okay. Breathe in.”
The assault on Spock’s nose was both overwhelming and not enough. He kept his eyes shut, but every fiber in his being felt like it came alive. Whatever Jim was holding smelled, no, reeked of Vulcan spices, each discernible as Spock listed them off mentally. He kept inhaling for as long as he could, then took another breath, then another, before finally opening his eyes.
Jim was looking at him with such wonder in his eyes it almost startled him, before he focused on what Jim was holding.
It was a rock, red and porous. It was-
“A piece of Vulcan. A rock off it’s surface I mean.” Jim said, holding it out for Spock to take.
Spock held it gingerly, a finger tracing a line across it.
“How?” Spock asked, marveling at the piece, which was still warm from being in Jim’s pocket.
“I uh, I kinda contacted your father.”
Spock shot his eyes up at Jim.
“No, no don’t worry I didn’t tell him why I just said you would appreciate it for scientific purposes, as well as some Vulcan spices if he could spare any. I didn’t even know if he would send the ones you had in your house, but I used them anyway. The bigger holes in the rock I stuffed the spices down, that way you always have a piece of home. I was going to make it into a necklace but I didn’t know how you would feel about it being… drilled into…” Jim was nervously rambling, before he finally forced himself to stop. “Are they the right spices?”
Spock took another inhale before responding.
“They are the exact same. You didn’t miss any of them.” It dawned on him that his father must have done that on purpose. He felt himself choking on his own words as he tore his eyes from the piece of his home to look at Jim.
“I cannot possibly express the extent of my gratitude, Jim.” He wanted to keep from tearing up. He did that much too often around Jim.
“Don’t thank me just yet. Lie down on your bed.”
Spock couldn’t help the blush suddenly scalding his cheeks.
“Excuse me?”
“Just do it okay?”
Spock took a deep breath, and set the piece of Vulcan on his bedside table before lying down. Jim swiftly lied down next to him, and the two men stayed there for a moment, shoulder to shoulder.
Finally, Jim said “Computer, shut lights off.”
It took a moment for Spock’s eyes to adjust, but when they did he gasped quietly under his breath.
The entirety of Spock’s ceiling was covered with stars, small green stars. But not randomly scattered, they were somehow in almost perfect ratio with how the constellations on Vulcan were from Spock’s childhood home.
“I had to have Spock Prime help me with this one. It took a lot of effort on his half but I hope it paid off and it is as accurate as possible,” Jim whispered, speaking nervously and quickly still.
Spock was absolutely speechless. If his mind were truly a machine, it would have needed a reboot at this moment. Tears started coming up in his eyes. He felt warm all over, a ghost of the same wonderful warm feeling he had as a child looking at the real stars.
“Jim…”
He could feel himself shaking as he couldn’t take his eyes away.
“They’re glow stars. I had some packed for some reason that I had forgotten about. I had glow stars growing up. They used to make me sad because they made me think of my dad. Probably why I forgot about them.” He paused thoughtfully. “But I really like them here, with you.” Jim’s voice was soft and broken slightly.
“Thank you.” Spock said, trying but failing to choke back a sob.
Jim immediately turned on his side and set a tentative hand on Spock’s shoulder.
“Shit, I’m so sorry Spock. I didn’t think it would make you sad. Shit I just wanted to make you happy, I am so so sorry,” Jim hurriedly said.
Spock turned to face Jim as well and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in close. Jim did exactly what he had done last time, one hand on his back, the other on his neck. A rush of cool shock set itself through Jim’s body at the unexpected contact.
“Despite… despite however it may seem, Jim, I am sufficiently happy. I am beyond the typical parameters of happiness at the moment.” Spock said between soft hiccups, voice muffled by Jim’s shoulder.
Spock pulled back to look at Jim in the near darkness.
“You brought back a part of my home I had thought I had lost forever. Lesek. Thank you. Thank you. Oh, thank you T’h-” He froze.
Jim searched Spock’s face as well as he could with the limited light.
Spock bit his tongue, but then made the best decision of his life, devoid of logic.
“T’hy’la. Jim.”
There was a shift in the air, as Spock pulled Jim in close again. Fear gripped his stomach as he waited for Jim’s response. He buried his head in the curve of Jim’s shoulder.
“What does T’hy’la mean?” Jim asked, his tongue unused to the word. As if he could feel Spock’s anxiety, he started running his hand through Spock’s hair. His voice was so close to Spock’s ear.
“Friend.” Spock said, setting a discreet kiss on Jim’s shoulder.
“Brother.” Spock said with a shaky breath, pulling away once more from Jim’s shoulder to be face to face with Jim. His captain. Friend. Brother. His “...soulmate.” Spock said finally.
“I love you, Jim.” He found Jim’s hand in the dark, and held it with his own.
He could feel the river of Jim’s emotions. Disbelief, confusion, joy. Joy was the brightest, largest, most prominent emotion. It almost radiated off of Jim.
“Spock, I’ll be damned.”
Seconds felt like hours.
“I love you so goddamn much Spock.”
Adoration burst forward from Jim, happiness, attraction, and absolute adoration. The input was overwhelming to Spock, as he took it all in as much as he could.
Jim reached up a hand, and brushed his thumb across Spock’s cheek, wiping a tear that had rolled down.
Softer, much softer this time. “I love you.”
Jim leaned in. Spock leaned forward as well.
Their first kiss was chaste, but felt like the lighting of a sparkler.
Their second kiss was a Vulcan one, as Jim reached to hold Spock’s hand. Spock guided their fingers to the correct placement.
Their third kiss was Jim kissing Spock’s forehead, an unconstrained smile on his lips.
There was no measurement for how long they stayed together like that, tangled up with each other in the dark under a faux Vulcan sky. Kissing melted to talking, and talking melted to kissing once more, creating a slow and luxurious cycle.
For the first few weeks of their new relationship, neither of them got much sleep. There were new places to explore between themselves, each exposing themselves to the other like a raw nerve, trusting the other not to hurt it.
When they had decided to tell the crew, they all took it well, likely because it wasn’t all that surprising to them. Bones owed Scotty $25, because he had of course bet against Scotty that Kirk would have been the one to confess his emotions first.
From that first night on, each morning Spock got to wake up next to Jim, infinitely grateful for his lapse in logic and for the stars above his head.