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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“What finally made you agree to take leave with me, Mr. Spock?”

Spock stood in line for the transporter to beam down to the planet, watching the lights play off Jim’s hair. It was true that Spock did not require shore leave in the same manner that his human crewmates did, and he had never before agreed to accompany Jim on his extracurricular excursions. It was also true that an unflattering percentage of his subordinates lost credits on a wager that he would not take leave before the end of the five-year mission, which was rapidly drawing to a close. 

But it had been a difficult fifteen weeks for the Enterprise and her crew. There had been politically sensitive diplomatic missions, unpredictable engine failures, and then several unfortunately-placed holes in the decks of the ship, thanks to their inadvertent engagement on the boundary of the Neutral Zone. These holes were the reason that the ship had been left in spacedock and the entire crew sent to Via III for recuperation. 

“Logic,” Spock said, and Jim laughed. It had been an unacceptably long period of time since he had last heard Jim laugh with any regularity. One of Jim’s strengths was his ability to keep crew morale at remarkably high levels in the face of adversity, but Spock had seen the toll it had taken on him in the moments when they were alone. Jim was well-liked, admired, even beloved by his crew, but he was still their captain. If Spock were to leave him to his own devices on his shore leave, the burden of responsibility for his crew would weigh on him even as they made merry. He would not rest. And so, when Jim asked if Spock would accompany him to the planet’s surface, Spock agreed. 

“I knew you’d come around eventually,” Jim said, and they shifted closer to the transporter. Spock’s mission for leave was simple: ensure that Jim had the shore leave that he required. Success was measured in two primary indicators: the execution of Jim’s holiday itinerary and an increase in the rate of Jim’s laughter.  

“Two for Avreln, please,” Jim said to the operator.

“Devrelin, got it,” the operator said, as Jim continued onto the pad. The operator was a Terran youth, and he barely seemed to perceive them as they passed. Jim turned back to the operator with a look of confusion as Spock corrected, “Avreln.” 

“Avreln, sorry, got it,” the operator said, shaking his head. Spock stepped up onto the transporter pad with Jim and settled the strap of his bag more firmly on his shoulder. 

“Two for Devrelin, energizing.”

“Avreln,” Spock and Jim said in unison, but the operator was already sliding the controls, and they disappeared in a golden buzz. 

They reappeared, not on the corresponding transporter pad in the center of Via III’s capital city, but in a clearing surrounded on all sides by spindly trees with triangle-shaped leaves. There was an informative panel on stilts 4.6 meters to Spock’s left that proclaimed that they were in the center of Devrelin Nature Preserve.

Jim stared at the forest around them for 3.5 seconds, brow furrowed, before he grinned wryly and said, “Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” 

“We were not in Kansas to begin with. Who is Toto?” Jim’s responding laughter echoed against the green sky above, and Spock followed as the captain strode towards the informative panel, seemingly unbothered by the fact that they were approximately 2,539 kilometers from their intended destination. 

“Well, there are worse places to be stuck,” Jim said before he pulled out his comm and flipped it open to call the transporter hub. “This is James Kirk, requesting beam-out for two from—” He glanced at the sign again. “Devrelin Nature Preserve, to Avreln.” 

“Certainly, Mr. Kirk,” a chipper voice said. “That will be a seventy-six hour wait. Shall I put your name down?” Jim mouthed ‘seventy-six hours!’ to Spock, eyes wide. Their shore leave had barely commenced and it had already deviated from Jim’s plan. This did not bode well for success parameter number one.

“Sure. Thank you.” 

“Thank you,” the operator chirped, and the connection ended. Jim turned back to the information panel.

“There are cabins nearby,” Jim said thoughtfully, tracing one of the paths on the map with his finger. “We could go check those out, see if we want to go for a hike.” Spock studied him for symptoms of upset, but his breathing remained even, eyebrows unfurrowed, shoulders settled loose. 

“You seem unperturbed by the circumstances,” Spock said, gauging Jim’s response. “Will you still have enough time to complete everything you wished to do?” 

Jim tapped the map one more time before turning away from it to head towards one of the paths. “I’m already doing one of the things I wanted to, but otherwise I’m not concerned about checking things off a to-do list. That would defeat the purpose of a shore leave, Mr. Spock.”

“You wished to go hiking?” Spock updated his understanding of Jim’s goals to incorporate time in nature and light physical exercise. Then he stored Jim’s comment about to-do lists and the purpose of leave for later consideration. 

Jim stopped so suddenly that Spock nearly walked into his back, and turned around. “I wanted to spend time with you that didn’t involve us being shot at,” he said. His eyes were golden in the warm sunlight of Via III’s nearest star, and his cheeks were slightly flushed pink in the heat. Spock, who had not predicted that to be one of Jim’s goals, did not have a logical response to the statement, or to the warmth that the words put in his chest. Jim smiled again and continued down the trail.

Jim’s memorization of the reserve map conflicted with his desire to explore until the exploration won out, and with a sheepish smile over his shoulder and a ‘what-can-you-do’ shrug, he turned from the well-traversed path onto a smaller one. 

They followed the path to a small rocky bank, framed on one side by a creek and on the other by an outcropping of the most common rock indigenous to this planet. It was a rather attractive deep green and glinted in the sunlight. Jim considered the scene with his hands on his hips. 

“This planet’s supposed to be pretty safe, all things considered?” 

“There is not a native predator on this continent larger than fifteen kilograms, captain.” 

“So you think it’s probably safe to go poking around over there?”

“Safe from predators, perhaps. The risk from potential rock slides, allergens, unknown insect life—”

Jim grinned at him. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. “I just want to see.” He dropped his duffel bag onto the stony shore and strolled towards the rock pile, head tilting back to gain the full view of it. Spock placed his bag next to Jim’s and instead settled cross-legged next to the creek. Though he would not have admitted it to either the captain or the ship’s doctor under any circumstances short of his imminent death, he had also felt the stress of the past few months. There had been the conflict, and the politicking, and the role he played as the diplomat’s son when he would much prefer to be Jim’s first officer. There had also been the inquiries from Starfleet Command for his letter of intent following the five-year mission. 

