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Chapter Text

Kirk eyes the computer terminal in his quarters with a mix of hope, trepidation, and pre-emptive annoyance. Two damn weeks of repairs. Seven, seven times he's been assured the problem is fixed...

“Computer,” he orders, folding his hands. Nothing to do but try. “Bring up... a listing of biographies on Zefram Cochrane.”

It's a completely random choice, albeit one that takes the computer a moment; Cochrane was an, ah, interesting figure. And apparently quite scandalous.

“Working,” comes the computer's clipped, mechanical voice. Kirk eyes it hopefully as quiet whirs indicate the search running. “Currently one-million, seventeen thousand, eighty-three biographical works as of this morning. Further parameters recommended.”

“Narrow down to... biographies written by Vulcan authors, exceeding eighty-thousand words, published in the past decade.”

“Processing... fourteen options remaining.”

“Recommend me one for a reader with no prior knowledge.”

“Recommended: “Flight to Fate: Zefram Cochrane and the Logic of his Passion.” Suddenly, the voice of the computer changes. It's sultry, suggestive. “You'll love this one, dear. Especially chapter seven. Two reviews on Vulcan declared it 'speculative and obscene' for an intriguing theory about his relationship with the diplomat Solkar...”

“Computer, end search,” Kirk snaps. He's already shoving himself to his feet, blood pounding. Two damn weeks! And now this. “Send notice to Mr. Scott – repairs ongoing.”

“Of course, dear,” the machine coos. “Are you sure you wouldn't like a preview of chapter seven? Vulcan biology is so interesting -

Kirk smacks the terminal off on the way out.

Prior to this overhaul the Enterprise last put in at Cygnet Fourteen for general maintenance. Their female engineers evidently felt the ship's computer lacked... personality.

Starfleet has already complained about this subsequent, 'unnecessary' delay; they're not going to tolerate the Enterprise's absence much longer. And Kirk refuses to ship back out with a sulky computer that harasses the men and criticizes everyone's sense of fashion – Yeoman Rand might be tempted to 'spill' some coffee in the central processors if it makes one more snide remark about her hairstyles.

So James Kirk beams back down to Starbase 16 to seek out a target for his ire. Scotty is ill and on leave, or this whole blasted mess wouldn't be Kirk's to oversee. His first-officer, Lt. Commander Thelin, used their proximity to Andoria as an excuse to spend the unexpected leave at home. Kirk doesn't begrudge him that; the station engineers might. Thelin has a much better hold on his temper.

And it certainly doesn't help Kirk's mood that the station's chief of engineering has made himself scarce – he became abruptly difficult to locate after the fourth failed repair.

After being shiftily denied access to the station's engineering section three times over, Kirk gives up on terrorizing someone who deserves it and stalks the station for any face he recognizes.

He finds a victim in the officer's mess hall, bearing down on a lieutenant he vaguely recalls from the local team. At the sight of Kirk the lieutenant blanches, twisting around as though to search for aid.

Kirk doesn't give him the chance. “Lieutenant Hall. Has Chief Engineer Ionescu died? Been kidnapped by Klingons?”

Hall gains the wide-eyed, hunted look of someone forced to be polite to an insane person. “Er. No, Sir. Not – not to my knowledge.”

“Really!” Kirk leans down to brace against the man's dinner-table; Hall leans away from his smile. “Maybe there's a communications blackout?”

“Er - “

“Because, Mr. Hall, I can't imagine why he's ignored my last. Nine. Messages,” Kirk grits. “Especially after assuring me, again...”

“Sir, it's really a very complicated problem, and artificial intelligence isn't the specialty of anyone on this station...”

“Are you doubting my intelligence, Lieutenant?”

“I – no, Sir, but - “

“Because if my memory serves, the Enterprise was directed here because your chief said he could fix this problem. Now, either my memory is failing me, or your chief is an incompetent liar. Which is it?”

The surrounding tables have, by this point, fallen silent to listen. While Hall stammers, Kirk adds, “Perhaps you would like to explain to Starfleet Admiralty why a Constitution-class starship has spent two weeks wasting away in dock - “

Kirk cuts off.

Someone has stepped up to the table – a Vulcan, apparently off-duty judging by his soft black robes. Curling silver script trails down the edges of his clothes, and he regards Kirk with mild curiosity.

He wears light fuchsia eyeshadow – Kirk's never seen a Vulcan in anything like that, but it makes his face startlingly memorable.

“Captain Kirk, I believe?”

“Yes. You are?” Kirk snaps.

“I am Spock. And I am an expert in computer sciences – including artificial intelligences, if you require assistance.”

Kirk throws up his hands. “Thank you! And you couldn't have brought him in sooner?” Kirk demands of poor Mr. Hall.

“But,” Hall stutters. “But, he's not...”

Hall looks from Kirk to Spock. His mouth snaps shut.

Incompetent. Kirk turns back to the Vulcan. “If you're available now, Mr. Spock, I can request a beam-up. Next time we're out near Cygnet Fourteen I'm just going to keep on moving...”

It takes Mr. Spock approximately twenty minutes to repair the machines.

Kirk is resentfully disbelieving when Spock announces it. He tests the computers once, then again while Spock stands waiting with him in the conference room, hands clasped behind his back. Kirk quizzes the computer on increasingly complex topics.

Spock quirks an eyebrow when Kirk starts demanding information on the romantic rituals of various species. “The AI liked flirting,” Kirk explains, exasperated.

“I see,” says Mr. Spock without changing expression.

Kirk learns that Vulcans prioritize telepathy in a marriage, and sometimes marry rapidly with compatible individuals. The computer next enters a long tangent about four, six, and seven-way Andorian marriages.

Tension eases from him as the computer remains briskly informative and, well, like a computer. “I could kiss you,” says Kirk at last, mood lightening. At least he can get Admiral Nogura off his back. “Why didn't Ionescu bring you in sooner?”

“I do not work with Chief Ionescu, Captain.”

“What, you're with another team?”

The Vulcan's expression doesn't shift; Kirk still gets the impression he's being laughed at. “I am not a member of Starfleet, Captain Kirk.”

“You're – not – but you're an expert,” says Kirk dumbly.

“Yes, Sir.”

“And you repaired the ship.”

“I am a researcher. Previously affiliated with the Vulcan Science Academy.”

“...a researcher.”

“There was a conference,” says Spock, helpfully.

“Yes. No. I – why did you come with me?”

“You seemed to need assistance.”

Kirk briefly closes his eyes, a new headache forming. “...I just dragged a random civilian onto my ship and bullied them into repairing classified computers.”

“No, Sir.”

“No?”

“A Vulcan cannot be 'bullied.'”

“Ah.”

Spock takes pity on him. “Additionally, I am the son of an ambassador. My security clearance is high enough for this work – indeed, I was already familiar with the basic coding.”

Oh, thank god. Kirk can find a way to work with that in the reports, at least. Maybe even flatter the Vulcan government if he phrases it right; they always love to be assured no one else can beat them in the sciences.

“In that case, I – apologize, for my, ah, abrupt behavior, Mr. Spock. Allow me to make it up to you.” Spock quirks an eyebrow. “Would you care to join me for dinner?”

For a moment Kirk thinks he's going to refuse. But Spock agrees.

Spock. From the VSA.

“I feel like I've heard your name before,” Kirk mentions as they take their seats.

Like many starbases along popular trade routes, much of the station is practical. But there's a commercial sector, too, and many people live here full-time. This means, inevitably, at least a few finer shops for the wealthy and powerful.

Jim had noted this restaurant – with its unpronounceable Caitian name – back when he'd naively expected to be twiddling his thumbs throughout repairs. He'd soon given up hope of taking any shore leave for himself, much less finding suitable company for a night.

“It is a common name. And I've published a few papers,” Spock demurs.

“Oh, maybe that's it,” Kirk agrees. He's no scientist, but he tries to keep abreast of general new knowledge, and he makes good use of his old engineering specialty. “You said you were here for a conference?”

Spock is perfectly content to talk about his latest research as they await their orders. Kirk can't claim to follow all of it, but he's at least interested in the subject; stimulating vitamin-enhanced food production. Specifically in colonies for aquatic species, which is a funny thing for a Vulcan to focus on. Kirk admittedly spends part of the conversation trying to imagine his Vulcan dinner-mate swimming; he can only conjure a picture much like a bedraggled cat.

More than that, though, Kirk is content to watch Mr. Spock gradually gain enthusiasm. He hasn't spent time with many Vulcans, but he's worked with a few. Yet there's something uniquely charming in this one's quiet, reserved enthusiasm. Passion, Jim thinks; a Vulcan full of passion.

When Spock pauses in his description, Jim smiles. “You sound like you enjoyed it. Why did you let me drag you off, anyway? I know you said you wanted to help, but you could have at least told me you were a civilian.”

The food arrives – Jim cheerfully receives a heaping platter of some beef-like roast, real buttered Terran potatoes, and a few native greens. McCoy won't be too mad if he has spies around.

“I wanted to speak with you,” Spock replies.

Kirk is at this point examining the Vulcan's platter – a rather dazzlingly bright bowl of completely foreign foods – so it takes a moment for this to process. “Sorry?”

”I was intrigued when you entered the room; I felt your mind,” Spock clarifies, like this is a normal thing to say.

