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Prompt: I’m going to save you from the terrible date you’re having
5 interrupted would be, could be dates and moments, and 1 that wasn’t
- Kirk
Fame was an aspect of Jim's life that was easy to forget about while deep in the black of space. It only became something he was truly aware of when planetside - especially so on Earth in any major city. Starfleet used his likeness in much of their campaigning to bolster enlistment, and the Federation as a show of how well the Government was doing across the galaxy. If he was not armed with a baseball hat and sunglasses, the moment he stepped outside of his high security hotel complex or any Starfleet base he was accosted by the people of the streets wanting to shake his hand or take his picture.
Spock, though, his humble First Officer was in a class of fame all on his own just from existing - and that was before he was a member of an endangered species.
Jim would not have considered the scientific community particularly rabid. However, Spock had a passionate following of fans (and anti-fans) that foamed at the mouth whenever he made a public appearance. Even those studying at the academy, who should have been well familiar with his sporadic presence on campus, barely contained their excitement. His lectures notoriously filled the auditorium, with standing room only available in the foyer if you were lucky enough to catch the live-feed broadcasted on holoscreens; any classes he taught were waitlisted, often upgraded to larger facilities in order to accommodate the hordes of students hoping to hear him speak. And yet, despite this, he was generous with his time, sensitive to those students who had a thirst for knowledge. His personal office hours often ran overtime in order to see each student that had camped out in the hall outside his door just to ask a single question.
Jim did not have the same level of generosity. He avoided public speaking unless absolutely necessary, most of his words being used up in official government forums, rather than educational. He much preferred to leave work at work and have his personal time free of commitments to strangers - unless he picked them up from a bar and there were no plans for talking in the course of the evening.
Jim saw him across the concourse, just outside of the campus library. He was easy to spot, his striking black hair and charcoal uniform stood out against the backdrop of white stone and a sea of cadet red. With him was a pretty blonde student, uniform unbuttoned against protocol, showing off her collarbones and a tantalizing V of her bare skin that would have worked on Jim, but was unlikely to impress his stoic First. He was sitting rigidly at the small table, a stack of PADDs in front of him; she was leaning across, fingers straying dangerously close to Spock’s hands, which were laying flat against the table’s surface. This was not a relaxed, casual pose, but rather one that spoke volumes of discomfort and, from Jim’s perspective, a wild misunderstanding.
He chuckled to himself as he wandered closer.
Spock nearly unsettled his chair in his haste to stand at attention the moment those brown eyes found his.
“Captain!”
“At ease, Commander,” Jim waved him back to sit, and he did so with only a beat of hesitation. “I thought I’d come say hello,” He paused behind the student’s chair, hand resting on the back of it and he turned his 100-watt smile onto her. She flushed prettily. “Hello,” he said, offering his free hand to her.
She took it gently, “Captain Kirk,” she said, and Jim was happy to hear the awe there, his ego bloomed. “It’s wonderful to meet you!”
“Likewise - what has my First Officer so captivated this afternoon?” He released her hand and leaned across the table, picking up one of the PADDs - a textbook on Xenobiology open to a chapter on Vulcanoid species. He raised an eyebrow at his First, who met his questioning stare without flinching.
“Oh, I asked Professor Spock to help me with--”
“Xenobiology?” Jim asked, “do you have a specific interest in Vulcanoids, cadet?”
She blushed again and looked away, clearing her throat, nodding. “Yes, sir.”.
Jim laughed, “you may not be aware, but Commander Spock’s area of skill lies in Astrophysics, Starcartography, Warp Theory... not in Xenobiology - although I am sure he is quite adept.” He smiled at his First who may have rolled his eyes had they been alone; instead, all Jim received was a single, arched brow - nearly the same thing.
“I was curious as to his input on a paper I was considering writing,” the cadet said smoothly, looking up to meet Jim’s gaze.
