Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Being on alpha shift for the past three years had forcibly set Jim's body clock to wake at 0500. He didn't even really need an alarm anymore. Which was generally useful if a bit annoying on shoreleave.

So, Jim found himself stretching awake in the dark, ready for another day of captaining. He slipped out of bed without turning on the lights, only to accidentally stub his toe.

Curses flowed from Jim's lips, and he tried to remember what he'd left beside his bed the night before.

Then, not ten feet away from him, Jim heard another person speaking in the dark, "Christ's sake kid, go back to bed. It's the fuckin' break."

Jim froze. "Bones?"

A sleepy grunt responded.

"What are you doing in my room?"

"Our room, ya damn nuisance. Get to bed, or get out."

Their room? That couldn't be right. Bones had his own quarters. They hadn't shared a room since…

"Lights, 80%."

There was more cursing, but Jim couldn't bring himself to care.

This was insane: he was back in his old dorm room he'd shared with Bones. At the Academy. The Academy he graduated from three years ago. Books about warp theory and diplomacy were stacked on Jim's nightstand. A familiar picture of Joanna sat on Bones's. Jim's cadet jacket hung off a chair. Hell, there was even a crack in the wall that Jim had forgotten existed but knew had always been there. The thing he'd stubbed his toe on was the little mini fridge Jim had insisted would fit.

All of a sudden, adrenaline coursed through Jim's body as he recalled stories of being trapped in alien experiments, in simulated or telepathic realities. His own experiences in being captured by aliens made the danger of that scenario all the more real in his head. His first instinct was to act: to run or lash out at this person(?) who looked like his best friend. Jim wouldn't do that though. He'd try the peaceful route first.

Despite his conviction, Jim's fingers still itched for a phaser or a communicator. Something, anything to make himself feel less helpless.

The emptiness in his hands wouldn’t stop Jim though. Pulling himself up tall, he addressed the facsimile of his friend, "I don't know what you want, or why you're doing this. Whatever your goal is, I’m sure we can find another way to get it. You don’t have to hold me captive. Let's talk without this—" Jim gestured to the room at large with a broad sweep of his arm "—illusion, yeah? There's no need for tricks."

The brows on the Fake-Coy drew together, and his gaze became less dazed with sleep. More clouded with confusion. "What in the Hell are you talking about?"

"Look," the word came out forcefully. The unknown danger was making Jim feel more cagey by the second. "I know this isn't real. This can't be real. It’s been years. Cut the shit and let's talk about what's really going on here."

Slowly, the Fake-Coy sat up in bed. He grabbed a kit from under the bed and pulled out a medical tricorder, mumbling, "Damn Starfleet, damn kid. I knew those were too many classes."

The Fake-Coy stood and approached with his equipment in hand. Jim caught the wrist of the imposter as the scanner was brought towards his face. He walked forwards, making the other man back up until he was stopped by his bed. There was a satisfying amount of fear in the Fake-Coy's expression as Jim leaned in to intimidate him. "No. You're going to explain what's going on, or you're going to leave me the fuck alone."

There was a hiss and a slight pinch in Jim's arm. He practically threw himself away from the Fake-Coy, but it was too late. Whatever was in that hypo Jim had failed to notice was surely flowing through his system by now.

"Fuck," Jim breathed. Darkness started creeping in on the edges of his vision. Nononononono, he couldn't afford to lose consciousness right now! He didn't know what would happen while he was out!

Instinctively, Jim tried to run away, to put distance between himself and the thing wearing his friend's face. The darkness was closing in though. He couldn't feel his fingers. His words wouldn't come out of his mouth. Heavy: he felt so heavy. Like someone had laid a lead blanket over him. It was too heavy. He couldn’t hold himself up.

And then, the weight was lifted off all at once as the world went entirely black.

****

Thanks to all of his years in Starfleet, Christopher Pike new how to hustle during a crisis. He knew how to hustle and how to keep his head; that being said, he lost himself a bit in the panic when he got the call about Jim at six in the morning. The words “psychotic break” and “hospital” rang through his head, and he was out the door in less than five minutes.

And—during the torturously long fifteen minute drive—Chris realized he was in fucking deep.

It wasn't as if Chris hadn't known he was invested in Jim's life before. Few people were as invested in Jim's career as Chris: he was the kid's recruiter and mentor. This wasn't fear for anyone's career though. As he burst into the hospital lobby, as he was guided down what felt like endless halls by a nurse, what thrashed around inside Chris was closer to what he felt after hearing his nephew broke his leg.

Multiplied about a million times.

This was what Chris imagined parents felt when something happened to their kids.

Fuck, he was in so fucking deep.

The nurse guiding Chris told him how they'd already taken some blood for testing. They were waiting on the results for those, but the scans had cleared him of things like tumors, aneurysms, traumatic brain injuries. Somehow, this didn't make Chris feel any better. He was just suddenly aware of how many things could be wrong. At the moment, they were waking Jim to put him through some psychological tests.

In the waiting area, there was a smattering of people. Chris immediately recognizes Jim's roommate: an ornery doctor named Leonard McCoy. He’d joined Jim and Chris for lunch a couple times. They got on alright.

McCoy was watching the clock on the other side of the room while clutching a PADD with a dim screen. The entrance of Chris and the nurse made McCoy glance over to them. His eyes stuck on Chris, and his gaze turned cold. A quiet fury permeated the air around the doctor.

Chris thanked the nurse and quietly sat beside the silently fuming doctor. McCoy looked terrible: hair askew, bags under his eyes, and rumpled shirt that was on backwards. There was no way Chris looked any better though.

Clearing his throat, Chris asked, "How long have you been here?"

"Since about 5:30. Sir."

The "sir" was tacked on, lacking respect. Chris sighed and said, "No 'sirs'. We're both here at the crack of dawn on a Saturday: you can speak freely."

The other man's jaw worked, chewing on his fury before he said, "Alright, let's be plain. I blame you." Both of Chris's eyebrows rose, but McCoy kept on going. "I kept tellin' him it was too much, tryna jam four years into three. Don't matter if he's smart. He's still gotta sleep. But, he didn't listen, and you didn't stop him."

"He's an adult—" Pike started to say in protest, only for Mccoy to interrupt.

"He's a fuckin' disaster with daddy issues and somethin' to prove!" The man hissed. "And he proved himself into the damn ground over that dare you gave him! He didn't know where he was. He didn't know who I was. He—he kept going on about some damn trick." The longer he talked, the more anger drained from McCoy's voice. Anger was just a cover for how completely terrified the man was. Chris wasn't the only one in deep with this kid. McCoy's voice began to waver as he continued. "He broke. It was too much to put on a him, and we let him break."

"We? I thought you were blaming me," Chris said in a half-hearted attempt at levity.

"I was with him all the time. I saw him every day: I shoulda known he was takin' on too much. Shoulda seen the signs! You'd have to be a Vulcan to do all that in three years."

Folding his hands in his lap, Chris looked at them, flexed his fingers a bit. "I—" He couldn't find the words. Nothing felt right. Eventually, he weakly muttered, "I thought he was doing well. He's so smart; I—I..."

When Chris didn't pick up his abandoned sentence, McCoy said, "He is smart. He's also a fuckin' dumbass."

Chris chuckled weakly.

They sat there—worrying in silence for a while.

Then, Chris asked, "So, you're sure it was stress that did this?"

"Just seems likely. Still appreciate the tests they're puttin' him through—it's good to check everything—but sometimes the answer’s obvious. You put the world on a man’s back, and you better believe his spine’ll snap."

The metaphor was visceral and rang true. And, in spite of not foreseeing this outcome, Chris had known Jim’s course load was a lot. There was no doubt the stress from it would be intense. Jim was also the kind of person to double down instead of admitting defeat. If the condensed course had been too much, he could see the kid driving himself until he broke.

Chris knew it wasn't his job to make Jim take care of himself. He knew that it wasn't all his fault, and he knew McCoy knew that too. Yet, Chris also felt guilt form a lump in his throat.

****

Jim had a couple options when he woke up strapped to a bed. They boiled down to: resist or cooperate.

Resistance was his first instinct of course. He didn't want to be in the hands of whoever had him. He didn't even like being in the hands of actual Starfleet medical staff. Fighting—tooth and nail, at every step—was Jim's natural reaction.

However, there was something to be said for cooperation, for a little patience. Playing along with this farce could reveal what these people wanted from him, and it would allow him to look for cracks in their facade.

So, Jim played along with the "nurse". He answered the questions. They started with pretty basic orientation questions: who are you? Where are you? What's the date? What are you doing here?

He was corrected on the date. According to the nurse, Jim was off by about five years.

There was training about identifying simulations, alien experiments, and telepathic illusions. Spock himself had helped Jim refine his abilities with the last scenario. During the nurse's examination, Jim used all of the skills he knew to look for flaws in the system. He watched the clock to see if the time changed. He listed all of his senses, trying to detect any unexplained smells or the like. He struck up a conversation with the nurse to see if he could trip up her role. And finally, Jim tried to detect another presence in his mind. Tried to see if his thoughts influenced his environment.

Absolutely nothing. The performance, the setup, the everything about this was flawless.

That left Jim with a couple of explanations for his situation. 1) This was the most impeccable illusion/simulation that Jim had ever heard of 2) Jim had actually had a psychotic break and imagined the past five years 3) Jim was five years in the past, either in his own reality or a parallel one.

At the moment, Jim couldn't tell which explanation was the true one. His head told him option one was the most likely. Waking up in a simulation/experiment was practically a normal Tuesday for a Starfleet officer. If it was option one, Jim needed to keep his eyes open for slip ups, for cracks in the illusion. Ideally, his crew would find him and weren’t also trapped in the clutches of whoever might have him.

Option two wasn't completely out of pocket: Jim could see himself losing his marbles someday. There wasn't much Jim could do for option two except hope someone—probably Bones—figured out what meds/therapy/intervention he needed.

And then, there was option three. Strangely enough, that was the one Jim’s gut was pointing to. It wasn't impossible. Nero had proved that interfering with the timeline was more than possible. But, there hadn't been any signs. No mysterious force, no voice, no explanation, nothing Jim could point to as an inciting event to bring him to the past.

He had just...woken up.

The thing was—the thing was though, that if there was even a miniscule, microscopic chance that Jim had actually gone back in time, he had to take this seriously. Because, if he had gone back in time, he was the only one who knew about the coming disaster. He was the only one who could warn people about the destruction of Vulcan.

Sitting in a hospital bed, in a room Jim wasn't sure was real, he came to a decision. There wasn't any evidence Jim had to point him towards what was really going on; therefore, he had to treat his situation like both option one and three were true. He had to be aware and observant in the event this was fake, and he had to find some way to try to save Vulcan just in case this was real.

Fuck, this was insane. Jim would sound insane for even hinting about the possible destruction of a planet by an angry Romulan from the future.

Maybe, he was insane. It was hard to be sure.

****

The hospital didn't let anyone in to see Jim until the afternoon. By then, he'd made his decisions regarding how to go forward. Regardless of his convictions, Jim had mixed feelings when two people who could be—but might not be—Bones and Pike entered his room. Because they could be his best friend and his formerly dead mentor. They could also be aliens in disguise or projections made of his own memories.

Jim tried not to be bothered by the possibilities, tried to treat them how the Jim of five years ago would. He took note of how exhausted they looked: bloodshot eyes and dark bags. Messy hair. Bones's shirt was on backwards, and Pike was wearing a shirt with an egg pun on it with his uniform pants.

"You guys look like shit."

Bones spluttered before saying, "And whose fucking fault is that?!?"

"How're you feeling, son?" Pike asked instead of reacting to Jim’s statement.

Fuck, Jim hadn’t heard Pike’s voice in…fuck, that was a gut-punch. Looking at his face, looking into Pike’s eyes was…difficult. Jim remembered seeing those eyes staring blankly in death. Those eyes were so warm and full of concern for Jim.

Jim’s gaze dropped to his bed. Fuck, if this was a trick, it was downright cruel, and Jim was going to punch people about it.

Shrugging, Jim said, "I was confused, but it's not so bad now. Feeling a bit twitchy: I've been in this bed too long."

"Well, I'm not sure if they'll let us take you on a walk, but we can at least keep you company."

The pair of men sat down at his bedside, and Jim took in their haggard appearances again. They looked like they'd been there since Jim was admitted at—what must have been—the crack of dawn. Jim felt at once touched and guilty. And then frustrated soon after. He was touched that they cared enough to be worried and to stay by his side through whatever this was. He was guilty to have made them worry. He was frustrated because he didn't know whether or not any of these emotions were even warranted. Whether or not he had let himself get invested in an elaborate performance.

"Thanks," Jim muttered quietly.

Pike and Bones talked about unimportant things: about horses and cooking and the weather. Jim tried to engage, but he knew he didn’t appear completely genuine. He wasn’t completely genuine. He was joining in for their benefit because they looked so fucking worried for him. And, if they were real, Jim cared so fucking much about them.

If they were real.

And, if this was real, Jim needed someone to believe him about the upcoming disaster.

"Hey, I'm going to say something a bit crazy, but can you guys promise to humor me? It's important."

Pike and Bones shared a look that was full of hesitant concern. Then, Bones gently said, "Sure, what do you need, kid?"

"Can I have a pen and paper? Or a PADD? Just, something to write stuff down with."

They didn't seem to trust Jim with technology at the moment, so they had a nurse retrieve a pen and paper. When he got the paper, Jim immediately ripped it in half. Then, he wrote two lists. Although Jim didn’t have an eidetic memory, his recall was still pretty damn good. There were events over the coming year—general and specific to his friends—that Jim could recall a basic timeline for. Once Pike and Bones saw Jim’s lists become reality, maybe him predicting the end of Vulcan wouldn’t seem so far-fetched.

"I need you both to read these and keep them." Fidgeting with his covers, he added, "Please."

Another weighted eye contact was shared between Pike and Bones. Clearly, they took this as another sign that Jim was unwell, and Jim tried not to let that rankle him.

Still, Bones gave him a pat on the back and said, "Yeah, sure thing, kid."

****

Because Jim was only a little crazy—and because he kept his theories about his situation a secret—his hospital stay only lasted a couple days. Bones and Pike visited him every day. Jim noticed they'd started trading off mornings and afternoons, making sure Jim was never lacking company.

Having company was nice for the most part. Some part of his brain was constantly screaming that he was being watched, but that was fine. Vacillating from finding comfort from his friends and being sickened by the possible deception was fine. Wanting to cry and hug Pike one moment and then wanting to throw things and yell the next was fine.

The day the psychiatrist announced Jim could leave, the relief was palpable. Pike, who was with him at the time, did not seem as happy. He and Bones had generally stopped looking at Jim like he was a ticking time bomb; however, the news of Jim's release seemed to cause a fresh bout of worry in Pike.

There was also that look Pike got when he was about to bring up something Jim wouldn’t like. That look had been coming up over the past couple days, and the doctor’s announcement brought it front and center.

Thankfully, Jim didn't have to wait long for the man to bring up what was on his mind. Once the psychiatrist left, Pike sat up straighter, putting on confidence before he said, "I've been thinking about what led to this," and Jim knew he meant the hospital stay. The doctors called Jim’s incident a “stress-induced psychotic episode”. Jim called it a normal, fucking reaction to waking up in his old dorm room without any explanation. "And, I want you to know I'm sorry if I made you think you couldn't take your time. I’m sorry if I made you feel you couldn’t come to me when things were too much. You don't need to rush the Academy. Especially not to the point of hurting yourself."

Jim chewed on his lower lip. He wanted to tell Pike that there was nothing to apologize for: he didn't hurt himself. He didn't push himself too hard. He could handle—and had handled—a condensed course. That was a little unbelievable given the circumstances though. So, Jim said, "It wasn't your fault. I pushed myself because I wanted to."

"I don't want to discourage you from doing your best, but you've got to have balance. You can't lead anyone if you can't keep yourself in good condition." Pike paused to let his words sink in.

Jim tried to look attentive instead of irritated. He didn't need this lecture.

Pike continued, "I've discussed your next semester with your doctors, and they've agreed a recovery period would be beneficial."

"What?!? Chris, I—"

"You need time to recover. I know you wanted to graduate early. I know this might feel like losing a bet, but this isn't losing. Taking care of yourself is never a loss."

Except, Jim didn't have time for this bullshit! It wasn’t like he thought graduating quicker would help him stop Nero. But, he needed access to the Academy! There were databases, sensor labs, and people he needed access to! Desperate not to lose his resources, Jim said, "I—I can't just sit around and do nothing!"

Pike smiled fondly, saying, "No, I didn't expect you to. You'd probably burn something down if we tried to force you to. I just meant you'd take fewer classes."

"Oh," Jim said. He was still a bit miffed that the decision was made without his input, but this could be a good thing. It wasn't like taking more classes would make him an officer before Nero came. And, more time off would allow him to focus more of his energy on saving Vulcan. "I guess that works."

An amused chuckle escaped Pike's lips, and he handed a PADD to Jim. "We'll start with this much and discuss more once you finish this semester."

Jim looked at the limit on his credit hours and frowned. "Chris, this is insulting."

"We'll talk about it once you've finished the semester."

"I actually am going to burn something down now."

