Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jim. 

Spock stared at the markings that had appeared on his wrist, dumbfounded, trying to keep his surging emotions under control. He was not alone; emotions had no place here. Nyota and Scotty were behind him, and he willed himself to stand up, straighten his back, to step away, to turn around, to face them. He could not.

Rage boiled underneath his skin, silence buzzing in his ears.

He did not need the dark marks on his skin to tell him what he already knew.

He did not like the reminder of all that could have happened.

He did not -

He  -

He cracked.

He could not kneel here forever.

He clenched his teeth. Khan did not deserve to live if Jim could not.

It was not logical, or at all moral to think this; he found he did not care.

Morals and ethics were no longer in the picture, for now.

This was something he would not regret.

He did not look back at the prone form behind the glass.

He could not.

Chapter Text

Jim averted his gaze, turning it back to the screen in front of him. Spock was still talking at him; it was something they did now. Spock definitely knew that at this point Jim wouldn’t stop, and probably wasn’t listening, but he’d argue anyway. Jim usually found it endearing; it was always nice to have a little debate –and Spock’s attention– but they were running out of time.

“Captain, we will be breaching the Prime Directive. It clearly states that we-"

Jim sighed and tapped at his small pad, turning the data around in his mind. There was no telling when the supervolcano would erupt. Its data figures were erratic at best, jumping all over the place on the screen in front of him. All he knew was it was better to solve this sooner than later, with a plan that would somehow meet the constraints of the Prime Directive, save the civilisation below, and hopefully, put the smallest amount of his crew at risk, if at all. Easy.

“-'Cannot interfere with the internal development of alien civilisations.’ I know, Spock. But there would be no development whatsoever after this. We have the means to help them – we can go in and out without anyone knowing. Drop the cryo cube in the volcano, and leave. Civilisation saved, no breach of the Prime Directive. Easy." Jim called up a smile, forcing it to his face as he scanned his crew's faces. No one except for Spock was arguing with him, and he was glad. “Here’s the plan: We have a shuttle fly over the super-volcano. From the shuttle, we drop in the super ice-cube, and let it do its thing.”I’ll distract the locals, somehow. Mister Sulu, you man the shuttle.”

Sulu shifted in his seat, calling up an image of the thick ash cloud billowing out of the supervolcano. "Sir, someone would need to be dropped down with it. With all the ash, it's unlikely that we'll be able to activate it remotely."

Jim bit his lip, adding the new constraint to his mental list. He looked around, turning over his crew's aptitudes and abilities - and paused once he tallied up the harm he would be putting them in. “Then I'll be on the cube."

“Captain, I must object." Like clockwork, Spock spoke up once more, a strident reproach from the otherwise silent bridge. Jim turned back to face him, irritation blooming in his chest, the urgency of the situation telling every cell in his body to move, to do something. Spock looked at him for a lingering, assessing moment. "I am physiologically better able to withstand the heat."

Oh. Irritation knocked out of him by the shock that his First was finally agreeing to go along with a hair-brained plan, Jim waved away the rest of his explanations. He knew disputing them would only waste further precious time, and he did not want to push his First Officer's acceptance past his breaking point. “Spock’s on the ice cube. Go- get everything ready, we do it first thing tomorrow.” Though unease rattled through him at the idea of Spock being stuck down there, in a veritable lava pit, it was better Spock than an inexperienced crewmember. Spock always made it out.

There had been enough death in their past missions. This was a chance to save some.

Jim sprinted onto the Bridge and ignored the uncomfortable pull and squelch of his suit as he careened to a stop at Uhura’s station. "Where's Spock?"

"Still in the volcano, sir."

Jim frowned at Sulu’s careful tone, the way in which his lips twisted into a tight line. "Lieutenant, do we have an open channel to Mr. Spock?”

His stomach sank as she half-turned towards him, holding herself so rigidly he worried she would fracture.  His heart soon followed as her voice splintered like glass, her eyes pinned on her readings. "The heat's frying his comms, but we still have contact."  A small tick in her throat betrayed the tight hold she kept on herself, so alike to his First Officer that Jim wondered if she had picked it up from him.

He set his jaw, allowing himself only a second to curse the Muphy’s law quality of his missions before he pressed the comms button. “Spock?”

Spock answered, his voice crackling across the Bridge. "I have activated the device, Captain. When the countdown is complete, the reaction should render the volcano inert."  

Jim swallowed dryly at the finality in his First Officer’s voice, his deadpan acceptance of what was and what would follow. Jim suppressed a small shiver, skin all too sensitive from the light swimsuit fabric pulled taught against it; he shifted on his feet, aching to do something – anything.

Beside him, Bones stiffened – Jim didn’t turn to find out whether this was with shock or the onset of Bonesian rage.  "Yeah, and that device's gonna render him inert!" 

"Bones, please." Jim turned on his heel towards Sulu, pretending not to see Uhura splinter at the sides, her shoulders bowing with the impact of Bones’ words.  Jim flexed his hands, furiously rubbed the odd burning that suddenly flared out of his left wrist and threatened to crawl up to his hand. He ignored the sensation, shoving it to the recesses of his mind as he grasped the top of Sulu’s chair. "Do we have use of the transporters?"

"Negative, sir. Not with these magnetic fields."

Jim suppressed a snarl and tightened his grip on the chair, his knuckles going white with the strain. "Give me a way to beam Spock back to the ship."

"Maybe if we had a direct line of sight-"

“The Enterprise is too large.” Spock cut in, his reproachful tone still clear despite the hundreds of metres and ash cloud separating them. "If utilised in a rescue effort, it would be revealed to the indigenous species."

Fear and determination coursed through him, and he pleaded with the Vulcan still on the surface. "Spock, nobody knows the rules better than you but there has to be an exception." He ran through his mental list of the rules he knew and those he could bend to a near breaking point – but the Prime Directive, the all-encompassing rule, the rule that not even James Tiberius Kirk, Starfleet sweetheart and poster boy, could get away with breaking.

"None. Such action would be a direct violation of the Prime Directive." Jim's jaw snapped shut, his teeth clicking together to stop his thoughts on the Prime Directive -and where the admiralty could stick it- from spilling out onto the floor of the Bridge.

"Shut up, Spock! We're trying to save you, damn it!" Bones answered for him, echoing Jim’s quiet desperation.

"Doctor, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

Jim did not allow himself to be drawn into the argument of whether following the Prime Directive could truly be said to satisfy a need, not when one more life could be saved – that was an argument for when Spock was back, an eyebrow raised to question another ‘flawed and not fully reasoned thesis, Captain’ as they perched over a chessboard. The thought of Spock alive, standing behind him and brimming with reproach and logic was enough to set Jim into motion once more.

"Spock, we're talking about your life!" A life for a potential risk that a civilisation might see the ship and that might interfere with their society – teetering what-ifs and mights, easily knocked aside by the very real risk that Spock would lose his life if they did not act now.

"The Prime Directive cannot be ignored-" Spock's voice crackled and fizzed out of range, and Jim hung on to each last syllable, waiting for the next to follow. When none did, Jim grimaced. “Spock!" Urgency primed every muscle in Jim’s body to run, and he had nowhere to go – no outlet, no half-baked plan, nothing he could do. The thought of listening blindly as Spock died below them for some stupid rule made his skin crawl. He turned to Nyota, and was surprised to see his frustration mirrored in the line of her jaw. "Try to get him back on the line."

Without Spock to reel him in, he was a fraying string easily pulled loose, reckless with Starfleet rules and fragile egos. Outraged admiralty were easier to manage than even the thought of Spock gone, the void he would leave behind - and they would privately thank him for saving them the explanations to the Vulcans, too.

"If Spock and I had swapped places, what would he do?”

Bones mouth set in a stern line, though his eyes betrayed his worry. "He'd let you die."

Jim shook his head, shaking loose the last of his concern for the Prime Directive. Spock would have found an elegant solution, a new trial to add to the Kobyashi Maru once it was done and dusted – Jim was not so sophisticated. He was simple; a sledgehammer against fragile glass, easily breaking the tenuous cracks weaving across its surface. After all, weren’t rules made to be broken?

“Have we got a direct line of sight?”

Sulu nodded, his fingers poised on his screen.

“Beam him up. I’ll deal with him and the admiralty later.”

The Bridge crew shuddered with relief, and Jim smiled to himself, wondering if Spock would ever know the impact his loss would have had.

“Aye, sir.”

And then Jim was sprinting, lactic acid burning through his calves as he sped towards the transporter room. Time stuttered to a halt as he refused to consider the possibility of Spock not being on the transporter pad, and-

And there Spock stood. Fizzling, his arms outstretched and looking mildly dumbfounded as his eyes opened to find the sterile blue and white of the transporter room gleaming back at him.

Laughter threatened to bubble up and out – and Jim knew he could not prevent it, and so altered its course instead of suppressing it entirely. He looked at his bemused First Officer and allowed a wild grin to break through. “Spock! You alright?”

“Captain, you let them see our ship.” His tone accusatory and his brow knitted, Spock was looking at Jim like he’d taken the group of Niberians and pointed, with a big neon sign, at the starship. Like he’d done it just for the hell of it.

Jim caught his breath and nodded. He knew it would be a waste of breath to tell Spock to sort out his priorities and instead satisfied himself with drinking in the sight of his First Officer back on board, safe and -relatively- sound.

Spock was smouldering, steam fogging his helmet and following his movements like a shadow. Jim pressed forward, eager to free his First from his golden cage. He twisted the head covering free and Spock, steaming like bread fresh from the oven, stared down at him with his slanted brows, his expression softer than Jim had been expecting. Like melted butter, the hard edges of Spock’s face had taken a satin sheen. Where he had expected his First to be sharp with disapproval, instead he found an expression that could be best described as… fond exasperation.

Jim paused as he became suddenly aware of the intimacy of the moment, and his pulse thudded in his throat.

Then Bones opened his mouth, and Spock erased all manner of expression from his face. “Yeah, he’s alright.”

Chapter Text

“Spock, I'm telling you, this is why he called. I can feel it.”

Spock was peering at him from under the brim of his hat, the smallest of ticks in his jaw. “Your feelings aside, I consider it highly unlikely that we will be selected for the new program.”

It was annoying that Spock could even pull off the stupid hat. Jim averted his gaze, focusing it on the awkward chrome protrusions of the academy and its hundreds of windows scintillating in the sun. He unbuttoned his top collar and studiously ignored the look Spock threw at it as he did.

He tugged his uniform straight and flexed his shoulders. If Spock disapproved of the tiniest lack of formality, that was his problem.

 “Spock, we have a flagship. A flagship!” He strode towards the building, gesticulating with his hat in its general location. “Who else are they going to send out?”

 “I can think of numerous possibilities.”

Jim frowned at Spock’s guarded tone and glanced at his First. The stiffness of his back, the wooden way he followed behind.. these weren’t the steps to their usual dance. “Don’t be such a pessimist!” Jim persisted, ignoring the gut feeling that told him to pause, to press on Spock’s discomfort for an answer. “Five years in space, Spock! Unchartered territory. New worlds and civilisations!”

Spock’s back straightened even further, his hands curling ever-so-slightly at his sides. “I believe the human phrase is – ‘do not get your hopes up.’”

Jim paused mid-step, turning on his heel to face him, his eyebrows drawing even further together. He opened his mouth to ask why, but just as a group of young, red-clad academy cadets walked between them, momentarily removing Spock from his line of sight.

No. He was overthinking it. Spock was simply being... Spock. Maybe Spock was having a difficult day, especially given how icy Uhura had become since the Nibiru incident. The tight hold she had had on herself threatened a greater explosion behind closed doors, and Jim had thanked his lucky stars he didn’t have to witness it.

He shrugged off the remnants of his bad feeling. He was going to see Pike; it couldn’t go that badly.

It did go that badly, Jim thought as he nursed what he hoped was his fifth beer.

He had lost the Enterprise.

“You don’t respect the chair. You know why? You’re. Not. Ready. For. it.”

 And the worst part of it all? It was because of Spock’s report. Jim gave into the heaviness pressing down on his shoulders and chest and slumped over his beer.

Cold wrapped around his body like a damp blanket and he shivered, rebuttoning his uniform. Jim gave a small shake of his head. He should have expected it – and some small part of his brain was already telling him that it wasn’t this incident of intervening with a planet that had really gotten the admiralty board to write him off.

A number of them were already uncomfortable with the concept of such a young Captain, fresh out of the academy and already accomplishing things they hadn't managed in their whole careers. They had been looking for a reason to hit pause on his career, and he – no, Spock – had delivered it to them on a silver platter.

With this thought, his anger at Spock and the Admiralty threatened to overtake him once more, and he sucked at his beer, desperate to wash the feeling away before he did something reckless. He tensed his muscles and held himself tightly, waiting for the feeling to pass – and reminded himself of how Spock had also attempted to defend him, in his own way. Jim bobbled his head from side to side as he internally mimicked Spock's defence, a small smile finally easing the hardness in his features.“I am Vulcan, sir. We embrace technicality.”

Spock had attempted to defend the plan. Jim’s hair-brained, barely thought-out, illogical plan. Honesty about all of the events of Nibiru aside – and really, what counts as an ‘uneventful mission’ in a report is subjective, given the Enterprise’s mission history - Spock had tried to defend him, to a superior officer, with very little in it for him. Jim stared miserably at his empty beer bottle and started to pick at its label. Spock’s brutal honesty was not the true surprise or shock, and that was the bitch of it all.

He lifted the corner of his mouth half-heartedly as a gorgeous woman in a crimson dress sat down next to him, the satin softly reflecting the warm lights of the bar. She leaned towards him, tilting her head to reveal the soft slope of her neck. She smiled, a smear of scarlet stretching over a flash of white teeth. It reminded him of the warning flashes on the ship. His ship.

He looked away.

He thought of Spock, with his stupid bangs and stupid superiority complex and stupid need to always be technically correct. Spock, who defended him when logic would clearly dictate for him to stay quiet – he had no need to defend his Captain, for he had told the truth. Jim winced and motioned for another beer.

And that was when Admiral Pike, of all people, sat down next to him. Jim straightened but continued to stare at his beer. “Why are you here?”

Pike appeared not to hear his hostile tone and motioned for a beer of his own. “I talked to Marcus.”

Jim finally raised his eyes to look at him and untensed his limbs one by one. Pike wasn’t here for more remonstrating. “…and?”

“They’ve given the Enterprise back to me.” Jim pursed his lips, biting back a sarcastic comment. “You’re going to be my First.” Pike’s soft smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, not quite managing to hide their mischievous twinkle.

It took a moment for the words to register. Jim let go of a shaky breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. Jim gingerly put down his drink, fighting the light tremor in his hand that threatened to tip it. “W-what? How?”

Pike’s smile widened. “Marcus took some convincing.”

Jim stared. “How?”

“I told him the truth. That of all the disgraced Captains out there, you deserved a second chance the most, after everything you’ve done.” Another grin threatened to escape his lips as he winked at Jim. “And that, with me as your Captain, you might learn a few more things before you go on disrespecting the Prime Directive.”

Jim’s chest tightened. Keep it together. He looked down at his hands and gulped in a deep breath.

“It’ll be alright, son.” There it was again – the kind crinkle of his eyes, the heavy but warm hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you.” Jim offered a watery smile, his mouth only just managing to quirk upwards.

Then Pike started beeping. With a heavy sigh, he removed his hand and took out his communicator, giving Jim a couple seconds to get his shit together and take a big breath. 

“Suit up, Son. We have an emergency meeting back at HQ to go to.”

No rest for the wicked. “Yessir.”

Jim stepped into the elevator and suppressed a sigh. Murphy’s Law liked to dictate his life.  

“Captain.”

Jim lifted his chin in a rough nod towards the only other person in the elevator and turned on his heel to face the closing doors. “Not anymore, Spock. First Officer.”

The man turned sharply towards him, lips parting as though he were about to ask for clarification – or, no, worse – to say that Jim deserved it. Deserved the demotion the humiliation, the disgrace. All for breaking a rule… and saving Spock’s life.

“Why are you here, Spock?” Jim cut across him, voice even and flat. He fixed his eyes on the doors, fingertips clenching the brim of his hat so tightly they were white.

“I have been assigned to the USS Bradbury.” Spock’s voice reverberated around them, clipped but strange, as though they had squeezed their way into the open, and now hung in the air, unsure what to do with themselves. “I am to be their First Officer.”

Jim nearly dropped his hat.

“Congrats.” He forced the words into the thick air to hang beside Spock’s. The walls of the lift threatened to push inwards, and the seam of his hat bit into his skin.

Spock turned towards him, his shoulders drooping as he let his hands fall to his sides from where they had rested behind his back. “Captain, it was never my intention to-”

No, Jim wants to say, it was never your intent. Warring sides of him wanted to be equal parts sarcastic, cut through the remains of what was – and equal parts jovial, wanting to iron out the small wrinkles that puckered Spock’s forehead with a laugh, a joke, a reassurance that they would make it back to the Enterprise, of course. That this was just a hiccup, a setback until Jim got back into the Admiralty’s good graces. He wanted to pretend this wasn’t the end of their short-lived era.

Jim didn’t want to sit there and take it and let the admiralty’s stupidest decision of the year crystallise. Their eyes met, and Jim was surprised to see the same hardness in Spock’s eyes, the fight that lined Spock’s shoulders and set his jaw.

No. He blinked, and it was gone. He’d imagined it. The doors opened in one smooth motion, and Jim strode forward, pushing his hands deep into his pockets, searching for something – a comm, a pencil, a piece of lint, even, distract him from this line of thought. “Not. Captain. Look, I saved your life, Spock. You wrote a report about it, I lost my ship.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t going to let you die because of some regulation that may not even have been breached.”

 Spock sped up to match Jim's pace and fell into place beside him. Jim’s chest clenched at the familiarity of it, refusing to accept that this was the end.

“Commander-”

Jim winced at the title, and cut across Spock once more, anxious to cut across a potential lecture about the importance of adhering to regulations despite Jim’s ‘propensity and willingness to blithely ignore them’. “Look, Spock, I am familiar with and understand your compulsion to follow the rules and regulations.” He laughed, the sharp sound punctuating the air between them. “It feels like you’ve stabbed me in the back, is all I’m saying.”

“Vulcans…cannot lie.” Though his voice came out even, Spock’s eyes were large and soft, small wrinkles creasing his brow as he watched Jim’s face.

What? "Spock," Jim paused mid-step, the half-baked responses to expected retorts falling away into nothing. “That… almost sounded like an apology.”

Spock stepped closer, his lips forming unspoken words. His face was soft despite the harsh, sterile lights of the hallway. Finally, the words came. “Commander, I did not mean for this to happen. I did not… intend to hurt you.” Strong and clear, they echoed around Jim’s mind.

“I know.” He nodded. Because he did know. Spock was doing his job, and Jim was not. Which was why they were in this predicament.  Jim exhaled, trying to slow down, prolong the time it took to reach the conference hall – but Pike caught his eye and beckoned to a seat beside him. “Look, Spock. I’m gonna miss you.”

Spock’s eyes widened by a fraction, and his right arm moved up towards Jim’s as though to stop his momentum, and dropped just as a man sparkling with Captain's insignia strode up to them.

“Commander Spock? Frank Abbot, USS Bradbury.” Abbot’s eyes swept over to Jim and he nodded before falling back on Spock. “Guess you’re with me.”

Spock’s face changed to stone, and Jim's eyes widened as he transformed. Spock placed his arms behind his back, placid and calm, though the line in his shoulders suggested a deeper truth – one Jim could no longer press to find out more. Would Abbot take the time to learn his tells? Learn when to push, when to leave it? Would he push it at all?

“Yes,” Spock’s gaze shifted from Jim to Captain Abbot, before his gaze slid back to Jim, eyes dark. “Captain.”

Chapter Text

“For unknown reasons, this man has declared a one-man war against Starfleet.”

Jim looked up from his padd at this, only to find Spock already looking at him. Spock furrowed his brow, mouth slightly twisted downwards as he held himself very still: key indicators that his brain was currently working at a million miles a minute to compile the true reasons for the attack and the probabilities of where this man would strike next. From the way his eyes hardened before he glanced around the room as though identifying and counting the nearest exit points, it seemed they were in agreement.

Jim resisted the impulse to tinker with his padd and instead focused back on the figures in front of him as he suppressed the urge to speak out of turn. He needed to be sure before he interrupted. He was on thin enough ice as it was, and pissing Admiral Marcus off was decidedly not the way back into the Captain's chair. He pulled up a roster of all the members of the Starfleet Headquarters Intelligence Team (S.H.I.T), and his mouth mirrored Spock's in its downward pull towards the earth's core. They were all here, ripe for the picking. If a terrorist were trying to strike at the heart of it all, and had access to their intelligence…he straightened in his chair, and shot a look at both Spock and Pike.

“You got something to say, Kirk, say it.”

He looked away from Spock towards Admiral Marcus.

“Sir – I think this was only the beginning. It’s Starfleet mandate for us all to be here, and he- he’d know we’d convene after this, for the specific reason of hunting him down.”

Everyone at the table looked across at each other, frowning as their shitty planning came to the fore. Jim looked away from Marcus, and caught Spock's gaze, tilting his head slightly to the right in question: what's our next step? He watched as Spock’s eyes widened in warning and flashed crimson, his mouth curving in near-slow motion as he pushed himself up from the table to stand.

Jim turned his chair at breakneck speed, only to find a small ship with a laser pointing right at him. He had no doubt who it was. “CLEAR THE ROOM!”

The room exploded into pieces, and he threw himself in the opposite direction of the ship, surprised he was still alive. Harrison started firing at anything and everything, regardless of whether they were moving. He heard Pike alert a security team nearby – and looked for Spock, squinting eyes scanning the room only to see smoke and dust, unable to see more than five feet in front of him.

Jim stayed low, half crawling, half lunging his way towards the one exit he remembered seeing, trying to get out of the dust and away from the shouting. His muscles were on fire and his whole body throbbed with alien pain. His scrabbled around on the floor, unseeingly hoping to find a weapon, a tool, or even a live person, and hit cool metal. Holding it between both hands and feeling around it, he swallowed with relief: a gun. He held onto it tightly as he continued to crawl until finally he saw it: a corridor, clear of dust and with large windows. A great vantage point. Jim lurched up onto his feet, ignoring each and every muscle in his body that screamed at him to stay put.

He resolved not to think about either Spock or Pike being dead when he got back. If he did get back. 

Hiding behind one of the few thin corridors in the corridor, Jim could see the ship in all its glory: a small, fighting class ship that he had never seen before, and therefore likely a prototype. Shaped like a small, spiked bubble, it hovered close enough for Jim to see the man's face: his eyes feverish and pale face taut, the man grimaced as he fired into the meeting room.

Jim shot at the ship, and his stomach dropped when he realised it had no effect whatsoever, not even as a small distraction. Harrison's gaze was still fixed on the room, his eyes tracking between his screen and what was right before him. 

Jim scanned the ship and then corridor frantically, his eyes catching on the first aid kit that hung invitingly on the wall, glistening bright with the red flashes from the ship and the room next door. He smiled grimly to himself. Eyeing his gun and the ship’s weak spot, he knew exactly what to do.

"Commander!"

Jim couldn't breathe, couldn't hear above the rushing in his ears, his body as heavy as cement as he knelt down. Tears were running down his face, forming never-ending rivulets. Barely able to see through the stream and his inflamed eyes, he moved his head from above Pike’s body, not wanting to get any of his tears on him. Not wanting to see him.

“Captain!” Again, more desperately. “Captain.”