Well, that's interesting. Kirk abandons thoughts of eating, leaning forward. “And what did my mind feel like?”

“Like a shoreline. Surging, and receding. Pleasantly cool; yet only rising to the ankles before it shifts away.” Dark eyes consider Kirk. “ - It is tempting, to be submerged in that feeling.”

Well. Maybe this won't be such a bad shore-leave after all. It doesn't take a sociologist to realize it might be significant for a desert-dwelling telepath to compare his mind to water. “Mr. Spock, are you flirting with me?”

“You did say, earlier, that you wanted to kiss me.”

Kirk laughs aloud – more surprised by the sheer boldness than anything. “I did,” he agrees, now in a much better mood.

Charitable, he even thinks he might spare Chief Ionescu that scathing report on his computer; it was worth the delay for this.

After an entirely indulgent dinner filled with even more indulgent conversation, the pair take a stroll down through the arboretum. Starbase 16 is well-known for its garden – and with good reason.

Many of the plants, the paths, are beautiful but would be nothing unique. But years ago some creative architect decided to go the extra mile designing this room; every wall, and indeed even the mostly soil-covered floors, are made with the clearest grade of transparent aluminum.

Some people find it hideously disorienting; McCoy would certainly never step foot in here. But right now, with the lights half-dimmed for the station's night-cycle as they pick through rows of glimmering flowers, the stars are beautiful to Kirk.

The lighting flatters his companion, too. Spock is a slightly-glowing figure by his side, and Kirk feels a sudden, desperate surge of affection for this man he barely knows.

“I've heard that it's significant for Vulcans to touch hands,” Kirk suggests, reaching out to twine theirs together.

Spock halts. For a moment Kirk thinks he's offended him.

“It is,” Spock agrees. “ - it is about as intimate as this, for humans.”

And Spock kisses him.

Surging and receding, Kirk remembers, and smiles against those lips.

He feels giddy – drunk like a school-boy with his first crush. He's not sure why. Kirk has had many partners through his life, but this one...

“I have also heard,” Kirk confides, half-murmuring against Spock's cheek, “that Vulcans are very picky about their bed-partners. That they never take any, outside marriage.”

They're standing close, breath mingling. Kirk can feel – something. Telepathy, maybe. Or maybe it's just the moment.

It is tempting to be submerged.

“Some are – selective,” Spock says, just as low. “But certain, impressive individuals may merit exception.”

And like a movie-reel, Kirk can see the future unfolding. This is a clear invitation. Kirk will ask if he qualifies; Mr. Spock will say many charming, flattering things; they will go to Spock's rooms on the station, or maybe even beam up to the Enterprise again. They will share fantastic sex.

In the morning, they will part. They will never meet again.

That would be the normal, expected path to take. But James T. Kirk has not gained his reputation by doing the 'normal,' expected thing.

After Kirk's casual announcement, the bridge falls silent. On-screen, Starbase 16 rapidly recedes against a background of blurring stars.

By the door McCoy makes an outraged sound. It's somewhere between the gasp of a dying man and the bellow of a bull.

“What do you mean, you got married?!”

Chapter Text

“So,” says Nogura, at the end of a quick and frankly unnecessary 'meeting,' “what's this I hear about a marriage, Kirk?”

The tiny screen doesn't do much to conceal Nogura's interest. Now, at last, they get to the main point of the call:

Gossip.

“Last week, Sir. Did you receive the paperwork?”

“I did. Congratulations – it's not easy to establish a relationship in our line of work.” A beat. Nogura obviously tries to find a polite way to phrase this. “I was – surprised, to see your spouse was Vulcan. Where did you meet, may I ask?”

“Starbase 16.”

“Ah,” says Nogura, thoughtful. “Well that does explain the choice for your wedding... must have been nostalgic for you.”

Kirk does not correct him.

“This is really excessive, Bones,” Kirk complains.

“Oh no,” says McCoy, typing furiously into his machine. “CMO's prerogative. I can run a psych screen on any crewman displaying 'erratic, uncharacteristic behavior.' And getting shotgun-married to a Vulcan male fits the definition of 'erratic.'”

“Is it uncharacteristic?” Kirk muses.

“Makes about as much sense to me as any other lunatic thing you do.”

Kirk spreads his arms, as though to say, well, then.

They're alone in Sickbay, though every now and then some crewman passes by the open door and cranes their head to look in. As though Kirk's newly-married status will have left a visible mark.

Hmm. Wait.

“Do you think a Vulcan would wear a wedding ring?” he demands.

“I'm marking that question in the mentally disturbed column,” Bones informs him.

But for all his grumbling McCoy is eventually forced to conclude – with indignant, disgusted disbelief – that Jim is of sound mind.

“Or sound as before, I guess,” McCoy adds. “Can't believe you're not certifiable somehow.”

“Oh, I need to update the emergency contact list,” Jim says.

McCoy makes offended noises, but drags out a padd.

Jim has to fish out his own padd to spell the name, to McCoy's horror. “Tell me you know his full name. Lie, if you need to.”

“I wouldn't know it if we'd shared cradles,” Kirk protests. “Look at the family name alone – not a single vowel.”

Kirk initially thinks – judging by the horror-struck stare – that McCoy is equally appalled by the complexities of Vulcan naming conventions.

"Jim,” says McCoy, with the slow, grasping voice of someone talking down a ledge-climber. “Jim. Do you – realize who that is?”

“...My husband?”

“Do you. Realize. Who you married?” McCoy grinds out.

That's a concerning response to a name. “Well, Bones, I feel like you're going to tell me.”

McCoy slowly exhales, looking up at the ceiling. “Remember when I told you about the hard time I had, trying to reach out for questions 'bout that paper on the Denobian plague? Remember, I told you it was hard because some absolutely insane Vulcan from the VSA whistleblew some scandal that got a buncha staff fired, then vanished into Independent Space?”

Oh. “That's the researcher? Small world.” But Jim already knew he was smart.

McCoy waves a furious arm. “He's also the one who wrote that work on repairing dilithium crystals, you know, the one Scotty's in love with. Uhura uses his translations as a reference. Thelin practically worships him, even though he hates Vulcans on principal. How did you not hear about this guy? He vanishes for months, pops up on some backwater nowheresville-planet to drop revolutionary research, then disappears again. He's famous for it.”

“I'm married to a cryptid?”

“You're married to a stranger. Like an idiot.”

“He did seem intelligent – I guess it wasn't just with computers,” Kirk reflects, fond. “I'll have to ask what he's working on when I write...”

“Are you even listening to me? He's wanted for questioning by the Vulcan government about logical heresy. I don't even know what that means! Did you realize he's half-human?”

Kirk is delighted. “Is he? So maybe he'll want a ring after all.”

“Jesus Christ have mercy.”

Kirk writes the letter. Spock will, in fact, accept a ring.

Uhura and Scotty insist a celebration's necessary. McCoy declares it 'a celebration of stupidity,' but attends, sulking in a corner with a bottle of synthale occasionally studied with disgust.

Everyone wants to know about Spock. Though McCoy isn't alone in thinking Jim's lost his mind, the crew seem largely charmed by Kirk's description of his misunderstanding, and they all agree Spock was 'very kind' to 'volunteer' his time.

“He must be something special to get you smiling like this,” Uhura teases.

Ill-advised or not, most of the crew agree it's terribly romantic. Sulu reveals a surprising familiarity with Vulcan poetry, and offers to show him some romantic verses. A young vegan ensign insists on sending him recipes of her favorite desserts.

“You're all enablers,” McCoy informs the room at large. This truth does not deter anyone.

“Oh, I could teach you Vulcan!” Uhura enthuses, handing Kirk a glass of wine (also, sadly, synthetic.) All at once half a dozen delighted linguists surround him.

“Oh, which dialect does he speak?” Mr. Vollan asks. “And knowing class is important when you're addressing someone - “

“Not if you're using the informal,” someone argues.

“Have you ever heard a Vulcan talk to their spouse? The formal is still more important, he can learn pillow-talk on his own time - “

Coughing, Kirk assures everyone he'd love to learn Vulcan. He's promptly bullied into scheduling a meeting with two vibrating ensigns, and watches with mild bewilderment as they rush away before he can reconsider.

“I feel like I just sold myself to a Ferengi,” he mutters.

Uhura pats his arm.

The whole night is pleasant, cheerful. Kirk's genuinely touched to see this example of his crew's interest – even if, he thinks ruefully, it's at least due to plain curiosity as much as affection.

“Here's the important question,” Sulu says, just as the celebration winds down. “When are you going to see him again, Sir?”

It's a good point. The Enterprise's mission directive usually leaves them exploring outside Federation space. They aren't due near Vulcan anytime soon; and if Bones is correct, Spock's rarely in one place for long, anyway.

But, somehow...

“I'm not sure,” Kirk says, wondering where his new husband might be now. He'd mentioned leaving the station soon... “But I have a feeling we won't be apart long.”

Kirk does not immediately get a chance to develop written correspondence with his husband.

Oh, he intends to write! But being convicted of murder - and stripped of rank - derails things.