Spock knew what he wanted, but without knowing what Jim wanted, he did not know if it was possible. Jim was being uncharacteristically reticent about what his goals were for his next posting. The logical thing to do would have been to ask him outright, but Spock feared both the answer and the end of the mission. He did not ask. 

But they were not on the ship; they were on Via, and he was Jim’s sole traveling companion for the next four days. Next to the burbling creek, listening to Jim’s footsteps crunching on the rocks, with the sun on his face and a light breeze ruffling his hair, Spock slipped easily into a light meditation and waited for him to return.

Jim’s strangled yell and a crash split the air. Even before he had entirely come out of his meditative state, Spock leapt to his feet. He was across the bank in four huge steps, following the sound of Jim’s shout and thrashing. Spock tore through the underbrush and found him in seconds. 

Jim lay sprawled flat on his back, pinned beneath some kind of reptile. His arm was raised to protect his face, and the reptile’s jaws were clenched around his wrist.

Spock closed the distance between them in three-quarters of one second, dropped to one knee next to Jim’s shoulder, and, lacking the time or patience to find another tool, grabbed the top of the reptile’s jaw with one hand and the bottom with the other. He wrenched the beast’s mouth open until Jim extricated his arm. Once the captain’s limb was safely out of immediate biting range, Spock removed his hands from the creature’s mouth, allowing it to snap shut. He grabbed the tail and dragged it away from the captain’s person as it flailed, scrabbling its claws against the stony ground. 

The reptile was a lizard of some variety, a meter and a half long from nose to tail and weighing at least twenty kilograms. It was violet in the sunlight, with darker purple spots speckled over its back and head. One small and curious part of his mind, admiring the elegant coloring, noted that this creature had not been listed on any species list of any of Via’s continents—and he had read them all. A larger part of his mind was not willing to entertain this scientific mystery until he had ascertained the captain’s well-being. 

The lizard got its feet under itself. It seemed desperate to return to the shallow cave in the rock formation, and Spock was willing to allow it to flee as long as it was away from Jim, still lying on his back in the underbrush, propped up on his elbows to watch. 

“Well,” Jim said. “How about that?” He sat up, brushing dirt off his pants, and Spock took his arm by his clothed elbow to observe the damage. “What’s the prognosis, doc?” 

“You have been bitten,” Spock said gravely, and was gratified that Jim was in high enough spirits to snort. He mentally noted this evidence of early success in recalling Jim’s easy laughter from wherever it had gone, and pulled Jim to his feet. 

Jim eventually acquiesced to receiving medical attention. Though Spock had brought a first-aid kit (“Why did you think this was necessary, Mr. Spock?” “Was my point not immediately proven, captain?”), allowing the captain to succumb to bacterial infection, poisoning, or anaphylaxis would be antithetical to his mission. There was a small town less than four kilometers from the cabin site, and after Spock applied antibacterial gel and a bandage to the bite, they hiked down. 

The town’s human doctor reminded Spock of Dr. McCoy, in that he spoke Standard with a thick regional accent and interspersed nonsensical comments about recent meteorological conditions, the agricultural season, and Jim’s foolhardiness with actual medical attention. 

“Purple? You don't say. Never seen nothing like that out here,” the doctor drawled after Spock had described Jim’s assailant. “Y'all might head into town and ask Ziya over at the diner. Reckon she'd know.” 

The sun had already set behind the thick forest when they walked up to a small brick and glass building, proclaimed to be open permanently by a neon sign glowing against the twilight. A bell above the door tinkled as Jim pushed it open, and the woman standing behind the counter turned around, revealing herself to be Bajoran.

“Welcome,” she rasped in a voice like gravel. “Take a seat anywhere.” A few tables were occupied, but no one sat at the counter. Jim took a seat that allowed him to watch the front door. Spock sat next to him. The woman behind the counter slid them both menus before attending to the other customers. 

Jim scanned the menu as Spock turned to observe the rest of the diner itself. Behind the counter was a window, through which he could see two cooks at a grill top larger than his desk on the Enterprise. There was a chip scanner near the door and a blue wall covered with taped-up posters for community events, businesses, and personal advertisements. Through the glass windows he could see the streetlights lining the sidewalks, and the reflection of him and Jim side-by-side. He could see that at some point in the scuffle with the lizard, Jim’s carefully-tamed cowlick had gone wild again. It would not be logical to reach out to smooth it down, so he folded his hands in his lap and looked down at the menu before him.

He ordered noodle soup and herbal tea. Jim ordered a burger, a soda, and a salad that Spock knew he would not bother with even before it landed in front of them. They ate in a comfortable silence as the noise of the diner washed over them: mugs tapping against laminated tabletops, silverware clinking against ceramic flatware, the constant and easy banter of the cooks through the window. Over it all was the Bajoran woman’s voice as she chatted with the patrons and yelled to the rest of the staff. 

She asked, “Everything alright over here?” 

“Yes,” Spock said. Jim said, “You don’t happen to be Ziya, do you?” 

“That would be me.” Jim regaled her with the tale of their discovery of the lizard and subsequent trek to the doctor, but she tapped one finger against her ear cuff and frowned. 

“You’re sure about the size?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jim said, and he looked to Spock for support.

“I estimate it weighed twenty kilograms and was one and one-half meters long, including its tail,” Spock said. 

“I suppose you’d know,” she said, her eyes catching on Spock’s ears and eyebrows. “But there shouldn’t be anything in the reserve that size or shape.” She turned to bus the plates from a now-empty table. 

“Oh, and it was purple,” Jim said. Ziya froze before slowly turning back. 

“No, it wasn’t,” she said. Her eyes were fixed on something over Jim’s shoulder. 

“I assure you, it was,” Spock said. A slow, disbelieving grin broke out across Ziya’s face, and she tugged on her earring. 

“No shit,” she said in wonder. “I only put up the damn sign because a regular asked me to.” Spock stood to more closely inspect the poster-wall that had so snagged Ziya’s attention . 

