Chapter Text
The vacation had been mandatory.
Captain V’Rel had deemed it “only logical” that he, after the events on the Griffin, take some time to recover. Jim had argued that he'd had plenty of time to recover in Enterprise’s sick bay, that he was fully healed and ready to return to duty. V’Rel disagreed.
So here he was, alone in his hotel room, feeling sorry for himself.
If he had to take time off, he should be spending it with his son. But even if the distance hadn't made that impossible, Carol would have. That last conversation they'd had over the viewscreen in Enterprise’s ready-room…well, when the shouting had subsided, they'd both agreed it was better for David if he stayed away. Less confusing. It was the right thing to do. Carol was a great mother, she could give David everything he needed. And Jim? Well, he was beginning to think he was far too much like his own father. After all, that was why he was here, alone on some resort planet instead of with his family, or his friends.
The thought of friends drew his mind back to the Enterprise.
If Jim had a superpower, it was that people liked him. He didn't do it on purpose, but no matter where he went, he managed to charm people. He wasn't complaining. It was a useful skill to have, especially when it came to climbing the ranks. Every Admiral he made chuckle was one step closer to the Captain's seat. He just wished…he wished it wasn't all so superficial. Jim had always made friends easily, they were just never close friends. And that was especially true on the Farragut. Oh, he had plenty of colleagues he liked, buddies he could get a drink with after their shift. He never ate alone in the mess hall, and yet…Jim didn't think he'd ever felt as lonely as he did on that ship.
It wasn't like that on Enterprise.
Ever since he'd first set foot on that ship, he'd felt an aching to stay there. It wasn't just ambition that made him long for a posting to the fleet’s flagship. It was the people. Captain Pike, so warm and welcoming, so utterly what a captain should be. Cmdr. Chin-Riley, so completely in charge in every situation. Uhura, so optimistic and hardworking, not to mention compassionate. La’an, completely brilliant, beautiful, sarcastic, scary in a way that he couldn't help find exciting. Spock…
Spock.
Jim ran a hand through his hair. Spock was…well. Spock couldn't be summed up so neatly. He was brilliant, of course. An incredible officer and scientist. A master of Vulcan logic, a fearsome opponent at three dimensional chess. Serious, and yet, there was a simmering humour just beneath the surface. Jim was surprised other people didn't seem to see it. It was right there, in the slight twitch of his lips, the sparkle in his dark, captivating eyes. Oh, Jim could get lost in those eyes…
Jim sighed, flopping backwards onto the bed. The advertisements had lied. The atmosphere here was supposed to give you a permanent buzz. It was supposed to be fun. And it had been…for about ten minutes. But once the initial giggles had worn off, this maudlin mood had settled over him. He should get up, go out, make some new friends, do something stupid, anything to quiet his spiraling thoughts.
Back in his bio bed on Enterprise, he'd had far too much time to think. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw La’an standing over him with a knife, Rose Harper’s contorted face, David's little hand reaching out from that tangle of cables. Dr. M’Benga had given him something for the pain, but that had just made it worse. He'd been trapped, floating in the netherworld between sleep and wakefulness, haunted by the smell of blood and the sound of his son crying somewhere just out of his reach.
When he'd finally woken, Chapel had been looking down at him with sympathy. Apparently, he'd been crying out in his sleep. Jim didn't want to think about what she'd heard. He didn't want to think of anything. Luckily, once word had spread that he was awake, he had been inundated with visitors. Uhura and Ortegas kept him entertained with anecdotes and banter. Then Pella had appeared, brandishing a bottle of sweet smelling liquor that she swore would have him back on his feet in an instant. It tasted like motor oil and burnt going down. M’Benga confiscated it immediately. Strangely though, Jim did feel considerably better afterwards. Next it was the Captain, full of concern and words of wisdom. He’d had to answer questions, which Jim knew would be coming but still found excruciating to answer. But Pike was gentle as he could be, and as he had left, he placed a fatherly hand on Jim’s shoulder.
“You’re safe now Jim,” he had assured him, his voice low and comforting. “You’re on Enterprise.”
Jim felt the warmth of that hand on his shoulder long after the Captain left.
But it hadn’t been enough to keep the nightmares away. He had refused to let M’Benga sedate him again, drifting instead into a natural, and fitful sleep. Without the fog of drugs, the nightmares were clearer, more intense. La’an. The knife. David. Spock. Where was Spock? Green blood on bio a bed, a beautiful Vulcan woman he didn’t recognise leaning over him, cutting into him, carving half of him away--
Jim had jolted upright, eyes wildly searching the room for danger. His sudden movement pulled at his still healing abdomen, causing stabbing white pain to shoot up through him.