Chapter Text

When Jim was released, Bones was there to pick him up.

Jim couldn't help but feel a little irritated by this. Yeah, he knew that he had just gotten out of the hospital. This could very well just be his friend worrying about him. That being said, Jim felt like he was being monitored.

This irritated Jim, but he tried to be neutral about his supposed friend's presence. He let Bones walk him back to their dorm, let him have some casual conversation about his last hospital shift. When they were back within the Academy’s bounds, Jim couldn't help but notice the stares—some subtle, some obvious—directed their way. Specifically, the stares directed at Jim. It seemed rumors about his hospital stay had already spread. Jim didn’t particularly care that people talked, but Bones kept throwing people death stares.

Despite himself, a warm fondness spread in Jim’s chest at the protectiveness.

Getting back to their room, the half-packed bags on Bones's bed were instantly apparent. Jim's heart plummeted involuntarily. He tried to remind himself that this may not even be real. Bones had followed him into space: this couldn't be real.

That didn't make Jim feel any better with one of his worst fears laid out before him.

Of course, Jim tried to make a joke out of it to hide his panic. "Backing out now that you know I'm crazy?"

"Christ, kid. No, I'm goin' to Georgia for the break. I told you this."

"Oh," Right. Bones had gone to Georgia for the break after their first year. Fuck, he felt stupid for panicking over this. It might not even be real.

Bones looked at his bags, then back at Jim, then at his bags. Jim was about to tell him he better not even think of skipping out on his kid to babysit his roommate; then, the doctor said, "You could always come with."

"What?"

"Ma's always happy with company, and the homestead's a lot quieter than the city."

"You don't have to do that." Bones had offered Jim a place to go during the breaks before. After their second year as roommates, he’d almost dragged Jim onto the shuttle with him. Jim hadn't accepted, fearing he'd feel out of place. Right now, Jim worried the offer wasn't made because Bones wanted him there. It was made because—for one reason or another—he thought Jim needed to be looked after.

"It ain't no trouble. We'd be happy to have you," Bones tried to insist.

"Maybe next time," Jim said noncommittally. He didn't want the first time he visited the McCoy household to be an illusion or a result of pity. "I actually planned to do some traveling during the break."

Bones frowned, saying, "First I heard of it."

Jim rolled his eyes, "I don't tell you everything, and I actually decided last night."

The frown grew deeper, and Bones obviously wanted to protest. Jim waited for this Bones to reveal his intentions. To either reveal his true self or to impose his doctoral opinion. Instead, the man let it go and sighed, saying, "Alright, just—just keep in touch, ya hear? And stay outta trouble. You've given me enough gray hairs already."

The Bones Jim knew tried to impose his medical know-how to take care of people; nonetheless, he also had a way of telling just when he could and could not push Jim. The line this toed of feeling fake and real messed with Jim’s head. Still, he tried to lighten the mood by winking and said, "Gray's sexy on you."

The scoff and eyeroll that earned him were so familiar. So comfortingly familiar. Jim wanted to believe that they were real so badly.

****

Travelling was something Jim had always enjoyed. It involved a lot of things he liked: exploration, new cultures, interesting people. This wasn't a trip for pleasure or relaxation though. This was a trip to recheck Jim's simulation theory.

There was always the possibility this was a telepathic illusion or that the simulation would be too refined for Jim to spot any flaws.

That didn't mean he shouldn't at least try to break it.

Over the break, he moved frequently, unpredictably. He visited as many areas as he could, tried as many new experiences as possible. He retraced his steps to look for inconsistencies. He pushed and pushed the bounds of his situation.

Maybe, if he pushed hard enough, something would give.

Nothing did though. And it brought him no closer to discovering if this was reality.

Sitting on a mountaintop in Ecuador, looking down at the valley below, Jim sighed.

****

Over the break, Pike sent Jim a list of classes he recommended for the upcoming semester. Jim wanted to tell him where he could shove his recommendations. Honestly, they were the most softball classes Jim had ever laid eyes on. It would be torture to sit through them all semester. Even if they were just the background noise to Jim’s “Save Vulcan” brainstorming.

Once he returned from his trip, Jim sent his own choices back—only one of which came from the list because it was required for Command track. Amongst his choices, there was a class Spock taught.

Finding a way to make contact with Spock had been an easy choice. What was a harder choice—a true test of Jim's restraint—was not seeking out Spock earlier. Fucking god, he missed Spock like a missing limb. They'd gotten off to a rough start at the beginning, but they'd become practically inseparable over Jim's captaincy. Especially after he and Uhura had broken up. Bones had even started joking that Jim and Spock were more attached than some newlyweds. And, well, Jim was guilty of harboring some feelings along those lines.

All of that aside, the reason Jim was trying to make contact wasn't just because he missed Spock. It was also the most logical choice. Spock was an invaluable ally in any situation: knowledgeable in science, strategy, and Vulcan specifically. There was also the fact that Spock’s father was a diplomat, meaning he had connections to powerful people who could prompt planetwide emergency measures.

Not to mention, Spock and Jim worked incredibly well together. They had a way of balancing one another. When they were together, Jim’s own strengths felt...more. His weaknesses felt shielded. He felt like the best captain he could be.

There was also the matter of Spock's telepathy. Originally, Jim had just meant to use a meld to convince Spock of the upcoming disaster. However, the more he thought about it, the more certain Jim became that melding with Spock would tell him whether or not this was real. While they had only ever melded twice, Jim the experiences had stuck with him. He would know the touch of Spock's mind anywhere. It may be facetious, arrogant, or downright stupid to assume nothing could ever imitate Spock's mind.

He just...couldn't imagine anything could ever feel the same. Nothing could ever feel so Spock. Nothing could ever make Jim feel so whole the way Spock's mind did.

So, gaining Spock’s trust was not only a way to further his "save Vulcan" agenda but also a way to determine Jim’s situation once and for all. His plan so far was to impress Spock as a student and make friendly overtures once the Vulcan seemed intrigued.

Some may think him stupid to try to befriend his Vulcan professor. Jim's line of thinking was that if Uhura could convince Spock to date her, Jim could convince him to be friends.

Unfortunately, his efforts were blocked. Jim received a message from Pike informing him of a transfer from one session to another. Said session was taught by a different teacher.

In his personal opinion, Jim thought he'd been handling himself very well up until this point. He was in a situation where he questioned his own reality, questioned the people he would usually trust with his very life. Those same people treated him like a fragile kid. It grated on him, yet he was not burning or breaking things.

This felt like a step too far though, and, before he knew it, Jim was storming into Pike's office.

The captain didn't seem surprised with the state of Jim, but he did seem a bit worried. Jim didn't care about the man’s emotions in that moment. He marched up to Pike's desk, saying, "I have had it up to here," he raised a hand above his own head, "with you, Chris! Just because I broke down once does not mean you get to take control of my fucking life!"

"Sit down, Jim."

Jim put his hands on the desk and leaned forward over it. "I am not a fucking child. I am a grown-ass man, and I don’t need you deciding what’s good for me."

"I saw that ‘grown-ass man’ in the hospital a few weeks ago," Pike cut in. He’d always had a way of speaking that simultaneously made Jim want to back off and want to bite his head off. This time, Jim was too furious to think of backing down. He kept his position as the captain continued, "Until we’re sure that won’t be happening again, I have the right to intervene when I deem it necessary. I'm your superior officer, and that makes your safety my responsibility."

"Tell me, then, sir, why you deemed it unsafe for me to take one session over the other."

"Do you know anything about Professor Spock?"

"I've heard some things," Jim replied, deliberately a bit dismissive.

"Well," Pike shifted a bit, "he's a brilliant officer. One of the best, but he's...I don't think he'd be a good fit for a less stressful semester."

"He's a hardass," Jim said, and he couldn't help a little smirk because that was so predictably Spock. Of course he was the kind of teacher to make cadets cry every semester. "I can handle a hardass professor, sir."

Pike pressed his lips together, and Jim already sensed the refusal before it came out of his mouth. "Maybe you can, but I'd rather play it safe."

Jim's fists clenched on top of Pike's desk. The urge to argue—to fight back in any way he could—surged through his body with so much adrenaline. Fuck, he wanted to fight his way out of this, but he knew it wouldn't work! Pike had already made up his mind: throwing a fit would only make himself look more unstable. Pushing himself off the desk, Jim bit out a short "Fine" and left as fiercely as he came.

Whirling anger clouded Jim's mind, but he knew he needed to think of his next step. He knew he needed to carry on. He was just so angry, so caught in his own head that planning would be useless. Thus, he took a stop at the Academy's gym. With this kind of anger, Jim needed to hit something. Needed to feel the sting on his hands. The recoil through his arms. He didn’t even change into work out clothes. Jim just found the nearest open punching bag and let himself loose.

Punch after punch until his hands were sore. Until sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his back. Until the sounds of his fellow cadets faded into incomprehensible white noise. Until his surroundings blurred into insignificance and his mind calmed.

As the world became a single task, letting his anger and frustration fade into the background with it, he started to properly think over his situation.

Okay, the problem: Jim needed Spock. He needed him to a) confirm this was reality b) help him convince others of the coming disaster and c) help him strategize for said disaster.

Theoretically, any Vulcan could meld with him to learn about Nero, but only Spock's mind could convince Jim that he wasn't in some alien's clutches.

Also, he just wanted to see Spock. Like, desperately. Jim missed the logical dork, and being away from him so long was screwing with his already fraught sanity. Maybe that was unhealthy, but Jim didn’t give a fuck.

An unhinged part of Jim was considering just... showing up in front of the Vulcan one day. Not the best idea, he knew, but it was better than never seeing him at all. He could bring him some tea or ask for a chess match.

Wait, a chess match!!!

Jim was a fucking idiot! There was a chess club on campus! He'd never really had time to attend during his first go around of the Academy, but Spock had to attend, right? He loved chess!

With a plan, and having worked off a great deal of steam, Jim left the gym far happier—and sweatier—than he came to it.

****

By his third meeting with the chess club, Jim was ready to face the fact that another of his plans had failed. There was something he hadn't accounted for: no one in the Academy’s chess club was on Spock's level. Only one meeting was necessary for Jim to learn that he himself was a few tiers above the other players. He didn't think that to be mean, and he wasn't trying to be arrogant. But, when you destroy everyone you play with, you can only draw so many conclusions.

Jim sighed at a table by himself. During the second meeting, people had still played with him out of courtesy. Some out of competitiveness. One spunky cadet challenged Jim to a game on this third time around. The game ended quickly though, and everyone else was engaged in their own games still. Even if they finished soon, they’d probably prefer to play against those of a similar skill level.

So, Jim sat by himself with a set in front of him. Bored and despondent.

It was unlikely that Spock would show up: the Vulcan hated wasting his time and probably already knew that no one here could challenge him.

Jim was back to square one.

Looking at the chess set in front of him, Jim remembered the last game he had played against Spock. It was one of those games that had been broken up over a couple days because of unforeseen issues around the ship. They hadn't even finished it.

The thought of an unfinished game between them made Jim so inordinately sad. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair that he and Spock were separated without so much as a warning. Without being able to finish their game.

Staring at the set in front of him, Jim drummed his fingers on the table. Spock had white for that game. How had he opened again?

Seemingly of its own volition, Jim’s hand reached out and moved Spock’s pawn.

Piece by piece, move by move, Jim recalled their last match and played it on the board in front of him. Despite nearly two months having passed, the game progressed smoothly under Jim's hands. It wasn’t that he had memorized the sequence of the game. He recalled where they had left off, what the board looked like the last time he’d seen it. What gaps his memory had in how they got there was substituted by his understanding of Spock. Knowing how he began and where they ended and how he’d react to Jim, it was child’s play to recreate their game.

When he got to where their game had left off, Jim paused. As well as he felt he knew Spock, he didn’t want to predict the next move. Even if he correctly predicted how Spock would play, it wouldn’t be him.

There was a familiar prickling of being watched, and Jim glanced up. His eyes widened in surprise. Then, an irrepressible smile spread across his face. A big, dopey, toothy smile.

Fuck, he didn't even know if any of this was real. This might not be real, yet he couldn’t help but be ecstatic because Spock was here. Dressed in his sleek, professor blacks and staring intently at Jim's board.

"Fascinating," Spock said, and Jim could have cried it was such a familiar sound. Those deep, brown eyes then looked at him as he continued, "You have played a game of two distinct styles independently. May I ask the purpose of this exercise rather than seeking out one of your peers?"

"I mean," The words jumbled up in Jim’s head. For fuck’s sake, he’d spent so much time trying to get to Spock, and now he was fumbling like an idiot. "They'd rather play with each other, but I wanted to play so..."

Something in Spock's eyes flashed, and Jim knew him well enough to recognize anger. "It is against club policy to exclude anyone. I shall speak to them on your behalf."

"No, no, it wasn't like that. I'm sure they'd play if I asked. It's just," Jim shrugged, "I kind of already beat everyone. I get wanting to play games you might win instead of, you know."

Spock blinked and tilted his head curiously. "In fact, I do not share such a philosophy. Competing with those of higher skill levels allows for more personal growth."

"I get that too. I also prefer a challenge." Glancing at the empty chair in front of him, then back at Spock, he asked, "Do you want to join in?"

"You would have me join a game that is already half finished?" The Vulcan asked with a raised eyebrow.

"We could reset the board instead." Jim allowed with a shrug. "But, you could also consider this a challenge in strategic thinking. Also, I think both sides are on pretty even footing right now, so neither of us should be at a disadvantage."

Taking a moment to consider Jim's proposal, Spock regarded the board with veiled interest. There was a little expression that told Jim Spock had made a decision, and he fought back another stupidly wide smile when the Vulcan sat. He moved a white pawn piece, continuing the game.

Moving his own piece, Jim said, "I've been to a couple meetings but never seen you before. First time?"

"Negative. My attendance is variable: I too have difficulty finding attendees that match my skill level."

"Yeah, I was thinking of quitting after today, but" Jim fidgeted with a bishop momentarily before placing it in a spot that made Spock furrow his brows, "I'd consider coming back if you're good."

"I am a certified grandmaster."

"Congrats, I guess." And, Jim adored the little, irritated twitch of Spock's brow at the dismissal of his chess rank. He was always so fun to mess with.

"What would your qualifications be, Cadet?" Spock asked haughtily. What a petty bitch. Jim wanted to hug him like a teddy bear.

Jim leaned back in his chair with a smirk, saying, "Call me Jim, and you don't need qualifications to be good at something."

"There is truth in your words," Spock admitted as Jim made another move to throw off his opponent. It did not escape Jim's notice that Spock had not offered his name in return.

"What should I call you, Professor?"

"That label is sufficient to address me."

Wow, playing hard to get was he? The Vulcan would probably say that Jim had 'no use for his name', but he was really just being petty because Jim had irritated him. The guy was a piece of work.

Fuck, Jim had missed him.

Jim took one of Spock's knights and said, "How about a bet?"

The Vulcan stared down his human opponent. "I do not make a habit of entering wagers."

"Think of it as a way of adding stakes to the match. There's a real psychological difference between playing with and without consequences." Spock did not argue the point, so Jim knew he was interested. "If I win, you tell me your name."

"And if I am victorious?"

Jim shrugged again. "Pick something you want. I draw the line at harvesting organs, but I'm down for pretty much anything else."

There was a pause of consideration. Then, Spock moved one of his pawns, saying, "Very well. I accept."

"Awesome! Check."

Both of Spock's eyebrows shot up, and he stared at the board for a long time before moving his next piece. They played the remainder of the game in focused silence.

As fun as it was, and even though he was way better than the other members of the chess club, Jim had the advantage. He had played Spock for years while this was the Vulcan’s first match with him. "Checkmate."

It took almost a full minute for Spock to stop glaring at the board, looking for any way to unseal his fate, before admitting. "Indeed, it seems you have won. Your strategy was...illogical."

"Thanks, I like to think I've got a knack for unique strategies."

"My statement was not intended as a compliment." Jim nearly rolled his eyes at that response. "I am Commander S'chn T'gai Spock."

Beaming at him, Jim said, "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Spock. Let's play another game sometime."

"That would be acceptable."

Chapter Text

The high from his and Spock's chess game lasted all of a day. As wonderful as it was, Jim realized that it wasn’t enough. He needed to earn enough of Spock's trust to persuade him into a mind meld. Who knew how long that would take with them only seeing each other once a week for two hours? Everything needed to happen as soon as possible: they needed all of the time they could get to prepare for Nero.

Outside of stalking Spock to "run into him"—which was something Jim was 100% sure the Vulcan would see through—Jim's options to get closer to him were limited. He'd already tried to attend one of Spock's classes, and they were now meeting for chess. What other way could he wiggle his way into Spock's life?

Well, Jim could ask him out.

No, that was ridiculous. Spock would never say yes: they barely knew each other! He didn’t even know if Spock was dating Uhura at this point.

Also, there was no logical reason for Spock to go out with Jim. Jim was…well, Jim. He was a decent commander and a fun time; however, he wasn’t collected and put together like Uhura was. If that was what Spock looked for in a partner, Jim wasn’t it.

And then, he might be in an even worse position than the one he started in should Spock reject him.