“— Jim…” Jim finally looked up, barely able to see the grey and blurry but familiar figure looking down at him. Spock moved and knelt down in front of him, obscuring Pike’s corpse. People were swarming in behind him, clad in white, and Jim tried to push Spock aside to stop them. “No-!”

“Jim.” Spock was an immovable slab of granite, easily resisting Jim's attempts, though his voice was soft, gentle like honey. "You must allow them to treat him.”

“There's nothing left to treat." Jim shook his head, the horrifying, choking urge to cry building in his chest. He wasn't sure he would survive  the culmination of its eruption, the rush of relief he felt at hearing Spock's voice, and the odd guilt he felt for simply being able to choke down a breath of oxygen.

He was pulled upwards by strong hands that didn’t let go afterwards. He buried his head into Spock’s chest, and let the flood of emotions overwhelm him. He’d apologise to Spock later for invading his personal space – and crying on him. The strong hands that had pulled his elbows upwards now encircled his back, and Jim vaguely wondered how a Vulcan would know how to give a hug. He decided he didn't care, and pressed himself further into Spock’s chest, trying to ignore the chaos of the moving world around him. 

“Jim, where is your apartment?”

Jim blinked into the dark fabric, his breath finally slowing. “About ten minutes away from here. Why?” His voice was rough, and he wondered if Spock could even hear him through the fabric muffling his already faint voice.

“I will escort you there.”

Jim took a deep shuddering breath, his brain only starting to kick in once again. “…okay.”

He slowly extracted himself, stepping backwards from Spock’s embrace. Spock’s arms now fell limply to his sides, and Jim panned his gaze upwards to meet Spock’s, carefully avoiding the area where Pike’s body was. “Let’s go.”  He hoped Spock would understand his current lack of...emotion. Of anyone around, he’d probably understand it the most.

They were silent as they slipped into the dark street behind the academy, leaving behind the frenzy of medics, soldiers, and reporters, the buzz in Jim's mind finally starting to quiet to a low hum.

“Spock?”

“Yes, Commander?”

“Why’d you call me Jim then and not now?”

“Because you would not respond to your rank, and now-”

Jim swallowed, curling his fingers as shame coursed through him for his all-too-recent outburst. "I see."

Silence stretched further between them, and Jim stopped at the end of the street, under a bright street light that made him wince. "Um, Spock. You don't have to walk me anywhere. I should probably report-" He took  a breath, a double dose of shame adding to the previous as he realised he had no doubt neglected the steps he ought to have taken as Pike's First. He started to turn back on his heel as Spock caught his arm.

"Negative. I have already completed all the necessary preparations and followed protocol on your behalf." He paused, his next words gentle but firm. "You are exhausted and emotionally compromised, and there is no more you can do. Please allow me to ensure your safe return to your home."

Jim felt some shock filter in through his apathy and guilt, with the smallest chaser of relief. “I – alright."

He cleared his throat. "But, um..."

“Yes?” Spock's eyes were tracking his, a warm chestnut offset by the pallor of his face, a slight green shadow under his eye hinting at the stellar nebulae of bruises to come.

"Thanks, but shouldn't you also go home, see Nyota?"

Spock's eyelashes fluttered closed for a moment before his eyes met Jim's once more, but the remainder of his face stayed unchanged, his expression drawn in the harsh street lighting. “She terminated our relationship.”

Chapter Text

 “Oh.” The word settled in the shared air between them, expanding alongside the resounding silence as they reached the entrance to his building.

Jim cleared his throat. “I’m so sorry, Spock-”

Spock held up a hand, as though that would slice the thick words that struggled to make their way out of Jim’s throat or stop the guilt that was once again threatening to rear its head. “Do not concern yourself with it. It was inappropriate of me to raise the issue with the situation at hand. I apologise.”

Though Jim wanted to protest, the inclination died before it even ignited as he saw the resignation in the line of Spock’s shoulders.

“Okay.” Jim motioned at the door. “Would you like to come in?”

Spock nodded once, a sharp downward motion which betrayed the fraying control he held over his own emotions. Jim mustered a small smile and disengaged the lock to his door, the smile dropping from his face as soon as he turned and led the way down the hallway into the living room.

Jim waved at the sensors, prompting them to flood the room with a dim lowlight. Ignoring the thought that the lighting paired with the San Francisco lights blinking back at them from the large windows could be conceived as romantic, Jim motioned for Spock to sit down on the sofa facing the view.

Satisfied that Spock did so without argument, Jim focused himself on the next task at hand: being a host, and ignoring the aches that plagued his muscles and the gaping void that left him feeling hollow save for the guilt that remained ever present, throbbing in the back of his mind.

Moving behind the sofas and towards the kitchen, Jim spied his alcohol cabinet, and the tequila bottle that winked at him from within. “D’you want a drink?”

Spock half-turned towards him, eyes wide and scandalised. A small, choked laugh burst out of Jim. “Not necessarily an alcoholic one. Water?”

The Vulcan’s facial expression relaxed once more. “No, thank you.”

“More for me.” Jim shrugged.

Spock turned back to look out of the window, the tip of his left ear tinged green. Jim blinked, and wondered if his other ear would be the same shade. Then he blinked again, and looked back down at the tequila, his face warming as the guilt in his mind threatened to batter his weakening resolve to ignore it.

“Cap - Commander, are you certain that drinking a combination of distilled agave juices and methanol is a sensible idea at this juncture?”

 “No.” With the adrenaline having now completely deserted his body, Jim made his way to the sofa in a slow shuffle, ignoring the throbbing in his joints and hoped that the tequila would wash away the rest. “And, for the millionth time, please call me Jim when we’re not on duty.”

Spock had turned back towards him now, his brow dipping into a slight frown. “You have only requested that I call you Jim nineteen times.”

“…and what, you were waiting for the twentieth?” Jim reclined in the sofa opposite to him, raising a mock-eyebrow, reminiscent of the looks his First would shoot at him on the Bridge.
There – Jim had almost missed it in the low light – both Spock’s ears had flushed slightly green once more, but as quickly as the flush came, it disappeared.

“A million is an exaggeration, Jim.”

“No shit, Spock.” Jim grinned, his face straining as his bruises pulled in different directions. “Are you sure you don’t want to try some?”

Chapter Text

Five shots in, and more exhausted and bone-weary than he had ever felt in all of his short life, Jim was curled up on his sofa. He looked out the living room window that usually gave way to a glorious vista of San Francisco Bay - something he couldn’t full appreciate, now. His throat worked hard as he fought his mixed feelings; Spock was in his apartment late at night, and Pike was dead. Two very different things.

"It's my fault," Jim said, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes were fixed on the small shot glass in his hands, which he turned over and over, watching as the light caught and refracted through the golden liquid. He couldn't get the image of Pike's cold, glassy eyes out of his head.

A knot tightened in Jim's chest, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him like a physical force as his resolve to ignore the guilty crumbled. Jim had always known that his recklessness could have consequences, but he never thought it would lead to this: him saving a couple thousand lives on an unknown planet, only to have Pike pay the ultimate price for his mistakes. He had failed him.

"Pike wouldn't have been in that room if it wasn't for me," he said, his voice barely audible.

“It is not your fault.” Spock was facing him, gingerly sipping a shot glass of tequila by Jim's request, and it would have been hilarious, except for the circumstances for Spock to be sipping tequila in the first place.

“Listen-”

“Jim, you are not thinking rationally.” Spock was looking directly into his eyes, his eyebrows lowered and serious.

“But -” Jim stuttered, caught off-guard by the sudden informality and the continuous ease with which Spock referred to him with his first name after months of simply being ‘Captain’.         

“As you noted to Admiral Marcus, protocol dictates that all senior staff and captains must congregate at the headquarters in the event of an emergency. Even if he had not attended the meeting, as a senior member staff with much influence, Admiral Pike would have inevitably been one of Harrison’s next targets." Spock’s expression was firm, his eyes still set on Jim’s.

Jim sat up straighter as the weight of Spock’s words began to settle. The guilt of surviving where his father figure had not still clung to his chest, a heavy weight only slightly lessened by Spock’s conviction. But Spock’s words had sparked Jim’s need to do something, anything to catch this terrorist.

He met Spock’s gaze and nodded. “We’re going to catch him. No matter what it takes.”

“Starfleet are already searching all avenues for Harrison to be brought to justice. We will no doubt be asked to assist in this endeavour.”

"No, you're not hearing me," Jim replied, his voice low. "We are going to catch him, and I am going to make him pay." He slammed his glass down on the coffee table, wincing as the movement caused his torn and blood-encrusted shirtsleeve to catch on raw, wounded skin.

With the adrenaline finally starting to dissipate, Jim only just started to notice the gash stretching from his right wrist to his mid-forearm that throbbed with each beat of his heart.  Pressing the area slightly, Jim admired the blank canvas of skin.

He thought of Pike, with a similarly blank space on his wrist, and the weight on his chest began to grow once more.

“You know, his wrist - it was blank.”

He looked up again, surprised to see Spock sporting a wince, his left hand wrapped around his other wrist. He blinked, and it was clear he’d imagined the scene – Spock was sitting still, his legs at ninety degrees to the floor and his face carefully blank.

He looked back down at his injured forearm and traced a finger over the thin white band on his own wrist. “D’you believe in it? Everyone – humans, at least, say that if your soulmate dies, you get their last words written on their wrist.”

His words hung in the air, and he pressed on – maybe this was too much for his logical friend. “I know I don’t believe it.”

Frank had instilled the belief that soulmates were a sham – forbidding even the slightest discussion of it in the house, and threatening harm to anyone who even uttered a word about it. He thought of his mom, who paled at the mere mention of them. He also thought of his second year of high school, where everyone started to wear bracelets with their crush’s names, as though this would force their hopes into existence without their crush dying first to prove it.

“It’s too morbid for my blood. And it raises questions. What are the factors determining that a person is your soulmate? And these words – are they written in text? And if they come from somewhere not Standard-speaking, and their soulmate speaks a non-Standard tongue, does it show up in their language, or is it translated into Standard?” Jim lifted his wrist to the light, trying to imagine text suddenly appearing on it. “And why do people need to die first, for them to even know they had a soulmate in the first place? Isn’t that heart-breaking? Anyway, I’m sure this is ridiculous to you.”  

“It is not.” Jim’s gaze cut straight over to Spock, who was now leaning forward onto the coffee table, frowning down at his own wrist as though it would provide all the answers. The dim light of the room cast deep shadows across Spock's face, his expression rendered both soft and inscrutable. “I believe they are real, at least for some.”

“You do?” Jim nearly dropped his shot glass, and a small thrill of delight ran through him. Was it possible that Spock, the epitome of logic, had been hiding a romantic side all of this time? Fascinating.

“Isn’t that illogical? I mean, words don’t appear on skin out of nowhere.”

 “Perhaps. The universe is filled with many mysteries yet to be solved.”

 “Sure, yeah, but I know you. You wouldn’t accept mystical words about soulmates being magically printed on skin that easily. You’d need proof, or a theory, or… something.” 

Spock turned his gaze to Jim, and Jim was struck by the depth of emotion in his eyes. "It is not something I often discuss," Spock said quietly. His throat was working hard - and his next words squeezed out of his mouth like they’d been trapped there for a while. “My father’s wrist holds the last words my mother ever said. As such, I do believe soulmates, as illogical and fanciful it may seem.”

“I-” Jim stared at him, open-mouthed. His cheeks flushed as he kicked himself for being so dismissive. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t-”

Spock carried on as though he hadn’t heard him, speaking in his usual monotone. "The text you describe is a mainly human concept," Jim couldn't help but notice how Spock's eyes seemed to glimmer, a hint of something in his tone that Jim hadn’t yet deciphered. "Vulcans have their own concept of soulmates - t'hy'la. It is said that these soulmates are forged in battle, two minds and two bodies working as one. T'hy'la is one who is not just a friend or a lover, but a true counterpart. It is a bond that extends far beyond the physical realm."

Spock paused, his gaze flickering away from Jim's, his knuckles white as he held his glass. "Such unions are rare, but not unheard of. My father was fortunate enough to experience both the human and Vulcan sides of this concept."

 “So, then, Vulcans… have soulmates?” The words flowed out of Jim’s mouth before he could stop them. In the quiet left in their wake, he could hear the soft hum of the air traffic outside, the distant cacophony that reminded him of the day and self-imposed mission ahead of him.

Spock's gaze flickered up to meet Jim's for a moment before dropping back down to his glass. “In a sense, yes. But it is not only fate that determines them; the parties have a choice in the matter, and whether they wish to… bond.” The tips of Spock’s ears had gone green again, and he continued evading Jim’s gaze, his eyes fixed down at his own glass.

“Bond? With their t'hy'la?” He wondered if Spock and Nyota had discussed it, before. If they were truly t’hy’la, and this moment in time was just a rough patch they would eventually fight through together.

His stomach twisted at the idea, and he tightened his grip around his wrist, feeling the roughness of his skin and the pulse of pain emanating from his wounded wrist and grimaced. Spock winced as well, his jaw tightening slightly – and Jim briefly wondered if all Vulcans offered sympathy winces – but the thought was interrupted as Spock crouched beside him, placing a small white med kit on the coffee table.

Jim's eyes widened in surprise as he exclaimed, "You've been hiding that this whole time!"

"I knew from experience you'd resist any medical care, even that of Doctor McCoy." Jim had the distinct impression that Spock, if he were human, would have shrugged.

"So…you took matters into your own hands," Jim concluded, more amused than accusatory. Spock wasn’t wrong.

The Vulcan said nothing as he opened the kit, although Jim could have sworn that the man’s mouth had twitched in a slightly smug manner as he pulled out a tricorder and a mini-dermal regenerator and started to scan.

Still focused on the tricorder, he extended his hand. Jim placed his forearm in his palm and shivered as his skin made contact with the warmth of the other's hand. He felt as though he could hear his own pulse increasing, and hoped to all the gods out there that Spock could not.

“As suspected, your wounds are minimal.” Spock’s voice was slightly strained, although his face was blank as he reached for the dermal regenerator.

“Spock, I’m fine.” Jim looked down at his arm, feeling a twinge of guilt as Spock fussed over him. He had already asked for too much. "Really, it's not necessary. I can handle a few scratches."

“Please, allow me to treat your wounds.” Spock’s hand tightened around Jim’s forearm, his voice low and rough. “It is my duty to ensure your well-being, and it will not take long.”  

Jim acquiesced in silence, and Spock lessened his grip. Jim closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind. He felt his skin reknit itself, an odd combination of itching and numbness which passed as quickly as it came, before Spock gently wiped the affected area.

“We should rest.”

Jim slowly opened his eyes and met Spock's gaze. He took in the lines of exhaustion etched into the Vulcan's features—the dark circles under his eyes, the tightness in his jaw, the subtle tension in his shoulders.

Jim nodded in agreement, not wanting to argue. With the adrenaline now seeped from his bones, he felt like he could sleep for a century. “If we’re going to catch this fucker, we’re going to need it.”

He moved to get up before pausing as realisation dawned on him. “Ah. I only have the one bed – I’ll sleep on one of these sofas, and you’re welcome to the bed.”

Spock’s eyes were dark, and his tone implacable as he stood up. “That is illogical. We will both obtain satisfactory rest on furniture designed for such use, and I am not opposed to sharing a bed if it means we both sleep in a satisfactory manner.”

Jim gulped, and wanted to retort that beds were also designed with other things in mind, things he would much rather do, and in a more-than-satisfactory-manner, and he clamped his drunken jaw shut before it ran away from him.

He waved his hand dismissively, as though it was nothing, and trying to mask that the thought of this was currently making his pulse race. “Fine, I won’t fight you on this. Let’s go to bed.”

So, Jim gingerly rose from the sofa, clunked their glasses in the sink, and made his way to his bedroom, with Spock’s footsteps echoing in his ears. He tried to not think about the implications of this. He reminded himself they were friends, that Spock was only just out of a relationship, and him staying here was out of a duty-borne sense of needing to ensure his Captain was fit for duty. This didn’t stop his pulse from racing at the thought of sharing the same bed.

He pushed open the door to his room, half-expecting to find a mess of clothes and clutter, and was thankful that he had taken the time to make the bed. The automatic bedside lights flickered to life as they entered, casting a warm glow over the room.

"I'm gonna shower - feel free to get settled. Mi casa es su casa, after all." Jim paused, unsure of what to say next. "Oh, and there's a spare set of pyjamas in the second drawer if you need 'em. Or you can use the replicator, whatever works for you."

After a moment of hesitation, Spock made his way to the set of drawers. Jim couldn't help but flush at the thought of Spock in his clothes. Trying to shake off his thoughts, Jim grabbed his pyjamas, and practically sprinted into the shower, tripping over himself in his haste. Once inside, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, needing a moment to process everything.

Jim re-emerged from the shower fifteen minutes later, his skin pink and tingling, having mostly succeeded in purging any and all non-platonic thoughts from his brain. Spock was settled into his bed, his face warmly illuminated by the padd in his hands. Jim's chest tightened at the domestic scene before him, and he knew one thing for sure – he wanted this, and now it was so tantalizingly close yet so frustratingly out of reach.

Spock looked up as Jim exited the bathroom, and Jim wanted to believe his gaze lingered. He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious, and told his brain to shut up.

He picked his way to his side of the bed, and wondered if Spock had somehow figured out which side was his, or if he had just taken a guess. He carefully climbed into bed, trying not to disturb the mattress too much.

Jim laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and allowed his thoughts to race off into the distance. He thought of the warmth and shape of the man only inches away, and wondered what it would be like to curl up into it. Would it be warm, and cozy like he imagined? Or would it be like hugging a stiff board?

Spock turned off the lights.

As the room fell into darkness, Jim felt a wave of nerves crash over him. He closed his eyes and tried not to let his imagination run too far away from him. He cleared his throat once again.

“Spock?”

“Yes?”

“Could you actually keep calling me Jim?” He flushed and wondered if the dark room’s temperature had increased by 2 degrees, or if that was just his body misleading him once again. “At least in private?”

There was a beat of silence, and Jim wished he could stuff the words right back into his big mouth. Maybe he was asking too much of his First – today was wrought with more than enough emotions for even the most empathetic humans, let alone a Vulcan who could barely muster a smile.

“Yes, Jim.”

“Thanks.” Jim smiled, savouring the way the sound expanded in the dark room, warming even its darkest corners. “I’m glad you’re here.” He hoped Spock could hear the sincerity in his words.

“Sleep well...Jim.”

Chapter Text

A light knock at his door thrust him out of his dreamless sleep and Jim opened his eyes, groaning at the beams of sunlight that woke him up, enjoying a few moments of bliss before reality hit him. His body ached and he was forced to remember why. “Fuck.” 

Moving reluctantly, he got up and stretched. Another knock at his door reminded him he had a guest. Fuck.

“One second-”

Jim quickly pulled on a fresh uniform, trying to ignore the stench of smoke that clug to him and steeled himself for his next conversation with Spock, hoping it wouldn't be filled with pity. “Come in.”

“Jim.”

“Morning, Spock. Sleep well?” All three hours?

“I did not sleep.”

Jim suppressed a sad smile and rubbed a hand over his face, avoiding looking at Spock’s face. “I’m sorry about yesterday, I didn’t mean to uh, make you face an overload of emotions.” And now you’re in my apartment, and it all feels way too domestic for me to digest right now.

“It is of no consequence. Grieving is an important component of the healing process and finding peace.”

Jim nodded slowly and looked up to meet Spock’s steady gaze, noting he he hadn’t changed, but thankfully didn’t smell of smoke and dust and death. “Thank you.”

Spock stepped closer, before he was interrupted by a ring from his communicator. “Mr Scott.” Frowning slightly, he looked at Jim before flipping his communicator open, listening intently to what the scotsman had to say. Jim shifted his gaze to outside the window, where the world seemed to have gone back to normal; there were no flashing warning lights, no patrolling cars. London was still no doubt shaken by the attack, but they knew it would be taken care of, and ‘life goes on’.

Jim was jumped out of his thoughts by the sharp click of Spock closing his communicator.“Mr Scott has found something in the wreckage of Harrison's ship and has asked to see us right away.”

“Let’s go.” and ignore that last night ever happened. 

Spock hesitated. “Are you certain-”

Jim had dealt with enough deaths in his life to know that the best way to deal with it was to move on, to work, work harder, and ignore it until it became a dull throb in the back of his mind.  Sitting around moping would never solve anything, and it was far more productive to just move. 

“Let’s go, Spock.” 

Confronting Marcus was a walk in the park; he was too distraught to really care, and that removed a lot of obstacles; thankfully Spock wasn’t objecting to anything, though Jim had the nagging suspicion he would later. In private.

“He's a fugitive and I want to take him out.” Jim looked steadily into the admiral’s face - the admiral who had ultimately caused Pike to be in that room with him because he had decided Jim wasn’t good enough to be captain of the enterprise. But that didn’t matter now, it wasn’t his fault. He would take down the terrorist, starfleet backing or not. The only reason he was even asking was because Pike would have wanted him to.

“Pike always said you were one of our best and brightest. You should have heard him defend you. He's the one who talked you into joining Starfleet, wasn't he?”

Something was off in the way that Marcus easily adapted to past tense, and it put him on edge. Then again, he was on edge to begin with and Marcus had been doing this for years. He had to deal with death and move on, and Jim had to get his shit together and do the same.

Jim was unbelievably glad Spock was behind him, silent support. He was an unspoken reminder that Jim had to get his shit together, pretend he was somewhat under control, that he had to prove he was able to take this guy down, let alone be able to go after him in the first place.

A small nod from the admiral set Jim’s jaw. Good.

“I don't want you hurt, but I want to take him out. You park on the edge of the Neutral Zone, you lock onto Harrison's position, you fire, you kill him and you haul ass.” Drastic times call for drastic measures.

Jim glanced at the vulcan to his left, holding his gaze before addressing the admiral once more. “Permission to reinstate Mr. Spock as my First Officer.” Crush or not, I’m gonna need him around, to think clearly when I can't. 

“Granted.” A final nod from Admiral Marcus sent them on their way.

Leaving the building, Jim turned to Spock. “Did you leave anything at my apartment? Now’s the time to go get it.” Jim flushed slightly at the memory of Spock being forced to stay over because of Jim’s emotional state and cleared his throat.  How can it be sunny on a terrible day like this?

“I did not, and as my belongings remain on the Enterprise, I have nothing to recover. Might I accompany you?”

Jim had a feeling he would need it, and he wasn’t going to push away to vulcan when he volunteered to stay with him despite his evidently unsettled state.  “Sure, but I won’t be much for company.”

“That will not be necessary.”

The two set off in the direction of the shuttle bay. It was different in the daytime, where everything was out in the open, less mysterious, less dangerous. There was no darkness to hide behind and Jim was pretty sure his emotional state was out there for everyone to see; even Spock could interpret it, apparently. He didn’t care. The vulcan was there for support, and Jim wasn’t going to turn him away, especially if this could turn out in his favour. It certainly had to mean something that an ‘emotionless’ vulcan was supporting him, albeit in his own way.

“Are you sure everyone is still onboard? And that everyone is still up for coming with us?

“They were hailed earlier this morning. I had thought you go, regardless of Starfleet orders.”

Jim realised once more why he was so attracted to this man, this perfect do-no-wrong vulcan who was so opposite of him, who still understood him better than people he had known for decades. He had known Jim would do it - and had actively supported that action.

“Would you have come with me?” Jim stopped and glanced at him, surprised and pleased. “Regardless of orders?”

“My position as First Officer is to assist you, Jim.” That’s as close to a yes I’m going to get.

