Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It happened like any good fantasy does—with swirling colours as the sun hits the edges of skin and hair and reflects off of eyes; with rain and tears and the fading warmth of dusk; with sobs and decrees and breaking voices that turn into laughs; with the smell of home on dampened shirts and on the place where neck meets shoulder; with the taste of a kiss meant to last enternity. James Kirk plays it over in his mind time and time again, and each time it gets better.

“I love you, please stay” met “I am yours; I shall always stay.” “Be mine” met “always have been.” “Spock” whispered reverently met “Jim” in a hushed, growled tone. And then lips met lips, fingers laced with fingers, and all was history.

The mission is ending in less than a week. It’s ridiculous to think about. Jim rubs a thumb along his bottom lip as he stares at the ceiling above his bed. They haven’t discussed the actual, logical plan of, well…what they’re going to do when this gets sorted. When they return to Earth. Granted, it’s only been a night, and it’d been focused on romantic declarations and skin on skin and mind against mind. Jim shivers: it’s still a raw sensation, the memory.

“You are thinking loudly,” a voice mutters beside him in bed. The arms wrapped around his torso wrap even firmer.

“Sorry, darling.”

“You are distressed.” Spock sits up immediately, his eyes big and his face fallen.

“Not distressed,” Jim tells him, and lays a hand on his. “Anxious, yes. Distressed, no. How could I be when we’re like this?” He drags Spock back down to bed. This time he lands half on top of Jim and his body relaxes as they sprawl against each other. Jim kisses him, hard and unrelenting.

“Oh, Jim,” Spock moans.

“We need to talk,” Jim manages when he pulls away. All his strength is put into not diving back in.

Spock nods, slow, like he’s afraid any sudden movement will spell disaster. My poor love, who made you think that? Jim wonders, and splays his hand across Spock’s cheek so he knows, without a doubt, there’s no anger or discomfort in Jim. “We haven’t actually come up with a plan.”

“A plan?”

“For what we’re going to do when we’re done the mission.”

“Ah.” Spock sinks against Jim’s body, letting his head loll against Jim’s neck. “Must we determine it at this juncture?”

“Well, no, I guess not, but…” Jim trails his fingers lazily over Spock’s back. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea. And I was thinking that I’d like to maybe travel a bit before we go off wherever it is we’re going and get married and all. Assuming that’s the plan.”

Spock hums, but it’s not a soft, nonchalant sort of sound of affirmation—it is hard, in firm agreement. “I assume until we determine a suitable living arrangement we shall stay mainly in the officer rooms in headquarters,” Spock says. “I do not know where you wish to live.”

“Funny thing: neither do I. What about you?”

Spock shakes his head. “I have spent most of my adult life in space—most of that time on the Enterprise, in point of fact. That time not spent aboard her was studying on Vulcan. I do not know where I wish to reside.”

“Well, I mean, there’s always the hope of another mission.”

“Indeed. However, I find I would like to settle for a short period first.” Spock kisses Jim’s neck. “We have devoted our lives to the galaxy, but now I wish to spend some time devoting my life to you.”

“Spock.”

“Jim?”

“You can’t just say things like that and not expect me to want to kiss you senseless.” Jim turns so that they lie side by side and does just that.

When he first awakes, Jim is struck with the thought that last night was a dream. Then a sound comes from the restroom and the door slides open. Out steps Spock in a pressed uniform, his makeup done and his hair perfect.

He catches Jim’s eye and cocks his head. “Is something the matter?”

Spock just stepped out into Jim’s cabin in the early morning, walking in like he owns the place, just like he owns Jim’s heart. “Not a thing.” Jim sits up and crawls further along the bed towards the man in uniform. “If I’d one complaint, it’s that you’re not still naked and in my arms right now.”

Spock comes close enough that, on his knees, Jim can comfortably place his hands on Spock’s waist. “Alas,” he says breezily as he runs his fingers along Jim’s jaw. “We have a shift to attend, you will remember, Captain.”

“Oh, yes, that.” Jim leans close and mouths at Spock’s lips aimlessly, each touch just shy of a proper kiss. “A good point, Mr. Spock.”

“I shall see you on the bridge.” Spock steps out of Jim’s arms, but not without a quick squeeze to his new partner’s hand.

“Can’t I convince you of breakfast?” Jim whines; Spock is already rounding the bed on the way to exit.

“Vulcans do not require as much nutritional energy as humans to function—”

“Please, baby?”

Spock continues, but his pace does slow. “I estimate you shall not be ready for breakfast for another forty minutes on the outset, given you plan to take it in the mess with members of the crew as you typically do on ship Fridays. I estimate in the same time I can complete at least four administrative tasks I need to accomplish before we dock in five days. I would rather do them on the bridge than risk you distracting me either here or in my own quarters—and rest assured, Jim, if you tried, you would succeed.” By the end of his speech he’s reached the doors. He finally turns around. “Truthfully, it is already taking all my control to leave you at the moment. I will see you in forty minutes, Jim.” He leaves.

Jim spends the next while grumbling to himself (fondly, of course) about logical and sentimental Vulcans.

He finds himself ready in thirty-one minutes, thank you, but stops to check his console for any messages. Since he has the extra nine minutes and all.

“Two new messages. Message one: written, Engineering main station, received seven hours ago. Sender: Cmdr. Montgo—”

Another of Scotty’s late-night complaints. “Next message.”

“Message two: audio file, Earth, received five hours ago. Sender: W. Kirk, dated stardate 6809.11. Subject heading: Home for the holidays.”

Jim smiles. “Computer, open message.”

Static crackles from his console’s speakers, followed by a small beep. “Hi, Jim! We heard you were docking in a few weeks! Although it’s probably closer to tomorrow when you’re getting this. Can’t wait to see you, dear. We certainly hope you’ll—” A great crashing and banging is heard in the background. “Oh no, your father again—George!” Whatever’s said next is muffled, until at last Winona Kirk’s voice continues, “As I’s saying, Jim, we really hope you’ll come visit us when you dock. We still haven’t heard your plans for after mission’s end! Alright, I gotta go. Love you, baby. Geor—”

Another brief clanking. “Love you, son, we’ll talk to you soon.” The message ends with another beep, a relic of their old message system that they refuse to update.

It’s been a while since Jim’s got a communication from his parents: the last was a year ago, to update him on his nephew, Peter’s, life since Peter’s parents passing. Winona and George Kirk still spend most of their time on the family farm, though they used to work for Starfleet themselves. The Middle of Nowhere located just outside Riverside, Iowa, US of A, is not exactly the place people send transmissions out into space from, especially not when you have to go through Starfleet channels and to a ship that could literally be anywhere in the known galaxy, so a message is rare.

Jim wrote to them a while ago, just to let them know of his plans, actually. Of course, that had been before last night: the plans to genuinely consider Starfleet’s offer of Admiral have decidedly changed. In fact, that’s what he and Spock had been talking about when It—the passion-filled confession of a lifetime from a supposedly emotionless man followed by the greatest kiss in the history of the universe (or Jim’s, at least)—happened. Drawls of “they’ve given me an offer of Admiralty,” “I’m thinking about it,” blah blah blah, and attempting-blasé “I’m going back to Vulcan,” “I am going to study with monks,” blah blah blah, until at last Spock confessed to attempting to rid himself of emotion because—

“I am sorry, Captain, I find myself tormented by feelings I cannot control: I find that I am in love with you.” Jim thinks it sort of like Mr. Darcy’s first proposal in a book it’s possible he read religiously when he was between the ages of seventeen and twenty (alright, twenty-one).

In his initial message to his parents, Jim impressed upon them that he was going to try to visit them as soon as possible. The reason he listed was simply missing them and wanting to catch up. It was only a half-truth. A big motivator was that, yes, but in at least equal parts was seeking guidance. The potential promotion was a heavy weight.

Now, with only one motivator holding truth and an empty space for another one to take its place, a thought springs unbidden into Jim Kirk’s mind. He’s already met Ambassador Sarek and Lady Amanda after all (he still messages Amanda from time to time and she him, and actually they’ve just recently started a long-distance word-descrambling game).

Jim realizes, leaning back in his chair, it’s been about five minutes, and he really doesn’t want to miss that breakfast date.

Chapter Text

When he gets to the mess, Jim sees Spock sitting with Bones, Uhura, and Scotty. He grabs a tray and starts towards them, their conversation quieting when they acknowledge his presence and then picking up again as usual.

“Morning.” Jim hesitates maybe two seconds, then kisses the top of Spock’s head. He kind of regrets it (Head, Kirk, really? Come on, man! Cheek, way more romantic! He chides himself), but Spock seems pleasantly taken aback by the gesture as Jim slides into the empty seat next to him.

Bones starts choking; Uhura tries to stifle a surprised laugh and fails; Scotty is just frowning in concern at the whole situation; and Sulu and Chekov, who’ve just approached the table, are exchanging their usual, very unsubtle “Is the captain in his right mind?” look.

“Good morning, Captain,” Spock says, the edges of his mouth lifted up in a tiny smile. “Is that a common Human courting ritual?” He cocks his head like he’s actually curious.

“No,” Jim replies, and turns to his meal, abashed.

“A shame, I quite enjoyed it.”

“Okay, no no no.” Bones wipes a napkin across his face. “You can’t just come in here kissing Spock and not tell us everything that happened between when we last saw you and now.”

“Yikes, Bones, calm down.” Jim grins as his friend’s glower only increases in strength. “Well, this might come as a bit of a shock, but, yes, um, we are…are together like that, romantically, you know—”

“Obviously,” Bones interjects, rolling his eyes. “God, we’ve had bets on that for years.”

“I—I’m sorry. You what? I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You didn’t,” Bones assures, either not picking up on or, more likely, not caring about Jim’s threatening tone.

“Speaking of.” Sulu sets down his tray and extends his hand, open-palm. “I believe I won?”

“Not so fast,” Chekov snaps. “Ve didn’t hear zhe whole story. Mine vas only a few hours before yours.”

“Hours?” Jim repeats, actually horrified. “You’ve narrowed it down to hours?”

“Well there’s only so much of our mission left,” Uhura says. “And we were sticking within those parameters for the main bet.”

“The main bet?”

“Don’t think you’re getting out of this!” Bones points an accusatory finger at the men across from him. “Tell us what happened!”

Spock is slowly starting to eat his breakfast again. “Honestly, Doctor, in public?”

“Oh my God—”

“He’s teasing you, Bones. We just…talked last night, before we beamed up. And then…and then talked some more and…k-kissed—” At the very genuine “awww” that “kiss” has gotten from Scotty and Uhura, Jim promptly shuts up.

“Zhe hour,” Chekov says hurriedly, like he needs to invest all the credits he might win immediately.

“Hell if I know. Uh, when did we beam up, Scotty?”

“2030 hours, give or take.”

“Alright, somewhere around there then, within the ten minute mark.”

“Ha ha,” Sulu says in a sing-song tone, while Chekov slumps in defeat.

“You had 2030?” Jim guesses.

“Mmmhmm, from 2000 to midnight. Chekov had 1600 to 2000.”

“You barely beat me!” Chekov whines, throwing up his hands. “If zhey’d ‘talked and zhen talked some more’ vone hour earlier, you’d look pretty silly right now.”

Jim stabs at his breakfast. “Oh, believe me, Mr. Chekov, you both look plenty silly as it is.”

Alpha shift is going well, the mundanity of charted space in peaceful territory bringing nothing exciting their way, but for the brief glances of beautiful stars.

Kirk hops from his spot in the captain’s chair and walks casually over to Spock, bent over at his station. “Commander.”

“Captain.” Spock straightens and turns to Kirk.

Kirk leans against the console and takes a moment to just look at Spock’s face. Then with a grin he says softly, “I had something I wanted to ask you.”

“Go ahead, Captain.”

“Not as a captain,” Kirk clarifies.

Spock looks puzzled. “Would this not be better to discuss off duty?”

Kirk waves a hand to encompass the bridge. “We’re not exactly in battle conditions, are we? Hell, I think Chekov is playing solitaire over there—”

“What is your inquiry, Jim?”

“Well,” Kirk says, making sure to keep his voice quiet (it’s private enough that he might as well not broadcast it to the entire crew). “I got a message from my parents this morning, asking if I’d come visit them when I docked. That was part of my original plan, and, well, I got to thinking…maybe the two of us should go see them. You know. A meet the family sort of thing.”

Spock expression is completely blank. “You want me to meet your parents?” His voice is totally monotone, too.

Kirk swallows against a sudden dread. “Er, if you wanted. Spock, are you alright?”

“I am fine,” Spock dismisses. “And…yes, I agree, that seems like an amenable course of action.”

Kirk notices Spock’s hesitancy, of course he does, but he just nods. “Great. I’ll send word. They’re expecting me now as it is, assuming my older message got through. Slight change of plans, but I’ll let them know when we dock.” Kirk again teeters on the edge of indecision before realizing that everybody around them either knows explicitly or (based on what he got from Uhura on the wide-spread nature of the bet) assumes already that they’re together; he squeezes Spock’s shoulder and lets his hand linger a little as it trails down his arm.

The turbolift doors open, grumpy doctor in their wake. “Says here,” he calls, marching onto the bridge and waving around a clipboard. “I’ve got a physical on my schedule for one Mr. Spock.” He walks up to the pair at the science station and raises his eyebrows innocently at Kirk. “Know anyone by that name?”

Kirk chuckles. “Your lucky day, darling,” he says as he gets out from between doctor and patient.

“Oooh, darling,” Uhura purrs from her station, unabashedly eavesdropping.

“Still monitoring the Starfleet channel, Lieutenant?” Kirk sits pointedly in his chair.

Uhura rolls her eyes, smiling. “Nothing so far, sir.”

“Surprised you can tell.”

“Ooh, someone’s testy.” That comes from Sulu, who’s acting like he’s minding his own business when he very clearly isn’t.

Chekov snickers and then stifles it when he sees Kirk’s glare at both of them.

Kirk stops glowering at his mutinous crew when he hears the doors to the turbolift swish shut, instead looking back towards them. He wonders why Spock seemed to hesitant to spend time with his parents!

“Oh, Captaaaaain?”

Kirk looks up from his increasingly boring supplementary report from Scotty. He loves the man, but does he know how to drone on. “Yes, Uhura?”

She’s smiling at him sweetly, in a way that he suspects means she’s about to ask for something she thinks he might not agree to. “Well, sir, seeing as we’re not in any particular space to be worried about—”

“Yes?”

She bites her lip. “Captain, can I please put on music?”

Kirk looks around to see if anyone objected to her request from the get-go, but no one speaks up. “Is everyone alright with Lt. Uhura putting on music?” He asks loudly.

There’s a chorus of vague affirmatives (aside from Chekov, who ‘whoops’ enthusiastically).

Kirk shrugs. “Go for it. Just make it good.”

“Of course, sir!” Uhura chirps, her delight clear as day. She’s turned on her heel to skip back to her station when she suddenly looks back. “Oh, and Captain, I have to thank you for your invitation!”

Invitation? Kirk gives her a blank look, at which she returns a confused one. A sudden spark of understanding lights her face, and she sighs heavily. “Oh dear, you didn’t know…”

“Didn’t know—?”

Loudly, obviously, glaring over her shoulder at the science station, Uhura elaborates, “The invitation to your parent’s home, Captain.”

Kirk gapes at her only a second, attention drawn to Spock’s sudden stillness. When he looks back at Uhura, she gives him a tight smile, shake of her head, and a shrug.

What the fuck is Spock doing inviting Uhura to come with them?

Chapter Text

“I had something I wanted to ask you.”

Spock nods to encourage Kirk to speak. Alpha shift is going quite smoothly, even if that only has to do with nothing unexpected or dangerous befalling them. “Go ahead, Captain.”

Kirk raises his eyebrows. “Not as a captain.”

“Would this not be better to discuss off duty?”

Kirk gestures to their crew at large. “We’re not exactly in battle conditions, are we?” He squints, cocking his head as he lays eyes on the navigator station. “Hell, I think Chekov is playing solitaire over there—”

Spock tries not to smile at his mate’s behaviour. “What is your inquiry, Jim?”

“Well,” Kirk says quietly, leaning close. “I got a message from my parents this morning, asking if I’d come visit them when I docked. That was part of my original plan, and, well, I got to thinking…maybe the two of us should go see them.” Spock feels his throat constricting. “You know,” Kirk says. “A meet the family sort of thing.”

Meet the family. Meet Jim’s family. Jim’s Human family, who may not approve of him. Jim’s family he adores very much and probably holds the opinions of in high esteem. “You want me to meet your parents?”

Kirk frowns at him. “Er, if you wanted. Spock, are you alright?”

“I am fine,” Spock says immediately, trying to distract himself from his thoughts with fiddling on his station. It doesn’t work. “And…yes, I agree, that seems like an amenable course of action.” If he wants this relationship to end. Which he doesn’t.

“Great. I’ll send word. They’re expecting me now as it is, assuming my older message got through. Slight change of plans, but I’ll let them know when we dock.” Kirk squeezes Spock’s shoulder and lets his hand linger a little as it trails down his arm. Spock shuts his eyes. He can’t let this end.

The turbolift doors suddenly open, a welcome distraction. Though, it comes with the caveat of McCoy. The doctor walks towards captain and science officer, drawling, “Says here I’ve got a physical on my schedule for one Mr. Spock.” He bats his eyes at Kirk. “Know anyone by that name?”

Kirk laughs. “Your lucky day, darling.” He carefully moves aside.

Uhura teases Kirk about “darling,” someone joins in, and Spock follows McCoy off of the bridge.

“Well, you’re as fit as you ever are.”

Spock nods and begins to put his shirt back on.

“Hey, come on, no quips? No, ‘obviously, Doctor.’” When speaking Spock’s line, McCoy puts on a deeper voice than usual, furrows his brow, and straightens his posture. It’s a poor effect, but Spock doesn’t comment.

“There a reason you’re giving me the cold shoulder?”

“I should be getting back to the bridge.”

“Hey, Spock, come on, seriously. What’s wrong?” McCoy’s grits his teeth, lip curling up. “You’re not going till ya tell me.”

“I hardly see how you could stop me from leaving short of tranquilizing me.” Spock stands and tugs his shirt into better position. “Assuming you could manage to do so before I knock you out.”

“Ah, there he is!” McCoy veers towards his office from the examination room. “Have a drink with me, yeah?”

“I do not—”

“Have water, for God’s sake, I don’t care.”

Spock reluctantly follows McCoy into his office.

“So.” McCoy pops open the lid of a decanter. “Spill.”

“I do not yet have a drink with which to—”

“Haha, you’re hilarious.” McCoy flops down into his chair, his feet thunking as he places them on his desk. “Tell me what’s bothering you, honestly. And don’t try ta deny it, neither! You can act all stoic if ya want, but I know something’s wrong. So tell me. I’m not a doctor for nothing.”

Spock glares at the floor. “I did not realize you also had a physiatrics degree.”

“Thought about it, but it was more fun cutting people open. Quit stallin’.”

Spock considers lying, considers either telling McCoy that truly, nothing is wrong (though he wouldn’t buy it an instant), or that it’s something trivial that in reality isn’t bothering him in the slightest. But then, perhaps McCoy could provide some genuinely useful advice. Stranger things have happened.

“Jim invited me to visit his parents with him when we dock on Earth.”

“Oh yeah? That’s great!” Spock looks up at him and McCoy’s smile falters. “That’s not great.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Doctor, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, I am not…the best at getting along with Humans. The friends I have managed to acquire are most likely due to forced exposure than to genuine likability.”

McCoy sighs. “That’s a lot to unpack.”

Spock shrugs.

“So what you’re sayin’ is you’re worried his folks won’t approve of you?”

“I would not use the word ‘worried’—”

“Course not, course not, but that’s what this is about, yeah? They won’t approve of you and Jim’ll get it into his head that maybe this thing between you two was a mistake?”

Spock is left speechless. Perhaps McCoy had some latent mind-reading abilities he was unaware of…

“Okay,” McCoy says, taking Spock’s silence as the admission it is. “First off, that’s ridiculous. Jim loves you, alright? I say this as his best friend aside from you, may I just point out, mister. We’ve met about a million people who don’t like you, including yours truly for the first few months of our voyage.”

“I would have suspected years,” Spock says, and McCoy grins at him.

“I was tryin’ to be polite. Now listen, none of them have ever convinced Jim not to love you, including me. Not to strum my own banjo, but he takes my opinion pretty damn seriously. So relax.”

Spock considers McCoy’s argument. After a moment of sitting with his hands clasped delicately in his lap, gaze far off, he mutters, “I know ‘strum my own banjo’ is not a real expression.”

McCoy shrugs and takes another sip of his drink.

“I do take your point, Doctor. It does not assuage my concern.”

“Mmm, alright then. Y’ask me, what you need is a little lubricant.” He waves his glass around. “Ya know, meet them with other people, not just by yourself. Have some buffers in place or something. Nothing one on one, at least for the first bit. Give them some time to get accustomed to ya, you know?”

Spock believes he does (he doesn’t: McCoy means have extended family dinners, meet with other friends of the family, spend time Jim and his parents together, not just Spock and the Mr. and Mrs.). “Thank you, Doctor, for your counsel.”

“No problem.” McCoy slams back the rest of his drink and stands to walk Spock to the door. “Now one last thing I didn’t mention this morning: it’s my duty to tell you that if you ever break Jim’s heart I’ll break your bones. Understood?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

The turbolift stops a few decks below the bridge. Uhura comes in, humming some tune to herself.

“Nyota,” Spock addresses her, an idea springing to mind. “I enjoy spending time with you.”

“Oh!” She says. “Um, yes, I like spending time with you, too, Spock.”

“Do you like spending time with the captain?”

“Er, yes, I rather do.”

“Excellent. Would you like to come with us to his parents’ home on Earth when we dock?”

Uhura took a bit of persuading, but she relented by the time they made it to the bridge, seeming rather pleased with the whole idea.

Spock doesn’t know why he thought he could avoid Jim in the turbolift, because as soon as he’s headed there at the end of Alpha shift, Kirk is on his heels. The doors seal him to his fate as the lift whirls to life.

“Sooooo,” Jim drawls, arms crossed over his chest. “Do you want to explain?”

“Explain what, Captain?” Spock says.

“Don’t give me that. What exactly did you think you were doing inviting Uhura with us to meet my parents?”

Spock is taken back to being a young boy, scolded by his father. “Do you not like the lieutenant’s company?”

“Don’t change the subject!” Jim barks, and for a moment Spock is actually afraid he’ll break up with him. “What. Were. You. Doing? Nononono, scratch that: why did you do it? Hmm?”

“I…” Spock swallows, hard, and glances around the turbolift for something to keep his gaze on while he explains. “I spoke with Dr. McCoy during my physical, and explained my concerns of meeting your parents. I’m…I do not want to disappoint them. Or have them dislike me. Leonard suggested another person being present may alleviate some of the pressure.”

Jim sighs heavily beside him. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…Spock, if that’s what you were worried about, you could have told me, you know?”

“Yes, Jim.”

“Okay, well, just—just, look at me, will you?”

Spock hesitantly turns his gaze to his companion. Jim is frowning up at him, but he doesn’t look nearly as mad as he did when they entered the lift together.

“They’ll love you, first of all,” Jim says. “Second of all, if they didn’t, you think I’d care?”

Spock doesn’t answer.

Jim sighs again. He pulls Spock into a hug just before the doors open, then parts when they do to grab his arm and lead them back towards their quarters. “Come on, honey, I have a message to compose.”

