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Jim is a good boyfriend.
He doesn’t steal the blankets, he doesn’t leave his socks on the floor, and he always asks about Spock’s science experiments (even if he’s not sure why they need to know if penicillin grows on Rigel).
And he’s a lot of things—impulsive, charming, ruleskirting—but he’s not the type to go through Spock’s things. They’ve been together for a year and a half, and Jim’s not the jealous type. Did he get a little irritated when that one Romulan captain tried to flirt with Spock? Sure, but he gets it—he’s distracted by how hot Spock is all the time—and he can’t really say anything when he’s flirting his way out of danger every other week. Spock certainly puts up with that enough.
But it’s all an accident, really, because Spock is off on the bridge for Beta shift while Lieutenant Mara recovers from Levodian flu, and Jim needs the duty rosters Spock hasn’t sent over yet.
(Scotty wants extra hands on Alpha for the next week while they do something probably slightly against regulation to the warp core, but science is asking for extra help to decontaminate a lab for some experiment, and hell, it’s frustrating when he and Spock aren’t on the same shift.)
It’s not like Jim even has to override the lock. They’re in and out of each other’s quarters, depending on who’s off duty first. When Jim can’t find something, half the time it ends up being neatly placed somewhere over here. Last week, he found his copy of A Tale of Two Cities on one of Spock’s bookshelves. But he doubts he’s going to find the duty rosters tucked next to a copy of The Teachings of Surak and Early Human Space Colonization.
Jim likes seeing their stuff mixed together between their quarters. It’s a feeling of domesticity he’s never had, a space he’s welcome to beyond his own. It’s no longer just his or mine , but ours , too, like the new chess set they picked out together on Capella III.
The more their quarters become entangled, the more he realizes he never wants anything else.
He wanders over to Spock’s desk. There are neat stacks of PADDs, probably organized very logically to a Vulcan, but certainly not to Jim. The stack he picks up contains Daystrom’s Report on Multitronic Computer Systems, Gamma shift shore leave requests, the VSA’s semiweekly science bulletin, and… A Brief History of Family and Domestic Life on Starships.
Jim picks it up before he even registers what he’s doing. He scrolls through it quickly, skimming through pages about families on board Federation ships. There’s an introduction discussing Boomers and pre-Federation cargo ships before it delves into kids on science vessels. There’s even a section about Admiral Archer bringing his dog on the first exploratory mission (about four generations before the one Scotty accidentally beamed to God-knows-where).
It doesn’t hit him immediately. He’s absentmindedly reading through examples of independent study curriculum for young Vulcan children when it dawns on him.
Does Spock want to adopt a kid?
They’ve talked about how Spock nearly resigned his commision to go to New Vulcan. There were plenty of reasons he didn’t, and Jim knows he wasn’t really one of them. But he’d always inferred that going back and starting a tiny Vulcan family was more out of logic and obligation and my species is on the verge of extinction rather than some paternal instinct.
In the years he’s known Spock, even before they got together, Jim has never heard him mention wanting kids. And Jim has to concede that he’s never mentioned it either, but it’s never come up.
And shouldn’t it have?
Their relationship has never been casual. He’s in this for the long haul, and he knows Spock is too. At the end of the day, all he wants is Spock safe and next to him, wherever that may be. But he’s not sure how a kid can fit into that, really, with the danger they’re always in.
Hell, a quarter of their crew is ensigns who are fresh out of the Academy and barely adults, and Jim can barely keep them safe from Romulans or Klingons or whatever new alien culture they’ve pissed off that day.
Jim puts the PADD back in the stack and stops his search. For once in his life, he understands when Spock says he needs to meditate.
—
He forgets about the whole adopting a kid thing for a bit because captaining a starship is chaotic. This week, they ran into a hostile cloud-like entity and almost botched a first contact situation because an ensign picked up a rock that wasn’t, well, a rock but rather a sentient mineral life-form.
Jim doesn’t know how this ever blurred together. Every day, it’s something new and thrilling and life-threatening.