Someone had painted a respectable likeness of the wilderness in the nature preserve; the World’s Largest Tribble was on display; the town’s farmers’ market was coming up in four days; the Sentient Supernovas were playing in Avreln; Tezlik was offering aircars for hire and a mechanic was available to fix them if necessary; and then his eyes fell on a LOST! sign. 

“I said, there’s no way some famous lady’s pet lizard ends up here, twenty-five hundred kilometers from Avreln,” Ziya said to Jim, still sitting at the counter. “But Conway is apparently a huge fan of her channel and he orders at least two whole pies from us every nineday, so it was the least I could do. I never thought anything would come of it.” 

Jim appeared at his side, and they looked at the LOST sign. Someone missed their pet lizard Nellie very much. She was light purple with darker purple spots, weighed twenty kilograms, stretched 1.5 meters long, and had been missing for a few weeks. They looked at each other. Spock carefully tore one of the strips off the paper with the owner’s information printed onto it.

“Want to use our comm, let the owner know? I’m sure she’d come out immediately, what with how Conway talked about her,” Ziya offered. 

“No way,” Jim said, and his eyes were aglow in a way Spock recognized from a thousand half-baked and eventually brilliant strategic maneuvers. “We’ll catch her and bring her home.” 

“She did not seem to be a willing prisoner, and highly adept at evasion,” Spock interjected, as Ziya snorted. 

“You could communicate with her!” Jim said, grinning. “Like with the Horta. We’ll road-trip together back to Avreln with her. It’ll be fun!” 

It was beneficial to his mission to provide Jim with what he wanted, and so Spock agreed.

Chapter Text

Ziya gave them directions to a motel nearby, and they spent the night in one room, each in a twin bed that reminded Spock of his dormitory at the Academy. It was not a complimentary comparison, but the slow and steady rhythm of Jim’s breathing eventually washed him out into sleep like the tide. 

Jim in the morning was soft, sleep-rumpled, his mind not yet operating at its dizzying speed. Spock was not frequently privileged to see him in such a state; he watched Jim yawn with the back of his hand pressed to his mouth the way he watched rare astronomical events. 

Spock insisted on carefully inspecting the bite from the previous day. He unwrapped the bandages to peer at the marks, reapplied the stronger antibacterial that the doctor had given him, and then rewrapped the wound with a fresh bandage. Jim allowed him to hold his arm and brush his bare skin, watching him without comment. Spock told himself it was logical and in the service of his mission to ensure Jim’s health. Then they packed their bags and stepped out into the early morning sunlight.

They walked to Tezlik’s, the morning air warming around them as the sun proceeded through the sky, and they were the only people there when the front door unlocked. 

“Beautiful day for a drive,” said the man who peered his head out.

“Gorgeous,” Jim concurred, and when he looked up at Spock he nodded his agreement. They rented an aircar (“We could get a convertible, Spock!” “It is called thus and yet converts into nothing but a differently shaped aircar. There are more logical naming conventions.”) and departed with Tezlik’s promise that it would be fine to leave the car in Avreln. Spock pocketed the proffered business card, and Jim slid behind the wheel of the car. They rolled the windows down, the wind blowing Jim’s hair back off his forehead. Fourteen minutes later, he pulled into a parking spot off the main road. 

“Should we bring one of our bags?” 

“For what purpose, captain?” 

“For if she’s injured! Like a carrier. You never put I-Chaya into a case to take him to the vet?” 

Spock blinked, and thought of I-Chaya, and tried to imagine convincing an animal the size of an Earth brown bear into a case that he could lift and fit in the backseat of his father’s aircar. He pulled Jim’s bag out of the back of the car and lifted it over his shoulder. Jim gestured at him in a give-it-here motion, but Spock pretended that he did not see it. 

“Captain, what exactly do you think a sehlat looks like?” Spock followed Jim back into the forest, and the dappled sunlight and shadow played over his broad shoulders like a mantle. It glinted in his golden hair and illuminated the oil on his skin. 

“Your mom said it was like a teddy bear, right? With fangs.” 

“I would describe a sehlat as ninety-three percent bear, seven percent teddy.” 

“Wait, how big was I-Chaya?” Jim halted, turning around to look at Spock, and Spock considered his own height and then held his hand to where I-Chaya’s head would have come to. Jim’s eyes widened. “Maybe no carrier, then.” He led them further into the forest, turning onto the same small path that they had taken the day before until it deposited them on the little beach. Spock followed Jim around the side of the great green outcropping until they were standing in front of the shallow cave. 

Spock settled his shoulders back and blinked once as he cleared all extant emotion from his mind. 

“I’ll go—” Jim said, but Spock said, “You will not,” and instead handed him the duffel bag. Jim took it with both hands as Spock proceeded carefully into the cave. 

It was cool, sheltered from the sun, and damp underfoot. Spock crept forward silently, listening for the rustling of scales along the ground or of clawed feet against the little pebbles. His eyes adjusted until he could see almost perfectly. Then he saw her and instantly understood why she had attacked Jim. 

Nellie was asleep in the dark, curled around and over a clutch of eggs. Before she could wake and strike, Spock dropped to one knee beside her and laid his hand over her head. 

“My mind to your mind,” he whispered. “My thoughts to your thoughts.” He descended swiftly through her mind, sensing her panic at contact from an unknown source and the immediate swirl of fear-anger-protectiveness that came from the knowledge that someone was close to her clutch. He projected feelings of calmness, safety, the guarantee that he would not hurt her babies, until her mind relaxed around him. She did not think in words as he understood them, but she was quite intelligent. 

He kept his thoughts as vague as possible, and pushed the ideas at her: he and Jim would take her and her babies home. He felt it as she sorted through the concepts. She recognized Jim, and anger colored her thoughts; he pushed his trust in Jim and their regret at disturbing her to her until she understood. In her prismatic mind’s eye, he saw her home, a comfortable townhouse in a large city with a human woman who loved her, and her deep biological need to lay her eggs in a cave like she would have on her home planet. She was not indigenous to Via III, and had been purchased by the woman as a companion. She loved the woman, but the woman did not know that she had been carrying eggs, and did not know that she needed a cave. Therefore she had left, traveling alone, following this deep biological impulse that she both trusted and feared until she came to a place where her neonates would be safe. But now, she told Spock, she wanted to go home. She wanted the human woman to help her care for her hatchlings, but she did not know where she was. 

