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When the captain is more than ten minutes late for their debriefing about the latest set of planets and moons under surveillance, Spock seeks him out in one of the empty meeting rooms he's known Jim to frequent when he wants to be alone. It's only too obvious that the captain has had a great deal on his mind lately, and when he does not offer it freely, Spock always finds himself compelled to probe for details.
Jim is indeed quite lost in thought when he hears the door slide open behind him, but turns automatically, his expression softening when he sees his first officer standing there. “Mr. Spock... you need me for something?”
“Our meeting, Captain?” Spock raises an eyebrow in question, taking in the immediate and unusually apologetic look on the captain's face in response to his question.
“Ah, sorry, Spock, I lost track of time--”
“Is something troubling you, Captain?” Spock takes several steps closer until he is standing at Jim's elbow, a comfortable distance for a quiet conversation.
“Nah,” Jim waves off the question, turning back to the viewport to avoid the Vulcan's often piercing gaze. “Just... watching the stars... except...”
“At this speed, they are mere streaks of light.”
“Exactly!” Jim grins as Spock finishes his thought before he can actually speak it, then realizes at the slight quirk of his first officer's lips that he doesn't quite understand the response. “I know it's really changing rapidly, constantly... but it all starts to look the same after awhile.”
“You are aware that is because--”
Jim shakes his head with a soft chuckle, forever entertained by Spock's literal nature. “My point is – it's not the right kind of same. It's... a different kind of...” Comfort, he thinks to himself, but doesn't say out loud. It's too sentimental. He enjoys the stars from space, but it's definitely not what he grew up on, not what he's been craving...
“...view?” Spock supplies what he considers to be a logical guess, despite how illogical he knows Jim's thinking can be.
“You could say that,” Jim says with a shrug and a smile. Okay, maybe it's just a touch of homesickness, the knowledge that they won't be going back to Earth anytime in the near future, but continuing to see space from dozens of unfamiliar skies... “Guess I'm just a tiny bit homesick...” And a planet with three moons just isn't the same sort of scenery...
There's a long moment of silence where Spock considers Jim's words, and then he finds himself responding with a thought that's very personal, even if the words themselves are unemotional. “The view from...” Spock's words trail off as one, as 'home', sticks in his throat, then amends his choice, “...any specific point ... is unique.”
Ah, of course, even though Jim hasn't voiced all of his thoughts, Spock has already chased him right towards the conclusion... and absolutely confirmed Jim's wonderings with little more than an overly lengthy pause. “Actually, that gets me thinking... of a great idea...”
There's a certain light that appears in Jim's eyes when inspiration strikes and Spock finds himself caught in it when the captain finally looks away from the viewport again to catch his gaze. He tilts his head slightly in query.
“Nope! You'll just have to wait and see!” And without much further explanation, Jim claps a hand down amiably on Spock's shoulder, the whirling nature of his thoughts visible in his clear blue eyes. “Thanks for the chat, Spock – maybe leave me that debriefing in a datapad to look over later?”
Spock turns to watch him stroll out the door with a renewed bounce in his step, already knowing that the next few days will probably be interesting. And as with most of Jim's great ideas, Spock can't quite immediately deduce what he's said or done to encourage its creation... but he's content to know that he has.
When Scotty gets a comm from the captain at sometime past 2 AM, he knows within three words that their genius leader has managed to break something again.
“Scotty? You awake right now?”
He ought to tell the fool bastard that he's woken him from a very good dream, thank you very much, and make him wait until the morning, but-
“It's... important.” And that ever-so-slight waver of need in his captain's voice does Scotty in, as per usual.
“Important” turns out to be the fact that the replicator in Jim's quarters is currently partially melted, bellowing out a thin stream of acrid smoke... and leaking a strange glowing violet liquid all over the floor. “What did you do?!” Scotty kneels down beside it, his face a look of horror, at the replicator, at Jim, back to the replicator again.
“Ah, well...” Jim scratches the back of his head, stalling.
“Nevermind. I don't want to know. Forget I asked,” Scotty shakes his head, prying open the panel and pulling out several wires.