“Careful,” said a steady voice to his right. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
Una Chin-Riley, her face free from its usual elegant make up, and hair braided in a simple style over her shoulder, pushed him gently back onto the bed.
“What are you doing here?” he had asked in confusion, voice rough with sleep.
“Christine mentioned you were having nightmares,” she told him matter-of-factly, returning to her seat beside his bed. “I don’t sleep that much myself. Figured I could keep you company.”
“Illyrian thing,” she had clarified at his confused look."Vulcan's are the same. Sometimes Spock and I run into each other in the middle of the night. We both like to use the time to get some extra work done.”
“Where is he?”
“Spock?” she had asked in surprise. “I assume he’s in his quarters.”
“Is he okay? He was injured, but he wasn’t here when I woke up. Nurse Chapel said his wounds weren’t that bad and that he was recovering in his quarters, but I saw the scissors, I saw them, I--”
“Shhh, shhh it’s okay,” Una took his hand, trying to sooth him. “Spock’s fine. He’s safe. Everybody’s safe.”
“His ears,” Jim had let out a shaky breath. “I could feel…”
He gulped back tears. It had been a nightmare. A vivid, awful nightmare, but still just a dream.
“Do you want me to get him?” Una had asked kindly. “He’s probably still awak--”
“No!” Jim had cut her off. “No, there’s no need to bother him.” He couldn’t stand the thought of Spock seeing him just them, frail and shaking. Spock, who was always so composed. Spock, who had had green blood running down his neck when Jim saw him in the transporter room…
“Hey,” Una had squeezed his hand. “You’re safe here, Jim. Anyone wants to get to you, or Spock, they’ll have to go through me. And just about every other person on this ship. Okay?”
“Okay,” he’d nodded.
Spock was probably busy anyway. La’an had been a mess in the aftermath of her possession. No doubt Spock was comforting her. Ignoring his own injuries in order to take care of the woman he loved, that seemed like a very Spock thing to do.
“Okay,” she’d repeated, squeezing his hand again. They had sat like that, holding hands in the dim quiet of the sick bay for a long time.
At some point he must have fallen back asleep. He’d seen Spock again, but this time, mercifully, they weren’t on the Griffin. No, instead they were in Enterprise’s bar, sitting either side of a chess board.
“I believe it is your move, Jim,” Spock had informed him.
“And I believe,” Jim had replied with a teasing grin. “That you’re letting me win.”
“Perhaps I want you to win,” Spock had said, dark eyes gleaming with an emotion Jim didn’t dare name.
“Why would you want that?” he’d asked, but Spock had only smiled that enigmatic little smile of his.
Jim had woken then, eyes slowly blinking open. Una was still there, hand lax in his, head crooked at an odd angle, fast asleep.
The next morning, La’an had strode into sick bay, face set in grim determination.
“I’ve come to apologise," she’d said without preamble. “What I did was unforgivable, and I understand if you wish to press formal charges or--”
“La’an,” he’d interrupted. “You were possessed by a haunted space ship. You can’t seriously think I blame you for that.”
“Nevertheless,” she began, but Jim cut her off.
“La’an,” he reached out and took her hand. At first she’d gone ridged, and Jim was sure she’d pull away. But it was as if something in her crumbled, and she had gripped his hand with a ferocity he hadn’t expected.
“I’m so sorry, James,” she’d said, voice thick with unshed tears.
He liked that she called him James. Liked the way his name sounded in her mouth.
“And I’m sorry too,” he’d told her earnestly. “I’m sorry we ever found that damned ship. I’m sorry all of us had to go through what we went through.” He squeezed her hand. “But we survived. We’re okay, all of us. That’s all that matters.”
She nodded, but still Jim could see the guilt churning inside her.
“I bet Spock told you the same thing,” he’d said, trying for a reassuring smile. It hadn’t worked. Instead, La’an had let go of his hand.
“I haven’t seen Spock,” she’d said briskly. “He’s been recovering. Meditating.”
“Oh,” was all he could think to say.
“Did he seem alright,” she asked in that same brisk, business-like tone of voice. “When he came to see you?”
“He didn’t.”
“Oh,” that had seemed to surprise her.
An awkward moment passed between them, before La’an cleared her throat.
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be by soon.”
“You said he’s still recovering,” he’d replied, aiming for a nonchalant tone. “I’m sure he’ll be focused on that.”
“Nonsense,” La’an replied with a huff. “You’re his friend, he cares about you. He’ll want to make sure you’re okay.”
There was something like jealousy written across her face.
“He cares about you too, La’an,” Jim had tried to reassure her.
She made a noncommittal noise, then straightened. “I should return to my duties. I’m glad you’re alright. I…” she hesitated. “I’m glad you don’t hate me.”
