FIC: Divergence 28a/28 + epilogue
Title: Divergence
Pairing: nu!K/S and counterparts
Rating: Teen
Notes: for a PROMPT on the old kink meme.
SUMMARY: As the Enterprise crew take downtime on Vulcan and begin the process of repairing their ship, Kirk and Spock take the time to clear the air between them. Meanwhile Winona Kirk mulls over her decision for young Jimmy's future - to send him to Tarsus IV or keep him on Vulcan - and seeks out both Spock and the Lady Amanda Grayson.
Betas : karmic_fic (who has been with me from the beginning and seriously went all out Vulcan on me and made all these awkward sentences so much more awesome and eloquent, but couldn't beta this part yet deserves the mention) and
ate (who has acted as my stress ball as I constantly bombarded her with all my brain storming and various incomplete drafts) and the VIP for part 28, newaunty (who arrived on the scene at the end to help with the beta, and went above and beyond in not only looking over this part and the epilogue but the entire fic for me so I could put it on AO3) and amothea (who did a readthrough for part 28) -
Planet-side: Vulcan, Starfleet Base - Sato Campus, year 2246
The last and only time he visited the desert planet, Jim Kirk had been preoccupied with making sure he didn't plummet to his death. There had also been Romulans trying to kill him, Romulans trying to blow up the planet, and Sulu falling without a chute. While he hadn't the luxury to take note of his surroundings, he couldn't miss the heat; hitting the planet's atmosphere had been like jumping into a blast furnace. There was nothing quite like it - Vulcan was scorching. This time though, the searing wind that whipped across his face seemed more like a greeting, carrying with its caress bittersweet half-remembrances.
Not his home; he had never been here, barring that one space dive. But Ambassador Spock had.
Despite Bones' warnings, Jim lowered his cloak's hood, seduced by the sultry hot breeze and the faint scent of ozone generated by distant sand storms that sprung up constantly like afternoon showers in Singapore. The echo of transferred memory sang through him, stirring up a swell of adoration.
Ahead, their greeting party approached; a Vulcan woman with impeccable hair dressed in a desert version of the enlisted personnel uniform led a disgruntled Captain Pike in his regulation ensemble. Having no such discomforts in his airy non-regulation robes, Jim grinned and leaped off the last step of the shuttle onto solid ground, duffel bag slung over one shoulder. As soon as his group cleared the flight zone, the shuttle doors snapped shut and blinkers flashed to warn everyone of its imminent takeoff.
"Welcome to Vulcan," Pike shouted over the whine of shuttle engines cycling, "This way!"
Jim glanced back to check on his people then fell into step with the older man, who stalked with purpose to a flat building emblazoned with a faded Starfleet Medical symbol. The triple-door airlock entry system kept out the heat and dust to the relief of many, but Jim didn't like how it also killed the scents so fundamental to the planet - the tang of ozone and a faint charcoal burn.
"This is Doctor Lee," Pike introduced, gesturing to an Asian man who turned from his datapad to examine the arrivals with great interest, "your crew will need to be checked over before being allowed to wander the base."
"Oh thank the Lord," Bones groaned, immediately accosting Doctor Lee by seizing the man's shoulders. "My good man, just show me where the tri-ox is."
Jim wondered if he should step in as Bones managed to brow-beat Doctor Lee into giving him access to the tri-ox and letting him in on inoculations, for he insisted the crew was his business; while Doctor Lee would only see them this once, he'd be stuck with them.
"I thought you said he was only rude when being fired at."
"Actually, this is him polite," Jim hid a laugh at the incredulous look on the older man's face.
"Why in the world did you make him your CMO?"
Before he could answer, a new voice cut in; "Captain Pike."
Spinning around, Jim found himself face to face with an elderly Vulcan man with gray hair and a craggy well-weathered face. Despite his obviously advanced age, he was the definition of robust and his eyes shone with alertness, his gaze reminding Jim of the way cats looked when hunting for prey. He was clearly older than Ambassador Sarek, and yet not quite as old as Ambassador Spock.
"Ah Mister Sabek, thank you for coming on short notice," Pike smile, "Jim, may I introduce the groundskeeper, Mister Sabek. Mister Kirk here is the commanding officer in charge, and will coordinate with you regarding crew lodgings."