Chapter Text

“Well!” McCoy’s office is rudely invaded by a fuming Captain Kirk. “Thank you very much!”

McCoy barely glances up from his work. “Beg your pardon?”

“You told Spock to invite people with us to go to my parents’!?”

Leonard McCoy has been accused of a few things in his lifetime, mostly inane things he didn’t do, and some more serious charges from that he might have done, but all of those were in the line of duty. Kirk’s never been the type to accuse him of anything, unless it’s liking Spock or loving him, one of which he’ll admit to freely and the other of which he at first tried to deny and now doesn’t comment on. Kirk’s never accused of him of anything he didn’t do less it was a serious misunderstanding, is the point. “What? Jim, I didn’t tell him that.”

“You’re saying he’s lying?”

“No, I’m saying he’s wrong. Difference.”

“Oh? What difference would that be?”

“All’s I said was that he should, you know, not meet your folks one on one. Now, I’ve only met your mother once, and she’s a lovely woman, and I’m sure your father is too—er, well, a lovely man, though far be it for me to judge—”

“Bones!”

“Spock was nervous!” McCoy throws up his hands. “I said he should just avoid spending one on one time with them while you two were there! It’s not my fault he got it into his head that I meant he should invite someone to go with you! Christ, even I didn’t think he knew that little about Human social norms!”

“He’s never exactly had the opportunity to learn about Human dating social norms, now has he? God, Bones, it’s like dealing with a live wire here! You know he takes your opinion seriously.”

McCoy finds himself rather pleased. “He does?”

“Oh, shut up.” Kirk ends his little tantrum by half-sitting against McCoy’s desk, one thigh on the surface and the other dangling, his arms crossed over his chest petulantly.

McCoy pats his back. “Aw, I’m sorry. Who’d he invite, anyway?”

“Uhura, who else?” Kirk sighs. “I’ll take your apology, and I’m sorry for yelling. That was kind of out of line.”

“Kind of?”

“Anyways,” Kirk continues. “Damage is done: I managed to get a direct line to my mom, and she wants Nyota to come. And any other friends I have, as long as it doesn’t exceed fifteen.” His eyes slide suspiciously towards McCoy’s hand still on his shoulder.

“Uh,” says McCoy, gulping. “This your way of saying I’m invited too, then?”

“Yep. Pack your bags, Sawbones, you’re going to Iowa.”

Vulcans—or at least, Vulcans who follow the Surakian ideology, though if you ask most Vulcans they would say these two things are synonymous (the ones who would say otherwise are generally the type you’d find running cults and being ignored by their half-brothers)—attempt to see things through the lens of logic, to if not ignore than not put credence to their emotional responses. Humans, by and large, don’t do this. Spock is aware of what might be the logical thing to do on Jim’s part in response to Spock’s earlier mistake. But he’s decided to ignore that, because Jim is Human, and though he’s an exceedingly logical Human, there’s a chance logic will play no part.

That is why Spock sits on his bed awaiting with nervous anticipation an argument or—or, well, something Jim didn’t seem too eager to do when they last spoke, but may have changed.

The other explanation as to why Spock is sitting there is that he’s scared out of his mind about Jim breaking up with him and through layers of self-loathing has determined that this is a probable outcome.

The whooshing sound of the doors announces Jim’s arrival; Spock sits up straight and attempts to look neutral.

“You look like you’re about to be scolded.”

Spock shrugs one shoulder. “Am I not?”

Jim walks a little closer, into where the cabin is divided by a grate from main area to bedroom. “No?”

Spock is trying to figure out how this scenario is the outcome. His only conclusion is that Jim is not only exceedingly logical, but exceedingly loving.

“It’s really okay,” Jim says. He comes to a still only when their knees are touching, and then holds Spock’s face gently between his hands. “Well—let me rephrase: you inviting someone with us without asking me is not okay, but it’s okay that it happened. That make sense?”

“No,” Spock says. “But I believe I understand what you mean: I should not have done it, and you do not like that I did, but you are not upset that I made a mistake.”

“You really are my most brilliant officer.” Jim kisses his forehead. “Also…Nyota is coming with us. And so’s Bones. And probably Scotty, and I don’t think Sulu and Chekov have any plans, so—”

“I do not understand.”

“Er, well, my mother was more on board with the idea than I was. Turns out she’d love to meet her son’s friends, not just his boyfriend.”

“I must apologize again, then. It appears I have inadvertently turned a…traditional moment of Human courting into a group trip.”

Jim sighs, something noisy and impatient. He shuffles back and bends his knees until he and Spock are eye-level to each other. “I am still annoyed. That you went behind my back, and that you apparently thought somebody not approving of you would make me change my mind about us.”

This is closer to what Spock had been expecting. He lowers his gaze and nods sheepishly. “Once more I must sincerely apologize, Jim, I will not again—”

“You bet you won’t,” Jim says. There’s a strange edge to his words that Spock can’t read, and he’s…smiling? No, grinning is a better term.

Jim plants his hands on either side of Spock’s hips and leans forward menacingly. “You’ve been bad and I’m going to punish you. And ensure—” His voice has become low and husky. “—that you know exactly how much you really mean to me.”

Spock catches up a second after Jim says “punish.” “And—” He swallows. “You plan on accomplishing this by…?”

Jim’s grin widens, pleased Spock has caught onto the game. He presses a kiss to Spock’s cheek and whispers, “Take off your clothes and I’ll show you.”

Shirt, boots, pants, socks, underwear, all torn off and placed in a messy pile on the bedside table. Spock shuffles backwards on the bed, a whole new type of anticipation fluttering in his stomach as he watches Jim finish his own strip. Jim’s clothes have landed haphazardly around his feet, and if Spock thought his pile was messy, he clearly hadn’t been paying attention to the fabric tornado Jim’s been making.

Jim stumbles out of his boxer-briefs, tripping on the elastic as he scrambles up onto the bed. Spock feels his heartbeat in his throat.

They’ve only had sex the once, last night, and it was possibly best experience of Spock’s life. Of course, it was not only the physical pleasure but the overwhelming emotional pleasure of knowing the person he devoted his heart to devoted his own right back, and that the cozy camaraderie between them would be kept for the foreseeable future and nurtured into more aspects. The physical pleasure was, though, still pretty great, and Spock would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited for a repeat.

Jim is over him in a second, his breathing harsh and fast, like some omen of what is to come. He bites Spock’s bottom lip and says gently, “You know this is just fun, right? Anything you don’t want—”

“There is nothing I don’t want.”

Jim groans, shuts his eyes, and licks his lips. “I’m being serious.” He punctuates this with a smirk and hoisting Spock’s leg up over his hip.

“As was I,” Spock says. Jim is still buzzing with nervousness, a shock of displeasure where their skin meets. “But I will tell you if that changes.”

Jim slaps Spock’s thigh. “Good boy.” He settles himself further, knees framing the leg of Spock’s not hitched over his waist and hands framing Spock’s face. Spock feels like some precious painting.

“Spock, I’ve just done something incredibly stupid.”

“Is this position hurting you?” Spock would be surprised if it was, Jim is incredibly fit and honestly this would be alarming—

“I’ve left my bottle of lube in my pants pocket,” Jim says, chuckling. “But now I don’t want to get off of you.” He kisses Spock softly and nuzzles their noses together.

Spock sighs against his lips.

“I love you so much…”

“I love you too, Jim.” In the quiet of his bed, in the shadows of his closed off cabin, and the safety of Jim’s body above him, it’s easy to admit.

Jim slides down the bed and rummages around for the lube, finding it with a triumphant “a-ha!” He clambers back onto the bed and pops open the bottle’s lid. Spock watches, transfixed, as a dollop of clear gel lands on Jim’s first two fingers.

Jim leans down only a second to kiss Spock’s lips. “Now about that punishment, hmm?”

Spock shudders sharply and closes his eyes. “I await it, Captain.”

“ ‘Captain,’ nice touch.” Speaking of nice touch, Jim has just begun to drag his fingers slowly up and down Spock’s perineum. “But I want you to scream my name when you cum.”

Spock feels his cheeks heating. If only Jim knew how often he had not screamed, but at least moaned his name when getting himself off. He supposes he could tell him now, it would probably add to their play. “When—whenever I attempted to cl-imax—” Spock gasps and grabs at Jim’s free arm when a finger penetrates him suddenly. It stings slightly, but the sheer thrill of having Jim’s fingers inside of him is enough to make his arousal overshadow any pain. “By myself,” he continues, with a tiny wobble to his words, as though they’ve gotten just this side of tipsy and are having a hard time leaving his mouth. “Your name would inevitably be what I would call.”

Spock’s opened his eyes now, and he sees Jim’s pupils dilate. Jim thrusts his finger in farther and Spock whimpers.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Slightly, but don’t stop.”

Jim grins wickedly above him. Spock moans feeling him slowly drag his finger down his walls, stopping with the tip still inside, then thrusting back in and repeating. Last night, they were focused on achieving mutual orgasm as quick as possible, so hand and penises had been all that was involved. Spock’s of course thought about it, about Jim fingering him, oh gods above, fucking him, even…

Jim lays his clean hand on Spock’s chest and very deliberately thinks about what he wants. Spock’s eyes roll back into his head. It’s only impressions: two bodies moving together slickly, something harsh and fast and rough, Jim’s cock buried inside his ass—

“Please,” Spock whines. He’s surprised such a sound can even come out of his mouth.

“Almost, baby, almost.” Jim strokes two fingers inside of him now, and crooks one just slightly; Spock’s left leg jerks sharply. “There we go,” Jim laughs.

Spock turns his head, avoiding Jim’s mirthful gaze. It’s overwhelming. “Does that mean you will cease foreplay soon?”

“Hate the word foreplay,” Jim mutters, kissing Spock’s neck with a feather-light touch, over and over again. “It’s all part of the fun.” He slips his fingers out suddenly, leaving Spock empty and squirmy.

Jim pushes Spock’s legs back and Spock takes the initiative to wrap them around Jim’s waist. His knees are against Jim’s ribs, and he swears he can feel his heartbeat through the contact. Then again, it feels like he can feel his heartbeat everywhere, even in his panting breath.

Lips hit lips and a tongue snakes into Spock’s mouth. They’re devouring each other.

Spock parts from the kiss when the head of Jim’s cock pushes against his hole. The sensation isn’t painful, only filled with anticipation, and with a slow thrust the empty feeling is replaced with being almost unbearably full. It’s like he’s being split in half, and strangely, it’s wonderful.

Jim peppers more light kisses around Spock’s mouth, not quite ever on it. “Okay?”

“Yes.” Spock swallows to get past the lump in his throat. “Though intense.”

Jim runs his hand soothingly up and down Spock’s chest. “Next time we can switch, if you want.”

Spock doesn’t know how to say that he can barely think about what’s happening right now, let alone next time.

Jim starts to move only after Spock has told him he can, and it’s slow, gentle. Spock relaxes into the feeling.

“Feels good?” Jim asks after a few minutes.

“Extremely.”

“Good.” Jim sits up, wrapping his arm around one of Spock’s legs to lay it flush with his torso. Slow and gentle have been thrown out the airlock.

Spock grabs the sheets beneath him for dear life as Jim slams into him, his hips working a frenzy, punishing indeed. Jim’s eyes bore into his own the entire time.

“Gonna make you cum,” Jim growls. His grip tightens. “Fuck, you’re taking me so well.” He grabs Spock’s jaw and tilts his head to one side. Cock still hammering into Spock hard, he dives down to bite his neck. Pain, pleasure, fullness—Spock thinks he might actually faint.

Jim’s sucks at the bite he’s just left. Spock feels Jim’s mischievous joy singing from his lips.

Last night Spock discovered he could, if he was touching Jim’s hands with his own, feel when Jim’s arousal spiked or waned. He used it to feel Jim’s climax alongside him, to carry his own; Spock fumbles for a hold on Jim’s hand, desperate to intertwine their fingers.

Jim draws up with a loud groan. He squeezes Spock’s hand: fuck, fuck, Jim’s arousal is nearing its peak, a familiar itch that Jim clearly knows.

“You won’t go behind my back again,” Jim commands.

Spock nods.

“You won’t doubt my love for you.”

Spock’s heart slams as hard against his ribcage as Jim’s cock is slamming into him. He nods.

The crest is nearing, the euphoria so strong it’s hard to sense anything but more euphoria through it. Jim’s fingers are digging into Spock’s knuckles.

With his free hand Jim suddenly grabs Spock’s erection, tugging at it roughly.

Spock sees stars and nebulas of blood-green.

Jim’s name is bubbling up past his lips in a stream of worship, the last of it fading just as Jim pounds into Spock a final time and cums with a long, low whine, his head hung.

Jim still gently rocks into Spock for a few more seconds, drawing out his own climax, and then gently pulls out.

Spock expected tonight to end with an argument, an empty bed and wondering if he had any stable footing in their relationship. He didn’t expect it to end with Jim collapsing beside him with a long sigh, face-first into the bed, and Spock’s lower-half covered in their drying spends.

Jim raises a hand lazily and smacks Spock’s thigh, not hard enough to elicit any pain but not gentle enough to be considered a pat. “Shower?”

“We should,” Spock says. He clears his throat. “Jim?”

“Yeah?” Jim rolls over onto his front, leaning himself up on his elbows. He’s sweated out the gel that slicks back his hair, letting his curls rise up freely and frame his face in a messy halo of dark gold. Spock is momentarily speechless at the sight. It’s the second time he’s seen it, and he suddenly realizes that, if he does this right, he’ll be seeing it for years and years to come.

“I am sorry.”

Jim smiles fondly. “I know. And I forgive you.” He kisses Spock. “God, it’s hardly the first time one of us has messed up, is it? Honestly, I think it’s evened the score out a little.” Jim sits up fully and starts to shuffle his way to standing. “Shower.”

In the bathroom, while Jim finishes his sonic (“You don’t want to share?”

“I suspect that sharing will only lead to more arousal.”

“…And?”

“That would lead to another shower, and so on. I would like to sleep at some point.”) Spock observes himself in the mirror. Or, more specifically, the giant bruise on his neck, just below his jaw. It’s a bright green right now, the edges fading to yellow, and sure to leave a muddy brown patch by tomorrow morning.

Spock frowns at Jim as he comes out.

“What?”

“I do no relish having to hide this.”

“Well.” Jim shrugs. “I did say punishment, now didn’t I?” Jim saunters out of the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Briefing at 1100 tomorrow, non-official business! I was serious about inviting everyone.”

Chapter Text

The bridge is empty. The view-screen, meant for showing the stars, is showing the Federation’s logo in a bright, blaring blue and white. Scotty could weep.

Of course it had to happen one day, his beautiful Enterprise being docked, him having to leave her, but he hopes he’ll get another mission with her. If Starfleet thinks for one second they can hand her off to another engineer…

Then again, most of the brass assigning ships know to steer clear of Montgomery Scott: most of them think he’s a little too interested in the Enterprise, actually, but they also know he’s one of the best they’ve got, and if they want to keep him around, they’ll have to let him keep “his” ship.

Scotty takes a moment to sit in the captain’s chair one last time. You can feel the Enterprise’s heartbeat everywhere, but here you can feel her brain. Whoever sits in this chair becomes instantly connected with her movements in a way that only some can handle.

Scotty never really took himself to be a spiritual man in his youth, not until he first laid hands on an engine. Then he became more devout than a priest. The Enterprise is his goddess, and he’s devastated to leave her in the hands of those who don’t worship her.

Scotty thumbs absentmindedly at the buttons on the side of the chair. He’s supposed to vacate the ship within the next twenty minutes, and he’ll take every last second of that.

“Scotty. Still here?”

Scotty looks up. Another member of his congregation. “Captain,” he greets. “Ah’ve still got some time, I’d like to spend all I can with ’er.”

“Ah, I see.” Kirk comes to stand beside him, staring at the Federation logo like he’s trying to see past it. “I’ve been feeling the same. But you know, she’s the people as much as she’s the machine.”

Well, they have slightly different interpretations of their holy scripture, Scotty thinks. But none-the-less, Kirk is a kindred mind. Scotty shudders to think of a captain who doesn’t worship the temple of the Enterprise taking centre seat.

“I suppose,” Scotty says, only partially believing it. Sure, in godly terms, they’re all a little divine, but the Enterprise as a structure is still the life-force of his religion. And alright, maybe he doesn’t quite think that she’s a goddess, but close enough.

They stand in prayer for a few more minutes. Finally, Kirk pats Scotty on the back. “We should be going soon: I’ll leave her to you.”

“Aye, thank you, sir. Oh, and, uh, sir? Thank you for the invitation.”

“Oh, yes, well.” Kirk still seems a bit embarassed by the whole ordeal (and, having been told the full tale by Uhura, Scotty can’t say he doesn’t understand why). “Um. See you soon then, Mr. Scott.”

The doors close behind Kirk, and Scotty goes back to watching the view-screen.

Uhura is the first to notice him, waving when he steps off his ship for the last time in the foreseeable future. Oh, his heart aches.

“Are you doing alright?” She breaks off from the rest of the group and lays a hand on Scotty’s shoulder.

“Been better. But ah’ll be fine.”

“Come on.” She loops their arms together and walks them towards the rest of the crew, all standing together and chatting. “Our personal effects are being transferred to headquarters, so we’re all going to take a shuttle to their temporary suites. You’ll come with us, won’t you?”

Scotty knows it’s a bid so he doesn’t stay moping around the docking bay for the rest of the evening. “Aye, s’pose.”

Uhura pats his arm. “You’ll be back on her soon enough, Mr. Scott, I have faith.”

“So do I,” Scotty says wistfully, and then he’s being hurried along to a shuttle with his friends.

The temporary officer quarters are much like the ones Jim stayed in when he was getting ready to be assigned the Enterprise five years ago. Of course, they’ve been modified in the time gone by, but not a lot.

The administrator had seemed quite surprised when Captain Kirk requested that he and Commander Spock have the same room. She put in the request, but she eyed them suspiciously the entire time.

Jim’s just put down his overnight bag (having left most of his meagre effects in Starfleet holding until they actually left for Riverside) when the giant screen on the wall starts to blink white and emit a low beeping sound.

“Uh.” Jim taps the screen, and jumps back when a computerized voice says, “Message from: W Kirk for Kirk, James T., Captain. Accept call?”

“Oh, accept, accept!” Jim wonders if this new addition is voice activated or one of the modified old models where you still have to press buttons.

Lucky for him, the screen lights up with two familiar faces after his order.

“Jim!” Winona and George are sitting at their kitchen table, beaming. “How are you, son?”

“Good, dad, how are you two?” Jim feels a little silly still dressed in his uniform.

“Oh, we’re just wonderful, dear!” Winona coos. “And we’re so excited to see you.” She clears her throat and her eyes dart pointedly around the screen. “I don’t see your beau, is he not staying with you?”

“Mom—” Jim shuts his eyes, his face starting to heat. “He’s changing out of uniform.” He plucks at his own command gold for emphasis. “We just got in.”

“We shouldn’t have disturbed you so soon,” Winona says. “But we tracked when the Enterprise was docking and your father called to see what room you were staying in as soon as we could—”

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Jim assures her. “But yes, he’s just, uh, just in the other room.”

“We’re so excited to meet him! You’ve been so stingy on details…”

“Well,” Jim says nervously. “He’s been a bit rattled with the idea of visiting you, and I wanted him to, you know, not have any expectations to live up to.”

“Nervous?” George huffs. “What’s he got to be nervous about?”

Jim sighs. “He’s…unused to this sort of thing. Cultural differences, his own family situation, there’s—a lot. But he’ll love you, and you’ll love him. You’d better.”

“Of course we will,” Winona says happily. “We’ve loved everyone you’ve brought home! Especially that Carol, though bless her how that worked between you two—”

“Alright then!” Jim claps his hands, really not wanting to discuss his ex-girlfriend (and knowing his mother, probably David), much as their relationship end had been good overall. “I think I hear him now—” He doesn’t. “Love you, we’ll see you soon. Bye now!”

The screen blinks out.

Jim is still unpacking his civvies when Spock walks out of the bathroom, clad in a heavy, jewell-tone blue sweater and perfectly cut black slacks.

Jim whistles lowly, and Spock raises his eyebrows. “Don’t mind me,” Jim hums. “Just appreciating the view.”

A light dusting of emerald blush is added to the outfit. “Thank you.”

“I just got a call from my parents.”

Spock stops his slow meander into the middle of the room.

“They’re excited to see us. I’m excited to see them, too. Been a while.” Jim piles his clothes into his arms. “Dinner out?”

“If you would like.”

“I would. It’ll be like our first official date.”

“Anywhere specific?”

Jim shrugs, already peeling off his tunic as he makes his way into the bathroom. “You like Italian?”

“I have never had it.”

“Mmm, well there’s a nice little bistro five minutes away, if memory serves. Luca’s? Nice, romantic atmosphere.” Jim is half-way behind the door. “I don’t think we’ll need reservations, but could you find out?”

Spock nods, already sitting down at the desk, fully furnished with computer monitor, beside the bed.

Jim is about to close the door, but he takes a minute to just watch Spock searching up the restaurant. He’s so beautiful, in every sense of the word, and they’re here, together, to stay together…

Spock looks over his shoulder.

Jim blushes and gives a wry grin. “Be right out, darling.” The door closes with a click.

Chapter Text

The street is dark with twilight, but the buzzing lights of the city cast a cool light over everything. Jim and Spock walk towards Starfleet headquarters, arm in arm.

“So,” Jim drawls as they get to the door. “The end of our first date. Can I convince you to come up to mine, Commander?”

“As it is also mine,” Spock says. He leans down and kisses Jim’s cheek, one hand holding Jim’s wrist and its thumb lightly stroking his pulse-point. “I believe you can.”

“At least you bought me dinner first.”

Spock cocks his head.

Jim shrugs. “Old Earth expression.”

Back in their room, Spock twists off the silver rings he wore to dinner, placing them in a tiny metal box on the dresser, and slips out of his shoes. Jim watches him with a smile.

“I love you.”

Spock glances over his shoulder at Jim and tilts his head. “Yes, I love you too. Is there a reason you said this?”

“Mmm. I’m just besotted. Watching you wind down.” Jim walks slowly forward to bring his arms around Spock’s centre. “I’ve wanted so long to be with you, and I still can’t quite believe we’re here. I’ve been to bed with you, had a romantic dinner with you, kissed you, I get to love you, I just…” Jim sighs, smothering him face in Spock’s back. “I love you so much.”

Spock runs his fingers over Jim’s where they’re planted on his stomach. “I admit, to think you not only wish to be with me but have such affection for me is…quite exquisite.”

“Exquisite.” Jim kisses Spock’s shoulder-blade. “Good word.” He starts pulling Spock towards the bed, walking them backwards.

“It may be easier if you let me go.”

“Maybe. Not gonna.”

Jim lands with a soft thud on the mattress, Spock on his lap. Spock twists around, despite Jim’s whining protests, and holds Jim’s face in one hand. “Jim.”

“What?”

“If you wish to go to bed, we should change into sleep clothes.”

“I wasn’t planning on sleeping.” Jim wiggles his hips suggestively.

“Insatiable,” Spock chides, but kisses Jim anyway.

The San Fransisco night waits for no one. Sulu hasn’t been to the city in ages, not since their shore leave to Earth, over two years ago. And this roller-rink he hasn’t graced since his Academy days.