“How long will it take to fix?” Jim manages not to flinch under the glare, merely fiddling with the hem of his shirt and attempting to appear innocent.
Lies. “What have I told you about messing with the coding?!”
“...how long?” Jim wheedles, a growing smile, knowing he's already won.
Two hours and a bottle of whiskey later, the replicator is repaired, and Jim's standing tipsy in his doorway, thanking his chief engineer repeatedly as they bid each other goodnight. “You're the best, Scotty, the absolute best~!”
“Are ya sure ya don't want help with this lil' project o' yours?” Scotty pokes Jim in the shoulder, but he shakes his head fiercely.
“Nonono, gotta do it myself...”
“Yourself...” Scotty is used to Jim's level of stubborn, but he really doesn't want to have to repeat this process. “I snuck a look at your hack earlier - try taking a look at the code in line 7 again, maybe, in the morning?”
“...Bones?”
“Jim?” McCoy glances from his file to the clock when the captain's voice comes over his comm three nights after the 'replicator incident' – and yes, of course he'd gotten wind of that, since most ship gossip tended to end up on his desk sooner rather than later – and frowns. “It's 4 AM.” 4 AM usually meant drunken visits to his door, not--
“You're awake, though... still working, heh... right?”
“What's the matter?” he asks sharply, but he's already on his feet, med kit in hand, halfway to his door. He knows that voice too damn well to mistake the breathy quality in it.
“It's not, like, life-or-death or anything...” Jim warbles from his place on the floor of his quarters, the ceiling spinning dizzily above him. He can lie a little... Bones will still come and put him back together, he's 110% certain... and he can tell that Bones is still talking, but it just sounds like the usual scoldings and ooohh, it's like a wind tunnel......
When Jim finally comes to, head still throbbing a little from the concussion, he finds that his chief medical officer is already there, having over-ridden the security on his door. Bonus - His sprained ankle is nearly mended.
“Why is there a ladder in the middle of your quarters?!” McCoy barks at him the moment he's done checking his vitals. “What is all this glowing purple nonsense? If you'd whacked your head much harder on that coffee table, I would've had to notify Spock!”
“Anything but that!” Jim protests weakly, but sincerely, trying to sit up and finding himself forced right back down again by a gentle hand in the center of his chest.
“No, absolutely not – at least not until you tell me what the hell you've been up to in here for the last five nights!”
And there it is – the Look that Jim can never escape from, not in the beginning, and especially not after all these years. He gives a long, dramatic sigh and then swears his confident to utter secrecy for probably the 742nd time.
And just as in the 741 times previous, McCoy agrees, begrudgingly bearing witness to yet another of Jim's absurd (but maybe just a little bit adorable) shenanigans. He won't give his best friend away if he can help it, and so for the next two nights, he ends up doing his paperwork sitting at Jim's desk until the wee hours, begrudgingly keeping an eye on his death-defying stunts. And maybe repairing sprained ankle #18.
After 8 days and 2 planetary assessments, just when he's nearing the final stage of his project, Jim finds himself confined to the bridge on what feels like the longest shift ever. The ship is stopped dead in the middle of nowhere – and yes, he knows very well that most of space is the middle of nowhere, but still – because of yet another coolant leak that Scotty's insisting they repair before continuing.
All the paperwork from the previous assessment is finished, all the prep for the next one is finished... there's nothing that requires his attention at all. It's too damn quiet, the minutes are dragging, and Jim has taken to tapping out the rhythms of old tunes from his Dad's music collection on the console to stay awake. Currently it's Billy Joel's 'You're My Home...' which was the last song he remembers hearing before passing out last night at half past 4...
When you look into my eyes
And you see the crazy gypsy in my soul
It always comes as a surprise
When I feel my withered roots begin to grow
He really can't wait to see what expression he manages to drag out of his reticent first officer this time... when he hits the switch...
And then he's snorting awake, Spock's firm hand on his shoulder dragging him out of half-a-dream as he jerks upright again. “Hu-what?” he mumbles rather ungracefully, immediately chagrined by Spock's expression – an impassive eyebrow quirk that he knows is actually somewhere between annoyed and concerned... and not at all like dream-Spock's twinkling visage.