Sabek gave a deferent nod which Jim responded to with one of his own.
"I come to serve."
"Your service honors us," Jim replied on rote.
If Sabek thought it was strange for a Human to know the ritual words, the groundskeeper didn't bring it up as Pike left them to welcome the next batch of arrivals. The Vulcan immediately launched into a detailed description of their accommodations, the Syrran building, which was on the very outskirts of the Sato base. With full medical facilities, a transporter station and public areas, the complex was entirely self-sufficient, powered by on-site solar collectors and even had closed environmental systems just like one would find on the Enterprise. It had once been the base's main housing, hewn out of rock for camouflage as its construction period fell during the Romulan-Earth War. The continual expansion of Starfleet presence once the Federation Charter had been signed meant that within a decade, it had been outgrown. Despite the clinical language, Jim could tell that there was a sentimental attachment for groundskeeper, and Sabek was pleased to see it inhabited once more.
"It is directly connected to the Starfleet transporter network, but there is no direct connection to Shikahr. The only external connection available is the terminal in K'lan-ne; from there, one may travel to Vomeek Plaza in Raal to reach the main continent, before traveling onwards to Shikahr. Two transport monitors shall be on duty at all times..."
The Vulcan handed him a data card as he spoke on, which Jim gratefully accepted. While his memory was good, this was a lot of information to absorb and unlike Lieutenant 0718, his brain was not part machine.
"Here are the details of the transporter network, contact details for key support personnel, codes for the food synthesizers and industrial replicators, various catering arrangements available if needed, and blueprint specifications for your lodgings, Captain."
"Thank you, Mister Sabek."
"If you will attend to your medical requirements now," the groundskeeper said pointedly, "we shall begin room assignments."
"Of course," Jim felt his mouth stretch into an irrepressible grin.
Sabek's eyebrows quirked pointedly, obviously of the mind that the young Human captain wasn't moving fast enough. Spinning on his heel, Jim apologetically cut into the queue for the tri-ox injection and wondered if he'd just discovered a new universal truth: if you wanted a job done right, you didn't do it yourself - you got a Vulcan to help you.
USS Enterprise, currently docked at 40 Eridani-A Starfleet Construction Yard, year 2246
"Lieutenant, if I may be of assistance."
I'm fine, she almost snapped before recognizing who it was. Nyota Uhura paused in her struggle to shove her regulation travel case into the overhead compartment and turned to face the Vulcan. She waved for him to go ahead. Without even needing to strain himself, Spock reached up to the handle she could barely touch and fitted her case into a sliver of space left on top of all the other bags. Relieved that it was done, she grinned with tired satisfaction.
"Thanks."
Spock tilted his head regally in acknowledgement and took his seat, PADD in hand as he finalized last checks.
"Attention all passengers, shuttle to depart."
A thrum of audible anticipation went through the crew in the forward cabin. Relieved that she was finally off-duty, Uhura sank down next to Scotty who had somehow, amazingly, fallen asleep in the five minutes he'd been onboard. Spock gave the man a look of deep Vulcan aggravation as the Scotsman began to snore opposite him, jaw slack and drooling. Hiding her snicker, she buckled in then cast her memories back to her very first meeting with the chief engineer where she'd called him a vagrant. Uhura smiled begrudgingly as Scotty's snores rose in volume, because while heading to a planet that shouldn't exist remained emotionally draining, at least the company was good.
"Cut him some slack." She met Spock's disapproval with an exasperated smile, "I think he's been awake for four shifts."
"Which is barred by regulation and against direct medical orders set by Doctor McCoy." The young commander studied the chief engineer's haggard face, "The human body is not meant to withstand such stress - I do not understand; Ensign Chekov or myself would have been perfectly capable of understanding his instructions and overseeing their completion."
Uhura read between the lines with fluency and grinned; Spock was worried about the chief engineer. "You know that he's intimidated by you, don't you?"
Spock cocked a considering eyebrow before turning back to his PADD. "I believe that Mister Scott proved since our first encounter that he delights in resisting the coercion of rank."
"True, but he respects you. The prospect of answering with anything less than a perfect all-ready to you is…" Uhura cast about for an appropriate word to make the Vulcan understand how much the engineer respected him - "Daunting."