Spock pushed their proposal to her: the aircar, which she recognized as a form of fast travel, and Jim’s duffel bag for her clutch, and Jim’s broad hands with their fine dusting of hair across the backs around the steering wheel of the car. If she didn’t quite understand the beauty of that last image then it was all for the better. 

When Spock lifted himself from the meld, he found that he had sat cross-legged against the wall, and Nellie had crawled into his lap. His hand rested over her head, and he marveled at the elegant pattern of her scales and the beauty of her coloring. He forgave her, then, for the damage that she had done to the captain. The damage had been neither severe nor permanent and Spock understood the need to protect what was loved. 

“Jim,” he called, trusting the walls of the cave to bounce his voice to the captain. “Come in slowly. Bring the bag.” He heard the captain’s footsteps echoing as he came, and Jim smiled when he saw Spock and Nellie. 

“Hi there,” Jim whispered, and he knelt in front of them, offering his hand out to Nellie. Nellie lifted her head and licked at the air in front of him, smelling him; he must have passed muster because she did not snap at him again. Jim met Spock’s eyes, and Spock tilted his head towards the half-hidden clutch of eggs. Jim’s eyes widened in immediate understanding. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and offered his hand out to her again. “I wouldn’t have come so close if I knew you and your babies were in here.” 

“I offered her our apology and our proposal and she has accepted both,” Spock said. She was still wary of Jim, but she allowed him to remain as Spock wrapped each egg in pieces of Jim’s clothing and tucked them into the bag. 

“Does she,” Jim eventually asked, clearing his throat. “Does she really need all of my t-shirts?” Spock considered, then removed his own overshirt, returned two of Jim’s shirts to him, and added his shirt to the nest in the bag. 

“Great,” Jim said faintly, holding his shirts. “I’ll try not to spill anything.”

They drove out of the preserve back to Ziya’s, their fragile cargo tucked safely in the footwell behind Spock’s seat and Nellie sprawled across the back. Jim ordered them breakfast sandwiches to go as Spock memorized the posters on the wall and compared their locations to his knowledge of the continent’s geography. 

“You’re going on quite the road trip,” Ziya said as she handed the bag with their food and two cardboard mugs to them over the counter. “I’m glad you’ll be able to do a good turn while you’re here.” 

“Me too,” Jim said, and smiled easily before turning to depart. Spock followed him halfway out the door before he stilled. There, on the counter next to the register, was a wilting Athyrium vianonicum. The parts of its fronds that should have been purple were an unhealthy beige, and it drooped aggressively towards the floor. 

“How have you been caring for this plant?” Spock asked Ziya as she rolled silverware into napkins. She glanced at it. 

“That old thing? Sometimes we dump coffee dregs into it.” 

Spock blinked, and the corners of Ziya’s mouth curled up at whatever she read on his face. She heaved a dramatic sigh. “Go on, then,” she said. “Two good turns.” She winked and turned her back to him, leaning against the countertop, whistling cheerfully. Spock looked at her for three full seconds, parsing her meaning, before grabbing the plant with both hands and marching out.

Jim leaned against the trunk of the car, nose pressed to the rim of his coffee cup, face turned to the morning sun. He looked over as the bell above the door tinkled merrily, and Spock returned to him with the Athyrium . 

“Do I even want to know?” Jim’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

“Ziya informed me that they dispose of their coffee in this plant’s container,” Spock said, opening the doors to place the plant behind the driver’s seat. Nellie lifted her head at the noise, lazy in the morning heat, and he told her firmly, “Do not eat my plant.” She flicked her tongue at him and lay back down. 

“You should run an animal shelter when you retire,” Jim said, and took the driver’s seat. Spock slid into the passenger side. “Always collecting strays.” He slung one arm over the back of Spock’s seat and reversed out of his parking spot. The aircar’s computer directed them as Jim drove, and Spock watched the few buildings of the small town roll past and shrink in the distance. Then they were on the highway and gone. 

Via III had more green than Spock had ever seen in one place. The atmosphere, though still Class M, tinted the sky a pale green. Green basalt mountains and forests and the green sky above rolled past the windows as Jim tapped his fingers against the wheel and hummed along to the radio. Even while seated to drive, he was dynamic. His thigh bounced when he tapped his foot, his fingers skated along the canvas of the wheel, and his head constantly turned as objects of interest soared by. After eating their breakfast and establishing their waypoints, they had fallen into a comfortable silence. Nellie shifted occasionally in the backseat. Spock watched Jim out of the corner of his eye and considered his mission. Despite being sent to the wrong location, Jim’s spirits had remained high. He had laughed twice, smiled frequently, and no longer exhibited the most acute signs of his stress. Spock felt confident that by the time their leave was over, Jim would be sufficiently recuperated. Then, he told himself, he would broach the topic of Jim’s next posting. 

A highway sign with a name that Spock recognized rolled by. 

“Captain, what is your opinion on roadside attractions?” 

“Oh, it depends,” he said. “Something catch your fancy?” 

“Perhaps,” Spock said. “Take this exit.” Jim did, at a speed slightly higher than Spock would have advised, and he reached into the backseat to place a steadying hand on his tilting plant. 

“What am I looking for?” Jim asked, and then the sign appeared. WORLD’S LARGEST TRIBBLE!, the billboard proclaimed, and Jim let out a guffaw before swerving into the parking lot. Spock added another point to his tally of Jim’s joy. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jim said, fists planted on his hips. “That’s quite the tribble.” Spock stood next to him, hands clasped behind his back. It was, in fact, quite the tribble. This tribble was exponentially larger than the tribbles that had so troubled his ship on the trip with the Klingons, which had been only the size of a ball of yarn. If Spock had stood next to this one, it would have come to his mid-thigh. It rolled gleefully around its enclosure, squeaking as it engaged with the various scattered toys. They watched it careen around its pen, a pack of children shrieking with excitement when it came close to where they stood, until they turned to depart. 