Jim smiled ruefully, torn between giddiness at Spock’s ease with calling him Jim, guilt at the giddiness, and the grief that was weighing him down from all sides. “Thanks.”

The moment was broken when Bones came at him like six headlights.

“Jim! Where were you?”

Bones looked as though he’d gotten as much sleep as Jim had: his shirt was more wrinkle than fabric, and his face looked more worn than Jim had seen it in months.

“Captain, I will meet you on the shuttle.” A small nod from Jim and Spock was on his way. Jim watched him for for a moment, still slightly taken aback from uncharacteristically support, before turning to Bones.

“For what?”

“Your medical exam. Ten hours ago, you were in a damn firefight. Now, it's my duty as ship's…”

“-I'm fine, Bones.”

“The hell you are.”

“I'm fine. Spock took care of it.”

Bones sputtered. “Spock- Spock isn’t a medical professional, what the hell does he know?”

“He was an emotional sounding board.”

“He was a what?” I know, I’m still shocked by it. “Never mind, you’re beating around the bush.”

“I am fine, Bones.”

They stepped onto the shuttle,  Bones tailing behind Jim with a tricorder, shaking his head.

Ignoring him, Jim addressed Spock, who was already seated next to a window. “Status report, Mr Spock.”

"The Enterprise should be ready for launch by the time we arrive."

“Good. Good.” Jim absent-mindedly answered,

“Captain. Thank you for requesting my reinstatement.” Spock looked at him with what Jim thought of as the vulcan smile: a minuscule half-smile, a small tilt upwards of the lips, slight raise of his right eyebrow. 

“You're welcome.” Jim smiled tightly back, his face feeling like wax.

“As I am again your First Officer, it is now my duty to strongly object to our mission parameters.” Oh, here we go. The smile quickly fell from his face and he looked at Spock exasperatedly.

“Of course it is.” Jim rolled his eyes and sighed. The calm could only last for so long.

Determined, Spock barrelled on.”There is no Starfleet regulation that condemns a man to die without a trial,something you and Admiral Marcus are forgetting. Also, preemptively firing torpedoes at the Klingon homeworld goes against…” goes against the Prime Directive, but the Prime Directive isn’t important right now, damn it. Plus, if you didn't like it so much, why are you still here? Just to criticise me?

“You yourself said the area's uninhabited. There's only gonna be one casualty. In case you weren't listening, our orders have nothing to do with Starfleet regulation-”

Bones interjected, his face twisted, painfully pressing cold steel to Jim’s cheekbone more forcefully with his surprise. “Wait a minute. We're firing torpedoes at the Klingons?”

“Regulations aside, this action is morally wrong.” I hate that he’s right, but I don’t give a fuck. The guy deserves it, trial or not, he killed way too many innocent people in that room and with the explosion to be gaining any mercy points from me.

“Regulations aside, pulling your ass out of a volcano was morally right. And I didn't win any points for that.” So much for support.

“Whoa, Jim, calm down.” Spock and Jim glanced at the doctor and then back to each other, with a frustrated Jim starting to wonder whether or not there was a point to this discussion.

“I'm not gonna take ethics lessons from a robot!”

“Reverting to name-calling suggests that you are defensive and therefore find my opinion valid.” The worst part is I am just arguing with him for the sake of it, because I know he's right. God, what's wrong with me?

“I wasn't asking for your opinion. Bones, get that thing off my face.” Jim rubbed the side of his face and glared at Bones behind him.

He was fully aware he sounded illogical and immoral, which wasn’t something he usually aimed for, and that both Bones and Spock were doing their respective jobs, but couldn’t he just have some whole-hearted unquestioning support for once? Except I don’t want a blindly-following crew. Jim was somewhat proud of himself that he hadn’t fully reverted to bringing up the Nero incident- where Spock had seemed all too delighted to strangle Jim to death out of grief for his mother - because Jim felt the exact same in this moment. Something told him that bringing that up would not only get him nowhere but it would also alienate Spock, which wasn’t really something he wanted in the long run, frustration with him be damned.

“Captain, our mission could start a war with the Klingons and it is, by its very definition, immoral.” Klingons are immoral. Jim answered petulantly in his mind, tamping down the urge to respond, knowing it would only make him seem childish. And so is Harrison and his actions.

“Perhaps you should take the requisite time to arrive at this conclusion for yourself.” You condescending little-

This isn’t a damned ethics lesson. We could get philosophical and wonder whether keeping Harrison alive after all the damage and deaths he’s caused is ethical, too, but I cannot be assed to have that discussion with you.

Their heated discussion were interrupted as a young blonde woman stood in front of them.

“Captain Kirk. I’m Science Officer Carol Wallace. I've been assigned to the Enterprise by Admiral Marcus. These are my transfer orders.” Pretty. Sharp blue eyes that matched his own smiled as they met his, shifting to Spock as he asked a question.

“You requested an additional science officer, Captain?”

Jim smiled at her. “I wish I had.” Maybe flirting with her will get him to shut the hell up.

“Impressive credentials.”

“Thank you.”

“-but redundant now that I am back aboard the Enterprise.” Spock interjected. Always good to have one more super-qualified crew member. Isn’t it logical to have a weapons specialist if we’re firing torpedoes at Klingons? Jim wished he could entertain the idea that Spock was simply  jealous of their interaction, but that was plain ridiculous and Jim quickly dismissed the notion. 

“And yet, the more the merrier.”

Jim gestured to the seat between him and Spock with a lazy arm, using her as a shield  to hide from Spock's logic. “Have a seat, Doctor.”

Jim ignored the stare Spock directed at him. No doubt he’s annoyed I’m not “using this requisite time” to come to his conclusion. Which I already came to, and he knows it. Jim decided against chatting her up, leaving that to Bones as he looked around the chrome cabin of the shuttle, nodding gratefully at the crew members that nodded solemnly at him. Though it wasn't common knowledge how close Jim and Pike had been, most knew that they had been friends at the very least, and no doubt some crew members even had friends in that room that hadn't been Jim or Spock. 

The overhead speakers crackled on “Shuttle crew, stand by for lift-off”, and Jim looked past Carol and Spock outside the window, watching London and earth fall away from them, haunted by Pike's clean wrist. He still had someone out there that could have made happy, someone out there now had Christopher Pike's last words adorning their wrist, and Jim wondered if they had ever met. Pike still had a long life to live, and now...

Jim set his jaw and hoped the tears in his eyes weren’t obvious.

Chapter Text

Scotty was gone, and Jim was at his wits end.

Nyota's voice cut through his thoughts. "Are you okay?" Oh god, human interaction. 

"Fine, thank you, Lieutenant...Actually, Scotty just quit. And your boyfriend's second-guessing me every chance he gets and I want to rip the f- the bangs off his head-"

Her face changed and he suddenly realised his mistake. Spock said they broke up. Right. Widening his eyes, he quickly apologised. ..and I have to remember to ask Bones to ask Chapel if she knows anything about ... the whole 'she did it for me' debacle. "Sorry, that was inappropriate-"

"It's not just you." So she's still pissed at him. She glanced at him sideways.  

"Wait, are you guys... Are you guys fighting?" Let's try to get more information out of this.

"I'd rather not talk about it, sir." Nyota responded stiffly, staring squarely ahead, reaffirming just how upset she was with him. "But the two of you need to."

He frowned, confused. "The two of us need to what?"

"Talk."

Jim cocked his head sideways. "I'd rather not: allows for more second guessing."

She pursed her lips sympathetically. "Once all of this is over, then."

"Why do you say that?" Jim pushed, hoping to get something more.

She huffed irritatedly. "I guess you'll figure it out some point."

"Figure what ou-" the lift doors opened to reveal a concerned-looking Spock. Jim quickly tamped down an automatic grin, reminding himself that he was upset with the vulcan for second-guessing him. Talk about mysterious.

"Captain on the bridge!" Jim smiled at Chekhov's enthusiastic cry and headed over to him. Nyota stormed past Spock and Jim let out a quiet quip as he walked past him. "Ears burning?" He could feel Spock's eyes on him until he sat down after confidently informing Chekhov he was the new Chief of Engineering.  

"Lieutenant Uhura, open a ship-wide channel."

"Yes, sir." Something told him she was upset with him, too. 

"Mr. Chekov, how we looking down there?"
"Warp available at your command." Jim felt pity for the poor guy; he knew he was unprepared, but he was one of the best.

"All right. Attention, crew of the Enterprise. As most of you know, Christopher Pike, former captain of this ship and our friend...is dead." Jim paused, trying to subtly regain his voice. "The man who killed him, John Harrison, has fled our system and is hiding on the Klingon homeworld. That is where we are headed now. It is essential that our presence go undetected; we don't want to cause a war. I will personally lead a landing party on the surface of Kronos where we will capture the fugitive, and return him to Earth so he can face judgment for his actions. Let's go get this son of a bitch. Kirk out."

"Captain, I believe you have made the right decision. If I can be of assistance, I would be happy to accompany you on the away team." Jim smiled, relieved Spock wasn't about to question him once more.  

"You? Happy?" Jim raised his left eyebrow in a Spock-like fashion, pretty sure Spock was smiling back. It wasn't fair that even when he was grieving, the vulcan could get his heart to race just by inconspicuously lifting one side of his mouth. 

"I was simply attempting to use your vernacular to convey an idea." My vernacular, huh?

Jim smiled lightly. "Thank you, Mr. Spock." He's going to be the death of me.

The bridge crew were unexpectedly propelled forwards as the ship dropped violently out of warp.

Jim scrambled to contact engineering. "Mister Chekhov, did you break my ship?"

"The core overheated. I had to activate the emergency stop." Shit.

"Mr. Sulu, ETA to our destination.

"Twenty minutes, sir. That's 20 minutes in enemy space we weren't counting on."

"All right. We better hop to it. Mister Sulu, you have the Con." Jim turned, expecting to find Spock at his side, ready to go. Instead there was an empty space in front of his blinking controls. "Where's Spock?"

Right on time, Spock walked onto the Bridge, standing next to Nyota. "Here, Captain."

"You're coming with me to Kronos."

Jim turned to Nyota, who was standing straight as a rod next to the vulcan. "Lieutenant, how's your Klingon?"

"It's rusty, but it's good."

"Good, you're coming, too." Jim stepped closer to them, pausing before he murmured, "This isn't going to be a problem, is it, you two working together?"

"Absolutely not." Nyota's immediate and firm answer worried him as she turned to go. Don't have time to worry. 

"..Unclear." Jim quickly reached out, grabbing Spock's left bicep to stop him from following her. Spock looked fixedly at the hand on him, but didn't move to remove it. Murmuring, he asked "Have you spoken to her since yesterday?"

"Negative. I was-" Spock looked up from the hand to Jim, his stoney features slackening.

"having to deal with me. Right." Jim sighed, letting his arm drop. Can we forget that ever happened? He did his best to ignore the butterflies that appeared in his stomach at the thought that Spock had dedicated more time to him than to Nyota. He started hastily walking towards shuttle bay, with Spock hurriedly catching up to him.

"Affirmative, Captain. However, 'dealing with' has a negative connotation, and I did not find it a burden to stay with you." 

Spock was looking at him very seriously, and that made Jim swallow hard. He isn't making this 'crush' thing easy, is he?  "I-" Right. Ookay, Jim, focus.

The speaker overhead interrupted him, thankfully stopping him from saying something stupidly risky. "Please have the trade ship we confiscated during the Mudd incident last month fuelled and flight ready. Captain Kirk is en route to you now."

Jim cleared his throat and hurried up, with Spock matching his pace in silence. Sulu's having to bluff, my ship is falling apart from the inside, and I don't know if  I want to kiss my First Officer or cry. Damn it Jim, pull it together.

Jim paused in front of the shuttle to pull his gold command-shirt off, wincing as the shirt pulled up his black undershirt to snag against and reveal some nasty bruises and cuts he'd managed to get the night before. Pulling it off fully and ruffling his hair back into place, he turned to find an already-changed Spock gawking at him. Blushing, he turned to meet the stares of two officers who were looking at him expectantly. 

He pointed at the pile of clothes in front of him as he pulled on a leather jacket and scarf. "Put those on, you're now  K'normian arms dealers. Remember, n othing should give away that we're Starfleet. We don't want to start a war now, do we?"

"No, sir."

"Good, neither do I." Jim half-heartedly grinned at them, urging them to go in the dilapidated Mudd shuttle before him. 

Spock pushed past them into the shuttle, and Jim took a deep breath. Okay. "I am detecting a single life sign in the Ketha Province." Spock's voice said from at the front of the shuttle. "Given the information provided by Mr. Scott, this is most likely John Harrison."

"Let Sulu know, and let's go."

"Aye, Captain."

The shuttle shuddered to life and Jim sat down painfully as they shot out into space. 

"We will arrive at Harrison's location in three minutes, Captain. It is unlikely that he will come willingly. I calculate the odds of him attempting to kill us at 91 .6%."

"Fantastic." Sarcasm dripped from his lips and Jim determinedly decided that they'd get to him before Harrison came close to hurting them.

"Good thing you don't care about dying, and that the Captain here for this." Nyota muttered from behind Jim, and Jim shut his eyes, sighing with disappointment. Fucking hell, here we go. So much for 'no problems'. 

"I am sorry, Lieutenant. I could not hear what you said."

"I'd be happy to speak, if you were willing to listen to me."

Jim interposed. "-Guys..." Now really isn't the time. His stomach clenched at the thought of the two of them getting back together. Although he wanted happiness for the two of them, he had profoundly hoped that maybe now he and Spock had a chance, especially with Uhura pulling the "I did it for Jim" bullshit. Fuck, maybe she's changed her mind.

"Lieutenant, I would prefer to discuss this in private." Jim didn't miss the glance Spock shot towards him. What doesn't he want me to hear?

"You'd prefer not to discuss this at all." Nyota shot back. 

"Are you really gonna do this right now?" Two minutes from destination? Really? I herd a crew of children.

"I'm sorry, Captain, you need to be here for this."

"Wh-Okay."

"At that volcano, you didn't give a thought to us.  What it would do to Jim and I  if you died, Spock.  You didn't feel anything.  You didn't care.  And I'm not the only one who's upset  with you. The Captain is, too."

Jim leaned towards her "No, no, no. Don't drag me into this." He didn't want to re-live the moment of intense fear that Spock was going to die and stubbornly refused to be picked up, where he'd frozen at the thought of leading the ship without Spock and his stupid ears and smart comments. He didn't want to remember the relief that had made him giddy when he saw Spock on the transporter pad, the relief that easily made him forget his frustration and move on, because he'd had to hold himself from giving the sizzling vulcan a bear hug that wouldn't have been appreciated. Jim shifted towards Spock. "She is right, now that she's reminded me. We care about you, Spock, and you refusing to break a rule to "protect" the future of a species we had just saved and likely didn't even see our ship..." I care about you, Spock. Far too much. Jim broke off. This  conversation was getting too heavy.

"Your suggestion that I do not care about dying is incorrect. A sentient being's optimal chance at maximising their utility is a long and prosperous life." 

He and Nyota exchanged glances, and Jim had the strange impression that he and Nyota were exactly on the same page about this, and she knew it. "Great." She definitely knew about his feelings for Spock, now if not before. Shit. 

"You misunderstand. It is true I chose not to feel anything upon realising that my own life was ending. I choose never to experience the emotions linked with death again. Anger. Confusion. Loneliness. Fear. I experienced those feelings before, multiplied exponentially the day my planet was destroyed. Such a feeling is something I choose never to experience again. You mistake my choice not to feel as a reflection of my not caring. I assure you, the truth is precisely the opposite-"

The shuttle hurtled downwards with a violent jolt.

"What the hell was that?" 

"We are being pursued by a D-4 class Klingon vessel."

"This ship has no offensive capabilities.

"It's got us. Give me all six fuel cells." Alright piloting skills, here we go. 

"Aye, Captain."

Jim narrowly avoided crashing into debris. "Hold on!"

"They're closing fast, bearing 285!

"There. There!"

"If you are suggesting that we utilize the passage between the approaching structures, this ship will not fit." There you go, Spock, always reading my mind.

"We'll fit."

"Captain, we will not fit."

"We'll fit, we'll fit!"

The shuttle squeezed tightly into the space, its sides colliding against the debris. C'mon, c'mon. Prove me right. 

Jim grinned victoriously in Spock's direction, feeling mildly ill. "l told you we'd fit."

"-l am not sure that qualifies." Spock's voice replied from his left, a rough element to it that caused Jim's insides to melt. Christ. Not the time.

Rage broiled in Jim's gut as he stared in the face of the man that killed his father-figure. Harrison's coat flapped loudly to his ears, all other sounds seeming to come to a halt.

"How many torpedoes?" Jim glared at the speaker, unbridled fury stopping him from answering. "The torpedoes, the weapons you threatened me with in your message. How many are there?"

Spock answered for him. "Seventy-two."

John Harrison's eyes widened and he threw down his gun. "I surrender."

Spock recovered his gun and pointed it at him, his face a schooled calm. 

Jim staggered to his feet. "On behalf of Christopher Pike, my friend, I accept your surrender." He keenly felt Spock and Nyota's eyes on him, but he didn't care about their thoughts. This was between him and Harrison, and Harrison was going to pay.

Harrison's eyes narrowed as he recognised Jim from the night before, narrowing further as Jim turned away in a calculated move that would bring all of his weight into one punch. Into several consecutive, senseless, emotional punches, as Harrison kept standing, breathing hard. Is he a machine?

"Captain!" Jim stepped back at Nyota's cry. Now she's given everything away, damnit. I caused her to give it away. He stared at his bloodied knuckles. Worth it? Worth it.

"Captain." Harrison repeated with a sinister, understanding growl.

"Cuff. Him." Jim said roughly to Spock, leaving a dirt smear on his forehead as he swiped at it with a blood and dust soaked arm.

They made their way back to the shuttle in a tense silence. Jim grunted as he sat down in his chair and set the coordinates for the Enterprise, his knuckles throbbing with each push of a button. The shuttle took off with an unconvincing whine, slowly edging upwards. 

"With the damage to the shuttle, it will take approximately 11.5 minutes to reach the Enterprise."

"Thank you, Mister Spock." Jim leaned away from his controls and inspected his hands and body; he probably had a cracked rib but nothing worse. He started tearing at his scarf, half out of frustration, half out of a need to stem some blood flow from his wounds. Focused and ignoring everyone around him, he tore the scarf into long strands, he started wrapping them haphazardly on a deep cut in his arm. "Captain." A figure crouched in front of him, causing Jim to look up abruptly. "Allow me." Jim looked up at disordered bangs and pointy ears and resisted the urge to arrange Spock's hair so it was back to normal. Jim exhaled slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. Proximity to Spock always did this, damnit. Especially when he was being caring. "Okay." Cool hands carefully pulled the rough fabric across his cuts, the orange blooming dark red as it encountered blood, causing Jim to wince quietly. He watched Spock's long nimble fingers gently and efficiently arrange several bandages, his hands pausing every so often as he fixed bandages around Jim's hands. It was a calming process, and the hum of the wrecked shuttle faded into background noise: it seemed like it was just he two of them. Nyota was eerily quiet as she alternated between watching the two of them and glancing back at Harrison, biting the inside of her cheek. 

Pulling the last bandage taught and tying it into a small knot, Spock sat back on his haunches and looked up at Jim with an expression of agitation. "You will need to see Doctor McCoy following our arrival on the Enterprise."

"Thank you." Jim murmured softly, smiling slightly when Spock's hands rested on his a moment longer than necessary, the wrinkles pulling at the small wounds on his face.

Chapter Text

"Are you out of your corn-fed mind? You're not actually going to listen to this guy? He killed Pike, he almost killed you, and now you think it's a good idea to pop open a torpedo because he dared you to." Jim pursed his lips, not liking the reminder.

He looked between his two friends and fixed his gaze on Bones. "Why did he save our lives, Bones?" He had no reason to. He could have easily transported away like last night..

"The Doctor does have a point, Captain." When Spock agrees with Bones, you know it's serious. Jim sighed, playing with the frays on his bandages, a bleak expression governing his face, wishing that instead of this mess he could just re-live the small moment of calm between him and Spock in the shuttle . This isn't exactly going as planned, is it? 

"Don't agree with me, Spock, it makes me very uncomfortable." 

"Perhaps you, too, should learn to govern your emotions, Doctor." Jim looked up, stung. 

"In this situation, logic dictates-"

Bones scoffed, breaking off Spock's speech. "Logic? Oh, my God! There's a maniac trying to make us blow up our own damn ship and-" No. It must be the torpedoes, he seemed very bent on that.

Jim shook his head. "That's not it. I don't know why he surrendered, but that's not it. Look, we're gonna open a torpedo. The question is how."

"But, Jim, without Mr. Scott on board, who exactly is qualified to just pop open a four-ton stick of dynamite?"

"The Admiral's daughter appeared to have interest in the torpedoes and she is a weapons specialist. Perhaps she could be of some use."

"What Admiral's daughter?" Weapons specialist? Ah. Pretty blonde. Car- something?

"Carol Marcus. Your new science officer concealed her identity to board the ship."

Jim gaped at his First Officer, his eyes narrowing. "When were you going to tell me that?" This feels calculated. Why tell me she's the admiral's daughter now?

"When it became relevant. As it just did." Spock looked at Jim, a wry grin lighting his eyes, and Jim couldn't help but to smile back. He is way too proud of himself for that.

Jim exhaled with fond indignation before sprinting in her direction.

"Bones, thanks for helping out." Jim grinned roguishly into his communicator. He loved setting up his friend. "Dr. Marcus asked for the steadiest hands on the ship."

"You know, when I dreamt about being stuck on a deserted planet with a gorgeous woman, there was no torpedo!" Bones said loudly into the communicator, and Jim figured it was loud enough for Carol to hear. He chuckled to himself. Bones and beautiful women.

"Dr. McCoy, may I remind you, you are not there to flirt."

"So how can these legendary hands help you, Dr. Marcus?"

"Bones.."

Carol was ignoring him, and Jim suppressed a smile. Poor Bones. "To understand how powerful these weapons are, we need to open the warhead. To do that, we need to access the fuel compartment. Unfortunately for us, the warheads on these weapons are live."

"Sweetheart, I once performed an emergency C-section on a pregnant Gorn. Octuplets. And let me tell you, those little bastards bite. I think I can work some magic on your missile." Jim shook his head and snorted unbelievingly and shared a cheeky grin with Sulu, who half turned in his seat to look at him. Hell of an innuendo, Bones. Damn.

"Dr. McCoy, there's a bundle of fiber optic cables against the inner casing. You'll need to cut the 23rd wire down. Whatever you do,
do not touch anything else. Do you understand?"
"The thought never crossed my mind."
"I'm rerouting the detonation processor. Are you ready?"
"And rearing."

Within moments, everything went pear shaped. "The warhead's gonna detonate in 30 seconds, sir!"
"I can't get my arm out!"

Jim tensed. No! Not again, I can't lose someone else. "Beam them back now." He entreatingly looked over at Spock. Do something.
"The transporter cannot differentiate between Dr. McCoy and the torpedo."

"We cannot beam back one without the other." Jim watched Spock place his hands helplessly in front of his controls out of the corner of his eye and looked back at the screen, feeling faint.  