Plus, how much did he want to torture himself? What if this turned out to be fake? It would undoubtedly fuck Jim up to date Spock, only to discover it was all a lie.

Yeah, that plan was being filed under “why would you even think that?!?”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck, this was so frustrating!!! Jim missed when he got to see Spock every day on the Bridge. Starting from scratch, having to delicately carve out a place in Spock's life, it was agonizing! Don't get him wrong, spending time with Spock was always fun, and any amount of effort was worth it to have the Vulcan in his life. It was simply crumbs compared to what Jim was used to.

Things would be so much simpler if they'd already known each other in the Academy...or maybe not. Jim had been even more of a cocky shit back then. With an even bigger chip in his shoulder about authority. They might have just torn each other apart. Hell, Spock tried to rip him a new one on their first meeting for beating his—

THAT WAS IT!!! The Kobayashi Maru!!!

Jim pulled out his PADD, hoping and praying as he pulled up job listings for the Academy, and—there! Right there! Programmers required for the updating and continued administration of the Kobayashi Maru simulation! FUCK YEAH!!! If Jim got the job, he would see Spock almost every day!

Looking over the application, Jim was suddenly caught up short by a requirement. Any Command track students must have already completed the simulation prior to applying for the position.

Had Jim already taken the Maru at this time? No, his first attempt was in his second year. No big deal though: he'd take the test as soon as possible and then send in his application. Jim recalled how fixated he'd become on the test during his Academy years. It had become his white whale of sorts; therefore, it was almost funny how much Jim didn’t care this go around. This was just an obstacle to bigger things.

That being said, Jim shouldn’t just throw the thing and call it a day. He had standards, and what if Spock ended up watching? If he saw Jim throw the test, he'd lose interest and assume Jim was just an irresponsible waste of space. They couldn't have that: they had a planet to save! For that to happen, he needed Spock to be his friend and meld with him! For that to happen, Jim needed to impress Spock, to intrigue him. Make himself a fascinating little equation for Spock to sink his teeth into.

So, Jim needed to treat the Kobayashi Maru like a mission. Take it deadly serious, like it was a matter of life and death. In a way, it was. How he did could influence billions of lives.

First things first though, he needed to make sure he would be allowed to take it.

****

During his years at the Academy—the first time or in the real world or whatever—Jim and Pike had a decent relationship. It wasn't the type where Jim could ask to see him and get a meeting an hour later though. Such a quick response got Jim thinking: had he done something the simulation liked, or was Pike worried about him? Both were likely explanations. Either way, Jim tried not to let the special treatment grate on his nerves.

Unlike the last time Jim had been in Pike's office, he kept himself in check. Made himself look calm yet determined. He'd come with a purpose, with a plan, and he would get what he came here for.

Pike sat at his desk, and he cleared his throat when Jim sat across from him. "You don't usually call me out of the blue, kid. What's the matter?"

Taking a deliberate breath, making it seem like he's gathering courage, Jim said, "I know you're worried about me, sir. I know you and Bones are just trying to keep me sane. But, I need you to give me a bit more breathing room here. The way you’re treating me, it’s suffocating. Don't—don't go above my head and make decisions for me. If you've got an issue, talk to me. Explain your side of things. The way you've been treating me—it's like you think I'm incompetent...or insane."

"Fuck, Jim, I don't think you're incompetent. I know you're not." Pike's voice was soft, remorseful. He didn’t comment on the “insane” bit though. He probably wasn’t sure. To be fair, neither was Jim.

"Then, don't treat me like I am. Give me an actual say. I'm not trying to get my old course load back. Just...let me make some goddamn choices."

Of course, Pike could sense that Jim wanted something. His eyes narrowed a bit, searching Jim's expression. "What kind of choices?"

"Promise you'll actually hear me out." There was a moment of hesitation, but Pike nodded. "I want to take the Kobayashi Maru." Pike frowned and opened his mouth, but Jim pressed on, "Listen, I know you're worried about my stress, but it's one test! It lasts like ten minutes! It's nothing like last year. Last year, I was carrying huge course loads for months at a time. This is one test."

"A test other cadets have fainted during due to stress. Besides, most wait until their last year to take the Maru," Pike pointed out.

"And isn't that stupid?" Jim shot back. "It's a test meant to reveal your weaknesses as a leader. We should be working on those as soon as possible. And I know myself, Chris. I can handle ten minutes."

Folding his hands in his lap—a move Jim recognized as something Pike did when he was thinking—the captain took in the cadet’s expression for a long moment. Then, he sighed. The rueful smile on his face told Jim he had won. The captain said, "Alright. Take the test; I won't stop you."

"Thank you, sir," Jim said, internally crowing at his victory.

He was about to leave, but Pike stopped him by saying, "Since you're already here, how about you have lunch with me? There's this Thai place I've been meaning to try."

"Oh, um," Jim and Pike had had lunch together a couple times during his Academy years. They were mostly enjoyable. What wasn’t enjoyable was when Pike tried to lecture him. He’d mostly deserved it though. Thinking back on those lunches after Khan, Jim had regretted not doing them more. Not talking about more important things during them. He missed Pike. He missed those lunches, and maybe that’s why this was happening. Maybe whoever was running this thing was playing on that emotion.

The paranoid part of Jim wanted to say no. It wanted to shield him from how badly this could fuck with his head later.

Another part of him wanted to say “fuck it” because why shouldn’t he enjoy this? Why shouldn’t he get to spend some time with Pike?

More often than not, it was the paranoid part of Jim that won. This time, he let himself risk just a bit of his sanity by saying, “Sure, why not?”

****

During the entirety of their acquaintance, Spock had never known Pike to observe a cadet's Kobayashi Maru live. The Captain would request recordings if he was assessing them for a position; otherwise, he was uninvolved.

Three minutes and eleven seconds separated the scheduling of Cadet James Tiberius Kirk’s test and Pike’s request to attend. In the request, Pike explained his involvement as Kirk’s mentor and recruiter. Captain Pike had mentored many students in official and unofficial capacities. Spock was not aware of Pike having this level of involvement with them.

Naturally, Spock became curious regarding the Cadet that had so completely captured Pike’s interest.

Pulling up the cadet's file, Spock was taken aback by the face smiling up at him. It was a face he had recently become acquainted with over a chess board. He noted that the smile in his file’s identification photo was not as bright as the one Jim—as the one Cadet Kirk had given Spock the first time they had met.

It had been an odd occurrence: having a human smile so widely and openly at Spock. Most humans found his stoic demeanor intimidating or off-putting, especially during initial meetings. Cadet Kirk, contrary to the norm, smiled unabashedly at Spock. Illogically, Spock had the thought that the smile seemed rather…personal. That it was the kind of expression reserved for a beloved friend.

As that was their first meeting though, that could not be possible. Besides, humans smiled at one another constantly. With barely any provocation. Many smiled as a gesture of politeness. Kirk's smiles must simply have a different quality than his peers. Something that made them more welcoming than most.

Additionally, it was not the Cadet's smiles that had most intrigued Spock. What had intrigued him was the uncanny skill Cadet Kirk had used to create a game of two distinct playing styles. Spock himself had played games with himself; nonetheless, he had simply applied his logic in both a defensive and offensive manner. The two sides of Kirk’s game were entirely discrete personalities—one of which was remarkably similar to Spock's own. The display was fascinating and seemed effortless under the Cadet’s hands.

And then, Cadet Kirk had spoken to him in a familiar, comfortable manner. Something Spock could never expect or even attempt to ply from his human peers. Cadet Kirk had expressed difficulty finding a worthy opponent: a problem Spock had as well. It was logical for them to solve their mutual problem by playing against one another. That was surely why Spock had entertained his illogical request to join the half-done game. The wager was also a concession to keep the Cadet interested. Nothing more.

Moreover, a wager was a harmless method of applying psychological pressure to the game, and Cadet Kirk's requested reward was harmless. Had Spock won, he would have requested another game.

Had he won.

Defying all strategic logic, Cadet Kirk had won. This outcome did and did not make sense. Spock had played logically. His approach had never failed him before, but it failed in the face of Kirk’s illogical methodology. It was a fascinating—if not frustrating—game.

Additionally, Spock's desire for another game was granted despite his loss. With another bright smile, Cadet Kirk suggested another match, implying they meet again at the chess club.

Spock was looking forward to their next match: he had been contemplating it for the past forty-four hours and forty seven minutes.

Considering the Cadet's unique strategic acumen, Spock could hypothesize why Captain Pike would be invested in his future.

The slot Kirk had chosen for his Kobayashi Maru was to be held in three days' time. An unusual choice: most cadets scheduled their attempts months in advance.

Since he saw no reason to refuse, Spock accepted Pike’s request to attend Cadet Kirk’s Kobayashi Maru.

He also scheduled himself as a proctor for Kirk’s attempt. It was one of his duties as the test’s lead programmer after all.

****

"Who're you takin' in with you?" Bones asked. He was more nervous about the Maru than Jim was.

"Whoever volunteers," Jim answered, trying not to get annoyed by his friend’s hovering.

"Can I come?"

Giving him a strange look, Jim asked, "Excuse me?"

Bones folded his arms, defensive, "What, do you not want me there?"

"No, I just—" had to nag you to come the other times I took it "—thought you wouldn't want to go."

"It's not how I tend to spend an afternoon," Bones admitted. "But, I figured you could use some support."

"Who are you, and where is my grumpy best friend?" It was both a joke and an accusation. Jim didn't want his suspicions to ruin the moment, and he didn't think Bones caught on to the pit forming in Jim's stomach. It was just another one of those changes. Maybe, it was a result of Jim's “breakdown”. His mind caught on the fact that maybe it wasn’t though.

****

The day of James Kirk's Kobayashi Maru, Spock and Captain Pike stood side by side, observing through the glass as they watched cadets file into the simulation's room. There was a nervous air about Pike. Spock had previously observed such an air around Pike during high-stakes missions. This was not what Spock had expected from a man preparing to watch a promising cadet. Cadet Kirk himself appeared at ease: shaking hands and smiling with his peers. Why should Pike be nervous?

Inevitably, Spock's curiosity got the better of him, and he said, "You are notably disturbed, Captain."

The laugh that came from Pike was tight, unnatural, as he said, "Am I? I thought I hid it well."

"It is notable to myself. I cannot speak for the observations of others."

"Let's hope, then, that it's just you knowing me too well."

Spock looked to his superior officer and asked, "Is the reason for your disturbance the same as your reason for attending Cadet Kirk's simulation?"

"You don't miss a thing," and it was a familiar phrase. Pike often said it when Spock had discovered something especially useful. This time, it was said with a resigned tone. "Yeah, they're the same reason. Jim—Cadet Kirk—he's... He's smart, a genius really. But, I'm wondering if Command was actually the right choice for him. It can be a lot for a person to handle: most people would crack under the pressure."

"And, you believe Cadet Kirk would 'crack'?"

"I think, if he did, I'd never forgive myself."

An alarm sounded, signaling for the cadets to take their seats. The clusters humans tended to form dissipated, and it wasn't long before everyone was in place. There were two minutes between the alarm and the beginning of the test. Kirk was in the captain's chair within the first thirty seconds.

His approach to the chair wasn’t a panicked scrambling that many inexperienced officers displayed. Kirk moved with the efficiency of someone who had a task and knew how to complete it. This marked the beginning of an intriguing transformation in Cadet Kirk. The easy smiles were gone, as was the open demeanor. There was a determination, a focus about Kirk: it was in his posture, in his expression. It filled the room with his presence. This presence pushed outward but also pulled in. Drew the attention of all around Kirk towards him. The other cadets responded to this change: bodies angled and eyes turned to the man.

Spock too found himself leaning towards Kirk, drawn into the man’s pull. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Pike doing the same.

Absently, Spock recalled that he had felt a similar presence from Pike and other leaders during his service.

Kirk’s presence was different though. Spock could not properly define how. It was simply…more.

As Spock tried to clarify this thought to himself, the test began.

The Kobayashi Maru simulation continued as long as was necessary. On average, Command students achieved thirteen minutes and forty-two seconds. Time was not a consistent predictor of the quality of an attempt; regardless, the two variables often correlated.

Cadet Kirk achieved a time of thirty-eight minutes and fifty-six seconds, and his performance was flawless.

From the beginning, Kirk had complete control of the room. His fellow cadets seemed to instinctively jump to the man's commands. But, it was not only Kirk's charisma that carried him through the test. His strategies were a thing of beauty. At times, illogical or surprising. They were effective nonetheless and displayed a masterful understanding of space combat.

Watching Kirk complete the Kobayashi Maru was not unlike watching him play chess. Specifically, Spock was reminded of watching Kirk create a game of two distinct styles as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It was almost as if the simulation was Kirk's board now.

Even though it was Spock's simulation, Spock's design, it was Kirk's game.

So it went for Kirk's time: he played his beautiful game. He played until the restrictions of the simulation closed in around him, but he fought them until his very last. Like it truly was a matter of life and death. There was a certainty in Spock’s mind that, had there been even the smallest chance of victory, Kirk would have found it. Thus, even though Kirk lost the Kobayashi Maru to simulated Klingon warbirds, it was the closest thing to a victory anyone could have attained.

Kirk’s fellow cadets must have recognized this as well: after the test concluded, they jumped out of their seats to crowd Cadet Kirk with cheers.

Behind the glass, Pike’s nervous demeanor was gone, replaced with ecstatic joy. He grinned widely as he said, "Spock, did you see that?!? Tell me I wasn't the only one who saw that!"

"I and the other proctors have been present for—"

"But, did you see that, Spock?!? I've never seen a Maru like that in my life! I could teach a semester-long class on that!"

"Could he have cheated somehow?" Another proctor—one Commander Dawson—asked.

The query left Spock oddly indignant on Kirk's behalf, but he considered the possibility with due diligence. "The simulation responded within its expected parameters, and Cadet Kirk introduced novel solutions his peers had yet to implement. If you suspect tampering, you may investigate further. The attempt seemed organic to my own observations."

"Who cheats on the Kobayashi Maru?" Pike asked with a scoff. "It's not even a real grade. No, Jim's too smart to do that."

****

The evening following Cadet Kirk's Kobayashi Maru, Spock received an application for one of the programming positions from said cadet. Spock was intrigued, and he opened it immediately. In the application, Cadet Kirk explained that—while he had no formal training—Kirk had taught himself the basics of coding and had much practical experience. He also attached an example of his work.

Unthinkingly, Spock opened the attachment.

Chapter Text

“We should go out tonight. We need to celebrate!” Bones exclaimed as he and Jim walked back to their dorm.

Jim, who had been thinking about the application he sent Spock, reflexively grimaced a bit at the suggestion. Seeing how his Bones’s face fell just a bit, Jim knew he’d caught the reaction.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Jim wondered what to do. He wanted to be happy and excited over this. If for no other reason than letting Bones be happy for him.

That being said, this didn’t feel like something to celebrate. Jim had taken the Kobayashi Maru three times prior and had three years of actual experience under his belt. With all of that, Jim felt more like a cheat than the time he’d actually hacked the test.

Besides, this was all small potatoes compared to Jim’s actual goals.

It seemed like Jim was taking too long to respond because Bones started saying, “I—um—if you don’t—”

“No,” Jim said automatically because he hated how unsure Bones looked. If it’s Bones, the paranoid part of his brain corrected automatically. “I just don’t feel like being around a bunch of people.”

That seemed to only make things worse, and Jim realized how that sounded to Bones. Usually, Jim only avoided crowds when he was overwhelmed or feeling down. Shit.

“It’s just—it’s a weekday, and I don’t want to get caught up in the—you know I can get carried away. I’d just, um, like to not have a hangover tomorrow.”

As Jim made his excuses, Bones tried to get his face under control. Jim knew him too well though: he could see the worry behind the forced cheer. Bones never could force a happy face. “Well, we can have us a drink. Just us two. I’ll pay, and you can crow about that big brain of yours.”

“Yeah. Sounds good,” Jim said, and he wondered why they were doing this. They both knew the other wasn’t happy. What was the point of both of them pretending to celebrate for the other’s benefit?

There wasn’t a point. They were both just hoping to cheer up the other by playing along.

It was ridiculous.

They went out and did it anyway.

****

The next day, Jim was in his History of the Federation class. He was consumed with taking notes. Just, not on the teacher’s lecture. At the moment, he was trying to recall what he knew of Nero’s path after escaping the Klingon prison planet. The Romulan wouldn’t have wanted too much attention before he picked up Old Spock, so that meant he’d do his best to avoid Federation patrols and defenses. But, Nero was the captain of a mining ship. What did he know about Federation defenses hundreds of years in the past? They would probably have to rely on their scanners and luck to weave their path.

Would it be better to let Nero reach his destination or herd him into a different battleground? It would be great to fight without worrying about igniting the red matter; however, they could use Nero’s grudge against him. The trick would be coordinating with Old Spock, who would be coming into the battle blind.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw movement at the edge of the lecture hall. He looked over and smiled when he realized it was Spock.

Spock, who was glaring at Jim like he wanted to set the young Cadet on fire.

It seemed Spock had opened Jim’s little demonstration.

“Professor Blackwood, I must borrow Cadet Kirk,” Spock said, not even bothering to properly ask permission.