Spock did not reply, fingers lingering over his datapad. For anyone else, it seemed to be a dismissal but the head of communications only felt fond, being able to differentiate this silence as confusion, not censure. Oblivious to them, Montgomery Scott turned to the window with a grunt, his snores quieting with the change in posture.
"Lieutenant, I have not yet received a reply from the Sector 3 Requisitions Office."
"Chief Sivapakiam says that the quartermaster won't be able to fulfill our request until she receives a shipment from the USS Musashi."
"Has there been any progress on locating replacement phase transition coils?"
Uhura knew she was staring and most probably smiling like a fool. It had been a long day, preparing the ship for lockdown and then getting everyone organized to leave. With only two shipyard shuttles in service, it had taken all day to ferry everyone off. As ship's first officer, Spock was always the last to leave but this was the first time that Uhura had been required to stay behind. Without the usual logistics support of Approach Control to keep track, she'd been needed on the bridge to coordinate. It had been a full shift of busy work, so frankly, she was behind on self-reflection time. She imagined that was doubly true for Spock - and yet he was calm, even comfortable. It was a good look for him and though she had expected the successful completion of their mission to be cathartic, she wondered if…
Well, she imagined that there was nothing quite the same as meeting your own alternate self to reframe one's perspective.
The Vulcan's typing paused. "Lieutenant?" He prompted.
"The USS Erzsebet lost their warp plasma distribution manifold, and they have priority. Also the USS Montballen needs new phase transition coils for all their cargo transporters, so we will have to wait for the next convoy shipment." Uhura leaned forward, unable to keep her observation to herself, "You seem happy."
Spock looked up, taken off guard by the sudden declaration. Just as quickly, he turned his gaze away and tried to refocus. Was he that obvious?
Reaching out, Uhura placed a comforting hand upon the jut of his knee like she sometimes would when they talked - a moment after, she was reminded of the gesture's intimacy and pulled away before it could grow awkward. "I'm glad."
Though there was no agreement, the Vulcan made no direct verbal refutation either, "The mission is not over, Nyota."
No, it wasn't. Uhura allowed her gaze to drift out the side viewport. In all the fictionalizations or documentaries of Starfleet, this next part was rarely covered. They'd already laid the dead to rest and triaged the injured, but now came the months in between the climax and the epilogue: recovery. It was a crucial time for both ship and crew, and in their unique situation, the beginning of a new mission: to find a way home. It was possibly an even more harrowing exercise than tracking down and containing the Narada.
While that had threatened destruction and mortal peril, and demanded both daring and courage, this rested on their resolve and intellect, and a good dose of luck. Despite being safely ensconced in Federation space, they were under express orders to isolate themselves from any Starfleet personnel and minimize interactions with the civilian population, and would embark on repairing the Enterprise without logistical support. Overall their chances of returning to their timeline was theoretical at best and whimsical at worst.
Spock abruptly straightened. "Lieutenant - Uhura- Nyota."
With silent astonishment, she realized that he was stammering.
"As a friend, it is my wish to seek your advice on a private matter."
Nyota Uhura waited patiently, recognizing that this was unusual, perhaps even a pivotal moment in their personal association.
After a terse huff of breath, Spock began. "Though it was unwise to speak of a future made irrelevant by the many things that have happened in our timeline, I nevertheless conversed with Ambassador Spock at the conclusion of our maiden voyage…"
Feeling a growing sense of both dread and fascination, Uhura listened - and tried to imagine what a meeting between the Spock she knew and the one whom she had heard about from Kirk would be like, what meeting her own self from a hundred years in the future would be like. It was fantastical, something from a story.
"He informed me that in his timeline, he had a professional and personal relationship with the captain, and urged me to consider the benefits that our continued acquaintance could bring to Starfleet, and myself personally. He was confident…that despite our conflicting personalities and mindsets, we were uniquely enabled to urge one another to our full potential."
The barest suggestion of wonderment and confusion in equal measures creased his brow, both remembered and afresh.
"He expressed that despite his action having robbed me a future of some if not all that he knew, he did not desire to deprive me of the revelation of all that the captain and myself could accomplish together, a…friendship that would define us both in ways that I could not yet imagine."