"Dr. Marcus, can you disarm it?"
"I'm trying. I'm trying."
"Jim, get her the hell out of here!" Jim had never imagined Bones dying like this - he'd never pictured Bones dying, ever. He was a doctor, not an explorer, and Jim had put him into a dangerous position that just might kill him. 
"Just let me do it!" He had to trust Carol Marcus to do her job. If she did it, she'd be promoted to the Bridge, Jim promised himself. 
Then Bones started counting down, and Jim's mental state began to wear thin. "Ten. Nine. Eight-"
"Standing by to transport Dr. Marcus on your command, sir."
"Four. Three. T-" He heard Spock's calculated footsteps behind him and began to turn towards him. If Spock was heading towards him to offer comfort, that didn't bode well at all, and Jim still had the smallest hope that Bones would get out of this, that Jim hadn't sentenced him to die. 

"Deactivation successful, Captain."  Sulu's shoulders un-tensed and Jim started breathing again.
"Dr. McCoy, are you all right? Bones!"
"Jim?" Jim collapsed against Spock with relief, breathing heavily. "Thank god." Damnit, too many risks have been taken lately. 

"Jim, you're going to want to see this." 

Jim and Spock's footsteps thudded against the shiny metal of the ship as they skidded to a halt in front of Khan. "Who the hell are you?"
"A remnant of a time long past. Genetically engineered to be superior so as to lead others to peace in a world at war."

Jim snorted derisively. "Peace? You?"

"But we were condemned as criminals, forced into exile. For centuries we slept, hoping that when we awoke, things would be different. But as a result of the destruction of Vulcan, your Starfleet began to aggressively search distant quadrants of space. My ship was found adrift and I alone was revived.  I was awoken
by your Admiral Marcus to help him advance his cause." That doesn't add up. He shared a glance with Spock and stepped closer to the glass that separated him from the fugitive. 

"Why would a Starfleet Admiral ask a 300-year-old frozen man for help?" If he's this old, how could he have provided any help anyway?

"Because I am better." 

"At what?"

"Everything." Wow. Modest. Jim and Spock shared a skeptical look.

Spock stepped forward to address Khan, eyebrow threatening to raise. "Alexander Marcus needed to respond to an uncivilised threat in a civilised time and for that he needed a warrior's mind. My mind. To design weapons and warships."

"You are suggesting the Admiral violated every regulation he vowed to uphold simply because he wanted to exploit your intellect." 
"He wanted to exploit my savagery. Intellect alone is useless in a fight, Mr. Spock. You... You can't even break a rule. How would you be expected to break bone?" Jim stepped closer to Spock, not liking Khan's tone. How the hell would he even know that?

Khan set his unsettling gaze back on Jim. "Marcus used me to design weapons, to help him realise his vision of a militarised Starfleet. He sent you to use those weapons, to fire my torpedoes on an unsuspecting planet. And then he purposely crippled your ship in enemy space, leading to one inevitable outcome: The Klingons would come searching for whomever was responsible, and you would have no chance of escape. Marcus would finally have the war he talked about. The war he always wanted."

"No. No. I watched you open fire in a room full of unarmed Starfleet officers. You killed them in cold blood! You caused this." You killed Pike, you could have killed Spock. Jim's jaw tensed and un-tensed in anger. He didn't want to listen to this. Didn't want to remember Marcus' easy acceptance of Pike's death, of sending Jim away.

"Marcus took my crew from me!" He is trying to manipulate me. 

"You. are. a. murderer! You could have managed this another way."

"He used my friends to control me. I tried to smuggle them to safety but I was discovered, and  I had no choice but to escape alone. When I did, I had every reason to suspect that Marcus had killed every single one of the people I hold most dear. So I responded in kind. My crew is my family, Kirk. ls there anything you would not do for your family?" Khan's unblinking stare switches knowingly to Spock before looking back at Jim. He knows about my feelings for Spock, too. Damnit. Jim's gaze shifted once again back to Spock, who was already looking at him, holding his stare before looking back at Khan. But we both know the answer to his question.

Jim held his stare, feeling a keen sense of betrayal on Marcus' part. Starfleet was his family, his extended family, and now it was trying to get him and his ship killed. 

"Proximity alert, sir! There's a ship at warp heading right for us."

"Klingons?" Doubt it.

"No, Kirk. We both know who it is." Jim ignored Khan's input, biting his lip as he thought. 

Sulu answered his query, sounding concerned."It's not coming at us from Kronos." Shit. Jim sprinted towards the Bridge, trusting that Spock would follow him. 

"Lieutenant, move Khan to med bay. Post six security officers on him." Not that it would do anything, considering he can take down a whole group of Klingons.

They ran through the doors to the bridge, and Jim staggered to a halt in front of his chair, trying to calm his breathing. He knew who i was, and had a good idea of what Marcus would do next. "ETA of the incoming ship."

"Three seconds, sir."

"Shields.Put it on the screen."

"They're hailing us, sir." Sulu's adam's apple bobbed at the sight of the humongous ship looming in front of them.

"Broadcast ship-wide, for the record."

"Aye, sir." There was a movement to Jim's side and Jim realised Spock was standing next to him, hovering at his side.

 The screen blinked, and there he was. "Captain Kirk."

Jim steeled himself and smiled, exchanging a glance with Spock before addressing the man in front of him. "Admiral Marcus. I wasn't expecting you...That's a helluva ship you got there."

Marcus cut right to the core of why he was there. "I wasn't expecting to get word that you'd taken Harrison into custody in violation of your orders."

"We, uh, had to improvise when our warp core unexpectedly malfunctioned.But you already knew that, didn't you, sir?"

"I don't take your meaning." Jim sighed internally. So the Admiral is here to start a war - why else would he come this far, if he isn't here to see everything through?

"Well, that's why you're here, isn't it? To assist with our repairs? Why else would the head of Starfleet personally come to the edge of the Neutral Zone?"

Jim stared at Admiral Marcus' overblown and impassive face, a deep-seated hatred starting to form. It was hard to believe he was the man who convinced Pike to join Starfleet, that Pike would see him as a mentor as Jim had seen him. He is going against everything Starfleet stands for, everything I stand for. 

Marcus didn't reply, and Sulu broke the silence. "Captain, they're scanning our ship."

"ls there something I can help you find, sir?"

"Where is your prisoner, Kirk?"

"Per Starfleet regulation, I'm planning on returning Khan to Earth to stand trial." Jim remembered Spock's half-smile when he first declared it and clapped himself  on the back once again, imagining it to be on Spock's face once more. 

"Well, shit. You talked to him. This is exactly what I was hoping to spare you from. I took a tactical risk and I woke that bastard up, believing that his superior intelligence could help us protect ourselves from whatever came at us next. But I made a mistake. And now the blood of everybody he's killed is on my hands. So I'm asking you, give him to me so that I can end what I started." And he thinks I'm stupid. His mistake. 

"And what exactly would you like me to do with the rest of his crew, sir? Fire them at the Klingons, end 72 lives? Start a war in the process?" As Jim spoke, he finally understood. Understood Marcus was willing to cause a war, willing to come personally to ensure Khan was gone, and had the horrifying thought that Marcus would be ready to cause an explosion to attract Klingon attention, and what would he explode if not the Enterprise. If a flagship was blown out of space, Marcus would blame the Klingons, and that meant war, because who would believe the Klingons? Marcus could easily cover the why of the Enterprise being in Klingon space - a determined man could manage anything. Jim had to do the best he could to save his crew.

"He put those people in those torpedoes. And I simply didn't want to burden you with knowing what was inside of them. You saw what this man can do all by himself. Can you imagine what would happen if we woke up the rest of his crew? What else did he tell you? That he's a peacekeeper? He's playing you, son, don't you see that?" So are you, you bastard. Stop calling me 'son' you weaselly , condescending son of a bitch.

"Khan and his crew were condemned to death as war criminals. And now it is our duty to carry out that sentence before anybody else dies because of him. Now, I'm going to ask you again! One last time, son." Self righteous asshole. "Lower your shields.Tell me where he is."

Jim pretended to concede, lifting his hands up in small surrender. "He's in engineering, sir, but I'll have him moved to the transporter room right away."

"I'll take it from here." No, you won't. Spock was right, it's wrong to do this, and if we hand him over, it's likely his crew are going to die, too. 

"Do not drop those shields, Mr. Sulu."

"Aye, Captain."

Just as Jim expected, Spock turned to him expectantly. "Captain, given your awareness of Khan's true location in the med bay, may I know the details of your plan?"

"I told Marcus we were bringing a fugitive back to Earth. That is what we're going to do."

How many are dead? The updates from the bridge crew hit him from all sides and he fought hard not to crumble. Fuck. I caused their deaths.

"Please, sir. I take full responsibility for my actions. But they were mine and they were mine alone. I'll do anything you want. Just let them live."

"That's a hell of an apology. But if it's any consolation, I was never going to spare your crew." The comm shut off and Jim turned to face his crew. I need to see Bones.

"I'm sorry." So much for no no-win scenarios. Jim thought all was lost when he the dulcet tones of his favourite Aberdonian Engineer.

"Enterprise! Can you hear me?" Hope soared in his chest and Jim could have kissed Scotty at that moment, although his initial urge was to turn to the vulcan standing next to him.

"Scotty?!" 

"Guess what I found behind Jupiter."

"You're on that ship!" Jim crowed with happiness. They still had a chance, and he was going to take it. 

"l snuck on. Now beam me out!"

"You're a miracle worker." An honest to god miracle.  "We're a little low on power right now. Just stand by. Stand by."

"A little low on p-Hold on, I'll call you back."

"Scotty? Scotty!"

Jim shook his head, giving up. He turned to the vulcan that had been standing a few paces behind him "Spock. Our ship, how is she?"

Spock looked at him seriously, a faint edge of concern evident through his poker face. "Our options are limited, Captain. We cannot fire and we cannot flee."

"There is one option." Knowing he was short on time, he started to walk quickly off of the bridge, and ordered "Uhura, when you get Scotty back, patch him through."

"Yes, sir." She watched him leave before turning back to her station, shaking her head.

"Mr. Spock, you have the conn." Spock didn't stay on the bridge, no, Spock did what Jim hoped he wouldn't do - he followed him. Damnit. You can't come with me.

"Captain, I strongly object." 

"To what? I haven't said anything yet." Oh, he knows. He's read my mind again.

"Since we cannot take the ship from the outside, the only way we can take it is from within. And as a large boarding party would be detected, it is optimal for you to take as few members of the crew as possible. You will meet resistance, requiring personnel with advanced combat abilities and innate knowledge of that ship. This indicates that you plan to align with Khan, the very man we were sent here to destroy." Damnit Spock there is no time to argue about this right now. 

"I'm not aligning with him, I'm using him. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.', after all." Jim an a hand through his hair, knowing that this wasn't the case at all.

"An Arabic proverb attributed to a prince who was betrayed and decapitated by his own subjects."

"Still, it's a hell of a quote."  

"l will go with you, Captain." No.

"No, I need you on the bridge." He understood where Spock was coming from, hell, he would've done the same in his position. You don't understand. I can't risk you too.

"I cannot allow you to do this." Spock was pleading with him, sounding half infuriated, half terrified, pulling him back with a rough jerk so Jim turned to face him, leaving his hand painfully grasping  Jim's shoulder. "Jim, It is my function aboard this ship to advise you on making the wisest decisions possible, something I firmly believe you are incapable of doing in this moment."

"You're right!" Spock looked taken aback from his frankness, but Jim didn't have the time to be polite, to waste time with platitudes. It was hard, doing this, pushing Spock away. But he couldn't risk anyone else's life, he had already risked too many today - if he had his way, Scotty would be back on the ship and it would just be him and Khan on the ship. 

"What I'm about to do, it doesn't make any sense, it's not logical. It is a gut feeling. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. I only know what I can do. The Enterprise and her crew need someone in that chair that knows what he's doing. And it's not me. It's you, Spock."

"Jim, the likelihood of you returning alive is-" Zero to nil, I know, Especially with the likelihood of Khan turning against me, but I need to ensure my crew is safe. I need to make sure you and Bones are safe.

I can't lose you too. Jim gently lowered Spock hands off his shoulder with his own, keeping it in his own for a lingering moment before dropping it once he remembered that vulcans were touch telepaths. I have to go. "Spock, we can talk about when I get back." Jim tried to muster as much confidence as he could into that sentence. If he believed he would return, so would Spock. "Keep our ship as safe as you can, and get to earth, okay?" He held Spock's gaze for a moment before turning away, rushing down the corridor, leaving a disquieted vulcan in his wake. "Please, Spock. You're the only one I can trust with this."

Jim had to return, because they had to talk about a couple things. God, did he still want to be holding his hand. 

Chapter Text

"Scotty, how we doing over there?" Nervousness ate at Jim's stomach as he crouched in the tub next to Khan: he was used to taking risks, big risks, but so much was at stake that he was terrified. This wasn't just about the Enterprise and its crew being decimated: if Marcus was allowed to continue, it could mean potential intergalactic war, and colossal losses, just like Marcus wanted.

"Captain, I wish I had better news. They've locked out access to the ship's computer, and they'll have full weapons in three minutes, which means next time I won't be able to stop them destroying the Enterprise. Stand by." Damnit. 

Jim listened to his and Khan's breathing in the tube, trying to steal himself. He nearly jumped when the comm he was sharing with the bidge buzzed, and an ensign spoke to Spock. "Commander, our trash exhaust is aligned with the access port 101A of the other ship." Ha, now I'm literally trash. 

Then Spock addressed him, his voice a facsimile of his usual calm, a tense current as he asked,"Captain, are you ready?" Jim wondered if Spock was worried about him, or the ship. In the end, it comes down to the ship, regardless. And yet, the answer to that question was important to him.

Jim turned on his communicator in the helmet, not sure if he wanted to get this over with or to run and hide. "Scotty, where are you?"

"-ahm in the hangar. Give me a minute. Stand by." There was a pause and the occasional grunt as Jim listened to Scotty run, impatient to go. There was a skidding sound and an incredulous snort.  "Hang on, this door is very wee. It's gonna be like jumping out of a moving car, off a bridge, into your shot glass."

"It's okay. I've done it before." Jim grinned at Khan's curious glance. Haven't done that, have you?  "Yeah, it was vertica - it doesn't matter. The manual override, Scotty."

Scotty's voice heard far away from the mike, the beeping of buttons loud and grating in Jim's ears. "Not yet, not yet."

Spock's voice took over the earpiece."Captain, before you launch, you should be aware there is a considerable debris field between our ships."  Jim suppressed another small smile. This can be counted as him caring, right? Is he still trying to put me off?

"Spock, not now. Scotty, you good?"

"It's not easy! Just give me two seconds, you mad bastard!"

Scotty's comm shut off once more, and Jim listened in to the background chatter from the bridge. He could hear Bones quietly asking someone,  "Tell me this is gonna work."

Spock answered, "I have neither the information nor the confidence to do so, Doctor." It's me doing it, it's gonna work, damnit. Though Jim was loathe to admit it, the comment undermined his confidence, and Jim wondered if it had an underlying message directed at him rather than Bones. It has to work.

"Boy, you're a real comfort." Bones' voice dripped with sarcasm. 

"Okay, okay! I'm set to open the door. You ready?" Scotty's scottish brogue pulled Jim out of listening to their conversation and brought the nervousness back.

Jim cleared his throat, glancing at Khan, and confidently spoke, "Spock, pull the trigger."

"..Yes, Captain. Launching activation sequence on three, two, one."

All of a sudden, Jim was shooting out of the trash exhaust faster than he'd ever imagined, grinning as the adrenaline kicked in. Thankfully, Spock never seems to hesitate in spite of his misgivings.

"Captain, there is debris directly ahead."

Jim winced, whispering "shit" as he narrowly avoided colliding with metal. "Copy that." Jim adjusted in silence, overcompensating as he dodged a huge piece of rock.

"Whoa! Jim, you're way off course!" Bones yelled, too-loud in Jim's ears.

Jim panicked.  "I know, Bones, I know! I can see that." 

Spock's stable, smooth voice told him to get his shit together."Use your display compass, Captain. You must correct precisely -37.243 degrees." Right, right. Okay.

"-Got it. I'm working my way back. Scotty, you're gonna be ready with that door, right?"

Uhura's strained voice spoke up in the background, a faint echo. "Captain, he can't seem to hear you. I'm working on getting his signal back. Stand by." What the hell? If he's not there...Jim, focus on the present.

Jim concentrated on the green line in front of him, aware that every single one of his moves could mean life or death - and that this would have an impact on his crew. He didn't notice the small piece of debris headed straight for him, causing a deafening crack to his ears as it splintered the glass of the helmet that covered his face.

"Damn it."

Spock replied to his curse immediately, sounding anxious to Jim's wishful ears. Let's just pretend he cares. "Captain, what is it?

"My helmet was hit." Jim could hear Bones sigh from several  kilometres away, and would have grinned if he wasn't scared shitless. This is... not good. He swallowed a sigh, and said "Lieutenant Uhura, please tell me you have Mr. Scott back."

"Not yet. I'm still working on a signal. His communicator is working, so l don't know why he isn't responding."

Fuck. How am I going to get back without my visor working? Khan.

"Was Khan hit?" Icy fear spread up his spine, and he tensed, incredibly aware that Khan was his only chance against death. We knew this was mildly suicidal to begin with.

Spock didn't answer his question, saying instead,"Captain, you need to adjust your target destination to 183 by 473 degrees."

Jim frowned. Didn't he understand my helmet was hit? Guess I need to clarify: I can't see shit. "Spock, my display's dead. I'm flying blind."

There was a minute pause, and the possibility of what was a Vulcan sigh. Or maybe Bones once again. "Captain, without your display compass, hitting your target destination is mathematically impossible." Gee, thanks for that. 

"Spock, if I get back, we really need to talk about your bedside manner." He wished he could say 'when', but that didn't look like it was going to happen. Although the thought of Spock having a bedside manner with him was something else entirely. 

Khan's voice filled his earpiece. "My display is still functioning. I see you, Kirk, you're 200 meters ahead of me at my one o'clock. Come to your left a few degrees and follow me."

"Thank god for that." Jim spotted him and quickly adjusted himself with a few presses of his right hand, adrenaline making it easy for him to ignore the fact he'd almost been toast. We're close.

The monstrous ship loomed in front of them and Jim realised in horror that the door still wasn't open. So much for not dying.  

"Scotty, where are you?! Do you copy, Scotty? Please!"

"Mr. Scott, open the door!" Spock raised his voice in the comm in Jim's ear, and Jim wondered if Spock was as distressed as he sounded. At least the last words I hear are Spock's terrified for my life, right? Fuck.

Just when Jim thought he'd end up a pancake on the ship opposite the Enterprise, the door opened, and he and Khan shot across the floor of the ship, stopping just in front of Scotty.

"Hello." 

Khan didn't bother with pleasantries, looking at Scotty scornfully, whilst Jim fought the urge to pull the scotsman into a hug.

"They'll know we're here. I know the best way to the bridge, and this path runs adjacent to the engine room. They know they won't be able to use their weapons here without destabilizing the warp core, which gives us the advantage. A turbolift is easily tracked and Marcus would have us in a cage." Khan immediately stood and started walking, with Jim eyeing him enviously, rubbing his sore muscles.

Scotty pulled Jim aside, eyeing Khan with a mix of suspicion and amazement.  "Where'd ya find this guy?"

Jim checked they were far enough behind Khan and paused to murmur, "It's a long story. Listen, Scotty, the minute we get to the bridge, drop him, and make sure he stays down."

"What, stun him? Khan? I thought he was helping us."

"I'm pretty sure we're helping him." ...which was exactly what Spock warned me against. Khan wouldn't have helped me survive that suicide mission if he didn't think there was a way I could help him, now we jsut have to wait and see what that role is.

"Admiral Marcus, get out of the chair. You're under arrest." There was a tick in Jim's jaw, and the sound of a body collapsing as Scotty stunned Khan.

"You're not actually going to do this, are you?" 

 Jim stared at Marcus silently, waiting for him to finish. And what if I did?

"You better stop and think about what you're doing, Kirk. You better think about what you did on Kronos, where you made an incursion onto an enemy planet! Even if you got away without a trace, war is coming. And who is going to lead us? YOU?  If I'm not in charge, our entire way of life is decimated! So you want me off this ship, you better kill me."

Jim was almost proud of how he didn't stun Marcus immediately. Dramatic egotistical fucker. Of course you would be the one to lead us: you planned the damned war that would lead to our way of life being decimated!

"I'm not going to kill you, sir. I might stun your ass, though." Jim stepped forward, his back to Khan, breathing hard from exertion.

"Jim!" Scotty shouted in warning - but it was too late.

Jim watched helplessly in Khan's excruciating grasp as Khan hailed the Enterprise, almost melancholic as Spock's stony face appeared on the screen. He had failed. Failed my crew - everyone. This could mean war if it goes on any longer.

"I'm going to make this very simple for you."

Spock's gaze altered from Khan to Jim from the screen, his facial expression changing ever-so-slightly to reveal apprehension as he saw Jim's beaten face, "Captain." Jim's bloodied mouth made it hard for him to articulate as Jim struggled to warn him.

Khan levelled his cool glare at Spock and the bridge crew, looking at them imperiously. "Your crew for my crew."

Spock's eyes were still fixed on Jim's before they shifted to stare at Khan, his expression hardening. "You betrayed us." Just like you expected.  Jim's face twisted and he averted his gaze from Spock's face, wishing whole-heartedly he was back on his ship.

Venomous words twisted Khan's face into a patronizing smirk. "You are smart, Mr. Spock."

"...Spock don't...!" Jim blurted out, his voice weak. It earned him a decisive punch to the head that sent him straight to the hard ground of the starship, rendering everything painful and hazy, Spock and Khan's voices almost indistinct to his fuzzy mind.

"Mr. Spock, give. me. my. crew. I will not ask again." Don't-

"What will you do when you get them?"

"Continue the work we were doing before we were banished." Jim struggled to look at Khan. He never said what that was-

"Which, as I understand it, involves the mass genocide of any being you find to be less than superior." Oh, of course. What a surprise.  Jim's bruised face ached as he frowned. But how does Spock know-?

"Shall I destroy you, Mr. Spock? Or will you give me what I want?" He's not denying it. Jim blinked and tried to shake the fuzz away, trying to assess how he could get Carol and Scotty out of there before the maniac did something worse to them to prove a point.

"We have no transporter capabilities." Jim internally cheered him on. Yes, yes. Keep wasting time - find a solution. Please.

"Fortunately mine are perfectly functional. Drop your shields."

"If I do so, I have no guarantee that you will not destroy the Enterprise."

"Well, let's play this out logically then, Mr. Spock. Firstly, I will kill your Captain to demonstrate my resolve." So kind of you to warn me. Jim groaned, trying to growl a response and failing. "Then if yours holds, I will have no choice but to kill you and your entire crew."

Spock was quick to point out the flaw in his plan. "If you destroy our ship, you will also destroy your own people."

"Your crew requires oxygen to survive, mine does not." Jim's stomach dropped; for once, there was no other way to win. Lower the damn shields, Spock. Ignore what I said. Khan continued, "I will target your life support systems located behind the aft nacelle. And after every single person aboard your ship suffocates, I will walk over your cold corpses to recover my people. Now, shall we begin?"

"Lower shields." Khan's still going to blow us to smithereens after this, damnit. Never had Jim felt so hopeless.

"A wise choice, Mr. Spock. I see your 72 torpedoes are still in their tubes. If they are not mine, Commander, I will know it."

"Vulcans do not lie. The torpedoes are yours." No. No, no. Our only leverage...

"Thank you, Mr. Spock."

"I have fulfilled your terms. Now fulfill mine."

Khan looked down at his bent shape. "Well, Kirk, it seems apt to return you to your crew." A well-placed agonising kick to Jim's side got his attention. Broken rib, great. Thanks.

"After all, no ship should go down without her captain."