“Out of the chair,” the quiet murmur ripples down Jim's spine as the words vibrate softly into his ear.
“What? Why?” he automatically stiffens as he hisses back, casually shrugging off Spock's touch.
“You were snoring.”
“I was not snoring.”
“You were.”
“Was not.”
Both of Spock's eyebrows quirk in further annoyance this time as he folds his hands behind his back, and there's a longer pause before he chooses to respond again, a little more loudly this time. “I fail to see the merit in this argument, Captain, but if you are feeling unwell, perhaps it would be best to leave the ship in my hands for the duration of this shift.”
Even though he knows Spock is trying to give him an easy out, both for his behavior, and from the sheer boredom, Jim can't help but feel insulted by the public insinuation that he's unfit for duty – that he's weak. And even though he really truly ought to know better by now, he can't help but feel goaded by that assessment, no matter the source.
Expression narrowing to a challenging glare, Jim slaps his hand on the intercom, his gaze not leaving Spock's for even a second.
“Scotty 'ere, Captain – was just about to send over the latest update and ask about - ”
“Scotty,” Jim's voice is almost syrupy in its drawl. “You're telling me that you need me in engineering right now? It just absolutely positively Can't. Wait.”
There's a second's pause before Scotty's voice comes through again, puzzled and yet sharp enough to read between his Captain's lines. “...I'll show you the repairs myself, Captain.”
“Excellent. I'll be there in 5. Kirk out. Mr. Spock, you have the conn.”
Uhura rolls her eyes as she watches Jim stalk off the bridge, then flickers her gaze back to Spock's overly stiff movements as he seats himself in the Captain's chair and pulls up the latest update to the repair logs on his console. Why is it that even when those two are trying to do right by each other, they still manage to cross wires and end up with nothing but static? It isn't as if the entire bridge crew isn't privy to the fact that Jim's been losing sleep over something all week long.
Finding the easiest excuse she can come up with – which happens to be the computer's completion of the atmospheric analysis for their next target – she rises from her station and crosses until she's standing beside Spock's chair. Holding out the data pad with the information, which she could have merely CCed him directly, she says only one thing, and softly enough that only he will hear it. “You know, Spock... you could be a fraction more understanding of Jim's quirks... when you yourself have just as many.”
Spock says nothing when he accepts the data pad, but Uhura knows he's heard her loud and clear when he dismisses her with nothing but a curt nod.
...and when he receives a message an hour later from Jim stating only “2200 hours. My Quarters.”, he decides to take it as a request and not a command, as a peace offering and not a threat. After all, he also hasn't forgotten the mesmerizing glimmer in Jim's eyes when he uttered “...a great idea...”
Jim's a gleeful nervous wreck by the time 2159 rolls around, the earlier miscommunication all but forgotten in the wake of finishing his project. He doesn't doubt for a moment that Spock will show up, and maybe that's evidence enough of how far they've already come as comrades... and as friends. The ship's moving again, anyway, and they've said worse to one another over less, haven't they?
He still jumps a mile when the door chimes at precisely 2200.
“You wished to see me, Captain?” Spock asks politely as Jim ushers him inside, trying and failing to hide the grin threatening to take over his face.
The door slides shut as Jim takes a step back from Spock, standing a little straighter and tugging his shirt into place – he's not even in uniform right now, but it's become a nervous habit no matter what he's wearing. “I want to show you something, if you've got a few minutes?”
Spock stares at Jim impassively for a moment before answering, wanting to query about whether the man has actually rested since their scuffle on the bridge over his snoring, but he doesn't, because he already knows the answer. He knows Jim's still fixated on whatever he's been fixated on, just as he knows that he will always answer the captain's summons... even when it isn't really the captain's summons, but Jim's. “...go on.”
Jim doesn't bother second-guessing the pause when he's got the permission already and instead reaches out to grab Spock's wrist (not his hand, because he knows, and understands), tugging a little as he implores. “It's, ah... it'll actually be better...if you just...here...”
