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“Unconditional love is an illogical notion, but such a great and powerful one.”
― A.J. Jacobs
1
The transition from the low hum of the ship to the thrumming of cicadas tens of thousands of miles below its point in the Earth’s orbit was comforting to Enterprise crew both new and old. The insect’s persistent buzzing was strangely familiar to anyone who had spent mere months to years in space, sounding like tiny starship engines up in the trees. Although Earth had changed over the hundreds of years since newfound interplanetary relations brought new technology and alien species, the hardy cicada still welcomed its visitors.
As did roaches, Jim thought, as one scuttled past. The sight was oddly refreshing.
The Enterprise had returned behind schedule that month after a particularly hairy encounter with a fleet of Fengi, leaving its hull with damage that could only be repaired at a Starfleet base. Tensions were running high. No one except for the occasional away team had touched soil in a little over ten months, so Jim took the opportunity to allow his crew a little breathing room down on land. Not counting the harm done to the ship, it was working out surprisingly well in their favor.
His communicator chirped, and for a moment, looking out at the picturesque view of the city and the bay, he considered ignoring it.
“Captain speaking.”
“Jim,” interrupted the voice, “I’m looking at your medical file.”
“You should come down, Bones,” Jim said, “and leave me well enough alone.”
“I’m not calling to harass you, I’m calling because you’re due for an appointment.”
He reconsidered once more hanging up.
“Can’t it wait?” asked Jim, eyes following a group from Engineering entering a tavern across the street. “You can hassle me all you want when we’re back up and running. There’s no reason for you to be up there,” he added. “Unless you’re trying to spend quality time with Spock.”
“I resent that,” McCoy said plaintively, “And it’s not a checkup. I’m going through your file, and-” His voice reduced to a whisper and was drowned out by the sounds of the city.
“You’re going to have to speak up,” Jim said, cupping the communicator. Nearly two hundred years since the phone was invented and they still couldn’t get a good connection. “I think the base is causing some interference.”
“It’s not interference, it’s called patient confidentiality.”
“Are we not alone, Doctor?” Jim said in a mocking voice.
“As a matter of fact, no. Spock’s here with me.”
“I knew you guys were hanging out without me.”
“Jim, would you please?” Jim smiled at the irritation coming through the line. “It’s about your implant. It’s been nine years and it’s time to get it replaced.”
“Oh, right,” he said hurriedly.
“You’re lucky you’re in San Francisco,” McCoy said. “There is a very good clinic that carries replacements just south of where you are right now. I’m sending Spock down with the scrip now so you can pick it up and I’ll do it right here in sickbay. I’ve got a lot on my shopping list for supplies, so you’d be doing me a favor.”
Jim couldn’t help but frown a little. He trusted Spock- he couldn’t be a good captain if he didn’t- but he knew him well, and he knew there was a chance that Spock would probably read the scrip on his way down. Not out of nosiness, but concern, or his scientific nature. Jim’s silence evoked a mutual thought from Dr. McCoy thousands of miles above.
“How about you come down and I buy you a good old fashioned hot dog?”
“Pass.” And with a click he was gone.
Jim shoved his communicator deep down into his pocket and pulled the neck of his shirt away from his body, peering down at the little implant that had sat comfortably beneath the skin of his upper arm for nine years. Nine years! He couldn’t help but marvel. He remembered the day it was put in, on his 18th birthday. Up until then he had been injecting himself with the medicine it released; more of a chore, yes, but certainly more discreet at the Academy as most people assumed all the hyposprays were for allergies. The implant hadn’t been available to him until he was no longer a minor and, of course, covered by Starfleet health insurance.
Up ahead, Spock was easy to discern from everyone else, rigid and polished against the ebb and flow of tourists, students, and cityfolk. Spock was lanky and significantly taller than Jim, who was often in some state of dishevelment and stockier. The two of them made quite a pair. He called his name over the blaring of hovercab horns and the incessant cicadas, waving and jogging the last stretch of distance between them.
“Mr. Spock.”
“Captain.” Spock nodded down at him. “I have Dr. McCoy’s order.” Jim was very conspicuously trying to read the scrip upside down on the PADD he was holding. Spock thought to himself that his captain was not skilled in the art of subtlety. “Shall we?”
Together they entered the medical offices, a tall sculptural building of reflective glass. It was much nicer than the similar clinic he went to as a teenager, Jim noticed. It took a few minutes of explaining to a pharmacist what they were there for, who pointed them in what ended up being the wrong direction, and it took several people before a nurse came and was able to straighten things out.
Jim was mixing himself a deadly cocktail of complimentary waiting room espresso and varying artificial sweeteners when Spock spoke.
“Captain, Dr. McCoy did not elaborate with me any more as he did with you via communicator, and without infringing on your privacy, as your number one and as your friend, I feel I must confirm that you are not in poor health or ill.”
Jim laughed. “No, no, it’s nothing urgent.” He sat down beside him, stirring his coffee. “Medicine has come a long way, but the human body hasn’t really changed. We have all sorts of advanced equipment and medication, but we’ve yet to create an implant that can stay in the body for more than a decade without degrading or needing to be touched up or replaced. I’m just due for my replacement and sickbay doesn’t exactly keep boxes of these on hand. There’s not a, uh, large demand, like there is for insulin implants.”
So it wasn’t an insulin implant. This had been what Spock assumed was the logical answer, and his interest was piqued, but he could tell Jim was purposely evading the subject. Even so, he was curious, out of concern, and, although he certainly wouldn’t admit it, slightly unsettled to learn that Jim appeared to be hiding something from him.
The nurse returned with a small box and Jim quickly got up to sign the paperwork. Spock watched him, scrutinizing. He knew much about Jim’s health, as his captain and as his friend; he knew that Jim broke his leg when he was ten jumping off the roof of a barn into a hay bale, that he was at risk for heart disease, had high blood pressure and some elements of post traumatic stress, but this was a mystery.
“Let’s get this back to the good doctor,” Jim said, waving the box, “after I get one of those hot dogs.”
2
“Could you be a little more gentle?” Jim protested while McCoy vigorously rubbed his upper arm with alcohol. Sickbay was deserted except for the three of them, with Jim reclining in a bed and Spock watching nearby. Giving everyone a day off really had been a good idea.
“How are you such a baby?” McCoy retorted. “Just three weeks ago you split your head and walked around until the blood made one of the ensigns faint and we forced you down here.”