The debilitating fear was back. No!

Jim opened his eyes to find himself back at home - back on his ship, with a scowling Bones right in front of him, and a screen with the other ship imploding behind him. Home sweet home. 

"Bones! You helped Spock detonate those torpedoes?" Horror and relief made for a strange mix in Jim's mind, and he didn't know what to make of it. Spock killed 72 people? ..and Bones helped?

"Damn right I did." Bones even looked proud, and Jim thought something wasn't right. He is a doctor - killing people is not his thing. It was the opposite of his thing. I don't-

"He killed Khan's crew!" And I'll have to re-think a couple things about him, crush or not.

Bones smiled smugly. "Spock's cold, but he's not that cold. I've got Khan's crew. All seventy-two human popsicles safe and sound in their cryo tubes. Well, relatively."

Genius. "Son of a bitch!" Jim uttered in complete shock, an incredulous grin lighting his features. He said the torpedoes are his, not the bodies. 

The ship lurched sideways and Jim slammed against a wall, grimacing in his pain as his already broken body complained. Blood was leaking from somewhere onto the ground in front of him, and Jim's wrist was starting to itch again.

"Gravity systems are failing! We're being pulled into Earth's atmosphere!" Scotty shouted beside him, once again too late to be helpful. "Hold on to something! Hold on!"

"Attention, all decks. Evacuation protocols initiated. Proceed to exit bays and report to your assigned shuttle." Spock's voice stated all over the ship, sounding as calm as ever despite the disaster everyone knew was about to happen.

"There won't be time for evacuation if we don't get power to stabilize the damn ship! we hae to fix the warp core, now!" Scotty yelled from next to him, trying to be heard over the discouraging hum of the ship falling apart.

Jim looked over at him, a thousand ideas rushing through his head as he tried to figure out the fastest way to get his crew off the ship. "Can we restore it?"

"Only from engineering. We have to get back to the warp core." Jim started running, doing his best to ignore the screams of horror and pain of the crew around him. Of course. Nothing is easy in this damned galaxy. Flirting with a vulcan, saving your entire crew-

"Jim?" Scotty shook Jim out of his sarcastic monologue, looking at him for orders in the complete chaos. It was only then that Jim realised Scotty never bothered to call him Captain anymore.

"Come on! We've got to jump! Fastest way to engineering."

"What? Oh, God."

Jim jumped over the railing, pulling Scotty with him, plunging into the whining abyss of the ship. He had miscalculated; the erratic movements of the ship meant that instead of landing on a deck below, he and Scotty were falling straight to their deaths.  "Hold on!"

Reaching out as they plummeted, he strained to catch a railing, gasping as a sharp pain erupted along his arm. I swear, if I haven't broken or dislocated every bone in my body at the end of this, I'll count myself lucky. Scotty's added weight on his other arm meant they wouldn't be hanging on to that railing for long, and Jim despairingly realised they would be falling to their deaths once more. He looked back at Scotty, who couldn't hide the fear and anguish on his face, and looked above him, praying to every god he knew that they would get through this, that at least most of his crew would get out of this alive even if he couldn't, even if he had also condemned Scotty to die with him.

Not that Jim had a lot of time to pray, his slipping hand being grasped at with sweaty palms. He shouted with relief once he saw who it was: his favourite russian, breathing very hard, his amber curls dampened by sweat and crusted with blood. "Chekhov!"

"I've got you, Captain!"  Jim welcomed the hard crunch of the ground as he was yanked onto it, the agony behind the action ignored. His body would recover from this, at least.

Jim rushed to his feet, pulling the scotsman up with him, who said, in dawning realisation, "Even if we get the warp core online, we've still got to redirect the power! Someone has to hit the manual override."

"-He's right, Captain!"

Jim looked between the two of them, feeling absolutely drained. There's always another obstacle. "What are you talking about?"

Instead of answering, Scotty turned to Chekhov. "Laddie, there's a switch..."

The russian sprinted away from them, shouting. "I know! Behind the deflector dish! I'll flip the switch!"

Scotty led Jim in the other direction, towards the core. Instead of just fixing the issue as Jim had hoped for, he started wailing, adding to the pit of despair in Jim's gut. "Oh, no, no, no, no!"

"What?!" Of course, something else has gone wrong. Naturally. 

"The housings are misaligned! There's no way we can redirect the power! The ship's dead, sir. She's gone." No no-win scenarios. C'mon Jim, think!

Jim looked around, trying to find an answer to the problem, and his gaze fixed on the warp core itself. "No, she's not."

"Wait, Jim! If we go in there, we'll die! Do you hear me? The radiation will kill us!" Jim made his steadfast decision, ignoring his engineer. This ship is not going down without a goddamn fight. He unlocked the controls on the door, preparing himself for the fact that he probably wouldn't come out of this alive.

"Will you listen to me? What the hell are you doing?"

Jim turned to Scotty, irritated. "I'm opening the door. I'm going in."

"That door is there to stop us from getting irradiated! We'd be dead before we made the climb!" There is no 'we' in this. You are not dying too because of some decision I made.

"You're not making the climb." Jim pulled back his fist, landing a blow on Scotty's temples that knocked him out immediately. "I'm sorry, Scotty. I have to do this alone."

Jim swallowed deeply, and with a set of his chin, clambered into the heart of his ship, too focused to feel his body's complete and utter exhaustion. Here we go.

Chapter Text

 Jim fought the excruciating pain and exhaustion, his body fighting his every movement. I have to get out of here. My body, at least, should get out of here.

His breathing was laboured and his mind throbbed, but at least his wrist had stopped its pulsating itch, one less grievance for his smashed body.

I really have to get that checked out by Bones. His knees ached from the exertion, his arms barely able to pull him forwards. His body was finally revolting against him, finally giving in to all that had happened to it that day. He stopped every few paces, fighting back intense nausea, hoping he’d make it to the door before his body gave out. Cuts all over his body had opened up, and his ripped uniform clung painfully to his torn and broken skin.

Silence reigned his metal cage, ruptured every so often by his laboured, shallow breaths and the dragging scrape of his feet as he struggled to move, sheer force of will moving him forwards. He knew, at least, that his ship was no longer plummeting thanks to his efforts, and that was enough. His crew had a chance to get out of this alive, even if he didn’t, and that was enough.

The chrome floor of the channel to the core spun around him, its shiny surface making everything around him indistinguishable. His  body was working against him, his bruised, aching hands blurring and focusing in front of him, his stomach heaving. His eyes had a hard time focusing on anything, and he strained to keep them open, fighting the urge to sit down and give up. 

Breathing was increasingly difficult as he made his way to the door, the room swaying in front of him. Everything hurt, and Jim swore he could feel the blood struggling through his arteries. Grunting, he dragged himself across the floor and propped himself upwards against the wall, finally having made it back to the door that now locked him in, rather than kept him out. He winced as ridges in the wall sunk into his flesh like silver daggers and accepted his fate. 

He was splintering, falling apart, his lungs barely taking in enough oxygen to take a short breath. Wheezing and in pain, Jim decided life was a cruel, beautiful thing, true to a thousand clichés. He wanted to see Spock and Bones, to see his crew, to call his mother one last time. Life was short, life was unfair, life was unforgiving. 

For once, he had no illusion or hope of coming back alive. At the end of it all, defeating Khan, saving his ship - he was still going to die, and he couldn’t accept it. His breath rattled in his throat and he reached upwards to press a button that would close the door behind him, effectively sealing off the core. Sitting back down with a painful thump and biting back a groan, he stared at his trembling, debilitated arms. He imagined his mother looking at him as she did when he was a child, banged up from a fight, saying resignedly “Well, James. Look at what you’ve got yourself into now.” He felt, rather than remembered, the heavy humidity and heat of Iowan summer nights, warning of terrible thunderstorms to come. He imagined the golden and endless fields of corn and wheat of home, glistening with early morning dew, and hills of empty fields that beckoned him on lonely nights, with glorious vistas of the night sky.  The field with a solitary tree that had always been his haven from Frank and the rest of his troubles. Where he’d run away to when his mum left for starfleet, when Sam had left home. Where he would sleep underneath the stars, with the firm resolve that he, too, would run away from home and make a life for himself.  At least these last couple years made up for Frank. 

Jim found himself deeply regretting not having appreciated Bones enough; he seemed to spend more time with Spock than Bones these days, and he wished he could rectify that and have one last drink with him. He wished he’d said something more concrete to Spock, something to let him know Jim cared about him, above and beyond his duty as Captain.

 A soft tap on the glass that trapped him got his attention, and he looked up slowly. He found the hazy face of his favourite Vulcan crouching in front of the door, looking back at him. No, you can’t see me like this. Half dead and about to puke.  Jim wanted to gag, but his body couldn’t even manage that, making him suffer through horrendous nausea. 

Grimacing, he attempted to smile, failing miserably. “Hey, Spock. How's our ship?”

“Out of danger.” Spock paused, light wrinkles around his eyes and mouth composing a remorseful expression, his eyes shining bright. “You saved the crew.” Is he….are those tears?

“You used what he wanted against him. That's a nice move.” 

“It is what you would have done.”

Jim tried to bite the inside of his cheek, not wanting to cry. Spock was looking at him with such a raw expression it reminded Jim of Vulcan’s destruction; his eyes were almost wild with pain, both of his hands placed on the glass, almost white with the amount of force he was putting on them. “And this, this is what you would have done..It was only logical.” Jim grinned, sucking in a ragged breath, fully aware that he was running out of time. His vision was starting to darken, trepidation kicking in soon afterwards. I’m not ready to die. “I'm scared, Spock. How do you choose not to feel?” He gulped painfully as tears filled his eyes, blurring the shape of the vulcan. Not with you looking at me like you’re losing something precious.

Bright streaks lined Spock’s face, his body quaking faintly. “I do not know, Jim. Right now I am failing.” More tears fell and Jim reached out with his hand, fervently wanting to cup his face and tell him meaningless platitudes. He placed his hand on top of Spock’s original one on the glass, looking for the right words to say. 

He stuck with something he thought the vulcan would accept. “I want you to know why I couldn't let you die. I need you to know …why I went back for you.”

“Because you are my friend.”

Jim nodded, straining to enunciate his final words, hoping that if he did have a soulmate, if they were real as Spock believed, these words were good enough for their wrist.“You are more than just my friend-” 

Jim… is dead. 

 His wrist flared in unbelievable pain, feeling as though someone had taken a blowtorch to it and held it there, and then twisted it to the point of breaking. Spock gasped and grimaced, the physical pain not exactly helping the emotional pain he was already trying to control. 

“You are more than just my friend.”

Spock stared at the markings that had appeared on his wrist, trying to keep his surging emotions under control. He was not alone; emotions had no place here. Nyota and Scotty were behind him and he willed himself to stand up, straighten his back, to step away, to turn around to face them. He could not. 

Rage boiled beneath his skin, silence buzzing in his ears. 

He did not need the dark marks on his skin to tell him what he already knew. He did not like the reminder of all that could have happened. He would never see those bright, rebellious, teasing cerulean eyes again. 

He did not-

He could not- 

He cracked, finally letting his surging emotions take over. 

He would punish the one who led to the extinguishing of the man he loved.  No, not punish. Destroy.

Primal rage set a fire to his bones, a heady power filling his mind. He had one objective : avenging Jim.

 He clenched his teeth, bellowing in anguish. “Khan!” 

He would finish what Admiral Marcus originally set out to do; it was not a difficult decision to come to. 

Khan did not deserve to live if Jim could not. It was not logical or moral to think thus, but he did not care. Morals and ethics were no longer a priority; Khan had led to Jim’s death, led to crew members’ deaths, almost led to war that would cost several thousands more. 

No, this was not something he would regret. He could rationalise this later - now was not the time. 

Spock stood, decidedly did not look back at the prone form behind the glass. He could not. 

He strode past Scotty, barely pausing as he passed Nyota, who whispered, with a sob, “Go get him.” 

It reinforced his resolve: Khan had hurt those he loved and cared for, and now he was going to suffer.

Spock stormed onto the bridge, practically shouting orders. “Search the enemy ship for signs of life.”

Sulu turned to him in shock. “Sir, there's no way anyone survived.” 

“He could.” Spock’s deadly tone brooked no questioning, something Sulu quickly understood. “Yessir.”

“Put that ship on the screen.” 

“Aye, sir.”

The bridge crew watched in amazement as Khan emerged, alive, from the wreckage of his ship. “Whoa!! He just jumped 30 meters!”

“Can we beam him up?” Spock tensed, ready to take the fight to him. He had to be ready to fight someone who could survive almost anything, and decided his outraged fury and determination would make up for what he lacked in strength. Rules and morals were no longer important. 

“There's too much damage; I have no incoming signal…But it may be possible to beam you down, sir.”

 Spock nodded, glaring down anyone who seemed about to volunteer to come with him. This was something he needed to do alone, with minimal risk to any other crew member. Jim would not want anyone else to be at risk. 

 He ran to the transporter room, Jim’s last words running through his mind like a broken record. “Stand by for coordinates…Enter 3517 by 2598. Good luck, sir.” 

 Spock was transported into the middle of a throng of scared spectators, all staring at the destruction surrounding Khan’s crash. He quickly spotted Khan’s running figure, racing after him. He will not escape.

Khan had noticed Spock's not-exactly inconspicuous arrival and had started sprinting, taking shortcuts wherever possible. Spock followed him through a broken window, gaining a few ignored cuts on his arms. He was breathing hard, but not from exertion or pain; it was anticipation.  

Spock jumped after Khan onto a moving cargo ship, its rusty surface peeling.  Barely managing to catch it, Spock hung from one side, dangling above London. He did not have the state of mind to admire the view below, focused only on catching the criminal above him. Heaving himself upwards, he’d pulled himself all the way over before Khan noticed. Taking advantage of his surprise, Spock jumped on him, uncaring of whether or not they both fell off the ship.

He took sadistic, savage pleasure in Khan’s cry of pain as a bone snapped, every violent act satisfying a grudge he would never admit to having. Every crunch for a sneer, an insult, a condescending tone aimed at himself, Jim or the crew, his eidetic memory a useful tool for enhancing his emotionally charged state.

 “Intellect alone is useless in a fight, Mr. Spock. You… can't even break a rule. How would you be expected to break bone?” 

Spock struck him with all the ferocity he possessed, letting loose his grief and anger and pain. His anger allowed for mistakes, allowing Khan to kick away a phaser set to maximum stun, gaining a few punches himself. 

“Well, let's play this out logically then, Mr. Spock. Firstly, I will kill your Captain to demonstrate my resolve. Then if yours holds, I will have no choice but to kill you and your entire crew.”

Side-stepping another kick, he forced Khan down on his knees, attempting a vulcan nerve pinch. Khan resisted, but felt the incredible pain that accompanied it. 

“No ship should go down without her captain.”

A final jab sent Khan sprawling, unconscious.

Spock absent-mindedly wiped away a green streak of blood from his cheek as he staggered upwards, ready to deal the final blow. He will never again fall into the hands of a person such as Admiral Marcus. 

“Spock! Spock, stop! Stop! He's our only chance to save Kirk!”

Spock paused, his gaze quickly shifting from Khan to a petrified Nyota. “Save Kirk?” Is there still the possibility…?

 Hope blossomed in his chest as Nyota nodded, her eyes wide in shock, and it was almost more painful than witnessing Jim’s death. 

Nyota pressed her comm and they were transported to the Enterprise, with a medical team waiting on stand-by armed with powerful sedatives. After a quick, terrified glance at their ruffled first-officer, they rushed Khan to the sickbay, where they found a group of crew members circling their captain in a cryotube. 

Jim. 

When Nyota saw him, she burst into tears once more. Spock felt inclined to do the same, the hated feeling scratching at his throat, a deep sadness overtaking his fury. 

Doctor McCoy shot Spock a sharp look as he inspected Khan’s beaten body, commanding a few orderlies to restrain him thoroughly.  “I hope you don’t disagree with what I'm about to do, because I am not stopping. Khan's blood is the only chance we have of reviving Jim.”

“Endeavour to resurrect the Captain, at any cost.”

Bones smiled at the needle he was holding, thoroughly confusing Spock with this action. “Now, everyone who doesn’t have something to do here, clear the room. I have a job to do.”

Spock stayed in a corner, his right hand subconsciously circled around his left wrist.  

Chapter Text

Jim awoke with a start, breathing hard, expecting to not be able to breathe at all. Fuck.

The room he was in was bright white and Jim struggling to focus, half-heartedly wondering if he was in ‘heaven’, Spock’s sad face still at the forefront of his memory.

Oh. Air flooded into his lungs and it was strange to realise that he didn’t hurt anywhere, that he could breathe freely, without effort. Blinking rapidly, he found that he was lying at a strange diagonal angle, different wires and tubes poking out of him, and he was sure he looked like some mutant variant of a porcupine. After a couple of deep breaths, his vision cleared and he was finally able to see. Where the hell am I?

 The room itself wasn’t white, but blue, with windows all around him giving out onto streets hundreds of metres below.

 “Don't be so melodramatic. You were barely dead. It was the transfusion that really took its toll.”

 Bones. Bones! Jim blinked confusedly at him, still handling the fact he was alive, awake and breathing without a struggle. Elated at the sound of his best friend's voice, he let him talk. I'm actually alive, holy shit.  

“You’re in London-you were out cold for two weeks. ”

 Two weeks? I closed my eyes seconds ago…

Words felt strange coming from the cotton of his mouth. “…Transfusion?” With whose blood?

“Your cells were heavily irradiated. We had no choice.”

The dead tribble lived after having a transfusion of Khan’s blood. Jim put two and two together, and the answer cam to him immediately. I’m a tribble.

“Khan?” A small sliver of fear ran up his spine at the thought of Khan’s blood pumping through his veins, quickly tamped down by the fact that he trusted Bones, and that he was alive.

“Once we caught him, I synthesised a serum from his super-blood. Tell me, are you feeling homicidal? Power mad? Despotic?”

“No more than usual.” A sleepy smile lit his features. “How’d you catch him?”

“I didn’t.” Bones stepped away to reveal Spock in grey starfleet uniform, hat in hand. How long have you been standing there? Jim swallowed deeply, easily remembering the regrets he’d had about not saying anything. I’m gonna have to tell him. I’m going to have to face the fact that this is far more than a crush and elaborate on the cheesy 'more than just a friend', huh?

He smiled at the vulcan, hoping that the monitor next to him didn’t show the hitch in his heartbeat. “You saved my life.” 

Bones was shuffling around him, prodding him with different hypos that didn’t feel as painful as usual. “Uhura and I had something to do with it, too, you know.” Jim glanced at him and rolled his eyes affectionately in a way that Bones would understand.  

Bones almost-smiled at him, raising his eyebrows at Spock with a suggestive look that made Jim grin. “I’ll be right back. Gotta get some real food in you instead of this synthesised stuff.”

It wasn't until Bones was out of the room that Spock answered, “You saved my life, Captain, and the lives-”

“Spock, just…” He smiled, his words catching slightly in his throat as he was attacked with the memory of his last moments. “Thank you.” 

“You are welcome, Jim.”

Jim stared at the vulcan in front of him, his heart swelling.

There was a pregnant silence as the two stared at each other, and Jim was intent on breaking it, lest he blurt out his thoughts. “How are you? And, the crew?”  Please tell me there were very few fatalities.

Bones returned noisily with a squeaky cart of hospital food trailing behind him, reluctantly breaking into their heart-eyed conversation. “Jim, your mother is here. Wanted to see you the minute you woke up.”

 “Oh.” As much as I don't want to talk to her…I should. I really should. We need to fix this...thing between us. His happy-yet-tired expression fell, and Spock seemed to immediately understand.

“I will take your leave, Captain.” Jim half-glared at Bones as Spock turned and left, gracefully striding out of the room.

“Don’t worry Jim, he’ll be back. He’s been here 24/7 since you’ve been out. Most of the senior bridge crew have been here a couple times, like Chekhov, Sulu, Uhura…but Spock’s been here the entire time. Pain in my ass, too.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding me. I’m sure he had better things to do than watch me sleep like I was sleeping beauty or something.”

Bones handed him roll of bread, watching Jim’s movements carefully. Clearly this was a mini-mobility test, and Jim hoped he’d pass it.

“Wish I was, he’s been questioning my every move, you know, silently.” Bones raised an eyebrow, in facsimile of Spock. “When was the wedding and why wasn’t I invited?”

 “Very funny, Bones.”  Jim snorted, secretly hoping it was true, because then it would mean something. He took the bread with a stiff arm and tore off a small piece.  “Let her in…and Bones? Be nice.”

We’re going to have to act like we aren’t a completely messed up family. His mother’s last interaction with Bones hadn’t been a pleasant one. She’d met him just after Jim had opened up to him about the going’s on of his teenage years and Bones had never forgiven her for leaving Jim alone with an abusive parent.

Jim hadn’t minded one bit, because the abrasive atmosphere of his dorm room had meant his mother didn’t visit as often; it meant less pretending that everything was alright and smoothed over after teenage years she had willingly missed out on. He was forever thankful to Bones for that.

Bones sighed and pressed a button and the small blonde dressed in the crimson of an admiral’s uniform came barrelling into the room, a worried expression marring her heart shaped face. “Jim!”

He liked to forget she was the exception to the admirals; never on the board, she was a Captain with an admiral’s status. Thankfully she used her maiden name, and he often never heard of her. Most people never made a link between the two of them.

Jim finished chewing his bread, finding it a tiring process in itself, his jaw feeling stiff from all the talking. He readied himself for the energetic inquisition to come.

“Hey, mom."

She sat down in a seat next to him. “When did you wake up?” Too bad you didn’t beat Bones and Spock at being the first to see me awake. 

“Five minutes ago.”

She nodded, her eyes fixed on Jim’s, carefully avoiding the rest of his face, making Jim wonder if it was as heavily bruised or if it just reminded her too much of his father. Probably the latter, with what Bones was saying about Khan's regenerative properties before. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Exhausted.  "Fine.” 

 She glanced at the trolley next to his bed, decked with different rolls, cakes and fruits, and raised her eyebrows in surprise at Bones. “This isn’t the usual hospital food you give him.” She's been here more than once to know what the 'usual' is? 

“The hospital staff thought this ‘hero’ could do with a treat when he woke up.”

 “Are you certain that there are no allergens in this food? You know how he’s allergic to everything.” Bones flushed red and Jim knew he was insulted. 

“Mom-”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Good.” She tucked a bang behind her ear and leaned closer, close enough for Jim to smell her floral perfume.

She glanced back at Bones, who straightened as she did, puffing out his chest. “Leonard tells me you have to have a month of healing, where you have to be monitored.”

“I do?” Damnit.  Jim glared at Bones, who stared right back at him, and expression of both pity and victory; he knew that with Jim's mother, at least, Jim would have to spend more than a day in bed, despite Jim's inclinations to escape the med bay when possible.

“I suggest you spend some of it with us, at home, rather than in a hospital. We have the equipment. I leave in two weeks, but maybe this would suit you?” We? She looked at him hopefully, her eyes  betraying care and gentleness he hadn’t seen in her face in years; evidently his almost-death had affected her, despite their lack of contact. We’re going to have a big talk at the end of all of this, aren’t we?  

Jim didn't want to stay in hospital - he wanted to go home to the apartment Pike had left him in San Francisco, sleep for another two weeks and grieve. He also knew that this wasn't going to be an option given Bones' never-ending vigilance. To have any peace, the best option was to go to Iowa with his mother, and to try and forge some sort of friendly link and forgive past transgressions, somehow. He had promised himself that much, anyway. He had to try and forgive his mother, and maybe Sam, if he ever wanted to have a family to rely on.