“On Vulcan Biology?” He asked, and she only tilted her head in response, smiling politely, “you must know that Vulcans are notoriously tight-lipped regarding that,” he laughed lightly and the cadet ducked her head in response; he continued, “and if he were to convince him to speak from personal experience, then what he has to say might not be of much use to your paper, considering his hybridology. However, there is a Doctor M’Benga who serves on my ship that may be able to share some of his expertise on the subject. He would be better than my Commander here, he studied on Vulcan for several years. If you would like, I can put you in touch with him.” If Spock had anything to interject with, he held his tongue, staring at Jim with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.
The cadet looked back up at him, confusion passing over her face before she pulled it back into a polite smile, “thank you, Captain, that is very generous.”
“You are most welcome,” Jim beamed at her, “it is the least I can do - especially as I am about to steal the Commander away from you - we’re both required across campus to meet with Admiral Singh.” Spock’s other eyebrow joined the first, raised, and he stood again, collecting his PADDs.
“Good luck in your studies,” Spock said smoothly by way of departure, before joining Jim, who had already begun to walk away.
“You do realize,” he said when they were out of the cadet’s earshot, “when she invited you to study Xenobiology, textbooks were not exactly what she had in mind.” Jim smirked up at his First, who was giving him a peculiar look.
“I was aware of that the moment I sat down, Captain.”
Jim laughed. “Just checking - there is no meeting, by the way.”
“Of course.”
They walked in companionable silence across the campus.
- Spock
The Captain was a notorious flirt.
This was not new knowledge, and was something Spock had known about him even before they began their professional association. However, as time went on, Spock learned that there were different types of flirting that his Captain employed, and with this discovery, Spock learned the ability to discern which was flirting to maintain friendly diplomatic relations, and which was flirting with intent.
The fact that he could not determine which was currently occuring was troubling.
The Captain had an easy smile spread across his face and was sprawled in his seat, as was often the case whenever the man sat on any surface; Spock doubted very much that the position was in any way comfortable. Had he not known the Captain for as long as he had, he would have counted the display as highly illogical, and would not have grown to know that sitting in such a fashion made him look more open and alluring to whomever he was speaking with. Spock raised an eyebrow at himself and filed away the possibility that such a charm was capable of working even on him.
This thought was superfluous, as the charm was evidently working on the Captain’s conversational partner.
The Lady Honala was showing all the signs of romantic intention in response to the Captain’s flirtation - coy smiles and breathy laughter, teasing compliments and feather-light touches ghosted across any available skin within reach. She laughed lightly, she leaned forward across the small table between them, she reached out with her own fleeting touches and faux-bashful glances through long eyelashes. Spock noted as the colour rose in his Captain’s cheeks as she bit down on her lip after she said something low, only heard between them, breathed it directly into the Captain’s ear.
Spock heard the glass in his own hand creak under the strain of his fingers and he forced himself to put it down before it shattered.
The Lady Honala, he considered, was aesthetically pleasing. Her pale pink skin looked luminescent under the moonlight. Her long, glittering hair was piled atop her head, displaying her pointed ears - not terribly unlike Spock’s own - decorated with brilliant gemstones and delicate chains strung between shining pearls. Her wide-set eyes were lovely, their colour reminiscent of the seas of her home planet. Her body, Spock surmised with a critical eye, was alluring, and likely enticing to one such as Captain Kirk. She was the exact type of specimen the man would normally entertain in his own private quarters if given the opportunity.
And while he was flirting, he had not yet departed the party, which was unusual as it was drawing closer to its natural end. Any “private activities” the Captain usually entertained at such events began well before the end of the evening. That and the Captain continuously looked up and caught Spock’s eye from the moment the Lady had joined his table - albeit fleetingly. Which was not aligned with how these things normally played out. The Captain rarely engaged with members of the Enterprise when he had won the attention of a beautiful diplomat evidently willing to crawl into his lap should he give her the room to do so. One of the Captain’s legs remained crossed over the other, sitting close to the table, offering no such allowance at this time. A quick scan throughout the room showed that such actions were not against propriety, as several other couples were openly in similarly intimate positions.
The Captain looked up again and caught Spock’s eye, his expression was subtle, but imploring. He turned away and laughed brightly at whatever the Lady had said to him, running his fingertips across the back of her hand that rested on the table between them. She stood suddenly, gracefully, and reached one of her elegant hands out to touch the Captain’s cheek. Her dress cascaded around her legs, a dazzling display of beads and jewels. She bent towards the Captain’s ear and as she spoke, her fingers trailed down his chest and toyed with the top button of his uniform.