Jim had laughed then, a genuine laugh. “La’an, I could never hate you.”
She’d rolled her eyes. “Well clearly not. If stabbing you won’t do it, I don’t know what will.”
He laughed again, and watched with pleasure as a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
He shouldn’t have said it, but he was feeling lighter than he had in days, and Jim had never been one for caution. Plus, he’d nearly died, surely that was reason enough to seize the day.
“It’s a shame though,” he’d admitted. “Before we got that distress call, I had a whole plan.”
La’an raised an eyebrow. “What plan?”
“Well…” I really shouldn’t say it, he’d thought.
Fuck it, I’m going to say it.
“Long shuttle ride, my two most fascinating,” he’d locked eyes with her. “Most beautiful friends.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“A man wonders. Especially a newly single man like myself.”
“Wonders what exactly?” she’d asked, gaze unflinching. She wasn’t going to let him talk around the subject.
Jim rubbed self-consciously at the back of his neck. “I mean, I don’t know about Spock, but you,” he had winked then, trying to appear more confident than he felt. Why had he chosen to have this conversation in a busy sick bay with a still healing stab wound? “Well, you once expressed interest. And you and Spock are great together. I wouldn’t want to come between you. Not unless…”
“Unless we wanted you to come between us?” she’d finished. A beat passed, and then a look of mortified realisation had dawned on her face. “Oh god, I didn’t mean like--”
Jim’s roar of laughter had cut her off.
“I did,” he’d said with a chuckle.
“James!” she slapped his arm, looking around with a fierce expression. Several eves-dropping medical officers scuttled away. “I’m in uniform.”
“And you wear it well,” he’d said with another exaggerated wink. La’an was blushing, the colour high in her cheeks, making her freckles all the more prominent. Damn, she was beautiful. A dozen emotions were flitting across her face: embarrassment, intrigue, desire. But just as he had been beginning to hope, her face shuttered.
“We’re not--” she began, but Jim cut her off.
“It’s okay, I knew it was a long shot.”
“No, that’s not…” she sighed in frustration, sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed. From this angle the dark circles beneath her eyes were more obvious. “It’s not you. You’re--” she cut herself off with another frustrated noise. “Spock and I, I don’t think we’re in a very good place right now. And I’m not…” she trailed off.
“La’an, you don’t have to explain,” he’d told her gently.
“I do!,” she’d insisted. “Because you’re wonderful. And Spock is wonderful. You’re both just so…so good. And I’m not, I’m--” she swallowed. “Spock refuses to see it, but there is something wrong with me, James.”
“La’an,” he said firmly, taking her hand again. “It wasn’t you.”
But she stood abruptly, pulling her hand away. “I’m not talking about the Griffin. It’s me. I…Just trust me, you don’t want to get involved.”
“Shouldn’t that be my choice?”
La’an just shook her head. “I need to get back to work.”
“La’an, wait!” he’d called after her, but she was already half way to the door.
“I’m sure Spock will be by to see you soon,” she said over her shoulder, before disappearing through the sliding doors. Across the room, Jim saw Chapel and M’Benga, watching the exchange with concern.
Jim was kept in sick bay another two days before Dr. M’Benga declared him fit to return to his post on the Farragutt.
Spock did not come to visit.
Now here he was, a month later. Alone on a pleasure planet, utterly miserable. He wondered where the Enterprise crew was right now. He’d heard they’d been sent on a diplomatic mission. Negotiating peace talks. That’s what he should have been doing, not lying here, listening to the sounds of the planet’s permanent party raging outside.
He allowed himself to fantasise for a moment, that the Enterprise crew were here with him. The Farragutt and Enterprise, fresh from some daring mission together, stopping for some joint R&R. He could picture Uhura, usually so driven, dancing and giggling, Una with her hair loose and wild. La’an and Spock, loose-limbed and happy, either side of him. In his room. In his bed…
But there the happy fantasy crumbled, because thinking of La’an and Spock brought him right back to the Griffin, and its aftermath. To that disastrous conversation with La’an in sick bay, and the gaping, aching absence of Spock by his bedside.
In that moment he wished, desperately, that Spock was there beside him now. Spock would know what he should do. Spock would say the right thing. Spock would--
“Jim?”
Jim sat bolt upright.
Spock was standing in front of him.
Jim had imagined Spock out of uniform before. He was only human, after all, and Spock was beautiful. But he’d never imagined him quite like this.
The Spock before him was dressed in an elegant, yet casual black jacket. Underneath, a beautiful silk tunic clung to his chest. The neck came down in a vee, perfectly displaying Spock’s thick, dark chest hair. In all his imaginings, Jim had never pictured Spock with chest hair. He was so neat, so prim and proper, Jim had just assumed he’d be smooth. Oh, but this was better. This was so much better.