Spock raises an eyebrow as Jim points to his bed, now entirely uncertain as to where Jim's train of thought is actually headed. “...Jim?”
“Spock,” Jim retorts immediately, his brow now creasing in frustration. Of course, Spock can't simply be agreeable without explanations, but explaining would ruin the effect, ruin his chances at getting a real reaction... “I swear, it'll make sense in a minute!”
“What will make sense?” Spock asks, words and tone innocent, but the twinkle in his eyes revealing otherwise.
“It's a better view!” Jim insists, waving both hands at him and at the bed. He knows that unnerving look, knows Spock is just fucking with him – and he probably deserves it, at least a little bit. He's aware that he's driven the entire bridge crew a little nutty this week, but he's not really sorry about it either. Truly exasperated, he can't help the huffy little noise that escapes before he tries again, “Just, please, would you just trust me and lay down on the bed?”
“If you insist,” Spock finally acquiesces, sitting down on the edge of the bed and then swinging his legs up onto it, moving smoothly into a reclining position. Satisfied at having gotten under Jim's skin again, he waits patiently as his captain takes the other side, reclining beside him until they are shoulder to shoulder, and then -
“Computer, dim lights, 0%.”
- they're laying side by side in the dark, and Spock can both hear and feel Jim's excited breaths just a few inches away. He's still completely startled when he feels fingers weaving through and against his own. “Jim -
“The Enterprise is home now,” Jim cuts him off in a hushed voice - the kind of voice you'd use to tell a secret to a friend late at night, although he doesn't know if that idea is within the realm of experience for a Vulcan. It's still the right voice. “...and it's always going to have a fantastically ever-changing but often equally spectacular view...” He pauses, another breath in and out between them. “But... I wanted, even just once in awhile, for you to be able to see the lights from home too...”
Spock is still stuck on the sensation of their hands threaded together and the whispers of feelings tugging at the edges of his mind, and he very nearly doesn't hear the next words out of Jim's mouth - “Computer, starlights, Vulcan, 100%”
The ceiling and the walls of Jim's room come alive around them, the moonless midnight sky of Vulcan and its brilliant unhindered starlight raining down on them. Jim feels Spock's hand reactively clench his own and he squeezes back, words being entirely unnecessary. Through that point of connection, he can already feel the impact of the moment.
Instead, he lets himself float along the edge of a sea of feelings - joy, sorrow, regret, loneliness – that he knows only too well from dreams of memories that are not his own. It's only once the wave ebbs into a sense of peace that he finds the words again, and of course, it's too many and too fast because he's still overly excited and proud. “It'd take awhile, but we can duplicate the installation in your room, or in a different room if you wanted - I'm already planning to edit the program with a time variable next so we can see sunset and sunrise and the sky in motion, and after doing all the calculations, we could shift it to coordinates other than your home -”
“Thank you,” Spock abruptly cuts Jim's rambling off, his voice a touch raspy. He can feel Jim shift a little, head turning, and he echoes the movement, their gazes meeting in the dark. “Thank you.”
Jim's eyes sparkle, reflecting the stars overhead as his face splits into a warm and genuine grin. “I thought you might be a little homesick too.” Spock's hand moves against his, flattening, fingertips brushing, bringing with it a rush of emotion that Jim's not ready to define, and his breath catches, his words trailing off. “...you're...welcome...”
“I'm... grateful for a chance to re-visit a place I love dearly,” Spock intones softly, because they're almost nose-to-nose, sharing an understanding he's certain he'll remember for years to come. “And I look forward to the opportunity to see your Iowa in return...” He's also certain Jim's illogical inspirations will continue to surprise and astound him for equally as long. “But you were, and are, correct... this... is now our home.”
Jim's expression softens and he swallows back the heart in his throat, knowing it's already probably too late to hold onto it for good. “Well then, Mr. Spock... welcome home.”
If I travel all my life
And I never get to stop and settle down
Long as I have you by my side
There's a roof above and good walls all around
Well I never had a place that I could call my very own
That's all right, my love, 'cause you're my home