“Sometimes I think you enjoy hurting me,” said Jim. McCoy tossed him a side-eyed look and snapped on a pair of gloves, putting his hands under the UV sterilizer like a little tanning bed. “Don’t give me a reason.” He picked up the implant and studied it.
It looks bigger in person,” Jim remarked. Although the implant was just about the size of his thumbnail, his stomach still turned a little at the thought of something getting pulled out of his body and put back in, but then again, he had volunteered himself for much more invasive procedures in the past.
McCoy pouted sarcastically, testing the little laser-scalpel. “Want Mr. Spock to hold your hand?” The tips of Spock’s ears turned slightly green as McCoy chortled. “Ready?”
“Oh, just get it over with,” Jim said. He tried not to flinch as the laser sliced smoothly into his muscle, creating a thin crescent. McCoy worked quickly, ignoring Jim’s complaining.
“All done,” he announced. “Good as new. Your levels should remain the same, but just in case, I’ll take a blood sample in two weeks to make sure it’s working all right.”
“Great,” Jim said, rotating his arm. He could feel Spock’s eyes on the side of his head.
By the time the ship’s outer hull had been restored, the Enterprise was very behind schedule. Each department was under an incredible amount of strain to begin work again, with lost time to make up for. They were expected in Monea, a planet composed almost entirely of water, to assist with the launching of a probe to search for advanced life forms. Stress levels were just as high as they were before. Jim dealt with this in his own way, a combination of intense focus on work, and playing chess with Spock on down time. He was beating Spock in chess when the Vulcan tried, as casually as he could, to get an answer out of Jim again.
“Captain, the medical center we visited last week has quite a history to it,” Spock said, watching as Jim captured one of his pawns. “It was the first of its kind in California to open in the year 2096.”
“Is that so?” Jim said, not liking where this was going.
“It was the first center to specialize entirely in gender-affirming healthcare, and became the site of the first program for experimental synthetic hormone glans,” Spock said, surveying the tiers of the chess board. “Additionally, the center expanded recently to the second largest Earth colony on-”
“Check,” interrupted Jim.
“-- on Titan,” Spock said. “It was there doctors performed one of the first successful sex reassignment surgeries from an interspecies donor.”
“Fascinating,” Jim shot back, trying to mask his discomfort.
“Jim,” Spock said, “If there is something you need to tell me-”
Jim let out a sharp, nervous laugh, standing up with such abruptness that it startled others in the rec room. Stray chess pieces rolled around on the table. “No, Spock, there’s nothing to theorize about. We needed supplies, and we were lucky enough that there was a center nearby that happened to stock them. Nothing else. I’ll see you tomorrow on the bridge,” he said, turning on his heel and exiting.
Spock felt an unfamiliar twinge in his stomach he had not felt since he was a child.
For the next day Jim only spoke to Spock in short orders. It was causing a general uneasiness on the bridge. Save for times of crisis, the atmosphere on the bridge was like sitting at a table with all your best friends in high school. Often times Uhura shared playlists of the best pop hits of 2100 over the comm and there was much joking around, but today it was quiet, and terse. Everyone knew something was off; they stole worried glances and waited for Spock to go over to Jim, speak to him in a hushed tone and touch his shoulder, and for Jim to laugh and poke fun at him, like they always did, but it did not come. Finally, the silence was broken when Spock was called down to assist with the probe and just as quickly as he left, Uhura appeared in his place at Jim’s side.
“What’s going on?” she prompted. Jim suddenly seemed very interested in a callus on his thumb.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied innocently.
She leaned in. “You two had a fight.”
“Jeez, Uhura, could you keep it down?” He craned his neck around, half expecting that everyone on the bridge was listening in. “It’s not like we’re dating, you know.” Uhura offered a knowing look, which made his cheeks redden. He wriggled underneath her persistent stare. “Oh, all right. Yeah, sort of. I got my implant replaced and Spock knows. Or, he’s suspicious, at least,” Jim added, watching Uhura’s eyes widen.
“You mean he doesn’t know?”
“I mean, do you tell the whole crew? he replied. “The only people who know are you and Bones, and he only knows because he’s the ship’s doctor.”
She shrugged. “I’m not stealth, but if I had someone like Spock, I’d tell them.” Uhura returned to her station, leaving Jim with a lot to think about.
Several floors down, Spock stopped short in front of the medical records room, hesitating. He had the code to unlock the doors, he noted, looking over the keypad. Looking over his shoulder, like a child trying not to be caught, he swiftly passed his fingers over the buttons and slipped inside. The files existed on a monitor in the center of rows of servers. They required additional, stronger security on the medical files, Spock thought, easily breaching the password protection. Perhaps it was not ‘Vulcan-proof.’ He scrolled through hundreds of names before reaching KIRK, JAMES TIBERIUS.
A moment of uncertainty overtook him. Was he acting in a rational manner? For one, if the Jim had some sort of ailment he was hiding to continue to act as captain, he could be in danger to himself and others, and unfit for duty. Spock’s concern came from a place of ‘the greater good’; he had to be absolutely positive Jim was not in danger. On the other hand, there was a possibility- a slim possibility, he told himself- that his concern was coming from… elsewhere. A place deep in his psyche where the stirring sensation he experienced thinking of Jim began. Where the unusual sensations resided he felt when Jim put a hand on his shoulder, or against his back. When anyone else brushed past him in the hall or doorway he would retract, but when it was Jim it only fed the tingling, buzzing, like thousands of eager insects deep within. Spock had been pushing it down since it emerged not too long ago because of instances like these, where he could not be certain what his motives were. And so Spock hovered over Jim’s name, momentarily unable to deliver the message from brain to hand, until he shook it off and sent the file to his PADD.
3
Jim reclined in his quarters, hands folded over his stomach, staring emptily up at the ceiling. There was churning sea in his gut, like black waters in the midst of a gale. Anxiety tore at his insides.
It felt worse now than it did thirteen years ago, if his math was correct, coming out to his mother. Jim had no reason to question the nature of femininity or masculinity growing up on a farm in Iowa; everyone’s hair grew long and unkempt, ran around barefoot and did hard physical labor alike. When he turned fifteen, something changed. To this day he couldn’t place it, but it was the first time he could remember truly knowing he was not born female, like his mother and doctor and brothers said, but male. There was nothing wrong with being female, he recalled telling his mother, but it was wrong for him.
His mother understood- she didn’t understand why Jim had to cut his hair and bind his chest, but she understood that he had to. She wept in front of him sometimes, saying that if Jim’s father was around, it wouldn’t have been this way.