“Commander Kirk,” Spock’s voice cut through the cloud of lust that had taken hold of him. “What are you doing on my bed?”
“Your bed?” Jim asked dumbly.
It was then that he noticed his surroundings.
The room was similar to his own, clearly another hotel room, but this one was brighter. Jim had had the shades on the windows shut tight, trying to block out the outside world. This room was filled with the warm light of day. The bed he was lying on was large and neatly made, not the crumpled sheets of his own hotel bed.
Looking down at himself, he noticed, bizarrely, he was wearing his uniform.
“Spock,” he asked. “Why am I on your bed?”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “That was my inquiry as well.”
For a moment they simply stared at each other.
“Am I dreaming?” Jim asked.
Spock's face, which had been open in a way Jim had never seen it, shuttered.
“This must be the effects of the atmosphere. You are a hallucination.”
“I don't feel like a hallucination,” Jim argued, but Spock just shook his head.
“I thought of you and you appeared. In my inebriated state, my imagination is clearly running wild.”
Jim's mind caught on a particular part of that sentence.
“You were thinking of me?” he asked.
The tips of Spock's ears (his intact, perfect ears) were tinged with a vague green blush. Jim couldn't tear his eyes from them.
“I often think of you,” Spock admitted matter-of-factly, as if his words hadn't just caused Jim's heart to try to burst from his chest. “And you have never before appeared before me. Therefore, it is only logical to surmise that the intoxicating effects of this planet's atmosphere are having a hallucinogenic effect on me.”
“And when you're thinking of me,” Jim continued, breezing past the talk of logic. “Am I always on your bed, Mr. Spock?”
The green blush in Spock's ears intensified. Jim chuckled, bouncing off the bed and to his feet. He didn’t know what was happening, but Spock was here. And maybe the resort’s claims hadn’t been bullshit after all, because that wonderful, bubbly feeling was back. He felt drunk and happy, and Spock was looking at him with those gorgeous, dark eyes of his. Jim’s mind was finally quiet.
“Maybe you are hallucinating,” Jim conceded, bounding up to his friend. “Maybe I am.” He reached out, placing a hand on Spock’s shoulder. The Vulcan felt warm and real under his hand. “Hell, this planet’s weird, maybe we’re both hallucinating each other somehow. Who cares?”
Spock raised a single, perfect eyebrow. “The last loved one I hallucinated tried to mutilate me. You will forgive me if I am not enthusiastic about repeating the experience.”
Jim’s face fell. “Spock,” he rushed to say, free hand coming up to clasp Spock’s other shoulder. “I would never hurt you. Never.” This close, Spock’s eyes were even darker, deeper. “Whatever is happening, whatever this is, I swear to you, I won’t let anybody hurt you.”
He watched as Spock swallowed, watched the bob of his Adam’s apple, felt the slight tremor run through his body. “A sentiment I would believe, were you the real James Kirk.”
“There’s no version of me that would hurt you, Spock.” he promised, voice low.
Spock didn’t respond, simply gazing at him with an emotion in his eyes that Jim couldn’t identify. Jim must be dreaming. He must be. The real Spock would surely never allow him to be this close, wouldn’t tolerate his hands on him so long. And if this was a dream, Jim didn’t need to hold himself back.
Slowly, dreamily, Jim raised a hand from Spock’s shoulder up towards his ear. Tentatively, he traced the tip with the pad of his finger. Spock shuddered.
This had to be a dream…but it felt so real.
“Your ears,” Jim said in wonder. “They’re okay.”
“Indeed,” Spock replied in a flustered voice, stepping back, out of Jim’s embrace. “Nurse Chapel did an excellent job regrowing them.”
“So they really were…” Jim lowered his arms, body slow on the uptake. Vulcan’s, he knew, had a lower body temperature than humans. And yet, everywhere he’d touched Spock had been so warm. His finger tingled where it had been in contact with his skin.
“Yes,” was all Spock said in response.
Jim shook his head. “I don’t want to think about the Griffin.”
“In that we are agreed.”
“Good,” Jim said with feeling.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Whatever this was, Spock was here with him. Jim took a deep breath, then exhaled, trying to breath out all those awful memories with it. He was with Spock, that was all that mattered.
“Come on, Mr. Spock,” Jim finally said, smile easily finding its way back to his face. “We’re on vacation. Let’s have some fun.”
***
For anyone else, spending one’s stay on a pleasure planet in one’s hotel room playing board games would probably have been considered dull. But Jim couldn’t think of anything better.
Now that he was observing him more closely, Jim could see that Spock was indeed affected by the planet’s atmosphere. He was looser, quicker to smile, and his skill at three dimensional chess had drastically declined. Though, seeing as Jim was also having trouble keeping the moves straight in his head, they were still evenly matched.
