Chapter Text
"Sparring Partners" - 2022 | 1Shirt2ShirtRedShirtDeadShirt | Digital
Early 2266, the first few months of the Five Year Mission. (Pre-Corbomite Maneuver, during Tor T'Yel.)
A warm-up is a physical or mental activity that prepares an individual for the demands of their chosen form of exertion.
Captain.
It was a word which seemed to be quite divisive between Spock and his newly appointed Captain, James T. Kirk.
It was a point of light contention, one of many ladles that stirred up jovial banters between them.
Beyond gentle ribbing, Kirk seemed to genuinely dislike it when Spock referred to him as "Captain" off duty.
While Spock perceived this habit as the utmost gesture of respect and reverence for the Captain's position and authority, the Captain considered it unnecessarily formal. He even went so far as to consider it a slight – how Spock saw their friendship, interpreting the formality as a guarded distance stubbornly maintained by Spock.
"Is that all that I am to you, Spock? 'Captain?'" Kirk teased with a cheeky smile, and of course he was more than just 'Captain' by now. But Spock was often at a loss on how to handle his superior officer's endless flirting and jesting.
What was the Vulcan to make of it all?
At times he felt it was impossible to keep up with the Captain, to know how to distinguish when he was being serious or playful.
It came to Jim Kirk so naturally: He was a walking oxymoron, at once fierce and gentle, a masculine femme fatale who oozed charisma and wooed others effortlessly. His intentions tended to be altruistic as opposed to ill or selfish in nature, making him all the more endearing. His charm was universal, he knew it, and he used it. Nobody was safe or immune.
Members of the staff commented on it all the time: Jim Kirk's gaze was intense, holding one's eyes fiercely with earnestness. The weight of that was sometimes pleasantly felt on your skin. That attention and warmth he doled out freely to others without hesitation or judgement could be intoxicating.
Such power in a single look.
He was so kind, so warm, so available. He drew others in naturally. He could also be an unrelenting force of a tide to be reckoned with when he was on a mission to see something through. He was equal parts ferocious and tender, depending on where he invested his endless well of passion and energy.
Spock, like many others, was overwhelmed by this powerhouse of a human being. Kirk was a dynamic mind, accompanied by a disarmingly attractive form.
The book incident, their chess games, their bridge banter, the ceaseless flirting that Kirk so unabashedly threw at the Vulcan in any given situation . . . Spock tried not to read too much into it, but the Captain made himself very, very hard to ignore.
They could be in the middle of an utter dilemma, such as the Earth-like planet where they met Miri and became privy to a plague outbreak. They had faced uncertain futures and probably death. They had anxiously researched this disease whittling away at them. Still, Kirk managed to keep an air of flirtatious humour about him. In a way that had touched Spock profoundly, how Kirk managed to keep heart even in the most dire situations to maintain their spirits. He always tried to put on a strong face, offer encouragement, and keep his cool when others spiraled around him.
Spock strongly admired that, and it was impressive to see in one so young as his new Captain. He often wondered what it was that had happened to give him so much life experience at such an early age.
Kirk seemed wise beyond his years, likely because he lived through things no young person should see.
What, the First Officer could not yet discern.
Spock estimated it had something to do with those occasional night terrors the Vulcan heard via their adjoined bathroom coming from the Captain's quarters. He had dreams – nightmares, as humans called them. There was some shadow, some horror that tore blood-curdling screams from the human in the early hours of random mornings.
The screams had stopped at some point during the first few weeks, and the Vulcan was unaware of the fact that Kirk had gone to McCoy to remedy his night terrors with medical aid. He could not afford to risk the crew hearing him, suffering for it . . .
To put it mildly, Jim Kirk was an enigma.
He had such a depth of warmth and affection in him, and yet some breed of darkness marred a part of him in a way yet unknown to the Vulcan.
Spock was so curious, confused, and equally disturbed by everything this complicated man brought with him to his Captaincy.
Spock had expected a lot of things from James T. Kirk when he came aboard, but what he never could have anticipated in his life was how fascinated his new Captain was going to become with him – or how intensely Jim Kirk could flirt with someone he admired, all other factors be damned.
Spock was shocked at first, then flattered beyond measure, that a human as attractive or accomplished as Kirk paid him that kind of attention. Spock also could not afford that. It could not become a thing under any circumstances. But it did, no matter how hard Spock fought against it and tried to remind himself that they were a command team – and only a command team.