“Wait,” Jim said, and detoured sharply sideways. Spock followed and found himself in the gift shop of the building as Jim found the largest tribble replica available and marched it to the register. “We should get this for Nellie so that she can sleep on it tonight.” 

“You are purchasing a toy for her?” 

“You don’t think she’ll like it?” Jim turned to look earnestly at him. His eyebrows pulled together slightly in the middle, tilting downward, in the expression that usually indicated disappointment was imminent. 

It would be illogical to subject the captain to disappointment over a trivial purchase, and detrimental to his mission. Spock said instead, “I think she will find it comfortable.” The return of Jim’s smile was intoxicating. Jim purchased it as he displayed his prowess at the human art of small talk. He asked, “So how did you come to have the world’s largest tribble?”

“It was the oddest thing,” the salesman said. “I won her in a game of cards from a group of Klingons that came through a couple of years ago, trying to get rid of her.” He laughed, and both Jim and Spock froze. “I thought she would self-replicate and I could sell the babies, but instead of doubling, she doubled in size! The Klingons said something about her being born too close to a warp core. Wacky stuff, huh? Here you go!” He chuckled and handed Jim the toy. 

“Thanks,” he said, stifling laughter, and they fled back to the car. “We have to tell Scotty,” Jim wheezed, and his smile pinked his cheeks. He took the tag off the toy and presented it to Nellie, and she did not bite him, so Jim proclaimed it a victory.

Spock offered to drive, and Jim refused. The warm wind blew through the car, and Jim wore a half-smile as he watched the landscape whirl by. Spock watched Jim instead and made a concerted effort to keep himself from wondering where Jim wanted to be when their mission ended. 

The sun set beyond the mountains, and Jim continued to follow the car’s navigation system until they pulled off the highway into a motel rest stop. There were a surprising number of other vehicles in the parking lot, given the motel’s rural location, but Jim found a spot and Spock unpacked their belongings while Jim secured a room. 

He returned with a key and a facial expression that Spock could not immediately decode. He took Spock’s bag from him, freeing Spock’s hands to lift Nellie in one arm and Jim’s bag with the clutch in the other, and said, “We have a room, but it’s…” He trailed off, golden eyes unsure.

“Is it not to your satisfaction, captain?” Spock straightened with his precious cargo, and Nellie’s tail flicked against his thigh where it draped down. 

“I don’t mind, it’s just…” Jim hiked the bag further onto his shoulder, grabbed Nellie’s enormous tribble, and closed the trunk. He turned away. “If it doesn’t work for you, I’ll sleep on the floor.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open. It was a clean room, freshly made up and smelling of disinfectant. There was a small desk with a chair, a replicator with two plates stacked on top, and one large bed in the middle of the room. 

Jim stepped back to allow Spock to enter first, watching him carefully. “Maybe they’ll have a cot or something. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he said. 

Spock considered the bed, the idea of sleeping alongside Jim, and then, unexpectedly, the idea of losing this opportunity to a cot or the floor. Allowing Jim to sleep on the floor would be detrimental to his well-being. The bed was large; it was logical to share. 

“Is your only hesitation my discomfort?” 

Jim paused. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I suppose it is.” 

“It will not make me uncomfortable,” Spock said, and took the tribble from Jim. “I appreciate your consideration, but such measures will not be necessary.” He knelt next to the desk, pushing the tribble beneath it, and Nellie relinquished her tight grip on his arm to slide down his chest and nest into the stuffed animal. He gently tucked the bag with her clutch next to her, and she licked contentedly at him. He turned back to Jim, who was looking at him with that same unidentifiable expression. “Alright, Mr. Spock,” he said. 

Jim showered first. While he bathed, Spock researched an appropriate meal for Nellie (eggs seemed the easiest source of protein, as Spock did not want to alarm the motel staff by replicating an entire small mammal, organs included) and delivered it to her nest under the desk. He watched curiously as she ate the eggs whole and, once sated, curled up on the tribble with her tail draped over the bag. The bathroom door opened, and Spock turned. 

Jim emerged shirtless and barefoot in only a pair of flannel pajama pants, and smiled sheepishly. A bead of water dripped from his hair, slicked back and damp, and rolled down the line of his neck and diverted along his collarbone. Spock’s attention diverted with it.

“Would I be remiss in guessing that you packed spares of some things, in case of emergency?” 

Spock straightened from his spot on the ground, tearing his eyes from the droplet of water. “Negative.” 

“Can I borrow a shirt to sleep in? You seem to have given all my pajamas to Her Royal Highness.” The warm crinkling of Jim’s eyes removed any criticism that may have been levied in his words. The mental image in his mind of Jim sprawled alongside him revised itself to include Jim wearing his clothes, and he took one second to compose himself and thicken the walls of his emotional control. 

“Certainly,” he said, and crossed to his bags. He retrieved a shirt that he thought Jim would find pleasing and offered it to him. 

“Thank you,” Jim said, and his fingertips brushed the back of Spock’s hand under the fabric of the shirt. Spock inclined his head and most assuredly did not flee into the bathroom to hide his reaction from the captain’s too-perceptive eyes. 

Spock remained in the bathroom, preparing for sleep, until he had thoroughly sublimated any and all inappropriate thoughts about Jim wearing his clothes and touching his hand beneath his twin senses of duty and propriety. He opened the door and his efforts unraveled. 

Jim sat at the head of the large bed, two pillows behind his back and his legs beneath the comforter. Spock’s long-sleeved shirt did not quite fit him: the torso pulled across his chest and shoulders, caressing the softer lines of his stomach, while the sleeves bunched around his hands. He held a genuine paperback book in one hand, and a pair of reading glasses sat on his nose. He licked the tip of one finger before turning the page, and Spock very nearly went straight back into the bathroom to meditate until his control returned from wherever it had fled.

But he did not. Instead he crossed to the bed on uncooperative legs and slid into the other side to sit next to Jim. “I did not know that you wore corrective lenses,” he said. 

Jim sighed. “I don’t, usually.” He shook the book he held, and the sleeve of Spock’s shirt slipped down, revealing the strong tendon in his wrist. “But you can’t adjust the font size on a print book, I’m afraid.” 