“You know,” Jim said, toying with a knight, stalling for time as he tried to make sense of the board in front of him. “When Captain V’Rel ordered me to take time off, I don’t think this is what she meant.”
“She does not approve of you losing at chess?” Spock asked, eyebrow sarcastically raised.
“I’m not losing,” Jim insisted.
“We shall see,” Spock replied, face serious.
Jim snorted a laugh. The noise made Spock smile, that subtle turning up at the corner of his lips that, for him, may as well have been a belly-laugh.
“I was referring to the hallucinogens in the air.”
“Ah,” Spock said, relaxing a little further into his seat. “That appears to be the difference between your captain and mine.”
“I didn’t take Pike for a party animal,” Jim said, placing his knight more or less at random on the board.
“Nor did I,” Spock said, leaning forward to capture Jim’s knight. “And yet he insisted on the crew taking shore leave here.”
“Funny, I was just thinking how your crew would like it here. You know, before,” he gestured vaguely between them. “Whatever this is.”
“Fascinating.”
Jim looked up from the board and found Spock staring at him intently.
“What is?” he asked.
“Simply that it is odd that my mind would provide such a detail.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “You’re so sure I’m your hallucination. Have you considered that maybe you’re mine?”
“I know I am real,” Spock said with certainty.
“And I know that I’m real,” Jim countered.
“That is what a hallucination would say.”
Jim threw his hands up in frustration. “I should have brought a tri-corder. Then I could prove it to you.”
Spock opened his mouth to reply, when suddenly there was a knock at the door.
A pause. Then an obnoxious, insistent knocking started up.
“I think someone’s at the door,” Jim pointed out unnecessarily.
Spock gave him a look, then stood and moved to the door, ever so slightly unsteady on his feet.
A thought drifted through Jim's mind then: if this is a dream or a hallucination or something, why would someone be at the door?
Voices, too loud in the quiet room came from the direction of the door, and suddenly Erica Ortegas was barging into the room, followed closely by Spock, and an incredibly inebriated looking Montgomery Scott.
Inebriated was a funny word. Jim chuckled to himself. Inebriated.
“Erica! Scotty!” Jim called by way of greeting. He was pleased to see his friends, although there was a part of him that was irritated that he and Spock had been interrupted. A peace settled over him whenever he was alone with Spock. That peace had very much been shattered by the arrival of the two Lieutenants.
Strangely, the pair didn’t acknowledge him.
“Is Captain Pike here?” Erica asked Spock. She seemed tense.
“Not that I am aware of,” Spock replied. Jim could tell he was doing his best to appear sober. He chuckled again.
“You’ll have to forgive Spock here--” he began, but Erica cut him off.
“Where’s La’an?” she asked, looking around the room. And that…
That was actually a good question. Where was La’an?
“She is on a more spirited journey than my own,” Spock informed her. And Jim guessed that made sense. He could imagine atmosphere drunk La’an was probably a lot rowdier than atmosphere drunk Spock.
Spock continued, eyes flicking to Jim, “As you can see, I am quite inebriated.”
Jim laughed. “Inebriated. What a weird word.”
Spock gave him a look.
“You are?” Erica asked.
She was still ignoring him. Jim was beginning to suspect…
“You seem pretty normal,” Scotty interjected.
“Do you see James Kirk in this room?” Spock asked him in reply.
“No…” Scotty said, looking around the room in confusion. “Unless he’s invisible…cloaked?”
“I’m not invisible! Spock, am I invisible?” This was officially getting weird. Well, weirder.
“I have been hallucinating a manifestation of James Kirk.” Spock informed Erica and Scotty, ignoring Jim’s question. “We’ve been playing board games.”
“Spock, come on. I'm me! I'm here. Erica,” he turned to her, “You can see me right?”
He knew before he asked she wouldn't answer.
“Wonder what that’s all about?” Scotty slurred with a meaningful look to Erica, before flopping backwards over the arm of the couch.
“This is fun and all but do you know where the Captain is? I need to find him now.” Erica said urgently.
“You appear tense,” Spock observed.
“She does, doesn’t she?” Jim agreed, “I thought that the second she walked in.”
“I don’t remember what I did last night, I have a pounding headache, and if I wanna get any enjoyment at all out of this so-called vacation I apparently need to deliver a note to him first. So yeah, tense.” Erica said in one long, exasperated breath.
Jim winced. Whatever was going on with him and Spock right now was weird, but at least he seemed to be having a better day than Erica.
“You do not recall fighting a dragon?” Spock asked.
“What?” Jim asked, at the same time Erica replied, “Is that a joke?”
“I heard you shouting in the corridor that you ‘got the dragon’,” Spock explained.