She wouldn’t let him chose George, for his father, so Jim chose James Tiberius, for his grandfathers, and left for the Academy not soon after.
Starfleet Academy provided him with health benefits, much like the military, and provided him with the testosterone implant. Up until then he had been recklessly self-administering minuscule amounts of the hormone himself for a year or two, much to the horror of the medical staff there. One medical student, a certain Leonard McCoy, gave him a particularly lengthy lecture on the dangers of street drugs. On his 18th birthday later that semester, he received the testosterone implant.
During his time at the Academy, Jim put a lot of pressure on himself to succeed, but also made the decision not to tell anyone he was transgender. It wasn’t that it was an unfriendly environment- he could think of at least a hundred alien species, including humans, they learned about with different genders, and some with no regard for gender at all. Jim was haunted by a statement hurled at him by his first unsuccessful roommate, who he begged and practically bribed into staying quiet: “If anyone finds out what you are, you’ll never be a Starfleet Captain.”
He was remembering this insult rather smugly, looking around his Captain’s Quarters, when the doors chirruped.
“Come in,” he called.
Spock entered. In his hands was a coffee- real coffee, from McCoy’s secret pot, not replicated, made from real Earth beans, and his PADD. Spock regarded his captain with an unplaceable look on his face Jim had not seen before.
“I brought you a coffee,” Spock offered after the awkward silence became too much to bear. “I recall you stating you did not have much energy to work for an additional night.”
Jim accepted it, and nodded towards the PADD. “And the other thing?”
Spock shifted on his feet, almost uncomfortable, Jim noticed, before he folded his tall frame onto the foot of his bed. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully and when he spoke his voice was impossibly feather-light, and made the hair on the back of Jim’s neck stand up.
“Jim,” Spock said, “as your first officer, and as your friend, I assume that you are aware you can confide in me.”
Jim was on the verge of getting too anxious, but the soothing, caring tone of Spock’s was so unexpected and enrapturing it had him transfixed. That is, until he glanced at Spock’s PADD and saw his name and medical information.
Immediately he was sitting bolt upright.
“You read my medical file?” He wanted to yell, but he couldn’t; his voice felt small and trapped in his throat.
“Captain, I had reason to believe you were not in good health, and as Dr. McCoy would have been uncooperative-”
“Bullshit.” His knuckles were white. “What did you see?” He snatched the tablet, scrolling furiously, fingers shaking. The anger was setting everything from his head to his toes ablaze, but his heart was pounding furiously with fear. He had never been so afraid. There was a small glimmer of hope when he saw that Bones had restricted his file by the time it got to “surgical history”, but whatever spark remained was crushed abruptly when Jim looked back at Spock. Both of their expressions gave them away.
Tears were building up fast and hot in Jim’s eyes and he cursed bitterly, swiping at his face and groaning into his hands. He couldn’t believe he was about to cry, in front of Spock, of all people. Spock probably thought he was foolish for such an emotional reaction, but the knot between the Vulcan’s eyebrows indicated differently. His face read guilt, and worst of all, pity.
It just made the lump in his throat harder. “What am I supposed to do, Spock? Should I pretend this wasn’t a massive breach of protocol?”
Spock blinked. This was something he had not considered. He had never seen Jim like this, either. “Whatever disciplinary measures you enact will no doubt be appropriate to the situation.”
“Are you kidding me?” said Jim in disbelief. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?” He moved to storm out of the room and Spock grabbed his arm, standing up.
“Captain, had I known I would be uncovering sensitive material, I would not have taken the actions I did,” Spock said. His grip on Jim stayed firm, borderline uncomfortable, this display of inhuman strength not something Jim was used to.
Jim twisted to no avail. “Let me go.”
“I do not think it wise to let this go unaddressed,” he persisted.
“Let me go, Spock. Let me go!” Jim’s voice became a cry. Like static electricity traveling through Jim’s body to his, Spock suddenly felt his panic. For a split second he was overwhelmed by terror- terror that was not his own, but what he was causing Jim to feel- until he released him, temporarily stunned.
Jim’s eyes were stinging, but they were hard behind the slick film of tears he had been trying to conceal. “When we’re done in Monea I’m getting in contact with the Federation and we’ll see if a court martial is in order.” He brushed roughly past Spock, staring intently at the ground. There was nothing in his mind but an enormous roadblock of anger and anxiety preventing any rational thoughts. As he turned the corner he heard Spock call out after him, but he balled up his fists and kept walking.
His internal organs were tight in knots. This was not the first time he felt this particular flavor of panic, but the sour note of betrayal made it manifest even hotter in his body. Jim felt himself shaking and came to a halt in the deserted hallway.
Of course, he was angry. As Spock’s captain, and his friend, he placed a deep trust in him that he didn’t dish out to anybody. But for months, Jim had grown accustomed to the feeling he got being close to Spock. The feeling he had when Spock gave him a nearly imperceptible smile or watching him lost in concentration reading was like stirring a hearth within his body. It spread through him, as familiar as the blood in his veins. Jim carried it with him always, the sensations always growing stronger and burning brighter. But now, it felt as if it had been stomped out. Any chance he thought he had beyond friendship (unrealistic, Jim now realized) had been stomped out.
In an effort to collect himself, he focused on his reflection in the windows. Against the wide, endless backdrop of space, Jim glared into his own eyes, struggling to calm the anxiety pulling every fiber in his body taut. His eyebrows were knit firmly together, not unlike a certain Vulcan, and his face was puffy and screwed. Jim never lingered long on his own reflection and the face looking back at him seemed unfamiliar. But he focused, the beating of his heart subsiding, and the cold sweat on the back of his neck disappearing. Jim shut his eyes firmly as if he could shut out the interaction he just had. He needed to purge it from his mind and body or it would leave him sleepless tonight. And he knew just the man for it.
Jim circled back once to his quarters and was relieved to see that Spock had not stuck around. Before he headed to McCoy’s quarters, he washed the evidence of tears from his face best he could. As an afterthought, Jim pulled a bottle of ale from beneath his desk. If he was going to go crying to Bones, it was common courtesy to repay him for his time.
He knocked twice and the doors to McCoy’s cabin whooshed open.
"Sorry to come calling at such a late hour,” Jim said, looking at his friend and repressing a smile. McCoy was reclined on his lounge in a bathrobe and glasses, reading on real paper, peering suspiciously up at him. He took on the air of a begrudging father consoling his teenage son. McCoy beckoned, nodding towards the bottle.