Blackwood seemed a bit baffled but allowed it, probably not wanting to stop the lecture to question the Vulcan.

Not minding the whispers of his fellow cadets, Jim left his seat and followed Spock out into the hall. When the door closed behind them, Jim said, “So—”

“Do not speak,” Spock snapped.

Jim tried not to grin as Spock guided him through the halls. The Vulcan silently, subtly bristled: his movements sharp and aggressive. There was also a slight disorder to Spock’s typically flawless bowlcut. And the faintest of shadows beneath his deep, brown eyes.

Oh, Spock wasn’t just angry. Jim guessed he had opened the program last night and hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep or a blink of meditation since.

That was both flattering and a bit concerning. He knew this would piss the hell out of Spock, but he’d meant for it to be a more…forgivable offense. A tired Spock was not a forgiving Spock.

Nerves started creeping into Jim, crawling around his insides like a nest of bugs. He was more nervous about the outcome of this than of the Maru. The thing was, Jim had taken a gamble with the program he sent Spock. The gamble was based off of a comment Spock made years ago. About how he’d respected Jim’s skill—if not his application of it—when hacking the Maru.

Jim had figured it would grab Spock’s attention to do something that made him stand out amongst the candidates.

He sure did have Spock’s attention.

A door with the nameplate S’chn T’gai Spock, Commander opened for them, and Jim’s eyes were drawn to the computer terminal. Its screen was full of static that made the use of said terminal impossible.

The program—well, virus really, but Jim’s was sophisticated enough to be called a program—was working perfectly. Maybe a bit too perfectly based on the furious Vulcan next to him.

"Fix it,” Spock commanded.

Despite his nerves, Jim strode towards the terminal without showing his inner turmoil. False confidence in a crisis was an essential command skill. He typed in the little self-destruct phrase he’d chosen for this program, and the static faded away like frost in the sunlight.

“I’m sure you would’ve found a way to clean it out eventually,” Jim said in an attempt to disarm the situation.

It worked about as well as shooting a phaser at a landmine. There was that irritated face twitch followed by a death glare from Jim’s favorite Vulcan. “I am aware of my own skills and would have indeed resolved your sabotage independently; regardless, the estimated time to do so would have interfered with a class I am to teach in forty-five minutes.”

Blowing out a breath between his teeth, Jim said, “I wouldn’t call it sabotage—”

“How else would you define the purposeful obstruction of a professor’s duties?”

“I didn’t mean to obstruct anything. I thought you would kill whatever I made in two hours, tops.” The quiet anger from Spock was not getting any better, and Jim started to panic a bit. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to actually cause trouble. My experience is just…unconventional, and I wanted to demonstrate what I could bring to the table.”

Spock tilted his head slightly and asked, “What use do I have for a saboteur? This is a project to update an existing test.”

"I’m not just a saboteur: I’m a good programmer. And, I like to think I bring a fresh perspective. You and everybody else in Starfleet are taught this tidy, official way of programming, and that’s great. I think I just demonstrated though that it’s not the end-all-be-all. Also, I can find flaws in code like nobody’s business."

There was a moment where Spock silently considered Jim. The pause, the hesitation, gave Jim hope. Although the Vulcan was pissed, he still tried to be logical most of the time, right? He could still see the validity of Jim’s argument.

He had to.

And yet, when Spock broke the silence, all he said was, “You may expect a demerit in your file within the next 24 hours. You are dismissed, Cadet.”

In a daze, Jim left Spock’s office.

The rest of the day was spent in that daze as he went to his minimal classes and ate and worked out. He couldn’t brainstorm for Nero anymore. He just—Jim couldn’t believe he’d messed things up so badly! How could he have thrown away the friendly relationship he’d been growing with Spock just to try to be unique in an application?!?

Fuck, how was he going to fix this?

****

The next morning, Jim did his best to pull himself out of his daze. Forced himself to do some homework and note what he knew about the Romulan ship’s weapon systems.

He didn’t truly shake off his daze though until he checked his messages at lunch. There was a shiny, new demerit. But, there was also a message from Spock.

Jim opened it immediately. As he read, a semi-hysterical laugh started bubbling up from his chest as the tension and despair inside him untangled.

Cadet Kirk, you are to report to the programming lab for your first task at 1600 this coming Friday. Note the schedule attached below.

“He’s such an asshole,” Jim mumbled, still trying to control his crazed, relieved laughter.

****

Admittedly, Spock had not been completely rational when he retrieved Kirk from Professor Blackwood’s class. He had spent the previous twelve hours and twenty-seven minutes attempting to disable Kirk’s malignant program. This had interfered with his sleep, his meditation, and his abilities to function adequately as a professor. These combined factors had prompted frustration, which became anger directed at Kirk.

While he still considered Kirk’s actions illogical and ethically dubious, Spock acknowledged that he had lost a hold on his emotions. They had affected his judgment and actions to the point where Spock had sought to humble Kirk. To crush whatever audacious, arrogant notion had led Kirk to act this way.

Unexpectedly though, Kirk had been apologetic. He had been beyond apologetic: he had been noticeably unnerved by the event.

Spock was used to humans reacting with unease in his presence, but it had thrown him when Kirk—who had only ever been smiling and jovial with the Vulcan—reacted in such a way. And then, Kirk had gone disturbingly devoid of expression after Spock had dismissed him. The interpretation of such a reaction eluded Spock; nonetheless, he knew it could not be good.

That expression had caused an inexplicable urge in Spock: it made him want to reach out to Kirk.

Clearly, his mind had been most unbalanced.

With the clarity that followed meditation, Spock could objectively consider the merits of Kirk’s arguments. The method by which Kirk had demonstrated his talents was ill-advised and disruptive. It had clearly demonstrated Kirk’s proficiency. It had also demonstrated that his skill set was unique amongst candidates.

Additionally, Kirk seemed genuine when he claimed no malicious intent. There were less conspicuous methods to inflict a virus on Spock. Sending it through an application directly tied to Kirk’s name was perhaps the most conspicuous method available. One who truly intended harm would wish to remain inconspicuous.

Given Kirk’s skills and his benign intentions, Spock decided to allow the Cadet onto his project. It would be wasteful to not even attempt to make use of Kirk’s talent. His work would be thoroughly examined by Spock of course—to ensure the tampering was a singular event—and the Cadet would still receive a consequence for his misguided demonstration.

****

“What do you want a job for?” Bones asked as they both laid on their beds, studying.

Well, Bones was studying. Jim was trying to recall everything he could remember about the drill from Nero’s ship, complete with rough sketches.

It was a rare moment where Jim wasn’t too occupied by his suspicions about reality. He was just existing in the present. The paranoia would come back later, sitting heavy on his chest and asking why he was letting his guard down. That emotion—was paranoia an emotion? Or was it more of a state of being—rose and fell like the tides. Except it was a lot less predictable.

Anyway, he was glad to just exist in the moment sometimes. Especially when he was around people he cared about.

In response to his friend’s question, Jim said, “Bones, I cannot emphasize enough how fucking bored I am.” And anxious that every second ticking by brought them closer to a disaster Jim could prevent. Planning could only do so much. Brainstorming was useless if Jim couldn’t convince anyone to help him. Also, he would very much like to know whether or not any of this was real. “I need to do something.”

Bones looked up from his work, grimacing and saying, “You have been twitchy. Guess it could do you some good. Just—”

“ 'Don’t work too hard',” Jim finished for him. “Yeah, yeah, you guys have said it a million times.”

****

Because of what happened the last time they saw each other, Jim was understandably afraid Spock wouldn’t show up to the next chess club meeting. Though Spock still hired him, Jim couldn’t help but worry that the Vulcan would deem him too irritating to interact with outside of work.

And Jim could work with that. He’d done it before.

It was just depressing to think how far he might have set back their relationship.

Jim stewed for what felt like forever—and was more like twenty minutes—before Spock entered. Spock wasn’t usually one to pause in doorways. The Vulcan knew where he was going and proceeded with purpose. But, Spock paused this time, scanning the room with his eyes. When his gaze landed on Jim, the human smiled widely, waving him over.

Spock paused for another half a second and then proceeded to Jim’s table.

“You have not initiated your own game,” Spock observed.

“I don’t need to: you’re here.”

Spock accepted that reasoning without comment, sitting down across from Jim. He looked at the board and said, “You would have me play white again?”

“You lost last time,” Jim pointed out. “I’ll take white when you win.”

The competitive spirit practically dripped from the Vulcan, and Jim wondered why he ever doubted Spock would show up. The guy hated to lose as much as Jim did. As long as Jim kept beating him, Spock would show up until he died. “Very well. Would you also like to set a wager for this game?”

“Am I making a gambler out of you, Mr. Spock?” Jim teased.

The Vulcan straightened in his seat, “Certainly not. I was simply offering the additional layer of challenge you previously showed preference for.”

Laughing, Jim said, “Relax, it was a joke. I know you’re incorruptible.” Mostly. “I’d love to make another bet as long as you’re still humoring me. Just, let me think…” Should he ask for a meld? No, that was way too soon. The trust wasn’t there yet. Besides, asking for a meld through a bet was probably not the way to go about this. “...If I win, you have to let me buy you a treat.”

“Is it not typically the losing party who provides spoils to the winner?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think you’d ever let me get you something normally. And, I think you’d really like lavender shortbread.”

“I see,” Spock said in that way that meant he absolutely did not. “I accept these terms. When I am victorious,” Jim rolled his eyes at the use of “when”. “You will explain your methodology behind the creation of your virus.”

“I would’ve told you how I did that anyway, but alright. I accept your terms.” Jim enjoyed the slight pinch of Spock’s features, the tiny show of frustration as the Vulcan realized his mistake.

They played a good game. It was played in near silence, but it was still good. Jim could tell Spock wasn’t in the mood to talk: he was too focused on winning to want to talk. That was okay. Jim was just glad that Spock was sitting across from him.

In the end, despite his intense focus, Spock still lost the game.

The slightest, subtlest frown sat on Spock’s face. He must have really wanted to hear Jim’s explanation. Or, he really wanted to win. He probably wanted both, but Jim wasn’t one to lose on purpose.

However, Jim didn’t see why he couldn’t still explain his virus.

There was a blink of surprise from Spock when Jim started his explanation. He didn’t protest though, didn’t point out that Jim didn’t owe him anything per their agreement. Spock did stare hard at Jim’s face. Like he was trying to figure him out.

Go ahead, Jim thought as he smiled at the Vulcan. There was nothing he wanted more.

****

On his first day programming for the Kobayashi Maru, Jim brought a box of lavender shortbread cookies with him to the labs. He figured Spock would be embarrassed if Jim singled him out, so he brought enough for everyone.

Box in hand, Jim entered the lab—and stopped short at the sight of a familiar silhouette. Dozens of memories flitted through Jim’s mind: dancing in clubs, gossiping about instructors, and working on projects together.

And, her hurt face after Jim’s third Maru. Never actually getting to apologize because the next time he saw her she was a name on a Starfleet memorial.

Jim had met a lot of ghosts since arriving back at the Academy, but few felt as personal as seeing Gaila Vro again. Her bouncy red curls were pulled back loosely. Jim remembered putting his face in those curls, breathing her in deeply. Gaila noticed Jim and smiled at him, and it hurt.

For about the millionth time, Jim swore that if this was some kind of trick, he was beating the shit out of whoever pulled it.

Seeing as how he had just run into someone he had fucking mourned, Jim thought it was completely understandable that he nearly dropped his box of pastries. He managed to save them from falling to the floor, but it was still an awkward fumble.

Laughing good naturedly, Gaila said, “It’s good to see you too, Jim.”

“Gaila—I—yeah, you—” Can’t be real. You died. Fuck, are you real? “I didn’t know you also applied.” But, he should have because she’d been a programmer for the test during his original Academy years.

Tsking, Gaila said, “You would’ve known if you’d kept in touch. I haven’t seen you in any of the usual places. What happened?”

What happened was that Jim was in a fucking limbo, not sure if anything was real, and he couldn’t handle going out like he used to!

He couldn’t handle going out to drink or dance, pretending he was having a good time. Pretending this didn’t all feel like some fucked up fever dream that he couldn’t screw up because billions of people could die! And forget taking anyone home: he couldn’t even take himself in hand without questioning if some perverted alien scientist was taking notes somewhere!

All Jim could say out loud was, “I just…haven’t felt like going out I guess.”

“You and Cadet Vro are acquainted,” Spock said, startling both Jim and Gaila. The Vulcan had apparently already been in the labs, unnoticed by either cadet as he walked up to them. Spock was looking between Jim and Gaila in that assessing manner of his.

Under Spock’s sharp gaze, Gaila stood straighter, and Jim smiled brightly.

“We’re friends,” Jim explained. “We met through another mutual friend and bonded over some common interests.”

“ ‘Friends’,” Gaila said, forming the word around a smirk, “I don’t think that’s how my lovely roommate would describe your relationship.”

“If someone lets you annoy them for over six months, they’re automatically your friend.”

One of Spock’s eyebrows had crept up at their antics, and Jim shrugged at him. He opened his box—the cookies still looked fine—and then held it out to the Vulcan.

“Lavender shortbread,” Jim said with a knowing smile.

Spock looked at the cookies, then back up at Jim. The expression Spock had wasn’t resigned, but it wasn’t not resigned. No matter how you interpreted the expression though, Spock grabbed a cookie from the box and took a bite.

“Um, do you like shortbread, sir?” Gaila asked, watching the whole interaction like it was an incomprehensible piece of abstract art.

“It is acceptable,” Spock replied and finished his cookie.

Jim beamed at the praise. With anyone else, it would be the most lukewarm comment. From Spock, it was a rousing endorsement.

“Want one?” Jim asked Gaila.

“Yes, do you even need to ask?”

“Come,” Spock said as Gaila munched on her cookie. “I will introduce you to your colleagues and then assign your tasks.”

They did just that, and Jim’s cookies were a big hit with the rest of the programming team.

As they started on their tasks, Jim noticed Spock swipe another cookie before returning to his own station.

****

One of Spock’s duties was to observe the quality and efficiency of his team’s work. Typically, that meant Spock would check in on their progress occasionally and review their completed tasks at the end of the day. Constant supervision was unnecessary.

Therefore, it was illogical for Spock to observe Cadets Kirk and Vro throughout their shift.

No misconduct had prompted this. The pair completed their work diligently. Any conversations they engaged in were within the usual standard Spock allowed for non-Vulcan coworkers—he found most species worked better with occasional interruptions for some reason.

Spock supposed his fixation on their relationship was due to how Kirk reacted upon seeing Vro. He displayed a level of clumsiness Spock knew to be associated with a high level of attraction. Vro’s features were symmetrical in a way that was appealing to most. Her figure held proportions that were sought after in partners. Humans also associated Orions with eroticism.

Typically, Spock would not bother himself with others' attraction—it was none of his business—but Kirk’s reaction bothered him. He supposed that was because Kirk may have applied for his position as a programmer in order to approach Vro. If that was the case, that would mean Kirk had applied under false pretenses. He would have been dishonest with Spock.

And, that was disquieting to the Vulcan.

After the incident with the virus, Spock had difficulty determining whether or not he would still appreciate Kirk’s company. Would it hinder their interactions? Despite his concern, Spock had decided to play at least one more game with the cadet. That game had reaffirmed how engaging the man’s mind was; additionally, Kirk’s explanation regarding his program had been most intriguing.

Thus, Spock determined that he would continue engaging with Kirk in a social setting. He so rarely met individuals that were both interesting to him and interested in spending time with him. He also rarely met anyone who could defeat him in chess.

Spock would not go so far as suspecting their entire association to be a grand scheme to court Vro. After all, their chess matches existed outside of Vro. It would simply be disappointing to learn that Kirk had used Spock’s project for such a purpose.

“You know,” Spock’s acute hearing picked up Cadet Vro’s voice from across the room, disrupting his contemplations. “There’s gonna be a party next weekend. Northside. You should come.”

Kirk made a noise of thought and then said, “That’s…that sounds like fun, but I don’t think I will.”

There was a notable pause before Vro asked, “Are you okay, Jim?”

“I’m fine,” was the immediate response.

“Okay,” Vro said, yet added, “if you ever want to talk about anything…”

“I’ll keep you in mind. Bones would probably have my head if I didn’t go to him first though.”

Vro laughed softly, and then the pair continued to work in silence.

Spock considered their conversation. It appeared that Kirk was not interested in Vro. He would have accepted her invitation to a social engagement if that were the case.

This was pleasing to Spock.

However, it also seemed Kirk’s absence from his usual social sphere was interpreted as a sign of distress by Vro. Since Spock did not know Kirk well, nor the man’s circumstances, he could not judge the validity of this concern. He hoped her concerns were unfounded.

Chapter Text

Jim established a routine of sorts over the following months. He’d go to class, brainstorm on the Nero incident, workout, hang out with Bones, have lunch with Pike every once in a while, try not to spiral about his situation.

And, of course, he built his friendship with Spock.

Working with Spock on the Kobayashi Maru wasn’t like working with him on the Enterprise. Jim was one of several subordinates rather than the leader of a command team. But, it was still time spent together. It also introduced Spock to Jim’s *ahem* inspired method of problem-solving and his unique suggestions.