He's not convicted long, as it happens. He's framed for the murder of Benjamin Finney. Successfully framed. It would have been devastating, except while Kirk's cooling his heels in the brig Finney – hiding out in engineering – decides to celebrate his success by sabotaging the ship's primary energy circuits so she'll plummet out of orbit over Starbase 11.

Which doesn't happen, of course. Kirk loves his crew.

This act is used by Finney's lawyer, afterward, to argue the man was not in his right mind. He insists any reasonable person would have hidden and escaped quietly, leaving Kirk imprisoned, languishing in unjustified self-recrimination.

It's horrifying to think how close he came to losing everything. By the end of the trial even McCoy and Thelin thought he'd done it. McCoy clearly chalked up the mistake to human error, but Thelin...

From the way he looked at Kirk, it's clear First Officer Thelin thought his captain a murderer. He apologized, after. Kirk still isn't sure what to think about it.

He doesn't feel any better, coming back to his quarters after this whole mess to find six unanswered messages from Spock. His sentence was overturned, of course; but did Spock hear about the trial? And even if he didn't, to be brushed off so early in their acquaintance...

But the letters aren't what Jim expects at all.

I sensed a disturbing level of alarm through our bond, Spock writes. Kirk knows the bond exists, but since leaving the station he's barely felt anything he could definitively pinpoint as telepathy. Please confirm you are well.

The next two messages are similar. The fourth is an abrupt shift in tone.

Based on your lack of reply, I assume you are involved in urgent work or perhaps in an improper frame of mind for communication. To that end I thought you might find it pleasant to engage in normal conversation. There is a Vulcan technique called kunli-kar, which in theory mimics humanity's 'facial feedback hypothesis,' albeit without the outwardly physical component. It suggests that mimicking positive behaviors can, correspondingly, induce positive thoughts -

Spock proceeds from this pop-psychology explanation, to Kirk's amusement, to veer into a rather travel-novel-esque description of his days since leaving Space Station 16. He's admittedly a good storyteller. Aside from the rather glaring, ah, lack of details on some things.

Spock doesn't say where he's headed, but apparently he hitched a ride with a group of Orions – family acquaintances, he explains, bafflingly – and describes how they took his marriage as a personal challenge. Every member of the crew has taken to working their shifts nude, and he daily fields a dozen crude invitations.

Kirk isn't sure if this is true, or a story meant to make him jealous. He suspects the former. When he remembers the amused, unfazed way Spock surveyed his surroundings at the station, Kirk suspects he's enjoying the trip more than his letter states.

From the Orion ship he soon arrived at a small, not very notable colony, but apparently they had a good theatre-troupe and commissioned Spock to help compose a song. Kirk remembers McCoy's indignant disbelief when he learned Spock's identity; how many skills does this man have?

Spock adds, as an afterthought, that he realized the troupe leader's daughter was a serial killer; he reported her before leaving. There is no elaboration.

From the colony, he apparently decided to hike into the wilderness for awhile, where I discovered an intriguing new species of rather antagonistic felines, he writes. They have a fascinating hatred of the color blue. I may write a paper on it...

Jim's smiling widely by the time he finishes this letter. A rush of fondness bids him to linger over it; he opens a new folder and saves every message onto his personal drive before opening the fifth.

He immediately bursts out laughing. This letter begins, I am advised you have been convicted of murder. If you are able to receive this message, please remind your jailors of Amendment six-point-eight of the Federation Charter. This grants Vulcan spouses certain increased visitation rights, including conjugal visits -

The last message begins, I have been notified your conviction was overturned. If you would like to sue for emotional damages, please contact me. I do not really understand the concept, but my lawyer is eager to pursue such a novel charge.

Kirk grins as he sits to write out a response, already feeling much better. It's reassuring to know that, despite everything, his new husband wanted to be there for him.

And if Kirk ever does get arrested and shunted off to some backwater penal colony, well. Apparently he still gets conjugal visits. So there's that.

“Okay, seriously, if it was a drunk mistake just fess up,” McCoy says. “Won't be any easier to wriggle out of it a month from now.”

They're sitting in Jim's quarters, each with a glass of whiskey. Real, this time, unlike the offerings from the party.

“I don't regret anything, Bones.”

“Then maybe that Vulcan did some telepathic nonsense. Hoodwinked you. No one gets married in a day, Jim. Hell, I knew Jocelyn two years before we got hitched – look how that turned out.”

“Vulcans do get married fast sometimes - “

“Well you ain't Vulcan! You've been in love before. What makes this so different?”

“Spock says our minds were compatible – said on Vulcan we'd be called 't'hy'la.' A bit like soulmates.”

“I refuse to believe Vulcans recognize soulmates.”

“You should see some of that poetry Sulu's been showing me. A very romantic race, Vulcans.”

McCoy takes a large gulp of whiskey. Sighing, he rubs his face. “Jim. I'm being serious. You're going to regret this. What is it, a midlife crisis? You realized you could die tomorrow on this tin-can? What?”

“Nothing like that. Spock is just – different. And sometimes you need to take risks, Bones.”

“Marriage is always a risk – what you're doing is lunacy.”

“High stakes, high reward. It's worth it. Spock is worth it, Bones. I'm sure.”

McCoy scrutinizes him a minute. Sighing, he pours himself another glass, raising it in toast. “To your marriage, I guess. However long it lasts!”

Kirk's still nursing a mild hangover when the bridge alerts him to a call from Admiral Nogura.

“Patch it through to my quarters,” he orders, situating himself in front of his computer with a feigned air of alertness.

The screen flickers on. “Kirk – we have a new mission for you. How fast can you get to the Nirvedia system?”

Kirk considers. “I'd estimate six days at warp four, Sir.”

“Make it warp six. The local government there has always been antsy about the Federation – now there's apparently some religious group stirring up trouble. A Vulcan cult of some kind.”

“Has their government made any comment?”

“Only to denounce it – which doesn't satisfy the Governor of Nirvedia III. I can't get any answers from Vulcan myself, either – they're not interested in talking about anything but your marriage.”

“Excuse me?”

“Apparently your new husband is a big deal there. You have any idea where he is right now?”

“No, Sir. Travelling.”

“Hmmph. Well, apparently the Vulcan High Council wants a chat with him. Pass that on. I'll forward you the details for your mission.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Kirk sits staring at the computer as the call ends. The Vulcan High Council... McCoy mentioned they'd like to question Spock, but Kirk checked the flag in the Federation database. That matter was an old notice, from nearly two decades previous, with Spock marked as a potential witness for a low-priority crime. Nothing major. What could they want with him now?

Oh, well. Spock will probably tell him if it's important.

Chapter Text

“First thing to remember,” Kirk tells the room full of officers. “The Nirvedia system already hates us. They do not want a Federation presence here. Both uninhabited star-systems closest to them were colonized by the Federation before they developed warp capabilities. In their eyes, we've robbed them of their heritage.”

“But they're considering membership,” points out Sulu.

“They are. Very... begrudgingly. Which is why a disruptive cult consisting of founding Federation species isn't helping our case.”

“The briefing didn't include much on this cult,” Dr. Gupta interjects. She's their religious anthropologist, and Kirk knows she's been researching Vulcan religions since the mission was assigned.

For all the good it will do her. Everyone knows Vulcans have some sort of spiritual beliefs. Humanity has been trying for more than 200 years to discern the details, to no avail.

“I'm afraid what you have is what we know - there isn't much on their specific philosophies. What's important is that this group's becoming more disruptive,” says Kirk firmly. “They aren't only Vulcans, either. They're calling themselves the 'Army of Light,' and lately they've started sending groups roaming the countryside of Nirvedia III.”

“One of the colonized planets in their system,” Uhura notes, checking her file. “Not the original homeworld... but that means their presence is legal?”

“I just finished talking to the planetary Governor about that – apparently a few members even got citizenship before the colony realized the extent of the problem, and the rest of the cult mostly live on private or unsettled lands... they've inducted a few wealthy natives into the group, too. The governor wants them gone but can't make a fight of it yet.”

“Negotiating with religious extremists who aren't even breaking the law,” McCoy drawls. “Better you than me.”

That about sums it up, honestly.

The governor of Nirvedia III is not the governor of the entire native star-system. But he's influential, and Kirk doesn't want this escalating more than it already has.

The team beams down around 01100. Governor Nazda Iorda is a squat, anxious man. The local species is mostly humanoid, differing by a hunched back and unnervingly huge eyes that give the governor a look of permanent terror even as he scolds them. Kirk falls into a pattern of listening, providing pacifying apologies, and then sitting through the exact same diatribe again. This little ritual continues for nearly an hour before the team can extract themselves to actually approach the current location of the cult.

“Does that man want us to help, or just listen to him ramble?” McCoy complains after they've beamed to the eventually-provided coordinates. The new landing places them just outside a beautiful forest – Terran-looking trees, but covered densely with thick purply vines. More flowering plants wind through the branches.

“In fairness, Bones, they are invaders. And no planet is ever happy about an incursion of extremists – it's about protecting their culture, if nothing else.”

“Protecting their egos, more like! And they just hate outsiders, Jim, no need to pretty it up.”

Following their scanners, the party walks along a natural path through the forest's undergrowth. They tried to warn the cult of their impending arrival earlier; they received a mechanical acknowledgement to indicate the message was received, but there hasn't been a reply.

