Archive of Our Own

*

Space, humans like to say with their usual mix of romance and hyperbole, is unimaginably vast. It is a sentiment Spock has never really understood. Space is not unimaginably vast. Space is quantifiably vast. Vast enough to know that the portion of it explored by the Federation and allied worlds is relatively tiny. It is entirely possible, with the associated grasp of the physics and mathematics involved, to imagine the vastness of space. That humans do not like to do so is entirely due to the illogical feeling of insignificance that the thought evokes. It is not a feeling that has ever troubled Spock.

Until now.

He is searching for an anomaly. One which may – and he is the only one to imagine that this might be the case – have stolen his heart’s desire. An anomaly that could be anywhere in charted or uncharted space. His only clue is the location of the Enterprise -B when it encountered the anomaly. Which, given the habit of the thing to apparently vanish from one area of space and reappear elsewhere with no rhyme or reason, is not a helpful start.

So he is chasing down every anomalous sensor reading even remotely comparable to those taken by the Enterprise, both inside the Federation, and without.

He is conducting a search which renders – to utilise another human expression - finding needle in a haystack the work of mere moments in comparison.

And yet, what would be truly unimaginable is a life without his beloved. His dearest friend. Without James Kirk. What would be truly unimaginable would be doing less for Jim than Jim once did for him.

Perhaps his quest is hopeless. Perhaps success is, truly, unimaginable.

Perhaps one day he will give up, and return to his previous life.

But for now, the idea of abandoning his love, without a body, without of proof of death, is the only thing truly unimaginable.

*

Leonard McCoy stared down at the unconscious figure on the biobed. He’d had some weird days on this crazy ride, but this one had made an instant entry into his mental top ten, and his patient wasn’t even talking yet.

He checked the readings again. This was a physiology he knew better than his own, but on the current evidence, his knowledge was about twenty years out of date. Even so, he was sure the prognosis was good.

Around him, the ship shuddered. Whatever anomaly the Enterprise had forded in an attempt to rescue the occupant of the stranded and broken shuttle was clearly still giving them trouble. That explained why the Enterprise’s command team hadn’t yet darkened his doorway, and issued no orders apropos their guest other than treating his injuries and keeping him in isolation.

McCoy had been internally complaining around the inconvenience of having a patient in isolation until Jim had said, as if able to hear his unspoken thoughts, “There’s chronaton radiation around his ship. We need him isolated until we know what’s going on.”

Their scans had given them humanoid, probably Vulcan, and injured, which was less information than McCoy usually liked in advance of receiving a surgical patient. Then the injured form had materialised and the rest of the information had supplied itself: this was a patient he could probably treat in his sleep. Even a head injury, broken arm, and partial crush injury to a leg hadn’t presented a serious challenge.

He frowned at the unconscious face, and addressed it softly. “Why do I feel like you’re going to be trouble?’

*

The anomaly had essentially ambushed them out of nowhere, and its release of them was just as quick.

Kirk took a sharp breath of relief. “Well flown, Sulu.”

The helmsman exhaled. “Thank you, sir.”

Kirk looked to the science station. “Spock?”

“We are clear of the anomaly, Captain. We have also managed to retain the other ship in the tractor beam.”

Kirk crossed to him. “Remind me to congratulate Scotty on that tractor beam upgrade.” As he reached the science station, he lowered his voice. “You okay? You took a tumble there.”

“I am well, thank you, Captain.”

Kirk looked at him closely, his expression unconvinced. “Let’s get to sickbay. Maybe Bones can look you over whilst he updates us on our guest.”

Spock looked about to protest, but followed him to the turbolift in silence. 

As the doors closed, Kirk shot his first officer a glance. “So: past or future?”

“Captain?”

“Our guest. Are we going to look like we work with magic, or -” he caught Spock’s eye “- stone knives and bearskins?”

Spock did not respond to the choice of words. “Whilst the presence of chronaton particles alone is inconclusive, from what I was able to ascertain from the brief scans of his ship, I believe the ship to be from the future.”

“How far in the future?”

Spock frowned. “I would be guessing.”

“Humour me.”

Spock’s gaze managed to look mildly disapproving. “Perhaps, twenty years? From my scans, the technology was more advanced, but not completely unrecognisable.”

Kirk nodded. “That’s something at least. Starfleet will be breathing down our neck for reports, but at least they won’t send anyone to do it in person. Can we get them back where they belong?”

“At this juncture, Captain, I would not like to speculate.”

“Well hopefully, if Bones has worked his magic, our guest will be able to help us out with getting them home.”

“Indeed.”

Silence fell. Kirk added, “Of course, we’ll have to be careful. The usual strictures around dealing with time displacement will apply. No questions about the future, no exposure to more advanced technology, minimal contact with displaced lifeforms.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Silence fell again as the turbolift doors opened and they walked side by side to sickbay. Despite the adrenaline of escaping the anomaly, and the thrill of the unknown, Kirk felt a sliver of guilt at the quiet between them, at being its cause.

In the aftermath of a recent, perilous mission, his relief at getting his first officer and dearest friend back, alive and unharmed, when the odds had been so very against them, had been profound. Deep enough to lead, in the privacy of his quarters, to an embrace, which had lasted just a little too long, their nearness becoming intimacy, his awareness of the form of his friend becoming an awareness of physical closeness and simmering heat.

Spock had removed himself from Jim’s arms as if stung, murmured his goodbye, and left before Kirk could form a coherent apology.

Since then, Spock had been – careful. Kept his distance, reserved his secret smiles, his inner warmth. On the surface, all was well. Professionalism was unimpaired. But Kirk felt the loss of their unspoken closeness like a pain he couldn’t ease.

As the doors of sickbay opened, Jim gave himself a mental shake.

I crossed a line. I was tired, and emotional, and so relieved to have him back. We can put it behind us. It won’t happen again.

However much I wish it could. However much I wish - 

He stopped that line of thought immediately. There was no point dwelling on what could never be. 

*

McCoy appeared the moment they entered. Kirk’s gaze, which had initially fastened on the doctor, flicked to the security detail he’d sent, standing awkwardly very much further away from the new arrival than he’d expected. McCoy followed his gaze. “I told them to get out of the way. Politely.”

“They’re here for your protection, Doctor.”

“And it’s appreciated, but unnecessary.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure. I mean, he’s unconscious, for a start.”

Kirk headed towards the isolation room. “Who was on the shuttle?”

McCoy followed him, Spock close behind. “See for yourselves, but kindly remember: he’s my patient, he’s recovering, and he’s going nowhere without my say-so.”

As the door to the isolation room opened, they stepped inside, and stopped dead.

Only McCoy kept moving, to the head of the biobed, running his eyes over the readings, as the doors quietly closed.

After a moment, Kirk said, “Bones, is that –“

“Yep.”

Kirk’s eyes went from the figure on the bed, to his first officer, who was unnaturally still. “He’s – you.”

The silence stretched as Kirk and McCoy looked between the two Spocks.

The younger one spoke. “You are quite certain, Doctor? We are looking at a future version of - myself?”

McCoy nodded. “I’m as certain as I can be. I know your physiology better than anyone’s. The only differences between the two of you are exactly what I’d expect from increased age and possible advances in technology.”

“He’s not from a parallel universe? A duplicate?” Kirk’s gaze was now riveted on the biobed. 

“I’m taking the lack of a goatee as a good sign, and if he’s any kind of copy, it’s genuinely extraordinary work. Given the presence of chronaton radiation, my professional opinion is that he is exactly what he looks like.”

“He is me. From approximately two decades from now.”

“That’s where I’d put my money.”

They both watched their captain round the bed and stare down at the sleeping man. He murmured, “He really is you, isn’t he?” The question did not appear to require a response, and after a moment Kirk visibly shook himself. “Can we wake him?”

McCoy frowned. “We could, but should we? Aren’t there regulations against this kind of thing?”

It was Spock who spoke. “In order to return him to his place in the timeline, he will require his ship, which therefore must be repaired. And as you rightly point out doctor, regulations say we must limit our exposure to any future knowledge, which includes the technology on his ship.”

“He’ll have to repair it himself?”

Kirk nodded. “It’s the best solution, assuming he can. Can he?”

He looked to McCoy, who almost snorted. “If he’s him,” he nodded to Spock, “I’ve no doubt he could rebuild it from the ground up.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“I meant; would he be medically fit enough?” Kirk looked at his CMO.

“Oh. Well, we won’t know for absolute certain until he wakes up, and he won’t be doing anything today, or maybe tomorrow, but after that? I’d say so, yes. I might let him out, if he makes good progress, and behaves himself.”