Hikaru is leaning against the rink walls for a small break and watching the teenagers in the corner ordering snacks and playfully bickering. It brings back wonderful memories.

“Uff!”

Sulu grabs Chekov’s shoulders as the other man runs into him, careful to steady them both.

“Zhank you, Sulu.”

“No problem, Pav.”

Pavel is huffing and puffing, glowering at his feet. “I don’t understand zhese things…”

Hikaru tries not to smile. “Aw, you’ll get used to them.”

“Maybe.” Pavel holds out his hand. “I am having fun, you know. I don’t mean to complain.”

“Hmm. Unyet.”

“Hikaruuu!”

“Alright, alright.” Hikaru slips his hand into Pavel’s and takes him around the rink, stabilizing him. “Sometimes I wonder how a man so clumsy can be so fit.”

Pavel smirks. “Zhank you. I zhink.”

Hikaru shrugs. “Welcome.”

They round the bend and Hikaru grabs Pavel’s other hand to swoop him out in front of them. Pavel squeaks.

“Uh, Sulu, I don’t zhink I’m ready for zhis—”

“I’ve got you, Pavel, you’re fine. I’ve got you.”

Pavel twists his lips to the right, face scrunching adorably. “I trust you, but…”

Hikaru laughs.

They come to a still again after another two laps, starting to hop up out of the rink. “You know,” Hikaru hedges, helping Pavel up. “Shame my parents are out of town while we’re in the city. It’d be nice to see them. And for you to meet them.” He says the last part quickly, almost under his breath.

Pavel cocks his head. “Okay,” he says. “Uhm, vhat if ve meet zhem after zhe trip? Ve’re both coming back to San Fransisco afterwards. Aren’t ve?”

Hikaru hesitates, then nods. This isn’t quite going as planned. Well, actually, the whole night is going a little sideways… He’d meant to be suave, suggesting a fun date night out now that they’re both free from their duties for a while. Chekov just seemed to take it in the normal swing of things. Which is fine. But not ideal. And now Pavel’s missing the clues again.

Well, that’s not fair. Hikaru’s maybe not being clear enough.

Pavel fishes out his credit chip, stumbling his way to a booth. “You vant food? On me.”

“Sure.” Hikaru slips in beside Pavel as the other man unties his skates. “Pavel.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Pavel looks up. “Uh. Um. Er. Y-yes. Go ahead. Please!”

Hikaru is elated. “Well, if you insist.”

“I want to kiss whoever invented pancakes.”

Spock looks up from his book as he sits at the tiny table in the corner. “Do we need to have a discussion in regards to exclusivity?”

Jim snorts, continuing to munch on his breakfast. A meal he’s enjoying in bed, because he can. Spock found the entire idea repulsive when he was told about it: crumbs, stickiness…no, eating in bed was clearly for those who were deranged. Luckily, Spock doesn’t seem to mind dating a deranged man.

“Hyperbole,” Jim says. “Also they’re probably long dead. So unless we time travel and get a definitive answer to the inventor, I don’t plan to follow through with it. And not without my love’s permission, of course.”

Spock takes a bite of his own pancakes, going back to his book.

Jim polishes off the last of his food. “The shuttle leaves in a few hours. I’m gonna have a quick shower, then Bones and I’re going to find the old bookshop we used to go to. You, my dear?”

“I am going to finish my book, and then pack.”

“Alright.” Jim stops on his way to the bathroom. “Spock?”

“Yes, Jim?”

“I just want to let you know…I mean…whatever my parents think—they’ll love you! They will!—but on the off-chance, you know, i-it really—” Jim sighs. “I love you. I’m not going to let them determine what I think.”

Spock’s fingers tap anxiously against his book. “Alright.”

“I mean it.”

“Yes, Jim.”

“I’m afraid you don’t believe me.”

Spock shifts from one side to the other. “I believe you.”

Jim kneels down in front of Spock and kisses his cheek. “It’s okay if you don’t.” It hurts, but it is okay. “I believe me. And I’m sure we won’t have to test my theory, anyways. They’ll love you as much as do.” Jim stands. “Though hopefully not in the same way: that’d be awkward.”

Spock manages a small smile. “Have your shower, Jim.”

Winona is rushing to the door, giddy with excitement, when the doorbell rings. “Coming, dear, coming!”

The door swings open. “Jim!”

“Mom!”

Jim grabs hold of Winona in an instant, hugging her tightly. George’s footsteps are thumping down the stairs behind her.

“Oh, baby, it’s so good to see you.”

“You too, mom.” Jim moves back just as George comes in. “Hey, dad!”

“Son, give me a hug here!”

“Alright, alright.”

When parent and child reunion are over, Jim waves his arm to reveal the rest of their guests.

There’s six in total (one’s a Vulcan, good heavens! Starfleet really does bring you in touch with all sorts), and Winona has a hunch she knows which one is Jim’s boyfriend: he’s the only she’s met. And he beams at her when she waves.

“Ohhh, dear, introduce us!” Winona says, barely holding in her squeak. She grabs hold of George’s arm and squeezes tightly until he yelps. “Sorry, dear.”

Jim rolls his eyes, smiling. “Aw, ma. Alright, alright. Baby, come here, meet my folks.” He opens one arm, an invitation…and up sidles the Vulcan. “Mom, dad, this is Spock, my boyfriend.”

“Live long and prosper.” He holds up one hand in a Vulcan salute.

Winona smiles, afraid it might just be shaking a little. Colour her surprised. “Yes,” she says dimly, and holds up her hand in the salute as well as she can. George tries his best beside her. “Er, you too.”

Chapter Text

Bones isn’t surprised he’s the first one up, he always has been an early riser (although Spock struck him as an even earlier riser, maybe even a never-goes-to-bed-er).

Lucky for them, the Kirks have space and generosity enough to give them all rooms—given they all have roommates, of course. Naturally, Jim and Spock took Jim’s old room, and Bones was stuck bunking with Scotty in the Jim’s-brother’s-old-room/guest-room, while Uhura, Chekov, and Sulu all got the barely-there-guest-room/den/plant-nursery-as-far-as-Bones-is-concerned (Sulu was very pleased about that).

McCoy makes his way downstairs. As any good farmhouse does, the layout opens immediately to the kitchen from the front door, and just behind that is the stairwell. Bones is greeted to the site of Mrs. Kirk making what is hopefully coffee.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

“Dr. McCoy!” Winona coos. “I’m surprised anyone’s up so early! After late dinner last night, I was expecting a house to myself until noon! Not that I’m disappointed, of course, dear; come, sit.”

“Ah, I never was the kind who could sleep in.” Bones takes a seat at the table as instructed. “Sleep well?”

“As good a sleep as I ever get. Past a certain age—” She shakes her head.

Bones nods. “Don’t have to tell me, Mrs. Kirk.”

“Oh, you’re young yet, Leonard!” Winona turns, two cups of coffee in her hand. “Cream or sugar?”

“Neither, thank you.”

“And none of this ‘Mrs. Kirk’ business.”

Bones smirks into his drink, remembering all the times Jim would demand Spock not call him “Captain” off duty. “So that’s where your son gets it. He’s always insisting nobody stand on formality off the bridge.” Bones starts, realizing they won’t be on a bridge again for…well, for who knows how long.

“Did you sleep well?” Winona takes the seat across from him.

“Excellent. Haveta thank you again for putting us up.”

“Of course! We wanted to meet Jim’s crew. He talked so much about you in his messages home.”

“We’re all very flattered, I’m sure.”

Winona hesitates, then nods. “Dr. McCoy…”

Something thumps from the room down the hall. Out from the shadows—which are quickly banished as the automatic lights flicker on—lumbers George Kirk, rubbing his eyes. “Win, that you?”

“And Dr. McCoy, George.”

“Oh, yes, good morning!” George, clearly still sleep-trodden, makes his way to the coffee. “Thank you, darlin.”

“Mmhmm. Sit, sit, we were having a nice little chat.”

“I was just saying, Mr. Kir—” Bones stops as Winona gives him a pointed look. “George, that it’s mighty kind of you to put us up.”

“Our pleasure, Doctor, we’ve always wanted to meet Jim’s people.”

“And I was just saying—” Winona grabs George’s hand and squeezes as he sits down beside her. “Well—Dr. McCoy—Leonard, you know, I met you the once before when Jim was still at the Academy and you were such a nice young man—”

Bones smiles, nodding appreciatively. It’s been a decade and then some since that, but he still remembers Jim’s giddy excitement at introducing his first Starfleet friend to his mother.

“—Well, I admit, when Jim told us he had a partner he was bringing—”

“—Someone from his crew,” George interjects.

“—Someone he’d known a long time…” Winona clears her throat. “Well, Leonard, we were sort of hoping it’d be you.”

Bones is grateful he didn’t take another sip of coffee, less he sputter and cough. “Uh. I’m—I’m very flattered, Mrs—ah, Winona, George. Very flattered, really, but Jim and I’ve never been—”

“Oh no, dear, it’s only that I already quite liked you,” Winona explains.

“We’d know what to expect, more or less,” George says.

Bones nods. “Well, I can’t say as I don’t understand: I’ve got a kid myself, and the first time she brought one of her young gentlemen over—mind, I heard it secondhand from her mother, but I was just jittery waiting to know who he was and what he was like.” He has some more coffee. “Believe me, you’ll love Spock. I mean, he gets on my nerves, don’t get me wrong, and personally I think he can be a pain in the ass, but that’s mostly only to me. He’s good for Jim. Very, very good.”

Winona Kirk smiles across the table at her son. “You look good, Jimmy. Space travel suits you.”

Jim laughs. “I’d say so, yes.” He places a hand on Spock’s knee under the table and squeezes. “And it brought me to these lovely people.” Jim looks purposefully at Spock, and Spock feels warmth spread through his body—embarrassment or love, he’s not sure, but it’s probably a mixture of both.

The room comes in fuzzily. The smell of the farmhouse—pine and animals, something musty and dark—is in strong contrast to the scents of the Enterprise Spock has grown accustomed to. But then, there is something familiar in the smell too, some of it lingering on Jim long into his adulthood.

Jim is still asleep, curled around a form that has half an hour since vacated the bed for meditation. The sunlight from the window above casts a golden glow over him.

Spock stands. He indulges himself in brushing his fingers against Jim’s hair. Jim snuffles in his sleep and burrows himself farther into his pillow.

After dressing, Spock makes his way downstairs. There’s chatter coming from below; he picks out Winona, George, and McCoy’s voices.

“Well, I admit, when Jim told us he had a partner he was bringing—”

“—Someone from his crew.”

“—Someone he’d known a long time… Well, Leonard, we were sort of hoping it’d be you.”

Spock freezes in the middle of the staircase. Jim’s parents…thought McCoy was the one he was dating. Hoping, even. No wonder they had been so willing to say they’d love whoever their son was with: they believed they already knew.

“Uh,” McCoy says, eloquent as always. “I’m—I’m very flattered, Mrs—ah, Winona, George. Very flattered, really, but Jim and I’ve never been—”

“Oh no, dear, it’s only that I already quite liked you.”

“We’d know what to expect, more or less.”

Well. Shit.

Spock’s knocking is answered only after the third repetition.

“Sweet stars, Spock, what is it?” Uhura steps out into the hallway, dressed in her pink nightgown with a grey throw wrapped around her shoulders. “It’s early yet; we’re in a farmhouse, we’re not doing the farming.”

“I apologize for disturbing your rest, Nyota, however, I require your assistance.”

Nyota sighs. “Alright, what is it?”

“I must get Jim’s parents to like me.”

Nyota blinks up at him several times, each time looking less sleepy but no less confused. “Honey,” she says carefully. “I love you, but I think you’re being a bit ridiculous right now.”

Spock squares his shoulders, straightening up (and trying to ignore how much he loves when Nyota says she loves him). “If Jim’s parents do not approve of me—” He stops himself. Jim said it wouldn’t matter, it wouldn’t change anything. But.

Nyota smiles at him faintly. “Spock…”

“Nyota,” Spock says. “Please. You are very proficient in Human interaction. I would not ask if it were not important. In Vulcan society, mates are often chosen by parents, and in Human society I have come to understand that family connection with mates is an important social element to courting. Especially seeing as Jim has a good relationship with his parents—”

“Slow down, slow down.” Nyota rubs her temple. “I still think you shouldn’t worry about it. You’re not hard to like.”

Spock doesn’t believe that in the slightest, and Nyota clearly knows it, muttering a curse under her breath and continuing, “But if you really want to make a good impression, I suggest you show them how much you appreciate their hospitality.”

“A very logical approach, Nyota. Thank you.” Spock taps his fingers against his forearm. “Perhaps gifts, tokens of my appreciation, would suit them?”

Nyota nods. “Sure, Humans like gifts.”

“Indeed. Let us make haste: I believe the train into town comes every fifteen minutes.”

Nyota raises her eyebrows. “Us?” Her tone is off.

“I would not know what to get them.”

Nyota rubs her face with one hand. “Alright, give me twenty minutes.”

Chapter Text

The train into the nearest town is fast, to be sure, but it is not the smoothest ride. Uhura gasps awake suddenly as the train gives a lurching start from their most recent stop, her head, once pillowed on Spock’s shoulder, jolting upright. Nyota sighs, mumbles something, and resumes sleeping on Spock’s shoulder. Normally, Spock wouldn’t allow this sort of touch, but she is doing him a favour, and he will resignedly admit that it is not uncomfortable on a physical standpoint, only a prideful one.

On the stop just before the town, Nyota stirs to consiousness on her own.

“There?” She asks.

“Not quite.”

Spock hasn’t gotten any odd looks so far, but the area is majority Human, and thus far he hasn’t seen a single non-Human Terran, at least in so far as physical looks can be sure. Even on the Enterprise, he had a few non-Human crew members to share experience with; he also had high rank and the privileges that come with that, as limited as they might be. He doesn’t like to assimilate, as least not fully, thinks it ridiculous and against the IDIC, but there is a part of him that wonders if perhaps Kirk’s parents would prefer him if he deferred more to Human ways…

Jim doesn’t seem to care much. He’s not likely to make Spock choose between his identity and their relationship, though he does needle about expressing more Human emotions when Vulcan pride gets in the way. Spock knows—assumes, hopes—that that’s to do more with Spock’s well-being as a hybrid person than wish for Spock to change.

Nyota’s loud sigh interrupts his train of thought. She points out the window when he looks at her. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never been to this side of America before.”

“Neither have I.”

“Where have you been on Earth, anyway?”

“Only San Fransisco, and only in the capacity of Starfleet.”

Nyota frowns at him. “You should explore Earth more. You might like it.”

Spock tilts his head. “Perhaps. I suspect Jim will want to take me to many places on his planet.”

“I think he’ll want to go many places on Vulcan too, Spock. You know he loves finding out more about you.”

“I intend to show him Vulcan,” Spock replies. “But I do not think it will be his priority in the first few months of our time away from duty.”

Nyota gives him a skeptical look. “If you want to show him Vulcan, he’d go with you in a heartbeat. I don’t think you realize how tightly you’ve got that man wound about your finger.” She holds up her own finger as visual aid, twirling it in a tiny circle.

Affronted, Spock says sharply, “I in no way intend to control him—”

“Spock, I didn’t say that, I just meant he’s head over heels for you.”

“The last I saw he was vertical, not upside down.”

“You just pretend not to understand our expression for fun, don’t you?”

Spock doesn’t answer her, and Nyota huffs a tiny laugh.

Nyota’s stomach rumbles as they get off the train. She grabs Spock’s coat sleeve and starts tugging. “I’ll help you shop, but first I’m getting something to eat.”

“Very well.” Spock jerks his arm to free his sleeve and looks around the city square they’ve stepped into. Nyota doesn’t know if he notices the people who stop and whisper to each other when they see Spock, but she tries to send them annoyed looks when she can. “I believe that establishment there is an eatery of some sort.”

Said building has a giant stylized cup of coffee printed on the sign. “Come on, then.” Nyota trudges toward it.

When they left that morning, they left in a hurry. Nyota was still half asleep (she must have been, because she’s just realized she’s only wearing one earring) and Spock was as jittery as he could be. Mrs. Kirk, Mr. Kirk, and McCoy were all sat around the table, talking to each other and playing some sort of card game. Mrs. Kirk said she was surprised even more people were up this early—Nyota laughed loudly in agreement, tugging on her shoes with annoyance that probably radiated into all corners of the house. Spock said a quick good morning, said they had errands to run, and excused them before anyone could get another word in.

Suffice to say, no breakfast.

The shop has one of those old-fashioned bells that dings whenever a customer appears, though of course with the motion sensor doors, the bell sounds because of a program, not physical movement. It’s not crowded, only four other people in the room, one of them the person behind the counter.

He smiles as they approach. He’s a handsome man, tall and lean with dark, tightly-curled hair. “Good morning, what can I get for you?”

Nyota observes the array of products that appear on the overhead screens. “Ooh, I haven’t had Altarian Creamed Coffee in ages. A large, please, and a spinach and cheese danish, don’t bother warming it.”

“Coming right up.” He fishes out a pastry from the display case and turns to his coffee maker. “I haven’t seen you two before.” He looks up at Spock and smiles nervously. “We don’t get many aliens around here. Or, uh, is non-Terrans more politically correct? I never know.”

“Aliens is a perfectly acceptable term,” Spock informs him. “We are on Earth, I am therefore alien to the planet.”

“Wow, Vulcans really do talk like that!” The attendant finishes up the coffee and hands in over to Nyota. “Three credits.”

“Mmhmm.” Nyota hands over her credit chip, eagerly slurping down her coffee.

“Hey.” The attendant flips her chip around a moment after he’s input it. “This is a Starfleet issued one, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re Starfleet? That’s so cool. You know, folks round these parts are absolutely tickled to meet any space travellers. We’ve got a few in our midsts, even,” he says proudly. “There’s a George and Winona Kirk down the way just out of town who used to be Starfleet, and their sons, too!”

Nyota glances at Spock, who in turn purses his lips to hide his amusement.

“We know,” Nyota decides to say, biting into her danish. “Jim Kirk is our captain.”

The man’s eyes go wide. “Whoah. Jim Kirk is back from space?” He gets a funny look on his face. “Man, I haven’t seen Jim since highschool…”

“You are acquainted?”

“Oh yeah. We’re acquainted.” A blush springs to his cheeks. “Uh, I’m Barry. Barry Monroe. Would you tell Jim I said hi? Wait, he’s not here in town, is he?”

Nyota starts to nod, then regrets it. Spock would definitely not want who is probably an old boyfriend around. But too late, Barry’s seen her affirmation and he grins.

“Tell him I say hi and to invite me over, then. I bet the years have treated him good.”

“He is a successful captain,” Spock says. “With a renowned career; they have.”

Barry laughs. “That’s not what I meant, but that is good.”

Spock looks at Nyota, then back at Barry. “Then what did you mean?”

Nyota grabs Spock’s sleeve again. “Spock, let’s go sit down.

“Nice to meet you, Barry. We’ll tell Jim you said hello.”

“Thanks! Ah, wait, I didn’t catch your names!”

“I am Spock, and this is Nyota Uhura,” Spock introduces them, observing Barry closely. “What did you mean?”

“Spock, sweetie, let’s sit down.” Nyota all but forces Spock to the corner of the café and starts digging into her breakfast.

Spock is sitting tight-lipped across form her. “Mr. Monroe meant that Jim is probably very attractive now, didn’t he?”

Nyota pauses her eating, danish hovering before her open mouth. She sighs, putting it down. “I think so.”

“He is romantically interested in Jim and when he said acquainted he meant that they were engaged in a romantic relationship.”

“Well, probably to the second one, but we don’t know about the first one—”

“I had not anticipated running into Jim’s ex-partners on this trip.”

Nyota reaches out to pat his arm. “I know, Spock.”

Spock looks at her hand and nods to himself.

“Jealousy is illogical,” she teases him, and he dips his head in agreement. Spock has nothing to worry about anyways: Jim Kirk is one besotted man, and Nyota’s known that since she first saw the two of them playing chess in the mess hall together the first anniversary of their voyage’s takeoff. His attitude hasn’t changed for four years, it’s certainly not going to just because some (admittedly pretty cute) old flame sends his regards. Nyota offers Spock a soft smile of encouragement, and Spock looks away.

“Finish your food, Nyota; I shall research places nearby to find appropriate gifts.”

“Oh, these are just lovely!”

Spock blinks in alarm as yet another bouquet of flowers is shoved at his face for his approval. This one is made up of lilacs, baby’s breath, and a brilliantly blue flower Spock is unfamiliar with, but to him is reminiscent of a daisy. “I am not certain this would go with their decor.”

Nyota wrenches the flowers away, looking over the other bouquets. “Spock, we’ll have to pick one eventually. You agreed that flowers were a good idea!” He’s rejected five arrangements already.

“I merely want to find the correct ones.”

“You couldn’t’ve taken Sulu with you, it had to be me,” Nyota mutters, quietly enough that she probably thinks Spock can’t hear her.

“I thank you for your assistance, Nyota, and I apologize for being quite so exacting in my wants.”

Nyota looks up from her appraisal of another bouquet. She smiles and sighs. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. But really, they’re flowers: Humans love flowers, any type you get them they’ll appreciate.” She picks up the bouquet. “How about this?”

“Dahlia, carnation, and…”

“Lily of the valley.”

The startling combination of dark, nearly black red, yellow, and white is quite appealing. Also, Spock is starting to think that Nyota will only take so much more of his rejection of her suggestions. He might also be feeling slightly guilty about said rejection. “I believe this will suffice.”

“Great. We’ll get these and we’ll call the captain to see what else his parents might like.” Nyota shoos him away while she gets the flowers on her own credit chip, against Spock’s wishes. Paying for the flowers while the cashier observes them curiously, probably due once more to being unused to seeing Vulcans, Nyota takes out her personal communicator. “Do you have Jim’s new number, Spock?”

“Affirmative.” Spock has it written down on his own personal communicator, and hands it over.

Nyota inputs the frequency ID number and waits while the cashier hands Spock the flowers.

“H’lo?”

“Good morning, Captain, it’s Nyota.”

“Okay, good morning.” Jim sounds vaguely disoriented, and Spock realizes the call probably woke him up.

“I’m here with Spock—”

“Spock? Wh—Spock, you’re not here.”

“That is correct.”

There’s a brief pause, and then a frustrated sigh. “Nyota, where are you two?”

“In town, sir, Spock waned to get something for your parents as a token of appreciation.”

“For what? Making me?”

Nyota laughs and Spock wonders at his mate’s adorably strange conclusions. “For letting us stay with them. We just wanted to know what else they might like.”

“Else? You got more than one thing? Gods. Uhhhh…mom likes clothes. She likes scarves a lot… Uh, dad likes candy.”

“Thank you, Jim.”

“Uh-huh. Put Spock on?”

Nyota holds out the communicator.

Spock takes it hesitantly. “Good morning, Jim.”

“Whhhyyyy,” Jim groans through the speaker. “Are you out so early? I wanted to wake up to you, you ridiculous man.” He sighs. “Promise me you’ll be back soon, baby, okay? Not fair, leaving me all alone.” His voice has taken on a distinctly flirtatious tone. “I really wanted to be kissed awake. Or maybe even fu—”

Spock feels his face warm. “Lieutenant Uhura is still standing beside me, Captain.”

Jim doesn’t respond for a moment. “Sorry, Nyota.”

“Oh, don’t be, now I have confirmation you engage in mild somnophilia, not just a suspision.”