It almost felt too much, to listen to all of this. In a few sentences, he had reframed her entire perception on the remainder of their relationship after that very first mission. Uhura noted the clear avoidance of Jim Kirk's name.
"I didn't know you two had met."
The implications of everything revealed by Spock stretched between them in an awkward silence.
"It was inadvertent."
She didn't point out that sticking around after the initial shock of meeting himself to speak to the ambassador wasn't inadvertent. Nor their discussion turning to Kirk. Nor that that his elder self had attempted some Vulcan form of matchmaking to get Spock to accept his commission. And that it had worked.
"When did you talk?"
"We encountered one another, at the shuttle bay, a week prior to the departure for New Vulcan."
A few days before the Enterprise was due to jet off, and two weeks after she had already accepted her commission, under the impression that they were going to maintaining a long-distance relationship.
Looking as aggrieved as a Vulcan had any right to be - which is to say, not enough to calm a frustrated Human on the receiving end - Spock met her eyes, solemn. "I did not contrive to hide these facts from you, though you may come to that conclusion. I understood the ambassador's benevolent intentions, but I believed that my future could not be determined by his past - my future is my own, independent from his…"
But, she thought, there was always a 'but.'
She wasn't angry, disillusioned maybe, and perhaps even slightly petulant. Even if she had ended the relationship, she had at least thought Spock was serious enough about them to have considered her in his decision to be on the Enterprise.
"Was he right?" She asked, bitter.
A second later, she felt juvenile and wished she could take it back. Though she didn't know the ambassador, she knew Captain James Tiberius Kirk, a man wholly different from the Jim Kirk who had tried to pick her up. While she may have scoffed once upon a time at the idea that he could be of consequence to anyone, she respected him too much after three years of service to summarily dismiss it. She would go to the ends of the galaxy for him, and couldn't fault Spock if he felt the same.
"His idea had merit," Spock admitted, sotto voce. "Though I do not believe he meant for me to pursue the relationship beyond its bearing upon my career."
Oh.
As a communications officer, Uhura knew that accurate comprehension of a conversation was as much about what was being said as what wasn't being said. Her expertise in communications and personal experience with Spock had served her well in deciphering the science officer, but in this very moment, she doubted her interpretation.
Holy Asimov on a pogo stick, was he saying what she thought he was saying?
"The society we inherited lived with the aftermath of unprecedented devastation. I was…enticed, by the notion of achieving the vision set out by the ambassador. And freed from the burdens of rebuilding the Vulcan civilization by his undoubtedly more experienced presence in my stead, I accepted my commission." Spock spoke reluctantly, so quiet that he sometimes dipped below the humdrum of background conversation and she strained to hear him. "I did not expect an easy transition upon the Enterprise, and for a time, I was correct. The captain…perplexed me, and I believe that I perplexed him in return."
Uhura would have snorted at that understatement if she wasn't distracted by the conclusion that Spock appeared to be leading her towards.
"When this changed, I was surprised, and pleased. Now…" Pausing to shore up his courage, Spock spoke on, giving no hint of nervousness except for an abrupt break in eye contact, "The captain has signaled that he would be willing to consider possibilities of an intimate relationship."
Bewildered by the direction this conversation had taken, and somewhat blindsided by the revelation that Spock wanted to date someone else and that someone was Jim Kirk, Uhura slumped back against her seat and resisted the urge to exclaim 'Wow' like a fourteen-year old. She wasn't sure how she felt. On one hand it made perfect sense - she had seen the two of them together. And yet on the other, she couldn't understand how this had happened - when had this happened? She knew they were close, but that was like saying Doctor McCoy and Kirk were close, or Sulu and Chekov were close, or Scotty and Keenser were close. She saw them every day and despite their incredible command dynamic and friendship, she hadn't noticed this. And why was Spock even telling her? Sure, it was somewhat polite considering their history but-
In the potent silence, a single snore pierced the tension and deflated it as quickly as it had built up. Scotty had turned from the window, unnoticed by either of them, and had resumed his snoring. Their eyes met and if it were anyone else, they probably would have broken down in giggles, but one only raised an eyebrow while the other grinned.
"Are you asking me for permission?" Uhura probed, trying to understand where this was all coming from. "Spock, you don't need to do that. I mean, more or less, I broke up with you."