“Which brings us back to: can we wake him?”

“Now?” McCoy looked proprietorially at his patient.

Kirk nodded. “Minimal exposure, Doctor, as per those regulations you are suddenly so fond of. We need him off the ship.”

McCoy huffed his disapproval but turned to fill a hypospray.

Kirk glanced at Spock. His first officer had not moved since entering the room, and was watching his older self intently, expression shuttered.

Kirk looked back at the biobed. Everything he had said to McCoy was true, but he’d be lying if he said the thought of speaking to another Spock didn’t evoke a small thrill of anticipation. He wanted to see the changes the years had wrought, to hear the voice of this new – still handsome, a quiet part of his mind noted – version of Spock.

Maybe he won’t remember me. Maybe we aren’t even friends anymore.

Or maybe...

He stopped the thought before it could take hold.

McCoy placed the hypospray gently against Spock’s neck. The hiss was loud in the quiet room.

Kirk took a step back, not wanting to crowd him as consciousness returned. McCoy hovered closer, his eyes flicking between his patient's face and the readings above his head.

The bed emitted a warning beep as its occupant's eyes flickered slowly open. For a moment, his gaze was unfocussed and uncertain, before it found the face of Leonard McCoy. Then his gaze sharpened, and the dark eyes widened in shock.

McCoy said gently, “Hey there. How are you feeling?”

His patient’s eyes flicked to the ceiling, to readout panel above him, then back to McCoy. His expression softened. “Hello Leonard.”

McCoy blinked in surprise, then smiled. “Hi Spock.”

“I am on the Enterprise.”

“Yep.”

“I have travelled back in time. Approximately twenty years.”

“That’s our working assumption at this point.”

“That is unexpected. And unfortunate.”

“Tell me about it. Now I’ve got two of you to drive me crazy.”

“I must return to my own time.”

He tensed to rise, and McCoy placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Not right now you don’t. You took a knock to the head, and you’ll need at least two days complete rest before you do anything.”

“Regulations decree that my exposure to this time must be minimal.”

Kirk smiled. “That’s what I just said.”

Spock’s head whirled round as Kirk stepped forward into his line of sight. Whatever fear Kirk had harboured around a lack of recognition, or worse, indifference, was utterly erased by the look that crossed Spock’s face then: a subtle yet heady mix of shock, joy, and adoration, tempered by a pain that made Kirk’s heart hurt, even as it beat faster.

Spock said, his voice unsteady, “Jim.”

Kirk couldn't stop his responding smile. Spock’s reaction to his mere presence was as profound as it was unfeigned. He said, “I’m glad you remember me.” A sentence that had sounded light in his head came out as the aching truth it was.

Spock’s eyes were full. “How could I not. You –“

A voice said, from the end of the biobed, neutral in tone but sharp in inflection, “You may share no information with us, apropos our future.”

Jim’s head snapped round. He’d almost forgotten his first officer was in the room.

Spock raised his head far enough to see his younger self, who had not moved from his position near the door. “I did not intend to.” His expression was guarded, but Kirk could read fondness and something almost akin to pity in those dark eyes.

Kirk said, “Spock, he’s you. I hardly think we have to worry about breaches of the regs.”

“We cannot know what influences have shaped me in the intervening years, nor where my loyalties now lie. We cannot even be certain this is my future self from this timeline.”

Kirk frowned, and even McCoy looked sceptical, but before either of them could speak, the older Spock said, “The Commander is quite correct. Although this does appear to be the Enterprise of my memories, we cannot be certain without further information, and in any event, I must not pollute the timeline any more than necessary to leave.” He was still looking at his younger self with something like sympathy, and Kirk felt himself warming to this older Spock even more.

McCoy said dryly, “We definitely need you off the ship. I can’t have two of you here, quoting regs at me.”

Older Spock looked to him with what Kirk felt was obvious affection. “I shall endeavour to inconvenience you no longer than necessary, Doctor.”

McCoy looked flatly at him. “No, you won’t. You’ll inconvenience me exactly as much as needed to get the job done, and then some more, just for fun.”

Spock’s expression took on a cast of amusement, although Kirk couldn’t honestly have said a single muscle of his face moved. He raised an innocent eyebrow, but voiced no denial, and McCoy grinned.

Kirk watched them, quietly fascinated. This was their relationship, but devoid of its mutually agreed denial that there was any affection beneath the bickering.

The older Spock turned to Kirk. “May I ask the date?”

Kirk made to reply, but it was his younger self who answered sharply, with the exact figures and nothing more, as if he had been concerned Kirk would provide extraneous information along with the stardate.

The older Spock’s face took on a thoughtful cast. “I assume my ship was towed into shuttle bay one. I will need to examine it, but if repair will take longer than a few days, we would be wise to remove it to shuttle bay two, to allow for more private repair.”

Kirk said quickly, “And because we might need shuttle bay one imminently?”

His first officer said immediately, “Captain –“

His older self looked at Kirk with a deliberately neutral expression. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Jim.”

The affection in his tone made Kirk smile again. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“I would expect no less.” Dark eyes glowed back at him.

Kirk’s smile warmed, and the moment lengthened, until McCoy said pointedly, “Right, if that’s all for now, my patient needs to rest.”

Kirk’s gaze turned to him, suddenly all business. “Very well, Doctor, any change in his condition, report to me immediately.” He nodded to the older version of Spock, then addressed the younger. “Spock, with me.”

*

In the turbolift, to break the silence which was contriving to be even more awkward than the one that had accompanied them to sickbay, Jim said curtly, “He’s right about the ship. He’ll have to move it as soon as he’s up and about. We need as few people with eyes on it as possible. And apart from anything else, it’s in the way.”

“Agreed.”

Silence fell again. After a moment, Kirk sighed. “I’m sorry he’s making you uncomfortable. If it’s any consolation, I – well, let’s just say, with the lives we lead, having clear evidence of you alive, twenty years from now? It’s made my day, I don’t mind telling you.” He shot his first officer a smile.

Spock, who had bridled at the notion that his other self was making him uncomfortable, softened slightly. “His very presence here may have changed that.”

“Not if we have very little to do with him, and get him back to his own time as fast as possible. After all, there’s probably a Jim Kirk twenty years from now who’s looking for him. Wouldn’t want to deprive older me.“

*

Leonard McCoy looked in curiosity at his patient. He had sensibly put himself in a healing trance as soon as the Enterprise’s command team had departed, and some of his key readings, although low, were already showing improvement.

His amenability to treatment was both unexpected and a relief. Unexpected, because his younger self seemed to regard any time spent in sickbay as a personal failing, and a relief, because McCoy was certain that, had Spock remembered any danger about to befall the Enterprise, any at all, he would have insisted on being up and about. Therefore, by McCoy’s reasoning, sickbay was likely to be a quiet place for the foreseeable future, a prospect which gave the ship’s CMO no little satisfaction. But that was not what was occupying his mind at that precise moment. He looked down at his patient, remembering the softening of his expression, the warmth in his voice.

I always wondered if you loved him. Now I know. Question is, where's your Jim? And why does it seem like you miss him so much?

*

After his shift, Spock excused himself to the lab to examine in detail the sensor readings they had picked up from the anomaly.

Jim had been planning to accompany him, but when he looked up from his last report, Spock had already gone. He frowned, and headed to the turbolift. He was consciously intending to join Spock in the lab, but somehow, he found himself outside sickbay. 

McCoy, who was staring at his computer like it had personally offended him, looked up as Jim appeared near his office door. “Don’t keep him long, he needs rest, no matter what he tells you."

Jim nodded, crossed to the isolation room, and hesitated outside, before taking a firm breath, then touching the privacy alert.

Spock’s voice said, “Enter.”

Jim stepped inside. Spock was sitting up on his biobed, reading a padd much slimmer and more highly polished than the ones in day to day use aboard the Enterprise. As he entered, Spock laid it aside, and turned to greet his visitor, his face softening instantly. A smile, small but clearly visible, tugged at his lips, but his eyes spoke of longing, and grief.

Jim smiled back. Why do you look at me like that? Did we fall out? Don’t we see each other anymore? Am I dead?

“Hello, Jim.” He hesitated, then said, “My apologies, Captain.”

Jim waved that away. “Jim, please. I’m assuming we’ve known each other for many years by your time.”

“I fear I have may have given that away already.”

Jim’s smile warmed. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” He walked over to the biobed. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I am well, thanks to the good doctor. However, I am forbidden from leaving sickbay until I am sufficiently recovered. We are currently in disagreement regarding the definition of sufficiently.”