“Great. I’ll tell you my other kinks when you get back.” The line goes dead.

Nyota takes her communicator back, shaking her head and giggling. “Spock,” she says gently. “I just want to tell you again, that you really have nothing to worry about with Jim’s parents; Jim loves you, and that’s really all that’s going to matter to him or to them.”

Spock toys with a stray leaf that is hanging limply from one of the dahlias.

Nyota loops their arms together and leads them from the flower boutique. “Let’s go get some candy and a scarf, hmm?”

Chapter Text

By the time everyone else is awake (well, except Captain Kirk), Mrs. Kirk and McCoy have started breakfast, chatting away like the best of friends while Mr. Kirk is busy doing farm-related things (things Chekov has no idea about, but seem to involve boots and carrying various objects, if seeing him out the window gives any indication). 

Mr. Kirk is back in short order, and everyone sits around the table to enjoy their meal.

“Vhere did Spock and Nyota go?” Pavel asks as he shovels his food into his mouth eagerly.

Sulu, sitting beside him, snorts at his eating habits, and casually drapes his arm over the back of Pavel’s chair.

McCoy shrugs. “Said something ’bout errands. Hell if I know.”

“What errands?” Scotty says. “S’a shame they’re not getting to enjoy this fine breakfast. Many thanks.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure, and I’m sure Leonard’s too!” Mrs. Kirk hesitantly takes a spoonful of eggs up to her lips, muttering, “But it is too bad Spock couldn’t join us…”

“Or that lazy son of yours!” McCoy says quickly. “I swear, sometimes I’m still not sure how he graduated, let alone became a captain. His discipline only lasts as far as his duty, and then he’s on the schedule of the dead or something.”

“Sounds like Jim,” Mr. Kirk laughs. “Never been good at time management unless it was spelled out for him: and still not even then.”

Mrs. Kirk says, “Do you mind telling me, how long you all have been friends, together?”

Pavel answers first, saying brightly, “At least since before zhe first year of our mission! I only got to know zhem zhen, since I vasn’t on the bridge until thirteen months in.”

“I think,” Hikaru says. “That really, if you’re talking about Jim specifically, it went something like Spock, Scotty, Nyota, me, and then, yeah, this one.” He squeezes Pavel’s shoulder and Pavel lightly elbows his side.

“Aye, something like,” Scotty agrees. “The good doctor here he was already friends with. And we all sort of came together in our own separate ways.”

“I can tell,” Winona says, and it takes Pavel a moment to realize she’s looking at him and Hikaru and smirking.

“Oh, that’s new,” McCoy says, taking a long drag of his coffee. “Feel sorry for Nyota, honestly, sharing a room with you two.”

“Oh no,” Hikaru exclaims in fake-horror, “She has to see us kiss goodnight! The poor thing!”

“When did this whole thing happen, anyway?” Scotty asks, frowning at them. “Not that ah’m not, er, happy for you both—quite frankly it was about bloody time, but at least you weren’t as obnoxious as Jim and Spock—”

Hikaru laughs and Pavel clears his throat. Hikaru’s just said, “Only when we arrived in San Fransisco, actually,” when Pavel speaks up sheepishly, “Eh, vell, officially.”

Hikaru snaps his head around. “Officially? I would have noticed us dating.”

“You’d think.”

Hikaru raises both eyebrows.

“Uh, vell, I…might have thought ve were dating for about three months now?” Pavel turns back to his breakfast, saying to it conversationally, “It’s no problem, I just thought we’d both agreed ve were together unofficially and…zhen you asked me out and I realized you had no idea.”

This sends McCoy into cackles, and Scotty decides he’s going to join Pavel in staring at breakfast instead of engaging with this conversation, and Mr. and Mrs. Kirk are sharing a very amused look.

Hikaru opens his mouth, then shuts it. He’s started to blush, and he’s avoiding eye-contact with anything but the walls. “Well…great, then I guess,” he mumbles. “Uh, good for us.” He squeezes Pavel’s shoulder again. “Anyways,” he says loudly, and McCoy starts trying to stifle his laughter with his coffee while Scotty is trying to stifle his with deep breaths whose efforts are turning him just slightly pink, “This really is a lovely meal. Thank you.”

Something fuzzy brushes Pavel’s leg and he jerks it automatically, his knee smacking into the table and making it jostle.

“Oh, see you’ve met Daisy!” Mr. Kirk laughs.

Pavel scoots back his chair enough to look underneath the table and into the big yellow eyes of a fond feline, purring loudly as she stares up at him.

“We’ve only got a few of them for the mice, you know, and they like to come and go as they please. Small enough place, we figure there’s no harm,” Mrs. Kirk explains.

Pavel hesitantly holds out his hand for the cat, who mews excitedly and slams her head directly into his palm, in a way he can’t imagine is comfortable, but she hasn’t stopped purring.

“Daisy,” he says, and the purring picks up. “She’s wery cute.”

Daisy takes this praise personally, sitting up on her haunches and resting her paws lightly against Pavel’s leg, eyeing his lap.

“Look at you,” Hikaru laughs when Daisy hops up and makes herself at home. “You’ve made a friend.”

“Animals love me,” Pavel boasts, and Daisy purrs in confirmation.

Across the table, Scotty is staring at Daisy, enraptured. “She’s adorable,” he says. The near squeak in his voice would seem out of character to anyone who hadn’t seen him talking about wrenches—to those who had, it almost made sense that he liked cats as well as engines, seeing as they both purred.

“You know,” Mrs. Kirk says suddenly. “While we’re finishing up, Leonard made a request that I’m sure you’ll all be quite on board with…”

When Jim Kirk wakes up the second time that morning, it’s to raucous laughter below him, and not, as he’d hopefully dreamed, to Spock gently shaking him and then kissing his face all over. He’d nodded off after their call, and is now quite surprised to see the clock hanging on his wall reading a good hour later. Maybe. He can’t quite remember when the call itself was.

Jim makes his way downstairs, still dressed in pyjamas (though he usually sleeps topless and figured he’d give himself a bit more modesty than that, throwing on a sweatshirt). As he rubs the sleep from his eyes, he finds his bridge crew—sans Spock and Uhura—sitting on the couch and around it on the floor, listening to his mother and father as they point to something in a big giant book—

“Family photos,” Jim says darkly, and all eyes look up to him, then the mouths belonging to the all the respective eyes’ faces start up laughing again.

“Morning, Jim, want some coffee?” Bones asks, standing up and wiggling his cup in example.

“Please.” Jim sees that a cat has made themselves comfortable on Pavel’s lap, so he veers that way first, giving her a friendly scratch, then he slouches his way over to the nearest chair and collapses into it.

“Ah’ve never seen you so out for the count,” Scotty says.

“Vacation, Scotty,” Jim mumbles, the “o” drowned out with a yawn. “You’ve seen me on shore leave, haven’t you?”

“I only recall on Risa, Jim…” Scotty says hesitantly.

“Hmm. Risa.” Jim blushes. “Well, you see, Mr. Scott, that was a different situation…”

“He wasn’t dating anyone then,” Sulu mutters, making Chekov laugh.

“At least not exclusively,” Jim says. It’d been a great week, and unfortunately he only remembers three of his four lovely companions’ names on that trip. If he wasn’t with Spock, he might’ve considered giving the Terran one a call, she was fun.

“Jim,” Winona scolds, looking mildly scandalized.

Jim coughs into his fist, thanking Bones under his breath when the distraction of coffee comes.

“Our space Don Juan,” George grumbles, still looking at the book. “We’re so proud.”

“Don’t be prudes, now, I am—and was—an adult, and it was all consensual fun.” Jim shifts so that he’s sitting with his legs tucked up under him. “Besides, Hikaru, I think you’re one to talk: I know who you did that shore leave.”

“Don’t you mean—” Scotty starts, probably about to correct to “what” then nods. “Ah, no, I don’t suppose you do…”

Jim gestures to the photo album. “What volume are you looking at?”

“Years twelve through sixteen,” Winona hums.

Jim sighs, “Ah, mom…” The most embarrassing years by far.

“If it helps, we’ve already seen zero through eleven,” Bones says.

“I think you know it doesn’t.”

“Ooh! Look here!” Winona holds up the album excitedly. “This is Jim with one of his first partners!”

“Aw,” Pavel says, smirking at his captain in a way that Jim might just have considered grounds for accusing mutiny in a different situation. “You look so cute, Keptin!”

Jim hides his face behind his coffee. “Thanks…” He catches a glance of the picture itself and sudden memory sparks. “Oh, yeah, actually, that wasn’t too bad of a photo. Although the holo looks better.”

“Oh, the machine is on the fritz,” George grumbles. “I can’t ever get that thing to work right…”

“And yet you never considered replacing it? Dad, that thing is ancient.”

Scotty perks up. “Maybe I could help you? Ah wouldn’t mind a bit, Mr. Kirk, and frankly I’d be glad to get my hands on some proper nuts and bolts and wires.”

George shrugs. “Alright, Mr. Scott, follow me.”

The two men leave, and Jim takes the photo album from his mother. “I haven’t seen this photo in ages.”

“Who were they, Jim?”

Jim grins at Bones’s question, brought back to many good memories of sneaking out to visit the other in a moonlit city centre. “Barry Monroe. My second—no, third love.”

“Your first must have been Nina,” Winona guesses. “But your second?”

“The Enterprise will always be my first love,” Jim says, looking cheesily wistful.

Bones snorts. “Gee, I’m sure Spock’ll be very happy to hear that.”

Jim glares at him. “Speaking of, is he still not back yet?”

“No. How’d you know he was out?”

“Ah, he and Nyota called me. Not sure I’m at liberty to discuss what they’re doing, but I was hoping they’d be home by now…”

Winona tsks. “Yes, that’s a shame…”

Jim frowns at her just a little, and she pretends to ignore it, taking the album back.

“Hey,” Jim says, eager to change the subject. “Mom, do you think Uncle Jack would mind it if we went down there to do some riding?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Horses?” Hikaru says.

“Yeah, my uncle—well, you know, non-blood-ties, but still—has a ranch just a few miles away. When my brother and I were kids, we used to go down there and ride his horses.”

“Do you have any horses, Mrs. Kirk?” Pavel asks. “I saw a small—eh, vhat looked like a barn on zhe way here.”

“We do,” she says. “They’ve been with us a while. They’re both getting on, a bit too old for any long rides: we got Ulysses about when Jim was first off at the Academy, and then Dogwood a few years later.”

Jim smiles, remembering his parents’ upset at their empty nest and excitement in getting Ulysses as though it would “fill the void.” That’d been his brother Sam’s wording, and it’d been in jest, but Jim knows it’s not entirely wrong, as little as a horse can replace a child.

“Matter of fact,” Jim says, and sets down his coffee on the side-table. “I might go out and see them. Then, uh, we can all go down to Uncle Jack’s when Spock and Nyota get back…whenever that’ll be.”

The farm is small, a tiny chicken coop and a stable with the two horses as far as livestock goes, and only about an acre-or-so of proper crop land. Jim likes it quite a lot. They used to have a goat, when he was very, very small, but he doesn’t remember her much. Then the horses came when the boys were old enough to ride them and George had retired from space flight long enough for his parents to consider it a feasible option. Jim’s first and only horse, Melody, had died when he was on his first proper deep-space mission, but she’d been old, and he wasn’t especially surprised.

He only really knows Ulysses and Dogwood from occasional visits home, but both still greet him with familiarity, and Ulysses insists on rubbing Jim’s hand affectionately with his nose.

“Hey, old boy. You remember me, huh?” Jim reaches up to scratch a chestnut ear. “It's good to be home.”

Ulysses snorts.

“Well,” Jim admits. “It’d be better if Spock was here, but… He is here. Just not here-here. He’s—” Jim sighs. “Ah, Ulysses, I don’t know what he’s doing…”

“Hey, Jim.”

Jim looks towards the stable door, where a shadow is leaning against the entrance. Jim looks back at Ulysses, scratching him between the eyes like he remembered him liking when he was still young enough to go on long-haul rides. “Hey, Bones.”

Jim hears but doesn’t see Bones come up beside him.

“They’re getting old like us,” Jim laughs.

“They’re beauties.” Bones holds out his hand to Dogwood. She was always more of a fussy thing, and thusly swoops her head around to ignore him.

“Don’t mind her.” Jim grabs Bones’s hand and places it palm-ward against Ulysses’s nose. “Ulysses, meet Bones.”

Ulysses snuffles affectionately against Bones’s hand.

“Pleasure.” Bones draws his hand away, wiping wet horse breath on his pants. “You okay, kid? You still seemed pretty bummed about Spock when you left.”

“Yeah, well…” Jim leans his head against Ulysses’s neck. “Leonard, maybe this is all wrong. It doesn’t even feel like Spock wants to be here with me, what if—”

“Now stop it right there, Jim. I won’t deny Spock’s not acting his brightest right now, but I can tell you for damn certain that man is so in love with you he’s probably forgotten what it was like to not be.” Bones pauses. “Well, if he were Human. I don’t know how Vulcans even think about time and love and all that, but hell, man, Vulcan or not, he’s still crazy about you.”

Jim doesn’t look at his friend, ashamed to wonder aloud, “Do you think that’s enough?”

Bones snorts. “Shit, Jim, I was married to my ex for years, thinking she was the one…and you know how that ended.”

“Is this supposed to cheer me up?”

Ignoring this remark, Bones continues, “I never, and I mean never, looked at her the way you look at Spock.” Bones claps his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. It’s just as you said: Spock doesn’t know how to deal with Human relationships, let alone romantic ones. Give him time, give him guidance, and it’ll work out. Besides, it’s only now that these doubts are here, isn’t it? The two of you, alone, without all this familial pressure, you do alright, or at least you seem to. Am I wrong?”

Jim smiles despite his dour mood. “No.”

“Then you’re worrying over nothing. Just talk to him. You love him, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Bones.” Jim stands up and rolls his shoulders. “Thank you, you, um, you give a good pep talk.”

“Course, Jim.” Bones wrinkles his nose and looks around the stable. “I’m going back inside. Loved horses, but could never stand the smell. You coming?”

Jim shakes his head, still smiling. “I’ll be in in a minute, you go on without me.”

“ ’f you say so.”

Bones leaves the stable and Jim is left alone again with the horses.

Chapter Text

Not ten minutes after Jim has divested himself of his coat and shoes does the door open again. Jim breathes a silent sigh of relief at the sight of Spock finally returning.

Spock and Uhura’s arms are both full with various things: Uhura holds three boxes piled precariously on top of each other, and Spock holds one box, one bag slung over the same arm, and a bouquet of flowers clenched tightly in his other hand.

“Mr. and Mrs. Kirk,” Nyota presents, setting the boxes down with Scotty’s help, “Spock wanted to thank you for your hospitality. These are for you.” She hands two boxes to George and one to Winona. She points to Spock. “We also got some flowers and another scarf for you, Mrs. Kirk.”

Spock quickly hands off the flowers and box to Nyota, who presents them again.

Winona gasps as both beautiful accessories are revealed. “Oh, these are lovely! Thank you, both of you, you shouldn’t have.”

Spock’s brow furrows a moment, clearly wondering if he actually shouldn’t’ve. Jim quickly comes over to him and hugs him, distracting him from his probable worries.

“You’re being too generous,” he chides gently, and kisses Spock’s cheek. “I missed you.”

“And I you.” Spock holds out the arm with the bag. “This is for you, Jim.”

“Me? I’m not hosting you.”

“No, however…” Spock lowers his voice, though no one is really paying them any attention anyway. “Nyota pointed out to me that I was not focusing on what mattered: that you love me. I have decided she is correct in this assessment, and as token of my own affections, I wanted to get you something. I…understand that in Human courting gift-giving for no specific occasion is common?”

“Common and very welcome.” Jim takes the bag and peers inside. “A book?”

“I realize that this is perhaps not considered a romantic present, but—”

“Shh, shh.” Jim soothes a hand up Spock’s arm. “I wasn’t complaining, darling.” He takes the book out of the bag and blushes. “Romancing the Vulcan?”

Spock turns bright green, staring at the book in shock. “What—?” He collects himself quickly, though he’s still a little flushed. “Jim, I did not—”

“See you’ve found the book,” Nyota coos from just behind them.

Jim twists his lips. “Your idea of a joke?”

“Fucking hilarious,” Bones approves, and claps Nyota on the back.

“Jim,” Spock says hurriedly. “I intended to gift you with a copy of a book you mentioned you enjoyed in your youth, not—not—” He seems embarassed even to say it. He shuts his eyes and says sharply, “I do not understand, given that I purchased the correct title, how—”

Nyota, yet to take off her coat, reaches a hand inside and pulls out another book. “This is what he meant to give you. I would say I’m sorry, but I couldn’t resist; when a bookshop has a romance semi-colon alien section, you get curious.”

Jim scrutinizes Romancing the Vulcan with growing amusement and—rather ashamedly—intrigue. It’s got the classic Terran Harlequin romance cover of two faceless models, in this case male-presenting, one dark brown and the other pale green, both shirtless and wearing low-cut pants. The picture cuts off just below the hip-bones, and the title is scrawled over it in a swirling font, silver and embossed. The back is the corniest synopsis ever to be written, and Jim giggles as he reads it.

“Share with the class,” Bones says.

“Mmph! ‘Lieutenant Iris Isles is a lost cause as far as love goes—he’s never met another soul he’s found himself remotely compatible with, unless it’s for a quicky in the’—mmgufh—‘back of a storage closest in the space station. He’s always found Human men easy to romance, but hard to fall in love with. Maybe he’s just been looking in the wrong places…the wrong pl-planets; when he meets the dashingly handsome, cool, calm, and completely emotionless Satok, Iris is up for the challenge. Can he do it? Can he romance the Vulcan? Can he even…’ ” Jim gives a dramatic gasp for effect. “ ‘Fall in love with him?’ ”

At this point, the crew and Jim’s parents have joined in on this reading, and Sulu leans over Jim’s shoulder to get a better look. “Featuring twenty pages of blowjobs and six of inaccurate psychic sex, right?”

Jim hums. “More than six, I’d imagine.”

“I can’t believe people write that sort of thing!” George laughs.

“Sex sells,” Jim says with a shrug. “Either from genuine interest or from friends being smartasses.” He whacks Nyota’s shoulder lightly with the paperback for good measure, and she just looks even smugger than she did before.

Spock clears his throat. Jim realizes the poor man is still quite green, perhaps even more-so now, and in his hands is the other book. He holds it up gingerly. “The book I actually wanted to give you…”

Jim takes it.

“You mentioned wishing you had a proper paper edition when you younger. I am not sure why you did not, given it’s common rarity…”

Jim flips through it reverently. “Pride and Prejudice. Unbelievable.”

Spock’s lips twitch and he settles his hands in front of him, clearly waiting for the verdict.

Jim smiles at him. “I love it. Thank you, Spock.”

“You are welcome, Jim.”

“Oh, Jim,” Nyota says suddenly. “While we were out, we ran into an old friend of yours: a Barry Monroe. He says hello.”

“Speak of the Devil,” Bones mutters, and Jim can’t help but agree.

“Barry’s still around?” Jim wonders what he looks like now, what he does, who he ended up with, if anyone. There’d been a point—a very short point of maybe a month, at the height of his teenage romanticism—in Jim’s life where he thought they’d get married and explore the stars together. But Barry didn’t want the stars, and, as it turned out, Jim didn’t want Barry. “Where did you see him?”

“At this coffee place just off the train station, he was working there.” Nyota hesitates, her gaze flickering to Spock, before she says carefully, “He mentioned it’d be nice to see you again.”

“It would be nice,” Jim agrees. He always adores seeing his old loves, even if the affection between them has shifted from romantic to remembered romantic. Some meetings are better than others: Jim thinks he and Areel Shaw will continue to run into each other in thier lives, and continue to be friends, picking up where they left off, each time; he thinks he and Dr. Wallace will never be friends, if they ever do see each other again.

Jim looks up at Spock, and finds him staring into the middle distance.

“Hey.” Jim rubs his forearm gently. “I think you’d like Barry, once you got to know him. He was into science when we were in school; I have a type, I guess.”

Spock’s lips twist from one side to the other. “And…I will have time to get to know him?” He asks with trepidation.

Jim shrugs. “I don’t know. Could be fun.” He lowers his voice. “But…if you really don’t want to…”

“I do not want to dissuade you from meeting an old friend,” Spock says quickly. He touches Jim’s hand. Jim thinks he hears him mutter, “Jealousy is illogical.” “Though I suspect he might be more than an old friend.”

Jim nods. “We dated, for a little over a year, in high school. Then we were friends afterward. Seems to be my pattern: once someone’s in my life, I have trouble letting go.

“It’s not like you haven’t met my exes before.”

“I will remind you we were not an item then, and in most cases in the middle of intense situations. I do not consider meeting Dr. Lester, for example, comparable to this.”

Jim snorts. “No kidding. But there were others. Ms. Shaw, Dr. Wallace…Hell, Gary Mitchell. Although, maybe that one’s a bit closer to the Janice situation…”

“Has he met Carol and David yet?” Winona pipes up.

Jim had almost forgotten there were other people around them. In point of fact, his friends had dispersed, though they were still in the room.

Spock’s fingers tap once against Jim’s knuckles. “You speak of Jim’s son and his mother.”

“So you have met them?”

Spock shakes his head. “I have not. I have merely heard of them.”

Jim shifts uneasily. He and Carol had a fine breakup, all things considered, but it would have been a lot easier had a child not been involved. “Mom,” he says with a slight edge to his voice. “You know I’m not a part of David’s life. If Spock ever does meet him, it’d be great, but it’s not like he’s meeting a step-son or anything, I’m only David’s father as far as biology is concerned.” He pauses, then grins up at Spock. “You know, Carol’s a scientist, too. I must really have a type.”

Spock gives a very small smile. “I am aware of Dr. Marcus’s acclaim; perhaps with you in common, I can also hope to have such a successful career.”

“You flatter me.”

Winona clears her throat and strolls a little closer. “You should get out of your coat, Spock, come, sit with the family.”

Spock does so dutifully, and Jim stays just beside his mother. He has a bad feeling she’s already not in the Spock fan club, and despite it being true that his parents’ opinion won’t change his, he’d prefer it if it didn’t come to that.

Winona catches Jim’s nervous gaze and smiles encouragingly. “You didn’t have to go through the trouble,” she says to Spock. “But the gifts were really just wonderful.”

Spock nods, getting out of his outer wear.

“So I take it,” George says, “That you aren’t planning on seeing David now you’re done with your mission.”

Jim bristles a little instinctively, for his own sake as much as Spock’s. He and Carol made a very clear decision.

Jim places both books in the bag Spock procured and leaves it at the foot of the stairs. “No,” he mutters in reply.

George hesitates. He has his hands in his pockets, rocking back slightly on his heels, and his mouth is just slightly open, ready to question. He blows out a long breath. “Do you two plan on any children in the future?” He tries to ask it casually, but Jim knows he’s hoping for an affirmative. Sam and Aurelean had Peter, and they don’t see him a lot anymore, now that he lives with Aurelean’s parents. They only ever got to meet David the once, when he was born. And now, they only have one son left. He can’t exactly blame them.

“We haven’t discussed it,” Jim says. “Mom, dad, can I see you a minute?”

He leads his parents into the nearest closed off room, which happens to be a once-playroom for him and his brother, now converted into a home office—fucking brilliant.