So when he and Spock finally have a chance to sit in the mess one night without a crisis brewing, Jim doesn’t think to bring up the weird PADD he found. Instead, he finds them a table along the back wall where they’ll be left alone. He gorges himself on a steak dinner while Spock eats the replicator’s version of pok tar.
(Spock has deemed it “acceptable” in comparison to most of the other Vulcan dishes programmed in. In an uncharacteristic display of emotion, Spock once called the plomeek soup “revolting.”)
It’s nice to be able to just kick back and relax on a slow evening. No panicked running, no urgent comms from engineering or tactical, everyone is just milling about as if nights like these are a dime a dozen. The science labs are working on a study that won’t yield results for at least two weeks. Their next stop is star mapping out in the Peliar system. No one should bother them.
He and Spock are deep in conversation. It’s grounding, just the two of them. It doesn’t matter what they talk about, really, because Spock’s smooth, low voice washes over him in waves. They could be talking about the weather, ship business, or arguing, and it’s more calming than any meditation techniques Spock has tried to teach him.
“I just think we’d be better off if Starfleet had less admirals, y’know? Seems like everyone’s an admiral these days, and they all seem to have a stick up their ass.” There may not be a crisis, but Jim got a routine, undeserved wrist-slapping a little under an hour ago about their most recent requisition requests. It’s not his fault they tend to get shot at more than other ships.
“Did you not apply—”
“Don’t , Spock. Don’t remind me that I almost chained myself to a desk,” Jim grumbles as he moves his broccoli around his plate. It’s one of the few vegetables he’s not allergic to, and Bones has made it so the replicator always adds at least a serving of green to his plate at every meal. To be honest, he’s sick of it. “I’m just saying, we could all do with a few less Komacks in the world, couldn’t we? Or at least promote someone like Paris who doesn’t suck. I like her.”
“Komack does seem to, as Doctor McCoy might say, have a… stick up his ass,” Spock says without a hint of irony as he cuts into his pok tar.
Jim bursts out laughing, and he can’t decide whether he’s laughing at Spock using an idiom or the fact that Bones is missing this moment.
“I can’t believe,” he says, trying to catch his breath, “my first officer would encourage such discussion of the admiralty.”
“As your romantic partner, I believe my response was well within acceptable behavior.” Spock raises an eyebrow and smirks.
“Well, thank you,” Jim says, his laughter fading into a grin. The moment buoys him enough that he gamely takes a bite of broccoli and manages to swallow it without complaint.
Their conversation turns elsewhere, bouncing between what’s happening down in stellar cartography and a discussion about whether or not the new holo technology will be put on the next refit of the Enterprise.
“I doubt the new holo rooms would benefit the crew, Captain. It is valuable space—”
“Spock, imagine the training we could do up here—”
They’re interrupted when Uhura stops by, her long ponytail swishing behind her as she takes her tray back to the replicator. “Any luck picking out names yet?”
Before Jim can ask what she means, Spock levels a glare at her so cutting that Jim’s surprised she doesn’t flinch.
“What?” Jim watches Spock stiffen, and he feels like he’s missing something. Spock and Uhura are still close friends, but there is something that Spock clearly doesn’t want him to know and that’s weird.
“I had a tribble named Arlo once,” she says wistfully, but she gives Spock a look that Jim can’t quite read. She flips her ponytail and wanders away towards Sulu and Chekov, who are having an animated discussion about a holo soap opera.
“Are you going to explain what the hell that was all about?” Jim asks.
“I believe we were discussing something called a ‘holodeck,’” Spock says sharply, changing the subject, but the tips of his ears flush green.
Jim wants to press it, but he won’t here. If Spock is going to tell him, it’s going to be when they’re alone and not within earshot of a half-interested audience. So Jim launches into a description of a rock climbing holo program he got to try last time they were in San Francisco and tries to forget about it.
—
Jim doesn’t think about it again until they’ve spent two days evading and fighting off rogue Andorians who want to start a war that no one really understands.