Jim huffed a laugh. “Forgive me, but I’ll be siding with your doctor on this one.”

“Predictably.” Spock’s tone was dry, but his eyes were soft, drinking in Jim’s presence, his voice, his every expression.

Jim felt oddly exposed. It was so rare for him to be the subject of an emotional attention as intense as that  Spock could bring to bear. 

Silence fell. The thought occurred to Jim that his coming here was immensely selfish. Yes, his presence lit up this Spock in a way that made Jim’s own heart beat faster; but that seemed insufficient reason to evoke the undercurrent of profound sadness that Spock was unable to wholly disguise.

I should go.

Instead, he said, with an embarrassed shrug, “I want to ask you so much, and I’m not allowed to ask you anything.”

Spock’s look was understanding. “I would tell you all, if I could. But we cannot risk events not unfolding as they should.” He hesitated, then added, “Would it reveal too much to say that I have no wish to endanger anything that has gone by?”

His eyes on Jim's were filled with more emotions than Jim could identify, but over them all, still, that soul-deep sadness, and longing. Everything in Jim rebelled to see Spock in pain, even a version of Spock comparatively distant from his own. He took a step closer, drawn by the sudden desire to comfort with his physical presence in the way he could not with words.

“Spock -” he reached out a hand to touch Spock’s where it lay on the bed. As their hands connected, Spock made a noise of pure longing, and loss, and Jim felt something in his mind. A call, deep within, that cried out for connection, for closeness, for – Spock snatched his hand away, closing his eyes as if in pain.

Jim took an unsteady breath. “I’m sorry. Spock – I'm sorry.”

“It is alright. I am well.” He opened his eyes, but did not look at Jim.

“No, you aren’t. Let me help. Please. Whatever it is. Let me help.”

“It would be wiser if we did not spend significant time together.” Spock’s eyes were firmly on the biobed.

After a moment, Jim took a step back. “Okay. Yes. I’m - sorry to have disturbed you.” He made to move towards the door.

“Please don’t leave.”

The words were so quiet, so hesitant, Jim wasn’t even sure he’d heard them. He turned slowly back.

Spock still wouldn’t meet his gaze, but his hand twitched against the biobed, as if physically preventing himself from reaching out. He said, and the words sounded forced, constricted, “The more time I spend here, the more the timeline is endangered. I must limit my contact with this time in every way possible.”

Jim waited. Spock was right, and they both knew it. But Spock was also in pain. And James Kirk would be damned to temporal hell before he let Spock suffer when it was in his power to prevent.

After a moment, when nothing else was forthcoming, he took a slow breath, then said, “I've been, er,” he cleared his throat, “- thinking about Captain Pike.”

Spock blinked at the complete non-sequitur, then looked at him for the first time in long minutes. “Christopher Pike?”

Jim leaned against the biobed next to Spock’s. “Yes. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about him. I’ve been asked to contribute to an article for Starfleet’s journal. Something about famous captains. Anyway, I wanted to ask for your help – you knew him far better than I did. Served under him.”

Spock blinked at him, the disturbance in his eyes replaced with curiosity. “It was a long time ago. You would be better speaking to your first officer.”

Jim sighed. “I’ve been meaning to. But it’s awkward - he still feels pretty guilty about that whole ‘stealing the Enterprise out from under me to save Pike’ thing.”

“Ah.” Spock’s look of confusion gave way to understanding.

“Right. I figured; you’d probably be over it by now.” He raised his eyebrows at Spock.

Spock cleared his throat. “I believe, as Shakespeare would have it, ‘All’s Well That Ends Well’.”

“Uh-huh.” Kirk crossed his arms.

Spock’s head tilted with interest. “And are you, as you say, ‘over it’?”

“Oh, completely. Entirely. Not bothered at all.” Kirk leaned back on the biobed with studied casualness.

“And that indifference would be why you have not raised it with my younger counterpart?” Spock’s eyes had lost their look of distress, and were now softly amused.

“Exactly.”

“Because of his potential emotional reaction.”

“Yes.”

“Not yours.”

“No.”

“Because you are no longer emotionally compromised by those events. In any way.”

“Nope.” Kirk met Spock’s gaze, took in his barely concealed amusement, and tensed his jaw to keep from smiling back.

Spock took in the movement with barely a twitch, said gently, “And you harbour no resentment towards me for those events?”

Kirk frowned. “Why would I? As you say, it was a long time ago.”

Spock made a noise that could almost have been an aborted huff of laughter. “That is – profoundly illogical.”

Kirk gave in to his smile. “I know. How you put up with me for all these years is a mystery.”

“It was my honor, Jim.”

And just like that, the seriousness was back, and Jim felt his heart catch in his throat. He said, “I should go.”

“Yes.”

“Is it alright if I come by and see you tomorrow?”

“Please do. In the meantime, I will write some reminiscences of Captain Pike.”

Kirk grinned. “Thanks. I appreciate that. I did honestly think that the remove of time might help actually. Give historical context, as it were.”

“Captain Pike was an extraordinary officer. It is unfortunate for his place in history that his successor was probably the greatest captain Starfleet will ever see.”

Kirk stared for a long moment; mouth slightly agape. He felt his eyes fill, and his cheeks warm. He gestured towards the door. “I’d better -”

“Goodnight, Jim.”

“G’night.”

He hurried away.

*

Commander Spock, first officer of the Enterprise, attempted, for the third time, to settle to his evening meditation. The first two attempts had been aborted, due to his own distraction, and he was determined that the third would be successful.

He could not quite identify the source of his distraction. Except that was not entirely true. The source of his distraction was clearly his older self, what was actually unclear was the meaning of the profound discomfort he had felt since he came on board.

Seeing another version of oneself walking around was, naturally, disconcerting, but nothing especially out of the ordinary for the crew of the Enterprise. That, in itself, was not the issue. He sighed, and reluctantly allowed his feelings of earlier to surface for examination, since ignoring them was not succeeding in making them go away.

He focussed on the feeling – a tightness in his gut, a swirling  negative cacophony of emotion, and sought the attached mental images. He saw his older self, and his captain.

He focussed on his older self first. He appeared healthy, even given the shuttle accident, and, importantly, alive. Surely it was positive to gain assurance of one’s health, years from now? Certainly, Jim had felt that way. Spock looked again at the mental image. His older self was healthy and alive, but he was also – disturbingly easy to read. His feelings, his reactions, had been written on his face for all to see. Kirk and McCoy had picked up on them with no effort. He had hoped – had believed – that with the passage of years, his Vulcan heritage and upbringing would become more pronounced, not less. That his occasional slips into a very human emotionality would become rarer. But his older self, whilst still Vulcan in manner, wore his emotions for all to see, and did not seem ashamed. It was – disturbing, and disappointing.

And yet, this was still not the source of his anxiety. For he was glimpsing only one possible future – obviously, the most likely one, given the current direction of his life, but he could change this outcome. Now he had seen it, he could avoid it. Retake some of his studies. Perhaps, complete Kolhinahr. The flagrant emotionality of his older self could be changed.

But even with that thought, his own emotional unregulation only dissipated slightly.

He called up the mental image again, looked instead at Jim. Looked at Jim looking back at his older self. The  discomfort in his gut became a stab of something very like jealousy.

Absurd. To be jealous of oneself.

But Jim’s expression: warm and open, soft and fond – was one that he was used to having reserved for him. He had never returned it, never allowed his expression to show what he felt so deeply, but that had never seemed to matter to Jim. His affection never seemed to founder, even on the stony shores of what must look like indifference. 

He did not like to see another receiving Jim’s open affection, even when that other was himself.

Absurd. Illogical. But true.

And especially not when that other so clearly responded. Told Jim, with merely a look, exactly how he felt. 

Is that – how he would wish me to be? Is that what he would wish from me?

He could not be so open with Jim. He could not. It would go against everything he had learned as a child, all the Vulcan discipline to which he had dedicated his life.

The swirling in his gut intensified. To be a disappointment to his captain, his friend. To be found wanting against another, even himself.

It hurt.

*

Kirk entered the isolation bay with a smile. “Bones tells me you’re a free man.”

That glow at his presence that Kirk would never tire of seeing returned immediately. “The doctor has indeed granted me his gracious permission to leave sickbay.”

Kirk grinned. “Good. Listen, I was thinking about what I’d want, if it was me, back on this ship after twenty years.”

Spock looked at him in surprise. He’s still so goddamn handsome was the thought Kirk’s mind supplied in response, and he pushed it firmly aside.