“I appreciate you taking an interest in my relationship, believe me, I do,” Jim starts. “But big questions like that, especially in front of our friends, it not the sort of pressure Spock needs right now. As you can probably guess from—I don’t know—everything he’s done since he’s got here, he’s incredibly nervous about this whole trip, and wants it to go well.”

Winona looks surprised. “I didn’t think Vulcans would get—” She quickly goes quiet, and Jim sighs.

“I suppose that’s to be expected,” George hedges. “I take it he doesn’t know much about Human relationships…”

And it’s not that he’s wrong, he’s very right, but Jim wants to tell him just the opposite, because from the look his parents share, it’s clear they think that means the relationship in question is doomed.

Jim swallows. “Spock and I love each other very much.”

Winona smiles in a pitiful manner that makes Jim want to fold in on himself. “Honey, I’m sure you do love him very much.”

“And it is clear,” George says quickly. “That he…that he cares about this going well. Clearly, I mean, with all the gifts.”

Jim catches that they left out saying they were sure Spock loves him; how could he not catch it? But he won’t press the point, because he knows it himself with intense surety.

“He wants to make a good impression.” Jim shifts from foot to foot. “And I think he probably hasn’t made the best one so far…but it’s not his fault! He’s trying, and he needs a little, uh, leeway. This isn’t like my other partners, he doesn’t know any of the social norms, or only knows the one’s he’s seen in action. Which is very few.”

Winona reaches out and cups their hands together. “You know we just want you happy, Jim.”

“I am happy.”

Winona nods, though she still looks wary, and George scratches the back of his neck with a grimace.

Leonard lets out a low whistle of appreciation as they pull up to the ranch in Winona and George’s hover.

“Man, I haven’t been here in years.” Jim is leaning out the driver’s side window, looking at the place in wistful fondness.

Hikaru, Scotty, and Pavel are in the back seats, Nyota and Spock having gone into town to rent a hover for the day. Hikaru, also on Jim’s side, leans out his own window. “Wow…how many acres?”

“Fuck, I’m not even sure, to tell you the truth. Though I think Uncle Jack has downsized a little, given some land to the people down the way.” Jim parks the hover right by the fence and gets out.

An older man, hair greying and walking with a slight limp, comes briskly up the path from the ranch house. He’s wearing a faded jean jacket over-sized for his thin frame, and his pants are billowed where they tuck into his boots.

“Jim Kirk!” He comes right up to Jim and gives him a bear-hug.

“Good to see you, too, Jack.” Jim pulls out of the grip, grinning ear to ear.

“And this must be—” He says immediately upon seeing Leonard step out of the opposite side of the car.

“No!” Jim says hurriedly. “My partner’s not here yet.”

Jack stops his eager “this must be” speech, suddenly frowning. “Oh.” He holds out his hand to Leonard anyway. “One of the friends, then. Nice all the same.”

“Second time that’s happened this trip,” Leonard grumbles.

“Don’t sound so offended,” Jim laughs. Then he sticks his chin up and huffs, “I’m a catch.”

“Darlin’, I’ve dated finer than you, and frankly I don’t envy Spock the handful that is your ego.” Leonard sticks his hands in his pockets. “Leonard McCoy,” he says to Jack.

“Jack Talbot.” He pauses a moment, then grins at Jim. “Spock? Sounds alien.”

“He is.”

By this point, everyone is out of the car, and Jim gives quick introductions. “And two more on the way,” he says.

Jack gestures out towards the ranch house. “This way, folks. I’ll introduce you to the horses.” He slings an arm around Jim’s shoulders as they start to walk up the path.

“How many horses do you still keep around here, Jack?” Jim asks.

“Downgraded to ten this year.”

“Ten?” Leonard says. “Downgraded?”

“Uncle Jack likes to keep his stable full.” Jim ponders, “I think when Sam and I were kids, the highest the count ever got was…what, sixteen?”

“Think so,” Jack agrees.

As the head into the stables and Jack instructs them to get to know their horses, each of which he assigns based on a) what they tell him is their riding ability and b) what he guesses is their riding ability, Jim lingers near the edge.

“Jim,” Leonard calls, but his friend just shakes his head.

“I’m looking for Spock and Nyota.”

“They’ll come when they come,” Leonard’s tempted to say, but Jim has that stubborn grimace on his face, and for once, Leonard thinks he might be right about having it there. “Yeah,” he says. “Well, don’t worry. Shouldn’t be too long.”

Leonard mounts his horse easily, having had practice in his younger days. Hikaru takes to it like a pro (Leonard doesn’t ask, but he’s always kind of assumed Hikaru was the sort of kid who would beg for horse-back-riding lessons until he got old enough to beg for flying lessons). Scotty is wobbly on his own, but manages it with some ease once he’s got a few minutes practice in. Pavel is a disaster, but honestly Leonard expected nothing less.

The five of them, Jack included, are trotting along quite peacefully, and every few minutes Pavel curses and attempts to steady himself.

“What’s the matter, Pav?” Hikaru is out in front, leading his horse like the two were separated at birth.

“I cannot seem to get zhe hang of zhis.” Pavel yelps as he falls forward in his saddle due to a particular bump in the terrain, holding onto his horse’s neck desperately.

“Yer too tense!” Jack exclaims. He leads his mare back around and comes up alongside Pavel. “She knows when you’re too tense, boy, you’ve gotta relax! Take control!”

“Zhat seems counterintuitive.”

“Trust the horse,” Jack says. “She’s a gentle soul, won’t hurt you none if you she doesn’t feel the need to.”

Pavel looks a little worried, wondering what would happen if she felt she did need to.

Their excursion only gets another twenty minutes in before Spock and Nyota pull up, and even with the long distance between them and the hover, Leonard can see the tension in the conversation between Jim and Spock.

“Our other guests!” Jack cheers, and gallops his horse back towards them.

“Ufff!”

Leonard sighs, not bothering to turn back to his friends. “You alright, Pavel?”

“…No…”

Pavel’s injuries are minor, just a bruised leg and a hit to the funny bone, but Leonard still takes him into the ranch house to look him over.

“Zhank you, Dr. McCoy.”

“Course, kid.” He pats his knee. “Maybe stick to cats, hmm?”

Pavel blushes. “Yes, zhat’s probably a good idea… Or at least horses from a distance.”

“Mm.” Leonard stands up.

“I am sorry for ruining your riding.”

“Nah, s’okay. What’re friends for?”

The door slides open with a whoosh and Hikaru walks in. “Well, Doctor, will he live?”

“Fifty-fifty.”

Pavel grins and starts kicking his legs, hands gripping the sides of the chair he’s sat on. “A kiss vould help.”

Leonard rolls his eyes and Hikaru chuckles as he does as he is bid.

“Riding’s done then, I take it?”

Hikaru shrugs. “Well, I’m taking a break anyway. Horses are great, but man does your ass get sore.” He sighs. “I miss the Enterprise.”

Leonard heads out of the ranch-house and blinks back the vibrant sun that comes smacking him in the face.

A set of footsteps come towards him from his right. “Leonard.”

“Jack. Surprised you’re not out still riding with them.” The them in question seem to be having quite a good time, and, both surprisingly and unsurprisingly in Leonard’s opinion, Spock looks rather graceful on his equine.

“Takin’ a break.” Jack rubs the back of his neck. “So, how long’ve Jim and…Spock been an item, then?”

“Lord, a week and some now? Officially, I mean, because the entire world could see they were mad for each other for years before that.”

Jack nods, sucking at his teeth. He’s staring out over the fields, watching his horses and their riders. “I see.”

Leonard frowns at the man. “Er, I’m not sure what to make of your tone.”
“Hum? Oh, no, just…” Jack laughs, but he’s glowering at the fields more-so than watching them now. “I don’t know. S’clear they care about each other, but some people belong with certain other types, you know? I’m not sure Jim belongs with someone like Spock.”

Leonard’s genuinely surprised. Jim and Spock are…well, Jim and Spock. He’s no fool, he knows fairytale endings don’t exist (between Jocelyn and Nancy, he’s learned the hard way…), but if anyone ever had the chance at one, it’d be those two. Even if, admittedly, their fairytale would take place in space and there’d be Romulan and Klingon battles every once and a while. “Why not?”

“Jimmy’s got big, heavy emotions. Has ever since he was a kid.” Jack shakes his head. “What’s a Vulcan know about that?”

A part of Leonard wants to agree: Vulcans are self-proclaimed emotion-phobes or whatever, and Jim is a very emotional person, especially when it comes to romantic relationships. The other part of him (the part of him that’s been trying to take better care to really think about what those workplace xenophobia talks are saying and untangle some deeper prejudices he’s trying to admit to himself he might have) knows Jack is wrong: Spock can handle Jim and his emotions better than anyone else can, and honestly, Jim can handle Spock and his emotions, whether he wants to admit he has them or not, better than anyone else can.

Leonard struggles for a response, and during that time Hikaru and Pavel come back out and start up at new conversation with Jack, leaving Leonard attempting to turn off the reeling gears in his mind.

“Good time, wasn’t it?” Jim asks as he slides into the driver’s seat.

Leonard fastens his seatbelt next to him. “…Yeah.”

Chapter Text

Sulu is the first ready, much to his surprise as he comes down the stairs, still adjusting his tie.

He thinks McCoy was the one who suggested it, going out to dinner in town, and no one raised any qualms whatsoever about that plan of action.

Hikaru potters into the kitchen, looking around to see if he’s truly the first one dressed. There’s a vase of flowers on the table, the flowers that he remembers Nyota and Spock bringing with them earlier today. He didn’t get a proper look at them before, but the colours are immediately eye-catching: a very dark red, a startling white, and a blinding yellow. He can’t say he’s ever seen such a colour combination in arrangements before…

Hikaru thumbs over the leaves of the yellow flower carefully, categorizing each plant in his mind; dahlia, lily of the valley, carnation—

Hold the fuck up.

Someone comes down the stairs and calls Hikaru’s name cheerfully as he stares at the flowers, gobsmacked. He quickly turns and smiles in a way he hopes doesn’t tip Nyota off, but either he’s a bad enough liar or she’s a good enough see-past-bullshit-er that it doesn’t work.

“Everything alright?”

“Fine!” Hikaru clears his throat and looks at her outfit. “Wow, that’s gorgeous!”

“Oh, thank you!” Nyota catches herself just short of probably saying something about the earrings she’s currently playing with on one side. “Hikaru, what’s wrong, seriously? You’re giving me that sort of ‘we’re headed for an asteroid belt that I lied to the captain about being confident in navigating’ look.”

Hikaru says sharply, “I don’t know why you’d even consider naming a look that—but, er. Okay, look.” He turns to the bouquet and gestures at it emphatically. “Who did you purchase these from?”

“Some shop in town,” Nyota says. “Why? Are they poisonous or something?”

“No, they’re harmless—well, not harmless to the cats, but these look like artificially grown ones without calcium oxalates—it’s just that…” Hikaru scratches his neck. “Nyota, have you ever heard of ‘flower language?’”

“Sure, isn’t it that thing where certain flowers mean…” Nyota’s eyes slowly widen. “Oh no, did we wish death on their house or something?”

“No!” Hikaru says quickly. Then he pauses, considering, and Nyota lets out a tiny squeak of fear.

“No, no,” he says. It’s only that these flowers tend to mean…not so good things.”

“Such as?”

“Ahem. Yellow carnations typically mean distain. And rejection.”

Nyota crosses her arms, fidgeting with her sleeves. “And the other two?”

“Lily of the Valley can mean good things, but it can also mean, you know, pain, suffering, loss, sadness.”

Nyota’s fingers twist in the fabric of her dress.

“And,” Hikaru finishes. “Black dahlias…embody evil, dishonesty, and betrayal.”

Nyota finishes Hikaru’s explanation with her mouth agape and her left hand pulling hard at her sleeve. “Who,” she finally says. “Would make an arrangement like that and sell it someone!?”

Hikaru shrugs. “They’ve become very common in theatrical performances of Jenny Higgins’s Touch Down on Earth First Contact play—maybe there’s a local theatre company that orders them frequently?”

Nyota buries her face in her hands. “I can’t believe this is happening…”

“Hey, it’s fine! I’m the only one who knows this sort of thing, I’m sure. And they’re just symbolic. It only really matters what intention they were given in.” He placates his friend as best he can, running his hand up her arm. “If Spock gave Kirk a black rose because he thought it meant true love instead of a red one, you know that that rose would be pressed and framed.”

“But this isn’t Jim we’re talking about,” Nyota says, finally dropping her arms. “It’s his parents.”

Hikaru would have to be completely unfamiliar with Human interaction to miss the tension the Kirks currently have. God, he can’t even imagine how Spock must be holding up having such little familiarity. “Yes,” he agrees. “But what are the chances either of them know—?”

“Mr. Sulu, Ms. Uhura.”

Both jolt and whirl to face the woman entering the kitchen.

“Ms. Kirk!” They both say, voices a little too cheery.

“You look lovely,” Nyota praises. “Is that one of the scarves Spock got you?”

Winona touches the strip of blue fabric tied around her neck. “Yes, it is. I think it’s just darling.” She doesn’t seem to notice any surprise or nervousness in either of her guests, and Hikaru is grateful. “Tell me, Lieutenant Uhura, did he…did Spock pick this out himself or did you?”

Nyota smiles, warm and charming, but Hikaru knows her well enough to see the glint of anger in her eyes. It’s the kind of smile she’d plaster on for Kirk when they were in a tough situation and he was barking orders, only to get a quick apology once the heat of the moment had died down; or perhaps when she had to talk with someone particularly annoying over the comm.’s and would later describe in very calm, polite detail to her friend how much she wanted to give them a few savagely snide replies. “He did, Winona.”

Winona seems genuinely surprised by that. “Well,” she says. “It’s a beautiful colour.”

“Win! I can’t find my damn—” Something clatters down the hall.

“Ohhhhhh, George.” Winona excuses herself quickly.

Nyota looks back at the flowers, and Hikaru follows her gaze.

“Do you believe in fate, Sulu?”

“Not sure.”

“How about omens?”

“Spock.” It’s the ninth—no, eleventh—time Jim has called his name while they’re getting ready for dinner. Spock doesn’t respond.

Six times six is thirty-six, six times seven is forty-two, seven times seven is—

“Hey.” Spock freezes as Jim grabs his arms and turns him around. The touch is strong, but much gentler than it would normally be, Spock knows. It still burns like a brand.

Spock wants to squirm away, but he takes controlled breaths to calm the instinct, until Jim’s embrace is once again the welcoming warmth it usually is.

“Sweetheart,” Jim says with a disapproving note. “You know you don’t have to go.”

“There is no logical reason not to, and many logical reasons to.”

Jim narrows his eyes. “Hmmm. Being clearly overstimulated is not a logical reason? I’m not sure I buy that, mister.”

Spock shrugs out of Jim’s grasp. “I am not overstimulated.”

Jim puts his hands on his hips.

“…I am perhaps closer to being overstimulated than is ideal—” Spock finishes putting on his lip gloss, the task he was attempting to do somewhere during seven times seven when he was interrupted. “But I will be alright, Jim.”

“I trust you know your limits,” Jim says. “But—” He sighs. “Just, if it gets too much, you’ll tell me, right? And we’ll leave. No questions asked.” He comes up behind Spock and circles his waist with his arms. In the mirror, Spock can see Jim’s eyes flutter close as he presses his cheek to Spock’s back. “It’s been a very long day, for you even more than me. It’s completely understandable if—” He huffs. “If you’re ‘closer to being overstimulated than is ideal.’”

“I will tell you,” Spock says. In truth, he thinks it will be fairly likely that he will get overstimulated tonight, but only if he does not take the precautions to ensure he doesn’t.

Jim kisses his shoulder. “I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready, my darling.”

The train is exceedingly crowded. Spock did not calculate for how busy this time of day would be, though he should have. He closes his eyes and leans against Jim just slightly when they start into town.

“Spock?” Jim murmurs.

Spock forces out, “People.”

“Should—”

“No.”

Jim shifts. Spock knows he wants to argue that they should get off the train, take the one going back, leave, but Spock knows just as much that that would probably be seen as rude to Jim’s parents, not to mention their friends (though he suspects the latter would not be offended).

They arrive at the restaurant and sit down at a large table, half booth-seating half chair. Spock and Jim take the side of the booth easiest to leave from, Jim’s idea, and Spock is thankful for it. This way, he is cushioned against Jim on one side, and open on the other side for a clear escape route. That I will not need.

Three times three is nine, three times four is twelve, four times four is—

“What looks good to everyone?” George is looking at his menu, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It’s the worst sound Spock’s ever heard.

It’s an old fashioned establishment, with physical menus, and Spock is grateful for the opportunity to hide his face behind one. He can already feel the control of his facial muscles abandoning him. First, there will be a blank mask, uncontrollable and unshift-able even if desired, not the way he usually keep his face expressionless, then he’ll start to cry and—

No. That will not happen.

Jim bumps the edges of their menus together, and hidden behind his own mouths, “You alright?”

Spock nods sharply.

He attempts to read the words on the page, but someone at the table is talking. He thinks it’s Scotty, but he hasn’t the faintest idea about what. English is already a fading concept, let alone with Scotty’s heavy accent, not the inflections Spock grew up learning Federation Standard with.

A finger inserts itself into Spock’s point of view.

“Tomato soup,” he hears vaguely, and realizes Jim is talking to him. He nods.

“There’s also carrot,” the voice says quietly, the finger moving. Spock nods again.

Tomato. It’s the first one he heard. He’ll go with tomato.

Three times three is nine, four times four is sixteen, four times five is twenty, five times five is twenty-five…

By the time the waiter arrives, Spock has gotten to thirty-eight times thirty-eight, and hasn’t lowered his menu. He thinks he might be able to speak now, at least.

“What can I get ya?” Pop.

Spock nearly drops his menu.

Pop. Shcccccchhhh. “Sounds good, Mrs. Kirk. What about you, Mr. Kirk?” Pop, tchaw, tchaw, tchaw. “That right? Why, Jim Kirk, you son of a gun! What brings you back into town?” Pop, tchaw, tchaw. “No kiddin’. Hey, you seen Barry Monroe yet? Bet he’s dying to get reaquainted.” Shcccccchhh. “Sure thing, Jamie-baby.” Somebody laughs, it sounds like Jim’s laugh. “Alright, and you, honey?” Tchaw, tchaw. “And you? Uh-huh. You? Mmmhmmm.” Tchaw. “Mmm? Mmmmmhmm! And you?” Tchaw. Smack! Tchaw. “You, honey?” Pop. “Honey?”

Jim taps Spock’s menu, and Spock quickly lowers it. “Yes,” he says. The words are coming out of his mouth like treacle, feel strange and uncoordinated. “I’ll have the—” No, that doesn’t sound right. “The—” That still doesn’t sound right. Why doesn’t it sound right?

“He’ll have the tomato soup, thanks,” Jim says, smiling up at their waiter.

Spock can now see—though they’re a blurry shape—the server in question. Bright blue—so alarming it hurts his eyes—hair is piled high over a white visor, and they’re wearing a white uniform that’s a different shade than the visor. Spock’s hands clench of their own volition.

Tchaw, tchaw, tchaw. Their mouth moves when that sound happens. Oh, Surak: they’re popping gum. “He alright?”

“He’s fine,” Jim dismisses. “Just tired. Standard isn’t his first language.”

Pop. Tchaw. A snort. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Standard…was he speaking Vulcan Standard just now?

Pop! Spock actually flinches at the sound, their waiter now disappearing from their table.

Everything’s so bright. Spock really wants to put his head down on the table.

Oh. His head is down on the table. Something’s shaking his arm. He’s standing now, that’s strange.

He looks around, vision tunnelling and fuzzy, and realizes that people are looking at him, watching him, and something is touching his arm, and someone very close by says a bunch of garbled sounds. Those sounds should be words, Spock is certain of it, but he can’t figure out what.

Spock is lead out of the restuarant, and as soon as the cold air hits him, he bursts into tears.

Chapter Text

Spock is silent the entire train ride back, and doesn’t say anything still when he and Kirk make their way up the stairs to Jim’s bedroom.

“Here.” Jim helps Spock shrug out of his coat, then leads him to sit on the bed.

Everywhere he is touched, Spock feels like he’s being stabbed.

Jim turns and begins rifling through Spock’s bag. Though it is illogical, a sense of heightened territorialism has begun inside him, and Spock grows tense watching Jim search.

Jim comes back with large, bulky headphones. He at first tries to put them on Spock’s head himself, then stops and offers them. Spock takes them quickly, snapping them over his ears. The sudden lack of sound is as freeing as it is terrifying.

Jim turns again and Spock regards him with curiosity as he looks around for something. He finally finds it—his PADD—and types something onto it urgently. When Jim shows the screen to Spock, written across it in big, sans serif font is: Get some rest. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.

Spock wants to protest (and a small part of him worries that this is Jim leaving him, but it’s a very illogical part that he does his best to ignore), but when he starts to shake his head, Jim types something else out. Even without his voice, Spock can picture the frustrated tone in which it is said; Will sleeping next to me will overstimulate you more?

Spock looks down at his lap. He hesitantly nods.

Jim taps his knee and makes Spock look back up into a screen that says, I love you.

Jim swiftly changes out of his dinner clothes and gives Spock one last, soft and adoring smile before he leaves.

After Jim gives his apologies and runs out with Spock still waiting outside, the atmosphere gets even more tense than it had been when Spock’s head made an abrupt “thunk” onto the table.

“Will he be alright?” George hedges.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Nyota says quickly. “Probably just tired, like Jim said. I wouldn’t worry, sir.”

“Aye,” Scotty agrees, although he doesn’t actually. “Long day, you know.”

“Does that happen often?” Winona is still staring at where her son once was.

Truth be told, Scotty has no idea. He’s seen it happen once before, while in a briefing meeting that kept getting interrupted. Though in that case, Spock went quiet and then when he tried to excuse himself delicately, somebody rushing in bumped into him and he started hyperventilating and squishing himself against the wall. It’d taken McCoy and a security guard to peel him off it.

“Just when he’s overwhelmed,” McCoy explains. “He’ll be okay once he gets a breather, really.”

“This is a nice restaurant!” Pavel says loudly across the table, an obvious diversion of the topic.

“It sure is!” Hikaru says instantly, nodding emphatically as Pavel starts saying rambling near-nonsense about the décor.

“Do you think they’re actually helping matters?” Nyota mutters to Scotty as she regards their friends. She’s smiling, but she’s got a tired look to her.

“I don’t know. Hope so?” Scotty says from the corner of his mouth.

Better distraction than Pavel’s at least somewhat faked enthusiasm over colour palettes arrives when their food comes. Scotty loves his Enterprise, but he has to admit non-replicated food is always better. He’d give it up—gave it up—for life on a starship, but it’s a wonderful comfort.

They leave the restaurant in a tense not-quite silence. Hikaru and Pavel are still talking to each other about something or other, but it’s stopped being a distraction for the Kirks and just become their own banter. McCoy is making stilted small talk with Winona, and George is looking tersely into the middle distance. Nyota comes up to Scotty and loops her arm into his, making an exaggerated shivering sound at the slightly cool air.

“What?” She asks when Scotty smiles down at her questioningly. “We’ve been in climate controlled environments for five years now, mister, this is quite the shock!” She shudders again. “Besides, San Fransisco was so much nicer compared to this…” Scotty can’t disagree there.

“Don’t go freezing,” McCoy says, and slips off his wool-lined denim jacket to slide around Nyota’s shoulders.