It's a pleasant walk, at least; a little warm. “This place oughta give any self-respecting Vulcan pneumonia,” McCoy complains after about five minutes. A black patch of dampness blooms over his arms and chest as they walk, to complement his red, sweating face. “Hot enough for 'em, sure, but too damn humid!”

But despite this (accurate) summation, the forest is a delight to see. And hear; Uhura twists her head as they walk, eyes wide as she tries to follow the sound of light, bell-like chimes coming from some unknown place. From the trees themselves, maybe, or more likely an insect. As they walk, brightly-colored vines leeching off the trees turn and ripple toward the humans. Sulu pauses, half-bending as he peers around. One stubborn vine starts prodding at his feet as though trying to trip him.

“No souvenirs,” Kirk says, brushing past. “Or pets!”

A dejected, “Yes, Sir,” follows him.

Given the activity of the landscape, perhaps Kirk can be forgiven for a slight lapse in attention. “Sir!” hisses Gupta, pointing. “That must be one of them!”

“Do you think he's actually here to meet us,” McCoy begins, “Or just...”

But Kirk's already moving.

Sulu gives a confused half-shout when Kirk bounds forward, alarmed enough to fumble for his phaser. The Vulcan farther down the path – clothed in a heavy, flowing garment in deep purple despite their humid surroundings – stays precisely where he is as Kirk approaches.

But his eyebrow twitches, and the corner of his lip does, too. An answering smile widens over Jim's face as he halts in front of his new husband.

“Spock,” says Kirk, with impressive (so he thinks) restraint.

Spock politely holds up two fingers in the odd Vulcan 'kiss' he showed Kirk just once before they parted. Unable to contain himself any further, Kirk wraps four fingers around those two, twisting their palms together. He pulls Spock closer for a human kiss, too. From the way Spock inhales against his lips, Kirk suspects this might be a bit scandalous.

Spock does kiss back, though.

When he leans away the Vulcan looks flushed. “I certainly did not expect to find you here,” says Spock. “But it is a welcome surprise.”

Grinning, Kirk opens his mouth -

“Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not an athlete!” McCoy wheezes. He stumbles up beside them, followed by the rest of the landing party.

Spock casts a dubious glance at the panting, sweat-soaked humans. “Clearly.”

Kirk snorts.

“Jim, please tell me you didn't marry a cultist.”

“I would not term the Army of Light a 'cult,'” Spock begins.

“Jesus fucking wept.”

Ah. Right, they're here for a Vulcan religious group. And here is Kirk's... Vulcan bondmate.

Hmm. “Are we in a cult?” Kirk asks his husband.

McCoy's face meets his palm.

“No,” says Spock, unruffled. “I am here visiting family.” He eyes Sulu and Gupta with interest, but doesn't offer introductions. “Their reputation is entirely undeserved, I assure you. While I do not understand the appeal of their... distinctive philosophy, it is not harmful.”

“Ah, excellent.”

“You're so biased right now, it's not even funny,” McCoy tells him.

“I'll mention that in the relevant reports,” says Kirk cheerfully. Not like McCoy has room to talk, considering Starfleet once assigned him to examine his ex-wife. But given how that mission ended, Kirk doesn't bring it up.

To Spock: “Do you know where the main compound is? The planetary governor is concerned about the groups wandering around. We need to speak with the, ah, Army's leader.”

Spock folds his hands behind his back, shifting. “I see. I... regret inconveniencing the governor. But I cannot assist; I am avoiding the Army of Light at the moment. And the main compound.”

Kirk frowns. A prickle of unease curls through him. “But why would - “

Suddenly Spock jerks, head snapping left to stare through the thick forestry. “Excuse me,” he says, crisp – and bolts away.

Given this is immediately followed by a stun-blast scorching the spot where he stood, everyone runs after him.

In the dense maze of trees Kirk only risks a quick glance behind. He sees at least two figures, both with drawn weapons. Thin branches whip Kirk's face as they run, drawing blood in stinging scratches.

Then, slightly ahead, Gupta trips.

She yelps a bit when she falls; Sulu stumbles trying to help her, feet caught in one of the twisting native vines.

This prompts Spock to halt, calling out sharply – something in Vulcan. Uhura slows to grab Gupta's elbow, but instead of pulling the anthropologist along she pauses to look quizzically at Spock.

“Wait,” Uhura starts, “What do you - “

“Move!” Kirk barks. Questions can wait for when they're not being shot at. He whips around to make sure Sulu and Gupta are being more reasonable.

It leaves the whole group too close, too still – an easy target. From the corner of his eye Kirk sees a third figure step out of the trees. Then the dark glint of a phaser, aimed toward -

Kirk leaps at Spock, feels a shock, and nothing.

Kirk bolts awake. His heart pounds with the screel of phasers ringing in his ears. But there are no dark-cloaked attackers here - just Spock and McCoy sitting beside the bed. They're leaning over the same datapadd, arguing.

“That's lunacy,” says McCoy. “It would completely overload the nervous system.”

“That is easily remedied with this - “

“Oh, are you kidding? Sure, works fine if you want to kill his liver instead.”

“Livers can be regrown.”

“I hope that's a joke. You can't ruin some perfectly good organs as a side effect just 'cause we can replace 'em now - “

For one disorienting moment Kirk thinks they're discussing him. Is my liver failing, he wonders fuzzily. Then he remembers being shot.

“Oh, Captain!” Uhura exclaims. She sitting with Sulu and Gupta across the room, the three of them casual around a table with tea and delicately-sliced fruit. Kirk realizes the windows beside her show high tree-tops. They're on the second or third floor of some rotund building in the forest. “You're awake!”

Uhura jumps up, grabbing something as she hurries to his side. To his bemusement Kirk sees it's a fat, adorable creature a bit like a squirrel, except lavender, and unfairly soft.

Spock, Kirk realizes, is stroking a similar creature in his lap. A warm lump over Kirk's chest indicates the presence of a third.

“I was shot,” Kirk recalls. He's pretty sure about that.

“My brother's friends have been... excessively supportive of his efforts to throw a party for my marriage,” Spock explains. A beat. “I do not like parties.”

“So they stunned me?”

“They were aiming for me,” says Spock helpfully.

“Turns out you didn't marry a cultist... just the cult-leader's brother,” McCoy drawls. “And this is why you meet the family before the wedding, Jim.”

Kirk waves a hand, sitting up gingerly. The cute squirrel-thing falls to his lap with a squeak of protest.

“Local pets.” Spock follows his gaze.

Right. “So you know the leader. Any chance you can arrange a meeting?”

“Unnecessary. Sybok has been here frequently to check on - “

“ - on my baby brother's new husband!” a voice enthuses.

Spock's expression twitches a little; Kirk chooses to interpret it as irritation.

The Vulcan that appears behind him has a vague resemblance to Spock – something in the shape of his eyes, the curve of his chin. But there the similarities end. Where Spock is neat and prim, a slender figure in dark robes, Sybok is the opposite. Wild, graying hair, already receding; soft white clothing; and most shockingly, a wide smile. Kirk wouldn't have taken him for a Vulcan, even despite the clear points of his ears. He's built more heavily than the usual examples of the species, too.

“A pleasure to meet you, Captain,” Sybok declares. There's something about the way he says this that's a little too earnest, laden with meaning Kirk can't decipher. His smile has a hard edge. “You can imagine my surprise, when my rational brother here told me he's married some random human... after one day. Especially, you know, since you slept with the Army of Light's financial-specialist two years ago on Risa!”

“...Ah,” says Kirk, who cannot remember Risa well, but probably did. Spock leans back in his chair, brow arched, and makes no move to save him. “Well, that was... old history, er...”

“Oh?” asks Sybok, still with that gradually-unnerving smile. “Will my brother be old history in a few months? Like, say, our baker, who you also slept with?”

Oh. The last time he was on Risa... Kirk thought that woman was Rigelian, not Vulcan. “Well, while I would... certainly be glad to get more acquainted with you, I'm afraid we're actually here on official business. Once we've discussed the governor's request, I - “

“No,” says Sybok.

Kirk pauses. “No?” he echoes. “You're unwilling to discuss his concerns? I will remind you, Mr...Sybok, that the 'Army of Light' has no official standing in the Nirvedia system.”

“Oh, we can talk about that,” Sybok says. “I'm not unreasonable; and I'd be happy to explain to this governor exactly why he needs to stop fussing over what happens on private lands – it's not like we're trespassing. But that can wait. You realize there are proper steps to Vulcan courtship, right?”

Kirk's crew watches his face expectantly. Spock continues to be useless. “Well, uh, I - “

“Steps you completely ignored,” Sybok continues.

“In my defense, I was not told of any requirements for - “

“And you couldn't even be bothered to research your new husband,” Sybok laments. “No, no. Only one way to settle this. There a tradition, you see. We call it duhso-nisa.”

Uhura covers her mouth.

“I see,” says Kirk, struggling to take Sybok's demands with the polite composure of a new brother-in-law as the squirrel creature starts kneading his stomach. “Well, I'm happy to, ah, comply with any traditional requirements. So this duhso-nisa...?”

“It's a duel, of course.”

Ah.

Of course.

McCoy gives him a tri-ox injection.