Seeing his hesitance, she pressed “You can invite your boyfriend over too…or”, she glanced at Bones somewhat disparagingly. “a... friend.”

Jim pressed back into his pillow in shock; his mother had never really accepted the fact that he could have a boyfriend after Gary. “…Boyfriend?” 

“The young vulcan who’s always here, Jim.”  She looked at him like he was trying to pull her leg. “The clever one who created the Kobayashi Maru test a couple years back.”

“Spock?” He glanced over at Bones, who was hiding a grin by turning his back to him. “He’s not my boyfriend, mom. He’s my first officer, and my friend.” First officer of a flagship, no less. Everyone knows his name. So should you.  

She frowned at him, disbelieving. “He’s a very nice man, James, I don’t see what you have against him.” Did Spock give the impression that I..?

"How would you know if he's nice?" Jim gaped at her. “And, anyway, I have nothing against him.” That’s my problem.

She tucked a blonde strange behind her ear and nodded decisively. “Then invite him over.” It didn’t seem to occur to her that Spock might say no, or that Jim was no longer a child.

He stared at this new version of his mother and wondered what had come over her; shore leave,of sorts, when spent with someone else, often meant something somewhat serious between the two.

She evidently thinks there’s something between Spock and I. Christ. She doesn't even know us. But if Mom has noticed something, it must be pretty obvious.

J im entertained the thought of Spock over and hoped Spock wouldn’t understand the romantic undertone behind the question - unless, of course, he was interested in Jim. Which he probably isn’t. 

Except…Except Spock had, apparently, stayed at his bedside until his woke up, except spock, 'the emotionless robot', had cried when he was dying, except, when Pike died, he’d willingly hugged Jim and then brought him home to make sure he was okay, except they’d had their little moments between chess games and missions where there hands would brush and they would both pause. Although these could all be chalked up to be a budding close-friendship, Jim was going with the heady hope that Spock, maybe, wanted more too. 

Jim nodded slowly, trying to hide the hope he’d kept at bay for so long. “…yes, mom.” Two weeks at home with Mom for a month with Spock was worth suffering, and Bones couldn't really say no to this, given Spock would probably watch him like a hawk, too. 

She smiled.

Bones mimicked a salute behind her back and Jim glared daggers at him. He wasn’t sure he wanted Spock to see how strange his family and their relationship was. Not that he minded the idea of having Spock all to himself for a couple weeks.

“Booooooones. Bo-bones, Bones, Bones. Len, lenny, Leonaaarrd.”

 “Yes?” Bones answered with a sour expression, irritated. Jim had kept this up for the better part of half an hour, not exactly willing to fall back asleep with the memory of dying still on his mind. “I should’ve let you die, damnit.” None of the crew except Spock, as his First Officer (and Bones, his CMO) were allowed to come see him, because Bones didn't want them 'stressing' him. Jim just wanted a distraction.

Jim ignored him. “When are you gonna let me go? I’m bored stiff. I mean, literally.” He pretended to struggle to move, but Bones didn't look up from his padd. After having thought at length about inviting Spock over, he decided he'd at least give it a try.

 “When your boyfriend comes back and you spend a month of shore leave with him.” Bones sniggered. “..and after I do these tests. Technically, you have two months. You just need to be healing for one of 'em.”

 “Hey, I doubt he'll agree and..wait, what? Why?” Bones was prodding him with metal, this time with much more force than the last time, muttering to himself.

“Because I can trust him to take care of you, and we still don’t know 100% what Khan’s blood’ll do to you and I trust Spock to take care of a lot.” 

“Are you saying you can’t trust me to take care of myself?” Where is all this ‘trusting Spock’ coming from?  Bones shot him a look that said "Yes".

Jim shifted in his bed, already itching to move, but too exhausted to properly try. "But you can trust Spock? I thought you hated the 'green-blooded hobgoblin'."

"Nuh-uh. Not anymore."

"Why?"

"You shoulda seen how he took care of Khan. That was enough for me."

"What?"

"I'll tell you about it later. Better yet, ask your boyfriend. You'll understand."

“I just might. Where’s my comm unit?”

“Irradiated.” Great.

"Are you gonna keep answering in monotone?"

"Yes."  

“Can you comm Spock, please?”

"Of course." Bones grinned mischievously and pressed his comm. “Spock. Your boyfriend’s asking for you, if you're not too busy.”

“Bones-”

“Doctor McCoy, I have no male partner-”

“Your boyfriend.” Bones insisted into the comm, nearly sniggering.

“…I am on my way.”  The weariness in Spock's voice told Jim this wasn't the first time Bones had messed with him.

“You’re such an ass, Bones.”

Bones purposefully turned off the comm just a Jim was protesting, earning himself a glare and a blush that crept up to Jim’s ears. Damnit. 

A few minutes later, Spock whooshed through the doors, looking as regal as ever, and Jim, bright red, was eyeing a mischievously grinning Bones in warning. I died and this is what I come back to? Overbearing mother, joking friend…worried vulcan. 

“Hey, Spock.” Jim’s glare softened, and the butterflies were back, reinforced by the knowledge that Spock had, in fact, come here everyday, waiting for him to get up.

“Greetings, Captain.”

Bones addressed Spock next, rolling his eyes as he did. “Jim wanted you here so he could talk to someone that’s not me.”  Spock looked between the two of them, one embarrassed, the other smug, an eyebrow raised.

“Ignore him, Spock. I was bored and I wanted someone interesting to talk to.”

“Clearly.”

Bones sputtered and Jim grinned, pretending the shoo Bones away, waving Spock towards the seat next to him. Bones left the room without much of a fight, under the pretence that he had to go get some more equipment, shaking his head as he went, muttering “About time.”

“Bones tells me we have two months or shore-leave. Where, of course,” Jim said, sarcastically, “one month of which I’m going to be ‘healing’.”

Spock cocked his head at him in askance, his fringe falling to the left with the movement. He knew there would be a question behind the statement and patiently waited for it.

“What are you doing for it? Are you going to New Vulcan?”

“No, I will be residing on Earth. My father is on a diplomatic trip and there is no need for me to visit New Vulcan.” Then here’s my chance. This is, technically, my first move in telling him. Shit.

“Then I have a preposition for you. Why don’t you come to Iowa with me for a bit? I mean, maybe you're not- maybe it's not for Vulcans. It's kinda cold there at the moment. But, uh, my mom said she had space- said I could bring a…a friend, and I don’t really want to face her alone. She's almost as bad as a Klingon, you know. Well, she said she met you so maybe you do know.” Jim looked at Spock hopefully, wondering if he wasn’t asking too much. He rambled on. “I mean, my family is a strange bunch and I haven’t talked to them in awhile, so there’s that, but my mother leaves in two weeks and-” 

“Yes, Jim.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I will accompany you to your home in Iowa.”

Jim crowed with happiness. I have a chance.

Chapter Text

Jim stared out the window, trying to calm his excited nerves, pretending to himself he wasn’t excited to go back to a place he used to hate. Most of his wounds had healed, the only visible marks of the trauma he had endured were the fading bruises on his skin and eye bags from exhaustion as his body fought to restore itself to how it was before. 

Both he and Spock were in uniform, having travelled after reporting in from Starfleet HQ in London, with only coats to protect them from the upcoming weather. Jim had bought a union jack scarf as a souvenir, in the hopes that it would provide some warmth.

Spock was to his left, reading a book or report of some sort  on his padd, and they had sat in this comfortable silence for the better part of an hour. Not that Jim minded; he was a bundle of energy after having been released into Spock’s custody, and this energy was being put to better use: figuring out how the hell he was going to tell Spock.

He had warned Spock that his family’s home wouldn’t be up to scratch, that it was a farm, but Spock hadn’t seemed to mind, and Jim planned to sweep him away into several activities before his dysfunctional family scared him away.

Fields of corn spanned beneath them as they crossed Illinois into Iowa, and Jim watched with a smile as they crossed the border overhead, greeted by the sight of green splattered trees giving way to scintillating fields which shone with frost.

“Spock, look!” Reaching behind him without looking, he placed a hand on him to get his attention.

“It seems to be in complete contrast to the Vulcan climate.” The vulcan sounded mildly strained and, looking back, Jim saw he’d placed it on the other’s hand. He retracted it quickly with a hasty apology.

“Oh shit, sorry. But look, look how beautiful it is. My house is all the way over there, we can’t see it yet-” Jim pointed out the window, squirming slightly, trying not to act like the child he felt like. Two years. He shouldn't be so excited about a house that would probably still stink of Frank, but Spock was with him, and that changed the game entirely. "We might even get snow." Jim was then struck by the image of Spock bundled up in wool and covered in snow and smiled.

“It is indeed aesthetically pleasing.” Jim looked back once more to check Spock was looking at the right place, but Spock was only looking at him.

“I warned you, it’s wet here.” Grinning at him before turning back to the window, a faint blush on his cheeks, he wondered if he was misinterpreting once more, trying not to read into him too much. “I haven’t been back here in two years.”

“Two years.” Spock echoed, a question in his words.

“Give or take.” Jim shrugged, his back to him. “Didn’t want to come back to a place with such bad memories. Pike was the one to get me out of here, though. Felt like a godsend at the time; not that I ever told him…”

“What did you do before joining Starfleet?”

“Drink, mostly. Otherwise, odd jobs. Everyone around town knew me as ‘the genius’, so I’d be called to solve all sorts of problems.” Jim chuckled to himself. “Not that I didn’t cause some.”

“That is unsurprising.”

“Guess so.” Jim snorted in response and looked back out the window, lapsing back into nostalgic silence as the shuttle landed.

He walked out of the shuttle into the icy air of Iowa from the  shuttle, feeling like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head and he closed his jacket. Looking over at Spock, he saw that the Vulcan looked cold but perfect, unruffled and comfortable with the change in atmosphere, and was both vaguely annoyed and impressed by it, sure that now he probably looked like a mess in comparison. It wasn’t fair that Spock could look good whenever and wherever. Especially since no one else could rock the bowl cut look. 

There was a faint green flush on his cheeks, and Jim wondered if Spock was a lot colder than he felt.

Half-heartedly straightening his jacket and running a hand through his hair, Jim turned to the man beside him. He felt awkward, like he was bringing his boyfriend to his parents for the first time - something that was disconcertingly not that far off from reality. “You ready to face my family?”

“‘Facing your family’ suggests confrontation, in which case, negative, Jim.”

Spock’s commented elicited a small smile, and Jim wondered if that was Spock’s objective or if that was just his natural reaction to Spock these days. “Okay, you cannot pretend you don’t know that I’m exaggerating.”

“Vulcans do not pretend.”

They walked through the arch of the terminal arrivals area, and Jim was smiling properly again.“I call bullshit because this one does.”

“I do not.”

“Do too.”

“I do not pretend. Pretending is a form of lying and, as I have stated numerous times, vulcans do not lie.”

To any other crew member, Spock’s tone would indicate a warning against arguing the ‘facts’ of what he was saying. Jim, on the other hand, had loads of experience (most of which involving trial and error over chess games and dinner) had learned that there was a very small difference between the tone Spock had now versus his more stubborn thou-shalt-not-question-my-vulcan-superiority tone was a) all in his expression, and b) in the way he stated things. It was a very fine line, but Spock’s expression was far more relaxed than his usual i-am-a-stoic-vulcan-robot-that-feels-no-pain-or-emotion and more of a blank expression rather than completely wooden. Jim, again, tried not to read into it too much, tried not to read into how ‘open’ Spock was with him compared to other people, and especially tried not to think about how most of Spock’s more ‘emotional outbursts’ were linked to him, and particularly tried not to remember the moments before his death. 

“You sooo do too. Remember the Trill incident? Where you pretended to be a Vulcan diplomat as opposed to a Starfleet one.”

“As I am Vulcan by birth and citizenship, I was not pretending.”

“Oh really, Spock? Because you pretended to be an official Vulcan diplomat.”

“You are being facetious.” There was a slight curl to Spock’s lips  that caused a few slight flips in Jim’s stomach, which he studiously ignored in favour of grinning right back.

“You don’t want to admit I’m right, and we both know it.”

Jim’s mother waving from the crowd saved Spock from answering. Jim stilled as they approached; he hadn’t expected to see the figure standing next to her, someone he hadn’t seen in far more than two years. He had the sudden urge to grab Spock’s hand and make a run for it, which he found funny in an abstract way. He was willing to take on some 300 year old psychotic madman, but had the mad urge to run the hell away from his family. Spock, sensing his hesitation, paused with him and stared unwaveringly at the man Jim stood in front of.

“Sam.”

The blonde man’s serious face broke out into a glistening smile, and Jim felt, rather than saw, the Vulcan tense next to him. “Jim.”

Jim turned to face said Vulcan in an attempt not to stare at his changed brother. “Spock, this is my older brother, Sam. Sam, this is Spock, my first officer.” He ignored his brother’s pointed glance between the two of them and pushed out his chin in an effort to seem more confident and less off kilter than he felt. Meet the brother I haven’t seen or talked to in four years.

Spock relaxed slightly and inclined his head. “Greetings, Mr Kirk, Ms Lawson.”

“Honestly, Spock, we spent enough time together in the hospital. Call me Winona.” Jim looked between the two of them worriedly, wondering just what they could have talked about, whilst spending time together. Sam distracted him from that line of thought by extending his hand in offer of a handshake before quickly retracting it. Jim watched this curiously. Sam seemed to know enough about Vulcans to not offer to shake his hand, something Jim had dreaded about going home. Did he learn this once he knew Spock was coming? Jim didn’t want Spock to feel overly uncomfortable; he already had to deal with Jim every day for a month, and that was enough to put most people (other than Bones, surprisingly) off.

"And call me Sam, please. I'm only called Kirk when I'm in trouble." Sam had grown up. His boyish looks had changed: he had always been the placid, tranquil child between the two of them, and now he looked it. In a plaid shirt and worn jeans with a side part in his dirty blonde hair, he looked almost five years older than he was. He looked like the high school teacher he had never wanted to be.

Jim eyed him reprovingly, tugging at his scarf. “Weren’t you on Deneva?” Ya know, when you abandoned me and ignored every attempt I made to contact you? Jim didn’t regret the hard edge his voice had taken, only feeling slightly guilty when Sam’s smile faded slightly.

“Yeah, I came here to see you.” Because I almost died. Righto. Nothing like death to bring the family together. To prevent himself from arguing and causing a fight in public that would get nowhere and probably cause Spock to think of him as a child, Jim turned to his mother with a smile that he hoped wasn’t as fake as he felt. I’ll have to explain everything to him later, won’t I? His acting had, thankfully, always been good and had improved with the quantity of diplomatic missions they’d had to conduct.

“You know, you’re good for him.” Winona nodded approvingly as the brothers stared at each other wearily. “Jim’s matured.”

“I have played no prominent part in his maturity, Miss-” Spock demurred as she looked at him pointedly, and Spock caved in his formalities. “-Winona. Starfleet played a part in his .…maturity.”

“Well, you’re a part of Starfleet aren’t you? As his first officer, he sees you the most out of all the crew-”

Jim watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam stifled a smile behind his hand. Uncomfortable with what they were hinting at,  Jim interrupted, “Mom. Quit interrogating Spock - we just got here. You’ll have time for that later. It’s cold and I need to change out of my uniform.”

“Of course.” She looked back at him with a quick playful smile accompanied with a wink, and everything felt almost normal…almost domestic.

Jim hated it. He hated how his family were still pretending everything was normal after he died. He hoped it was just for Spock’s benefit; not that he really, honestly, wanted to deal with it. After everything that had happened, maybe this was a clean slate. Maybe this had to be a clean slate.

He’d promised himself he’d rectify this, and now was his chance. Now I have the hard task of forgiving them.

They made their way to the car, with Jim becoming progressively more exhausted with every step, pretending his slow pace was due to pausing and looking around more than the nagging suspicion that his body was giving up on him for the second time in his life. When he stopped to catch his breath, Spock fell back with him, gently tugging Jim’s bags out of his left hand and Jim realised half-heartedly that nothing escaped him. “Jim, you must rest. Doctor McCoy indicated you would feel extreme exhaustion, and that-“

“I know. I was there.” Jim answered shortly before he cut himself short, rubbing his hand over his face. “Sorry. You’re right, Spock. I’m just annoyed at being absolutely worn out after having done exactly nothing.”

“You have travelled several hours, and you have met your family for the first time in many years. Most humans indicate symptoms of fatigue after one of these two occurrences. Naturally after both, along with your condition-”

“I know, Spock. You don’t have to convince me.”  Jim smiled tightly. “I just…Thanks.” Spock nodded as a way of answering, and matched Jim’s slow pace as they started walking once more. Jim noticed him shudder in the breeze, and pulled at his sleeve to get him to stop. "Wait." Spock turned to face him, a smear of green on his cheekbones from the cold. Unlooping his scarf from his neck, Jim flipped the material over Spock's head and onto his neck, tugging it so it sat close to his chin. "There. Let's go?"  Jim ambled on, leaving Spock to stare at his back.

Sam and his mother had stopped several metres away in front of a white car, having noticed the pause, and patiently waited for them to catch up.

Sam’s wiggle of eyebrows in his direction after nodding at the bags in Spock’s hands and the scarf around his neck reminded Jim that he needed to clarify a couple things. Taking a deep breath, he reluctantly started, “Spock - I should apologise. My family’s been dropping hints about us being involved..I mean, romantically.  It’s because, for humans, two crew members spending shore leave together is seen as romantic-” Not that I helped the situation.

“I am aware, Jim.” Spock wasn't looking at him, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

“Oh.” Jim’s pulse jumped at the thought, and he quickly entertained the thought that Spock had thought of it romantically, too.“Okay. Well, expect some intrusive questions on my mom’s part. She hasn’t seen me i n a while and she rightly assumes that I won’t tell her much. She’ll be turning to you for that, I think. I’m sorry. I hadn’t really thought much about how my family would react, and if it makes you feel uncomfortable-”

“It is of no consequence.” Huh.

Once having caught up to the car, they split as Spock placed their bags in the boot and Jim was ushered into the car.  He was sandwiched between Spock and Sam, acutely aware of where his left leg was touching Spock’s right, the new leather smell of the car making him feel nauseous. There was an awkward pause before Sam broke the silence.

“So, Spock. How did you and my brother meet?”

Jim and Spock exchanged a quick glance, a smile tugging at Jim’s lips as he waited for Spock to answer.

“I accused him of cheating the Kobayashi Maru test during a trial.”

Sam choked and Jim tried not to laugh. “Good start.”

“Oh, you have no idea. He ended up choking me several hours later.” Spock shifted imperceptibly next to him, and Jim saw the flicker of discomfort in his countenance before it was erased. Knocking him with his shoulder and suddenly realising that further explanation would go down a path of depressing memories that Spock no doubt want to avoid, he turned back to Sam and said, “Of course, that was my fault. I… may have engineered that.”

“You wanted…you wanted Spock to choke you?” There was a semblance of a laugh in Sam’s voice, and Jim tried not to smile at the innuendo.

“Not exactly.”

Sam, thankfully, didn’t press it, instead asking, “So if you had such a bad start, how did you get to…where you are now?” He obviously didn’t know whether or not to address them as a couple, and Jim looked out of the window, watching the trees whiz past them, knowing that he would have to address this sooner rather than later. 

Spock answered for him, the slightest hint of amusement in his tone. “We resolved our differences.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, and Jim would have thought it was a facsimile of Spock if Sam had known anything about him. “Oh, did you? Impressive. We’ve been trying for years.”

The comment hit Jim like a blow, a sudden reminder of how he shouldn’t be comfortable with these people calling themselves his family, acting like something they had never been. They hadn’t even tried to keep him in contact with him in the last years, Sam in particular. They couldn’t even pretend to have ‘tried’ anything. Jim stiffened and looked studiously out of the window, decidedly not reacting vocally to Sam’s comment. He shifted closer to Spock, moving away from Sam in an effort to distance himself, a cheek lightly touching Spock’s shoulder as he pretended to be fascinated by the fields they passed by. Spock didn’t pull away like he expected him to, which was gratifying and calming in its own way.

“The C-” Jim nudged him surreptitiously with a glare, a way of saying ‘you’re here for a month and if you call me ‘Captain’ once I will have something to say about it’, “Jim and I played many games of chess.”

“Solving your differences was as easy as games of chess?”

“Our many missions together aided in the development of our friendship.”

“Friendship.” Sam looked at Jim for a long moment. “Huh. ”

They lapsed into silence, and Jim found himself slowly being lulled to sleep on Spock’s shoulder, putting up a valiant fight of keeping his eyes open and failing. He doesn’t catch the look shared between Sam and his mother in the rear view window, and is asleep long before Spock adjusts him so he didn’t press into Spock’s shoulder bone, an arm around his waist to make sure he wasn't jolted around.

“Friendship.” Sam muttered under his breath with a small shake of his head, turning away to look out of his window, adjusting his collar. “Right.”

Chapter Text

“Jim feels safe around you.” Sam had stated this quietly from Jim’s right, but somehow it still reverberated around the car.

The man in question was dimly aware of the car rolling on gravel, the crunch of the wheels waking him up. Jim was very comfortable where he was, a warm arm wound around his back, its fingers pressing gently into his hip. Despite his comfort, he woke up in a mild panic, scared his body had given up on him once again, terrified that he would be struggling to breathe with blood pumping in his ears only to see nothing.

“As his first officer, crew member and…friend, I should expect that he would.” Jim didn’t miss Spock’s mild tone.

He relaxed at the sound of his first officer’s voice, now mindful of the fact that this was Spock holding him like this, and controlled his breathing, glad that the gravel and conversation probably hid his alarmed start. He moved his head back to its comfortable place on what he now knew was Spock’s shoulder, and hoped the Vulcan wouldn’t pull away. The surprise at his predicament of literally being in Spock’s arms didn’t last long as he listened more closely to their conversation, wondering if he should let them know he was awake.

“No.” There was a long suffering sigh, and this time Jim’s mother’s voice answered from the front, and the car rumbled to a stop. “After his…coma, any time he woke up, he woke up breathing hard and panicky, thinking he’d died again. Thinking he’d died alone, I suppose. After that had happened once or twice, he refused to fall asleep again.” Her voice quieted and there was the sound of a door creaking open, and the warm weight to Jim’s right was gone. “But with you, it took him seconds to close his eyes and fall asleep.” There was a short pause before she continued, one which Spock took advantage of to silently adjust Jim’s position against his shoulder, ensuring Jim wasn’t pressed against the hard edge of his shoulder. Jim didn’t resist, and wondered once more if Spock was aware he was awake - because if he was, this had implications. “Back at the hospital, too, now that I think about it. Doctor McCoy mentioned Jim didn’t sleep unless someone else was there with him at the time, like Doctor McCoy himself, or you. I had thought he was just telling me someone needed to be near Jim all the time; but now I’ve realised he meant that Jim needs to be around someone he trusts. Jim seems to fall asleep easily around you, who apparently choked him once, and around Doctor McCoy, who has attacked him with god knows how many hyposprays. In spite of all this, he trusts you both.”

“Doctor McCoy is his doctor and close friend, and would not intentionally hurt him-” Jim held back a snort at the though of all the hyposprays painfully injected by Bones out of spite over his last two years as captain - and had the odd thought that actions like that was why he trusted Bones and Spock as much as his mother had observed. He trusted them to call him out on his bullshit.