Spock slid down in the clean sheets and felt his thoracolumbar fascia relax for the first time in 2.6 months. 

Even after Jim tired of reading and turned the lamp off, Spock did not sleep. He instead mentally followed the line of Jim’s neck and shoulders in the faint ambient light, breathing in how the fabric of his shirt carried traces of his incense and mixed with the smell of Jim’s skin. 

Jim was a restless sleeper— his legs twitched, his respiration rate rose and fell, and he rolled over. This movement brought him so close that Spock could feel his gentle breathing against his neck, and Jim’s hand fell in such proximity to his that there were scant millimeters between them. Laying in the dark and watching Jim’s relaxed face, Spock was forced to acknowledge his emotional disturbance. He had agreed to take leave with Jim because of his duty to his captain, and he had refused to discuss his plans for his next posting because he did not want to unduly influence Jim’s decision. But Vulcans did not lie, even to themselves; the deeper, truer reason for both decisions was simply that Spock wanted to be near him. He wanted to be where Jim was, wherever Jim wanted to be, for as long as Jim would have him. But Jim would not discuss what he wanted next, and Spock feared it was because he did not want to tell Spock something he did not want to hear. 

It was logical, then, that he kept his hands to himself. 

Chapter Text

Spock awoke before Jim did, just as the first rays of sunlight started to break through the curtains. Jim had remained on his side through the night, lashes resting against cheeks which were freckling after only two days’ exposure to sunlight. His hands were curled almost together, resting in front of his chest; his knuckles were so close to Spock that he could have brushed them just by breathing in deeply. Through the tight fabric Spock could see the lines of Jim’s chest, the gentle curves of his stomach. All of the self-control in his possession was not enough to subdue the sharp, primal appreciation he felt at seeing Jim in his clothing.

Spock rolled onto his back and clasped his hands over his chest. He lay alongside him, eyes trained on the ceiling until Jim hummed softly in his chest and his eyes opened, forty-two minutes later. 

“Morning,” Jim said, before rolling over and stretching. Spock fastidiously did not watch the pull of fabric over his body or track the strip of skin between the bottom of the shirt and the waistband of his pajama pants. “How did you sleep?”

“Sufficiently,” Spock said. “And yourself?” 

“Great,” Jim said, and with another stretch he got up and wandered into the bathroom. Spock checked on Nellie and her clutch. She allowed him to peer inside the duffel bag, where the eggs were warm and safe, and he did not allow his hands to linger too long over his overshirt tangled in with Jim’s extra pants and some of his shirts. It would be illogical to anthropomorphize her behavior, and yet some uncontrolled part of him thought that she was comparing what she had felt in his mind with how he behaved now, and found him amusing. 

Spock dressed and prepared for the day, and when he stepped out of the bathroom again Jim handed him a cup of tea and indicated where he had replicated various fruits and pastries for breakfast. As Spock reached for a fruit that resembled a Terran apple, Jim indicated his shirt. 

“Thank you for this,” he said. “Mind if I hang onto it until I get mine back?”

“I do not,” Spock said. Something that was not apple stuck firmly in his throat. It seemed to grow in size as Jim smiled, rolled the shirt up with his pajama pants, and tucked all of it into his backpack.

Jim was still not allowed to carry Nellie’s clutch—she had snapped warningly at him when he reached for the bag—but she did allow him to lift her into his arms as they carried their belongings back to the aircar. Clutch, tribble toy, and Nellie were all tucked safely into the back of the car, alongside the plant that was already looking healthier after thirty hours without coffee. It was colder today than it had been the day before, gray clouds hiding the sun and dampening the colors of their surroundings. Spock’s overshirt was tucked in with Nellie’s clutch, but he wasn’t fool enough to think that she would allow him to take it back for something as trivial as a slightly uncomfortable ambient temperature.

He crossed to the other side of the car as Jim did the same, and as they passed, Jim pushed something into his arms before opening the driver’s side door. Spock looked down. In Spock’s arms was Jim’s sweater. 

Jim stood with one arm slung over the top of the open car door, unbothered by the temperature in his t-shirt. “Your jacket’s with the clutch, and it’s cold for you,” he said. He got in the car. Spock pulled the sweater over his head, inundated with the smell of Jim, and took his own seat. Jim looked him over, gave one sharp nod, and then backed out of the parking lot. 

Their time passed much in the same manner as the day before. Jim talked quietly about his parents, Starfleet officers both and as attached to the stars as Jim grew up to be, and when he turned to look out the window Spock offered him stories about I-Chaya until Jim’s cheeks were red with merriment. Spock looked at the curve of his lips and did not think about what he would be willing to do for Jim if he asked.

They stopped for lunch and charged the aircar. Spock put his stolen plant on the hood of the car to absorb what little sunlight filtered through the darkening clouds, and Jim lifted Nellie up and pointed at the mountains and explained plate tectonics to her. She wrapped her tail around his forearm and Spock told himself it was not logical to be jealous of a lizard.

“Storm’s coming,” Jim said, eyes narrowed at the horizon. Spock could feel it, the shifting barometric pressure and the heaviness of the humidity. He pulled the sleeves of Jim’s sweater down over his wrists and they drove on.

They had not seen another car on the road for thirty-seven minutes when the engine of the aircar gave an alarming splutter, and their speed decreased until they coasted to a stop on the edge of the highway. They sat for four seconds, both staring at the hood over the now-silent engine, before they got out. Spock retrieved the safety kit from the trunk and snapped the torch on. Jim hauled the hood up and looked down into the machinery.

Jim reached down into the hot engine to unscrew a cap, and Spock’s hand snapped out on pure protective instinct, grabbing his wrist and redirecting it up. Jim looked at him in surprise. 

“My apologies, captain,” Spock said, and dropped Jim’s wrist like he was the one burned. Lightning split the sky overhead as the contact between them broke. 

“No, you were right,” Jim said, hovering his hand over the engine before turning to lean against the lip of it. “I wasn’t thinking. It’s too hot.” He looked at Spock for a moment, eyes snagging on the collar of his pullover, on Spock’s neck. “What would I do without you?” 