“I’ll add that to my list of things to figure out.” Erica said with a sigh. “And Pike is?”
“He mentioned Uhura’s party. Two doors down.”
“Oh well, there we go. An actual lead,” Erica said with relief, going to scrape Scotty off the couch.
Jim didn’t pay much attention as the pair exited. His intoxicated mind trying its best to parse what had just occurred.
Intoxicated was another funny word.
Focus Jim, he scolded himself. This is important.
Erica and Scotty had certainly seemed real. As real as Spock. As real as him. And if that was the case, if the Enterprise crew was really here on Cesnar, that meant this was really happening. Didn’t it? Jim still wasn’t sure how he’d suddenly appeared here, in Spock’s room, in his uniform, but who knows, maybe that was something that just…happened sometimes? Damnit, this would be so much easier to figure out without the effects of the atmosphere muddling up his mind.
Jim watched as Spock crossed behind the couch, straightening the cushions Scotty had disturbed. The action was oddly endearing.
Everything about Spock was endearing.
And this was definitely Spock. The real Lt. Spock, standing right in front of him. Somehow, for some reason, they were on the same planet at the same time. Somehow they were together. No one else could see him, but Spock could. And that meant something, Jim was sure of it.
Jim cleared his throat, and Spock looked up at him, dark eyes so big and open.
Jim lost his train of thought.
He was too drunk for this. And suddenly, he was starving.
“Should we order some fries?” he asked. Maybe the hotel staff would be able to see him. Or maybe not. Either way, there’d be fries. And fries sounded perfect right about now.
“Do you think my seeing you here has deeper meaning?” Spock asked, instead of answering.
In an instant fries were forgotten, because yeah, that was the question, wasn’t it? Whatever was happening here, it had to mean something. Jim might not know how any of this was happening, but he knew what it meant to him. He had been longing to see Spock. Not just today, but for weeks. Since he woke up in sick bay after the Griffin. Since before that even. Since their mind-meld. The question was, what did any of this mean to Spock?
“Deeper than…what?” he asked, moving towards him.
“Perhaps a remnant of you was left behind after our mind-meld…” Spock theorised. He was moving too, towards Jim.
Like magnets, Jim thought. Drawn together.
“...that is now filling an emotional void.” Spock finished. He was staring directly at Jim, searching his face, as if it contained the secrets of the universe.
Something was bubbling up inside Jim, that giddy, champagne feeling from earlier. It was intoxicating, the weight of Spock’s gaze on him. More intoxicating than the atmosphere.
“Do you need a hug?” he asked.
Spock seemed like he needed a hug, so Jim didn’t wait for a reply. “Bring it in here.”
As gently as his giddy, eager heart would allow, Jim wrapped his arms around the Vulcan, patting his back companionably. Spock was taller than him, just a little, which made his shoulder just the perfect height for Jim to tuck his chin on. Spock was so solid, so real. Plastered against his front as he was, Jim could feel the strong muscles of his chest, his shoulders, his arms.
Jim breathed out a contented little sigh. Spock’s hands were on his waist, not quite hugging back, but not pushing him away. Just holding him, keeping him where he was.
“How long do these hugs usually last?” Spock asked in his usual, stoic tone.
“As long as you like.”
“I see,” Spock replied.
Jim felt Spock’s hand flex on his waist, then slowly, tentatively, Spock slid his hands up and around Jim’s back. Spock was hugging him back.
“Vulcans do not hug,” Spock said after a moment.
Jim couldn’t see his face, but he could feel the vibrations of the words in his chest, the movement of his jaw as he spoke where it brushed against his cheek.
“Do you want to stop?” Jim asked.
There was a long pause, then finally, in a low voice, Spock said “No.”
“Good,” Jim said, smiling into the crook of Spock’s neck. “Me neither.”
***
They did eventually order fries.
More out of curiosity than any real effort to discover what was happening, Jim tried to interact with the guy who delivered them. No luck.
It seemed the only person that could see him was Spock.
And yet, he could move chess pieces, he could touch Spock. Jim picked up a fry. It was warm between his fingers, and when he bit into it, it tasted like a fry, warm and salty and delicious.
Jim let out a happy little moan. Fries had definitely been a good idea. Whatever weird thing was happening, Jim was certain now that it was real. He was real, Spock was real, the fries were real. All of which added up to make this, without question, the best day he had had in a very long time.
So Jim threw himself down on the couch, patting the spot next to him.
“Better hurry Spock, or I’ll eat them all.”
Spock quirked an eyebrow. “I do not currently require sustenance.”
Jim laughed. “Nobody ‘requires’ fries, Spock. You don’t eat them for nutrients, you eat them for pleasure.”