Spock rose from his seat before he could stop himself strode over to them.
“Captain,” Spock said, both he and Lady Honala turned towards him. Spock cleared his throat - he had not thought about what to say once he had their intention. He only knew that what he wanted to achieve was space between them - lots of space. Ideally, an entire galaxy’s worth.
“Yes, Mr. Spock?” The Captain raised an eyebrow and waited patiently, the Lady less so - her hands still toyed with that button, achieving in releasing it and her fingers danced lower to the next one.
"I find I must depart," Spock said honestly.
"Does the Enterprise require assistance?" The Captain prompted, also standing. His hand, Spock noted, hung at his side, rather than looping naturally around the Lady's waist. He considered perhaps that the Captain had been looking for an escape since the moment the Lady had joined him earlier in the evening. However, since no such requirement for assistance had occurred before, at least in Spock's proximity, he could not know for certain. He was still too unfamiliar with the more subtle human languages and did not want to risk offense if he was caught in a convenient deception - therefore, he could not lie.
"I do not-" he closed his mouth with a snap and tilted his head.
He heard the distinct sound of a charging energy weapon a second before he saw the dot of a laser sight appear on the Lady's midsection.
Without another thought, Spock dove across the table and knocked both the Captain and the Lady Honala to the ground. There was a resounding crack as the table exploded into shrapnel, raining down on them. Spock covered the Lady's face to protect her, but that left his Captain floundering, disoriented, as wood and glass pelted them.
The Lady Honala’s skin beneath Spock’s hands was a conduit for her flurry of emotions - frustration, shock, relief, gratitude . He fortified his mind as the room around them broke out into a cacophony of chaos and confusion. The sudden influx of fear pressing against his shields was, for a moment, overwhelming, and he closed his eyes against it as the Captain scrambled to his knees, ducking behind what furniture survived.
“We need to move to cover,” the Captain said, he gripped Spock by his elbow and hauled him to his feet, then reached out to help the Lady. The three of them ducked into an alcove behind a bar covered in shattered glass; Spock peered around the pillar blocking their view of the great, bay windows of the hall - though he could not see any sign of an attacker as the rest of the guests fled the space in all directions.
To her credit, the Lady Honala did not scream or cry as the rest of the guests, but set her face into a determined frown. Kneeling between them, she set to tearing strips of fabric from the hems of her under skirts, pressing it to the Captain’s forehead where crimson blood was blooming, wiping it before it dripped into his eyes and obscured his vision. Spock found he was grateful, and focused his attention back to the crowd around them.
“Enterprise to Captain Kirk!” The Captain’s communicator chirped.
“Kirk here, go ahead.”
“Captain! The Enterprise is taking fire! There’s--” The communication crackled, Sulu’s voice cut off.
“Enterprise ! Sulu, who is attacking?” He looked to the ceiling like he could see through it, like he could see up into orbit where his ship was waiting for their safe return at the conclusion of the negotiations.
For a moment, only static responded. Then, “we’re unsure, sir! It’s not a ship we’ve ever seen before. It’s - it’s massive, Captain! And-” the voice cut out again and communication was not reestablished. The Captain swore under his breath, snapping the device shut and clipping it back onto his belt.
When Spock had desired to interrupt the Captain’s evening, this was not entirely what he had in mind. They exchanged a look, a fleeting and wordless conversation filled the space between them. Spock did not need words spoken, or even pressed into his skin to understand what to do next. First, he would find their weapons, then he and the Captain would escort the Lady Honala back to safety and then, when all was relatively settled, they would get back to their ship.
- Uhura
The promise of a real shower with hot water in Nyota’s very near future was enough to send a curl of excited anticipation through her stomach.
God, she never would have thought it would be showers that she’d miss the most.