He’s in bed, wide awake, curled around a soundly-sleeping Spock. It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t slept in two days, the adrenaline is still coursing through him, and he can’t seem to turn off his brain. He’s hoping that eventually, Spock’s even breathing will lull him to sleep.
They nearly die a lot—and he’s already died once. He’s seen Bones bring Spock and half their crew back from injuries that should have killed them, and they’ve lost a lot too. When they don’t, the crew knows it’s just luck. If there is anything he’s learned in the last few years, it’s that they live in a perpetual state of a red alert, whether it’s official or not.
How many starships have already been lost to unknown dangers? Uncharted space is the Wild West, and the Enterprise has barely scraped through its share of showdowns.
Jim knows the rules are changing, that people want to go into space with their families. He also knows plenty of the crew won’t risk it. Sulu has flat out refused, choosing the loneliness of an extended mission over worrying about his family’s safety.
“Jim?” Spock murmurs, shifting next to him. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he tucks an arm around Jim’s waist and pulls him closer. “You are restless.” His voice is low and sleepy, and it slips around Jim like a blanket.
“Go back to sleep,” Jim says, curling deeper into Spock’s hold.
“Something is bothering you, ashayam ,” Spock says into Jim’s hair, and Jim shakes his head. They’re finally alone and together, and if the day hadn’t been what it was, maybe they could talk about it now. But Jim can’t bring himself to do it, even if it’s killing him to know why Spock hasn’t brought it up.
What does he think is going to happen?
“Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow,” he whispers, kissing him softly before turning over and tucking himself back against Spock.
He feels Spock drift back off (and damn if he isn’t jealous that Vulcans can just will themselves to sleep), and he wonders if they’ll ever talk about it. Does he think Jim won’t hear him out? It can’t possibly be logical to avoid the conversation, no matter what Spock thinks the outcome will be.
Eventually, he gives up trying to rationalize it and lets himself drift off to sleep.
—
“I think Spock wants a family,” Jim says to Bones, hiding in the lounge. It’s deep into a skeleton crew Delta shift, and most of the ship is sleeping. He stares at Bones from the seated side of the bar, knowing they’ve been here in this exact situation far too many times—Jim spiraling and Bones psychologizing.
Bones pauses mid-pour, pondering the bottle of bourbon in his hand, before setting it down. He crouches down behind the counter, and Jim knows he must be digging into the secret compartment they had Scotty install in the floor. When he emerges from below the counter, he pulls out a bottle of Romulan ale that is somehow mostly full , despite Scotty knowing about the spot, and fishes out a new glass. He fills both of their glasses a bit higher than he normally would, even though they’re both on Alpha the next day. He pushes the shot of bourbon and a glass of blue alcohol towards Jim.
“You sure?” Bones says, taking a sip. Jim picks up his and stares at it.
“I mean, it all adds up. The weird PADD I found with that article on domestic life, Uhura’s odd comment in the mess…” Jim looks up at Bones. “I just don’t think I want to be a father.”
Bones doesn’t say anything for a moment, just tucks the Romulan ale back in its hiding place. Jim feels his face burning, as if the admission that he doesn’t want a kid is somehow embarrassing. He never thought he’d be a shit dad, even though he never had one, but it’s never appealed to him. Sam and Aurelan have Peter on Deneva, and that’s just fine, but his own kid? He spent so much time alone as a kid that the idea of his own is just… weird.
“Well, you and Spock aren’t exactly the products of excellent fatherhood, considering, well… yours is dead, and his is a Vulcan.”
Jim narrows his eyes and slings back the bourbon. “What a roundabout way of saying you think we both have daddy issues. Which we do not .”
Bones chokes on his drink, but goes on like he hasn’t heard him. “But he did want to go back to New Vulcan, settle down a bit. Maybe that was less about repopulating New Vulcan and more about himself than you thought.”