In his first couple weeks on the job, Jim had to spend forever convincing the Vulcan to give his way a try. All of the debate was worth it though because Spock grew to trust Jim’s abilities.

Or, he became curious about what Jim’s madness could produce next. Either way, Spock mostly let Jim do his own thing in the programming lab.

Their chess games were where they really bonded though. The quiet, thoughtful pastime allowed them to have lengthy conversations about anything and everything.

Additionally, they ended up maintaining their tradition of chess-match wagers. Those wagers were often the highlight of Jim’s week. Partly because he always won—Spock was catching up, but Jim still had the three-year edge—partly because it made him happy to see Spock engage in something so objectively illogical.

Plus, he wasn’t above using the wagers to spend more time with Spock.

“If I win, you have to go to the aquarium with me.” “If I win, you must cease playing music during your shift.”
(“I wear headphones.” “It is still audible to me, and it is unpleasant.”)

“If I win, you have to watch an old Earth film with me.” “If I win, you must read the teachings of Surak.”

“If I win, you have to spar with me.” “If I win, you must attempt meditation.”

“If I win, you have to call me Jim when we aren’t working.” “If I win, you must explain who ‘Bones’ is.”

The funny thing about their wagers though was that Jim usually ended up giving Spock what he wanted anyway. He figured the teachings of Surak were something he should probably read at least once. They shaped Vulcan society after all. And, though Jim—correctly—assumed he wouldn’t be into meditation, it was still a way to spend time with Spock. Telling him about Bones took a little time, but he was still happy to do it.

The music thing was a bit more complicated. Normally, it wouldn’t really matter to Jim either way. Sure, he liked his music, but he didn’t need it to focus.

That being said, Jim had started listening to music during work to discourage Gaila from talking to him. Not every day. Just, sometimes it was hard to look at her without thinking too hard about his own situation. He had the same issue with Bones and Pike, and he was doing his best to not let it affect how he treated them.

To do that, he needed a little distance every now and then. Just until being near them didn’t make his head—or his heart—hurt.

So, Jim made a playlist of softer music for the programming lab. It seemed like a good compromise to him.

Despite Jim and Spock’s growing relationship—despite the fact that things were going so well—the pace never felt fast enough. Every week, every day, every second that slipped by brought them closer to disaster. The ever-approaching deadline pushed for urgency, yet things were going as fast as they could. Jim couldn’t force their friendship to form any faster.

Fuck, but the pressure wouldn’t let up. It dogged him, tried to make him rash. But, fuck, Jim knew he couldn’t be rash. He couldn’t ask for a meld too soon. Couldn’t lose the progress that was so hard won.

He wanted to ask though. He had asked a million times in his head, over and over again. Every time they made their wagers.

If I win, will you meld with me?

If I win, will you put me out of my misery?

If I win, will you tell me what’s real?

It never felt like the right time though. It never felt like Spock would say “yes”. Would it ever feel like Spock would say yes? Jim wanted to trust his own instincts: they were one of his greatest assets. Yet, could he really say he knew the difference between his instincts and outside influence? Most of the time, Jim would say yes. He knew himself. He did, but what if this was an influence he couldn’t detect? What if something was messing with his mind? It could be keeping him from closing that last bit of distance with Spock because then Jim would know.

He’d know none of it was real.

Maybe, that was what stopped him from asking for a meld. Maybe, Jim was scared of discovering that none of this was real. That he was trapped and alone and helpless.

What would he do if none of this was real? Would he be able to escape? Could he stay sane until his crew found him? Would his crew find him?

Of course, Jim tried not to think like that. He tried to trust himself: he would know when it was time to ask Spock for a meld.

Probably.

****

Cadet Nyota Uhura was the best Xenolinguistics student Spock had ever taught—both in terms of talent and diligence.

She was also one of the few humans to actively seek social engagement with Spock. The two of them attended lectures together, met for lunch, and introduced one another to reading material. Spock considered their acquaintance a satisfying one.

More recently, Cadet Uhura had been attempting to increase the frequency of their outings. Spock was not opposed to this in theory; nevertheless, he—more often than not—had already planned social engagements with Cadet Kirk. It was a rather novel situation for Spock: having not one but two acquaintances that sought his company. The experience was gratifying notwithstanding his finite spare time.

In order to maximize the time he spent with each, Spock was considering introducing Kirk and Uhura. They were both intelligent, engaging individuals. Spock was certain they would be socially compatible.

Before Spock could suggest introducing the pair, he was approached by Uhura after class.

“Professor, I have something I’d like to discuss with you if you have time.”

Seeing as how there were approximately ninety minutes until his next lecture, Spock nodded and asked, “Is there an issue with your current assignment?”

Uhura lowered her voice and said, “No, it’s something more…personal in nature. Is that alright?”

Spock considered this. The request was within the parameters of their social relationship, and Spock did not currently have any pressing duties. “That is acceptable. Would you prefer to discuss this issue in private?”

“Please.”

Given her request, Spock wondered what personal issue would prompt Uhura to seek him out. Humans—even ones who were friendly with him—rarely sought him for counsel. Spock observed a tension in Uhura that he could not define. It remained in her gait and her posture as they walked to Spock’s office. Hopefully, Spock would be able to aid her in resolving whatever had caused that tension.

Once they were behind closed doors, Uhura looked him firmly in the eyes and asked, “Is it because I’m your student?”

Waiting did not prompt Uhura to provide more context, so Spock said, “Clarify.”

“You’ve said before that Vulcans don’t limit personal relations because of potential power imbalances because the misuse of those dynamics is illogical.”

“This is true,” Spock confirmed, unsure what this had to do with Uhura’s unknown personal issue.

“But, you’ve also admitted to following human procedure at times to avoid misunderstandings.”

“Affirmative.” Spock wondered how his own personal philosophies were relevant, but Uhura seemed to be building up to her central issue.

Indeed, the Cadet kept speaking, asking, “Then, is that what’s happening? Are you drawing a boundary because I’m your student and that’s what a human would do? If that’s the case, I can wait.”

“I have not made any decisions based on your status as my student.” Spock was certain of that. “I request clarification on what has led you to this conclusion.”

For some reason, Spock’s answer seemed to upset Uhura further. She attempted to control her expression admirably, but the faltering of her expression was still apparent. Her voice was also less strong as she said, “Well, I figured you were turning me down because student-teacher relationships are considered inappropriate, or—” and Uhura swallowed before adding quietly “—because you just didn’t want that kind of relationship.”

The statement did not make complete sense to Spock. He felt wrong-footed. He was certain he was missing some social or cultural implication.

Internally, he attempted to decipher her meaning. “Turning down”: a phrase indicating a rejection or refusal. The only way Spock had refused Uhura was by not engaging in further social activity with her. Had she interpreted that as a loss of favor within their acquaintanceship? That was not the case at all.

He must correct this misunderstanding.

“Cadet, if you are referring to my refusal to engage in further social outings, my decision was not motivated by an underlying discontent with our interactions. My reasons were as I had previously stated: I had prior engagements.”

“Oh?” Uhura’s demeanor became less downcast, but she also became notably flustered. A rare thing with a human as self-assured as Uhura. “I thought—but that’s—” She laughed in a nervous manner before saying, “I, um, I guess I shouldn’t make assumptions.”

“That is a logical philosophy.” Spock was relieved that the distress in Uhura’s manner had dissipated.

She laughed lightly and smiled up at him. “Well, then, how about we go on a nice date once you’re less busy?”

The question thoroughly decimated Spock’s previous hypothesis regarding the topic of their conversation. His normally organized, efficient mind staggered to a halt. He heard himself inanely repeat, “A date?” And then, because he obviously could not rely on his own ability to interpret the social situation, he asked, “You refer to an outing with…romantic connotations?”

“Um, yes.”

“You are romantically interested in me?”

“Yes.” There was a moment where Uhura looked at Spock with utter disbelief before saying, “Are you telling me you didn’t know?” Spock’s hesitation spoke for itself. “Spock, I ask to spend time with you constantly.”

“It was my understanding that human acquaintances have regular social engagements together,” Spock said, a bit defensively.

“They do,” Uhura agreed. She continued though, saying, “But, humans also try to spend more time with each other when they’re romantically interested in one another. You’ve lived among us so long, I thought you knew that.”

In a way, Spock did know that. He simply had never been able to differentiate between how humans showed platonic and romantic interest. The behaviors seemed to largely overlap, and they varied depending on the individual. Moreover, Spock had never expected himself to be on the receiving end of a human’s romantic interest. Not truly. Some humans made sexual offers out of passing curiosity.

Spock had never been—he had never been courted by a human before.

Strangely enough, despite Uhura being the one to introduce the possibility of courtship, Spock’s mind did not focus on her. It focused on weeks of chess matches—easy smiles and easier conversation. It focused on outings and activities, disguised as the spoils of wagers. It focused on the pleasant contentedness, the stimulating competition, and the many other things Spock experienced in Jim's presence.

Spock focused on Jim, who had claimed the majority of his spare time.

Had Jim also—could he possibly—was Jim attempting to court him as well?!?

“I can’t believe you didn’t know,” Uhura mumbled, bringing Spock’s attention back to the individual in front of him. She drew up her posture boldly, bolstering herself before saying, “Spock, I want to be romantically involved with you.”

With all due diligence, Spock considered the offer. Uhura was a superior candidate for a bondmate: she was intelligent, strong of character, and open-minded. She held Spock in favorable opinion, which was more than could be said of his former betrothed. Spock found her a pleasant companion, and he acknowledged that she was an attractive individual.

Even as he considered her offer though, Spock kept thinking of another. He could not stop thinking about Jim. Jim was also intelligent and open-minded and strong of character. He was also…less polite. He was prone to mischief and teasing. He was unconventional in his thought processes, yet his solutions were primarily effective. Although outwardly loud and bold, Jim could also be contemplative.

He would be distracted at times.

Spock longed to know what thoughts distracted Jim.

And, that was the deciding factor, was it not? Uhura was an objectively good candidate for a bondmate. That being said, there was an undeniable pull that Spock felt towards Jim. He desired to look into Jim’s mind, to understand its inner workings and be understood in turn.

Perhaps, the most logical approach to his choice—whether to pursue Uhura or Jim—would have been to eschew all emotional, undefinable influence. Regardless, Spock knew what it was like to be involved with someone who held interest in another. The blatant favor Spock’s betrothed had shown another was humiliating and distressing. He and T’Pring had not been involved in the human way, but he imagined the principle was the same.

There was also the simple fact that Spock wanted to be with Jim.

At its core, it was an emotional desire. Something Spock had spent his life learning to control and put aside. But, this one… Surely, he could allow himself this one emotional decision. As many Vulcans did, he could make an exception for the one who would become his bondmate.

Unfortunately, choosing Jim meant rejecting Uhura. A necessary task, yet Spock hesitated. Uhura was a valued acquaintance. He did not relish causing her emotional distress.

Choosing his words carefully, in hopes of softening the blow, Spock said, “Your offer is valued. You would undoubtedly be a worthy companion to any—”

“Stop,” Uhura said, her hand raised with the palm facing him. Spock immediately ceased speaking and observed Uhura’s pinched expression. She took a breath and consciously relaxed her features. “It’s okay, Spock. I get it. I understand that it’s not personal”

Spock hoped Uhura’s words were true. He valued their connection in its current form and did not want to lose it. Many humans were known to cut off social connections following a rejection though; therefore, Spock asked, “Will we still meet one another for tea?”

Smiling sadly, Uhura said, “Yeah, sure. Just, give me a few weeks to…process all of this.”

“Very well.”

As she turned away, her eyes were more reflective than was typical. There were tears gathered in her eyes. Though he did not know how, Spock wished he could have comforted her.

****

The next time Spock met Jim, the Vulcan was uncharacteristically nervous. Emotion did not rule his behavior. It did not. Spock had adjusted his uniform three times in the past two minutes and nine seconds because the garment required the attention. The act had nothing to do with his internal state.

Spock adjusted his uniform once more before entering the room that hosted the chess club. Per usual, Jim sat alone at a table with a board assembled before him, white facing outwards.

Jim did not see Spock as he entered. The human was looking out a window. Spock followed his gaze, which was directed at the sky. No unique phenomenon was observable: a common Terran blue with clouds of white. Yet, Jim looked upon the sight appreciatively.

Personally, Spock found that he favored watching the human watch the clouds. Jim’s peaceful expression, his relaxed posture that contrasted with how his leg bounced with restless energy.

Then, Jim blinked out of his trance and turned his head to look at Spock. The change to the human’s face was instant: joy spreading through his features in a wide, open smile. Lines forming around his mouth and his eyes. Those eyes were an uncommon shade. A blue not quite the same yet not quite unlike the Terran sky. Spock wished to properly define that shade.

There was a warmth to Spock’s face, which he realized was the warmth of a blush. Immediately, he exercised control over his body to quell the reaction before approaching Jim.

“Hey, Spock. Ready to get your ass kicked again?”

“It is impossible to know the outcome of our match beforehand.”

“Mmhm,” Jim said, leaning forward and placing an elbow on the table. He propped his head up on a hand. “If you’re so confident, ask for something ballsy this time.”

Clearly, Jim was referring to their wagers. Spock’s mind unhelpfully supplied various intimate acts—from a chaste ozh’esta to sexual relations—he could request. That line of thought was halted promptly. This was in no way an appropriate manner to request such intimacies.

In addition, Spock must first confirm a mutual romantic interest before attempting to progress their relationship. Assumptions were what had led to the miscommunication between Spock and Uhura. He would not make the same mistake twice.

Soon—not this instant, but soon—Spock would request clarification regarding Jim’s intentions. And, make his own intentions clear.

Steepling his fingers, Spock said, “Should I win, you must…”

****

The whining was what caught Jim’s attention.

He had been minding his own business, on the way to class, when he heard it. Curious, Jim had rounded the corner to find a man carrying a very distressed, wiggly beagle in his arms. The man was familiar to Jim: his stature, his hair, and even the frustrated way he spoke to the dog.

He would be hard-pressed not to recognize Scotty’s voice. The accent was pretty distinct.

“Ah, ye wee devil, hold still!”

“Isn’t that Archer’s dog?” Jim asked, knowing full well it was.

Scotty whipped around, looking extremely guilty, but he still tried to stutter his way out of it. “I—I—don’.” Jim gave him a look, and the man folded like a napkin. “Ye see, my professor and I have a wee, tiny, itty-bitty disagreement. This laddie is gonna help prove me right.”

The dog whined as if he knew exactly what disaster waited for him. Jim looked at the dog. Then at Scotty. Yeah, no. “You do know that you’re dead if anything happens to Porthos, right?”

“He’ll be—”

“Nope, hand him over.” Despite how stubborn he could be, Scotty seemed to know on some level that he was in the wrong. He reluctantly gave Jim the dog, who licked his rescuer’s face in gratitude. Jim scratched him behind the ears before saying to Scotty. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll still show up your professor. Just, use a mouse instead. Like every other scientist ever.”

“I s’ppose,” Scotty said despondently.

Jim clapped him on the back and then redirected himself towards Archer’s residence.

Chapter Text

Jim’s fingers hovered over his PADD. He typed a word, deleted it. Typed a sentence, deleted it. Tapped on the edges as his mind blanked.

This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good.

Taking notes on the Nero incident had taken up Jim’s class time for the past semester. Everything he remembered was written down, organized, and scrutinized. He’d come up with contingency upon contingency. New details, new angles. Every possibility his mind could produce.

And, there was nothing left. Not that Jim could think of. His well had run dry.

He couldn’t think of anything.

The panic wasn’t immediate. Jim’s not sure he would call it panic. It was more like…dread. He tried to ignore it at first, tried to push through his rut. He opened his notes and stared at them and then closed them and opened them again. He fidgeted with his fingers. He tapped his foot. His teacher was still talking, and Jim couldn’t drown her out like he usually could.

For the first time the whole semester, Jim tried to focus on what she was saying—just to have something to focus on—but that made things worse. He’d had this lecture before. It wasn’t like this though. Same concepts, different teacher. He’d been here before, but not like this. The light coming through the windows. That had been different too. Had it been evening the first time he took this class? It was morning now. There was a guy that chewed on his stylus that sat next to him the first time around. He wasn’t there this time. What had he looked like? Would Jim even recognize him? He couldn’t remember.

He couldn’t remember what it was like, but it wasn’t like this.

It wasn’t like this, yet it was.

Abruptly, Jim stood from his seat and left the lecture hall. Cold sweat rolled down the back of his neck, and his breathing came in heavy pants. Fuck, he was getting lightheaded. His heart was beating out of his chest.

Conscious of the open-nature of the hallway, Jim turned into a bathroom. He locked himself in a stall and sat.

With his head between his legs, Jim breathed deeply.

Okay, maybe he was panicking a little.

****

It wasn’t that brainstorming about Nero was the only thing keeping Jim together. But, maybe, it played a bigger role in Jim’s sanity than he realized. Though he doubted it would count as escapism, it did allow Jim to focus on something other than everything else about his situation.

The situation could also be a “straw that broke the camel’s back” situation. Who could say? Certainly not Jim.