“And I wouldn’t want to be creeping around my own ship, cloak and dagger, because of some regulations that her captain entirely trusts me to observe. So we’ve let it be known amongst the crew that you are a relative of Spock’s whose shuttle broke down, and the Enterprise is assisting you with repairs. So, as long as you wear this,” he placed a traditional Vulcan robe on the biobed, “And don't engage anyone in lengthy conversation, you’re free to come and go as you please. We’ve put the shuttle in bay two, under security lock as proprietary material of the Vulcan High Council, so you won’t be disturbed there, and you’ve been assigned quarters on deck five. I assume I won’t need to show you the way?”

Spock was staring at him in silence.

“Spock? Is that okay?”

Spock's voice was rough, “More than okay. Thank you, Jim.”

Kirk smiled, tipped his head towards the door. “So, do you want the tour?”

“Very much so.” He reached for the robe, then hesitated. “Is my younger self entirely in agreement with this course of action?”

Kirk shifted. “He’s - going along with it.”

*

They hadn’t got very far through the tour when Kirk realised his assumptions about Spock's motivation for this trip down memory lane weren’t wholly accurate. He had expected, laying aside the motivation of nostalgia, which was of course, illogical, that Spock would want to see the ship, the ‘old’ tech, perhaps his lab, and the ‘old’ bridge.

It became very apparent that the ship itself was a minor feature of Spock’s interest. He looked with fondness at the consoles, and bulkheads, and lines of the ship, but his eye was always caught, and held, by her crew.

Nowhere was this more apparent than their final stop. As the turbolift doors opened, Kirk said, “And this is the bridge, the command center of the Enterprise.”

Spock’s intake of breath was quick, and there was a mist in his eyes before he blinked it away. Jim resisted the urge to reach for him, turning instead to Uhura, who was looking at them with a curious, but welcoming smile.

Jim had come to terms with the necessity of redundant introductions to Spock’s old crewmates early in their tour, as appearances were important, so he ran quickly through the crew present, and then met Uhura’s smile. “And this is my head of communications, Lieutenant Nyota Uhura.”

Spock was already meeting her smile with answering warmth, and to Kirk’s surprise, dropped immediately into Vulcan. Uhura blinked, but adjusted with enthusiasm, gesturing to the Enterprise’s science officer, standing stiffly at his station and attempting to ignore the exchange.

Unable to follow the conversation at the communications station, which had briefly made Uhura laugh, he crossed to the science station and lowered his voice. “Everything okay?”

Spock lowered his voice in turn. “I do not believe this is a wise course of action.”

Jim frowned. “Yes. So you said. But wouldn’t you want to see this all again, in his position?”

“My preference would be irrelevant.”

“Not to me.”

“Nevertheless -”

“Leave it, Spock. He’ll be gone soon enough. The damage to his ship wasn’t that extensive.”

“The calculations to return him to the time he left will be highly complex, and extraordinarily difficult.”

Kirk looked at him flatly. “Could you do it?”

“Yes.”

“I doubt he's any less capable. So as I said, he won’t be here for long.”

Spock watched his captain’s face, watching his older self cross to Scotty, at the engineering section. That softness was back, and this time, it was only for his older self. His captain seemed positively irritated with Spock’s entirely reasonable position that his older self was a hazard to the timeline and needed to be gone.

As soon as possible.

*

Two days later, Jim entered the shuttlebay after his shift, and gave a low whistle of appreciation.

“You’ve worked wonders. I thought that resurfacing would take at least a week.”

Spock rose from his position at a makeshift workbench, and crossed to him with that almost smile. “Much as I am tempted to bask in your admiration for my efficiency, honestly compels me to confess that resurfacing tools will improve immensely in the years to come.”

Kirk grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t buy shares. And I’m still impressed.”

Spock’s look was fond. It emboldened Jim to get to the purpose of his visit even faster.

“Look, I know you have to limit exposure to this time, but Bones tells me you’ve barely been to your quarters. Security logs concur with him. Have you been eating and sleeping on your shuttle? It’s not nearly comfortable enough for someone in recovery. Or in good enough condition at all, come to that. So I’m asking you: sleep in your quarters tonight.”

Spock opened his mouth to voice what Jim was absolutely certain was an objection, so he continued, “And come and eat dinner with me now.”

Spock’s mouth snapped shut, and that haunted look, which had been slowly disappearing with each of Kirk’s visits, returned abruptly.

Kirk said quickly, “I know, but if it’s the only way to make sure you’re taking care of yourself, then your choices are: eat with me, and sleep in your quarters, or a trip to sickbay to visit Bones.”

Spock fixed him with a mildly exasperated look. “I have been able to both avoid unnecessary exposure to this timeline, and work longer hours, by restricting my movements to this bay. It is logical.”

“Uh-huh." Kirk folded his arms. "So, and just out of curiosity, do I still outrank you?” He blinked innocently at Spock.

Spock’s jaw worked before he replied. “Technically.”

Kirk smothered his grin. “So, dinner? Out of the shuttlebay?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I knew you’d see things my way.”

*

A small part of Jim had wondered, given that they couldn’t talk about twenty years of Spock’s life, if prolonged conversation might be awkward. He was delighted to learn that this was not even nearly the case. Spock seemed content to restrict conversation to events that had already happened, and topics that had not changed in the intervening years.

As the evening wore on, Jim was gratified to see the haunted look that this Spock seemed to carry as a permanent part of him slowly fade, to be replaced with a warmth and contentment that Jim wanted to preserve like the treasure it was.

After making sure Spock ate, not enough to Jim’s mind, but Spock assured him he was full, they moved to the desk, and Jim sat, his second shot of McCoy’s medicinal bourbon in hand. Spock sat opposite him automatically, as if he'd never sat anywhere else. 

He regarded Spock seriously. “Now listen. I know you can’t tell me anything about the future. I know that. But, you need to understand, Spock, I have to know. For the love of my sanity. For my mental health. For my ability to keep doing this job.” He took a breath. “Please tell me: sometime in the next twenty goddamn years, please tell me Nogura retires.”

Spock’s expression, which had been tightening with alarm, relaxed immediately into warm amusement. “Since the stakes are so high, and for the sake of your sanity: yes. And -” Jim looked at him in surprise, “- it may be sooner than you think.”

Jim’s face lit with genuine delight, then fell. “Just by saying that, you’ve probably jinxed it. He has spies everywhere. I now live in the Nogura-never-leaves-the-fleet timeline.”

Spock's gaze on him was so fond, Jim felt the warmth of it against his skin, even as Spock said with dry humour, “I’m afraid I can offer no further reassurance on the subject.”

“Fair enough.” Jim's soft gaze took him in. “You look better. You needed to eat. And get away from that shuttle.”

“Perhaps so. Thank you.”

“You never need to thank me.”

Spock looked at him for a long moment that stretched even beyond the intimacy of quiet moments with his own Spock.

Jim drew an unsteady breath.

Spock said quietly, “I will have more to thank you for in the coming years than you can conceive of now. And I am not sure I ever said it, not as I should have done, so: thank you, my friend.”

Jim swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I did, but I know you’re welcome, I know you earned it, and I know you don’t need to thank me. I’m sure there’s plenty I should have thanked you for. Did I?”

Spock's voice was low. “Many, many times.”

Jim nodded slowly. “Good. I'm glad. Well done, future me.”

Spock made a noise that could have been stifled amusement, or distress.

Jim said, “Spock, I -” he broke off abruptly, and ran a hand that was not entirely steady across his forehead. “Damn. I shouldn’t ask. I know I shouldn’t ask -”

“I cannot -”

“I know." Jim rose, began to pace. "I’d never ask about anything that happens. I don’t want to know how I live, or when I die. Whatever comes, I’ll handle it. I don’t want to know about changes, about events, or people’s lives, I don’t want to know about any of that." His jaw was set. "Let the cards fall where they may, I’ll handle it.”

He moved back, sat down, took an unsteady breath. He couldn't look at Spock.“It’s such a small thing, in the grand scheme, but I really don’t know, and you are the only person who could tell me – who could give me any hope - “ His voice broke slightly on the last word, and he stopped, angry at himself. “Ignore me, Spock, I’m sorry – I -”

Careful fingers touched his arm. “Jim. Ask your question.” Spock’s voice was low, but certain. “Ask me. If it is too injurious to the future, I will not answer.”

Jim met his gaze, and caught his breath. Everything he had ever wanted to see from his Spock was written in the other man’s face. “Spock, did – did we ever happen? The feeling is there, I can see it in you. And I know how I feel, even now. I can’t imagine that changing in the years to come.”