“Thanks, Leonard.” Nyota pulls the coat tight around herself and still stays attached to Scotty’s side.

“Homeward?” Scotty suggests.

“Yeah,” George grunts. “Let’s get going.”

The first thing Spock does when he wakes up is reach almost on instinct to the other side of the bed, but of course it’s empty.

Spock clenches his fist.

He gets dressed methodically, carefully not thinking about last night.

Upon making his way downstairs, Spock is greeted to the sound of voices that he can quickly pick out: Jim and his parents. Their words are unintelligible from Spock’s position. He suddenly gets the awful thought that they must be talking about Jim having slept on the couch, and are angry at Spock for pushing him out (not what happened, not what happened, he offered, it is entirely illogical to feel guilty).

Spock slumps on the stairs, a moment of weakness, because his heart is beating much to fast for even standing to be an option in the face of its marathon. Spock presses a hand to his side and counts backwards from ten silently.

Footsteps come marching up the stairs; Jim finds Spock while he’s counting the third round of tens.

“Hello.” Jim squats down on the step in front of Spock, frowning at him. “You okay?”

Spock grimaces lightly. “I shall be,” he says. “A…bout of anxiety, Captain.”

Jim’s eyebrows raise. “Been a few days since you’ve called me that.” He’s smiling just a little.

“A matter of habit.” Spock stands and offers his hand to help Jim up.

Jim steadies himself against Spock’s frame, though Spock suspects this is more for comfort than necessity. “Anxiety, Spock?”

Spock shakes his head. “Do not concern yourself with it, Jim.

“Though, I would ask you…what was your parents’ reaction to finding you asleep on the couch, and not in your room?”

Jim’s lips part and his eyes dart to one side, a nervous furl in his brow. Ah, just as Spock had feared then.

“It’s—they were surprised. But I explained that you needed space. That I offered space, and it wasn’t a big deal.” Jim cups Spock’s hands in his. “Really, darling, they understood. If that’s what you were anxious about, don’t be.”

Spock finds comfort in Jim’s words, but he’s not sure he entirely believes them.

Almost first thing in the morning, George asks Scotty if he’d be willing to help him with some more technical repairs around the house—mainly, the replicator.

Scotty holds out his hand. “Wrench, laddie.”

“Aye, sir.” Pavel slaps the tool into his palm. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the tool box while Scotty lies on his back half-inside the main replicator box.

The wirings of the old ones were, unfortunately, built around the tail-end of the era of technological planned obsolescence, and quite a few models got the short end of that stick. Scotty grunts; this one definitely did. They’ll probably have to get a whole new salt infuser…

“Thank you for your help.” George is standing to one side, in his greasy overalls, wiping his hands off on a rag. He’d gone in to try and fix it himself before he gave it over to the professional.

“Course. I don’t mind in the slightest getting back into the nuts and bolts.” Scotty sticks out his head. “I can’t even read the next issue of ma technical journals ’til next month.”

“You’ll live,” Pavel hums. He leans back on his hands. “How is it looking in zhere, Mr. Scott?”

“Ah figure I can fix her up in a jiffy.”

“And, uh, how quick is a jiffy?”

“Technical term,” Scotty says, grinning. “Give me two hours, Mr. Kirk, and ah’ll have her right as rain. Though I recommend replacing the salt infuser with a newer model, and ye could do with a new scrap blade for the attachment.”

There’s a mew from Pavel’s direction. Scotty looks out of his little mechanical alcove again, finding Daisy purring away happily on Pavel’s lap, and another cat has sat down beside him, batting curiously at his pants cuffs.

“You’re gettin’ popular, Pavel.”

Pavel nods, looking quite pleased with himself.

“The cats love you,” George confirms. He sighs. “It’s good to see Jim’s got such good friends. Y’know, when we let our kids go…we never really know what’s going to happen with their social lives.” He laughs. “And their romantic lives, well…”

Pavel and Scotty both look at George, before quickly meeting gazes.

George clears his throat, shrugs, and pink colours his cheeks. “I…don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Scotty doubts it.

Chapter Text

Winona is standing in the kitchen, looking over what she has in stock.

“Mom, you know we’ll take replicated—”

“No, you most certainly will not! Five years in space, eating that stuff, a real, home-cooked meal will do you some good.”

Jim sighs. “You know perfectly well that nutritionally—”

“Nutritionally my foot, young man. Food is about more than just nutrition.”

“Uh-huh. Y’know, I keep trying to tell Bones that, but he always insists I need to eat healthier anyways.”

Winona gives her son an unimpressed look.

Jim stands from the table to stand beside Winona. “What were you planning on making?”

“Nothing too fancy, but—well, last night we all went out to dinner, and that was…” Winona gives Jim a nervous smile. “Spock didn’t seem to take to it too much—which, of course, happens, it’s fine, really, but, well, a nice do-over would be something good, hmm?”

Jim personally finds it touching, though he worries that Spock will only feel guilty about it. He kisses Winona’s cheek and nods.

“Your smile…” Winona cocks her head, watching him.

“What about it?”

She smiles back. “Well, honey, I…it makes me think of when I asked your brother to bring Aurelean to dinner.”

Jim looks down. They don’t really talk about Sam much, or at least not about what it was like to lose him, just what it used to be like to have him.

“It’s a good thing,” Winona continues. “I missed that feeling.”

“What’s that, mom?”

“Feeling like I’m a good mother.”

Jim grimaces. “You are a good mother.”

“Of course I am,” she says, and Jim laughs. “But it’s always nice to see it in your son’s face.

“And I’m glad you have someone you love so much.”

Jim folds his arms across his chest. “I really hope you’ll love him as much as I do one day.”

Winona turns her attention back to what ingredients she has. “I know, Jim.”

As Winona rifles through her spice rack, she keeps muttering curses, quickly changed to less explicit words solely for the sake of her adult child, and then says, “I’ll have to run into town and pick up a few things.”

“No, stay.” Jim moves away from the counter. “I’ll go pick up whatever you need.”

“Are you sure, dear?”

“Yeah.” It’d be good to get out of the house anyway. “Give me a list, I’ll take McCoy, we’ll get it done.” He’s already heading to the door to slip on his coat.

McCoy agrees easily, and before they go, Jim dashes up the stairs to his bedroom.

Scotty and Pavel are out helping George with some more repairs (Scotty is helping, at any rate—Jim guesses that Pavel is entertaining the cats), the replicator working beautifully now; Hikaru is with the three, though reading Romancing the Vulcan instead of getting involved with the repairs (he was a little sheepish when he initially asked if he could borrow it, but after he got it, he was completely unabashed about devouring it and snickering at every other page); and Nyota is in her room watching the newest behind the scenes documentary of that Centaurian band that just broke up.

Jim opens the door just a crack, and there’s his boyfriend, sitting in a corner in a stone-still pose. Jim carefully tip-toes in, sitting across from Spock on the floor, cross-legged. Spock opens on eye almost immediately.

“Didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You did not.”

“Good.” Jim reaches out a hand and places it on Spock’s knee, rubbing gently. “Just came to say I’m going out to grab a few things from town, in case you went looking for me.”

Spock nods.

“Good meditation?”

“Adequate, yes.”

“Kiss before I go?”

Spock nods again. His motions are always slower after meditation, and Jim thinks he looks like some big cat, waking up from a nap in a sunbeam, pleasantly warm and refreshed and wondering why everyone thinks he looks so cute.

After the kiss, short and sweet, Jim gets up off the floor. “Be back in an hour, ish.”

“…sweet and condensed milk…I think that’s everything.”

Jim nods, leaning against the shopping cart as he and Bones slowly meander down the aisle.

“I don’t think we needed a whole cart for five items.”

“Needed? No. Wanted? Yes.”

Bones sighs. He picks up sweet and condensed milk from the shelf beside him and looks at it exasperatingly. “I often wonder if you’re secretly a six year old boy trapped in a man’s body.”

“I often wonder if you’re secretly a bitter, ancient wizard trapped in a man’s body.”

“Aw, damn it, Jim, you found me out.” Bones tosses the can into the cart.

“Jim?” The voice comes from behind them, and Jim turns towards it immediately, just as it continues, “Jim Kirk?”

The voice belongs to tall man with billows of loose black curls hanging around a dark, angular face. As soon as there glazes meet, the man smiles, all tooth. “Fuck, it really is you.”

He looks different than he did at fifteen, of course, but Jim knows his face well enough to know his name. “Barry.”

Bones clears his throat after a few seconds of awkward staring.

Jim laughs and holds out his hand. “It’s…good to see you.”

“You too.” Barry appraises Jim carefully, and his smile widens. “Very good. I guess what they say about starship captains is true, then: gotta keep in good shape.”

“I try. Don’t look too bad yourself.” Jim quickly turns towards Bones. “This is my friend, Leonard.”

“Nice to meet ya.

“Y’know, I ran into some of your crew the other day—”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“And you didn’t chase me down to come say hi?” Barry chuckles. “Jim, Jim, Jim.”

Jim blushes, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, under the scrutinizing eye of the surprisingly intimidating, very hot nerd who sat beside him in general sciences. “Busy. Family stuff, you know.”

“Hey, I get it.” Barry stuffs his hands in his pockets. “But, we should hang out while you’re in town. How long are you here?”

“Uh,” Jim says. He can make his own decisions, of course, he’s not beholden to anyone, but Spock definitely would be worried about him seeing Barry. “We just finished our five-year tour,” he decides on. “So it’s a bit open-ended at the moment, but probably only another week, if that.”

“Short notice, but I’m free tonight?”

“Er—see—wh-ell—”

“Jim,” Bones interrupts. “Maybe it would help Mr. Monroe to hear about your situation, instead of just making the poor man think you’re rejecting him flat out?”

Jim glowers at Bones, but shoots Barry an apologetic glance. “What my friend means to say is, I’d love to spend some time with you, but I should say that it’d only be platonically: I have a partner.”

Barry’s eyebrows raise, and his shoulders slump. “Really? Last I heard of the great Captain James T. Kirk, he was tomcat-ing around the known galaxy.”

“Yes, he was, but recently settled down with his first officer.”

“Ah, well, that’s okay. Can’t say I wouldn’t’ve loved to get a taste of Starfleet’s allegedly hottest captain, but it’d still be nice to—”

Jim’s communicator chooses that moment to go off, and he says a soft, “excuse me” before he answers, worried it’s Spock having a bad moment.

“Jim!”

“Dad, hi, what is it?”

Barry grins and leans a little closer. “Hello, Mr. Kirk!”

“Who’s that?”

Jim stifles a sigh. “Bones and I ran into Barry Monroe, actually, but, dad, what—”

“Barry! Good to hear ya, son! Haven’t seen you in months!”

“It hasn’t been that long, Mr. Kirk.”

“George, son, come on now.”

“Dad!” Jim snaps. “Why did you call?”

“Oh, right, well, your mother said she’s running low on cinnamon, if you boys could pick some up before you leave.”

“Yes, alright, we’ll do that. Goodbye now, da—”

“Oh, but take your time! Running into an old friend, we know how it gets.”

“Actually, Mr. Kirk,” Barry says. “Jim and I’re just arranging plans to see other later, I can’t keep him from you tonight.”

“Oh, nonsense, it’s nothing special tonight! Heck, why don’t you join us? Big family dinner with Jim’s crew!”

Jim stares at his communicator like it’s just started a countdown for nuclear annihilation.

“I couldn’t—”

“Aw, yes you could! Come on down!”

“Well, if you insist—”

“We do! Don’t we, Jim?”

Kaboom.

Tight-lipped and wanting to strangle someone or something, Jim bites out as politely as he can, “Bye now, dad.” He closes his communicator with a click and smiles warily up at Barry. “Well…we’ll see you tonight, then, I guess.”

Barry, to his credit, frowns at Jim’s expression and asks, “Is your partner not going to be okay with me—?”

“Oh, no, no, it’ll be—fine. Fine. He’s just a little…nervous. About everything. But, hey, the more the merrier!” And who knows? Maybe it really will all turn out just fine.

The train ride back is tense, to say the least.

“Jim,” Leonard says as the near their station. “I’m sure tonight will—”

“I’m not even worried about Spock and Barry, Bones.”

Leonard shuts his mouth. “Well,” he says. “That’s good.”

“My father,” Jim spits. “Is the one I’m absolutely furious with.” He’s been burning holes into the seat across from them the whole ride, and if it weren’t physically impossible, Bones suspects he’d see little trails of smoke coming from the fabric.

Leonard bumps his shoulder against Jim’s, and the man sags a little, some of his fight leaving him. “Kid, just because they’re not in the Spock fan-club yet doesn’t mean shit. You know it doesn’t.”

“Maybe not to me, but it means something to Spock. Hell, you know, it does mean something to me: it means how I feel about my parents. Sometimes, Bones, I don’t understand how I can love two people so much, and they don’t love the same person that I think the world of.”

“If family’s were easy, life’d be less rich.”

Jim laughs bitterly. “Sometimes I want plain milk, Bones, not sweet and condensed.”

“Don’t we all, kid.”

When they get back, Jim takes the groceries to the kitchen himself, and Leonard goes out to the patio. He expects it to be empty, to enjoy the view himself, but a hunched figure sitting on the steps obscures it. A little black and white ball of fluff comes scurrying up the steps and sits beside the figure, butting her head against its leg.

Where’s a ship’s counsellor when you need one? Leonard carefully sits down beside the brooding entity. “Hey there, Spock.”

“Good evening, Doctor.”

“Having a little pity party, are we?”

Spock stiffens and pointedly raises his chin. “No.”

“Uh-huh.” Leonard reaches out to scratch Daisy on his head, and she purrs appreciatively. “Well, least you’ve got this sweetheart with you!”

“Excellent,” Spock replies glumly. “The feline enjoys my company.”

Leonard sighs. “Aw, Spock, Winona and George’ll learn to love you. Hell, I did.”

“And how many years, exactly, of being in my constant company did it take for me to ‘wear you down,’ Leonard?”

It often amazes Leonard how quickly Spock can reduce his mental arguments to mush and leave him speechless. Often times, it’s with absolute cold-hearted bullshit like right now. Unfortunately, it can tend to be cold-hearted towards himself.

“Spock,” Leonard starts.

Spock reaches down and picks up Daisy, placing her in his lap to no protest. “I am grateful for your companionship, Doctor, but it does not ease my malcontent with my status to my in-laws.”

“…Yeah.” Leonard laces his hands together and looks out over the view. It’s still beautiful, despite the dour conversation. “Yeah, I get that.”

Jim finds his father and mother in the tiny half-room, half-nook they made into a library when he and his brother were kids. Both he and Sam were adamant readers at a young age, devouring every text in sight. And their parents loved them enough to encourage it.

Jim shuts his eyes and grits his teeth. He announces his presence by clearing his throat.

Winona turns first, and she smiles. “Jim! Thank you so much for—”

“You should not have invited Barry to dinner, dad. You know Spock is not in the right place for that, I told you to take it easy on him. I’m choosing to believe you just didn’t think of that, and it wasn’t for any malicious reason. Now I’m glad to see Barry again, and I will gladly spend a cordial evening with him and my friends and my parents, but I am very pissed off about this. And that’s the last I’m going to say of it.” Jim turns and stalks out.

Jim finds Spock sitting out on the back porch with Bones and one of the cats, who is—adorably—curled up half-asleep on Spock’s lap.

“Gentlemen.” Jim takes a seat in between them and smiles at the heap of fur spread across Spock’s legs. “Madame.” He looks up at Spock, saddened to see the clear discontent on his face. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Certainly, Jim.” Spock moves to gently take Daisy off of his lap, but Bones stand ups and says, “Stay there, I’ll leave you to it,” and walks off.

Jim places his hand on Spock’s arm. “I don’t want you to be anxious about this, but…well, Bones and I ran into Barry Monroe at the store, and then my dad called and…basically ended up inviting him to dinner at the house tonight.”

Spock tenses, and Daisy stops purring, fussing as she tries to get more comfortable on her suddenly stiff napping spot.

“Barry knows I’m not single,” Jim hastens to say. “He’s not coming here expecting to get ‘reaquainted’ in a romantic sense, or anything, it’s just a dinner. I know you didn’t want this to happen, honey, and I really, really am sorry, I don’t want it either.” Jim squeezes Spock’s arm. “I can’t lie to you and say I’m not happy to see him again, but I know it will make you uncomfortable, and that sucks every bit of joy right out of it.”

Several long seconds of silence later, Spock slides his hand overtop of Jim’s. “It is not out of jealousy,” Spock says. He’s speaking very quietly, a lot quieter than Jim expected.

“No,” Jim says. “I think it is.”

Spock furrows his brow, opens his mouth to argue.

“Not that you think I’d leave you for him, or cheat on you,” Jim explains. “But jealousy of my parents’ approval.”

Spock presses his lips together firmly, swallows.

“Oh, Spock…” Jim doesn’t know what else to say, so he says another whispered, “I’m sorry,” then a little louder, “I love you,” and kisses Spock’s forehead.

Spock’s grip tightens on Jim’s hand.

Chapter Text

Kirk stays out there with Spock for another half hour or so, mostly silent, occasionally rubbing Daisy’s belly until she decided she’d had enough (Jim now sports some very lovely scratch marks on his dominant hand, and the faint impression of teeth at the side of his palm).

When Bones comes back from his meander, all three go inside.

“Jim.” Winona is there, looking a little frantic. She smiles nervously. “Dinner should be in about two hours, dear. I-I’ve let the rest of your friends know, and your father has called Barry.”

Jim nods curtly, purposefully avoiding her gaze. “Got it.” He takes Spock’s hand in his. “Call me when you start dinner, I’ll help you.” He leads Spock upstairs without a second glance back.

Jim had thought he was more or less over his anger at his parents, but somehow seeing his mother so on edge made him even angrier. He sees Spock flinch as they walk, knowing he can feel all the frustration against his skin; Jim gently unlocks their hands. “Sorry, darling.”

Spock rubs his thumb over his palm firmly, probably not noticing the action. “It is quite alright, Jim.”

“Mmm. I’m just so—it’s so annoying! It’s like dealing with the Admiralty, only I’ve got no ship to command and Nogura can tell me a million times it’s not personal and I’ll know he’s right but this, this is the definition!” Jim stops his tirade at the door to their room. There he sighs and slumps against the frame, smiling tiredly over at Spock as he comes up beside him at a slower pace. “Speaking of annoying, I’m sure hearing my rage isn’t much fun, is it?”

“I do not like seeing you angry on principle, however…” Spock looks around the hall, then gently picks up Jim’s hand and pressed his knuckles to his lips. “I cannot deny that the reason for your anger brings me some pleasure.”

Jim admits himself surprised. “You like seeing me protective?” He asks, his eyebrows raised.

Spock looks pretty surprised himself. “Surely you knew that I consider your protection of those you care about one of your most admirable traits?”

Jim preens. “Well,” he says, a grin overtaking his face. He shifts his hand in Spock’s grip to run his fingers over his mouth. “Hmm, y’know, speaking of giving you pleasure…”

Spock’s eyes widen minutely. “Jim—” He starts, the edge of concern to his tone.

“Please? I’ll make it well worth your while.”

Spock shakes his head. “I do not doubt that. However the location—”

“After what they just pulled, to be completely honest with you, I’d be fine with my parents feeling the whole house shaking while I fuck you senseless.”

The words send a pretty blush to Spock’s ears. “Perhaps something less raucous,” he concedes. “You may be fine with it; I, however would prefer they not.”

“Alright, alright, fine, have it your way.” Jim is still grinning, even wider now. He pulls Spock into the room, locking the door swiftly behind them. “On the bed, baby.”

“Yes, Jim.” When Spock says his name like that, voice dropped down low and seductive, Jim thinks he’s just landed into one of his own sex dreams.

Jim is already tearing off his shirt as he stalks towards the man on the bed, himself slowly removing clothing.

“Fuck, let me show you how much I love you.” Jim tosses his flannel somewhere off into the recesses of the room and sits himself down on Spock’s lap. He fumbles with the zip to his fly, already growing hard himself at the firmness beneath his hand.

“I am well aware of the depth of your regard,” Spock says quietly.

“Then let me remind you,” Jim says. He kisses Spock’s cheek as he finally get his pants open. He wastes no time is taking out his cock, not bothering shuffling the pants farther down than they need to be to get his dick past the waistband of his underwear.

Spock’s fingers dig into Jim’s thighs, and his mouth clamps shut, breathing heavy through his nose. Their eyes become locked, and Jim sees nothing but lust in the dark gaze that stares back at him.

“Tell me how much you want me,” Jim demands, squeezing Spock’s cock lightly.

“I want you very much.” Spock shuts his eyes and hisses when Jim starts pumping him. It’s a slow, teasing affair. “Very much…beyond the want that any great poets have spoken of one person wanting another—” He cuts himself off with a cute little whimper.

“All this,” Jim purrs, leaning close. “From just a hand-job? Oh, I really lucked out with you, Spock.” He keeps up his pace, loving the feeling of Spock’s pulsing cock in his hand. He mouths at Spock’s neck, listening to his lover moan and whine at every twist and tug. It’s the first time since he’s been here he feels fully at home. It’s like the universe has condensed itself, folded outward, leaving only Jim and Spock and the room they sit in. “Tell me when you’re close, my love.”

“Close, Jim, I—” Spock sounds desperate, pleading.

“Good boy, good boy,” Jim mutters, and peppers his face with kisses while he speeds up his hand.

Spock cums with a long, drawn-out groan. His thighs tense and his hips buck, his eyes screw close and his teeth sink into one side of his bottom lip; two spurts of hot cum paint Jim’s fist. He keeps milking Spock through it, coaxing out little moans at every languid tug. Spock finally pushes Jim’s hand away.

Before Jim can ask teasingly if Spock enjoyed himself, he’s being man-handled onto the bed, and Spock crawls up between his knees. Spock strips Jim of his remaining clothes very efficiently, and once finished settles down between his spread thighs. Loving hands cup his hips gently; Spock makes eye contact just before he lowers his mouth onto Jim’s straining erection.

“Ahhhh, fuck,” Jim groans, threading his fingers through silky black hair.

Spock hums around him, rubbing his hips and up his stomach.

“So good to me…you’re so good to me, my darling…” Jim’s head knocks back against the wood frame of his bed, though the sound seems multiplied, somehow.

There’s another knock, this time distinctly from the direction of the door. Spock stills his movements and Jim leans up on one elbow. There’s a third knock.

“Yes?” Jim calls out in resignation.

“Your mother’s starting dinner,” comes George’s voice through the door.

Jim sighs. “I’ll be right down, I’m just going to have a shower!”

Footsteps retreat down the hall.

Jim sighs again as Spock draws off of him; his erection has wilted anyway. “Well,” he grumbles. “Number one thing that kills the mood is a parent’s voice…”

Spock kisses Jim’s shoulder. “Perhaps if I joined you in the shower…”

“No, no, it’s alright, I’ll be fine. Really, I just wanted to get you off.” He looks down at his hand, which he only now realizes is still sticky. “Mission accomplished.” He hops off the bed and heads towards the ensuite bathroom.

The knife makes a harsh sound against the cutting board. Jim has been chopping vegetables with the same fortitude as he would disarm an enemy on the Enterprise. The first couple times, McCoy jumped, and so did Uhura, but by now they’ve gotten used to it, though McCoy still looks annoyed at every sharp slam.

“Y’know,” the doctor drawls, placing his hand on Jim’s forearm to steady it. “That can’t be good for the blade.”