All Jim really knew was that, from that point, things started to decline. Not all at once, not linearly; however, Jim kept catching himself thinking more and more about the differences between his past and his present. He felt himself just…drifting when talking to people. Or, he had an unusually short fuse with them. Irritated by everything they said because it was right: it seemed like them. Seemed like something they would say. At the same time though, it didn’t.

Also, he could not give less of a fuck about anyone’s essay or an exam about Andorian surgery practices. Everything just felt so fucking small and stupid. He just couldn’t bring himself to care.

While Jim tried to keep all of this under the surface, he knew his mask of normalcy was splintering. The cracks didn’t reveal what was beneath the surface, but they hinted that there was something unseen.

People noticed the cracks. Or, Jim thought they noticed. He didn’t know how they couldn’t notice how he was losing control of himself. How his apathy and irritation were overwhelming him in turns.

If people weren’t going to say anything though, Jim wouldn’t bring it up. He wouldn’t panic under looks that may or may not contain judgement. No, that would only make him more irritable. He could deal with some unwanted—maybe imaginary—attention. He could.

This was easier said than done with Pike and Bones. Because, Jim knew they noticed, and their attention felt constant. They were ever-present eyes on him, and Jim couldn’t breathe sometimes they were so present. And then, he’d end up snapping at them, and they’d look hurt, which was so fucking unfair! Like it was Jim’s fault that all of this was happening! He wasn’t trying to be cruel; he just couldn’t breathe!

Even being around Spock had become a chore. That sharp gaze saw too much. Jim felt flayed under it. Jim knew Spock wanted to ask about what was wrong, but Jim couldn’t say. He couldn’t. He didn’t even know if this was really Spock. As much as Jim tried to just see his friend—as much as the Vulcan had been a beacon of hope for Jim—there was still the possibility that this was all a fucking lie! That he was clinging onto something that was using his friend’s face!

Eventually, all of this came to a head when Jim woke one morning, realized he had a chess match with Spock, and felt an overwhelming dread. The emotion caught in Jim’s chest.

Fuck, when had that happened? He’d—Jim knew it was getting harder to be around Spock, but fuck. It shouldn’t feel like this. Being around his favorite people shouldn’t feel like this.

Are they your favorite people? A voice whispered in Jim’s head. He didn’t have the energy to argue with it.

Dragging a hand over his face, Jim suddenly felt tears of frustration prick at the corners of his eyes.

Fuck.

Just, fuck his life.

Jim couldn’t do this today. He couldn’t pretend everything was okay: he’d just end up yelling at someone. Or punching something. Or tearing off his own skin.

There was the stirring of the thing-that-could-be-Bones. After it blinked its eyes open, it noticed Jim was just sitting there. Staring.

In his best friend’s sleepy, Southern drawl, it asked, “You okay, Jim?”

Swallowing around so many emotions, around things he couldn’t say but wanted to scream, Jim opened his mouth to lie. To say he was fine.

He closed his mouth.

Then, he whispered, “No. No, I’m not okay.”

With the speed of a man who saved lives for a living, the not-Bones was at his side. “What is it? What do you need?”

The touch of a hand on his shoulder was too much, and Jim pushed it off as he stood. He took a step away from the thing. He couldn’t look at it. Didn’t want it to see him, let alone touch him. Folding his arms defensively, Jim said, “I just—I need a day. I need to not be here.”

There was a long pause, and then the thing said, “Okay, alright, you can have your day, Jimmy.” The nickname made Jim grimace, which made the thing pause before saying, “You can have your day. I’ll message Pike, give him a doctor’s note, and we can—”

“No.” The refusal was immediate and forceful, but Jim couldn’t make it anything else. Because, he couldn’t—he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t pretend today. Not without snapping. And, Jim didn’t know how that would come out. At that very moment, Jim was this close to shouting at the thing in front of him. “I need a day for me. Alone.”

The pause was even longer this time. Jim wanted to look at it—gauge its thoughts—but he couldn’t bear to look at something that might or might not be his best friend. There were steps. The thing came closer, making Jim tense up. He didn’t want it to touch him. He didn’t know how he’d react if it touched him. There was no touch. It eventually said, “Alright. You can have your day, kid. Just—you just gotta promise me you—that you won’t hurt yourself. Promise me you’ll come back.”

Jim wanted to scream, wanted to ask what gave it the right to such a promise? What gave it the right to make his friend’s voice so soft and scared?

With all of his remaining willpower, Jim kept all of his outrage inside himself.

“Just a day,” he promised. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

****

There was a shop on the outskirts of San Francisco that rented out hover bikes. Jim didn’t have the space to keep his own while going to the Academy, but he still loved to ride. It scratched a certain itch for him, gave him that adrenaline rush he needed every now and then.

Riding was also a great way to work off some stress.

The girl behind the counter took one look at Jim’s face and then tossed a key at his face. “Wear a fucking helmet,” was all she said as she rang him up.

Shouldering his bag—and putting on the helmet that a different employee had shoved in his hands—Jim started the bike. He reveled in the hum of energy, in how it came alive. He stayed in that reverie for a moment longer, and then he was off.

There was a reason the shop was on the outskirts of the city. Near long highways and winding roads that climbed up and down the coast. Having spent so long in the Midwest, Jim would always be a bit in awe of the ocean. He took one of the roads that wove through forests but kept the shore in sight.

On and on the road went. The landscape shifted and changed and blurred around him. The early-December air was so mild in California, but it had bite at these speeds. It stung as it lashed against his neck.

Jim lost himself in it.

Mostly.

There were always those nagging thoughts, that constant whispering in the back of his head. It was quieter like this though. He could almost pretend everything was normal. Just a normal day off with Jim cruising on a hoverbike.

Eventually, Jim came to a place where the roads wound along cliffs that overlooked the ocean. It was the right kind of place, and Jim searched for somewhere secluded he could park. Somewhere tucked away but with a nice view.

With his knack for exploration, Jim found such a place. A place where the trees opened and the great, blue expanse of the ocean seemed to stretch on forever. The cliff’s height was such that the waves couldn’t really be heard below, but the breeze carried salt in it.

The contents of Jim’s bag clinked as he took it off. He opened it and pulled out the glass bottles and ceramic plates. The cliff really was perfect. Just enough rock, not too much grass.

Taking a plate in both hands, Jim raised it high above his head and then threw it to the ground. It shattered into a dozen pieces, making a satisfying sound as it broke. Jim kicked the pieces off the cliff, screaming out at the endless blue expanse.

And then he did it again.

And again.

And again until his voice was hoarse, his face was sunburnt, and his chest felt raw with everything he’d been holding in for months.

When he didn’t have anything left to shatter or scream, Jim felt better, but he also didn’t. He felt like he’d ripped himself open and didn’t know how to put himself back together again.

Now what? He asked himself.

But, he didn’t have an answer.

Jim sat down. He stared out at the ocean, wondering if this had helped at all. If it would keep him sane a little longer.

Not feeling sane at all, Jim continued staring out at the ocean. He watched it turn golden as the sun began to set.

****

Well after dark, Jim returned to the dorms. He’d shot a text off to Bones before he’d set back, so there wouldn’t be any search parties scouring California for him.

Despite his day off—or maybe because of it—Jim found himself dragging his feet. He didn’t want to come back. He didn’t want to be stuck in this endless doubt, this endless limbo. Nothing felt real, yet it was all too real at the same time.

He didn’t want to be here, but it wasn’t really a choice. Not when Jim thought about everything rationally.

He was sick of it all though

Outside his building, Jim hesitated. He lingered, not wanting to go in right away. There was a bench outside that he chose to flop into instead. The night wasn’t exactly cold. Not by Jim’s midwestern sensibilities.

But, the chill was pleasant on his sunburnt skin.

Closing his eyes, Jim breathed the cool air.

What could’ve been hours or seconds passed.

Jim drifted. Just breathing.

In and out.

In and out.

And then, someone said his name, and Jim’s momentary peace was shattered.

Reluctantly, Jim opened his eyes to find Spock standing in front of him. The Vulcan’s expression was drawn up in concern as he silently observed the human.

Involuntarily, both joy and bitterness rose up in Jim. A part of him would always be happy to see Spock, and he wanted so badly to take comfort in the Vulcan’s presence. But, maybe, that’s why the image of Spock was in front of him. Maybe, whatever kept him here knew how much he relied on the real Spock.

Fuck, it was hard to look at Spock’s concerned expression though. Jim threw an arm over his eyes to hide himself from it.

A couple moments passed, and then he heard Spock say, “You were not present for your scheduled shift nor for the chess club meeting.”

“Yeah.”

“Captain Pike informed myself and your teachers that you would be absent for medical reasons.”

“Uh-huh”

“You do not seem injured.” Another pause. Jim could practically see Spock searching for the right words to define his thoughts. “But, you do not seem well.”

“That about sums it up.” Fine on the outside, fucked up on the inside.

“I find this summary lacking. Please, expound.”

It didn’t feel like the right moment. In fact, Jim was almost completely certain it wasn’t the right moment. He was just…he was just so tired. So very, very tired. The stress from his situation—the months upon months of carrying everything alone—had worn down to his bones.

Jim just wanted this all to be over. He wanted some resolution.

So, despite how he knew it wasn’t the right time, Jim lowered his arm and said, “Meld with me.”

Startling minutely, Spock said, “Pardon?”

“If you want to know what happened, meld with me.” Please, I need this. Please, please, I need this. I need this all to be over.

There was a riot of emotion behind Spock’s eyes. Jim couldn’t properly pick out the Vulcan’s tells in the dim light from the streetlamps, but he knew—even if just from the long pause—that the decision had caused a conflict within Spock. Eventually, Spock quietly said, “You do not know what you ask for.”

“I do.” Jim leaned forward and grabbed Spock’s forearms, squeezing them before trying to push Spock’s hands toward his face.“I do, Spock. Please.”

Spock tore his arms from Jim’s grasp, hiding his hands behind his back and taking a step away.

Something inside Jim just…broke.

The numbness he’d been drifting in and out of surrounded him. Covered him in a flood that wiped away all sensation, muffled the world around him. Muffled his own emotions. Jim didn’t fight it. Why would he? He was exhausted, and didn’t have it in him to fight for emotions he didn’t want to feel.

Unaware of Jim’s internal state, Spock kept speaking. “You are not in a state to be making such a request. We will discuss this at a later date when you are recovered. In the meantime, you may explain your situation with words.”

“I just needed a day,” Jim replied woodenly. “Needed to get away.”

“From what?”

“Everything.”

For a while, Spock stood in front of him. Waiting for more to be said. His concern couldn’t touch Jim through the numbness.

Without another word, Jim stood from his seat and entered his dorm building.

****

Chris held his head in his hands as he listened to Leonard. The Captain was in his home, and Leonard was in his dorm. The doctor was recounting Jim’s return from his day off and the morning after. It seemed Jim’s mental health day hadn’t done him much good.

“—like a dead thing walkin’. I’ve seen cadavers with more life in ‘em.”

“Did he have any injuries? Like he might have—” Chris hated that he had to ask this question, but he’d rather know than not. “—hurt himself?”

“Few cuts on his hands. Didn’t look intentional. More like he was breakin’ things.” Leonard paused before continuing, “We both know this ain’t lookin’ good. I think it’s best we call in a professional. Submit him for another psych eval.”

Massaging his temples, Chris said, “I know, I know. It’s just—I thought he was getting better for a while there.”

“Maybe he was. These kinda things aren’t a straight shot though. He’s gonna have highs and lows, and we don’t know how low his lows are gonna be. It’s best he has someone with the right training to help him through those lows.”

“I know.” Sighing, Chris added. “Jim’s not gonna like this.”

“Kid doesn’t like a lotta things that’re good for him. He’ll get over it.”

“And fight us every step of the way.”

Leonard let out a sad huff of a laugh. Chris appreciated the camaraderie they had built over the past couple of months. It was nice to get support from someone who cared about Jim the way he did. Nice to talk to someone who understood.

Pulling on his jacket, Chris stuffed one hand in a pocket as he held his communicator with the other.

Inside the pocket, he felt a piece of paper. That was odd: Chris wasn’t in the habit of keeping scraps of paper around. He brought the paper out to inspect it, quickly realizing what it was.

It was the list Jim had wrote after that first big breakdown. Had this been the jacket he’d worn to the hospital? Had he really not worn it since?

The physical reminder of Jim’s perilous mental health brought a bitter taste to Chris’s mouth. Despite that, he unfolded the crinkled paper to skim over it.

Although he wasn’t looking for anything in particular, something about the list flipped a switch in Chris’s brain. There was something more to this. Something his subconscious had noticed and was pressing him to realize.

Following that instinct, Chris read with more purpose.

No, that was—that was impossible.

“Leonard,” Chris said, interrupting the still talking doctor, “do you still have that list Jim wrote for you?”

“What list?”

“The one from the hospital. Right after—”

“Right, that thing. I probably have it round here somewhere.” There was a pause with the sound of things being moved about. “Why?”

“I think you should look it over. Really look it over,” Chris said, and he grabbed his PADD as he spoke. Cross referencing the list with official documents.

After a few moments, the rustling on the other end of the line stopped. There was a long pause, and then, “What in all of God’s green earth?”

****

Being numb wasn’t exactly enjoyable. It wasn’t much of anything. Jim was there, but he wasn’t. A part of him knew he should shake himself out of this state of mind. The rest of him couldn’t be bothered.

He sat in class, letting everything wash over him.

Once said class was over, Bones caught him outside it. Told him Pike wanted to see them.

Was this an intervention? A psych eval? Jim should probably care about what this could mean, yet he just numbly let himself be herded to Pike’s office.

Before he knew it, they were standing there. The Captain sat behind his desk, back straight, eyes serious. He pushed two pieces of crumpled paper over the desk towards Jim.

“I need you to explain these to me, son.”

Walking forward, Jim looked at the papers more closely.

There was a moment where he took in the words passively. Where the words couldn’t break through his numb stupor.

Nevertheless, he soon realized what he was looking at. When Jim realized the implications, clarity returned to him in a rush of adrenaline. His heart beat faster, the air felt sharper in his lungs, and he felt alive.

He felt hope.

In front of him were the lists he had written in the hospital. The lists he had completely forgotten about but was so fucking glad he’d made.

Able to observe his surroundings with more awareness, Jim noted the closed-off apprehension in Pike’s expression. Pike was uncomfortable, unsure.

Jim could work with that.

Tilting his head guilelessly, Jim asked, “Explain what, sir?”

“Don’t play games with me, Jim.” Pike snapped. “How the hell did you know the results of the negotiations about Orion mining rights? I didn’t know those negotiations were happening until October.”

“How do you think I knew?” Jim asked to draw out more of Pike’s thought process.

“I don’t know,” Pike admitted with frustration. “This shouldn’t be possible. Some of this stuff—it’s—you were in Iowa not too long ago. You shouldn’t be involved in whatever network could pull up this information.”

“And, you knew Ma’s cat had five kittens.” Bones added. “You knew their names. That’s just—what, do you got a camera in her house?”

Silently, Jim looked between the man behind the desk and the one beside him. They were unnerved and confused. But, they had sought him out for an explanation. Good: they still trusted him enough to want to listen to him.

“Chris,” Jim said, looking the Captain in the eyes. “If you went to bed on the Enterprise and then woke up on Earth—not in a hospital, but back home in bed—what would you think happened?”

Taken aback by the apparent non sequitur, Pike said, “I—I’d assume I was captured by something.”

“And, if you woke up in your dorm room at the Academy, years after you graduated?”

“I’d—” Understanding began to dawn on Pike’s face.

Bones caught on too, saying, “Wait just a damn minute, are you claimin’ that you’re—what? From the future?”

Jim didn’t address Bones. Bones wasn’t the one deciding his fate. Addressing the Captain once more, Jim said, “Think about it, Chris. I’m different. You knew I was different from the start. You just didn’t know why.”

“The future?!?”

Pike steepled his hands, trying to decipher Jim with his eyes. Jim met the gaze with confidence as Pike said, “That’s a big claim.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

“So test me,” Jim offered. “I don’t have any proof other than my memories. But, there’s one foolproof way to check those. Telepaths can detect fake memories, lies, and mental illness. Bring in a telepath you trust: have him look through my mind.”

The plea made Pike straighten up. “Spock,” he said quietly before saying to Jim. “You’ve really been planning this from the start.”

“Now, hold on!” Bones interrupted, sounding a bit hysterical. “Ain’t there some other way to check before havin’ someone poke around his brain! Shouldn’t we get a psych eval first?”

Grabbing Bones by the shoulders—initiating touch between them for the first time in months—Jim said, “Please, Bones. I need this.” Keeping eye-contact, Jim saw the doctor’s resolve begin to crumble. Softly, Jim continued, “If this is all in my head, I promise I’ll get help. I promise, Bones. Think of it like a diagnostic test. We’re diagnosing me.”

Folding his arms—as if that negated the fact that he was giving into Jim—Bones said, “I’m monitoring you during it.”

****

Spock was greatly troubled.

Not long after his revelation regarding Jim’s potential sentiments toward him, the object of his affections began to show signs of distress. Spock had hoped Jim would seek him out, hoped the human would confide in him.

That had not happened: the symptoms of distress only became more pronounced as the days went on.

Then, he had received the message from Pike, dismissing Jim from his duties for the day.