Showers and a true sense of safety - she loved being in the black, sonic showers and water rations be damned, and she loved serving under Captain Kirk; however, there was something to be said about real water and not staring down the wrong end of a phaser for the next 7 days. The most recent bout of excitement had been enough for a lifetime - the Enterprise barely escaped the attack from the alien vessel that appeared out of nowhere, cannons blazing. She felt her shoulders relax for the first time in - she wasn’t sure how long it’d been. She would have assumed her upper body had always been that rigid, but now, her muscles were slowly beginning to loosen.
She’d already made a mental list of what she was going to do the moment she made it to her hotel room:
- Order a real cheeseburger - nothing replicated, no matter the amount of credits it would cost to achieve this
- Have a bath and sit in it drinking wine until the water turned cold or until all her fingers and toes turned to prunes - whichever happened first
- Curl up in her bed, naked, and eat popcorn and watch TV until she fell asleep
- Sleep with her communicator turned off and no alarm set and let herself wake up naturally
At some point during this leave she planned to walk barefoot in the sand, grass, through puddles, damn it didn’t matter, so long as her regulation boots were far away and she could feel the earth between her toes.
The aircar from Spacedock to her hotel got caught up in the rush hour traffic, but she could not find it in herself to care. She’d been in the black of space for long enough to no longer feel the irritation of the stop-and-go. She missed being in the heart of a city she recognized, thrumming with life and excitement and people who didn’t care who you were or what you were doing. That, and having the time to herself was therapeutic in a way she did not know she needed - there was no chatter around her, no urgent messages to decode, there was nobody barking orders at her, or over her head to those around her… She loved the crew of the Enterprise , but god damn it was nice to get away from them.
And that is when her PADD lit up with a direct call from Starfleet Command…
*
Nyota was one of the few who knew where the Captain was staying. The relief she felt when he did not answer the door was a surprise. He needed a break and, quite frankly, she wanted to tell Command exactly where to shove it… sometimes, she felt they asked too much.
Finding him outside was a complete accident.
She looked up and there, across the street at a small cafe was the Captain. The bandage that had been tied tightly around his head was gone, but she could still clearly see the yellowing bruise around his eye that had been black only a couple of days ago. His elbow was on the table, palm cradling his chin, staring lazily at his First Officer who was sipping a cup of what she presumed to be tea across from him.
She froze.
Dammit.
The Captain stood from his seat the moment he saw her approach, albeit a bit unsteadily, Spock reached out as if to steady him before snapping his hand back.
“Sir,” she said, “I apologize for the interruption. Starfleet Command called me - they are asking for you rather urgently.” He did not even try to mask his disappointment, his whole posture seemed to deflate.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said, glancing at his First with a sheepish half smile, “no rest for the wicked, I suppose.”
“No rest for those who serve on board the Enterprise ,” she corrected sadly. Her list of desired activities for the evening was already being filed away for another time, unfulfilled.
The entire crew was recalled within 4 hours; The Enterprise was still too damaged to withstand a potential firefight, but the USS Spirit and Initiative were berthed nearby...
- Scotty
Scotty was furious.
It was bad enough that this ship wasn’t his Lady, but the USS Spirit , and she was only vaguely familiar to him, with none of the Enterprise's upgrades. They’d already pushed her past what should be physically possible, but they were, once again, begging for miracles. He was only one man and the Spirit was only one, regular ship! He could not fathom having to survive as acting CE on board the USS Initiative with Spock at the helm chasing after Kirk in the Spirit .
Which was precisely what brought him to the Captain’s quarters, emboldened by several shots of whiskey and his anger at receiving not one, but two pleading comm’s from his staff on the Initiative , begging him to do something, anything , to get them to slow down their hot pursuit of the enemy aliens. They couldn’t keep up! And wouldn’t if they exploded their ships to bits in an effort to push the envelope of physics and a small thing called reality .
Surely, no plot against the Federation was worth the risk of the Command Duo hailed by the ‘Fleet as the best-of-the-best and not one, but two starships.
He knew the Captain was in his quarters - the ship’s computer had confirmed that about ten minutes ago, so he was surprised when there was no immediate response.
He buzzed for entry again. And again.
Finally, the door slid open and the Captain was staring at his console looking something between concerned and annoyed.