“Who are you, Sulu?”

“You’re bitchy.”

Jim shrugs off McCoy’s hand and continues chopping, though a little gentler now.

The three of them—Nyota, Jim, and McCoy—are in the kitchen helping Winona cook, although she’s stayed mostly to the sidelines, commanding the team rather than interfering. Nyota has a feeling it’s because of Jim’s knife-wielding.

“So.” Nyota slides up to the vegetable massacre site. “Done with the carrots?”

“What? Oh, yeah.” Jim blinks down at the now very finely chopped carrots on the board. “Er, thanks.”

“Mmmhmmm.” Nyota carefully scoops them into the bowl with the other vegetables he’s been cutting, all extremely small. Nyota has a feeling that they were meant to be diced, not minced, but she’ll hardly say that. Whatever is going on with Jim (alright, it’s definitely the Barry and his parents thing, but still, whatever specifically is irking him about it) is his to sort out in whatever matter he deems fit. As long as he keeps the knives to the food, all’s well.

Nyota brings the vegetables over to Winona, who gives her thanks before placing them into the shepherd’s pie mix she’s been working on.

“You and Leonard are very kind to be helping out,” Winona says, for about the ninth time in forty minutes.

“It’s no trouble,” Nyota assures her. “I’m not much of a cook, but I know Leonard missed it terribly when we were on duty.”

“As a leisure activity!” McCoy calls over his shoulder. “Not as a necessity. Lord knows having replicated food on the ready is a God-sent for busy schedules.”

Nyota clasps her hands behind her back. “Anything else I can help with?”

“Yes, dear, if you start the glaze for the cake, that would be lovely. There should be a recipe out already.”

“Coming right up.” Nyota goes to the computer installed in the wall and sees a yellow information card with glaze—lemon chiffon scrawled hastily on it laying beside the input.

As she’s making the glaze, she sees Jim tersely mashing potatoes, his anger now being used in bludgeoning instead of slicing. When the bowl makes an especially rough sound against the counter and McCoy takes half a step back, Nyota decides she should probably intervene.

“Captain?” She tries, and that immediately makes Jim stand up straighter. He glances at her, confused, then slightly sheepish.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll not break anything,” he says.

Nyota looks down at the bowl then up at her friend’s face, not bothering to convey her skepticism with words.

Jim sighs, sliding the bowl away from himself. “I’ll just go take a walk…”

“Jim.” Nyota follows after him, hurriedly shuffling on her shoes as he leaves the house. “If you want to talk about it—”

“What’s to talk about?” Jim sounds defeated. “His whole life Spock’s—he’s never—the world sees him as an anomalymore than a person: on Earth or on Vulcan. I want to be the person who he doesn’t feel that way around, the person who makes places feel like home, and when I bring him to the place that was my home—” Jim throws one hand up in the air; Nyota thinks she sees the beginning of tears in his eyes. “He’s judged for another thing he’s expected to live up to and no matter how hard he tries will never quite be seen as fulfilling it.”

They’re a few feet from the house now. Jim looks a tableau, the sort of picture Nyota’d imagined when she first heard of the fabled Nowhere, Iowa boy who rose the ranks faster than the rest. Starfleet’s youngest captain and a hotshot, romancing left and right. Only she’d pictured him smiling.

“They’re my parents.” Jim runs his hands over his face. “How is it possible to love somebody and want to despise them?”

Nyota shrugs. She glances up at the sky, the sun still high above them. “One of the great mysteries?” She suggests.

Jim snorts. “I went into Starfleet to solve mysteries.”

“But our universe—” Nyota comes closer, gesturing to the world at large. “She’s endless. You can’t solve them all.”

Jim concedes this with a tiny nod, accepting Nyota’s side-hug.

“I really will take a walk,” he says after a few seconds. “Clear my head. Try to. Thanks, Nyota.”

“Of course, Captain.”

As Jim walks off, Nyota heads back to the house, intercepted by Pavel leaving.

“Hi. How’s the repairing going?”

“Fine. But, eh…” Pavel scratches the back of his neck, blushing. “Vell, Scotty didn’t quite say I was getting in zhe way more zhan helping, but…”

“Ah, yes,” Nyota laughs. “He can not-quite-say things pretty loudly, especially when mechanics are involved.”

“Da.” Pavel sticks his hands in his pockets. “I thought you were cooking?”

“Oh, yeah.” Nyota glances once over her shoulder. “I was. Just took a minute, breath of fresh air.”

Pavel’s brow furrows and he pouts a little. “Zhe keptin?”

Nyota sighs. She gestures for Pavel to sit down next to her on the porch step. “He’s having a bit of a rough time. I was so worried about Spock, but they’re both sort of being put through the wringer here, albeit in very different ways and in very different intensities.”

Pavel nods as he takes his seat. “I really vish ve’d just all gone to Risa or something.”

Nyota laughs, “Risa would’ve been nice.”

“Cocktails, beaches…”

“Dancing, music…” Nyota knocks her shoulder lightly against Pavel’s. “Maybe after this trip. The nice thing about a long mission is the long breaks they give you before new assignments.”

“I’m not sure Mr. Scott or Keptin Kirk vould agree vith you.”

“Workaholics,” she accuses breezily.

Pavel gives a long, drawn out sigh. “I vonder vhat ve can do. To, you know, make zhings better.”

“That’s the thing, Pavel: I don’t think we really can. Except tell Spock and Jim that we love them, and we’re there for them.”

“Mmm. Still, it—” Pavel’s cut off by the door opening, George Kirk stepping out onto the porch.

“Oh, hello! Sorry, didn’t mean to bother you kids. Just, ah, left some tools out here.”

Nyota nods, and Pavel gives a little “mmhmm.” In Russian, Nyota mutters, “You were saying?”

George clearly perks up a little, realizing they’ve purposefully switched from Standard. He looks wary: Nyota kind of likes it, after the grief her friends have been through this trip.

“I still wish there was something more. I don’t really know how, but…”

“Honestly, Pasha, Risa’s not a far-off idea. Give them some honey-moon time.”

Pavel looks genuinely confused. “They got married?”

Nyota tries not to laugh. “No, sweetie, I meant metaphorically.”

“Oh! Good, for a moment I wondered if I’d missed something.

“But yeah, it might be nice…doesn’t Dr. McCoy know somebody on Risa that could set up a place to stay?”

“I think so, an old medical school friend.”

Their conversation is cut short with a clearing of a throat. Pavel and Nyota both look up at George, shifting from foot to foot.

“Pavel,” he says. “Would you mind if I borrowed Nyota for a minute?”

“No,” he says, though he glances at his friend hesitantly before standing. “I’ll just be getting back inside…” He starts to back into the house, muttering, “See if Scotty needs more help vith tools, or if…Hikaru needs help reading…”

Nyota stands too. “Yes, Mr. Kirk?”

George takes a deep breath. “I’ve come to understand—or think I understand—that you and Spock are…fairly close. Closer than he is to anyone else here, except possibly Leonard, although to be honest with you I’m still a little unclear on their dynamic.”

Nyota considers herself flattered, and she also considers that a reasonably accurate assessment. “And besides Jim.”

George slowly nods. “Right,” he agrees. “And besides Jim.” He clears his throat. “Well anyway, you know, it’s…we don’t mean to make things awkward or…uncomfortable for our son. Or his friends. And you know, just cause we don’t really like Spock doesn’t mean—” He cuts himself off and shuts his eyes, muttering a curse under his breath. Nyota can see Jim in his expression, and she really hates it. “I just mean, you know, it’s, ah, we’re very glad you’ve been helping Spock try to connect with us, with the whole flowers and candy and gifts and everything.”

Nyota nods, slowly crossing her arms. “Of course. Spock is a dear friend. Though you should know that the gift idea was initially his.”

George looks surprised.

“He wanted to earn your favour,” Nyota explains, then adds with a colder tone, “Though I don’t know why. From the minute he’s showed up here, you nor your wife have seemed very interested in extending the same curtesy to him.”

George frowns, open his mouth, but Nyota continues, “I am you guest, so I’ve tried to be polite, but Spock is, basically, your son-in-law, whether you like it or not, and I don’t see why—”

George blanches now. “Lieutenant Uhura,” he starts.

“—You can’t treat him, if not as family—as you definitely should—then as you’ve treated the rest of us. This isn’t some ‘bad influence’ situation, Spock and your son love each other very much and if you cared to listen to what either has been saying—”

“Excuse me.”

Nyota turns. There, standing at the bottom of the stairs, is Barry Monroe, donning dress casual clothing and with a bouquet in one hand, a white pastry box in the other. He smiles charmingly, though he does appear slightly concerned. “Dinner was for seven, wasn’t it?”

Chapter Text

As the flowers are placed in a vase on the table, Spock cannot help but notice that even without coaching or moral support, Barry has managed to determine what would be best to bring to the family of someone he’s courting.

No, not courting: Jim made it clear that Barry was clear on his relationship status. Although Jim can be too trusting sometimes, and Spock is not willing to believe that Barry isn’t interested with one hundred percent certainty. Sixty is about as generous as he’s willing to be at the moment.

Barry is laughing and talking with George and Winona at the door as he steps out of his coat. The bouquet he brought was taken quickly by Mrs. Kirk and placed front and centre on their dining table, and the box brought with him was pastries for desert that Barry remembered the Kirks liking from his coffee shop. Yes, his coffee shop—it appears he is not only a barista, but an enterprising business man with high culinary skills.

A hand clasps Spock’s shoulder, startling him. “Spock,” Jim says softly. “Baby, remember what I said.”

“What, exactly, am I to remember?” Spock mutters back. “That you will not stray from our relationship, that Barry has no intention of wooing you this evening, or that you yourself know for a fact that Barry is preferred over me by your parents?”

Jim sighs. “Well, preferably the first two.”

Barry looks in their direction, and he smiles. “Jim.”

“Barry.” Jim’s palm lingers a moment on Spock’s arm, then he greets Barry with a handshake. “This is Spock, that partner I was telling you about.”

Barry’s eyebrows raise. “Hey, long time no see! D’your friend enjoy the coffee?” He offers his hand, then seems to remember himself and tucks it behind his back.

“You would have to ask her,” Spock replies.

“…Right.” Barry clears his throat. “Come on, Jim, introduce me! Dying to meet the people that swept you away from Riverside.”

“No Starfleet recruiters here, Barry.” Jim claps his back and leads him into the living room. “But I guess I can let you meet my crew.”

Nyota slides up to Spock while Jim gives the introductions. “If you need anything, Spock—”

“I am adequate.”

“Yes, of course you are. But if at any point you’re not—”

“I will let you know.” Spock exhales sharply. He twists his fingers together behind his back in some abysmal effort to calm himself. “Thank you, Nyota.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

They all sit down to eat; Spock and Jim are sat beside each other, but, unfortunately, Barry is sat on Jim’s other side, George and Winona across from the trio.

Barry begins diligently eating dinner, smiling up at his hosts every so often to bestow praise.

“Oh, Barry,” Winona sighs. “We haven’t seen you in such a long time!”

“Aw, Win, you saw me last month!”

“Sure, but not properly, mister!” She tuts and laughs airily. “Oh, and it’s been ages since you and Jim last saw each other!”

“Mom,” Jim says lowly, as Barry says, through a hasty chuckle, “Ten years is a long time, I’ll agree.”

That seems to snap Jim out of his annoyance. “Ten?” He repeats. “No, it can’t be that long…can it?”

Barry nods, stuffing another fork-full of food into his mouth. “Think so,” he says. “Last time you came to stay with your parents.” Here he pauses, and places his hand on Jim’s; Spock immediately tenses, and doesn’t bother undoing the reaction once he’s realized it. Though they are both Human, and the touch is innocent if affectionate, there is a part of Spock’s brain that can’t help but think of it as kissing.

“By the way, I heard about Georgie—I’m sorry.”

Jim frowns a moment, confused. Then he swallows. “Oh. Yeah. Well. These things…happen. Space…dangerous, you know.”

“Georgie?” McCoy is the one who asks.

“My brother,” Jim says tightly. “Uh, Barry called him Georgie.”

Barry snorts. “Everybody always looked so confused when you’d talk about Sam. D’you, when we first met, I thought this ‘Sam’ was your girlfriend. Then I thought he was your boyfriend. Then I felt like an idiot when I realized George Samuel Kirk had a smartass brother who liked to call him by his middle name of all things.”

Jim tries and fails to stifle a grin. “Not that ridiculous.”

“Whatever you say, Tiberius.”

Jim starts laughing, and Barry laughs along with him. Their camaraderie is easy, no miscommunications, no awkward pauses, only wistful shared memories and inside jokes.

As though sensing his disquiet, Jim glances over at Spock. He slides his hand, under the table, onto the other’s knee.

George is laughing, too. “These two—always manage to brighten the room when the two of you get together.”

Jim comes out of his amusement from that statement, and there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. Barry doesn’t, of course, and laughs louder as he nods.

“God, when we were kids…I’m not sure how much trouble I got you in, Jim, but whatever it was, it wasn’t enough.”

Jim smiles tightly. “Ah, well—”

“I once,” Barry starts, planting his elbow on the table and leaning across Jim to address the rest of their friends. “Had this man sneak out of his bedroom window for a secret date at three in the morning.”

Pavel chokes out his drink and Scotty starts smirking and Hikaru gives a, “Damn, Captain.”

Jim is blushing, but Spock can feel the pride radiating off of him. “Well—”

“Jim!” Winona gasps.

“Oh, come on, it was perfectly innocent! We were fifteen!”

“Exactly!”

“Is that where you got off telling girls at the Academy that you were a secret bad boy in your youth?” McCoy stabs at his dinner and looks up at Jim. “I always thought that was a load of shit, pardon my language, Mrs. Kirk.”

“Wooing women with that old-school, ‘I’m a rough and tumble farm boy’ charm, hmm?” Barry leans on his fist, smiling at Jim until his eyes crinkle.

“Not just women,” Jim says. “But hey, it worked.”

“They took pity on you.”

“Shut up, Bones.”

“They did! Every last one of them.” McCoy points his fork directly at Spock, and when they lock gazes, Spock sees some sort of understanding, though he’s not entirely sure why. “Even the Vulcan, here. Pity.”

Jim’s grin widens. He turns his attention to Spock and looks at him with that same besotted look he did when first kissed. It’s the expression that made Spock even realize how powerful the word “adoring” was. “That explains it,” he says cheerfully. “How else could I have managed to score you?”

“Through a stubborn but admirable reliance on ‘gut instinct’ and an intrinsic affection for all things living.” It’s an honest truth, but as the table grows silent, Spock considers that perhaps it was an inopportune moment to say it.

Jim is still grinning, at least. “So it wasn’t my bad-boy charm, then, either?”

Spock purses his lips against a smile. “No, Jim.”

With dinner over, everyone retires to the living room. Barry is once again charming the pants off of George and Winona. Although, Leonard is begrudgingly getting kind of charmed himself. The guy is nice, and interesting, and polite. And damn it, he makes fun of Jim in the sort of playful “no hard feelings” way that takes him down a peg but also makes him preen like a peacock; maybe Leonard sees something of himself in Barry.

Actually, that seems to be unanimous: even Nyota, the most hard-pressed to not be swayed by his banter, is softening to him. Spock is, naturally, the only outlier. Leonard sees him moping (“Vulcans do not mope” plays automatically in his head) in the corner while Barry entertains everybody. He’s beside Jim, and Jim has one arm slung lazily around his shoulders, but his attention is solely on Barry. Yeah, if Leonard were Spock, he’d be a little miffed about the evening, too.

Leonard stands, trying to make it seems leisurely. “Pleasure as this is, I’m sure we can’t let those dishes just sit there on the table. Spock, help me clear up?”

“Oh,” says Winona, startled. “You don’t have to—”

“No bother, no bother.” Leonard is heading towards Spock on his way to the kitchen already, and grabs him by the bicep to tug him up (of course, it’s only for show—if Spock really wanted to, he could’ve stayed put, given their relative strengths).

They enter the kitchen and the swinging door between the two rooms comes to a slow close.

“You’re welcome,” Leonard says.

“I do not believe I said thank you.”

“In my head you did.” Leonard starts grabbing the dishes, putting them in the sink. “Had a feeling you didn’t want to be there.”

“I did not realize that was so obvious.”

“To me.” Leonard turns and points an accusing finger at his friend. “I know you, Spock. Try as you might’ve to get me not to.” He keeps cleaning. “Listen, kid, I’m sorry Barry is so nice. Honestly, I would’ve preferred to hate his guts.”

“Then you also find him agreeable?”

“Hell, Spock, I find him down-right delightful.”

“Doctor, I am hard-pressed to find where in this conversation you are supposed to be alleviating me of hardship.”

Leonard places the last of the dishes he’s carrying into the sink and turns on the tap. “I’m trying to be empathetic here, man. You’re not making it easy.”

“My sincerest apologies, Doctor.”

“You’re being snarky, that’s a good sign.” When Leonard turns back, he catches the slightest smile on Spock’s lips before he schools his features. “Barry is nice. But, you know. He’s  not you. Jim loves you, we all love you, not him.”

Spock’s eyebrows raise. He locks his hands behind his back like he’s about to give a really uppity speech that, annoyingly, he’s going to be justified in and right about. “You love me?” He asks.

Leonard rolls his eyes. “Course I do, you green-blooded idiot. I’ve said as much before!”

“True. However not quite with such directness.”

“You and your directness. I love you, happy?”

“Vulcans—”

“Yeah, you must be feeling better.”

Spock shrugs.

Leonard snorts and gets back to washing the dishes. “But I’m making my point, right? Barry is shiny and new—that doesn’t mean he’s better. Believe me, he isn’t.”

Spock comes over to Leonard’s side and picks up a towel to begin drying. “That was not the reason for my discomfort,” he says quietly. “Again, the issue arises not from you nor the crew, but—”

“Our lovely hosts.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, you’re shit out of luck there, Spock, I have no wise, comforting words about that.”

Spock takes a plate sharply from Leonard’s hands. “Again, I fail to see how this is supposed to ease my malcontent.”

“You must have memorized the Standard thesaurus, I swear to God.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

Spock doesn’t press the issue, but again, he’s smiling a little. Smirking, even. It’s the first time Leonard’s seen that expression all trip.

When the washing up is done, they both make their way back to the living room, where discussion of desert is coming about. Before he can get crowded back into the kitchen, Nyota grabs him and pulls him aside.

“Leonard,” she says urgently. “You went to medical school with a Risan, didn’t you?”

“Uh, yeah. Madison Stone. Why?”

Nyota smiles mischievously. “Pavel and I had this idea…”

Chapter Text

Pavel takes his seat next to Hikaru at the table. “Hey, did you finish zhe book?”

“Oh, yeah.” Hikaru leans back in his chair, mulling. “Okay,” he says after a beat, his face slightly red and keeping his voice quiet. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but it was kind of…good? I mean it was bad, but it was sort of genuine near the end. There’s this big dramatic love confession, and they go off and get married…I don’t know, it got to me.”

Pavel grins. “Aw, you’re a big softie.”

Hikaru snorts and crosses his arms. “Yeah, well, blame the heathen who wrote that book. I said the ending got to me, but the rest of it really was just porn.”

“…Good porn?”

“Pavel! …It was fine. A little unrealistic, but not impossible.”

“Hmmm.”

“You’re not reading it.”

“Uh!”

“We all signed a contract with Kirk to keep you innocent.”

“I’m your boyfriend!”

“The contract didn’t have any clauses related to relationship status.”

Pavel glowers at Hikaru, who grins widely and smugly.

“You look like the cat who got the cream.” They’re both startled by Barry coming in between them to deliver plates of dessert, which he and Mr. and Mrs. Kirk have been handing out.

Hikaru’s grin grows. “I’m just teasing Pavel.”

“He von’t let me read a book.”

Barry frowns at them, going to sit down at his place at the table—conveniently right beside the captain. Spock doesn’t look too pleased about that, but it is Spock, so Pavel’s not one hundred percent sure he’s reading that right.

“Oh,” says Jim. “The romance novel?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Jim says, and Hikaru snickers, and which Pavel kicks him under the table.

“Keptin, zhere’s no actual contract, right?”

Jim shrugs. “Nothing in writing.”

“I’m twventy-eight!”

“You’re eleven, Pavel,” Nyota says.

Dessert is good, a combination of the chiffon cake Mrs. Kirk made and the pastries Barry brought. As Pavel scarfs down his last bite of danish, he takes a moment to feel a little bad about liking Barry’s baking. At least the rest of the crew seems to like it as much (if not more: Scotty looks like he’s about to cry from happiness).

“Pavel, I talked to Leonard.” Nyota’s quietly spoken Russian, right beside him, catches his attention.

“Why are we being Russian?"

“It’s about the Risa Idea. I just thought maybe we wouldn’t want to broadcast it."

“…Eh, you know people still know we’re talking, right?”

“We’ll say we’re practicing—” Here she throws in some Swahili curse that probably means “idiot (affectionate).”

“What was your Risa idea?"

Pavel and Nyota both look up sharply, finding Barry, across from them, smirking as he finishes eating. “Sorry for interrupting,” he says smoothly. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“You speak Russian?” Pavel squeaks.

“Only a little. Learned in college as an…” Barry takes a moment. “Extracurricular,” he says in Standard, laughing. “Never did learn any academic words.”

Nyota is frowning, and Pavel sees her leg tap anxiously underneath the table. “We were discussing something private.”

“They like to practice!” Scotty suddenly blurts out, and McCoy nods emphatically.

Nyota sighs. “They never bought the practice excuse, I guess.”

“Sorry,” Barry says, seemingly sincere. “That was rude of me.”

Nyota and Pavel both shrug and go silent, as some chatter slowly begins to come up around the table.

When desert is over, Nyota corners Pavel to talk again. “The Risa Idea.” Everyone else is in the living room, and they’ve agreed to stay behind in the kitchen and “do the dishes” (Pavel saw McCoy rolling his eyes at Nyota when she said that, though he’s not sure why).

“What? Oh, the Honeymoon Idea.”

“Adorable.

“Listen, Pavel, I talked to McCoy. He’s still in contact with his friend, and he said she can get us a shuttle leaving pretty soon. We get everyone else on board—that shouldn’t be too hard—and we keep it a secret from Spock and the captain. You talk to Hikaru, I’ll talk to Scotty; it’ll be perfect! Leonard figured he could get us a bustling, tropical spot for nearly fifteen days.”

The door swings open just as Nyota finishes her excited ramble. Of course Barry is the one standing there: Pavel thinks maybe there’s something strange going on with the fabric of the universe in regards to coincidences.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I just…wanted to bring in some coffee cups from the other room.” He drops them into the sink and wipes his hands awkwardly on his pant-fronts. “I’m sorry about earlier. And, uh, for what I heard now. Not that I—I didn’t hear anything, of course.”

“Of course,” Nyota says coolly.

Barry clears his throat, looking around nervously. “Have I…done something to offend you?”

“Hmm? Me?” Nyota looks honestly surprised.

“Yeah, I—you’ve seemed on edge around me all night.”

“It’s not you,” Pavel says hurriedly. “It’s, ah, vell…”

“Spock’s a little—Jim—” Nyota stumbles over her words; Pavel’s never quite seen her so out of sorts. “Barry, it’s been very nice to meet you, I’m just being a bit overprotective of my friend. Really, that’s all.”

Barry looks confused, glancing at Pavel first, then his eyebrows raise in understanding. “I know Jim’s taken,” he says, forehead creasing. “I’m here to talk to an old friend.”