Jim shakes his head and takes a swig of the Romulan ale. It burns pleasantly, and he wonders how the three of them didn’t finish this three days after they left spacedock. “We’ve talked about it before,” he says slowly, “and I don’t think so. If settling down and having a family was the real reason, I don’t think Uhura would have been so upset about it, other than the rush of it all. It seems to me she felt like he was settling for a life he didn’t want.”
“And maybe that’s why you’re upset about this really, Jim. It’s not that Spock might want kids, and you don’t. It’s that he’s thinking about it and hasn’t even mentioned it.”
“It’s been three weeks , Bones. Who knows when he got a hold of that article. He’s talked to Uhura about it, but not me.”
“Talk to him, Jim. Surely there’s a reason he hasn’t said anything. It’s not you, it’s him.”
Jim fights the urge to roll his eyes and downs the rest of his drink. “Sure, Bones. I’ll get right on that.”
—
They’re heading back to officers’ quarters, and Jim is tired purely due the lack of anything interesting happening. Instead of someone trying to take them hostage or steal their dilithium, they completed some star mapping with zero incident.
The doors hiss open, and both Jim and Spock exit the turbolift. “Next time I complain about running into some alien conman, remind me of today,” Jim says as they make their way down the hallway, nodding to those they pass.
“Certainly,” Spock replies.
They make their way into Jim’s quarters, finally alone. He immediately crowds into Spock’s space, wrapping himself around Spock and breathing deep. He knows Spock just pulled a new uniform from the replicator this morning, but it already smells distinctly like him. When he looks up and meets Spock’s gaze, he doesn’t seem tired at all.
Instead, Spock seems distracted, jittery—and Jim’s not even sure if Vulcans can get jittery.
“You good?” he murmurs, a hand reaching up to touch his face. “You seem a bit on edge.”
Spock stares at him and shakes his head. Jim untangles himself from around Spock, but Spock reaches for his hand and threads their fingers together. “Jim, I wish to discuss something with you.”
Jim’s response catches in his throat. He didn’t take Bones’s advice—they haven’t talked. Something always comes up, and he knows he can’t avoid it now that they’re off-duty and alone.
“I don’t want kids,” Jim blurts out before he loses his nerve. He lets go of Spock, stepping back so they’re a few feet apart.
Spock stares at him blankly for a moment before replying, “You do not?"
“I know you’ve looked into it, that there’s precedent for us to bring a kid onto the ship, but I’ve never really wanted to be a parent, and it’s even worse because even if I changed my mind, I don’t think I can do it when I know there’s a chance either of us could die.” Jim’s talking fast, words tumbling out before he can stop them. Spock opens his mouth to interrupt, but Jim keeps going. “I can’t make a kid go through what I have—a dead parent, a grieving one—”
“Jim—” Spock tries again, stepping towards him.
Jim shakes his head, stepping back and raking a hand through his hair. “And I know I should have said something sooner, but I don’t know why it didn’t come up sooner. Why haven’t we talked about this? This is it for me, Spock—you and me, in space. It’s all I want. I love you.”
“And I you—”
“Then why didn’t you—”
“Jim,” Spock says sharply, moving so they are mere inches apart.
“Sorry.”
“It is I who should apologize. I have clearly upset you.” Spock’s eyebrows are furrowed in concern, and Jim feels his posture shift stiffly. “Why do you think I have been looking into fatherhood?” His expression is searching, and Spock grips Jim’s hand again, as if Jim is slowly slipping away into another dimension where he’s lost his sanity.
“Don’t you want to adopt a kid? I saw the PADD, I swear I wasn’t… snooping or whatever, I just…” Jim feels himself deflate a bit, but Spock doesn’t look away.
“A Brief History of Family and Domestic Life on Starships ,” Spock says slowly. His expression softens.
“I was looking for the duty rosters,” Jim explains. “But it was all about kids on ships! About the Boomers and the science vessels—”
“And Admiral Archer’s canine companion,” Spocks says.
“ ...Yes,” Jim says, because he’s unsure why Spock’s bringing up a dog who once almost got murdered by a bunch of aliens for peeing on a sacred tree.