“Scotty-”
“Listen here, Captain,” Scotty spit, blustering into the room pointing a threatening finger. “I trus’ you to know what you’re doin’, but this ol’ gal is nae the bonnie Enterprise , sir ! You’re puttin’ the whole crew at risk of implosion - the Spirit dinnae handle like you’re used to.” He took a breath and powered on before any words could escape the Captain’s open mouth, “I ken I dinnae need to tell you that you’re runnin’ with only half a crew, sir, almost the entire Beta shift o’er there no doubt sufferin’ under Spock’s command, tryna keep up with whatever hair-brained scheme you’ve got cookin’ up in that head o’ yours. But your Engineerin’ crew is nearly done pure in, nearly goin’ face-first into their consoles, and you’re aff yer heid if you think we can keep up with this pace you’ve set and survive it.”
He heard someone clear their throat from the holoscreen on the Captain’s desk and Scotty froze, staring at the back of it, the fight fizzling out of him.
“Commander Spock?” He asked, hoping very dearly that he was wrong.
“I am sure the Captain appreciates your candor, Lieutenant-Commander.” Definitely Spock, then. He looked to the Captain, eyes wide and anticipating a reprimand - instead, the Captain looked thoughtful - mischievous, nearly, which was an unsettling realization.
"Scotty," the Captain had that tone of voice that usually meant trouble for someone - though the way the Captain’s eyes had not yet strayed from his screen, he was fairly convinced he was not the one that needed to be worried. "you've seen that ship out there, the Bunragh ."
"Aye, sir," he said, "I'd be lustin' after her if she wasn't so intent on pointing her very pretty weapons at e’ery Federation planet in the known galaxy."
Jim nodded, humming like he was deep in thought, "right, so… if you were captain of this vessel, hypothetically of course , and you had another vessel, the same, along with you… how might you consider approaching such a formidable enemy?"
"Well sir, hypothetically sir, I'd probably plan a coordinated attack."
"Why, that's a novel idea!" The Captain cried, "so you wouldn't go off on your own to be bait and leave the other vessel to face them alone?"
"No sir, that seems rather illogical."
The Captain's bark or laughter was startling. Scotty wondered what on earth he had interrupted and considered begging off. The fight had left him and whatever was going on here was something he didn’t need to know about. All he needed was some way to convince his staff, spread over two ships, to coax the engines to give just a little bit more for a little bit longer…
"If I may interject," Commander Spock's tinny voice rose above the Captain’s peals of laughter from the holo on his desk, "Captain, are you quite finished? Mr. Scott, would you consider revising your hypothetical plan if you had the data to suggest a diversion had more appropriate chances for success than a coordinated attack which, by the way, would only work if the Bunragh was unaware of the two ships giving chase?"
"I suppose…" Scotty thought about it. "well, now, tha’ would depend on how big the difference was."
"A coordinated effort has only a 13.46% percent chance of success, whereas a diversion would increase those odds to 34.333%."
"Oh, that is a difference." He rubbed at his chin, ignoring the way the Captain finally looked up at him, his mouth pulling into a very deep frown.
"Precisely,” said Spock, the tone of his voice doing a very bad job at hiding the amusement he would have otherwise denied.
The room was suddenly thrust into the angry, red glow of imminent danger.
“Captain, I must depart.” Spock’s voice was even and cut through the blare of alarms.
“You have 100 of my men and women on board that ship, Mr. Spock,” the Captain gripped the sides of his console like it was the shoulders of his First Officer, “I will accept nothing less than 100% of their safe return.”
“Captain,” Spock said, “time is not a luxury afforded to us at this moment; therefore, I do not have the ability to spend the appropriate amount of time to beg for your forgiveness when I, undoubtedly, fail your request.”
“I won’t have it, Spock! You will return that ship, those souls, and yourself safely back into my care when this is all over! That’s an order!”
“Please understand, Captain, the men and women who volunteered to board this vessel under my command did so with the knowledge of the potential cost that would come of their actions. They are prepared to fulfill their duty, my duty, which is to ensure your safety and survival at all costs.”
“Dammit, Spock!”