“You must’ve gotten yourself into quite a sticky situation if you’re bringing me this,” he said, examining the label. “I’ve got to admire your tactics, though. Sit, damn it,” McCoy added. “You make me nervous, hovering around like that.”
Jim sank into his armchair, kicking off his boots with a deep sigh. McCoy’s quarters were homier than anyone else’s, decorated to his own Earth standard. It felt quite like being in the parlor of a Southern farmhouse and was ‘a small comfort in the frigidness of space,’ as McCoy described it.
McCoy eyed him keenly. “Lovers’ quarrel?”
“That seems to be the running joke these days,” Jim replied drily.
“But I am right, aren’t I?” he pressed, uncorking the bottle. “You’re having man troubles.”
Humiliated by his choice of words, Jim groaned and tilted his head back to avoid the doctor’s gaze. “Yes.”
“Well, if you’re going to make me pry it out of you, you may as well have a drink yourself. Make my life easier.”
Reluctantly, Jim accepted, staring into the amber liquid. Although he was no stranger to alcohol, he didn’t always like the way it loosened him. It made for stronger feelings, and he did not want to feel right now. A little of that Vulcan restraint could come in handy.
His mouth twisted, thinking of Spock, and decided, screw it. Jim threw back the drink with expertise to rival McCoy’s.
McCoy noticed his captain’s hardened face as he set the glass down hard, and realized he was about to have his work cut out for him. “It’s bad, huh? You’re bent up over this.”
Jim wiped his mouth, throwing his feet up on the table. For once, he was not met with protest. “Spock hacked into the medical library and got a copy of my file.”
McCoy seemed oddly calm hearing this, Jim noticed, which just made his insides constrict a little further. The doctor made a ‘tsk’ sound.
“I’m not surprised,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
McCoy sighed. “Think about it from Spock’s perspective, beyond us as it may be to think like a hard headed alien such as himself. His captain and friend of three, four years, whom he’s risked life and limb for, and vice versa, suddenly gets a private operation, and starts acting real secretive. A scientific mind like his? It’s a puzzle he can’t resist.”
“I don’t see why he can’t leave it alone,” Jim persisted.
McCoy gave him a look over his glass, and he felt heat creeping up his neck. “You are so oblivious.”
His throat burned from the alcohol and embarrassment. Jim couldn’t hold his gaze.
“I’ve got everyone’s file encrypted to hell and back,” reassured McCoy, peering at him, “especially yours, per your request since Academy days. Not even Spock’s father could get in there.”
“Thank you,” Jim said, sincerely.
“But,” he continued, “I don’t know why you wouldn’t tell Spock in the first place.”
There were a few good reasons he didn’t tell Spock, Jim thought to himself, but said nothing. He hated how fearful he felt, loathed himself for feeling like it had to be a secret. Many nights as a child he lay awake in his bunk, staring emptily at the ceiling as if to burn a hole in it, praying to the stars beyond and the gods above that he would wake up the boy he always had been. All his hard work and the sacrifices he made, the loves and friendships lost in transition, to be swept hastily under the rug now. It was something he struggled internally with from the hazy point in his memory he became aware of the fact that the rest of the world thought he was a girl to this morning when he awoke. He didn’t hate himself or his body, or the circumstances into which he was born. On the contrary, there were times he was grateful for it, taking it as a learning opportunity, which made it all the more hard to juggle how he wanted to live his life. Jim desperately wanted to be openly proud, but he couldn’t shake the possibility, no matter how small, that it would cost him everything. Perhaps the idea had been beaten into him by fists, or, as he worried more, it came from himself. Either way, Jim didn’t examine it often, as a means of self preservation.
He noticed McCoy was studying him, and cleared his throat stiffly, taking a sip of ale.
“Do you remember when I did your chest reconstruction surgery?” McCoy asked.
Jim laughed, relaxing at the change of subject. “I was so scared you’d say no and I’d have to fly home and fail all my courses.”
It was a memory that always brought a lump to his throat, the compassion McCoy showed him, even going so far as to let Jim crash on his couch for a week after so his roommate didn’t ask too many questions.
“You didn’t want dermal regeneration for your scars, and do you know why, Jim? Because you’ve always been fiercely proud of them, for what they represent. You’ve never had intentions of hiding, and it makes no sense to hide them from Spock.” McCoy’s hand firmly found Jim’s shoulder in a fatherly gesture. “That man loves you, in his own special way.” He snorted. “Nothing’s going to change that.”
Jim didn’t know if it was the alcohol, but his face was flushed.
4
By morning, the uptight atmosphere of the bridge had lessened, and it was a relief to all. After his talk with McCoy, Jim found himself a little more calm, but when he thought of his argument with Spock he grew uneasy. There was less room for confrontation now as Spock was wrapped up in the science department, putting the final finishing touches on the probe they would launch on Monea.
At first glance, Monea could have been Earth. Both plants looked as fragile and fine as glass, a bloom of life and color against an unforgiving landscape of black. Differently than Earth, Monea was eighty eight percent water, and its oceans harbored far more phytoplankton, which resulted in a brilliant green that could have been grasslands from far away.
They were in orbit now, drifting over the pristine waters, not a cloud in sight. There were two continents, fair in size, but the rest of the planet was islands. It seemed more sea than planet, Jim thought, admiring the view with the rest of the crew.
“What’s the weather down there, Mister Sulu?” he asked.
“A balmy 5.7 degrees Fahrenheit with 40% humidity inland, Captain,” Sulu reported rather unhappily, “and an average -20 degrees by the water where we’re headed, which is, well, everywhere. We really couldn’t be launching this probe towards the equator, where it’s 85 degrees?”
Jim offered him a wistful smile. “Believe me, Sulu, I’d like a beach trip as much as the rest of you, but it’s gonna be frosty waters first.” And a very frosty conversation in store for him later, he thought dryly, remembering his words to Spock of contacting the Federation after the mission. Maybe he could procrastinate that a little longer. “But,” Jim added over the mutters of disappointment, “I bet if all goes smoothly with the probe launch, a couple extra hours down south wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
This earned him some excited chatter, except from Chekov, who complained to Sulu that his Russian complexion only allowed sunburns, not tans.
“I have Engineering on the line, sir,” Uhura said over the noise, and Jim motioned for them all to quiet down.
“Patch them through, Lieutenant,” he said, leaning into his comm. “What’s our status, Scotty?”
“Spock here, Captain. Engineering and Science have determined the probe ready for launch.”