There was a long silence.

Jim said, trying to keep his composure, “I’m sorry, that was entirely -”

“That is a complicated question that I would be unwise to answer.”

“It’s - it’s fine, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You always were the braver of us.” Spock’s voice was quiet.

Jim blinked. “That’s not true.”

“From an emotional perspective, it is. You were – you are – so free with your affection, your love. I could not be so free. It took a long time for me to realise that it would not fade, or alter. It took a long time for me to be – unafraid.”

“I can’t imagine you being so afraid of anything.”

“Do you know how my younger self feels about you?”

“I think - he’s fond of me. He considers me a friend.”

Spock sighed. "That is what he wishes you to believe.”

"You’re suggesting – that isn’t how he feels?”

“I’m suggesting that is not only how he feels.”

“It’s not only how I feel either.”

“I know. But unlike myself, you will admit it freely.”

“Not that freely. You’re the only one who knows.”

“I imagine the good doctor has his suspicions.”

Kirk huffed a laugh. “Yeah. I imagine he does.”

Spock was staring at the desk between them. When he spoke again his voice was low, and intense. “And at the first point I would have spoken, when duty no longer kept us apart, when I was finally ready to match your bravery, there were... circumstances. Difficulties that could not be easily surmounted.

“But you are nothing if not – extraordinarily determined. Those circumstances were overcome. And I was ready. We were both ready. But in honour of our respective positions, we remained discrete.

“Two years ago., you said you were finally ready to retire, ready to leave the bridge behind. We planned to – formalise what had been between us.” Spock closed his eyes, as if the mere memory was painful.

“What happened?”

“You had one more assignment to complete. Nothing dangerous, nothing that would take very long. We were to meet after it was complete. To plan the rest of lives. Together. And then -”

“I never came back.” Kirk's voice was quiet. 

There was a silence. Spock seemed incapable of speech.

“Spock - why are you so far out? In a non-fleet vessel. Out of uniform. On your own.”

There was no response.

Kirk said gently, “That moment in sickbay, when you saw me, you didn’t look at me like I was dead, you looked at me like I was – lost, and you finally found me."

Spock did not raise his eyes, but a shiver passed through him.

“It wouldn’t be the first time the book said give me up for dead, and you didn’t." Kirk's voice was soft. "It’s just taking a bit longer this time, huh?”

“I cannot -”

"I know. It’s okay. But Spock, listen to me.” He leant forward, hesitated, then took Spock’s hand in his, ignoring the sharp intake of breath, and brief, intense flare of longing, deep in his mind. “This is a long shot, isn’t it? None of the others are with you. Not even Bones, and I know he’s alive, there was no grief when you saw him, and there would be, don’t deny it. This is the kind of long shot even they won’t follow you on, so I’m guessing the odds aren’t with us this time, so I need you to promise me something.” He reached across, lifted Spock’s chin gently to meet his gaze. “I need to you promise me you’ll give up.”

Dark eyes met his, wide with shock. “You cannot ask me to - you do not understand, I -” His hand in Kirk’s turned, enclosing Jim’s hand in his, almost painfully, and Kirk tightened his grip in return.

“I do. I do understand. I know the lengths I’d go to if anything happened to you. Even now, without twenty more years behind us. I know. And I understand you wanting to do the same for me. But – you've got a long life ahead of you. So much to do, so much to give. Don’t deprive yourself of your life, on the slim chance of mine. Wherever I am, dead or alive, I want you to be happy. I want you to live the best life you can. And that isn’t chasing round the galaxy after me. It’s okay, Spock. It is. When you’re ready, let me go. Please.”

Spock looked down at their joined hands. Jim could no longer see his face, but his breathing began to hitch. Jim hesitated for only a moment, then rounded the desk and used their joined hands to pull the older man into his arms. Spock made no sound, but his breath continued to labour as he allowed himself to be moved. Jim held him tightly, rubbed his back, murmured, “I’m so sorry, Spock.” The words seemed to act as a catalyst, and he was seized in turn, held close in trembling arms, to the sound of his name like a prayer.

*

“What have you said to Jim?” The voice of his younger self cut across his concentration, all tightly restrained hostility.

Spock stopped his work, rose, and turned. “To what do you refer?”

“You are well aware. You have spoken to Jim unnecessarily on multiple occasions, despite the regulations forbidding extraneous contact. And in consequence of those unnecessary conversations, Jim is unusually quiet, and his mood is far more subdued than his custom, and has been so all day. I believe him to be emotionally compromised in consequence of your actions, and I am seeking to rectify your interference, so I ask again: what have you told Ji – Captain Kirk?”

His older self looked at him. “Do you believe his professional competence to be impacted?”

“Of course not.”

“I ask because if his professional competence is not in question, then your violation of those regulations you just cited to speak to me is also – unnecessary, is it not?”

“I am merely seeking to ascertain the reason for my captain’s low mood. It is part of my role to aid him to function at maximum efficiency, as you are well aware.”

His older self sighed, looked away, and then, seeming to reach a decision, looked back at him.

“Why are you here?”

“My role -”

“Do me the credit of assuming that I know your role as well you.” His older self’s voice was mild, and the tone carried no rebuke: even so, Spock stiffened even further. “You are unhappy that I have spoken to Jim, yet I could hardly avoid doing so, in the circumstances.”

“You could have avoided repeated conversations.”

“I could have. I chose not to.”

“For illogical reasons.”

His older self blinked at him, unrepentant. “For entirely emotional reasons, yes.”

“As I suspected. You have not kept up the Vulcan discipline necessary to live a life amongst humans.”

An eyebrow rose in surprise.

Spock continued. “I will not judge your decisions, as I do not know the influences that have shaped your life for the next two decades, but I would request that you desist your unnecessarily emotional behaviour in Jim’s presence. It has negatively affected his own emotional state.”

His older self had lost his look of surprise, and was staring at him with genuine curiosity, and a little sadness, the mere presence of which made Spock increasingly irritated.

He murmured, to himself, “I had almost forgotten...”

“Forgotten what?” It took all of his self-control not to snap the question.

But his older self did not respond immediately. Instead he continued to study Spock with that disturbingly intent interest. After a moment, he said, “What is the true nature of your objection to my interactions with Captain Kirk? Because they do appear to be centered around him. You have not spoken of my conversations with Doctor McCoy. Which leads me suspect that it is not, in fact, my supposed lack of emotional discipline to which you object, but what Jim might read in that lack of discipline, that truly disturbs you. What is it that you do not wish him to know?”

“I am merely concerned –”

His older self crossed to him with three quick strides. His voice was quiet, but sharp, a silent blade to Spock’s defences.

“You can lie to him, you can lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to me.”

“I would not lie to him.”

“You have, and you will. A lie of omission is still a lie, as well you know.”

“And you know why I must conceal the existence of –”

“I do not refer to our siblings. Jim will know of them when the time is right.”

“Then to what do you refer?”

His older self looked at him for a long, exposing moment, then said, very gently, as if talking to a frightened child, “You love him. You have loved him for a long time.”

Spock wanted desperately to deny it, but the sudden strange obstruction in his throat barely allowed breathing, let alone a verbal response.

“I will not speak of our future, but I offer you this advice: do not run from him. Nothing that you fear will come to pass. There is no monster there, only joy. Love, and passion beyond your wildest imaginings. Do not repeat my mistakes. We could have had decades together yet in my foolishness I gave us a mere handful of years. See past your fear. See beyond duty. You owe it to him. And yourself.”

Spock stumbled backwards, turned, and almost ran from the shuttle bay.

*

“Captain?” Jim looked up from the padd he’d been reading, and smiled in pleased surprise.

The friendlier version of his first officer was standing beside the command chair, contriving to look more at home on the bridge than the Enterprise’s actual first officer, who was standing stiffly at his station, radiating silent disapproval.

“Hello S-elen.” He’d been practising with their agreed fake name for days, and still the slip almost came. He was just so very...Spock. How the others didn’t see it was a mystery.

If Spock noticed the slip, he gave no sign. “I apologise for disturbing you on the bridge.”

Kirk made a quick ‘don’t worry about it’ gesture, and Spock took it in with a quietly pleased expression. He continued, “I wished to let you know that the repairs to my ship are complete. I will be ready to leave the Enterprise when we return to the anomaly tomorrow. However, I wanted to thank you and your crew for your hospitality before I leave.”

“It was our pleasure.” He noticed in the periphery of his vision that some of said crew had turned around to smile and nod, and he was about to comment on it when Chekov’s station beeped.