Needless to say, Spock was notably disturbed by this. He attempted to message Jim directly to inquire after his well-being, but he received no response. Privacy laws did not enable Spock to know where/if the human was checked into any medical facilities. When Spock had asked for further details from Pike, the Captain had told him they were confidential.

Jim had also missed their chess match. He had not missed a match since the beginning of their acquaintance.

Experiencing an overwhelming need to determine Jim’s wellbeing, Spock had found the Cadet’s room assignment and left for the Academy’s dorms.

Outside the building, he had found Jim. Unprecedented relief flooded through the Vulcan. Jim was not hospitalized or grievously injured. He did seem to have gained a slight sunburn to his face. There was dust all over the human, and his hair stuck up in all directions.

Sitting on a bench, Jim’s head was tilted back, and his eyes were closed. He breathed deeply, almost as if he was asleep.

Spock said his name thrice before the human opened his eyes. The light was such that Spock could not properly observe the color of the irises, and Jim quickly hid his eyes from sight by placing his arm over them.

The following conversation did not alleviate Spock’s concern for the human. If anything, it only worried Spock more. Jim was clearly undergoing immense distress. Spock wished to relieve him of this, but he did not know how. He could not know how without knowing the origin of the problem.

And, the only way Jim proposed sharing this information was through a meld.

Such an offer…it was undeniably tempting. Spock could most certainly discover the origin of Jim’s distress and offer comfort through a meld. Additionally, he had yearned to experience this intimacy with Jim.

Regardless of any personal desires, Spock stayed his hand. It was not right to initiate their first meld under such circumstances. Jim was distressed. How could Spock be certain he understood the implications? Was he in the proper mindset to listen to Spock’s explanations? What if Jim came to regret making such a decision later?

Although Spock was certain he’d made the correct decision, that did not make refusing any easier. Especially not with how Jim’s strong hands grasped his arms, with how Jim’s warm face had been mere inches from his fingertips. With how his eyes pleaded.

And then, Spock had been subjected to the unpleasant sight of all of the life leaving Jim’s face. The normally exuberant human had become an empty thing. A shell. An afterimage of Jim’s usual self.

In the solitude of his office, Spock sighed. The whole experience had disturbed his sleep and meditation. His focus was not optimal, and his usual tasks seemed unimportant in the wake of Jim’s distress.

Yet, what could he do for the human?

It was twelve minutes past 1100 when Pike stepped into Spock’s office. The Captain had admirable control over his expressions, but Spock noticed the atypical stiffness in his demeanor.

“Is there something you require aid with, Captain?”

The man paused, glancing back to the door as if to ensure it was closed. “Yes, I…have a favor to ask you.”

Spock tilted his head in acknowledgement.

“There’s—there’s someone I know who’s made an odd claim. It’s unbelievable. Absolutely crazy. But, the thing is,” Pike pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and placed it on Spock’s desk. “There seems to be some evidence on their side. Read that.”

Dutifully, Spock picked up the paper and read. It was a list of sentences describing political and inconsequential events, accompanied with rough dates. There did not seem to be an order to them.

“They wrote that last summer.”

Spock’s eyebrow reached for his hairline. The knowledge that would be required to predict some of these events—it was staggering. The power to cause them would be unheard of. Placing the paper back down on the desk, Spock asked, “What is their claim?”

Grimacing, Pike said, “That they’re from the future. Specifically, that they woke up in the body of their past self without any warning or explanation.”

“That is an audacious claim.” Spock slid the list back towards Pike. “However, I believe it is worth investigating. I assume you have come to ask me to confirm or disprove this claim through a mind meld.”

“Yes,” Pike admitted. “I know it’s a big ask. A meld is the only way we’ll know for sure though.”

“Indeed, and this individual cannot be properly dealt with until their situation is certain.” Not to mention, Spock was curious regarding the truth of the matter. Time travel was a rare and fascinating phenomenon. “Shall I adjust my current schedule, or can this appointment be delayed.”

Despite Spock’s acceptance, Pike looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Before you agree, there’s something else you should know.”

****

Pacing back and forth in Pike’s office, Jim waited for the news that would determine everything. This was it: this was what decided things for Jim.

He was pretty sure Spock would say yes. Once there was a mystery, the boundless curiosity inside of Spock would latch on until he got an answer.

Still, Jim was nervous.

Because, this was it.

A forever made up of thirty minutes passed, and Pike came back. With Spock in tow. One of the knots in Jim’s stomach untangled. Spock was here. There would be answers.

This was it.

The Vulcan’s expression was especially inscrutable, which meant Spock was trying to completely hide any emotions. Something had upset him.

Jim should care more about that, but he didn’t have room for guilt amongst all of the nerves and anticipation.

This was it.

Arranging two chairs to face each other, Spock gestured to one, saying, “Sit.”

Jim sat, and Spock sat across from him, saying, “The meld is often an uncomfortable intrusion for non-telepaths. I suggest you relax your mind as much as possible. It will ease the experience.”

Although he already knew that, Jim nodded anyway.

Besides, melds with Spock had never been uncomfortable. Beautiful. Euphoric. Maybe a bit overwhelming.

Uncomfortable though? No. Not unless you counted that first meld with the old Spock, and that was special circumstances.

Still, Jim made a show of closing his eyes. Took some deep breaths.

There was the whirring of Bones’s equipment.

The press of fingertips on the left side of his face. Then, on the right side too.

This was it.

“My mind to your mind.”

Chapter Text

Spock did not open Jim’s mind.

Rather, Jim’s mind dropped all defenses at the first hint of Spock’s presence. Jim’s mind welcomed him so completely that the Vulcan was practically pulled inside. Stepping through an open doorway was more difficult—breathing was more difficult than entering Jim’s mind.

If anything, Spock had to exercise great control to not deepen the meld unnecessarily. To keep himself from exploring the mind that called to him so sweetly, urging him to explore.

Of course, Spock would not do such a thing: discovering the—undoubtedly—fascinating inner workings of the cadet’s mind was not the purpose of this meld. The purpose was to test the veracity of Jim’s claimed time travel. Spock would not deviate from his goal.

Before Spock could continue with this goal though, there was an overwhelming surge of emotion. So overwhelming that it manifested as physical pain in his chest and his head. No, Jim’s chest and Jim’s head.

Reflexively, Spock attempted to end the meld. Only for Jim’s mind to cling to him, to desperately grasp at and wrap around him as best it could.

Stay, it begged. Please, please, just stay.

There was a warmth in his face and a stinging in his eyes. Something grabbed and squeezed one of his wrists. There was a pressure against the back of his opposite hand. It took Spock a moment to differentiate who the physical sensations originated from. To realize Jim was crying. He was crying while clumsily trying to keep Spock’s hands in place.

Spock stayed. Although he was unsure regarding the correct course of action, he could hardly leave when Jim clung to him physically and mentally.

Attempting to soothe Jim, Spock projected a general sense of calm and well-being into the human’s mind.

Instead of assuaging Jim’s distress, the human’s emotions intensified. Jim’s chest ached with emotion. It ached with—relief? Relief: that was the primary emotion Jim was experiencing. Amongst a storm of dozens of flitting emotions, that was the core. A relief so intense that it manifested as pain.

What could have caused such a reaction? What burdens had Jim been carrying that the very lifting of them ached?

As Spock contemplated this, Jim tempered his own emotions. He tamed the storm within himself to a manageable form, turning it into distant thunder.

Sorry, Jim thought at Spock. Slight embarrassment tinted the apology.

There is no cause for apology. Spock could hardly be offended by Jim’s reaction. It had clearly been involuntary and deeply personal. The Vulcan was, however, curious and allowed Jim to feel that curiosity.

Sadness and regret suffused Jim’s mind in response to Spock’s curiosity. I’m sorry, the human thought again.

Without allowing Spock to question him further, Jim began recalling memories.

Receiving memories from a human was very different from receiving memories from a Vulcan. Humans were not able to separate objective events from emotional associations. Nor were they able to isolate memories from others that were associated with it.

To summarize, experiencing a human’s unfiltered memories was chaotic in the best of circumstances. There were Vulcans—those trained in witness law—who were experts in isolating the factual components of memories. Spock was not one of those Vulcans. He could only experience the memories as Jim recalled them. As well as judge if they were of artificial origin.

Spock had accepted this aspect of the meld though when he accepted Captain Pike’s request; thus, he let Jim's untamed memories flow through him.

Standing in an auditorium, surrounded by cadets. By the whole Academy. A semicircle of officers: a tribunal. Jim was being judged by them, but his focus was on Spock. Spock stood to the side at a podium. There was the shadow of a past anger: an awareness that anger had existed even though the emotion had died long ago.

Besides, anger was unimportant in the wake of—

“—a distress call from Vulcan—fleet engaged in the Laurentian system—”

And, Jim was frustrated, concerned. Why were they gone? Why on that day? Why was help always gone when it was most needed?

An image of watching a Starfleet shuttle land in a desolate field, the feeling of a deep hunger. No, no, that wasn't important! The sickly, green sky was replaced by an endless expanse of stars. Dark clouds illuminated with flashes of light. A shadowy mass peeking out of it.

“Lightning storm in space,” and it was said in many, many overlapping voices. Spock could not parse one from the other. Each attached to a memory of Jim’s.

“Lightning Storm in Space,” and it was one voice this time. A heavily accented one.

Lightning Storm

Reading about the USS Kelvin in school. Listening to Sam talk about Dad. Painful loneliness—an old, well-worn emotion. Not important. What was important was the dread. The dread as Jim recalled details of a paper: Pike’s paper.

The image of a ship with many reaching, dark arms. Spikes. The stuff of nightmares. Is that what Dad saw before he died? Would it be the last thing he saw?

Romulans

Heart beating fast: feeling like it was going to burst. The panic, the sweat soaking him. Feeling like he was melting, but he kept moving. Kept running. Had to know. Had to make it in time.

If only there had been more time.

Uhura. Finding her because she knew. She knew, and Jim was running to the Bridge.

Romulans

Bridgebridgebridebridgebridgebridge. Need to get there. Need to warn them.

A sea of debris: the remnants of dead starships.

Romulans

Bursting onto the Bridge of the Enterprise—a room Spock had only ever seen plans of—and calling for everything to stop. They needed to stop! Before it was too late!

“You’ve had enough attention for today,” and that hurt. Pike knew how to cut deep. Jim brushed past it though. Not important. He was trying to save them! Why wouldn’t they listen?!? He needed Pike to listen!!!

Spock is in the way. Spock isn’t listening! That shadow of an anger long past combined with a more present sadness. That past anger helped Jim push though. Push until he was heard.

“—no transmissions of any kind”
“They’re being attacked.”
“Shields up”

Relief that he was heard.

What would’ve happened if he wasn’t heard?

Dread for what came next.

Jim looked to Spock. There was comfort in looking to Spock: dozens—no, hundreds of—memories of glances bled into one moment.

Jim was glad he was there. Glad for the support.

Even if he wished Spock hadn’t had to witness this.

Again, the field of debris. The tangled, nightmare of a ship that reached one long arm towards the planet’s surface. The drill.

A battle: damage. Jim wanted to help. He couldn’t. He didn’t have a place.

Frustrated: could’ve done more, should’ve done more, could’ve done more.

And then—

“Nero,” in the man’s own voice.
“He called himself Nero,” another echoed.

Intense rage, disgust, hatred.

Murderer, Jim’s mind hissed with loathing more potent than Spock had ever experienced.

“—blamed me for the loss of his planet.”

A star exploding. A wave of fire consuming a planet, but not Vulcan. A supernova consuming Romulus.

Future.

Future.

Future.

“The future, that is where I am from, Jim.”
“—an alternate reality”
“—a tunnel through spacetime.”

A blackhole.

A blur as an object whizzed past Jim, heading into a crater. Heading to the center of planet.

God, if we’d only stopped the drill sooner.

“—waited 25 years for his revenge—so that I would know his pain.”

All of a sudden, the memories ceased. They were replaced with a hesitation. Jim did not want to show Spock what came next.

Spock did not want to be spared though. He had to know. Had to see it.

Show me, he commanded.

Dread and grief, but the memories continued.

“Billions of lives, Jim.”

Reports on survivors; 9632 Vulcans. Billions, just, gone.

Genocide of unfathomable proportions.

Colony plans. Cultural revivals. Flashes of a desert and orderly homes built in the Vulcan style.

It wasn’t Vulcan though: Spock could tell.

I’m sorry.

Survivors on the Enterprise. Vulcans, being treated in Sickbay. Shuddering from the shock. Weeping silently. Staring into space.

9,632 survivors.

Jim trying to comfort a young Vulcan, yet not understanding the pain. Not until—

Again, the memories were replaced with hesitation. Spock could feel the pain and suffering on the fringes of this next recollection.

Show me.

They’re— Jim tried to explain.

But, Spock did not want to listen. He needed to see it. Needed to know. Show me!

I’m sorry.

DEATH

When a Vulcan dies suddenly, their mind reflexively reaches outward. It is an uncontrollable reaction: no one wishes to die alone. In reaching out, they create the Tevakh Lit’dhae. The Death Cry.

Spock had only ever experienced this once. An instructor in the Vulcan Learning Academy tripped and fell. Every student felt his sudden passing. They experienced it as a shock of fear and pain.

The Tevakh Lit'dhae from Jim's memory could only be an echo of what was felt during the destruction of Vulcan. Regardless, it was excruciating. This was not one moment, not one singular scream. It was wave upon wave of overlapping fear, anger, grief—Why? Why me? Why us?—pain, sorrow, loneliness.

Recoiling away from the memory, Spock pulled himself out of the meld. His body also attempted to put physical distance between himself and the source of the pain. The blind retreat caused Spock to stumble, knocking over the chair he’d been sitting on and falling to the ground himself.

The slight pain of landing on the ground was inconsequential though. What he had just seen—what he had just felt—

Trembling. Spock was trembling.

Ordinarily, this would be a shameful loss of control. Spock could not begin to care about control in that moment.

Looking up to Pike, who was looking back at Spock with undisguised concern, he said, “Captain, I—we must contact the Vulcan Embassy. And the Admirals, they must be made aware.”

“Spock, what—?”

“I will contact the Ambassador.”

“Wait—”

“I cannot!” Pike did not understand! Vulcan was—

Warmth on the back of Spock’s neck. Soft skin interspersed with rough calluses. Fingers brushing over the hairs at the base of Spock’s skull.

Spock’s mouth closed. His eyes snapped to the bright, blue gaze directed at him.

Occasionally, Spock had found himself comparing the shade of Jim’s eyes to Earth’s ocean, to Earth’s sky, to precious stones. Searching for the correct shade to define their uncommon color. While Jim held his gaze—steady and confident—Spock absently realized the precise shade of Jim’s eyes. They were the blue that was the core of an open flame.

Through their contact, Spock felt the presence of Jim’s mind. There was sympathy but also fierce certainty coming from the human.

With command in his voice, Jim said, “Spock, you’re compromised.”

Obviously, but that did not matter! He—

“Spock,” Jim repeated, his voice and grip becoming firmer. “You. Are. Compromised. You need to meditate for at least thirty minutes. Then, you can rejoin us for planning. Understood?”

“I—”

“Understood?”

Knowing Jim was correct—he would be of little help if he was not in control of himself—Spock swallowed his protests. “Understood.”

Jim released Spock.

Oddly, the Vulcan felt bereft without the contact. He wanted the comfort of Jim’s touch and his mind.

That thought was interrupted though when a voice practically shouted, “Would someone please explain what the fuck just happened?!?”

The man who spoke was a Dr. McCoy: Jim’s roommate and friend. Spock had briefly met the man in passing. He had a permanently irritated disposition but seemed fond of Jim. Currently, the man was red-faced from frustration.

Pike was also looking at the pair with a look of confused concern.

“Sir,” Spock said, addressing Captain Pike, “The cadet is undoubtedly telling the truth, and we must take action immediately.”

****

Jim insisted Spock leave for his meditation before explaining things to Chris and Leonard.

As much as Chris wanted more answers, he had to agree that Spock needed to gather himself.

It’s not that Chris had never seen Spock shaken before. He had, which meant he knew it took a fucking lot to unnerve the Vulcan. Let alone for said Vulcan to blatantly show his disquiet.

So, Chris knew they were in deep shit the instant Spock tripped over himself to get out of that meld.

What could he have seen to affect him so much?

And Jim…Jim came out of the meld an entirely different creature than the cadet that went in. It was almost as if he had absorbed Spock’s calm. The boy was entirely confident and relaxed when he stopped Spock’s freak out.

Which, had been all sorts of strange to watch. Chris had worked with Spock for a long time, but he had never seen the Vulcan tamed with a mere touch. Had never seen Spock allow someone to touch him like that.

Spock didn’t seem to have a problem with letting Jim touch him though. Furthermore, Spock—Pike's stubborn as a mule Science officer—had let himself be ordered around by a cadet.

But, then again, Jim didn’t sound like a cadet. He commanded Spock with the authority of a seasoned captain.

Hell, maybe he was. The kid was apparently from the future. A bad future if Spock’s reaction was anything to go by.

After Jim ushered Spock out of the room—letting the Vulcan know he was timing how long he was gone—he turned to face Chris and Leonard.