He bit into a fry very deliberately, maintaining eye contact with Spock, in the hopes that, yes there it is, that green flush would return to Spock’s ears.
Spock looked away, but he acquiesced to join him on the couch. He sat stiffly, with his usual ramrod posture, but Jim noticed he sat closer than was strictly necessary. His stomach did a contented little flip.
“Go on,” he urged. “Try one. You’re on vacation after all.”
“I do not see what my being on shore leave has to do with consuming unnecessary carbohydrates.”
“Oh, it has everything to do with it. Trust me,” Jim said with a laugh.
Spock half turned towards him, a look of mild exasperation on his face. But, somewhat to Jim’s surprise, he delicately picked up a fry from the plate on the coffee table, and took a small bite. Spock chewed thoughtfully, and Jim stared in fascination at the way the Vulcan’s jaw moved. He had a very pretty jaw.
“Hmm,” was all Spock said. But he took another bite. Jim was going to count that as a win.
“We never finished our game,” Jim said after a moment.
“Would you like to resume it?” Spock asked, trying and failing to surreptitiously take another fry from the plate without Jim noticing.
“Ugh, but the board is all the way over there,” Jim said mournfully, sinking deeper into the plush couch cushions.
“It is a mere 1.76 meters away,” Spock informed him, picking up his third fry.
“Might as well be the moon,” Jim said with feeling.
“It is funny,” Spock said after a moment. “Over the course of our acquaintance, I have observed you to be intelligent, hard-working, determined. And yet, in your current state you find walking to the other side of the room an insurmountable feat.”
Jim gave him a look. “Do you feel like getting up right now?”
He watched as Spock seemed to consider this. “Not particularly.”
Jim huffed out a laugh. “Then pass the fries and relax. We’re on vacation after all.”
“You insist on using that fact to justify all manner of activities,” Spock observed, pacing Jim the plate, before reclining elegantly back into the couch cushions.
“Yeah well…” Jim gave up mid-sentence, his foggy brain failing to produce any sort of witty come back. Instead, he simply reached for another fry.
“May I ask you something?” Spock said after a moment.
“Shoot.”
Spock raised an eyebrow at the expression, but didn’t comment.
“My current hypothesis is still that you are a psychic remnant of James Kirk, left behind after our mind-meld during the incident with the Vezda. If that is the case, then while you are not the ‘real’ Jim Kirk--”
“Spock, I’m real, I keep telling you. I don’t know how I’m here, but I’m here.”
“It is logical that you would feel that way. I believe that you are, in essence, an echo of the real Kirk. You have his thought patterns, his personality, his memories--”
“Which is another way of saying ‘It’s ME’” Jim was losing patience with this argument. He wished there was some way to prove to Spock he was real.
“In a manner of speaking,” Spock conceded. “You are James Kirk. You are the part of him that lives in my mind.”
Jim sighed. “Fine, fine I’m a psychic projection or whatever. What was your question?”
Spock hesitated. “Are you…that is, the real James Kirk. Is he…do you believe he is alright?”
“Me? I’m great, Spock. I’m on vacation, I’ve got fries.”
“That is not what I am asking. I wish to know if Jim is…coping with the aftermath of the Griffin incident.”
A sudden lump lodged itself in Jim’s throat. “Yeah, I’m…I’m okay. You know, mostly. What about you, how are you coping?”
“Poorly,” Spock admitted matter-of-factly. “That is why I am concerned.”
“Hey,” Jim reached out, placing a hand on Spock’s arm, needing to touch him. “I’m okay, Spock. You’re okay, La’an’s okay. We survived. And all the other stuff…it’ll take time. What matters is, we’re alive.”
“All the ‘other stuff’, as you call it, is detrimental to human health. Elevated levels of stress, anxiety, inability to sleep, can lead to more serious medical issues. La’an has been exhibiting all of these symptoms. I believe she is struggling more than she cares to admit. From what I know of you, I believe you will behave the same.” Spock looked at him, eyes full of concern. “I am deeply concerned both of you will struggle to recover from the trauma you have experienced.”
Jim swallowed. He didn’t want to talk about the Griffin. Didn’t want to think about any of it. La’an. The knife. David. Spock. Green blood on a bio-bed. Green blood running down Spock’s neck. An empty bed next to his in sickbay. The scissors. The scissors…
Jim cleared his throat. “What about you? You’re focusing on La’an and me, but you were there too Spock.” Green blood on a bio-bed. A beautiful Vulcan woman, emptiness behind her eyes, scissors in her hand. The scissors. His ears. Jim squeezed Spock’s arm where his hand still rested, trying to ground himself. “You experienced a trauma too. And you said you’re not coping.”