“Entering orbit of Vertia II, Captain.”

“Thank you, Mister Chekov. Standard orbit, Mister Sulu.”

As his helmsman acknowledged, Kirk turned back to his guest to find all warmth entirely fallen away. He was staring at the viewscreen and had gone as still and pale as his younger counterpart.

Jim blinked in surprise. “Mister Selen, is everything alright?”

He turned back, and there was unmistakable fear in the eyes that met Kirk’s. He said, almost inaudibly, and Kirk wasn’t entirely sure he realised he had spoken, “Jim”.

Kirk frowned, opened his mouth to enquire further, but the older Spock abruptly straightened, murmured, “Excuse me, Captain, I must return to my ship.” And left the bridge.

Squashing the urge to follow, Kirk looked over at the science station. His first officer was studying the readouts at his station, back to his captain, and Kirk was certain he hadn’t seen his older self’s sudden change of mood. He said, “Mister Spock, readings on the planet below?”

“As the Venture’s science team indicated, Captain. Earth-equivalent atmosphere, abundant flora and fauna, various non-threatening animal species, no indigenous population. The retrieval of their monitoring equipment and readings should be straight-forward.”

Kirk glanced towards the turbo-lift. “Right. Let’s crack on then. Get Mister Selen to his rendezvous on time.”

“I would be happy to lead the team, if you wished to remain on the bridge, Captain.”

“No, you know me, Mister Spock, always happy for an opportunity to stretch my legs. Feels like we haven’t been planetside for months.”

“Three weeks, four days, thirteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes.”

As he stood, Kirk grinned at the unnecessary precision, his brief foreboding falling away. “Like I said, months. Practically years.”

Spock fell in besides him as they moved to the turbolift. “The human propensity to hyperbole and exaggeration never ceases to alarm me.”

*

McCoy looked up as the doors to his office opened, and was mildly alarmed to see the older version of the Enterprise's first officer hesitating on the threshold, looking about as anxious as Spock – any version of Spock – ever looked.

He rose, and immediately reached for a tricorder. “How are you feeling? Are those headaches back? I could -”

He was cut off with a wave of the hand. “I am entirely well.” He appeared to reach a decision. “You must synthesise a large quantity of the Captain’s blood immediately.”

“Excuse me?”

“I believe you heard me, Doctor.”

“Is Jim in danger? They’re only picking up equipment, we need to –” he moved to the comm. Spock’s grip on his arm was sudden and immovably tight.

“You cannot change what must be.”

“I damn well c-”

“Listen to me. He will recover. You will see to it. You will see to it faster if you are prepared.”

McCoy gaped at him. “We’re going to just stand here whilst -”

“I am going to stand here. You are going to do as I suggested, and log it as updating reserves. Dammit, Leonard, quickly, please.”

“Alright. Let go of me. I’ll - how bad is it going to be? What else do I need?”

“Your surgical bay is already prepared?”

“Oh god. Yes.”

“Is Nurse Chapel here?”

“No, she’s off shift.”

“She is your preferred surgical support.”

“Yes. I’ll message her.”

McCoy began to go through the automatic movements with speed. “You can’t expect me to just wait here whilst -”

“If you attempt to warn the landing party, I will prevent you.”

He rounded on the other man. “Jim is going to be hurt.”

“I know that!” He broke off, looked away, breathed heavily. “He will survive.”

“How can you be sure? How do you know you haven’t changed that already?”

“I have done nothing -”

“You can’t be certain!”

“I am certain that you will save him.”

“Oh, god, Spock that’s not fair.”

“You have saved him many times. I am merely asking that you do so again.”

McCoy went back to his work, moving faster now. Spock continued quickly, “You raise – raised - it again. Years ago – years from now – there are antibodies in his system – something helpful, later – I – he must have them – I cannot change –” he sounded desperately uncertain, as the door to sickbay opened to admit Christine Chapel, still pulling her hair back from her face.

McCoy snapped, “Get ready for surgery, now.” She blinked at him, and Spock, made as if to ask a question, then thought better of it, and moved to obey.

McCoy was already pulling on his surgical scrubs between grabbing vials of blood from the synthesiser.

The door to sickbay flew open. Spock was cradling an unconscious Kirk in his arms. The front of both of their tunics were so covered in blood it was hard to see the originating wound, but an ugly, invading spike in Kirk’s chest made it clear.

McCoy sucked in a sharp breath and pointed immediately to the surgical bed. “Over there. What happened?”

“There was - a projectile.” Spock relinquished his precious burden to the biobed with infinite care. “It was a trap. The planet is not uninhabited.” Chapel gently, but firmly moved him aside, began to clean the blood from the wound. “Very primitive but they – took us by surprise.”

McCoy eyes were flicking quickly between the readout on the biobed, to Kirk’s chest, and back. He muttered, “And I suppose we’ll find out how the bloody science team missed that later.”

Spock was staring wide-eyed at the unconscious Kirk, his face pale, his voice unsteady, as he said, “I - I believe they were underground, it is possible they were hidden from our sensors – but I should have -”

A slight movement caught his eye. His older self was standing at the door to McCoy’s office, watching the drama unfold. His face was drawn, and set, but his eyes were anxious, never leaving Kirk.

“You -” Spock looked to him, then to McCoy and Chapel, already prepared, already in scrubs. As he looked back to his older self, his face flushed with anger. “You - knew – and you allowed -” he crossed the room with quick strides, as his older self raised a placating hand, began to speak, but was prevented by the simple, but unexpected expedient of the Enterprise’s first officer punching him square in the face.

*

James Kirk came around to a quiet beeping, and low level lighting indicative of ship’s night. He blinked at the ceiling of sickbay, took a deeper breath, and then muttered, “Ow. Damn.”

“Hello, sleeping beauty.” McCoy’s head popped up at his right side, having apparently been sat next to his bed.

“Spock -”

“He’s fine. As are the rest of the landing party. Only you managed to turn a quiet retrieval mission into a near-death experience.”

“How the hell did the science team miss the natives?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I heard Spock asking them that. Intensely. He was annoyed. And not human annoyed. That quiet, deadly Vulcan, annoyed. I bet they were glad it was over subspace.”

“I bet.” Kirk began to laugh, then stopped abruptly with a grimace. McCoy pressed a hypo to his neck. “Chest’s going to be a bit tender for a while. No exertion for a few days. Try not to take deep breaths. Don't worry though, you’ll be fine.”

“Good to know. Where is Spock?”

“Don't know. The bridge, probably. I had to ban him from sickbay. Both hims, actually.”

Kirk stared. “What on earth for?”

“Your first officer punched himself. Older himself. Right in the face. When I was about to conduct surgery. You’re a bad enough patient at the best of times. I didn't need that kind of distraction.”

“Spock – punched himself.”

“Yep, he was mad as hell.”

Kirk frowned. “Because –” he thought of the moment on the bridge, and his face cleared. “Oh. He knew, didn’t he?”

“Yep. Lived through it before. And your first officer was strongly of the opinion he should have intervened.”

Kirk’s frown returned. “He couldn’t do that. And he knew I was going to survive. What the hell got into Spock?”

McCoy’s gaze was gentle. “He didn’t have the advantage of having lived through this before. He didn’t know you were going to survive. He was – upset.”

“But his older self couldn't have interfered. Spock said as much himself. Repeatedly. He even objected to him being on the bridge.”

“And apparently that’s all well and good in the abstract, but when your life is on the line, all bets are off.” McCoy’s voice was slightly pointed, but Kirk didn’t notice.

McCoy continued, “And he did interfere. A little bit. I think he was afraid that his mere presence might have changed things.”

“Interfered how?” Kirk’s voice sharpened.

“He came to sickbay. Made sure I was ready.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“He shouldn’t even have done that.”

“Can’t agree with you there. Time is of the essence in those situations. But again, when your life is danger, there’s no version of Spock that will play by the rules.”

“I need to speak with him before he leaves.”

“No, you need to speak with your first officer.”

“I’m sure he knows he over-reacted -”

“I already told him that. With feeling.”

“Then about what?”

McCoy sighed heavily. “Come on, Jim. What exactly do you think his problem is with older him? Let me tell you, if there was an older me on board, I’d be delighted at proof that I actually survived this crazy ride, and I’d be trying to wheedle technological advances out of him. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, but -”

“But Spock has been actively hostile since other him came on board. Have you wondered why?”

“Bones, I’m really tired, and my chest hurts. If you’ve got something to say...”

“The older version of him is in love with you. Please don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Kirk wouldn’t meet his gaze. “And - and if you’re right, so what?”