“Isn't that cheating?” Kirk questions, glancing around to ensure no one saw.

“Oh, you're going to lose either way,” McCoy says. “He's a Vulcan. But at least you won't embarrass us tapping out early in this weather."

Thank you, Bones, for that show of confidence.

There's a startling diversity in the camp when they go outside. Vulcans, of course, but also Orions, Deltans, and a few sorry-looking Andorians wandering bare-chested and drooping in the heat.

Sybok directs them to a large, clear circle a few hundred meters west. It's surrounded by stands in a viewing-ring. Farther back are houses, with more onlookers peering out the windows.

The material on the ground of the circle is soft gray, firm but a little giving, like gym mats. “We usually use this for orgies – but sometimes sparring,” Sybok says.

“STD panel,” says McCoy, snapping his fingers. “Knew I forgot something in your physical.”

Spock looks a little affronted.

The audience fills fast with delighted onlookers. No wonder Governor Iorda was concerned; there's hundreds of them. Plenty of natives, too

A heavily-scarred Orion woman gives Kirk his weapon, then shoves him into the center of the circle.

Now, Kirk has participated in ritual-fights before. It's a shockingly common cultural practice. But eyeing his weapon – the huge, bludgeoning metal on one side of the staff, and a wickedly sharp fan of steel on the other -

Sybok faces him across the circle. “These look like they could be lethal,” Kirk observes, aiming for a mild tone.

“Could be,” Sybok agrees.  Without elaborating he swings the blade at Kirk's head.

Kirk survives – barely. By the time Sybok pins him with the staff, sprawled on his back, Kirk's somehow lost his shirt. He's also bleeding from half a dozen shallow slices – and any of them could have been fatal, biting a bit deeper. Sybok was plainly toying with him.

But the cult seem to enjoy the spectacle. As the match is called (by some inscrutable scoring system never explained to him) Sybok rolls to his feet and offers Kirk a hand. “I knew I'd like you as soon as Leila told me you jumped in front of a phaser for my brother,” he says, beaming. Relieved, Kirk shakes his hand. Belatedly he remembers the hand-kissing thing, but Sybok doesn't blink. “Let's talk about all this politics-nonsense once you've cleaned up.”

A few minutes later sees McCoy tending his wounds in their guest-room – grumbling all the while. “Damn barbaric tradition,” he tells Spock, who lounges watching them. “How is any of this logical?!”

Kirk is getting good at reading the twitch of Spock's expressive eyebrows. He thinks of Sybok's cheery attitude, his poorly-hidden amusement. “Spock,” he says, slow. “Was this a Vulcan tradition?”

“No,” says Spock simply. With a tone saying, you idiot.

McCoy squawks in offense, almost dropping his regenerator. “What?!”

“Then why did I fight your brother?” Kirk asks.

Spock looks up and down Kirk's gleaming, sweaty chest. “You seemed to enjoy it,” he demurs. “And Sybok found it amusing.”

“Sybok did, did he?” teases Kirk. He finds himself grinning stupidly.

“Good Lord, you idiots deserve each other,” McCoy says with disgust. “Can we get on with the mission already?”

.

.

“Oh, yeah, of course we'll meet with the governor,” says Sybok easily when they meet him. “We were only sending those search groups to find Spock for the party – I'm sure we can work things out. But we'll have to schedule that, oh, two days from now.” Sybok swings an arm around Kirk. “Can't have our guests of honor missing the celebration!”

They make arrangements to meet with all involved parties. Kirk kisses Spock's cheek before they beam back up, delighting in his light blush. After calling the bridge to confirm their coordinates, he turns to Uhura “What does duhso-nisa mean?”

“Idiot-test,” she says.

“...and you didn't feel the need to translate, Communications Officer?”

“Learning experiences are important, Sir,” says Uhura primly. “And you could have kept up with your Vulcan language lessons.”

Kirk sighs, and the transporter-beam takes them away.

Chapter Text

Governor Iorda, it turns out, is not satisfied by Sybok's assurance that the search parties will cease. In fact the negotiations nearly fail when he tries to have Sybok arrested on the spot. It's only Kirk's intercession – and the pointed reminder that imprisoning the head of a fanatically-loyal religious group who call themselves an army might, perhaps, get a bit volatile – that stops Iorda from dragging Sybok away.

Still, things deteriorate fast. Iorda wants the Army of Light gone, entirely, even the native members. Sybok thinks this is unreasonable, and privately Kirk agrees; it doesn't sound like they've done anything clearly illegal, though they've morally-outraged nearby towns by drawing some of the young folk into wild orgies and parties. If Sybok didn't keep meandering into earnest, abstract spiritual arguments about the merits of Shedding Your Pain to Find Your Inner Light, he'd sound perfectly reasonable arguing that his people are welcome guests of a few wealthy natives, and have broken no real boundaries.

After three days of increasingly-antagonistic back and forth, Kirk's alerted that a Vulcan ambassador has been dispatched to assist. He gladly relays this to the governor and 'negotiations' take a brief pause.

While awaiting the ambassador's arrival, Kirk beams down to join his husband at the Compound.

It's funny watching Spock interact with members of the Army of Light. Surakian ideals exist in direct opposition to Sybok's philosophies. Yet everyone in the camp seems fond of him.

“They know he's just been brainwashed,” Sybok confides at one point. “Vulcan indoctrination, you know. But I'm sure he'll work through that eventually.”

Kirk makes polite noises and doesn't argue.

The colorful surroundings aside, he's thrilled to spend more time with Spock. And the feeling seems mutual, judging by how the subtle telepathic bond between them glows and bubbles with proximity. Jim's getting better at recognizing the sensation of the bond – usually identifiable by a surge of warm fondness when Spock turns to see him.

James T. Kirk is not an idiot. If one of his crewmen ran off and married someone in a day, he'd be concerned too. But...

He doesn't know how to explain himself, except that Spock's description of t'hy'la – soulmates – explains exactly what Kirk felt looking at Spock on Starbase 16. They'd never met before, never seen each other in passing. Kirk didn't even recognize his name. And somehow, more than any of the woman Kirk has ever sincerely loved... somehow Kirk knew this is the relationship that would last.

Kirk is very much a gambling man – but that choice wasn't a gamble. You can't gamble on a sure thing, and Kirk's never been more sure of something in his entire life.

He doesn't know how to convince anyone else of this. Fortunately, Spock doesn't seem to need any explanations. Maybe that's why they're perfect.

“How long are you staying here?” Kirk asks.

If nothing else, Sybok's followers are perfectly happy to afford them privacy. In some cases excessively happy... a few Orions made rather suggestive gestures when they were spotted walking from the main compound alone.

“I intended to stay only a few days, to speak with my brother. But he will be pleased to host me until the Enterprise leaves.”

Perfect. “Where do you usually live? I've been told it's not Vulcan.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow – as though he can perfectly imagine what else McCoy told him in that conversation. “I travel. I find it useful for my work to visit many planets.”

“Just like Starfleet.”

“I did consider joining when I was younger.”

Now that would have been interesting. Kirk pictures him in a blue scientist's uniform. Not as flattering as his robes, honestly, but if he pictures Spock on the Enterprise's bridge... “What stopped you?”

“My father wanted me to join the VSA. Which I did, briefly. My work was consistently devalued, and in some cases outright stolen.”

“My CMO said you left a bit – explosively.”

“If my colleagues wished to avoid legal charges, they should not have committed illegal activities. Or they should have hid the evidence better.” Spock holds himself prim and unruffled, even stepping through the increasingly-dense trees; Jim's already sweating.

“You didn't reconsider joining Starfleet after that?”

“I did. I applied, in fact. Then I learned my father was privately arranging my education with the Admiralty.”

“I wouldn't have expected nepotism on Vulcan.”

“In fact it is quite common. But it is not logical; it was not reasonable to be denied opportunities for my human heritage, and I would not consider it any more acceptable to be afforded special considerations for my father's position – even if he believed I was merely reacting to the VSA situation with irrational emotion.”

“Fair enough. So, you travel... but you don't have a ship?”

“Sometimes I accompany Sybok's contact between planets – his followers are more extensive than you've seen, and they are also explorers, seeking some religious site. I work for passage through music, mechanical tasks, or piloting.”

“Singing for your supper?” Kirk teases. “How many professions do you have?”

“I prefer a lyre,” says Spock, ignoring the second question.

“Well, you'll have to show me one day. Your playing must be impressive to buy passage between star systems.”

Spock is perfectly content to tell Jim a bit more about his travels. It sounds like Spock deliberately picks small and minor research posts, wrangles site heads into providing temporary NDAs, and then stays for a few weeks or months before vanishing – usually after dropping some revolutionary paper, Kirk reads between the lines. He amuses himself imagining the wide-eyed worship of those obscure scientists. Cryptid, indeed.

Kirk also indulges, for a moment, imagining Spock as one of his officers on the Enterprise. Chief Science Officer; he somehow suspects Spock would scale the ranks swiftly. He remembers how deftly Spock worked at the computer the day they met, how Scotty sang praises about his programming after...

Kirk would like to see Spock working with his hands, he decides. He says as much.

“For a Vulcan that is a suggestive comment,” Spock tells him. He does not sound at all offended by this, and reaches down to twine their fingers together.