Winona chuckled. “Jim doesn’t trust easily, Spock. Be it doctor or family or friend, he often expects people to turn on him. Or…leave him. It doesn’t matter if they have good, honest intentions or not.” Jim recoiled at this, pushing further into Spock’s shoulder, wanting to finally reveal he was awake and point the damning finger: he wanted to put the blame on her - she left us, me, first. And she thinks she knows and understands me, after all these years?

Spock stiffened at the implication, or at Jim’s movement, saying sharply, “I would not abandon him.” If his terse reply moved Jim a little, well, that wasn’t his fault.

“Good.” There was a pregnant pause, and Jim imagined Spock reassessing his mother, fixing her with the hard look he always gave Jim when he thought Jim was being stupid. “Look, Spock, I just want to thank you, for, you know, being there for my son. I know you’ll probably say it’s part of your job, but forgive me if I don't completely agree with you on that. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go help Sam open up the rest of the house.”

“Do you require assiss-” Jim felt Spock shift as he moved to get up, and reluctantly realised he would probably have to move, too.

“Spock, we both know you'd rather be with him. Let me at least offer you the opportunity of a rest.”

Her tone allowed for no argument and Spock seemed to choose not to fight it. There was the sound of shuffling footsteps on gravel and finally silence settled in the car for a couple moments, Spock’s shoulders dropping incrementally as time passed, his hand relaxing against Jim’s hip.

“She is gone, Jim.”

Jim was not surprised that Spock knew he’d been awake, as he had reacted to what his mother had said, and was pretty sure Spock had felt him wake up with his panicked jolt. He was surprised, however, that Spock hadn’t pulled away yet. Before, Spock had the excuse that Jim was asleep, but now, by acknowledging Jim was awake, he was owning up to his actions. He was admitting he’d held Jim close, maybe just for the sake of holding Jim close.

“She’s right, you know. I do. Trust you, I mean.” Jim admitted quietly,  still unsure about how he felt about his mother telling this to Spock, but sure he didn't mind Spock knowing. If anything, it was probably going to make telling Spock a lot easier. He took it as an especially good sign that Spock still hadn’t told him to get the fuck off of his shoulder and out of his personal space.

“I am…glad.” Spock’s soft tone dropped in favour of a more mocking one. “This certainly explains your adamant refusal to rest until you are in Doctor McCoy’s custody.”

Jim burning to know why Spock had held him close despite all the Vulcan rules and attitudes which Spock had upheld on the ship. Jim wanted to know if this indicated what he wanted to hear, or if it was just an indication of a deeper friendship. But Spock had adjusted him so he was comfortable against his shoulder; if Jim’s heart hadn’t melted already at Spock’s stern reply to his mother, it was now a pool in his stomach. Spock could have just shifted him so he slept against the chair, a little less comfortable for him, but no doubt more pleasant for a touch telepath. Unless that meant having Jim sleeping soundly on his shoulder was just as, or more, pleasant.

“Yes, because I of course I did it for your nerve pinches. Which hurt like hell, by the way.” Jim snorted, glad that Spock wasn’t pushing the whole trust thing: he didn’t want to go into the mess that was his family just yet, particularly since he was going to try and fix it. “I just don't like falling asleep on the job.” Or having you or someone else die when I’m out.  Jim stretched, finally properly removing his head from Spock's shoulder, and the arm dropped instantaneously from his side.

Spock huffed a small sigh which said something along the lines of ‘illogical human’ and stepped out of the car. Jim looked up reluctantly at the old mock-Victorian house, squinting as its windows winked back at him in the late winter sun. He shuffled out of the car, and followed at a snail-like pace as Spock, carrying both their bags, led the way to the presidential blue door of the house. Once he’d looked, he couldn’t stop. Jim stared up at the house in surprise: it had changed a lot in the last two years, the slats of the house repainted cream and pale blue, the once ceramic red slates of the roof replaced with grey slate fish scales.

The door swung open to let them in as Sam swept by, en route to open more shutters. Jim stepped in hesitantly, looking left and right as he walked in, absorbing how much the house had changed. The chandelier above them shone as though several dozen brightly polished diamonds hung from it, no trace of the once very much broken and grimy pieces that had once sulked in the hall. The carpet had been replaced, living room refurbished and styled. Jim barely recognised it.

“Mom?” Jim called out, catching himself and remembering he had a guest, feeling much like one himself in this unfamiliar home.

A voice called back from what Jim thought was the kitchen. “Yes, honey?” Honey? Since when has she ever called me ‘honey’?

“Did you remake the entire house?”

“I just re-styled it, is all.” Jim looked around and sniffed incredulously. Now that’s an understatement.

“Okay, well, have you changed my room? And which room is Spock gonna stay in?”

Her blonde head popped around the kitchen’s arch to look at them, her gaze alternating between Jim and the vulcan standing next to him. “Your room hasn’t been touched save for some cleaning, as for Spock I thought he’d be with y-, in the red room.”

“The red room?”Jim echoed, furrowing his brow and glanced at Spock, who was watching him attentively.

“Upstairs on the right.”

I’m right in front of the stairs, so..“Next to mine?”

“Next to yours.” This is a set up.  Not that he minded having Spock right next to him.

Jim shrugged at Spock and gestured for him to follow, reigning in his new-found energy just enough to not be seen bounding up the stairs. He was excited to see what else had changed; and wanted to see if this would also see a change in his attitude towards his family, too.

Jim walked out of a hot shower twenty minutes later,  refreshed and slicking his hair back before he tugged on a Starfleet Cadet shirt and some loose jeans. He’d  decided on how he’d tell Spock about his more-than-just-attraction to him: he’d rip off the proverbial band aid. Spock maybe understood subtlety more now, but that didn’t mean he liked it - meaning Jim would have to be very, very clear in his wording, and that he would give Spock options. Options out, if Jim had misread him completely and Spock only wanted friendship. Moreover, he would have to do it sooner rather than later, because drawing things out have the inevitable consequence of making things worse - Jim could trick himself further into thinking Spock was into him to then be completely crushed.

Towelling his hair, he looked around his old room, properly this time, finding everything almost untouched but dusted. His starfleet posters still hung on the wall, the ship models on his desk still needing a bit of tweaking. The floorboards still groaned as he walked over them, his ceiling still filled corner to corner with pictures of space and stars. His old wooden chess set sat on the cabinet next to his bed, an unfinished match waiting to be continued.

He couldn't stop thinking about the implications of Spock’s actions in the car, if they meant what he wanted them to or not.

After hanging up his towel and unpacking his meagre amount of clothes, he figured it was time to find out where Spock was, and save him from embarrassing or redundant questions. He followed the smell of dinner downstairs, stomach rumbling for the first time in a long while, hoping his mother remembered what he had said about Spock being vegetarian. Real food.

Jim found Spock making dinner beside his mother, with the clattering of Sam setting the table in a dining room Jim hadn't seen yet. Spock had changed into a form-fitting navy jumper and black trousers, and was chopping vegetables and carrying an indistinct conversation with Jim’s mother. He leaned against that archway leading to the kitchen and watched them for a moment, unconsciously picking at the hem of his shirt, warmed by the scene in front of him.

“In the car, Jim said you met him as you accused him of cheating on the Kobayashi Maru test?”

“His results were that I suspected such.”

She laughed lightly at this,  smiling down at the contents of the pot she was stirring. “You wouldn't be the first to think he was cheating. He always did so well academically but played dumb, so naturally his professors always thought he was cheating up until he took an IQ test. Unfortunate, really.”

“To ‘Play dumb’ is a phrase I have not yet come across” Spock asked, glancing up at her from his chopped vegetables.

“Oh, sorry. Human expression. To hide one’s intellect by pretending to be, well, dumb. Usually done to gain popularity, so as to not one up and seem better than the others in one’s class, who Jim, obviously, surpassed. Guess he just wanted to fit in.”

“I …see.”

Her lips twitched and she met his gaze. “No, you don.’t. But that’s good: it means he doesn't do it anymore.”

“Perhaps the academy and crew have given him the sufficient environment to use his intellect without casting him out for it.”

“Perhaps.” She conceded, looking away. “Maybe having you around helped; I doubt you sugarcoated your words or made an effort to fit in, like he once did. Hell, maybe having your intellect around let him show his own. Vulcans are known for their intelligence.”

Jim smiled as Spock’s brow furrowed. Watching his mom try to figure him out using Spock was entertaining to say the least. “Sugar coat? Furthermore, I do not see how my intellect would encourage his.”

Winona leaned against the over, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The angle at which Jim stood allowed him to see the wrinkles of age on his mothers face, and realise just how much time had passed since they last talked. “Ah, other human expression. Hm. To sugarcoat is to, uh, make something more superficial. Usually less harmful in appearance. I mean, you being unabashed with your intellect, no doubt deeming it illogical to hide it, probably made him step up his game. He does love a challenge and it’s hard to hide your intelligence when up against a vulcan such as yourself. He’d want to show he’s just as intelligent as you, especially after the Kobayashi Maru.”

“Given the situations Jim has faced as Captain, his intellect has been challenged many times. Many of the crew share his intellectual capacity as well. It is highly unlikely that I have played a role in forcing him to assume it.”

“Don’t underestimate your capabilities, Spock.”

Spock’s brow only furrowed further and Jim mentally reminded himself to thank Spock once again for having to put up with this line of questioning and interrogation.

“You appear to sustain the idea that I have had a significant impact on your son, Ms - Winona.”

It was her turn to look at him like he was an idiot.

“The fact that you’re in Iowa supports that, Spock. You’re the reason he’s here.”

“I do not take your meaning.”

“Jim and I usually do not get along well. But when I suggested he come here, with the possibility of inviting you here, he jumped at the opportunity as opposed to shutting me down as he usually would and sticking it out in the hospital with Doctor McCoy.”

Spock continued chopping his vegetables, visibly thinking. “Although this outlines your relationship, I do not see what this demonstrates about my presence.”

“This house has…bad memories in store for him. The fact that he is willing to share them with you, tells me that you’re very important to him.”

Maybe she understands me better than I thought. Jim stepped in before his mother alluded to anything else.

“Spock is my friend, of course he’s important to me. What’s cooking?”

Winona jumped at the sound of his approaching voice, and Jim pretended not to see and wonder at Spock’s face flushing a light green. Jim patted Spock’s shoulder as he passed to look into his mother’s pot, the feel of thin wool still on his fingertips when he stuck a pinky finger in to test the soup.

His mother watched him test the soup critically, her face pinched, no doubt trying to figure out how much he had heard, and why he wasn’t reacting to being talked about like he would have in the past. Truth be told, Jim was too tired and wasn’t even bothered by the constant stream of conclusions his mother had come to, although he would have been once. Right now, she was giving him more material to work with, should he finally tell Spock what was on his mind.

“’s good. I’ll go help Sam with the table.”

Sam was pulling plates out of a cupboard when Jim sauntered into the dining room. It had changed too; the stained carpet he had left two years ago were now parquet. She’d remodelled the room entirely: the small windows had become patio doors, leading out to the deck which encircled the house. The carpet, which had once stunk of booze and cigarettes was now parquet that was cold to his bare feet.

Jim stood and stared outside the window and watched dark clouds roll in from the west, waiting for his brother to notice him.

“Hey, Jim.”

“Hey Sam. How’s Aurelan?” Although partially a dig, Jim was curious to know what his brother had been up to for the last four years: The last news Jim had had of Sam was of him leaving for Deneva with his then- girlfriend Aurelan. How much had changed since then, Jim didn’t know.

“We’re engaged.” There was a smile in Sam’s voice and Jim couldn't stop himself from smiling too, albeit weakly. As a teenager, Jim had always blamed Aurelan as the reason for Sam leaving, imagining her as a monstrous she-devil seductress  who stole his brother away with her figure and smiles, rather than as an actual person. Now, he wanted to meet her properly, and greet her as family. He had spent too much time hating and abhorring his family instead of actually getting to know them. Now is my chance.

“Congratulations.”

“Yeah, didn’t think she’d say yes.”

“Oh?” Jim realised he’d matured once he felt a wave of happiness for his brother. Despite everything, despite Sam abandoning him, he deserved a good life, too. I have a feeling it’ll be a lot easier to forgive them than I’m making it out to be. They’re just trying to move on.

“We’d been going through a rough patch.”

“Sorry to hear that. At least that’s solved, right?”

“Yeah.” Sam chuckled faintly, passing him to put glasses on the table. “You’ve changed, Jim. Captain’s life is good to you.” Jim moved to find some plates, his back to his brother.

“I guess it is.” Apart from the dying part. But even I can’t joke about that yet. “When’s the date?”

“We don’t know yet. I only asked her last week, before, uh, you know. So we haven’t talked about it yet.”

“Sorry for the disruption.” Jim grinned wryly, looking up at his big brother.

Sam rolled his eyes and quickly changed the subject. “So, Spock, huh?”

“Sam, please, not you too.” Jim let out a low groan and set down the glasses.

“I’m just, you know, surprised. Vulcan wasn’t your usual type. Too…logical, emotionless, et cetera.”

“We didn’t have many around here for me to find out.” Jim quipped, planning a move to escape to the kitchen and back to Spock, around whom Sam would no doubt feel too uncomfortable to joke.

He was saved by his mother calling out, “Guys, dinner’s ready. Hope the table is set!”

“It is!” Sam called back, glancing at his brother with a small shake of his head. The two men went into the kitchen to help carry the meal in, only to find Spock handling it. Shrugging at each other, they sat down beside one another and waited for Spock and their mother to do the same. Spock sat down in front of Jim, who sent him a small smile before looking over at his mother expectantly.

“Help yourselves, boys. There’s tomato soup, salad and some vegetarian chicken. Nothing too extreme tonight.” She smiled at her sons. "All Spock approved."

Jim started eagerly, not having eaten since that morning. Sam quickly followed suit, with Winona smiling conspiratorially at Spock, saying, "They were like this when they were kids."

Jim's good mood vanished with those words, and he bit back his thoughts by forcefully swallowing his soup. You weren't around to know. He glanced at Sam and was relieved to see what he was feeling expressed on Sam's face.

Spock, no doubt reading the mildly murderous expressions on Jim and Sam's faces, asked an oblivious Winona, looking at the windows behind Jim and Sam, "Is this weather common in Iowa?"

Jim gawked at him, and wondered if Spock had researched conversation starters. Knowing Spock, it wouldn't have been much of a surprise.

"At this time of year, yeah. What was it like at this time of year on Vulcan?"

Jim winced, teeth jarring on the silver of his spoon. Oh god, dinner horror stories start here. Spock didn't show any outward change in attitude except for a small droop in his posture, which was telling enough for Jim to glare daggers at his mother.

“Cold, although in comparison to the weather here, it was…quite warm.”

Sam redeemed himself in Jim’s eyes just by taking the heat off of Spock, who had a far-off look in his eyes.

“Hey, mom, what do you think there is in Riverside for Jim and Spock to visit?”

“Not much, really. We’ve got a casino and something tells me Spock isn’t the gambling type. Hmm…there’s always the movies? Or, a shuttle to Okoboji?”

“Nah, that’s a good two hours by shuttle…”

With Winona talking to Sam in the background, Jim used the break in attention to nudge Spock’s foot with his under the table to get his attention.

“Spock, whaddya say to a walk tomorrow?” Sam and Winona broke off their conversation and shared a shocked glance.

“Doctor McCoy stressed that you are not allowed to carry out any strenuous activity.”

“Spock, come on, walking isn’t strenuous.” Jim tilted his head and looked at him imploringly. Bones would even encourage walking, I bet. Then his face lit up with an even better idea, which warned Spock before Jim even uttered a word. “Or, wait, mom is my ‘bike still here?”

She huffed disapprovingly and took a bite of her vegetables before answering. “I found that old hunk of metal has been rusting away in the garage.”

“Hey! I made it myself.” Jim grinned. “Well, Spock. We could go for a walk, or” Jim drew out the ‘r’ as he looked between his mother and Spock and continued, “I could take you out on the ‘bike.”

“The ‘bike’?” Spock straightened once again, and Jim congratulated himself for evoking just enough curiosity to distract him.

“My motorbike, of course.” Spock’s eyes widening conveyed just enough of a horrified reaction for Jim to know the answer before it even left Spock’s mouth.

“Jim,” Spock started, looking deadly serious, “walking would be preferable given your current state.” And when I get better? Jim wanted to ask, entertaining images of Spock hanging onto him very tightly at the waist.

Winona cut in with a mischievous grin. “You could always walk to the Mitchell’s estate. Gary’s in town.”

Yet again, Jim’s good mood was crushed, this time by discomfort.“Uh…we didn’t end on good terms, mom. I don't think…I don't think that’s a good idea.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. The two of you got on so well.” Why is she mentioning this now?

“Mom…” Jim bit the inside of his cheek and looked at Sam pleadingly. “Can we not…” Can we put Gary on the list of taboo topics?

Spock had gathered enough from his unease to press, “Gary?”

“Gary Mitchell,” Jim explained slowly and carefully, trying to find the right words, “is someone I dated for a while in the Academy.”

“You got on like a house on fire.” Winona added, nodding knowingly.

How the hell would you know? “You only met him once.” She isn’t making forgiving her easy.

“Mom.” Sam cut in, sensing Jim tense next to him.

Spock was staring at him, searching Jim’s face for an answer. “I do not understand that expression.”

“It means…to have a good, and rapidly successful relationship, as quickly as a house catching on fire.” Sam answered for Jim, and joined him in glaring at their mother. Although he didn’t know the story, he seemed to guess enough to know that going down this path was a bad decision.

“I see.”

Jim watched his mother’s shoulders slump slightly as though she was disappointed by lack of a response, and he finally understood her motives. Of course. Gary was a hook his mother was using to see just how much of a reaction she could get out of the stony Vulcan and himself all at once.

The only giveaway in Spock’s countenance was the miniature tic in his jaw, inconspicuous to anyone who didn’t know how to read him, and it told Jim just what he needed to know: the knowledge of Jim having dated Gary bothered Spock. A lot.

Interesting. Jim stuffed his face with chicken in order to stop himself from staring, fighting the urge to literally pull Spock out of there and talk to him. In private.

Sam looked between everyone at the table, swallowed and changed the subject by addressing Spock. “So, Spock, do you have any interesting stories to tell from your time with Jim as Captain?”

“What exactly do you consider interesting?”

“Anything concerning Jim.” Sam replied by pushing for any information possible, and his impatience for any story concerning his brother and his feats elicited a small glance in askance in Jim’s direction from Spock.

Jim smiled to himself. Typical Spock question.  He half-listened as Spock matter of factly explained how Jim had singlehandedly taken on a group of Andorrans and their politics whilst the Enterprise and its crew was sequestered in Andorran space, stopped by a forcefield that would have melted them should they have tried to escape.

He hadn’t thought his diplomatic feat so impressive at the time, which was conveyed even though Spock’s stripped and matter-or-fact version. All Jim had wanted to do was save his crew, and, if possible, come back alive.

Jim gulped, suddenly glum as he thought of his crew. More particularly, those of his crew he lost because of his grief. Although logic - no doubt Spock’s influence- told him it was mainly Marcus’s fault, Jim was still at fault. He had voluntarily led them into Klingon space, and had caused them to be killed. All thirty-five crew members, dead either in the instant Marcus fired on the Enterprise at warp or in the plunge through earth’s atmosphere.

Jim watched Spock’s hands as he gesticulated to explain the average size of Andorran daggers and noticed as the movement caused the sleeve of Spock’s jumper to pull across his wrist, revealing a tattoo on his pale skin.

No.  He could make out spaces between letters. A faint Soulmate line.

His heart dropped to his stomach and Jim struggled not to show any outward signs of having noticed it. Blood rushed to his ears and Jim turned his gaze back to his plate, nausea roiling in his gut as he looked at the remains of his food. Idiot. As though I would even have a chance with Spock even if we were the last two people left on Earth.

The weight of having killed thirty-five crew members, with the additional knowledge of Spock having a now-dead soulmate, pushed him to leave the table before he didn’t something confrontational to deal with his guilt.

Spock had never had that faint black line of text before - Jim would have noticed during all their missions, let alone their games of chess. That meant Spock’s soulmate had died with the rest of those, meaning Jim had singlehandedly lead to the death of Spock’s soulmate. So not only did Jim have to deal with his hopes being absolutely crushed (because how could he top a soulmate), he also had to deal with the added guilt of essentially killing someone who would have made Spock happy.

“Jim?” His mother’s voice interrupted his concentrated thinking, and he look up, trying to hide the mixing pot of emotions he was failing to suppress. “Are you alright?” He blinked and looked across from Spock to his mother, whose concern was obvious only to Jim through the slight knit in his eyebrows. She looked haggard, a side effect of listening to Spock listen the minute details of them nearly dying every other mission.

“Uh.” Hurriedly trying to gain his composure and an excuse that fit, he shot upwards and mumbled, “Yeah, just…remembering. I need a minute.” Picking up his half-finished plate, he haphazardly nodded at them by way of excusing himself.

His family looked at him in false understanding; from the despondent looks on their faces they clearly thought he was remembering dying. They didn’t know about the crew members, the damage done to the flagship or, more importantly, why this had all happened in the first place. Spock, on the other hand, was a lot more difficult to read, especially since Jim was doing an outstanding job of avoiding looking at his face as he passed the table.

Once having cleared the dining room and kitchen, he escaped to find comfort in the small confines of his room, forgetting the walls were lined with Starfleet propaganda posters. The guilt for the crew members would be dealt with later, over time. He then felt more guilt at the Spock Dilemma taking precedence over their deaths.

Sighing at the never ending cycle, he buried his head in his pillow and thought.

Of course Spock had never mentioned it; he was an insanely private person due to both culture and nature, and, irritatingly enough, as proven throughout the course of many missions, Spock tended not to want to ‘trouble’ Jim with his problems.

But some pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit:

Why would Spock have stayed by his bedside if he didn’t have someone else to mourn, unless he didn't know who it was (which was unlikely given how both he and Spock had gone through the crew before the events of Nibiru, and Spock could easily have narrowed it down to the 35) or didn’t care (also unlikely, because even the more logic-prone species would be depressed at having their match, the one said to complement them in every manner, die).

Why did Spock accept his invitation to Iowa so easily? And, even if Spock came for a distraction, a grieving Vulcan -let alone normal vulcan- would never have let Jim fall asleep on his shoulder, not to mention have looked so relieved when Jim woke up, especially given Jim would have been the cause of his soulmate’s death.

Maybe the answer was as simple as Spock not caring about his soulmate, not having known them well enough for their death to affect him and therefore instead turned his attention to people he did care about. But Jim remembered the broken expression on Spock’s face that night where he’d told Jim his parents had been soulmates.

No, the loss of a soulmate would have affected him a lot more than Spock had been acting after Jim woke up. No matter how much of a pokerface Spock had, it always gave something away; particularly since Spock completely hiding his thoughts from Jim was a sign of something wrong.

So Jim was lost.

Unsurprisingly, Spock came up to see him an hour or so later, most of which Jim had spent staring up at his ceiling or into his pillow, thinking, and trying not to.

There was a light knock at the door and Jim felt yet another wave of guilt wash over him, this time for abandoning his guest in the hands of his interrogating mother and curious brother.

“Come in.” A quiet Jim croaked from beneath a pillow, wondering if Spock had actually managed to hear him. After a second of silence, the door opened and Jim removed the pillow from his face.  “Hey, Spock. Sorry to have just…left you down there.”

“Jim,” Spock’s voice was unerringly gentle. “What is wrong?”

Jim sat up slowly and pressed his back against the cool wall behind the bed, peering at Spock who was lit only by the bright light in the hall, and whose face was currently indiscernible in the shadows. He swallowed an ‘I’m fine’ and figured he may as well open up now or they would have a month of awkwardness together. He patted the free space next to him on the bed and wondered if Spock could see his facial expression in the darkness of the room.