There was a pause. A palpable tension formed between them as they all hesitated to speak first.

What did you even say to someone who was from the future? Who was both familiar and unfamiliar?

On Chris’s part, he found himself suddenly overcome with the urge to apologize. He recalled how Jim was struggling over the past semester. They hadn’t known why—how could they?—but, fuck, they hadn't really helped had they? Jim had been carrying this all alone. Chris and Leonard had been right there, yet Jim had struggled alone.

Jim didn't wait for his apology though. Always one to act first, he stepped forward. He walked right up to Chris and Leonard, pulling them both into a tight hug.

“Fuck,” Jim whispered, squeezing them tightly.

Hesitantly, Chris raised an arm to wrap around Jim’s back. They’d never hugged before. At least, Chris had never hugged Jim before. Maybe, his future self did that.

Despite everything, all the crazy circumstances, it was nice.

Gentle, like someone talking to a hurt child, Leonard said, “It’s alright now. We’ve got you.”

Jim held on tighter, taking in a shaky breath.

Chris rubbed Jim’s back and affirmed, “We’ve got you.”

Chapter Text

Regrets were illogical. To dwell on one’s mistakes without purpose was simply unproductive: an indulgence in self-pitying emotion.

That being said, contemplating one’s mistakes with the goal to improve was admirable.

When Spock approached Sarek outside of an Embassy conference room, Sarek contemplated what errors in his parenting had led to this. How had he failed to impress common courtesy upon his son?

If Spock—if anyone—desired to meet in person, they should send a message inquiring after that individual’s availability. One did not simply arrive unannounced. One did not abruptly interrupt another’s busy schedule. Especially following years of strained silence between himself and said person.

Yet, there was Sarek’s son. In a black Starfleet uniform, trailed by two humans wearing the red cadet uniform. Sarek’s diplomatic team looked between the Ambassador and his son before exchanging glances with one another. It seemed they had opinions regarding the situation.

Then again, Sarek would also have opinions if their children suddenly accosted them outside a conference room.

“Commander,” Sarek said, attempting to keep some semblance of decorum.

“Ambassador,” Spock replied. “I have a matter that requires your attention.”

“I was unaware that Starfleet’s communication devices have undergone a mass malfunction,” Sarek said to indicate that there should be extraordinary circumstances for the organization to send an officer in-person without prior warning.

Ignoring Sarek’s statement, Spock said, “This matter is of a dire nature and must be addressed immediately.”

“Clarify.”

“It would be preferable to relay this information via a mind meld.”

Though there was not an audible sign of shock, Sarek knew his colleagues were exchanging glances once more. Melds were not something to request lightly. They certainly were not something to request so publicly. It was inappropriate.

The Ambassador refused to give in to such an audacious request without prior explanation. Spock knew better than to act in such a way. Sarek had taught him better.

“Clarify,” Sarek repeated.

After 1.351 standard seconds, Spock conceded, saying, “Very well. I request privacy: this information is classified.”

“Guide your subordinates to my office. There are three meetings remaining in my schedule. Following their completion, I will—”

Without further discussion, Spock knelt, bringing his face to the floor and spreading his arms out in front of him.

“Spock!” Sarek could not help the hint of emotion that bled into his tone. This behavior was most unacceptable. He did not know why his son insisted on making a scene in the middle of the Embassy’s hallway. Especially since Sarek had agreed to discuss this supposed urgent matter on short notice!

Both cadets seemed shocked by their commanding officer’s action. One of them—a human with fair hair and unnervingly blue eyes—overcame the shock quickly and moved to bow beside Spock.

As the human prostrated himself alongside the Commander, Spock said, “Sa-mekh, I beseech you.”

“Rise, Spock, this is illogical.” There was absolutely no reason for this behavior. Sarek had never required anyone—much less Spock—to beg him for anything. Noticing that the other cadet had started to lower himself with a resigned expression, Sarek addressed him, saying, “Do not kneel.” The brown-haired cadet straightened up with a sigh of relief, and Sarek refocused his attention on the two people still on the floor. “Spock, Cadet, this—it is unnecessary. I do not require you to demean yourselves.”

“We do not demean ourselves,” Spock replied, not raising his head from the floor. “If—through this—we can impress upon you the urgency of the situation, it is the most logical course of action.”

The most logical course of action was something Spock and Sarek often disagreed on. Differences in opinion were to be expected between individuals. Diversity in thought allowed for knowledge to expand in infinite directions; thus, differences were to be respected. Even rejoiced.

Although Sarek completely agreed with this in theory, he found its application difficult. He desired to lead Spock down the right path. It was a parent’s duty to guide their children. However, Spock refused Sarek’s guidance, following a path that Sarek did not understand.

The further Spock went down that path—the longer their estrangement went on—the less Sarek could say he understood his son.

Despite the ways in which Sarek did not understand Spock, he could still claim to know many things about his son. He knew Spock’s upbringing, for he had taken part in it. Sarek knew the principles that were the foundation of the person kneeling before him.

One of those principles was to conduct himself with dignity: others would not always treat him with respect, but he could act in a way deserving of respect.

Another principle was that no personal price—not one’s dignity, not one’s status, not even one’s life—was too dear a price to pay for the greater good.

“Reschedule my afternoon appointments,” Sarek ordered his secretary. “I will accompany the Commander and cadets to my office.”

****

Behind his desk, Sarek maintained a neutral expression as his son and the blond cadet—one James Kirk—expounded upon their supposed situation. They wove a tale of a disaster involving no fewer than two instances of time travel, Romulans, and genocide on a planetary scale.

“I am aware these events seem improbable,” Spock said. At least he was cognizant of this fact. “But, I have melded with Cadet Kirk myself. I can attest to the authenticity of his memories.”

There were several possible explanations for the current situation: his son may have been manipulated by a strong telepathic/technological force that manufactured authentic memories, his son and Cadet Kirk may be suffering delusions, or Cadet Kirk’s experiences were genuine.

For any of these options, Sarek had a duty. Whether it was a duty to his son or to his people, it mattered little. Either would require Sarek’s immediate attention.

Warily, Sarek observed Cadet Kirk. Humans were odd and dangerous creatures: capable of much harm with very little reason. Sarek was not certain how genuine Kirk was regarding his supposed experiences. How purposeful the human’s attack on his son’s well-being may be.

Spock had been correct though: the situation truly could only be verified through a meld.

“It is impossible to bring this matter to the Council on the word of one Vulcan,” Sarek stated, which was the truth even if Sarek doubted the situation would reach so far. “They will require several witnesses. A mind adept and a specialist in witness law would be ideal to assess and attest to the truth of the matter.” Additionally, a mind adept would be able to assess the damage to Spock’s mind, and the specialist would be capable of collecting evidence regarding criminal involvement. “I will contact my associates, and they should arrive within the hour.”

The humans’ expressive faces and body language showed a release of tension. Sarek judged the emotional reaction to be one of relief. They truly believed their case. Spock—as is proper—had no change in his demeanor. His son did say, “Thank you, Father.”

A show of gratitude between them was uncharacteristic.

The Ambassador hastened to message his associates.

There was time between the sending of such messages and the responses, and Sarek noticed something peculiar in the interim.

“I have a query,” Sarek stated.

Spock tilted his head in acknowledgment. The humans looked at Sarek questioningly.

“As I understand the situation, Cadet Kirk experienced the supposed time travel, and Spock is witness to these events through a meld.”

“Affirmative.”

“About sums it up.”

“Then, what is his involvement?” Sarek asked, nodding towards the brown-haired cadet.

The brown-haired cadet folded his arms in a defensive gesture, opening his mouth. Cadet Kirk spoke first though, saying, “He’s my friend.”

7.309 seconds passed as Sarek waited for further explanation. None was offered, so he asked, “And, what is his purpose here?”

“Moral support,” Kirk supplied immediately.

Simultaneously, the other human answered, “I’m his doctor.”

Following the cadets’ responses, Spock said, “Dr. McCoy is here at his own insistence. Since he is already privy to the matter at hand, I saw no harm in allowing him to accompany us.”

“I see,” Sarek said. He was familiar with the concept of moral support and humans’ insistence on being involved unnecessarily.

Just as his son had, Sarek deemed Dr. McCoy’s presence harmless despite being illogical.

****

Details regarding Kirk’s supposed circumstances were not communicated to Sarek’s associates until they arrived in his office. Sarek intended for this incident to be completely confidential with as few written records as possible. Spock already received scrutiny for his parentage. He did not deserve further scrutiny for what was certainly a medical condition gained in the line of duty.

Adept T’Karik and Specialist T’Par were consummate professionals, so they kept perfectly neutral expressions while Spock explained their claims once more.

“Adept T’Karik, it is necessary to assess Kirk’s soundness of mind,” Sarek said in conclusion to his son’s explanation.

There was a subtle downturn to Spock’s lips, and Dr. McCoy openly scowled at the statement. Kirk seemed unperturbed. If anything, the blond human was amused.

“Agreed,” the Adept responded. “I shall begin as soon as Mr. Kirk is comfortable.”

“I’m good to start now,” the Cadet said.

“Would you prefer to be seated or to lay supine? Should you choose to lay supine, we may reconvene to a different room with more suitable furniture. I have also brought a meditation mat should you find the chairs uncomfortable.”

“Huh.” Kirk paused, looking contemplative before saying, “ I’ve never been given a choice before.”

“A choice of what?” T’Karik asked.

“Of position. Other times, melds kind of just—” Kirk gesticulated vaguely “—happened. Wherever and whenever. ”

Both of T’Karik’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “Melds should not ‘just happen’. Comfort and safety for both parties involved is essential. You should not allow yourself to be treated so carelessly.”

“It wasn’t careless. There were things happening—extenuating circumstances.” T’Karik opened her mouth—likely to educate Kirk further on melding etiquette—but the human cut her off saying, “Anyway, I think I’ll sit on the floor. Can’t fall off a chair that way.”

“Do you have a history of falls during melds?”

“Nope.”

When no further explanation was offered, T’Karik seemed to decide that continuing to interrogate Kirk would be unproductive. She retrieved her meditation mat from a bag of supplies she had brought and rolled it out on the floor. Kirk sat on one end, legs crossed. T’Karik knelt in front of him.

“Is this position suitable for your comfort?”

“It’s good.”

“The initial intrusion of a meld is often uncomfortable. A calm mind may lessen this; would you like guidance in calming your mind?”

“I’m alright,” Kirk stated. He then closed his eyes and took a slow, purposeful breath.

Interpreting this as a cue that the human wished to begin, T’Karik said, “I will first introduce my presence to your mind. Then, I will begin my examination.” She gently but confidently placed her fingers on his qui’lari.

Dr. McCoy folded his arms once more. The near-constant displeasure on his face became deeper as the ceremonial words were spoken. Spock watched without displaying emotion; that being said, his intense focus on the pair revealed significant interest in the proceedings.

On his part, Sarek contemplated how best to peacefully persuade his son to undergo an examination following Kirk’s. He could request aid from the Embassy’s security if necessary. That would involve more people though, increasing the chance of rumors.

Silence reigned as they waited. The room’s focus was on Kirk, and Sarek’s focus was on Spock.

Until, there was a sharp intake of breath. The serene expression T’Karik wore as she initiated the meld was disturbed. Her brows twitched and the muscles surrounding her mouth contracted. Emotional transference was common during melds. Mind adepts were typically more skilled in monitoring this transference; therefore, minimizing their own reactions.

Needless to say, the Adept’s reaction was concerning. Especially in contrast to Kirk’s continually calm demeanor.

Abruptly, T’Karik drew back from Kirk, clutching her hands to her chest as if to protect them. Her eyes remained closed. Her breathing was heavy.

“Give her a minute,” Kirk said, which directed Sarek’s attention back to the human.

The human’s instruction was given to Dr. McCoy, whose hands had already started to reach for T’Karik. McCoy observed the Adept, his expression softened with concern; Kirk also looked at her with sympathy. Neither seemed surprised though.

Gradually, T’Karik calmed her breathing. They all waited as the Adept regained a measure of control.

Once she had gathered herself, T’Karik took one more deep breath. Then, she lowered her hands to her lap and opened her eyes.

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” Kirk said gently.

T’Karik nodded wordlessly. Looking directly at Sarek, she said, “Mr. Kirk is of sound mind. I will sign a statement attesting to the truth of his claims once you write to the Council of Elders.” The Adept stood abruptly. “Excuse me, I require meditation.”

She did not wait for a dismissal—nor did she retrieve any of her supplies—before walking out of the room.

Vulcans were not infallible creatures. They could be tricked or manipulated, even in regards to telepathy.

Typically though, humans were incapable of overpowering a Vulcan’s telepathy. Doing so to a trained mind adept was so unlikely as to be unthinkable.

Equally unthinkable was the Cadet’s story because that would mean—

“Alright,” Kirk said, interrupting Sarek’s thoughts. The human was looking up at T’Par, smiling. Humans often intended to appear friendly through this expression. It was jarring in the wake of Sarek’s thoughts. T’Par’s posture also tensed minutely under Kirk’s attention. “I’m ready to go again. You still up for it?”

“I will fulfil my duty,” T’Par stated simply.

Unlike T’Karik, T’Par did not verbally guide Kirk through the experience. She arranged her hands on his face without fanfare.

The human did not seem to mind: he simply closed his eyes once more.

This time, Sarek observed the meld closely. Scarcely any information could be retrieved from observing a meld as an outsider.

Sarek observed them anyway. He found he could not look away.

Tears were the first observable reaction from T’Par. They rolled silently down her face, and then her breathing became interrupted with quiet sobs.

In the wake of a particularly pained gasp, T’Par opened her eyes and dropped her hands from Kirk’s face. Kirk did not stop McCoy this time when the doctor guided the still crying T’Par to a seat in the corner, speaking softly to her.

Cracking his neck, Kirk sighed. He looked up at Sarek and asked, “Is there anyone else you want me to meld with?”

The question seemed like a challenge. This human was asking if Sarek still doubted the veracity of his claims.

Evidence was certainly gathering in Kirk’s favor; nonetheless, there was a part of Sarek that did not want to believe the human. An instinctual, emotional denial: such a thing could not happen to his people, to his home. It could not be so.

Finding himself unable to objectively come to a conclusion with the current evidence, Sarek determined that he should confirm Kirk’s experiences personally. Confirmation of the situation would enable Sarek to act decisively.

And, perhaps, he would find a flaw in Kirk’s memories that others had not found. Whatever the other Vulcans had witnessed may very well be a particularly convincing delusion.

Kirk’s eyes widened in surprise when Sarek approached the meditation mat and knelt across from the human. The emotion settled though, and Kirk considered him with what looked like respect.

“Father.” Spock hesitated and then said, “We do not require another witness.”

“Should your case be genuine, another witness will only strengthen your position.” Sarek positioned his fingers on Kirk’s face, and the human closed his eyes in acceptance.

Unbidden, a twinge of fear squeezed Sarek’s side before the connection could be made.

Fear was not logical. Fear was an emotion. A perfectly instinctual, reasonable reaction to watching his respected colleagues break down after melding with Kirk, but an emotion nonetheless. Sarek would not be controlled by his emotions.

“My mind to your mind.”

****

Amanda could count on one hand the times she had felt such strong distress through her marital bond. She dropped her mug—which shattered spectacularly on the floor—and clutched her chest when what felt like anguish flooded her mind from Sarek’s bond.

Family members gathered around her, asking what was wrong. They were probably panicking, but she couldn’t reassure them. She could barely hear them over her own concerns.

“I—I need to call Sarek,” she said, leaving without another word.

Her feet carried her up the stairs, towards her room, and she fumbled to open her communicator.

She bit her lip as the line rang for what felt like years. Eventually, it went to voicemail, and she tried again.

When Sarek didn’t pick up for the third time, she called the Embassy.

“Is Sarek okay?!?” She asked the instant someone answered.

There was a pause. Then, a monotonous voice said, “The Ambassador is in his office. His medical information is confidential. If you leave your contact information, he may call you at a later date.”

Inhaling deeply, Amanda tried to calm herself a little before she swore at this person. She had not introduced herself, so this person didn’t know she was Sarek’s bondmate. They would be more cooperative once she explained that.

Or else.

Another call started coming in though. From said bondmate. Amanda picked up immediately.

“Sarek, are you okay? What happened?”

“Aduna,” and Sarek’s voice was unsteady in a way it rarely was. “Ashayam, are you able to return soon?”

Amanda had planned to visit with her family for a few more weeks before reuniting with her husband in San Francisco. Plans could change though. “Of course. What happened?”

“I—I cannot. Not at the moment.”

“Okay. That’s okay. Can you tell me if you’re hurt?”

“I am not physically harmed.”

Emotional distress then. What had happened to shake up her husband this badly? “Is there anything you need from me right now? Anything I can do for you?”

There was a brief silence as Sarek considered her question. Quietly, he said, “It is pleasing to hear your voice.”

“Okay,” Amanda said, smiling at the sentiment despite their situation. “I’ll tell you about my day then.”

While packing her belongings, Amanda recounted her day. She talked about her sister and her mother. She talked about lunch and about the weather. She talked and talked until the distress over the bond calmed.