Kirk also realizes he's been married a few weeks, now, and only spent that first night in his husband's bed.

“Do you think your brother would be scandalized if we spent a few hours alone?” Kirk muses.

“I suspect he would be appalled if we did not.”

Well, they try to have sex. Then two Orion cultists appear out of nowhere to offer tips, so apparently they'll need to wait a bit longer.

Kirk... probably neglects his duties over the next few days. In fairness, there's little to do as they await the Vulcan ambassador. Trying to work with Governor Iorda only results in futile hours nodding along to his complaints. And, anyway, no one begrudges him a little honeymoon.

Except Bones, of course. But McCoy seems to have resolved to be offended by Spock's mere existence, so that doesn't count.

Ambassador Sarek arrives almost a week after the initial notification. Though the Nirvedia III issue is frankly a minor affair – despite the governor's bleating – the ambassador is a major presence on Vulcan. By the time his sleek shuttle is pulled into the Enterprise, Jim's already lined up his senior officers in clean, neat dress uniforms.

He's quite glad for this when Sarek marches down the shuttle-ramp, halts in front of Kirk flanked by grim aides, and says, “So. You are the one who married my son.”

McCoy might have a point about meeting the family first.

Vulcans have been a pacifistic, vegetarian species for centuries. But the narrow way Sarek watches Kirk when they adjoin to a briefing room alone holds all the calculated assessment of a predator.

Kirk has negotiated, before, with races that actually wanted to eat him. He tells himself he is not intimidated. He tries to talk to Sarek about the governor's complaints.

Sarek is not remotely interested in the situation of Nirvedia III. “Tell me how you met my son,” he instructs.

Kirk really, really does not think that story will improve the situation. “Mr. Ambassador, while I would be pleased to discuss personal matters once this situation has been handled - “

“Is he safe?”

Kirk pauses. The question is toneless, with no particular inflection. But when he looks at Sarek he reads something different in that tense stillness.

Not a threat. Desperation.

“You haven't spoken with him?”

“The marriage-announcement he sent to our clan's record-keeper was the first communication we've received in more than five years.”

Kirk digests this, and all it's implications. “...Yes, he's doing well,” he says slowly. Sarek's posture eases a fraction. “He mentioned he doesn't visit Vulcan, but...”

“We did not part on ideal terms. Given his – precarious situation on Vulcan, I do understand his secrecy to a degree. But it is difficult to ascertain his well-being.”

Kirk presses his lips together. “Ambassador, is there a particular reason you fear for Spock's safety?”

“Vulcans do not 'fear,'” Sarek corrects; Kirk does his best not to roll his eyes. “do you understand the circumstances that prompted my son to leave Vulcan?”

“He told me he got some scientists arrested.”

“An understatement. He spent his three years at the VSA compiling irrefutable proof of crimes committed by forty-two percent of the staff. Some of those crimes included academic fraud, bribery, and falsification of research. Some of them were violent. And while Spock revealed an – alarming amount of attacks aimed at himself, he revealed crimes far beyond that. He even caught video evidence of the Academy's president threatening a student who was engaging in... politically-unwise research. It was a major scandal, especially since so many great Houses were represented among the arrested.”

“I never heard anything about this.” The VSA is famous; it should have made the news, and McCoy only knew vaguely of 'some arrests.'

“We did not discuss it outside Vulcan, of course.”

Ah – of course. Kirk's learning so much about Vulcans today. Like the fact their peaceful, law-abiding reputation isn't entirely deserved. “And you think he left because of the scandal?”

“I think he left because of the third murder attempt,” is Sarek's dry reply. “It is true we quarreled around the same time, but there is no other justification for his continued silence.”

Kirk... isn't so sure of that. Spock doesn't strike him as the type to run and hide.

Also, he suspects Spock privately enjoys being known as some sort of scientific cryptid.

But he's not planning to speculate in front of Sarek. “I see.”

“We only knew he was alive because he continues to publish.” Sarek's face tightens. “If you have any knowledge of his current whereabouts - “

“Excuse me?” Kirk asks, sharp.

Sarek exhales, folding his hands. “I understand you may feel obligated to keep your bondmate's secrets. But I assure you I only have his welfare in mind.”

Kirk waves a hand through to air to cut him off. “I – forgive me, Ambassador. I think there's been a misunderstanding.” Pieces slot into place, and Kirk adjusts his understanding of the situation. “You – I assume you're unaware that Spock is here? On Nirvedia?”

Sarek regards Kirk blankly.

“With Sybok's cult,” Kirk clarifies.

Slowly, Sarek's eyes slide shut. “Sybok started the cult,” he realizes, sounding extremely tired. “I believe, Captain, we should indeed proceed with our briefing on the Nirvedia situation.”

A few things Kirk learns, over the next few hours:

• Sybok was banned from his planet of birth after several years of advocating and recruitment led to prominent clan heirs joining a (peaceable) effort to incite a planetary coup against the hereditary Vulcan High Council.

(Sarek emphasizes there were nowhere near sufficient numbers for this attempt to succeed. Kirk, who now has a whole new outlook on Vulcans, thinks that's a bold assertion when the Council felt threatened enough to ban a pacifist from setting foot on their planet.)

• After the failed coup, Sybok's philosophies were altered by several years on the Orion homeworld.

(This explains a lot.)

• After being chased from Orion, Sybok briefly became a pirate.

(This explains more.)

• After escaping criminal trials by seducing the judge of his sentencing-court, Sybok vanished from Vulcan monitoring.

Sarek doesn't know how Sybok came to Nirvedia; it doesn't really matter. He's been acquitted for most crimes – minus the high-treason thing, which is a local Vulcan matter. So Governor Iorda doesn't have any legal reason to remove him. Nirvedia III was colonized by natives of the solar system less than a century ago, and their policies remain relaxed about foreign visitors.

Governor Iorda does not respond well to this argument.

“We are not part of the Federation – you cannot simply drop your deviants and criminals here, expecting us to put up with your demands!”

“Have you considered altering your immigration laws?” asks Sarek helpfully. Iorda purples.

They're all seated around a conference table in the planet's state building. Sarek, Kirk, Sulu, Uhura, and all the unreadable aides of Sarek and the governor both. “Governor, perhaps it would help if you specified your exact concerns.”

“Federation fascism is my concern, Captain!”

One of the Vulcans – silent until now – helpfully offers, “Imperialism would probably be a more appropriate descriptor.”

“That too!”

Kirk stifles a sigh. “Gentlemen, please. The Federation is not interested in exerting power over Nirvedia III. Or the rest of the system, for that matter.”

“Oh, no, never exerting power! Just spreading your moral degeneracy, and your – your Vulcan ritual orgies - “

Sarek's eye twitches. Kirk wonders how much he knows about his oldest son's activities.

Interestingly, he notices none of the pedantic aides contradict the existence of Vulcan ritual sex.

“We won't tolerate it. And do not mistake me – we will oust this invasion by force, if necessary!”

“That surprises me,” Sarek observes. “It is brave to rouse the attention of the Orion Syndicate in such a way.”

“I – what?”

“Several of Sybok's followers hail from wealthy Orion clans. Naturally, the Vulcan government has no reason to object if you need to act against our political dissidents; they are no longer Vulcan citizens. I cannot speak for the Syndicate.”

Governor Iorda's aides turn to him expectantly.

“Yes, well,” Iorda stutters. The Nirvedia system already suffers from a growing piracy problem. “Umm...”

It's decided the Army of Light can stay. Until the immigration laws are revised, anyway.

Before the Enterprise leaves Kirk returns to the compound.

Sybok – upon learning his father was the one to sort things out with the governor – responds by making a complicated expression and walking away without a word.

“They have a complex relationship,” says Spock later, just the two of them.

Spock's packing, though he doesn't have much to take with him. Kirk's attention is caught by a lyre in the corner, but he forces himself to ignore it. “Sounds like you do, too.”

“Yes. Though not quite as... volatile, as theirs.”

“He was worried, you know.”

“Vulcans do not worry,” says Spock automatically.

“Just like they don't commit academic fraud? Or send paid hitmen after whistleblowers?”

Or have orgies.

“We do not know the hitmen were paid. They may have volunteered.”

“My mistake. You might consider talking with him, is all I'm saying. A lot can change in – what, fifteen years?”

“Sixteen.”

“Right. Worth a shot. You can always leap ship again, if it's necessary.”

“...I will consider it,” says Spock. It's hard to tell, from his tone of voice, if he means this. He reaches out to twine their fingers together. “But I do not care to discuss my father on the last night before we part.”

Kirk's lips curve. “Ah. A very valid point, Mr. Spock. I hope there are no Orions watching this time?”

(There are, in fact, Orions watching. They go to the Enterprise for a few hours instead.)

Chapter Text

“Lady T'Pau has been calling our office, Kirk! What were you thinking, corrupting some Vulcan civilian?”

“Corrupting! That's a bit much, Admiral.”

“Seducing, then,” Nogura snorts. “Kirk, if this marriage is going to cause diplomatic trouble - “

“Respectfully, Admiral, it is not the place of Starfleet to dictate the personal lives of officers.”

“It is when your personal life gets the High Council threatening us, Captain.”