“Of course you are,” Nyota says. “But…it’s nothing, really.”

“What, does Spock think I’m trying to seduce Jim or something?”

Nyota purses her lips as she tries to come up with a response and Pavel decides he should really be quiet because he’s not gonna give any good answer, either.

Barry scoffs, “Fuck, I flirted with him when I first saw him because I’m his ex, obviously I found him attractive at some point. And we ended on good terms and, yeah, he’s still eye-candy. But I’m not a home wrecker.”

“Of course you’re not,” Nyota again placates. “It’s an awkward situation, that’s all. And the first time Spock’s dealing with Human dating. We’re all being a little overly cautious.”

Barry slowly nods, his ire seeming to have faded. He crosses his arms, though, and mutters, “You weren’t in here talking about me, were you?”

“No!” Pavel chirps. “No, absolutely not!”

“No, we weren’t.”

Barry nods again. “Then just secretly planning a trip to Risa to, what, elope or something?”

“First of all,” Nyota says, patting Pavel’s arm sweetly. “Gross. But second of all, sort of, yes. Not to elope, just a secret trip to surprise Jim and Spock. That’s all.”

Barry hums. “S’good idea. Jim likes places where you can be active and get drunk. And Vulcan is pretty hot, right? I’m sure Spock’s probably sick of Earth climate already.”

“I’d hope not, given he’s been travelling on an Earth ship for almost twenty years now,” Nyota points out.

“Oh.” Barry leverages himself off of the counter he was leaning against. “Y’know, I never thought of that. Huh.” He starts to grin, turning towards the door. “Excuse me—and I really am sorry about interrupting.” Barry disappears into the living room.

Spock is busying himself pretending to listen to McCoy’s explanation of a procedure he got invited to watch be performed in Tokyo in a few month’s time. Any other day, and Spock’s sure the topic would be fascinating, but at the moment his mind is unfortunately preoccupied.

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?”

“Certainly.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Spock.”

Spock raises a pointed eyebrow.

McCoy sighs. “Okay, where was I…?”

In his peripheral, Spock can see Barry leave the kitchen and make a beeline for Jim. His heart squeezes uncomfortably.

The two speak together for a few minutes—McCoy’s voice is purely white noise at this point—and soon George and Winona join them. They make quite the picture, the four of them, and Spock realizes that they fit in a way that Spock is not sure he ever will.

It’s not like he’s unfamiliar with the sensation: on Vulcan, he would stick out. His father would fit into family gatherings; Spock and his mother, not so much. And it didn’t take long until his father didn’t quite fit, either.

Spock only comes out of his depressing thoughts when Barry turns and starts towards McCoy and himself.

“Hi, Leonard,” Barry says with a smile. “Can I borrow Spock for a second?”

McCoy looks between the two men, grimacing. “Yeah, guess so. I’ll, uh, tell you more about it later, Spock.”

As McCoy leaves and Barry takes his chair, Spock shifts so he’s sitting up straighter, careful to keep himself composed.

“I had an interesting conversation with Nyota and Pavel in the kitchen,” Barry begins. “They seem to think you’re worried I’m gonna, like, take Jim away from you or something. Or, you know, try to.”

“Interesting,” Spock agrees.

“I wanted to set the record straight that I’m—I’m really, really not. I swear.” Barry is holding his hands tightly together in his lap, and his eyes are large and pleading. It reminds Spock a little bit of Jim’s own begging expressions.

Spock tips his head. “Very well. If that is all you would like to discuss—”

“Uh, actually, there was one more thing: it’s a professional question.”

What interest Barry would have about Starfleet is beyond Spock.

“Mine,” Barry clarifies. “But sort of yours, too. While you were in space, did you ever recreate any Vulcan…for lack of better word, cause I know it’s not quite right, pastries? Replicated or by hand?”

Spock blinks at Barry for at least fifteen seconds. “…Yes, approximately one hundred and ten times.”

Barry’s eyes go as wide as his earlier pleading. “You know that just off the top of your head? Man, I guess what they say about Vulcans and numbers is true, too.

“Okay, well, anyway, I wanted to know how you compensated for atmospheric pressure and humidity and heat; from what I know of Vulcan cooking, there’s a lot of exact science to it. Hell, it’s like that for Terran stuff, too, and I can’t imagine it would be a simple transfer of recipes. Since you’ve spent a lot of time in an Earth-like atmosphere and I assume grew up on Vulcan…” Barry shrugs. “I-I don’t have a lot of resources on this sort of thing, and I’ve been trying to expand my offerings. We get a lot of aliens coming in, and I feel like I can’t offer them anything from their culture except the stuff that basically all Terrans know how to make, in this day and age.”

Spock is speechless.

“…Aliens is still the right word, isn’t it?”

“Affirmative,” Spock mutters. “I merely did not expect…this conversation.” Spock reaches into his pockets to pull out his personal communicator. “I would send you some of my observations and resources I know of; please input your contact information.”

Barry perks up as he takes Spock’s communicator. “Great! Thank you! You don’t mind if I ask you more questions over messages? I don’t want to bother you.”

“It would be no bother.” Spock is, in fact, starting to see why his friends like Barry, and why Jim would once think him a suitable partner. “I am still on leave for several more weeks, if not months, until my next assignment.”

Barry laughs, handing back Spock’s communicator. “You know, I should’ve figured: when Jim said he was settled with his first officer, I was picturing some supermodel with an aptitude for astrophysics, but I certainly didn’t expect a Vulcan. Jim’s always been the type for surprises.”

Spock nods. “It seems many we have met were surprised by our relationship. An emotional being like Jim and…a Vulcan.”

“Well,” Barry says, shrugging. “I’m not that surprised. I mean, besides the Vulcan part, you fit what I was picturing.”

He does? A supermodel with an aptitude for astrophysics? Spock cocks his head, asks a quiet, “Excuse me?”

Barry shrugs again. “Listen, you’re gorgeous, and you’re clearly pretty intelligent—although I’m a little disappointed we didn’t get more science talk in. Not that I’d be in any of your leagues here, but, you know, I was nerd back in the day.” He smiles sheepishly. “Buuuut I’m guessing a partner’s old boyfriend showing up can be kind of…frazzling for anyone, Vulcan or not, huh?”

Spock hesitantly gives his agreement.

“Between you and me—” Barry leans forward conspiratorially. “I was thinking maybe I’d get back with Jim this trip, when I first heard he was in town. Even just a one-night thing. But finding out he was with somebody, well, that’s great. He seems to really love you; Jim always has his heart on his sleeve. To be honest, finding out he was with you was a little disappointing for different reasons.” Barry looks away. “I almost thought about giving you my number when you showed up in my shop.”

“I beg your pardon?” Spock blurts out, completely plussed by this information.

“I’ve got a thing for tall, mysterious guys,” Barry says, blushing slightly. “Between you and Jim, I probably would have wanted to ask you out more, anyway. I know me and Jim together: we work better as friends, maybe for a quick, ahem, hook-up, ya know?”

“Aw, Barry, I’m hurt.”

Spock and Barry both look up, finding their conversation intruded upon by Jim, his arms crossed and a poorly stifled smirk on his face.

Barry takes a moment to look embarassed, then laughs it off. “Only the honest truth, Jim.” He stands up. “I should be heading out, actually. Early day tomorrow.

“Spock, I’ll message you. Thanks again.” Barry hugs Jim tightly, then ends the embrace with a pat on the arm. “I’ll say goodbye to your folks and be off. It was good seeing you.”

“Yeah, it was good seeing you, too.”

Barry winks over his shoulder as he walks away, saying to Spock, “Good luck with this one.”

Jim takes Barry’s previous seat. “Good talk, lover boy?”

Spock raises an eyebrow and makes Jim start to snicker. “Actually, Jim, we had a very intriguing conversation. I may have been too hasty in judging him.”

“May have?”

“I was,” Spock corrects.

“It’s not like I can blame you, honey.” Jim reaches over and squeezes Spock’s knee. “But it’s all good now, yeah?”

Spock glances over at Barry and the Kirks. They hug him like he’s their dearest son and Spock can pick up bits and pieces of their words: “Come back soon” “Wonderful to see you” “Oh, you dear” “Shame you have to leave so early.”

“Yes.” Spock strokes his thumb over Jim’s knuckles, keeping his gaze firmly on their hands. “Yes.”

Chapter Text

Spock and Jim walk hand in hand down the quiet road just outside the Kirk’s house. It’s just past ten and everyone else has turned in.

It’s a warm night, but even so Spock has on a jacket, and his non-holding hand is stuffed in the pocket. Jim spends the walk looking around and occasionally sighing, biting off the skin of his lip as he ponders. With their hands joined, Spock gets just the faintest hint of thoughts buzzing in his partner’s mind, more confirmation of consiousness than anything else. It’s pleasant.

Iowa is quite beautiful, though unlike almost anything Spock’s used to. Riverside is a glowing dot in the far distance, while around them tall wild grass and birch trees reign. The path is old and worn, dirt, somehow escaping the Terran mechanizations of the past centuries.

“It’s gorgeous out here, isn’t it?” Jim says. The question fits the ambiance of sound around them, in perfect harmonic chorus with the crickets and the scuff of feet on the ground.

“It is,” Spock says.

“I’ve always loved it. Used to take all my old lovers here.” Jim swings about to walk in front of Spock, himself walking backwards. “A time-honoured Jim Kirk wooing tradition, my friend.”

“I thought wooing was only needed when you did not already have the intended’s confirmed affection.”

“Eh, maybe officially. But it’s always good to keep it up. In case they forget.” Jim squeezes Spock’s hand tightly, falling back in step with him.

“I haven’t forgotten, Jim.”

Jim huffs, smiling. “When I’m waist-deep in paperwork and forget date-night in ten years, you’ll remember this, and remember that I love you, I’m just an idiot sometimes.”

Spock rubs his fore-finger gently along Jim’s, relishing in watching him shudder in response. “Ten years,” he says, almost inflecting in as a question, then deciding not to.

“Well,” Jim says. “Maybe twenty. Ten years from now I imagine I’ll still be so amazed that I get to be with you that I’ll be doing all in my power to shower you with affection.” He shrugs one shoulder and winks. “In twenty I’ll start taking you for granted.”

Spock purses his lips against a smile. “I see.”

They’re nearing a larger patch of dirt in the path, where the birches running along their left start to thin. Jim sighs, letting go of Spock’s hand and walking up to the thickest of the trees. In the moon’s glow the leaves have turned dark silver; Jim plays with one on the lowest branch, a wobbly smile coming to his face.

“I’m sorry.”

Spock takes a couple hesitant steps forward. “Jim?”

“I’m sorry. I really…” Jim takes a deep breath, but the next words are still choked. “Wanted them to love you.” He places his hand against the birch’s trunk. “I used to carve our initials into this, every time I brought someone here. It was special, you know, symbolic. I used to dream I’d get married out here.” He snorts, and starts to rub his thumb under his right eye, where tears are already falling. “Maybe not so romantic to get married next to a bunch of exe’s initials, but…”

Jim thins his lips, blinking to keep from crying. “I wanted them to love you,” he says again. “I wanted them to love you like they loved everyone I brought, like they loved Nina, and Barry, and Keira, Jessie, Ruth, Priya, Carol, Julio—”

“Jim—”

“They should’ve loved you, they should’ve, because as much as I loved any of them, it was never—” Jim’s attempts to stop his crying have officially failed. He looks back at Spock and smiles at him sadly. “Never as much I love you.”

Spock smiles back. “Jim.”

“You deserve the world, Spock.” Closing the distance between them, Jim cups Spock’s face lovingly. “You deserve wooing on late night walks and initials in trees, and for your boyfriend’s parents to love you.”

Spock slides his hand up to Jim’s. “We do not always get what we deserve. Further I do not really care for carving my initials into a tree.”

Jim snorts and hangs his head. His shoulders are shaking a little, but Spock knows it’s only partially laughter.

One can hear something many times—even see evidence of it—and not truly believe it, least of all comprehend it. Something as simple and fundamental as gravity is still a marvel to wonder at when you take the time to sit and think about it: you are being pulled to the very ground by the sheer amount of mass beneath you, you are sucked into a planet’s orbit merely by its size, and that’s the only thing that keeps the air above you from escaping.

You love me, Spock thinks, watching Jim’s shoulders shake. He understands gravity for the first time.

Spock takes Jim’s hands from his face and holds them in his own. “Come.”

They sit down on a grassy patch just off the path. Jim hugs his knees to his chest and places his chin atop them. Spock leans back into the grass on his elbows, regarding the stars. Out in space, light pollution does not limit their wonder, to the point they become mundane. In such an unpopulated area, planet-bound, they shine, too, but the glow from the nearby town leaves their wonder wanting. Somehow, it makes them more astonishing.

“When I was a very young boy,” Spock begins. “I would not—could not—concern myself with societal pressures. There were no ways to be Human, or Vulcan, to be male, to be female, to be anything. My father would insist on certain ways I behave, and preach the importance of being Vulcan, but I did not understand it. That lasted until I reached perhaps the age of five.

“My mother loves me. Deeply. I imagine Sarek does, too, though…you know our relationship. It is not straight forward. In school, I had no friends, until I went to higher levels with more interplanetary students, and even then, they were few. I met T’Pring once when I was seven and glanced upon her occasionally at larger functions, never having a full conversation with her until the night of…”

“Really?” Jim asks quietly. He’s watching Spock with rapt attention, cheek pressed to his knees. “You never talked to her?”

Spock shakes his head. “It is different, for Humans. You have no need to mate. From what I know of your history, in earlier time periods it may have been somewhat similar, especially for women, but that was society, not biology.

“Ah, but here I am drawing lines again. That was not my point, rather the opposite.

“My point is that…” Spocks shifts from one elbow to the other. “The first time I…attempted to love someone, we met as youths during my…ahem, rebellious phase—” This makes Jim laugh; Spock smiles around his next words. “—and I did not truly love her. I still do not know if, in honesty, she loved me. Leila Kalomi, as you will recall, was very fond of the idea of me. I believe for much the same reasons as I was fond of the idea of her.

“When I met Captain Pike for the first time—someone who truly valued my input, saw me as a peer, even if as an inferior officer—I admit myself infatuated with him.”

Jim looks like he’s going to interrupt in surprise again, but abstains.

“This of course was only passing, and hardly reciprocal.

“I have spent my life around many sorts of people, Jim, often purposefully searching out different types to see where I might find The Answer.”

“The answer to what?” Jim whispers.

“The Answer,” Spock says. “The place where love was universal. Where I could be loved freely. My mother is the closest I ever got, and I have never been able to love her in as many words as she can love me. And her love for me—her love for my father, which is why I exist at all—makes her an alien on any planet she lives on.”

“Spock, your mother understan—”

“You, Jim.”

“…What?”

“You,” Spock says, running his thumb along Jim’s cheekbone. “Are The Answer. There is no place where love is universal. I have never belonged anywhere, but with you. When I am with you, I am an alien to nowhere, for with you I know in perfect clarity all the good in the universe.” A tear falls onto the pad of Spock’s thumb. “You have already given me the world, Jim.”

Jim stares at Spock like he’s a star. Silently, he leans forward and kisses him. Soft lips against soft lips, only a few seconds. Then Jim stands and offers his hand.

They make their way back to the house.

Spock is asleep beside him, but Jim is awake. Jim is awake and staring at the ceiling, laying in his childhood bedroom. For years that ceiling had been his confidant, until the day he moved out. The ceiling isn’t unfamiliar, but Jim realizes that it’s not his only confidant anymore. He can treasure it, but he doesn’t need it.

He tells the ceiling one more secret, smiling to himself as he falls asleep.

The next morning, after breakfast, Jim pulls his parents aside. His crew is still finishing up int he other room.

“You know.” Jim is leaning against the living room wall. “I’ve really appreciated you putting us up. It’s, ah, these couple days, they haven’t been easy, but, ya know, I’m glad.”

Winona smiles sadly and George nods, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“I, ah…” Jim claps his hands and laughs nervously. “Gosh, it’s been nice seeing you both. I mean, really. Five years out in space, little contact with Earth…it’s been tough. Would’ve been a helluva lot more without those crazies with me. It’s been a lovely trip, s’what I mean to say, but we’ve really got to get going.”

“So soon?” Winona asks. She sounds nervous, too.

“Hey, I’ll be back.” Jim pats her shoulder. “Promise. But we can’t very well keep living here until we get our next mission, now can we? I know you’d love it if I did, but let’s face it, I’m nearly forty, and…well, I’m at a point in my life where I’m supposed to be with them now for a while.”

“Spock,” George says.

Spock is forever, and this crew may be too—he damn well hopes so—but he doesn’t know how to say that. Spock is a constant, no matter where he decides to go, everyone else is a choice. “Yeah,” says Jim.

“So, where’re we going?” McCoy asks while they’re heading to the shuttle pick-up spot.

“We’re not a group of travelling troubadours, Bones.”

“Might as well be.” Bones hoists his duffle-bag over his shoulder. “So, Captain? Where to?”

Jim rolls his eyes, grinning. “San Fransisco for now. We’ll see from there.”

“So…no immediate plans?”

“For me? No. Honestly, I was thinking I’d be here a bit longer.”

“Yeah.” Bones clears his throat. “What happened with that, or…?”

Jim claps his shoulder. “Later.”

“Right, right.” As Jim is walking towards his parents, on the porch, for a final goodbye, Bones calls, “But no plans, right?”

Jim glowers.

“Got it, thank you.” Bones turns towards a hurriedly running up Nyota and Pavel. The three huddle together and discuss something, Scotty and Hikaru soon joining them. Funny.

Whatever. Jim shakes his head.

“Oh, Jimmy.” Winona brings him in for a tight hug. “We’re gonna miss you.”

“And you gotta call,” George tells him sternly. “More often than when you were on your ship, there. Captaining’s all well and good, but now that you’re settled for a while, we expect a few more messages.”

Jim nods his agreement. “Right back at you.” He takes a few steps back. “I love you, guys.”

“We love you, too, son.” George wraps an arm around Winona, and they look adoringly at him.

“I’m sorry,” Jim says. He tucks a hand into one pocket, the other grabbing his bag from the porch steps. “That you didn’t love Spock the way I wanted you to.”

Winona opens her mouth and George shifts uncomfortably, but Jim holds up a hand to both of them. “That’s it. I love you, and I’ll call you when we get to Frisco.”

On the shuttle, Jim and Spock take a seat away from the main huddle of the crew (though they seem too engrossed in their little secret circle to care).

Spock sits next to his partner, cocking his head. “Is there a reason we are situated privately, ashaya?”

Jim shrugs. He lifts up his arms to the seat back, looping one around Spock’s shoulders. “I wanted to talk to you. Privately.”

“Indeed?”

“I love you.”

“I do not think that was a secret, Jim.”

“I want it to be even less of one.”

Spock furrows his brow, a pleasantly amused expression on his face.

Jim smiles, and takes Spock’s nearest hand in his. “Spock?”

“Yes, Jim?”

“Will you marry me?”

Raven hair thrown back and bare neck exposed, arched like a whore, he looked a perfect sight.

“Mine,” Iris thought, and were he to look at himself right now he would see the glazed over expression in his eyes.

Satok was squirming underneath him, wanton, gone, driven mad by his manhood—

Spock’s light is blocked abruptly, obscuring a moment the next words on the page.

“Tsk, tsk, trashy romance novels, Mr. Spock?”

Spock raises his gaze to the light-blocker: one Captain James T. Kirk. “I am nearly finished,” he informs Jim primly.

“Oh? Thoughts?”

Spock ponders, setting the book down beside himself. “Art is subjective,” he finally says.

Jim’s smile stretches far across his face and he starts to laugh.

Jim is glistening in the hot Risan sun, his skin beaded with sweat and ocean water. He’s developed a decently dark tan the last five days (no surprise, given that those not spent with Spock in their room where running along the beach or swimming), though there’s a line of pale skin peeking just above the waistband of his swim shorts. Not having packed any, and being thrown onto a ship headed somewhere by a very forceful Nyota Uhura, Jim and Spock had to get any supplies they needed for Risa on planet—this lead to some very garish Risan swim shorts, with printed sea mammals somewhat akin to otters in a bright neon green over a pink background. Spock’s were, he felt, slightly more understated: his were black and had a line of tasteful (unfortunately again neon) blue sea mammals along the hem line. And his sea mammals looked like whales.

In the sandbar only a few meters away from the deckchairs outside their hotel, Nyota and Scotty are dancing to the loudly blaring erotic music. They, at least, knew of the destination beforehand, and during their meagre two day stay in San Fransisco had gotten all the tropical travel essentials they needed.

Nyota twirls under Scotty’s arm, catching Spock’s eye along the way. She winks and finishes the twirl tight against Scotty’s chest, seeming determined to make him forget about his missing the Enterprise one way or another.

On the beach behind Jim, where from he came, Pavel and Hikaru are building a sand castle and sunbathing respectively. Just as Pavel has finished with the last details, a jogger comes by and kicks some sand out of place. He sighs dramatically, and Hikaru jumps up to help him rebuild, kissing the top of his head in encouragement.

“…lazy no-goods barely even got out of bed, even when we told them we got a special surprise trip and everything! They say Vulcans don’t like surprises, but still, you’d think—!” That would be McCoy, behind Spock in the stone-arched open hallway, walking back to his room, exotic cocktail in hand, strolling beside some stranger he met between then and breakfast. Spock glances over his shoulder to see the doctor walk out of view, hearing something about “Tokyo” and “wouldn’t listen” and “damn interesting procedure.”

A loud sigh comes from Spock’s right, alongside the squeak of a deckchair. Jim has laid down beside Spock, who has several of their items beside him. Jim picks up his hat from the pile and places it over his face, resting his hands on his stomach.

Spock picks up Romancing the Vulcan again. “Did you have a good swim, ashaya?”

“Mmmm, was pretty good. Tiring, though. Nice, full body workout.” He lifts the hat enough to grin over at Spock. “Hey, speaking of nice, full body workouts…”

Spock raises an eyebrow, not bothering to give Jim more visual attention than peripheral. “I would have thought you’d have been satiated from this morning.”

“Satiated on you? Never. A man has to eat at least three times a day.”

“I am not a meal, Jim.”

“Mmmm, I disagree.” Jim reaches out lazily with his nearest hand, brushing it against Spock’s arm. The warm metal of the ring on his third finger sits in contrast to his skin. Those two days in San Fransisco were just long enough to go to a jewelry store.

Spock looks down at the hand. “You did not take off your ring while swimming?” He tries not to be hurt.

Jim is aghast. “Of course I did! I had Hikaru look after it, got it back from him when I came back. You really think I’d risk losing this beauty?” Jim lifts his hand to his face, smiling at the engagement band fondly. “But it’s good to keep around these parts, you know? Without explicit signs, people tend to think you’re a free agent.” Jim eyes the chain around Spock’s neck, his own engagement ring as its pendant. “Though,” Jim adds pleasantly. “Some people are fine with being a third.”

“An interesting concept.”

Jim looks surprised, but he does grin. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Spock.”

Jim nestles down into the deck chair, pulling the hat back over his face. “Tell me when you finish that book, baby, I have plans for you, third or not.”

“Yes, Jim.”

It ends like any good fantasy does—on a beach in some beautiful, tropical land, away form the cares of normal life; with the brightness of the sun making everything around one glow; with the gentle sounds of music and laughter; with the warm embrace of a two hands intertwined, no matter what.