“So – if I’ve noticed, and even you’ve noticed, then you’d better bet that our Spock has noticed. Or at least suspects.”

Kirk shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe he has, but I still don’t see -”

“God give me patience, Jim Kirk. Of course he's noticed, and don’t you think he hates it? His feelings, writ large for all to see? For you to see? He’s Vulcan, they aren’t supposed to show emotions, let alone advertise them like the older version does.”

Kirk made to sit up, and McCoy quickly slipped an arm around him, helping him to sit on the edge of the bed, then ran a tricorder over him. “Looks okay. How you feeling? Dizzy? Headaches?”

“I’m fine, don’t change the subject.” Kirk looked at his oldest friend. There was an odd vulnerability about him that suddenly reminded the doctor he was looking at the youngest captain in the fleet. “Do you - really think Spock – our Spock – feels that way?”

McCoy eyed his friend gently. “Yeah. I do. I’ve been wondering for a while, but the way he’s been acting since the older version came on board, and the way he responded when he realised he’d let you walk into danger? I’m pretty sure, now.”

“And you think I should talk to him about it.”

“I think if you don’t the two of you will drive me insane for the rest of this ride.”

Kirk gave a low huff of laughter. “Oh come on, we’ll do that anyway.”

McCoy grinned. “True.”

Kirk pressed his lips together, said quietly, “I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Jim. Older Spock is utterly besotted with you. I’m not sure it’s possible for you to screw this up.”

“I’m sure I could manage it. My romantic history isn’t exactly the stuff novels are made of.”

McCoy looked at his friend for a long moment. “And how many times have you felt like this?”

When no response came, he patted Jim’s shoulder. “Yeah. Exactly. Now look, I'll let you out of here for tonight, as long as you promise to go straight to your quarters and rest. I’ll tell Spock you’re awake and get him to call in after his shift, because god knows you can’t be conscious and not know every little thing going on with this ship.”

*

The door chime sounded and Kirk looked up from his desk, swallowed, and said, “Come in.”

To his surprise, the Spock at his door was the older, not the younger, and he felt a little guilty for the quiet relief that fed his smile as the other man stepped inside.

Spock was looking him over with care, and whatever he saw seemed to satisfy, because he infinitesimally relaxed, and said, “It is good to see you well, Jim.”

Kirk smiled, and waved him to the guest chair. “Good as new, thanks to Doctor McCoy.”

Spock sat. “I will admit to significant relief. I knew how history unfolded, but I feared I might have changed things in some unnoticed way.”

Kirk fixed him with a stern look. “You did, though, didn’t you? McCoy said you went straight to sickbay. You shouldn’t have done that.”

Spock’s voice was quiet. “I should not have allowed you to be hurt. It went against every instinct I possess.”

Kirk softened immediately. “You had to. We both know that. We don’t know what preventing it would have changed. Don’t beat yourself up.”

Spock regarded him for a moment longer, then took a breath, and said, “Nevertheless. I wished to apologise, and to tell you, I have completed my calculations, and my shuttle is ready to depart. When the Enterprise reaches that sector of space tomorrow, I will return to the anomaly."

Kirk swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. “You’re sure that everything is good to go? Checked all systems? You’re happy with your calculations?”

“I have. I am.”

“Good. That’s good.” There was silence for a moment. Spock’s eyes on him were dark, and full. Kirk rose, came around the desk, and leaned on the other side of it, closer to Spock. He said softly, “Will you carry on looking?”

“Of course.”

“But you’ll also think about what I said.”

“I shall - take it under advisement.”

Kirk huffed a reluctant laugh. “That sounds like Spock for no.”

“Not at all. It is ‘Spock’ for maybe.”

Kirk laughed. Silence fell again. He said, “I’m sorry you were pulled out of your time, but I can’t say I’m sorry you ended up here. Seeing you, speaking to you, it’s meant a lot.”

Spock rose then, standing in front of him to close what little space remained between them. His voice when he spoke was so soft Kirk almost shivered at the sound. “To me also, Jim. More than you can possibly know.”

They weren’t actually touching, but Jim could feel the warmth of him along his entire body. He stared into Spock's eyes. “I can’t say I’m not a bit - jealous. I’d love to - get a glimpse of the future. See what’s waiting for us.”

“You will see it, Jim. I have seen many wonders in my time. But none, in the end, to rival you.”

The air between them was thick with possibility. Jim realised he’d stopped breathing, and made himself inhale. “Spock, I - I know I’m not him –”

“You are him. As I am me. And I will do as you ask. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“That you allow me what I was denied in my own time. A chance to say goodbye as I would have wished.”

“I can hardly say no, then, can I?” He tried to sound light, teasing, but his heart was beating too hard to make it convincing.

“You can say anything to me.” Spock’s voice was low. He raised a trembling hand to run two fingers along Jim’s jawline.

“Would ‘I hope you were planning to kiss me goodbye’ be too forward?” Jim raised his own hand, pressed his fingers against Spock’s where they touched his cheek.

Spock’s inhale was immediate, and sharp, and full of wanting. He moaned quietly, “Jim,” and closed the gap between them.

As Spock’s lips met his, Jim gave a small gasp of arousal. He was familiar with the expression ‘to go weak at the knees’ applied to overwhelming erotic sensation. He had even been accused of inducing the phenomena, more than once. But he had never, in his life, actually felt himself near to collapse until the moment when Spock took his mouth, kissing him with the possession and  passionate abandon of a lover: someone who knew him. Knew how he liked to be touched, to be aroused, to be taken, and the knowledge left him unbearably shaken, even as Spock slipped his arm around him to press them closer together, so close that he could feel Spock’s body against his, feel his racing heartbeat and his fierce heat.

Determined not to be outdone, he wound his arms around Spock in turn, taking the opportunity to run his hands through Spock’s hair, to run a hand down and grip his ass, pulling it closer so that their groins slotted together, and the noise Spock made then was obscene, and Jim was immensely grateful for the desk behind him, and the man in front of him, that stopped him falling to the floor.

Then, slowly, with aching reluctance, Spock drew back. Jim tightened his grip, and Spock only moved far enough to press their foreheads together and breathe Jim's air, giving them both a moment to recover. Then he whispered, voice trembling. “My ashayam. My captain. My friend. I will love you always.”

He stepped away and Jim had to fight every impulse in his body not to follow. They stared at each other for long heartbeats.

Jim said, his voice unsteady, “Will it - always be like that?”

“From the very first,” Spock eyes were lined with drops that reflected the dim light. He added softly, “Jim. Please. Do not allow him to leave you.”

The door chime sounded in the utterly silent room like a gunshot. Both men jumped.

Eyes still on Spock, Jim said, automatically, “Come in.”

And regretted it immediately.

His first officer stood in doorway, looking from one to the other of them, his eyes suddenly wide. His older counterpart murmured “Excuse me,” and barely avoided shouldering his younger self aside as he left.

Spock stepped into the room, and Jim cleared his throat.

“You wished to see me, Captain?” Spock’s tone was glacial, and his posture stiff.

“Yes. I, er, thought you might want to know.” He nodded after the other Spock. “He’ll be leaving us tomorrow. He’s sure he can get back to his own time.”

“That is welcome news.”

Kirk swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Was that all, Captain?”

“No. Look, Spock, we need to talk." When his first officer didn't move, he gestured to the chair. "Relax, sit down.”

“I have work to return to, if there is nothing else.”

Kirk stared at him, irritation flaring. “Sit your ass down, Spock, we need to talk.”

Spock breathed out pointedly, but sat as requested.

Kirk returned to his seat behind the desk, breathing in and out slowly as he did so. Irritation was not the right mood to begin this conversation.

He laid his hands on the desk in front of him, interlaced his fingers. “Spock, look. You’ve been out of sorts since the older you came on board, and now he’s going back, I want to know why.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Captain.”

“Okay. Fine. I’ll guess then, shall I?” He took a breath. “He’s – more overtly emotional than you. Specifically, around me. And – that makes you uncomfortable. And I, er –“ he swallowed, “- I’d like to know why. Because he isn’t you. Whatever he does, doesn’t reflect on you.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“He is – who I will be. And I find that to be - an unpleasing concept.”

Kirk frowned. “He seems perfectly pleasing to me.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to call them back. Spock’s body language, which had been beginning to thaw a little, stiffened immediately.

Kirk stared. “Is – is that the problem? That I like him?” He half smiled. “Of course I like him, Spock. He’s you.”

“He is not me. You just said so yourself.”

“Well, not yet, but he will be. You will be. Oh, you know what I mean.”