Kirk leans back, scowling at the briefing room screen. He took the call privately, marked 'urgent' – he assumed he was getting new orders. Not a tongue-lashing for getting married weeks ago.

“I'm not sure what you want me to say,” Kirk says. “You already congratulated me, Admiral. It's hardly my fault some politicians decided to take offence – what do you expect me to do?”

“Well you could start by telling us where Mr. Spock is. Lady T'Pau said he's been summoned before the High Council.”

“Admiral, that really isn't my concern. And I couldn't tell you where he is, even if I wanted – he's been travelling constantly.”

“You don't keep track of your husband?”

“He managed just fine before we got married. We write.”

Nogura releases a huff of air. “If I learn you're hiding something, Kirk - “

“Yes, Sir?” Kirk challenges.

Nogura glares; he has no right to such information and he knows it. The call ends abruptly.

Kirk collapses back in his seat, frowning at the ceiling. At this rate maybe he should start keeping tabs on Spock...

McCoy comes silently to observe Kirk on the bridge. After about twenty minutes he steps up to Jim, and announces, “You sicken me.”

“Then go off and... doctor yourself,” Kirk says, flicking a hand in his direction. He immediately slumps back down, watching aimlessly as they approach the mysteriously-appearing planet on the viewscreen.

“ETA ten minutes,” says Chekov. Kirk acknowledges with an unprofessional hum.

“Can't even bother to be intrigued over whatever horror-show is down there,” McCoy accuses. “You're too busy pining.”

“You've taken up psychology, Bones?”

“Don't gotta when you're this obvious about it.”

Kirk ignores that. “Mr. Thelin, have you found anything?”

Kirk's first-slash-science officer is bent over his scanner, antennae quivering in what Kirk recognizes as intrigue. “Strong subspace interference, Sir, despite no response to our hails... I don't understand why we don't have a record of this planet. This is a well-traveled route.”

“Bet your Vulcan would figure it out,” McCoy teases sotto voce.

Thelin's antennae twitch in their direction, but he continues. “Planet definitely uninhabitable...no soil, no vegetation, except one small area. Hot, toxic atmosphere. No humanoid life could survive - “

It says something about Kirk's luck, he figures, that this ominous statement preludes the moment he and Mr. Sulu vanish and reappear on the Definitely Uninhabitable Planet.

When Kirk jolts to awareness – nearly falling over – he and Sulu have been joined by McCoy, DeSalle, and Uhura.

There's also, bizarrely, a man in an ancient military uniform playing a piano.

Kirk loves his job, but space is weird sometimes.

The man introduces himself as General Trelane, and proceeds on a delusional ramble about the triumphs of Genghis Khan and Napoleon. Discreet scans show no heartbeat, no signs of life in the man as he wanders about showing off little statues, medals, and weapons of war from ancient Earth history.

The being's zeal for military combat is – a little concerning.

“Ah, but I talk too much!” Trelane cries – the first thing he's said that Kirk can agree with. He saunters up to Uhura, grabbing her arm to bow into a kiss on her knuckles. Uhura stands rigid with distaste. “Tell me of your own conquests, Captain – how did you come to claim this Nubian beauty as your consort?”

“I'm Kenyan. And I applied to the crew like everyone else.” Uhura jerks her hand away, wiping it not-very-discreetly on her skirt.

“And I'm happily married,” Kirk adds, dry.

“Ah! The wartime wife, lamenting at home – my apologies, Captain, of course any polite gathering must equal the men and women! I will correct this at once.”

Music starts up – the piano playing on its own, a waltz. Trelane snaps his fingers.

Uhura stumbles; she's suddenly wearing a flattering yellow-gold ballgown. Yeoman Rand, Yeoman Barrows, and Yeoman Ross appear by the male officers in similar dress.

And Spock appears next to Jim. Also wearing a floor-length blue dress. It matches his eyeshadow perfectly.

“...Hmm,” Trelane says. “Not quite the beauty I imagined.”

Kirk disagrees, but to each their own. Spock studies the dress, and then his surroundings, with only a lifted brow. “Fascinating,” he says.

The fact Trelane could simply pluck Spock up from... wherever... is more than a little worrisome.

“I suppose there are precedents,” Trelane muses, circling Kirk and Spock as though inspecting a work of art. “Achilles and Patrocles, or Alexander the Great and his dear Hephaiston...”

Yeoman Rand stares around, bewildered and shivering; her dress alone is short sleeved. Sulu snags up a tiger-striped fur from one of the ornate chairs and offers it. After a dubious glance at the desert-bred Vulcan, he grabs another for Spock, who accepts politely.

“Killed that myself,” Trelane says. He mimes holding a knife, laughing. “Now, let us waltz!”

The music gets louder. Trelane claps his hands and beams.

No one moves.

“Is this... individual, the one who brought us here, James?” Spock asks.

Apparently Kirk never introduced himself as Jim. Given the little thrill in his chest when Spock says his name, this might be a fortunate omission. “He is,” he confirms, admittedly distracted by the dress.

“I did not realize your work included negotiations with lunatics,” Spock observes. Mr. Sulu snorts, and Kirk wisely does not bring up the previous example of Spock's brother. “Are we free to leave?”

“An excellent question,” Kirk says, turning to Trelane.

“What a rude guest!” Trelane cries. “I don't think I like you much at all.”

“It is a mutual sentiment,” Spock assures.

“No, no – you don't fit. You aren't even human! Not really. Here - “

Trelane snaps again. Spock's now wearing a skintight red suit and carrying a three-pronged trident. Up goes the eyebrow again.

Kirk hides his disappointment. Red is not Spock's color.

“A wicked demon,” is Trelane's dramatic explanation. “Seducing the ship's noble captain with your wicked wiles - “

“Wicked wiles,” Spock echoes, deadpan.

“Seducing,” Sulu mutters, eyeing the stone-faced Vulcan incredulously.

“Sounds about right,” Kirk can't help but say. Spock gives him a Look.

The music becomes darker, intense. The lights dim. “Let us revel!” Trelane urges.

Spock wanders away to murmur something to Ms. Uhura. She looks briefly surprised, then nods.

“I don't know how you expect us to have a formal dance without preparing,” she says, voice sweet; Kirk's immediately suspicious. Trelane look at her. “Do you happen to have any makeup?”

“Ah, the vain delights of women! Of course – make yourself splendid for us,” Trelane insists. With a wave of his hand an array of cosmetics appears under a wide mirror at the other end of the room. Uhura drags over an incredulous Yeoman Rand. The other women look between Kirk and Trelane a moment before wisely retreating too.

This request seems to appease their host. “The women are getting into the spirit of things, Captain! While they ready for the dance, let the men talk war!”

“I wouldn't call you a man – more an immature schoolboy, playing at things you don't understand. Return us to our ship.”

Trelane scowls. “Years and years I've studied your Earth history – what happened to the famed hospitality of the Greeks, the old Roman emperors?”

“Wrong century,” says Kirk. “In this one, we tend to dislike being captured and threatened.”

“Pah! Captured! It's not everyday someone like me takes an interest in your race. You should be honored! Flattered!”

Suddenly Trelane whirls on Spock. “And you! Are you even alive? Not so much as a smile or frown!”

“I could ask the same question,” McCoy drawls. He's holding his omnipresent scanner. “No heartbeat, no breathing – what are you?”

“Oh, me?” Trelane beams to be asked. “You wouldn't comprehend the explanation. Suffice to say you should probably just worship me as a god.”

McCoy says, “I'll pass, thanks.”

Trelane flings himself down on a couch, waving a hand; the music halts. The only sound remaining is a low murmur from the women across the room, peering back as they fiddle with the cosmetics. “This isn't how I planned things at all,” Trelane complains. “Entertain me!”

“Have you considered that you are simply a poor host?” Spock inquires.

Trelane springs up. “Are you going to let him talk to me like that?” he demands of Kirk.

“Gladly,” Kirk says.

“Perhaps I should take care of this rude spouse of yours! A proper devil hunt. You'll thank me later,” Trelane says, lifting a hand. The murmuring from the women increases; a sudden burst of movement grabs their attention. “At least your ladies seem properly – wait - “

“Just try!” Yeoman Rand hisses, and Uhura swings a brush, shattering the mirror into pieces.

It was Spock's idea, apparently. “The source of Trelane's power,” he explains, still wearing the devil's uniform and carrying a trident. The transporter tech gives their oddly-dressed party a weird look as they step out into the halls.

“We wanted to be sure before we did anything,” Uhura says. “But then it seemed like he would hurt your husband, Sir...”

“Appreciated, Lieutenant. Why don't you all, ah...” Kirk eyes her dress, “get yourselves... into something more comfortable. We'll meet in conference room 3 in half an hour to debrief.”

“It's not even a nice dress,” Ross laments. She plucks sadly at the lacy ruffles as she leads the way.

“Oh, I don't know,” Rand's voice drifts back. “I think I could alter it, if we just shorten the train a bit - “

McCoy insists on checking Spock in Sickbay before the meeting.

“I am not one of your officers,” Spock points out. “You have no authority over my medical health.”

“Ain't about authority. Just wanna make sure Trelane didn't scramble your insides plucking you up from – where were you, anyway?”

“Romulus.”

McCoy briefly freezes in his efforts to corral Spock away. “What – why – how?”