Jim straightened up a little more, not expecting his voice. “Glad to hear it, Mister Spock. Depart in five minutes, alert the Transporter room.” He punched his button, not waiting for an acknowledgement, and rose. “Alright, folks. Sulu, you’re with me. The rest of you, I’ll keep you posted on that beach trip.” With a wink, Jim motioned for the others to follow him off the bridge.
In the transporter room, they donned heavy waterproof parkas, McCoy even procuring his own pair of handmade knitted mittens.
“Keep those hats and gloves on, people,” he said briskly. “I won’t make room in my sickbay for anyone who catches a chill because they consider themselves too fashionable for the proper attire. And you, Spock, double up. I’m not thawing out your frozen green veins.”
Spock began to make a remark about how it was impossible for any blood in a living being to freeze unless in extreme sub-zero temperatures, but he was cut off with a scarf wrapped firmly around the lower half of his face. Jim had to stifle a laugh as they dematerialized in a flurry of transporter beam light.
The cold struck Jim hard, like sharp nails across his skin. Negative twenty degrees was not something he was unfamiliar with, having grown up in Iowa, but the thinner atmosphere of Monea allowed for a much harsher effect. At least the wind wasn’t too bad today, he thought. It could reach up to 100 miles per hour on an average day in this hemisphere, and that was in mild weather.
It was breathtaking, though, he had to admit. On the surface, the water was even more rich in hue, and so still surrounding the tiny island where they were launching the probe, the sea easily could have been a field of deep, lush moss. He would dive in, if it would not freeze him instantly. Jim decided this was his new favorite color and knelt to pick up one of the thousands of perfectly round grey pebbles that made up the shore underfoot. Rolling it in his fingers, it was tumbled so round by the wind and water that it hardly seemed real.
“Beautiful as it is, the weather in this area really leaves a lot to be desired,” Jim said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and bouncing slightly. He was small, so he really had to work hard to retain body heat, no matter how silly he looked.
“Agreed,” said Spock from his left. His face was sandwiched between a hat pulled down far and a scarf that revealed only the hard line of his eyebrows, but Jim could tell his teeth were chattering. Despite his current feelings towards Spock, he offered him a sympathetic smile.
“What do you say we get this show on the road, then, and perhaps to a warmer part of the planet?”
“That would be most prudent,” Spock said, but did not look at his captain. Jim wondered for a second if it was guilt preventing him from meeting his eyes, and felt a pang of it himself. “The probe Pequod will travel to depths of an estimated 70,000 feet,” Spock said. “Pequod has been outfitted with numerous chambers to intake water at different depths, scan them for life, and send its findings back to the Enterprise. Over the course of the next ten years, it is expected to analyze the greater northern hemisphere. If it is successful, a sister probe will launch south of the equator. We hope to establish contact with a sentient species, as Monea is currently assumed to be uninhabited by one on land.” His fingers danced over a command screen on the face of the probe. “Pequod is designed with powerful self propulsion to combat the strong winds and currents on the planet, and any life that may interfere with its journey beneath the surface.” Spock knelt to give the probe a final once over.
“Just dumping it in the water seems a little unceremonious,” Jim admitted.
“Indeed,” Spock said.
It was just that, when the five of them pushed the probe off the little island where it landed with a massive ‘kerplunk.’ Pequod’s lights glowed as it drifted out along the water, whirring softly. They watched it bob along for a moment.
“Well done, crew,” Jim said brightly. “Here’s hoping we find some friends.”
He began to pull out his communicator to signal the ship, but Spock touched his shoulder. His head snapped up, searching his first officer’s expression, who was squinting hard out at the water underneath his scarf. “Spock?”
Spock stared at the horizon. “Pequod is no longer visible. It was not traveling at a speed where it would be out of sight by now, and is not to begin its descent down for two point seven kilometers. Yet, its lights are not visible.”
“He’s right, Captain,” Sulu said. “According to its signal, it’s not malfunctioning, either.” He reexamined the data on his PADD, and glanced up looking more perplexed than before. “The data says Pequod has already descended two thousand feet, much too quickly for it to do on its own. And Captain,” Sulu raised his eyebrows high. “It’s traveling right back towards us, incredibly fast.”
Before anyone could get another word out, a cloud of bubbles began to filter up to the surface. Jim’s jaw dropped as an enormous tentacle the size of a redwood tree burst out of the ocean, clutching Pequod, and hurled it over their heads.
“That’s not good,” McCoy muttered.
Around them, the frigid waters churned with alien limbs, like a cluster of earthworms in dirt. Apparently, Pequod found sentient life, and sentient life did not take kindly to Pequod.
Or us, for that matter, Jim thought, a tentacle slapping menacingly onto the shore a little too close for comfort. “I think we’d better get out of here, fast,” he said, raising his communicator. “Kirk to Enterprise-” The communicator went sailing. A ropy tentacle smacked hard into Jim, knocking him forcefully into the water.
All of Jim’s body felt like it had been splashed with boiling acid as he plunged into the emerald sea. Its frigid temperature set in fast, blurring his vision white. He felt as if someone had stabbed him in the brain, cold filling his head and lungs. Jim was sinking, the alien pulling him downwards, probably to inspect the intruder in depths more suited to its comfort. His thoughts were grinding to a halt as his body began to shut down, no strength to even dig his nails into the rough flesh of the tentacle curled around his chest.
“I need medical assistance down here,” McCoy said frantically into his comm, watching Jim disappear beneath the surface, “And I need sickbay prepped for hypothermic casualties.” He ducked to dodge a phaser beam aimed into the water.
“Dr. McCoy,” Spock urged. “I must go after the Captain.”
“Are you out of your Vulcan mind?” McCoy shouted, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. “If Jim’s body can’t withstand those temperatures, you’ll be dead as soon as you dip in so much as a toe!”
“We are wasting time,” said Spock, equipping his phaser. “I am of superior strength and agility. I will be able to get to Jim before my body shuts down.” He turned to McCoy, and McCoy saw his expression, pained and unconcealed. For Spock to allow him to see that kind of raw emotion on his face, he must have been deadly serious.
“You two do wonders for my blood pressure. I don’t condone it, but I sure as hell can’t stop you.”
It was hardly a split second of mutual understanding between them before Spock turned and dove into the sea.
When the dark green depths opened to Spock, he felt its effects instantly. Cold seared into him like a brand, seeping efficiently and unforgivingly through the layers of his clothing. He struggled to keep moving, tentacles around him tugging curiously but not violently.
Spock bumped into the largest muscle of the creature and followed it down, no warmth emanating from its leathery flesh. Moving was becoming increasingly difficult, his bones like rusted machinery.