Before Spock could stop himself, he said, “I hope you would never have to learn.” Jim froze as thunder cracked around them. 

“You can’t just say things like that to me,” he said. His tone implied that he was speaking in jest, but his eyes were serious and fixed on Spock. “Not when you won’t tell me what you want to do after this mission.” 

Rain spattered on Spock’s shoulder. “I was waiting for you to inform me what you wanted.” A drop of rain hit Jim’s nose, and he flinched. The rain started to come down in earnest; he could hear it pounding the soil from a kilometer away. Soon it would pour over where they stood. Jim stared at him in disbelief.

“Hold on. You were waiting to know what I wanted before telling me what you’re doing after this mission,” Jim said. “And I was waiting for you to tell me what you wanted before making my decision.” 

Spock blinked. How deeply was Jim considering Spock’s own choices in his decision-making? Lightning flashed again. Spock could feel the static electricity in the air. 

“It seems so,” Spock said cautiously, and Jim threw back his head and laughed as thunder boomed overhead. The pace of precipitation steadily increased, slowly drenching Jim’s t-shirt. 

“Spock, you can do whatever you want, as you always do,” Jim said. His eyes were the warmest color on all of Via, the only remaining sunlight in the middle of the storm. “But what I want is to stay with you.” Spock’s human heart was soaring, but his Vulcan mind was reading Jim’s body language. There was something that he had not said aloud. 

“But?” Spock asked, hesitant.

“You know me too well, my friend,” Jim said. He smiled, closed-mouth, apologetic. “It was a miracle that you didn’t find out before now.” He let the rain pour down over his face for a moment before leveling his gaze at Spock. “I’m not just talking about our careers.” 

Spock stared at him. He had never considered, never dared to hope, that what Jim wanted and what he wanted might match so elegantly.

“I want to stay with you,” Spock said. 

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” Jim said. 

Spock could have said that Vulcans didn’t lie. He could have said that he only spoke when he meant it. He could have said that he had a personal policy of not lying to Jim. But Jim was a man of action, and so Spock thought that his point might be better made by responding in his language. 

He took Jim’s beloved face in both hands and kissed him the human way. 

Jim’s face was wet, and his hair dripped rain onto Spock’s nose, and he inhaled sharply before wrapping his arms around Spock and kissing him back. Jim’s mouth was warm, and his hands were warm, and the relief and joy and thrill that Spock could feel running under his skin were warmest of all.

They got the car running again, because Jim had yet to meet a machine that would not bow to his will, and continued on to the waypoint they had decided upon. The interior of the aircar was muggy with the rain they had brought in with them and the heat of their bodies, and Nellie looked smugly between them like she had any idea of what had transpired. For all Spock knew, she did. 

After returning to speed on the highway, Jim reached his hand across the console and rested it tentatively on Spock’s thigh. Spock covered his hand with his own and ran his thumb across the back of Jim’s hand. Jim glanced at him and said, voice low under the hum of the engine, “You look good in my clothes.”

Spock hoped that the motel they had chosen only had rooms with one bed available. 

Like the night before, Jim checked them into the motel and Spock carefully lifted the clutch in one arm and Nellie in the other. And like the night before, there was only one bed situated in the center of the room. There was a little couch, instead of a desk, and Spock placed Nellie and her eggs onto it, alongside the tribble. Jim placed his bag on the bureau and turned to lean against it, and when Spock approached him he took his hand and pulled him closer.

“This is really what you want?” Jim murmured, close enough that Spock could feel the heat of his body. Spock nodded. “Me too,” Jim said, and kissed him again. 

Spock had long ago determined that it was logical to give Jim what he wanted. And if he was what Jim wanted, then— kaiidth. 

Chapter Text

The next morning dawned sunny and warm, and Spock awoke with Jim plastered to his back, one arm slung possessively over his waist. He closed his eyes and floated in a pleasant half-sleep, half-meditative state until Jim stirred against him, kissing his shoulder even before his eyes opened, and the motel management didn’t seem to mind when they requested a late checkout. 

Jim slung Spock’s bag into the trunk and slid into the driver’s seat as Spock tucked Nellie in, then he pulled out his communicator to make two calls. The first was to cancel their beam-out from Devrelin (“Thank you, Mr. and Mr. Kirk,” the operator chirped, and Jim straightened, color rising on his cheeks, before he fell into a thoughtful silence. Spock felt Jim’s eyes on him for the next four miles). The second call was to the number on the slip that he had pulled from the sign at Ziya’s. 

The line beeped twice before a woman answered. “Hello, this is Vara,” she said. 

“Greetings,” Spock said. “I am S’chn T’gai Spock. I believe we have your Nellie.” He muffled the comm speaker with his palm as Vara shrieked, and Jim grinned. 

“Oh, my stars! Thank you so much! Is she okay? Is she hurt?” 

“She is in good health, as far as we are able to ascertain. We are prepared to return her to you today, if you are available.” Vara squeaked, and within seconds Spock’s communicator pinged with her location. 

“I can’t thank you enough, really,” she said, and her voice was muffled in the way that indicated the presence of tears. “I’ve been so sick with worry, not knowing what happened to her.” Spock sent the coordinates to the car’s computer, and the screen flashed with an updated arrival time. 

“We will arrive in two hours and twelve minutes, barring rest stops or traffic,” Spock said, and after a few more professions of gratitude Vara hung up. Jim turned around briefly in his seat and glanced at Nellie. 

“You’re almost home,” he said to her, and she lifted her head from the backseat. Jim turned back to the road and slid his hand across the console. Spock did not think that the novelty of feeling Jim’s fingers clasp his own would ever fade. 

Even before the computer had announced their arrival, Spock recognized Nellie’s townhouse from her memories. Nellie stood up on the backseat, clawed hands tapping against the car’s window. A human woman with short dark hair stood on the front porch, one hand shading the sun from her eyes. As Jim pulled the aircar into the open spot in front of her house, she ran down the stairs and the sidewalk towards them. Jim grinned and rolled the back window down. 