“First day back at home and I keep thinking about those crew members-” They had talked about this before, in the hospital, when Spock had brought all the reports in. He remembers the pit in his stomach when Spock gives him the details of the broken ship and its remaining occupants.

“You must cease this torturing of yourself.”

“Spock, I singlehandedly led to their death because of my emotion.” One of which being your soulmate. “Maybe Vulcans actually do have us beat.”

“You did not.”

“Spock-”

“You did not.” Spock repeated firmly. “And it was not your emotion which put us at risk. I would not have aided you had I thought so. We were not aware the warp coil would stop for twenty minutes in Klingon space.”

“Scotty warned me it could happen.” Jim retorted, burying his face in his hands.

“Without complete certainty, and, had he not resigned, we would not be sitting here.”

“Had I not volunteered to Marcus, those thirty-five people wouldn’t have died.” His voice was muffled through his hands, and he rubbed circles into his forehead with his fingers.

“Marcus would have sent us anyway, regardless of your link to Admiral Pike.”

Jim looked up sharply to finally face the vulcan sitting next to him. “What?”

“Marcus admitted to it. He wanted a war. A flagship attacked by Klingon vessels would be clear, logical prelude to it. Had he wanted it to be as covert as he originally suggested, we would not have gone in the Enterprise whatsoever.” Spock paused for effect before continuing in a softer tone. “Jim, if you recall, we did not expect conflict. We expected a solitary, albeit dangerous, figure on a planet usually devoid of Klingon patrols. It is due to both your emotion and intelligence that only thirty-five crew members died when Marcus attacked to ensure the Enterprise did not survive.”

“And my crew.”

“Yes.” Spock agreed, mollified by Jim’s acceptance of what he had said. “No one is blaming you but yourself, Jim.”

“But it was my action of chasing Khan-”

“Jim, had it not been you to chase the …criminal,” A hard edge had returned to Spock’s voice, “Then we most certainly would currently have been at war with the Klingons, and many more than thirty-five lives would have been lost.”

Jim nodded slowly. Although he’d always hold himself responsible for those deaths, Spock had a point.

They lapsed into silence for what felt like a century and Jim pulled himself back towards  the wall to straighten his back, simultaneously bringing himself closer to Spock.

“Spock, what happened with Khan? Sulu told me he jumped thirty metres from his ship. How did you manage to take him down? Can you…can you show me? Like Old Spock showed me his memories on Delta Vega?” Jim knew he was asking a lot once he realised that this meant actually delving into Spock’s mind, something he hadn’t known he was doing when Old Spock had done it so quickly.

Spock stiffened next to him. “Did the Ambassador explain the implications of a mind-meld before demonstrating?”

“Not really, no. He just kinda…did it.”

“I see.” Spock paused, and turned to face Jim’s inquisitive look, the silhouette of his face only seen thanks to the light filtering in from the small opening in the door. “Mind melds are often reserved for bond-mates, or in times of danger or necessity, very close friends.” He explained, reluctant to meet Jim’s gaze. “To do so without permission is an offence.”

Jim nodded and fell silent, disquieted by the reminder that he had very probably led to the death of Spock’s soulmate. Someone Spock would have wanted to ‘mind-meld’ with.

A moment passed and Spock squared his shoulders. “I will show you, if you will permit me.”

“Spock don’t feel like you have to-” because you feel sorry for me. Jim wasn’t blind to what it meant for Spock to want to mind-meld with him anymore, and he was suddenly unsure,  worried that Spock would have access to his mind, too. He wondered where this offer placed him: they weren't in times of 'danger or necessity' but he certainly wasn't Spock's "bond-mate". 

“I will, should you wish it.”

“Will you be able to see my thoughts, too?”

“Only if you allow it. I will not pry where I am not wanted.”

“Okay,” Jim said, resolute. He trusted Spock. “Show me.” Then he paused, a lot more uncertain, realising he had no idea what to do. “How do you want to do this?”

Spock sat up from the wall and moved towards the middle of the bed, crossing his legs. Jim mirrored his movement,  and sat in front of him, nervousness starting to eat at his gut. This would show him a lot of things, some of which he wasn’t sure he wanted to see; especially if it touched on Spock’s soulmate.

Then Spock placed his hands on the sides of Jim’s face, fingers splayed to press different points. Jim watched as Spock’s face drew close to his, closed his eyes and said, “Your mind to my mind.”

There was a flash behind Jim’s eyelids and he found himself transported into Spock’s consciousness.

‘That was a lot smoother than the last time. A lot less painful.’ he thought to nothing. The only response was a flicker of jealousy at the ‘last time’ which was then smothered by smugness. Neither of them mentioned it as Spock led him further into his memories and ran into a small burst of reluctance to show Jim something so private and so raw, before Jim suddenly became Spock turning away from Jim’s corpse, and waves of grief and suffering overcoming him.

He watched as he, or rather Spock, followed Khan on the vindictive path of revenge, driven by sorrow, one of his arms throbbing with pain, an image of Jim’s lifeless blue eyes in his mind’s eye.

He felt the near-unstoppable rage bubble up inside him as they watched Khan jump from one side of his ship to another, climbing down to earth’s surface practically unscathed. The rage sharpened his vision, his senses, his adrenaline; he was ready to fight, to let go of Surak and his principles for a moment, if only to avenge Jim. Jim, his captain, his friend, his-

Sulu interrupted his thoughts, but Spock could barely hear him over the thoughts and plans running through his head on how to catch the Traitor. Criminal. Murderer. “Beam me down.”

Jim watched in fascination and horror as he ran after Khan with a phaser set to stun, his morals warring with logic as he fought the decision to set it to kill. He never ended up using it, instead jumping onto the cargo ship Khan had thought was his escape. A cargo ship whose journey was far above the residential districts of London, a fall from which would mean certain death, his mind supplied him. He did not care.

‘Idiot,’ Jim thought. ‘Too much of a risk.’

“For you,” Spock thought back, “No.”

Then he was fighting Khan up close, and Spock’s unrestrained savagery was on show, fists swinging both wildly and with precision, designed to hurt, maim, avenge. Khan would pay for what he had caused in helping Marcus.

Khan’s bleak future as a bruised splatter on a rooftop down below was only saved by the appearance of Nyota, who broke through the acute focus of his mind by stating tearfully that they could “Save Kirk”.

Then it was all gone, and Jim opened his eyes to see a drained and worn-looking vulcan in front of him.

“Spock, why did you decide to show me this?” Jim had a feeling he already knew, and wasn’t too sure how to process it, not wanting to feed the hope that was already rearing to go. Especially since you didn’t want to in the first place?

“To ensure you knew the extent of my feelings for you.”

“I…what?”

“I have a protective…and romantic inclination towards you, Jim. Your death allowed for the brutality I had suppressed for so long to reach the surface. You are precious to me, Jim Kirk, and I have learned I cannot afford to lose you.”

You had me at romantic inclination. Jim gulped, unsure how not to blurt an embarrassing “ohthankgodIfeelexactlythesamepleaseletmekissyounow” and the silence stretched out between them for what felt like years. Then he decided he might as well say it, if with a little more grace; he had had enough of hiding it. He was a man of action, damnit, and if he couldn’t act physically, then he could at the very least just tell Spock. But then he remembered the line on Spock’s wrist.

“I- you-me too, but-uh. No.” Spock’s expression fell and Jim babbled, not sure Spock was capturing the gist of what he was trying to say. Then the moment of clarity hit him. “No, I mean,I-uh-recipro-no, your wrist. The line on your wrist. Soulmate. Not me. Can’t be.” He didn’t know why it bothered him so much, the line on Spock’s wrist. Surely if Spock was admitting all this in the open, that should be enough for him. But the fact that person wasn’t him rankled in a way that pained him. “I’m pretty alive.” Unless that’s a tattoo. Please be a tattoo.

“You observed it then.” Spock stated, watching his facial expression seriously for a moment before his lips quirked. “Did you read the words?”

“No, I was too far away and it didn’t seem right to keep staring, and it kinda hurt a lot because it wasn’t me, so-”

Something in the raising of Spock’s left eyebrow and a twitch of his lips somehow translated to an affectionate ‘you dense motherfucker.’ Jim wasn’t too sure what to make of that.

“Jim,” Spock articulated slowly, as though Jim was being a dimwit. “Look.” Spock raised his arm and pulled back his jumper so Jim could see the writing even in the dim light of the room.

“Oh.” Jim said vacantly. “oh.” He stared at the words on Spock’s wrist, knowing he would bring at them later, but also pleased at the eternal reminder to Spock that Jim would always be a lot more than a friend. Fitting, really.

“You were dead,” Spock explained, gritting his teeth, pain clearly expressed on his face. “I felt it. I have had this since.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Jim breathed softly a few seconds later, still not completely sure he could believe what he was seeing on Spock’s wrist, moving a hand so it rested on Spock’s cheek, hoping it conveyed a lot of the emotions he couldn’t express. He was tempted to just pull Spock close and never let him go again, coming to terms with the fact that that this was more than he could ever have wished for.

“I did not wish to impose it upon you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The vulcan version of soulmate is T’hy’la. A multitude of elements: Friend, brother,” Spock finally met his gaze, his hopeful, dark eyes a pleasant punch in the stomach, “Lover.” He paused for effect, probably not for Jim to entertain images of the last part. “Although the vulcan alternative allows for platonic relationships, it is my understanding that most human ones do not.”

Jim nodded sagely, still in shock. “Yeah, not unless they have a different sexuality, or they’re asexual. Not that we have many cases to base this information on. But what does that have to do with-”

“Although I...hoped, I did not want you to feel you had to pursue a romantic relationship with me even though we have a link.”

“Idiot.” Jim finally smiled, hysterical laughter building up in his throat. “Of course I do.”

Chapter Text

Jim cursed mentally as sunlight hit his closed eyes, making him turn and burrow further into the warm, solid weight next to him. His partner moved sleepily to accommodate him, pulling him closer, and more importantly, away from the offending sunlight.

After several minutes, Jim opened his eyes, annoyed at himself for waking up despite the safe and comfortable and warm cocoon of the arms around him, but the feeling dissipated once he realised the situation he was in. This was one of the very rare times he was awake before Spock.

Reluctant to move and awaken his still-sleeping partner, he soaked in the scene and his luck. He was facing Spock, whose hair was a ruffled halo around his head, a golden ray of morning sunlight making its raven colour shimmer. His face was half-hidden by the creases of his pillow, his face soft-looking without the taut expressions he used to conceal his thoughts.

Spock’s right arm was curled around Jim after having pulled him closer, his left arm resting on his pillow between them.

Looking at them evoked the same feelings in the order they always did: pain at what had happened a year ago, regret at him having to die for them both to get themselves sorted, and finally, relief and happiness that they were both better for what had occurred. He repressed the urge to trace them with his index finger, not wanting to wake Spock up just yet, and turned his gaze back to Spock’s face. He mentally trailed down the lines and creases on his face, most of which caused by his pillow, and followed them down to the small, white, shiny notch in his jaw. Another visible mark caused by Khan, one which was a lot less visible but just as telling as the words on Spock’s wrist. It was a scar, from where Khan had struck Spock hard in the jaw with the back of Spock’s phaser, leaving a large gash that would have needed stitches if not for Vulcan regenerative abilities. Bones had never seen to it, having been too preoccupied with Jim’s revival, and Spock had ignored it for the same reasons, much to the dismay of the infirmary nurses at the hospital they had carted Jim off to.

“Jim, cease staring.” So much for that.

“I’m not staring. Anyway, your eyes are closed. So. You wouldn’t even know, would you?” Jim replied innocently, grinning at the grumpiness laced in Spock’s voice, and started moving now that he knew Spock was awake. Spock pressed his face further into his pillow and didn’t dignify this with a response. With a small snort, Jim slipped out of the bed to make them some breakfast, and pulled on a shirt before quietly shutting the door behind him. He knew Spock’s answer to his question anyway.

Padding barefoot onto the already sunlit but frigid tiles of the kitchen, Jim considered the many things he now knew about Spock, and never imagined he’d be the one to find out.

He had learned many things over the last year, the first discovery being Spock could get grouchy in the morning if he didn’t have his special Vulcan tea, to the point of terrifying starfleet cadets if he hadn’t slept in a while. So that was the first thing Jim made, letting its spiced aroma fill the kitchen as he picked out different ingredients from the fridge to make an omelette they would both (hopefully) enjoy.

Jim had been surprised at both himself and Spock for having gotten used to a domestic routine that was so different from their life on the ship. At himself for so readily settling into a calmer routine than hangovers every other morning, and at Spock for changing his own rigid routine that he had held for years without fail. The fact that Jim sometimes cooked for the both of them was telling enough: it had been one thing to know more than just how to unfreeze potatoes and serve them to Frank, but learning how to cook so he didn’t just appear to be a man-child dependable on takeout was something else.

He whisked the eggs as he reminisced, thinking about how his favourite discovery that Spock could very much be ‘romantic’ without prompting, in a very un-vulcan-like manner, and only ever in private. It had taken a while for Spock to forego his Vulcan mannerisms on some aspects of life, but apparently Jim dying had proven to be an incentive for his Vulcan to realise some of these mannerisms were just plain stupid. Especially once Spock came to understand that Jim loved any form of contact with him, because then it was illogical to desist from showing his appreciation of Jim in the human way, just as it was illogical to stop himself from initiating contact Spock took comfort from, too. Jim was glad for it, still haunted by the memory of Spock finding him only moments before death, unable to comfort him by touch.

“I do not believe eggs and chopped vegetables would merit such concentration.” A low-pitched voice still heavy with the vestiges of sleep asked from behind him, as arms wound around his stomach and a weight pressed against his back. “What are you considering at such a level of depth?”

“You.” He hadn’t heard Spock enter the room, proof enough of his focused train of thought.

“Has this proven fruitful?” Spock’s breath tickled his ear, his chin pressed just over Jim’s shoulder, eyes on Jim carefully pouring his mixture into a pan. Jim relaxed into the embrace and smiled as he realised Spock breathing down his neck had an entirely different meaning for him than for the cadets Spock taught. He had an uncharacteristically-cuddly vulcan in the morning. They had a terrifying, unimpressed and unflappable vulcan whose grading curve was so harsh that half the class had dropped out once the first term ended.

“Mhm. Can you believe Uhura knew before us? About,” he let go of the pan to gesture  with one hand at the hands encircling his waste and the head pressed against him. “This being a possibility? She kept saying we needed to talk. I never did get to speak to Chapel.”

He felt the questioning tilt of Spock’s head against his shoulder and registered that  they had never properly thanked her for her meddling. “She is a gifted communications officer. It is a vital part of her post to be able to read and anticipate the actions of others.”

Jim hummed in agreement, flipping his omelette. “We never said thanks for her trying to push us together. At a cost to her, no less.”

“We will have ample opportunity to.”

Five years with you. The anticipation of being sent out in space with his entire crew caused Jim’s smile  to widen as he placed the omelette on a plate. “Five years, Spock. Uncharted worlds, civilisations, all the adventure kid-me could ever have imagined, all with my big space family.”

The arms around him tightened. “I look forward to spending them with you.”

Jim twisted in his grasp, turning to be face-to-face with him, and said in deadpan, “Sap.”

“I am not a -”

Jim grinned and pressed a kiss on his cheek and happily cut him off, saying, “You totally are, because you know what I meant. C’mon, let’s eat!”

“There will always be those who mean to do us harm. To stop them, we risk awakening the same evil within ourselves. Our first instinct is to seek revenge when those we love are taken from us. But that's not who we are.” That’s not who I am. He looked over the crowd and honed in on Spock with ease. And definitely not who he is, either.

Swallowing, he promised itself to carry out that train of thought later, and focused his gaze in front of him, catching the eyes of other bridge crew members as he did.

Jim stepped closer to the microphone, looking up at the ship construction towering above them,  and said, “We are here today to rechristen the U.S.S. Enterprise, and to honour those who lost their lives one year ago. When Christopher Pike first gave me his ship he had me recite the Captain's Oath, words I didn't appreciate at the time.”   He thought of Pike, how proud he would be of Jim for admitting his failures before both to himself and others, and how thrilled he would be that Jim was able to make it this far, true to his expectations. Jim thought about how he had finally won his ‘dare’,  the dare that had gotten him to this very stage, as a starship captain in front of his numerous crew and his bright, new, shiny ship.

He paused for effect, allowing the admiralty to soak in the meaning behind his words before he continued: He had changed, and was definitely better for it. He now appreciated the danger behind the long mission, and what it meant for himself and his crew. Having died once, and having had he Khan Incident, he fully understood just how much responsibility he held.  “Now I see them as a call for us to remember who we once were, and who we must be again. And those words?”

He took a deep breath and stared out at the former and new crew of the enterprise, among countless other cadets and officials, and said, “Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Her five-year mission, to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilisations, to boldly go where no one has gone before. ”

Then he moved to the side for the other speakers, and waited for the event to end. He smoothed down the front of his grey uniform, and made an effort to not immediately look out and find each and every member of his crew. He had to look mature, somber, older, and remember the lives lost on his last mission, and less of the farm hick playing dress up in starfleet uniform, which was what he felt like. He had to listen to the Starfleet propaganda and motivational speeches, mainly speeches recalling the lives of the thirty-five dead crew members, demonising and glossing over Marcus’ actions. Jim had already mourned them for a year. He’d suffered through the each and every stage of guilt, gone to see each and every family, with Spock in tow for moral support. He saw this as a chance of renewal, a time to move on, remember his mistakes  and not take too much pride in his successes like he had in the past. Most of all he was excited to go and do exactly what the Captain’s oath outlined, to go out and see what was out there, far beyond the universe of the Federation.

He hid his impatience and relief when people stood up to leave, first coming to shake his hand and express both their condolences and wish him good luck before leaving. Slow bottlenecks had formed and those petering out were taking their time, staring up at his ship in admiration. Jim understood this, he understood their reactions, their glacial pace as they moved reluctantly past and away from the ship; However, he wanted to get on that ship, be in its chair and at its forefront, and in order to do that he had to plan and in order to plan he had to get home.

The endless stream of “good luck for the journey!” and “Undiscovered space, wow! Be careful out there” and “Your ship is beautiful” was starting to get old until Spock managed to step discreetly next to him, which Jim liked to see as a gesture or support and understanding for Jim’s plight of having to deal with so many people, well-wishers or not.

In between responses of “Thank you!” and “Wouldn’t be any fun if there wasn’t a small risk involved” and “Yes, she certainly is” Jim wondered vaguely how Spock had managed to make his way through the crowd so easily, since the rest of the bridge crew were a ways off, lodged between admiralty also shaking their hands as well as some adoring fans. He watched as people moved on from his handshakes to Spock,  nodding at him, uncertainty on how to wish him the same measure of congratulations without shaking his hand plain on their faces to them scuttle away. Then Jim remembered that not everyone was used to the impassive vulcan-glare that Spock usually levelled people with. Jim quickly considered and discarded of imitating the glare to fend of well-wishers to get home faster, but then came to the conclusion that he likely wouldn’t have to do this -and may even come to miss this sort of contact with humans- for another five years.

Finally the crowds of cadets, starfleet staff and admirals petered out with Jim and Spock tailing at the end, left behind by the Bridge crew which had left to escape a gaggle of over-excited and eager young cadets. Jim exhaled slowly, and dropped his people-pleasing mask, and slowed, giving them some space between themselves and the people leaving.

“You loOove me.” Jim dug his elbow into Spock’s side, couldn’t hide the residual awe that always tinged these words, said jokingly or not.

“I do.” Jim had assumed Spock’s response to his teasing to be the usual, a vulcan sigh or eye-roll. He wasn’t expecting the serious stare Spock was fixing him with, the one that never failed to give him butterflies.  “We have established this several times.”

Jim opened his mouth to defend himself, and explain that, for once, this wasn’t one of those times he was still in shock Spock chose to be with him. Instead, he shut his mouth and told himself to enjoy the moment.  “I know.”

Jim grinned at Chekhov's chirp of “Captain on the bridge.” enthusiasm thrumming through him as he suppressed the urge to skip past every bridge crew member and hug or high-five them: he had been waiting for this moment for nearly a year, and space sounded awesome particularly compared to boring bureaucratic work he had been doing that morning. Five years in space with his family composed of his closest friends, best friend, boyfriend and crew; nothing would or could ever match that, in his opinion.

Instead, he adjusted his right yellow command shirt and walked purposefully towards his Captain’s chair to relieve Sulu, saying, with a small, knowing smirk,“It’s hard to get out of it once you've had a taste, isn't that right, Mr. Sulu?”

To have Sulu half-smile at him back, saying, “‘Captain’ does have a nice ring to it. Chair's all yours, sir.”

Jim looked around and nodded at the mix of old and new bridge crew members, most of whom nodded back at him. He found it entertaining how the newbies couldn’t properly look him in the eyes, as if he were some sort of hero and they weren’t surrounded by other, just as important ‘heroes’. He had asked for all the senior bridge crew to come back and join him for the five year trip, not expecting most of them to join, given five years was a long time, let alone away from family and home to go out and explore the unknown in outer space.  Despite this, everyone save Carol had joined him once again. Jim most certainly hadn’t expected the hundreds of starfleet applicants vying for a place on his ship for the next five years into unknown and most definitely dangerous space.

He leaned over and pressed a button on his nearly-sparkling white brand-spanking-new chair and asked, “Mister Scott. How's our core?”

He tried to recall the last time he and Scotty spent time together without the involvement of alcohol and came out short, which caused him to snort quietly at the Scottish brogue speaking to him over intercom, who replied to his query, saying, “Purring like a kitten, Captain. She's ready for a long journey.”

“Excellent.” Jim looked over to his left to find a queasy-looking Bones, who looked like he regretted every-life choice which lead up to this moment. Jim didn’t exactly know what it was like to leave a young daughter behind for five years to go out into an unknown you hated, but he figured that it wasn’t the greatest of feelings in the least. And yet, here he is.

Jim chuckled and slapped him on the back, marvelling at Bones’ sacrifice and tenacity to face fears like the deadliness of space with spite, sarcasm and strange metaphors that Jim just barely got the gist of, just in order to keep his best friend and his crew alive.  “Come on, Bones! It's gonna be fun.”

“Five years in space.” Bones shook his head, standing his ground next to Jim’s chair. His dry tone   laced with melancholy outlined exactly just what he thought of Jim’s idea of ‘fun’. “God help me.” Jim didn’t buy into it, because Bnones could be damn stubborn when he wanted to, the big softie, and if he really hadn’t wanted to come, or hated space and adventure as much as he had, he would not have been standing next to him. Bones felt the same call the rest of the crew felt, the idea that they could help others through their discoveries, along with the promise of adventure and danger, that drove them on even when times were at their roughest.

Best for last. He shared a knowing look with Uhura before turning to his First Officer, who was looking at him expectantly. “Mister Spock.”

“Captain.” Spock replied, moving to Jim’s other side, stony faced with his eyes betraying only the slightest hint of amusement and, possibly, the same eagerness Jim already felt. “Where shall we go?”

“As a mission of this duration has never been attempted, I defer to your good judgment, Captain.”

Jim’s lips quirked, and he settled into The Chair. It’s been awhile since he’s called me that. “Mr. Sulu, take us out.”

“Aye, Captain.”

In order to stay alive another day, he quelled the impulse to make an external inertial dampeners jokes, and relaxed back into the stuffed cushion of his chair, already imaging what future adventures these next five years would bring. Off we boldly go…