“In twenty years.” Spock’s voice was tight, and he rose, walked away from the desk. “But now, now, I cannot – I cannot be as you would have me be.”

Kirk rose, and rounded the desk, but didn’t approach, wanting to honour the distance Spock had put between them. “What does that mean? ‘As I would have you be’?”

“Like – him. So - so open, so free with his expressions, his feelings –”

“Spock, we caught him at a bad time. His Jim is missing, presumed dead. He’s grieving. Of course, seeing me makes him emotional. Of course it does. Can’t you forgive him that? Forgive yourself that?”

Spock turned back so quickly Jim blinked. “Missing? Presumed dead?”

“Yes. There was an anomaly. Not the one out there. Something different. It took his Jim, and he’s looking for him. He’s – he’s alone, Spock.”

There was silence for a long moment. Jim could practically hear his first officer's mind working. Then he said, abruptly, “Excuse me, Captain, there is something I must –“

He made to move to the door, and Kirk put a hand on his arm. “Spock, wait.”

His first officer turned back to him, urgency in his expression. Kirk said, “You can go, but before you do, I need to make something absolutely clear.” He took a breath, choosing his words with care. “You, as you are, right now, in this very moment, in every moment we have spent together, are exactly as I would have you be. You, just as you are. There is nothing I would change. You are the best first officer in the fleet. My dearest friend. You. Right now. And if I ever made you think differently, then I’m sorry, Spock. I really am. You’re – you're perfect to me. I need you to know that.”

Spock had frozen in place, and was staring at him, dark eyes wide, all urgency fallen away. Before Kirk could worry that he’d horrendously overstepped, Spock’s hand came up and, never taking his eyes from Jim’s, he ran gentle fingers along his jawline.

He touch was so light Jim barely felt it, but his heart rate kicked up like Spock had given him a plasma burn.

Spock took an unsteady breath. “Jim, I must – “

“Yes, of course.”

Spock turned. As he reached the door, he turned back and said, hesitantly, “May we – continue this conversation at another time?”

“I’d like that.”

Spock nodded once, quickly, met Jim’s gaze for a moment, turned on his heel, and left.

Jim stood for long moment, watching the door, then touched his jaw with a soft smile.

*

Kirk watched as Spock performed the final flight checks on his shuttle, trying not to look interested in the more advanced technology, or stare longingly at the man who flew it.

Spock finished his work, and turned to him. Jim made himself smile. Behind him, the shuttle bay doors opened, and both men looked around in surprise as the Enterprise’s first officer entered at a rush. He came to a halt next to his captain, his breathing still unsteady.

Kirk looked at him in surprise. “I thought you were on the bridge.”

“Apologies, Captain, and I will go there now, however,” he looked at his older self, “I wished to bring you this.” He held out a data padd.

The older Spock took it and looked at it with curiosity.

The Enterprise’s first officer said, “Thank you for sharing with me information regarding the anomaly you seek.”

Kirk blinked. “You asked him for information? What happened to avoiding contact?”

“I had reason to believe the anomaly also exists in our time, which means that information on it would also be available to us.”

Kirk made to speak, then stopped, before narrowing his eyes and saying, “I’m still sure you did something wrong somewhere.”

But his first officer’s eyes were alight with scientific discovery. He turned to his older self. “Do you recall our encounter with the Arretans?”

The other Spock frowned. “My memory of our older missions is not always all it could be. There was an incident a number of years ago. I, er, I suffered some memory loss.”

Kirk visibly restrained himself from responding to that statement and turned back to his science officer. “You mean Sargon? And Thalassa?”

“And Henoch. Yes, Captain. They were a highly advanced and knowledgeable species, who shared our bodies, and briefly, our minds, within their holding devices. I found I retained some of their knowledge after the transference, although it began to fade from memory the moment they left us.”

Kirk frowned. “I didn’t remember much at all.”

“I recorded as much of Henoch’s knowledge as I could for my own reference. Much of it was beyond my understanding, and I have not had reason to refer to it since. However, I did recall that amongst his memories of life prior to the vault was a great deal of information on spacial anomalies – their location and, if relevant, to what purpose they could be put. His focus was finding an advantage in their war, but amongst the anomalies he recalled as significant was a reference to three I believe could be the source of the accident which befell the Enterprise-B.”

Kirk gaped. “The Enterprise–what?” Both Spocks turned a chastising glare on him and he subsided immediately, muttering resentfully, “When you two break the rules, it’s fine, but as soon as I’m interested...”

Spock continued, “I have highlighted them in the attached data, and extrapolated their likely position twenty years from now, based on Henoch’s knowledge of their location and movement patterns. I am relying on memories not my own, so there will be some flaws in my assumptions, but it will give you somewhere to begin your search.”

His older self looked down at the data padd, and back up at the Enterprise’s first officer. When he spoke, his voice was roughened. “Thank you.”

Spock straightened. “I am highly invested in your success.” His eyes slipped to Jim at his side before returning to man in front of him.

“I will not let you down.”

“You have not done so yet.”

The elder Spock’s eyes widened, and he looked down for a moment, before returning his gaze to his younger self. “You will – think about what I said.”

“I will.”

He looked to Jim. “Goodbye, Jim.” He held the padd to his chest. “I will see you soon.”

Jim smiled. “I’ll be waiting.”

*

He stood shoulder to shoulder with his first officer as the shuttle lifted from the bay. They both watched it leave the safety of the Enterprise, and soar into the vacuum of space.

“Bridge to Captain Kirk. The shuttle has entered the anomaly, and disappeared from our sensors.”

Kirk took a slow breath. “Godspeed, my friend.”

Silence fell in the quiet shuttlebay. Spock, besides him, had not moved.

Kirk said, quietly, “I hope he finds me.”

“If you live, he will find you.”

Kirk swallowed, then turned to his first officer. “Spock, I hope – I hope nothing that’s happened over the last few days has made you uncomfortable. I’d hate to think -”

Spock turned to him, and his expression was soft. “Are you well, Jim?

“What? Yes, I’m fine.”

“You have seemed emotionally compromised by the presence of my older self.”

Kirk sighed. “Yeah. I – hated to think of him alone. Of us apart. I wanted to help him, but in the end, it was you who came through. As usual.” He smiled at Spock.

“My actions were not unselfish. I never wish to see a future in which you are lost to me.”

Their gazes met, and held. The silence was loud with things unspoken.

Jim said, quietly, “Did he tell you anything about – us?”

“He told me nothing I did not already – hope.”

Jim nodded, took a breath, then, telegraphing his movement, leaned forward and very gently brushed his lips against Spock’s. When he drew back, the unmoving Vulcan’s eyes had blown wide.

“Will you come to my quarters after your shift?” There was no-one to hear, but Jim kept his voice low.

“Yes.” Spock spoke almost before the question was complete.

Jim smiled. “I’m looking forward to seeing you too.”

“You are seeing me now.”

“Yes, but now we’re supposed to be on the bridge.”

“That is so.”

“So we should,” Jim tipped his head towards the door.

“Jim, I -”

“Spock, if this is too soon, or -”

Spock reached a hand to his cheek. “No, but - you took me by surprise. I wish to – participate.”

He leaned in, and pressed his lips to Jim’s, sliding his arms around him to pull him closer. Spock’s lips were soft, and warm, and endlessly enticing. Jim fisted a hand in his tunic, lest he try to move away, and Spock made an odd, aborted noise of unbearable longing against his mouth, and his grip on Jim tightened, bringing their bodies flush together. Arousal burned through Jim’s veins like wildfire, and he backed Spock against the nearby console with an audible moan.

The console beeped in protest, and both men froze, awareness of their surroundings rushing in. Jim drew back immediately. Spock stared back at him, flushed and shaken.

From the very first. Flashed through Jim’s mind. Then: we’ve got twenty years of this. At least.

He swallowed hard. “Excellent, er, excellent participating Mister Spock.”

Spock took a deep, steading breath. His eyes, when they met Jim's, glittered with silent amusement, and a soul deep adoration that Jim couldn’t believe he’d ever not seen. “Thank you, Captain.”

Jim slowly became aware that he was just standing in the shuttlebay, smiling at Spock like he’d hung the stars. He cleared his throat. “We should -” he gestured towards the door.

“Yes.”

“Nineteen hundred hours?”

“Yes.”

As they moved toward the door, Jim murmured, “Twenty years. Doesn’t seem long enough.”

Spock glanced at him. “We will have longer. I am sure of it.”

Jim’s answering smile was radiant. “Yes. Yes, we will.”

*