“That is incorrect. I said I am coping poorly. And that is simply because I have been neglecting my meditative practices. As soon as the opportunity arises, I intend to return to Vulcan to complete further training.”
“So, what? You’re going to mediate your PTSD away.”
“That is my intent, yes.”
Jim shook his head. “Vulcan logic really is the answer to everything, huh?”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “You are being sarcastic.”
“No, I’m…” Jim squeezed Spock’s arm again. “If that works for you, that’s great. I just think…” He sighed. “I guess I’m not really in a position to give advice. But bottling up your feelings, trying to logic them away? I get that that’s the Vulcan way, but sometimes you need to talk things out in order to process them.”
“You believe I need to ‘process’ what happened?”
“I think we all do.”
“And have you been talking to someone?” Spock asked.
“Well…” Jim shifted uncomfortably. “No. No, but I know that I probably should. It’s just…hard to explain.”
Spock nodded. “Those who were not there will struggle to understand the full scope of the experience.”
“Exactly,” Jim agreed. “But that’s where you’re lucky. You’ve got La’an.”
Spock’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “La’an does not wish to speak about the experience. And I find,” again, Spock hesitated. “I find I do not wish to discuss it with her either. I am aware these are the kinds of things romantic partners are supposed to support each other through. And yet I find myself avoiding the topic. Many topics, if I am being honest.” Spock looked so lost, Jim itched to pull him back into his arms. “Perhaps I am simply not capable of being a ‘good boyfriend’”.
“Spock,” Jim said gently. “Look at me.”
Spock did.
“You are one of the most compassionate people I have ever met.”
Spock quirked an eyebrow. “Vulcan’s are not generally known for their compassion.”
“Just because you don’t express it the same way humans do doesn’t mean you don’t feel it,” Jim said with conviction. “I’ve seen inside your mind too, remember,” to emphasise his point, Jim poked Spock’s forehead with a finger. Spock’s brow furrowed in response.
“If you and La’an are struggling, it is not because you’re not good enough, Spock. You’re ‘wonderful’,” Spock raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Not my word, La’an’s. That’s what she called you.”
“You and La’an have discussed me?” Spock asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
“We have,” Jim agreed, blushing slightly at the memory of some of the details of that specific conversation. “And listen, if anyone knows about being a bad boyfriend it’s me. I’m terrible at relationships. But I’ve seen you and La’an together, I’ve heard the way you talk about each other. If you’re struggling to communicate, it’s not because you’re doing anything wrong. It’s just that you’re both still recovering. Give it time, things will work out.”
Spock was gazing at him. All of a sudden, Jim felt shy. He rubbed self-consciously at the back of his neck.
“I find it hard to believe you do not excel at relationships,” Spock said after a moment. “I believe you are underselling yourself. You have a natural affinity for people. You understand them. And you are unfailingly kind. Are those not the key skills in maintaining any relationship? Romantic or platonic?”
“I guess,” Jim shifted in his seat. “But I think you’re overestimating me. I’m no saint. I’m self-centred, ambitious--”
“Ambition is not a character flaw,” Spock cut in. “It is an admirable trait.”
“Carol didn’t seem to think so…” Jim trailed off. He didn’t want to think about Carol either.
“From what I have heard you say, Dr. Marcus is an ambitious woman herself. Perhaps it is simply that your ambitions were not aligned."
Jim scrubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I screwed up that relationship, just like I screwed up every previous one. As terrible as it sounds…” he swallowed. “I’ve never found anyone I cared about more than my job. Starfleet is always going to be my priority. And I know that’s probably not healthy but--”
“I was once accused of the same,” Spock interjected. “I fail to see why it is a problem. I believe in Starfleet’s mission, and am dedicated to upholding the Federation’s ideals. It seems you feel the same.”
Jim huffed out a laugh. “That’s a much nicer way of putting it.”
“In which case,” Spock continued. “It is only logical to seek out a partner who shares that value.”
Spock’s eyes were dark, his expression open. And for one insane, glorious moment, Jim thought about leaning in, brushing his lips against the other man’s. Spock’s lips looked so soft.
“That is what first drew me to La’an, our shared dedication to our work.”
Right, Jim reminded himself. La’an.
“Exactly,” Jim said, forcing his eyes away from Spock’s tempting lips. “You two are great together. I know what makes a bad boyfriend, believe me. You, Mr. Spock, do not meet the criteria.”
“That is kind of you to say, Jim. Indeed, your persistence in reassuring me of my own capabilities proves my point.”
“Which is?”
“You are a good friend, James Kirk,” Spock said seriously. “And I have no doubt that, for the right person, you would be an exceptional partner.”
Jim swallowed roughly. “Thanks, Spock.”
His hand found its way back to Spock’s arm, and it stayed there for a long time.