Over time they had become such good friends, and Kirk was the closest thing Spock had to a confidant. The Captain was also not shy about letting Spock know how much he enjoyed flirting with him, which did not help matters. Complex as the Captain was, his flirtatiousness and attraction to others was beyond transparent.
Kirk was loud and open about being attracted to someone, free with his compliments and charm while Spock was quietly flattered. The Vulcan was mostly unreadable about any of the feelings he harboured in return. Kirk didn't mind having a go and getting rejected, or when it came to Spock, sometimes getting zero reaction in answer to his harmless attempts at flirting.
Spock was simply minding his own business at work with his betrothed at home, as he always was. But Kirk was admittedly . . . distracting.
Spock could honestly use a distraction in his life right now, even though he resisted it with every fiber of his Vulcan being. He was not permitted to enjoy the attention of Jim Kirk this much, but it was hard not to enjoy when he felt so alone lately. Beyond that, the Captain came off as genuine in his attentions, not shallow. He seemed to be almost as lonely as Spock felt, eager to reach out and connect with a kindred spirit as a much needed release amid the chaos of their lives. They both needed a friend, and it was indeed isolating at the top of command, all others depending on the both of them.
Well beyond any attraction that might lie there, Spock held a genuine camaraderie and invaluable friendship with Kirk that had grown very important to him. He need not even concern himself with more when Kirk's friendship was so sorely needed. Any companionship was better than limbo.
He felt that emptiness and quiet within his mind now more keenly than ever, that place where a bond should be thriving but no longer was.
The space between himself and T'Pring stretched out both figuratively and literally as he rode a vessel deeper towards unknown space. He was being carried further away from Vulcan again – from her – as he was drawing closer and closer to his new Captain at an alarming pace. But that still did not change what would be at hand for himself and T'Pring later – the difficult conversation to pick up where it had left off.
It gutted him, though he would never reveal as much, to have experienced an entire romantic relationship with someone he now barely felt – one who was supposed to be his bondmate. It was hard to ward off the distinct impression of feeling a failure.
Was this the future he had to look forward to, with one who was to be his companion? Could he blame her for her distance, considering his inaccessibility?
He perpetually felt a failure no matter how much he succeeded, insecure always over his dual heritage. To reach out and connect, to seek out that which stirred joy in himself was to perpetually let down another, and the cycle seemed unending from birth. Any time he showed vulnerability to another, he paid for it handsomely.
He felt those insecurities and fears about his human lineage constantly, worried they would get in the way of his ever finding respect or a place to belong on Vulcan. Now that very same human spirit – its curious thirst for new life and adventure – had done the irreparable damage to his relationship that he always fretted it might.
All the while he hardly felt her, wherever he was. The quiet between them said so much more than any thought transmitted ever could.
All the while, Jim Kirk sought out every ounce of free time Spock had to spare, relentlessly throwing charm his way.
All the while, he was feeling things he had never felt before, and strongly, just being in the same room with Jim Kirk. He had encountered fewer things in his travels more frightening than that singular unknown that hung between them unsaid – or fewer things more enticing.
He wanted to be able to just say it freely, but he knew he should not say it or relish in it.
Jim.
"Just Jim, if you please. We're off duty!" The Captain's voice rang in his memory laughingly, incredulous: "Must we keep doing this?"
For Spock's own sanity and composure, yes. They had to keep doing this. They had to preserve the last vestiges of his feeble attempts to keep Jim Kirk at bay and out of his mind, from getting too close, too intimate.
Jim was absolutely determined to be just that – Jim – behind closed doors with Spock as opposed to being called Captain.
Spock fought back as he did to maintain formality between them, but he knew it was a sore spot, one big enough for the Captain to routinely bring up. It tasked him. He was visibly ruffled each time he had to remind the Vulcan to drop the formality while off duty, huffy and insistent.
The Captain often argued with Spock that he used their titles to keep a distance between them, even off duty. He sensed an unwillingness to be vulnerable, and it was true. That was not something the Vulcan was accustomed to practicing with anyone other than himself within the confines of his own mind. Putting himself out there was terrifying, challenging and exhausting. Yet with Jim it seemed so effortless . . .
And against Spock's will he was Jim, had become Jim instead of 'Captain' in his heart and mind. Yes he was the Captain, the boss, the superior officer, the coworker. But now he was also the friend, the provider of support and affection and physical touches. 'Captain' was lacking as a summary of the man, but his given name carried the warmth that encapsulated all that he was beautifully.
Jim.
The name was every bit as bright, sunny and optimistic as the man who owned it.