Just as Spock was beginning to fade into the reaches of what he knew would lead to death, a clump of blond hair, mottled by the green of the water, came into view. He fought the decay of his body’s function, reaching out until he found Jim’s shoulders. With one hand Spock pried Jim free, and with the other he pressed his fingers to the meld points on Jim’s face. There was a flicker of life left, but it was dwindling fast.
Suddenly, a great beam of light shone on Jim’s face and the tentacles around them. Faintly, Spock realized it was Pequod, hurtling towards them on manual mode. From land, someone was piloting it to them for assistance. He grabbed ahold of the probe, clutching Jim to his chest and felt them rise rapidly with Pequod, the tips of the tentacles brushing at their legs. As they broke the surface, not a moment too soon, Spock blacked out, the only thought in his mind of the icy body pressed firmly to his own.
Jim awoke slowly, a bitter taste of salt coating his mouth, the tide of his breathing shallow and raspy. He realized he was naked beneath a sheet and heavy bags filled with warm liquid. When he tried to stir from this strange nest, his joints cried out in protest. Defeated, Jim remained motionless until the events that got him to this place came flooding back. Once more he attempted to sit up, but this time a pair of hands pushed him firmly back. Jim blinked until McCoy’s face swam into view.
“Bones,” he croaked.
“Hi, there,” McCoy said, relief heavy in his voice. “Enjoy your swim?”
Jim tried to laugh but it came out a sputtering cough, the dregs of seawater still in his lungs. “I don’t think I’ll be going in anything but the gym pool for a while,” he said.
McCoy wiped at his brow, and Jim noticed he was drenched with sweat. He looked down at his own body, wondering why he wasn’t too; as a matter of fact, he felt a little chilled.
His skin was red and inflamed, puffy from the sting of the cold water, no doubt. There were long, dark purple bruises on his arms and midriff where he had been dragged down into the water. “How long have I been out?”
“Three days.”
“How am I alive?” asked Jim.
“Well, first of all, we’ve got the temperature cranked in here,” McCoy said, “and you’ve been stewing in heated gel to warm you up until you regained an acceptable heart rate. Oh, and somebody decided to play hero and jump in after you,” he added, nodding to Jim’s right.
He turned and felt his heart skip a beat. In the bed beside him, Spock lay motionless beneath a heap of bags similar to his, but had tubes running in and out of him. They were pulsing with green liquid. “We’re warming his blood up like kidney dialysis,” McCoy said. “He catches a chill in temperatures below 70 degrees. It’s a miracle he managed to stay conscious long enough for the probe to find you two underwater.”
A rush of affection blossomed inside him for Spock.
“Is he going to wake up?”
“We’ve been waking the both of you up every thirty minutes to assess his mental function for damage,” McCoy said. “This is the first time you’ve been able to do it on your own.”
“And?” Jim said anxiously.
“He’s pretty out of it,” admitted McCoy, “but nothing permanent, as far as I can tell.”
Jim breathed a sigh of relief, as deep as his waterlogged lungs would allow him. “Thank god.” He craned his neck to get another look. Spock was a pale shade of green, his hair messy and slightly wavy from the saltwater. If not for the circumstances, it would have been incredibly endearing, he thought. Spock’s chest peeked out from the sheet, rising and falling faintly.
“I want you to rest,” said McCoy, hooking another bag onto the IV line Jim was connected to. His skin was so numb, he hardly noticed it was there in the first place. “You’ll be tickled to know we really did make contact on Monea.”
“You don’t say,” Jim said, wincing when McCoy bumped one of his tender bruises.
“Seriously,” McCoy said. “Turns out, those slimy tentacles are real intelligent. Not the ones that grabbed you, though. Those belonged to a child.”
Jim thought back to the hundred foot long limbs thrashing around. “You’re kidding.”
“Trust me, we were as shocked as you. I thought Sulu was going to faint when its mother came out of the water. We launched Pequod in an area where little kiddie sea monsters play, and scared a couple of them. Once we got translators up and going, it apologized profusely. Matter of fact, when you’re back on your feet, we’re going back down there. The mother feels awful about what happened.” He chuckled. “Listen to me, talking about sea monsters.”
This was a little much for Jim, who leaned back, but he was grinning. No need for a probe if the aliens it was looking for wanted to chat with you. “In a warmer spot, I hope.”
“Oh, you bet. Science is having a field day. The creatures shift their body temperatures at will so they can venture wherever they please. Spock’s going to miss out on all the fun,” said McCoy.
“Is he really going to be okay, Bones?” Jim said.
“I’ve saved your skins from much worse before,” he replied.
Jim was quiet for a moment. “Can I move closer to him?” He sounded small, like a child, and McCoy felt a pang of pity.
“‘Course. Nurse, help me out over here for a moment.”
Gently, Jim reached out to Spock, fingers resting on his shoulder. It felt like a corpse’s arm, void of any living warmth. He concentrated, focusing all the love and gratitude he could to Spock, counting on the Vulcan’s touch telepathy to function despite his unconsciousness.
Thank you, Jim said silently. I don’t care what happened before. I know why you were worried. I would have done the same thing.
Spock’s eyes twitched beneath his eyelids, and Jim smiled.
5
Gingerly, Jim stepped over the beach rocks, steadying himself on McCoy’s shoulder. He decided he much preferred this part of Monea than the destination of their previous visit. Besides it being a much more pleasurable temperature, this alcove was bursting with life. Little marine lizard-type animals scurried along the shoreline, gathering the perfect rocks to build up nests. Flowing peachy grasses contrasted wonderfully with the stretch of glassy green ocean. Craggy rocks made for tide pools, which glistened like jewels for miles. It was a wealth of new information and discoveries to be made.
Up and down the beach, officers were discarding their boots to walk in the sand, and stretching out in the sun. Jim couldn’t reprimand them; he wanted to do the same, and after all, there was no better way to explore a planet than to jump right in. Which, he noted, several people were doing, right off the clifflike pillars of rock in the water.
The race they made contact with turned out to be highly intelligent, for being giant masses of swirling tentacles. More probes like Pequod were scheduled to be launched to explore the underwater civilizations they built. Now, Jim was meeting with their leader, who was also the mother of the child they encountered earlier that week.
“I hope Spock makes it down for this,” he said. “I know he’d love it.”
Jim had not seen Spock since he was cleared for duty, because his recovery was taking longer. And, simply, he didn’t want to push him. He knew as soon as Spock was able to sit upright, they’d be jumping right into the issue that was tabled by the mission complications. There was no need to stress him, especially after he saved his life. Arguing was not the first thing Jim wanted to do.