Spock sighs. “Jim, I have no interest in being a father.”
A wave of relief washes through Jim. “But you were going to resign—”
“Yet I did not. And while there were many factors in my decision to stay in Starfleet, the fact that I was not truly interested in fatherhood was a major one.” When Jim doesn’t say anything, he continues, “I, too, fail to see the logic in bringing a child aboard a starship. And while I am sure we would make adequate fathers if the situation called for it, I do not intend to choose a path where I would fear the shadow of my father’s own failings.”
“So you don’t want to adopt a tiny Vulcan orphan.” Jim backs up until his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he sits down with a sigh of relief. After weeks of confusion, avoidance, and fear, it’s not hard to feel joy in being wrong.
Spock sits down next to him. “I do not. And I apologize for making you think I was avoiding the subject.” Spock smiles softly, the way he only ever does with Jim. “But your conclusion was not far off, ashayam. I was simply making sure there would be few obstacles barring us from my proposition.”
Jim blinks at him, but says nothing. His assumptions have gotten them nowhere, and he’s too tired to think any harder about it.
Spock continues, “I was thinking, we may opt to adopt a feline companion.” His eyes light up like they do when they encounter a new space anomaly. “There is no reason we could not bring one on the ship — there are many documented examples of felines on starships, although most are stowaways, and Admiral Archer —”
Jim doesn’t let him finish. Instead, he turns to kiss him, hard, still holding Spock’s face in his hands when he pulls back.
“Yeah,” Jim breathes, grinning. “Let’s get a cat.”
—
Spock is a good boyfriend.
He trusts Jim’s instincts, he’s never mad when Jim needs a night out with Bones, and he always lets Jim bitch about Starfleet bureaucracy. He’s also apparently a cat person, which Jim didn’t know but is delighted to find out.
He’d always had barn cats in Riverside, but Jim thinks it’ll be nice to have one that’s just theirs. He’s already imagined a cat following him around the ship, finding a warm spot in engineering while he and Scotty work, meowing when the doors to his quarters hiss open after a long shift.
“This one seems suitable,” Spock says, holding a black cat against his chest. He’s scratching him lightly behind the ears, and Jim can hear the cat purring as he nuzzles into Spock’s chest. The cat hasn’t so much as glanced at Jim, and he’s trying not to feel a bit offended.
Jim’s fantasy is already morphing into something else. Instead, it’s Jim dropping by the lab to find Spock and the cat dutifully analyzing some experiment.
The cat shelter, not too far from Starfleet headquarters, has plenty of cats to choose from. It’s a large, open building where cats are wandering aimlessly. But when they walked into the room, Spock immediately zeroed in on a small black cat perched on a cat tree. His green eyes looked up curiously at Spock, and Jim thinks they had a moment.
“...Suitable?” Jim laughs, amused. “Isn’t that a bit… sterile for the cat you haven’t let me hold for fifteen minutes?” Spock hasn’t said it, but Jim’s pretty sure they’ve already found the one.
“He seems to have a good temperament, and he is not startled by our interaction.” Spock looks down at the cat, his eyes softening and a slight smile creeping across his face.
(It makes Jim swoon, just a little bit.)
Jim reaches out and strokes the top of the cat’s head. He leans into Jim’s touch, and Jim can feel him still purring. The cat looks at Jim, and he thinks they have a moment too.
“I think he likes you, Jim.”
“I think he likes you a bit more, Spock, but that’s okay. Let’s take him home.”
Spock nods in agreement and looks around for someone to fill out the paperwork. When they find a shelter volunteer, Spock hands Jim the cat as he takes a clipboard to begin filling out various forms. The cat blinks up at Jim and begins to purr again.
Spock hands off the paperwork to the volunteer, and she wanders off to get a carrier.
“So what’s his name? Jim asks, handing the cat back to Spock. Everything else is taken care of—litter box, food, treats. Surely Spock already has something picked out.
Spock pauses for a moment, opening his mouth to respond, then closes it.
“I had not considered.”