“For legal reasons, I cannot elaborate on 'how.' But I do not see why scientific exchange should be halted merely because of militaristic posturing.”

McCoy turns to Kirk, gesturing as though to say, you're hearing this?

Kirk decides he should probably not mention that detail in his report to Starfleet.

“The Praetor had some fascinating ideas,” Spock starts. But before Kirk is forced to hear something doubtlessly report-worthy and treasonous, the entire ship rattles.

Kirk's first, rather useless thought: why do I only see Spock when we're all in danger?

They all race to the bridge. Kirk should probably tell Spock to stay below – but the Vulcan takes up a spot by the turbolift, so Kirk focuses on the viewscreen.

“We aren't getting any signals,” Uhura tells him – now at her station, and mercifully back in uniform. But her words are worrying in tandem with the softly-glowing viewscreen. The ship rattles again, as though some vast hand were shaking it like a toy.

“We need distance from that planet,” he orders helm. “Warp seven.”

“We can't, Sir. Controls aren't functioning.”

“Then let's blast Trelane's house and be done with it!” McCoy exclaims from behind him. “He's gotta be behind this. Maybe hitting the mirror didn't finish him.”

“We can't just - “ Kirk braces against the arm of his chair as the ship shudders, “ - can't just blast an entire planet from orbit, barren or not!”

“Incoming message,” Uhura interrupts – and then gasps sharply.

“Don't bother!” comes a familiar, grating voice. “I got impatient. You're not playing the game right, Captain Kirk.”

“General Trelane,” Kirk grits. And there he is, right in front of the bridge-crew, still wearing his ridiculous fake military uniform. “Release us.”

“And still so rude! I'm not going anywhere. Bring your people down to the planet and we'll have a proper ball! No, no, a war-game!”

“We are on an important mission bringing medical supplies to -”

“It can wait. I want to play now!”

“The answer is no.”

“It's your own fault I'm doing this,” Trelane threatens. He raises his hands – but when the ship shakes again, Trelane is as shocked as anyone else.

The glow from the viewscreen becomes unbearable. “Stop this, Trelane,” rumbles an echoing voice. Kirk stands, half-expecting to find another alien has teleported to his ship. But when he spins around he can't see anyone. “If you're going to damage your pets, you can't have them.”

Trelane stomps his foot like the schoolboy Kirk accused him of being. “But it's their fault! They're not playing right!”

“We're taking away your planet until you learn to take care of your things,” the same voice scolds. “Our apologies for our son's behavior, Captain.”

Trelane winks from existence. Machines quietly whir around the bridge, perfectly normal.

What.

“...They, uh, seem to be gone, Sir,” says Uhura uncertainly.

“The planet too,” Thelin says from the science station.

Kirk contemplates the space in front of him a long moment. Scrubs his face. He swivels to face Spock. “I have decided I don't want children,” he declares.

“Noted. Given that it will not affect your choice, perhaps I could find something more appealing to wear?” Spock says.

He's still in the devil's uniform.

Spock's given a clean bill of health, so Kirk gets him some proper plain-clothes from the quarter-master and informs his Yeoman he has a roommate for the foreseeable future. It'll take six days to reach their next destination, and nearly two weeks to find a suitable facility for Spock to grab a shuttle back to...

Well, after the Romulus thing Kirk decides not to ask. Spock promises he'll be safe, anyway.

So he leaves Spock meditating and goes to finish his shift. Upon returning several hours later he's surprised to find his rooms empty.

Quick inquiry confirms he's not in the mess or rec rooms. Eventually Kirk tracks his husband down to Lab 4.

Spock's holding court with a flock of fascinated scientists. They watch him with the same starry-eyed admiration a young Cadet Kirk once aimed toward Admiral Archer when they met at a party years ago.

They're all fascinated, apparently, by Spock's most recent publication. And the one before that. And the one before that. While he's here, maybe they could replicate his experiments? And, oh, would he please look over their new project, surely he'll have some suggestions -

Kirk watches Spock make arrangements with patient amusement, but eventually peels him away from the disappointed scientists. “Alright, alright, back to work everyone. Spock will be here a few weeks, you know.”

As they leave he hears Ensign Singh lament, “Why couldn't I marry him?”

“How are you finding the ship?” Kirk asks as they walk through the halls. “I know you saw it briefly, before...”

“Not the labs. They are quite impressive; I have not seen such a well-fitted facility since leaving the VSA.”

“Yes, Bones – Dr. McCoy – he mentioned you tend to work at smaller facilities, these days.”

“Some studies can be conducted even with crude instruments... but this technology would certainly help.”

They take lunch in the officer's rec room. Spock attracts not-very-discreet stares as he sits with a Vulcan dish that sort of resembles tofu – or maybe mushrooms? - with a pungent sauce and seaweed-like crackers.

Kirk assumes the stares are motivated by curiosity about The Captain's Husband, but he's soon proven wrong. They only get a few minutes private conversation before Mr. Scott drops beside Spock and starts quizzing him on some article about a new energy prospect for impulse engines.

This is, apparently, a cue for everyone else to follow suit. Uhura wants his opinion on translating Romulan signals (wonder where he learned to do that, Kirk thinks wryly.) Chekov comes over just to gush over Spock solving some unsolvable equation. Then there's Lieutenant Hirano from the chem lab, Marin from Medical, Nikora in Anthropology....

They might need to eat alone tomorrow, Kirk decides. But he smiles, anyway, to see how plainly his people respect Spock.

“You have a very fine selection of officers,” Spock says that night in their quarters.

“Are you just saying that because they adore you?” Kirk teases. “I'm detecting a hint of bias, Mister.”

“Vulcans are never biased.”

Yes, yes. Kirk has already identified this as Spock's obligatory cop-out answer. “And I suppose Vulcans aren't romantic, etiher,” he laments, bringing out a vase of roses handed over quite happily by the agroponics team. “And you must not like flowers?”

“...Aesthetic appreciation is not, in itself, illogical,” is the shifty reply. Kirk laughs and sets the vase on their bedside table.

He sits beside Spock on the bed. “I know neither of us expected the circumstances of your arrival. But I think I'm a little grateful to Trelane.”

“Grateful,” Spock echoes, dubious.

“Well, I can think he's repulsive and still appreciate the outcome. We haven't had nearly enough time.”

Spock tips his head. “That is true. If you can predict your next period of shoreleave, please let me know.”

“So you'll have time to hitch a ride back from Romulus?”

Spock's eyes glitter. “Perhaps.”

Kirk smiles; it fades quickly.

He doesn't regret marrying Spock. But these rare visits do remind him why it's so difficult for people in the fleet to maintain relationships. There's just never enough time...

“Oh,” he recalls. “Lady T'Pau called about you.”

“My grandmother spoke with you?”

“Your – sorry. The head of the Vulcan High Council is your grandmother? How many of your relatives are politicians?”

“Most of the ones who are not religious leaders.”

Kirk decides he wants no clarification on that. “Right. Well. Apparently she's trying to get you back. In fact Admiral Nogura wants us to ship you straight to Vulcan.”

“I have no intention of returning to Vulcan.”

“Where will you go?”

“I have not decided. My reputation has been useful, but it is still difficult to navigate the bureaucracy of research. Increasingly, dedicated research facilities want me to sign long-term contracts, but I do not care to remain committed to one area of focus, one place...”

Kirk feels something he experienced the first night they met – a sudden surge of certainty. Like destiny.

“You know,” says Kirk. “It's not as though there's some rule that says you have to enter the Academy as a teenager.”

Admiral Nogura shakes his datapadd in Kirk's face. Snippets of Spock's entry forms catch his eye. “Kirk, when I said I wanted him to come back! This! Is not! What I meant!”

“Now,” says Jim, raising his hands innocently, “In my defense, Admiral, I am no longer corrupting a Vulcan civilian.”

Spock, unsurprisingly, thrives in Starfleet. Professors either love or hate him. Kirk misses seeing him in person, but he takes great enjoyment from their long calls, where Spock relays all the ways he's casually broken long-standing scientific theories and made various professors weep with joy or rage. In the first two semesters he manages to harass his way through nearly three years of coursework, but slows down when he decides to add a dual-track in command, apparently on a whim. Or, possibly, just boredom.

He does somehow manage to disappear for four weeks mid-semester of his second term. This does not count against his marks, and when Kirk asks about it the only response is, “All details are currently classified.”

Kirk loves this man more every day. Crazy cryptid scientist tendencies included.

Spock's family isn't thrilled about his new career choice, but Spock reaches out and wrangles a promise of non-interference from Sarek, so they're dealing with it. Kirk supposes they're just happy he's (relatively) easy to track now. Even if they do, agreements aside, start watching Starfleet closely.

When Kirk asks whether Spock has considered trying to reconcile with his father, he gets the barest twitch of a smile. Spock tells him, “My mother has been mediating. You will like her, I think; it is fascinating to see how she manages him.”

Kirk wonders whether he can open up the Enterprise to taking a few top-tier midshipmen. Deep space vessels are usually excused from taking cadets, but Kirk might be able to wrangle an exception. Either way he doesn't think it will take Spock long to find his way to the Enterprise.

Like everything about their relationship, it's just inevitable. Kirk can't wait.