Chapter Text
It Was Always You
Jim suddenly began a slow turn that would take him in one full scenic circle, his black boots wet with moisture from shuffling about amid the overgrown grass he stood in. He drank in the sight of the tropical vegetation surrounding him everywhere, the luscious greens and other familiar earthen shades inspiring a spike of adrenaline to course through him.
After months of darkness in deep space and visiting foreign worlds which resembled nothing of nature as he knew it on Earth, Jim found himself standing in the middle of a place as flourishing and lively as the rainforests found at the Terran equator.
And that’s when he completed his graceful pivot, when time seemed to slow—when his eyes fell on Spock, and everything in Jim’s life came into perfect focus. It was a moment of sudden clarity gifted to him by the stark contrast of a blue uniform tunic against the backdrop of a natural palette. And instantly, Jim knew.
This was it. This was the nucleus of the entire universe, the single most important point: one beating verdant heart.
His lips were moving, his face angled to the tricorder he held before him, as the scientific blather of environmental readings spilled out clinically. Correctly, those observations weren’t senseless ramblings; they were neither irrelevant nor without importance, but Jim found himself unable to process them in the face of the epiphany that had opened his eyes to something he had known all along.
Spock was so out of place here, and so was he. The bright colors of their uniforms had no likeness at all to the world that encompassed them; alone, they would always stand out, offensively or eminently depending on the company. But standing together, there was purpose. Together, they became something that always belonged and always fit in, no matter what environment or situation they faced.
Jim had once thought the Enterprise was home, but realized that was wrong. Home was no one place; it was anywhere and everywhere, as long as Spock was at his side, and he was at Spock’s. All of those differences that had plagued them throughout their lives suddenly made no difference at all—the struggles of the past to be worthy of affection made trivial by one simple realization: this was where they both belonged.
“…the confirmation of class M planet readings taken aboard the Enterprise, most similar to the type of rainforest that existed in what was once called Central America.” Spock’s eyes wandered, his gaze finding Jim’s and he cocked his head out of interest or concern. Or both. “…Jim?”
Jim’s shoulders were rising and falling conspicuously; he was aware of that as he watched Spock begin to quickly close the space that separated them. Spock’s expression had hardened, indicating he was, indeed, perturbed by the lack of reply.
“Jim, are you all right?” he tried again mid-step, still clutching to his tricorder but no longer paying attention to it.
With his lips barely parted, Jim simply remained where he was. Despite all this natural beauty around them, all he could see was Spock and all Spock could see was him. And it was perfect.
There was a strange nostalgia in this situation, and it wasn’t lost to his memory. Jim had once realized a thing of great significance years ago—when a virus had run rampant aboard the Enterprise, and he found Spock coming undone in a briefing room. Standing before him and staring meaningfully into his dark eyes, Jim had become privy to something critical upon seeing the wet streaks left by tears on his very logical first officer’s face.
That was the moment when his heart first questioned if space and the Enterprise were all he was capable of letting in and committing to—when he asked if that was the only place he belonged. And now, some two and a half years later, as they stood on some distant world overgrown and thrumming with life, he realized the answer to that inquiry had always been obvious.
This was it.
“Jim,” Spock repeated, his brows pulled in as he quickly arrived in front of him.
This, right before him.
Jim’s lips had parted and he simply shook his head quickly, attempting to formulate a string of coherent words that would describe everything running through his mind. His breaths were drawn and expelled heavily as he searched Spock’s face, and just as he was about to speak, a droplet landed on his cheek.
And then another in his hair. And another on his shoulder. And within a matter of seconds, the sky opened in a downpour against the golden rays of sunlight that graced the world, soaking everything in sight.
“Jim!” Spock shouted over the cacophony of rain battering down on them, as he squinted in attempt to keep eye contact. “Advise beaming up!”
It was a valid suggestion… a logical one. But he followed his instincts instead.
Jim’s hands shot out and took hold of Spock’s drenched shirt, roughly pulling him forward and crushing their lips together. His fists tightened in the dark blue material and he kissed Spock with the ardor of everything he felt, until they were driven apart by desperate heaves for air.
Their faces remained close, their breaths intermingled. Spock simply stared into Jim’s eyes, clearly distracted by the emotion he had received from their contact and totally uncaring of the rain that trailed down his face. The tricorder that he still gripped tightly was dropped, abandoned to dangle at his hip by the strap.
Spock’s hands immediately lifted, his digits entwining with Jim’s sopping wet hair, and their lips collided again—no mind paid to the rain, to the mission, to the sound of their communicators being hailed.
Together, they became something that always belonged and always fit in.
This is it. And it was always you.
This beautiful art is by hanasheralhaminail. Thank you so much!!