Slipping a little, he climbed over a dune, less agile from the swelling still deep in his muscles. Sand gave way to a crescent-shaped bed of rock, and in the cove sat a massive sea creature. Its head- or what Jim guessed was its head- was roughly the size of a house, and resembled the face of a crab. Two eyestalks poked out of her face, if that was a face, with a spitting shelled mouth. Tentacles long as freight trains spilled out in every direction. For her boggling size and slightly scary appearance, she spoke with a soothing voice.
“Captain James Kirk,” she rumbled, offering the tip of a much smaller tentacle to him, which he still had to use both hands to grip. “It is a fine day now that you are well. Please, sit. The toll of northern Monea waters cannot be easy on your small human body.” McCoy snickered as a long tentacle snaked out of the water, beckoning to Jim, who hesitated before sitting on it. It was very slippery.
“It’s no worry,” Jim said. “We did launch a big metal probe into your children’s playground.”
She shook in what he assumed was laughter, raining sea foam down on them. “My child has always been curious, and quick to upset, like his father. He feels remorse for his actions, especially with the illness he inflicted on your mate.”
Jim blushed, shifting self-consciously. His mate? “Spock will be well again soon enough. Please, there’s no reason to feel guilty.”
Sloshing around in the water, she rumbled again, sending small waves up over his boots. “Our second encounter is more promising than the first, Captain Kirk. We look forward to learning more about you and the Federation. Please, enjoy our home as it were your own.” She withdrew her many tentacles, receding into the water.
The humans meandered down the beach, opting for no shoes now that diplomatic shows were over.
“I do believe I’ve lost my appetite for crab now that I’ve seen one so up close,” McCoy said, “and so large.”
Jim chuckled, sweeping his hair back, damp from sea spray. “That’s a shame, Bones. Think you’ll go for swim, too?”
“Not if any tentacles are going to feel me up.”
Jim gazed out at the ocean, thinking of how badly he wanted to see the beach when he was a child in Iowa. No beach was ever like this one, though, as the sun descended with an amber glow, reflecting across the nearly clear waters. Starfleet was a demanding job, but it was places like this that he got to explore that made him want to go into space in the first place.
The friends he had were a perk, too.
Speaking of friends, a tall, pointy-eared one was making his way down the rocks, hands clasped behind his back. A smile wavered on Jim’s lips, his stomach lurching. McCoy sensed his anxiety and patted his back, knowing what he was anticipating.
“It’ll be fine, Jim. Nothing you tell him will ever change what you two have.” He picked up his boots and began to head in the opposite direction, leaving Jim nervously fidgeting.
Spock approached him, and they stood together in silence for a few moments, looking out at the ocean side by side, shoulders almost touching.
“I’m glad to see you up and about,” Jim said softly, turning to look up at him. Molten beams of light outlined Spock’s face, concealing the sallow color of his skin from days of illness. He was beautiful, and it was instances like these that took Jim’s breath away. The ever-present stirring in his stomach he felt intensified as their eyes held each other’s gaze.
“I am grateful,” said Spock, “I am alive to explain myself.”
With a small groan Jim sat on the sand, patting the spot next to him. Their knees bumped together. “I’ll listen.”
A pause. “I did not behave rationally,” Spock said slowly, lacing his fingers together over his knees. “My actions were fueled by equal parts reason and emotion, and I chose to ignore the logical consequences and broke protocol. If you still wish to contact Starfleet, I have no objection.”
Jim placed a careful hand on his knee, and to his surprise, Spock did not withdraw or shift away.
“I understand. I’m still angry, but I understand why you did it. I won’t bring Starfleet into it. There’s no reason for me to destroy your career because you care. You might have shown it in a less than optimal way,” he added ruefully, “but still, it doesn’t count for nothing.”
“Captain, if it is any comfort, I did not bypass the security measures on your file,” Spock said. “Whatever you did not want others to see remained protected.”
“Thank you.”
“If you do not wish to elaborate, I am more than willing to let it go.”
“No- no, it’s okay.” Jim swallowed, rolling grit and pebbles in his fingers. His heart was thumping furiously, and his instincts were screaming out in protest at what he was thinking of doing, but he grabbed the back of his shirt anyway and pulled it over his head awkwardly. The setting sun illuminated his bare chest, two long, slightly raised and bumpy scars stretching from his sides where they nearly joined in the middle. He took Spock’s hand and guided it to the scars, brushing their fingers over them. Spock’s breath hitched, his thumb stroking gently
over the faded pink lines.
“I was born to my mother as her daughter,” Jim murmured, “named after her grandmother.” He tried to keep his voice steady as the other man glanced up at him, touching him. Despite being so exposed, a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck from anxiety, he felt oddly safe. “I didn’t think much of myself as anything until I realized I wasn’t going to grow up to look like my brother, or father. It was like I was living in two bodies, the one I saw as a boy’s, and the one everybody saw as a girl’s.” With his free hand, Jim pointed to the tiny lump on his upper arm. “I bought street hormones off of a med school dropout to change my voice and my body. It wasn’t until I joined Starfleet that I was able to afford a real testosterone implant. Dr. McCoy did my mastectomy a year later. Every day I wonder what would happen if people knew, what would happen, and if I’m just hurting myself keeping it a secret. If I’m just too in my own head. I wish I didn’t have to, but I am for now. Maybe someday I won’t have to.” He closed his mouth before he started to ramble. Every inch of him was trembling, the release of adrenaline overwhelming his self control. “Please, Spock, say something.” Say this won’t change anything.
Spock straightened, just inches from his face. The dark eyes that stared him down had defrosted, full of awe. It made Jim shudder, unable to conceal his desire to reach out to him.
“Jim,” he said. “I do not understand how you could ever think my learning this would do anything but deepen my respect for you.”
Jim swallowed, shoulders slumping in relief. It was difficult not to throw his arms around him right there. “I thought you would find it illogical, for lack of a better word.” His voice was cracking, constricted by emotion. “That to feel different, to be different, from your biological makeup was ridiculous. A choice ruled by nothing but misplaced human emotion.”
Spock’s slender fingers curled around Jim’s wrist, and he held his gaze steady and deadly serious. “For me to believe so would be illogical. Many species have multiple genders, beings that fluctuate back and forth, or are beyond physical bodies. Time and time again, biology has been defied. For humans, gender has served no purpose besides reproduction and to assimilate. There is nothing about you that would ever change our friendship.”