Truth be told, Jim was absolutely right. It was not that Spock wanted to keep Jim at a distance, being cold or aloof – he was scared of giving himself permission to care about Jim as fiercely as he caught himself doing. It was not that Spock did not want Jim to get closer to him, it was that he wanted Jim to get closer to him too much. And that scared him. Spock relied on that barrier more than Jim could ever understand; that word "Captain" was sometimes all he had left to hang onto when that dazzling smile or fierce gaze rendered every sense and thought in the Vulcan's head moot. He did sometimes use that word as a shield, something he threw in the way when he felt himself slipping, getting too acquainted, too fond, too intimate with his Captain.
He was anguishing that if he simply let it all go, dropped formality altogether and succumbed to having the name "Jim" on his tongue too often, it might prove a slippery slope. Surak knows what more would follow – what other allowances, what else might he let go of and watch crumble if he made that small concession? He already felt that he said the name with far too much delight, a gentle caress when he spoke it aloud. He already liked the sound of it too much on his tongue, and that was not permitted.
But Jim didn't care if Spock thought it was permitted or not, because Jim was winning.
Spock had been growing more accustomed to saying "Jim" in private and "Captain" on shift. Meanwhile, the Captain was beginning to perceive his First Officer as more friend than coworker – and Spock was catching himself feeling the same.
Jim would often say "walk with me", an order, to get Spock to accompany him while transitioning from one place to another on the bridge.
But at one point he had turned and uttered "walk with me" off duty without thinking. When they fell into step together automatically the Captain jolted suddenly, a flash of embarrassment taking hold of his features as he paused, causing Spock to stop beside him.
"Oops, I meant to ask that – we aren't on duty right now. Where on Earth are my manners? Would you like to walk with me?" Jim cackled brightly, a mix of earnestness and embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his neck in a rare flash of self consciousness. "That was so rude. Sorry, Mr. Spock."
It was a moment that completely melted Spock's heart. He had to allow a few heartbeats to pulse between them before he could steady himself enough to trust to speak without revealing any emotion:
"I would like to walk with you Jim," he responded, quietly giddy and clamping down on it as they resumed walking to the turbolift together. "But it is of no consequence to me that you did not ask. I am a Vulcan. We do not take offence."
"Well I don't like it. Not when we're off the clock, mister," Jim said sternly, arriving at and passing through the turbolift doors with Spock. They both came to a comfortable standstill alongside one another, the doors hissing shut. "Deck five", Jim stated as Spock took the handle. The Captain folded his arms tightly next to the taller man and continued his earlier thought: "Look, I don't want to come off as bossy."
Spock did not often experience the human urge to laugh at something, but he found it happened the most when he was in close proximity to Jim. In Spock's defense, the human could be utterly ridiculous at any given time when he wanted to be.
Spock wanted to laugh so badly right now, but not an ounce of that showed as he swallowed down what he deemed to be an insane impulse.
"Jim." He cleared his throat. "Captain. You are my boss."
"And again, we aren't on duty right now, so I don't get to boss you around or give you orders off the clock! Now is that clear?"
They stared at each other for a few charged beats, then:
"Is that an order sir, or simply an off-the-clock invitation to participate should I feel so inclined?"
"Dammit . . ." Jim cringed at Spock's smug eyebrow raise, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm still doing it."
"You do come by it honestly, Jim."
"Are you just straight up calling me bossy now?"
"Indeed."
They exchanged another comical look, Jim's terse and Spock's deadpan, before the human exploded into laughter and slapped his stoic First Officer on the shoulder.
"We're getting there. Call me whatever you want off duty, even bossy, so long as you also call me Jim instead of Captain." Kirk flashed his brilliant smile, heartened enough just to hear Spock making an attempt. It did something to his insides, hearing his given name rolling off Spock's tongue in that midnight deep rumble of a voice. It was enough to give Jim chills . . .
Nope, we are not thinking about that.
Jim tried not to ponder on it further as the turbolift doors slid open to Deck 5. He stepped out and turned around to give his second in command a gentle wave of parting.
"I'll see you later in the mess hall, Spock!" He threw over his shoulder.
Spock inclined his his head and blurted automatically out of respectful habit: "Captain".
Jim swirled about with a scowl to stick his hand in the turbolift and prevent the doors from closing. His eyes were slit in a playful, wordless leer.
"Jim," the Vulcan swiftly corrected, eyes marginally widening. This made the human smile triumphantly, and he released the lift from his shenanigans to step back from the doors.
Not bossy at all, Spock thought with great amusement to himself as the turbolift doors slid shut in Jim's impishly grinning face.