“My sweet girl, where did you go?” The woman, who must have been Vara, hoisted Nellie out through the car window. Nellie curled immediately over her shoulders, her tail wrapping possessively around the woman’s wrist. She turned to Jim and Spock as they exited the car. “I can’t believe you found her! I was starting to think I would never see her again. Where was she?” 

Jim smirked, and Spock reached into the backseat to pull Jim’s duffel out. “Devrelin Nature Preserve,” Spock said, as Jim said, “In a cave.” 

Vara’s eyes widened. “Devrelin’s halfway across the continent! I could have come to you instead!” 

“We were headed this way, ma’am,” Jim said, and when she looked down at Nellie again he winked at Spock. “And we fancied a drive anyway.” She bustled them from the car up into her townhouse, which seemed to be entirely furnished and decorated for the care and keeping of one particular lizard. The pièce de résistance was an oil painting of Vara in a gown that matched the lighter of Nellie’s violet shades, with Nellie draped luxuriously over her shoulder. 

Vara dumped them onto a loveseat in her sunny kitchen and started to brew tea. Spock immediately deemed her a worthy guardian for Nellie’s neonates. Jim slung his arm over the back of the couch where his hand brushed Spock’s shoulder and regaled Vara with tales from their journey.

“Maybe I need to pay this Conway a visit,” Vara said, eyes twinkling with mischief. “The nature preserve would be a great backdrop for a holovid about Nellie’s adventures.” 

“Vara,” Spock said, as Jim’s narration came to its end. “Nellie departed to fulfill a biological necessity. She needed a cave.” The woman stared at him, eyes narrowing, until she gasped and spun to Nellie, who had a structure akin to a cat tree in the kitchen, and had climbed up it to dangle lazily off a branch. 

“I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t know you were gestating!” Nellie licked the air at her, and she turned back to Spock. “What happened to the clutch?”

Spock unzipped the duffle at his feet and tilted it towards her, revealing the five safe eggs. Vara oohed over them, running one finger along the top of one, before cocking one eyebrow up at him. 

“This is whose clothing?” 

“Both of ours,” Jim said. Vara laughed, and refused to explain what she found so amusing. She served them tea and told them about Nellie, and as the sun went down Jim somehow slid closer and closer to Spock on the couch until they were hip to hip.  

Vara would not take no for an answer when Jim revealed that they did not have a place to stay. “If you won’t accept payment,” she said, gesturing with a spatula that Spock considered as lethal a weapon in her hands as a phaser, “then the least I can do is put you up for the night! I have a guest room!” 

The guest room had another enormous portrait of a different lizard hanging on the wall. This one was green. 

The final morning of their shore leave, Spock woke with Jim pressed to his side, his hair brushing the underside of Spock’s chin. He resisted the urge to gather Jim in his arms for as long as he could, but he was not infallible, and he could not stop himself from waking Jim up as he pulled him further onto his chest to inhale the familiar, warm scent of him. 

“Hi,” Jim mumbled, and allowed Spock to manhandle him how he wanted as he slipped back into sleep. They lay like that for another hour before delighted laughter rang out through the house. 

“Five healthy hatchlings,” Vara said proudly, once Spock and Jim had tugged on enough clothing to be decent and run downstairs. She sat cross-legged on the tile in the kitchen, the neonates crawling clumsily over her legs and Nellie watching proudly from the loveseat. Spock dropped to a crouch next to her, peering at their perfectly formed little limbs, and to his surprise they scrambled for him immediately. Jim laughed until he sat down next to him, and the five little hatchlings snuggled into the folds of their clothes and scratched them with their tiny claws.

“They recognize your scent,” Vara said. She winked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they think of you as a parent!” 

Spock ran a fingertip over one of the tiny heads as Jim asked, “What are you going to name them?” 

“Ellie, Belly, Jelly, Welly, and Smelly,” Vara said. Jim sprawled backwards to lay on the floor as the neonates burrowed into his shirtsleeves, and laughed until tears ran down his temples. 

Spock considered his original mission for shore leave, and deemed it complete. To take its place, he created one with more expansive parameters. He watched Jim laugh and thought, I will give you everything you want for the rest of your life .  

They stayed through lunch and then departed, Vara with Nellie on her shoulder waving from the porch. 

“I think she might end up running a zoo in there,” Jim said as he pulled out of the neighborhood. 

“I will hire her for my animal shelter,” Spock said, and reached out to take Jim’s hand as he wheezed with laughter. 

They returned the aircar to Tezlik’s business partner and wandered through Avreln, rescued plant in tow, until they found the transporter center. Jim tangled their fingers together as they walked, and smiled when Spock laced them more firmly. 

“Alright, then,” Jim said, like they had made a decision. Perhaps they had. 

They transported back to the newly repaired ship (the operator sent them to the correct ship, much to Spock’s relief), and Spock saw the halls of the Enterprise with new appreciation. He would miss this ship after their five-year mission, but the promise of a future with Jim negated any trepidation. Jim’s lion-eyes glinted in the light as he looked over at him, and he did not release his hand as they walked through the halls. When they arrived at Jim’s door, Jim pulled him into his quarters and took the plant out of his arms before pressing him back against the closed door to kiss him. When they broke apart several minutes later, Jim reached out and flipped up one of the fronds of the Athyrium. “Looking better already,” he said, smiling. “Where will you put it?”

Spock considered it. “Would you promise to refrain from disposing of your coffee in the soil if I left it with you?”

Jim leaned in, as quick as a viper, to steal a kiss before stepping away to drop his bag on his bed and unzip it. “Only if you promise to come by enough to care for it properly,” he said, but the warmth in his eyes said he was not talking about only the plant. 

As he unpacked, Jim threw several hangers at Spock. Spock raised an eyebrow at him.

“You could keep some clothes here too, if you wanted,” Jim said, and stuffed his t-shirts into the laundry bin. Spock did want. He wanted very badly. He hung his overshirt in Jim’s closet and then followed him out to join their friends on the bridge. 

Inside the closet, from within the breast pocket of Spock’s overshirt, popped one tiny purple lizard head. Smelly licked the air excitedly before curling back up, and waited for her parents to return. 

Chapter Text