Jim was gripped with an intense desire to laugh, cry, and kiss him all at once. He felt light and dizzy, like a physical force had been removed from his soul. “Oh, god, Spock, you have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.” He couldn’t stand it any longer and wrapped his arms around Spock’s neck.
Spock blinked and encircled Jim in his arms, inhaling the faint scent of brine, aftershave, and orange. When their skin came into contact he felt Jim’s nervous energy and held him tightly, like if he let go Jim would dissolve into the ocean. Jim released him and he half wished he would lean back into him again. But this allowed him to see the beaming smile spread across Jim’s face, and Spock decided it was worth it.
“Although it is a much different situation, I believe I can relate.”
“How so?”
“There are parts of myself ,I too, have chosen to conceal to others,” Spock said slowly. “A partial human ancestry was a source of shame as a Vulcan. Being a half-breed could be considered a disgrace. Like you, I do not advertise it to everyone I meet.”
Jim had not considered this. Perhaps he should have realized earlier that Spock would be able to empathize. “For what it’s worth, I like you just fine the way you are.”
A hint of a smile twitched at the corners of Spock’s mouth. “I am inclined to agree.”
He couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face even if he tried. “Come in the water with me,” Jim said suddenly, feeling reckless and high on his relief. “Everyone else has been swimming and horsing around all day and I haven’t seen you in what feels like forever.” He noticed Spock’s dubious expression. “Oh, come on, it’s so warm here. Feel.” Jim leaned forward and dipped his fingers in the water, dabbing it on the back of Spock’s hand. “Much better than last time, and no alien interference, I swear.”
Spock hesitated, but decided to indulge him and rose, removing his clothes and folding them neatly on the rocks. Jim stripped the rest of his clothes off down to his boxers, nearly forgetting to take of his socks. He was a little pleased with Spock’s reaction; after all, they had been on a ship together for almost four years, and the absence of an Adam’s apple on Jim’s throat and the slightly chubby roundness of his hips had apparently not even been noticeable to a Vulcan. Most of all, he felt as though he could finally breathe. He took a running leap into the sea, diving into inviting waves.
Jim always loved the quiet underwater, muted crashing and breaking tides above. Sometimes, when there was no one else in the gym, he would swim to the bottom of the pool and stay there as long as his lung capacity allowed, but it was nothing like the real thing.
Jim emerged, shaking droplets from his eyes in time to see Spock execute a perfect dive from the rocks nearby. Spock’s skin was doubly green from the reflection of the seawater, and his bangs were swept back. Jim plucked a piece of seaweed from Spock’s hair.
“Seaweed,” he explained, lingering for a second. Jim nudged playfully at him underwater with his foot to stop himself from gathering Spock’s face in his hands. “Race you out to those rocks out there.”
Spock turned to assess the distance, gracefully treading water. “Given our conditions, I would advise you not to push yourself,” he warned, already kicking lazily in that direction.
“Hey, you’ve got a head start!” protested Jim, and swore he saw Spock playfully roll his eyes before slipping beneath the water.
Spock got there first, of course, and Jim flopped rather gracelessly up onto the dark rocks beside him, both their chests heaving slightly. He laid back, closing his eyes, letting the last of the sun’s rays caress his bare skin. Between the quiet whisper of water against rock and listening to their breathing, Jim was almost lulled to sleep until Spock spoke.
“There is another question I have,” said Spock, shifting to face him. For a brief minute Jim allowed himself to wonder idly if this is what the view was like waking up next to him in bed. He watched as a dark green crept across Spock’s face. Was he blushing? “For the past 429 Earth days I was under the impression that we were on a mutual path of courtship. If you had romantic intentions with me, your status as transgender would soon come up- one way or another.” Spock was definitely blushing, Jim thought. “Were these never your intentions? Have I made an error in interpreting your behavior?”
Jim had to smile, although there was a hint of sorrow in it, leaning his face into the crook of his elbow. “To be honest, Spock, I thought as soon as you found out, you’d want nothing to do with me. I wanted to prolong what we have as long as I could.” A hopeful bolt of lightening danced through his veins at the prospect that maybe he had been wrong all along. “But no, you haven’t made an error.” He drifted off as Spock raised an eyebrow at him.
“Again, Jim,” Spock said softly, sending shivers up Jim’s spine, “I am disappointed you believe I find you anything but perfect.”
Perfect. It echoed in Jim’s ears and he felt his eyes well up. In that moment, all the people who told him he would never be loved, that he was disgusting and was undeserving of it, disappeared from his memory forever.
“Have I said something wrong?” Spock asked, alarmed, hovering anxiously over the tears that slipped from Jim’s face.
“No, of course not.” Jim grasped Spock’s hand, bringing it to the curve of his throat, and giving him a feeble smile. “It’s just that I grew up hearing I wouldn’t ever find someone to love, and yet here I am, so full of it. For you.”
Spock inched towards him, their foreheads touching. “I, too, love you.”
They lay still for a moment like that, a gesture of intimacy sincere and chaste, when Jim blurted “Can I kiss you?”
For a moment he thought that he was pushing his luck and Spock was going to say no, but the crinkle of the other’s brown eyes made his stomach jump up into his throat.
“Yes,” Spock said softly, his eyes flickering over his lips, but he was surprised when Jim opted to tenderly run his first two fingers over Spock’s- the customary Vulcan kiss. Both of them blushed several shades darker than if Jim had followed the more human action, and Spock raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
“It’s just, you’ve been so mindful and respectful of me,” stammered Jim, “I wanted to be the same for you.” The disruption of his usual suave nature would usually make him cringe, but if it was for Spock, it only spoke of his genuine devotion.
Spock smiled at him, really smiled, and Jim seeing it, he didn’t find it hard to believe how hard he had fallen for this exquisite being. “Thank you.”
It was uncertain which one leaned forward first to press their lips together, but in a swift motion they connected, minds and bodies, and it was unlike anything either of them ever dreamed.
Jim linked his first two fingers around Spock’s as they walked back to the rest of the crew onshore, his other hand carrying his boots. Every so often Spock would run his thumb over the back of Jim’s fingers, and each time it made his smile grow. It was dark now, but he felt aglow, like he could outshine the sun. As they approached other officers, neither let go. Jim was basking in this new feeling of purpose and unconditional love, like the millions of stars over their heads were aligned in his favor.
For the first time in Jim Kirk’s life, a deep sense of belonging had rooted itself firmly in his core, where it would grow there for many years to come.
-