The communication was ended, so Spock did not hear the anguished cry that escaped the Captain’s lips; but Scotty did. He was not sure what to do - to reach out and grip his Captain’s shoulder or to stand and wait for him to gather himself. He did not have long to decide, the Captain took a single, fortifying breath, then straightened, shoulders back, and his eyes were hardened with determination.
“Let’s go, Scotty.”
- McCoy
To say the last 24 hours had been rough would be the understatement of the fucking century. The day had gone about as smoothly as the skin on a furrowed Rigelian brow.
He’d been thrown across the ship’s corridors so frequently as enemy phaser fire rocked the ship, knocking the inertial dampeners offline, he was certain his entire body would be black and blue with bruises once he finally had the opportunity to strip off his uniform. The medical team was working on overdrive, powered purely by adrenaline and instinct. He did his best to keep any uneasiness from his voice as he called out instructions, directing his teams. He sent M’Benga with a small accompaniment to the shuttlebay to assist the ship-to-ship landing party with survivors. Nurse Chapel organized aid for those injured aboard the Spirit , setting up beds down the halls for those requiring less intensive care in the wake of several hull breaches and the aftermath of a Federation ship’s total destruction.
He had made it to the Bridge just in time to see it happen, the moment when the USS Initiative had gone dark, drifting in space, lifeless.
The Spirit fired everything it had at the Bunragh in retaliation, just short of losing power to their own life support systems and putting the whole damn crew on a suicide mission to destroy the enemy ship. Leonard did not need to lay eyes on Scotty to know he must have been swearing up a storm down in Engineering - if he had survived that last ship-wide shudder that had everyone on the bridge falling out of their seats and sliding before she straightened out again.
The Bunragh went down in a fiery explosion that lit up the Captain’s face as he sat in his seat, knuckles white as he clutched at the armrests. His mouth was a line of fury and his eyes had a malicious glint to them, one that Leonard had never seen before in his friend.
From the Bridge, he made his way to the transporter room, directing triaged patients M’Benga had beamed over from the Initiative to the medbay, sprinting back and forth and treating everything from sucking chest wounds to hard vacuum sickness.
The mountain of paperwork that followed was monumental. He had signed off on every patient that came aboard the Spirit , those that survived and those that did not.
Most prominently was the Initiative's captain, Spock.
He was only missing in action for four hours, and his wounds, once he was located, were non life threatening - at least, not to a Vulcan. His chest had a hole in it, which had been most disconcerting upon discovery, but it had been treated in the field by a resourceful Doctor M'Benga. The green-blooded alien was going to be as right as rain in a temperate climate, but not before at least 36 hours of rest followed by light duties if Leonard had anything to say about it - and as CMO, he definitely would.
The paperwork with these exact orders were nearly all completed, sitting pretty on his desk awaiting his final signature. Exactly where they should not be - they could have been filed hours ago. But, he could not send it on account of one tiny, little detail.
He had yet to lay his own damn eyes on the patient.
He wasn't on the Bridge - that was the first place he'd looked - nor any of the labs. He wouldn't be in his quarters, he was much too ill-behaved, though Leonard had checked there just to be safe. Suddenly out of ideas, he'd gone to check the Captain's Cabin, but was unsurprised to find that it, too, was empty.
He resigned himself to asking the ship's computer for Spock’s location and was promptly informed he was in the forward observation lounge on subdeck 7. Probably sulking.
He marched towards the turbolift with renewed resolution, armed with his medbag and a lecture.
When the doors leading to his prize hissed open he froze.
There, in front of the window of stars whipping past in a slipstream of blue and purple, Commander Spock and Captain Kirk were leaning into each other, foreheads pressed together and eyes closed in a very quiet, intimate moment. A moment that shattered as the door announced his arrival and they sprang apart, eyes wild and guilty.
“Bones!” Jim cried, he attempted to laugh away the flush that rose in his cheeks. Spock simply smoothed out the front of his uniform and clasped his hands behind his back, adjusting his posture to a parade rest.
He felt he should apologize for the intrusion, but that would call attention to what he had seen when both men very clearly would rather pretend that nothing had been occurring prior to his sudden arrival.
“You two are worse than muddy five year olds due for a bath!” He groused, finding the strength to march closer to them, finger pointing accusingly. “You,” he said to Jim, “don’t think I don’t know about that bump on your head - yeah, I see the one you’re trying to pretend didn’t happen. You need a scan and we both know it. And you !” he rounded on Spock, “you were due to report to medbay the moment you beamed aboard. You have not been cleared for wandering the damn halls like a wraith!”
“My apologies, doctor, I shall make my way to medbay immediately.”
“You had better,” he pinned his glare to the First Officer; Spock stepped away from the Captain, inclining his head in departure, and exited the lounge without further comment.
Once alone, Jim looked at him like he had personally driven his ducks to a bad pond of water.
“Don’t give me that, Jim,” Leonard sighed, “he had a damn hole in his chest, he needs a complete physical. I don’t trust that Vulcan-Voodoo of his to heal all his wounds.” Jim deflated, the exhaustion from the last several days finally weighing him down. “Go get some rest, kid,” Leonard grabbed his shoulder and pressed him towards the door, “I’ll come check on you once I’m done with Spock. I’ll even bring the whisky.”
- Success
Morning crept up without incident.
An unusual start to most mornings, which were normally brought on by red alert or, at the very least, the yellow glow of warning. Jim had awoken to more weapons pointed squarely between his eyes than he would like to count, opening his eyes to only the ceiling above him and the sun rising was a luxury.
Peace and quiet were two things he was not quite sure what to do with, but he did his best to enjoy them for what they were. The floors of his apartment were still, there was no humming of the ship’s engines to let him know which way was up - it was as disconcerting as it was comforting to know he was on solid ground - a sensation he thought he would never enjoy.
Outside, the birds were singing, the morning fog was lifting, people were lining up outside of their favourite bakeries and coffee shops before rushing to work. Jim strolled, leisurely, in no real hurry, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. Another feeling he never thought he’d experience: relief that the command gold of his uniform was still up in his apartment, and instead he wore a navy sweater without any emblem or insignia or indication of status.
He looked up and there was Spock, standing in his regulation blacks, because of course he was, a charcoal coat buttoned up to his chin, holding two paper cups. The corners of his mouth were uplifted in that almost-smile that never failed to make Jim’s heart quicken its pace. He grinned.
He wandered over, accepted the offered drink, and mouthed the rim, looking up at his First Officer, still smiling wide. Spock only inclined his head and they began to walk together, shoulder to shoulder.
Spock had both his hands wrapped securely around his cup, the warmth from the liquid inside the only thing keeping the chill of the morning at bay - his nose was cold, but he refused to acknowledge this by rubbing at it the way a human might. Jim was blowing on his coffee and not quite sipping it yet, but titling it towards his mouth like he was considering it. It would burn him if he tried.
The silence that settled over them was easy and comfortable. The sound of the waking city around them was alien, yet soothing in comparison to the din they heard on board the Enterprise . It was a nice reprieve, though he knew he would soon long for the whine of engines and beeping of consoles. Until that moment, he savoured the dull press of muted, everyday emotions knocking against his shields, an inconsequential weight easily held at bay, mostly untroubled and entirely different from the feelings he absorbed from the crew he normally surrounded himself with.
He dropped one hand to hang at his side in the space between him and Jim. After several steps, he felt the tentative brush of fingers against his - the blooming of emotion from the contact, quiet, content, happy , and their fingers slid together, locking into place. Jim squeezed and looked up to meet Spock’s eye, smiling brightly then looking away to observe the people around them.
The morning passed quietly, without words spoken - they didn’t need to. Anything that needed to be said was pushed through their hands clasped together, neither quite willing to let go just yet.
In the evening, when they finally returned to Jim’s apartment, Spock toed off his boots and Jim watched, his mouth pulled into an amused smile. He stepped forward to assist with the removal of his coat, fiddling with the buttons and he looked up at Spock, whose hands had found their way back to Jim’s and they tangled their fingers together, pressed between their chests.
The Federation and the ‘Fleet would not find them here, at least, not for several more hours. And so they kissed, long and unhurried and uninterrupted.