"Though our relationship was never formalized and largely exploratory, it was…for me, important."
Touched despite herself, she nodded, "Okay, well, thank you, for telling me - but, it's none of my business. Good luck with Kirk, I mean it."
"I appreciate your restrained approval."
Her smile turned wry.
There was another silence as both officers fell into contemplation.
For Uhura, she arrived at the conclusion that there was an ulterior motive for this discussion, though unsure what, and decided to give Kirk the shovel talk on Spock's behalf once they start seeing each other.
For Spock, he wondered how he came to be here, in this moment. Against his own good judgment, he had come abroad the Enterprise, uncertainty shadowing his every step. But Spock's sense of impending doom gradually gave way to the daily marathon of life aboard with the young captain; Jim Kirk was energy in humanoid form, constantly in motion. He possessed formidable intelligence, acute perception, and despite what his outward behavior would suggest, a ruthlessly logical mind. His attention span was exhausting on one subject, while nonexistent on another, and he was possibly more compulsively curious than Spock. He had enjoyed Jim's company and hadn't expected that. Or to begin telling tales of his planet, his experiments and all the worlds and peoples he had seen traveling with his father, night after night as they mapped stars and explored worlds.
A commotion from the front cabin drew both of them from their thoughts. The heightened emotions thrumming through the other crewmembers had reached a fever pitch now, as everyone seated to portside strained for a glance out the starboard viewports. Uhura turned to the viewport across the aisle and found herself arrested by the sight.
A solidly red orange speck grew larger and larger. No one needed to murmur its name for they all knew; the tangible summation of all their sacrifice; their justification for taking the risk of never being able to get home again:
T'Khasi, Minshara, Ti-Valka'ain, Vulcan.
Uhura spared a small glance at Spock, feeling her eyes tear she caught the hint of tenderness that he tried to hide. A smile played upon her lips as she went back to enjoying the views.
"He likes Chinese food."
The Vulcan glanced at her, surprised by the non-sequitur. He didn't ask her to clarify who she was speaking of. Overhead, the pilot's voice informed them that they were entering the outer atmosphere and beginning their descent.
Planet-side: Vulcan, Starfleet Base - Sato Campus, year 2246
It was evening on Vulcan when his shift supervising the Enterprise repairs came to an end. Currently, Sulu was on duty at conn; back at the base, Jim Kirk quietly entered the ambassadorial suite but walked past his shared bedroom, mindful that Bones had probably just gotten to sleep. The man needed every moment of it, as far as he was concerned. The day shift had started with engineers taking a tumble when a walkway decided to collapse, followed by a full-scale medical emergency that afternoon when flammable materials from a cannibalized torpedo caught fire in the main cargo hangar. Needless to say, Sickbay had been overrun.
After his shower, Jim followed the delicious smell wafting from the kitchenette he'd noticed coming in. It had already been tidied up but a covered plate was left for him beside a full pitcher of blue-colored juice. Jim sighed as he lifted the cover; a perfectly wholesome salad that looked about as appetizing as cardboard. Knowing the caterers wouldn't introduce anything harmful to Humans, he tried the drink instead. It was kind of like pineapple to his surprised pleasure, and Jim poured himself a second glass before looking to see if anyone was up.
A low light was shining in the living area. Jim thought it had been left on for him until soft strains of music drifted up the stairs.
Looking pale and uneasy, Chekov was lying on the couch with his arm flung over his forehead. Sitting in the adjacent armchair, Spock was strumming a Vulcan lyre, like the one he kept on board the Enterprise except that this one appeared older, more worn - and Jim couldn't put a finger on it but it sounded different somehow to what the Vulcan usually tuned it to.
With unnerving precision, Spock turned to face him despite Jim trying his hardest to be quiet. Waving for the man to continue, he fell into the armchair opposite. It was of Vulcan design thus hard as a rock, but several pillows which hadn't been there when he left for his shift added some much needed comfort. Jim wondered who he had to thank for this, Spock or Sabek.
The Vulcan ended the tune. "Good evening, Jim."
"Hey," he smiled tiredly.
On the couch, Chekov opened his eyes in response to the whispering, took in the fact that it was his captain and not the feared Doctor McCoy, and closed them again.
"Are you aware of Mister Torosian's current status, captain?"
"He's stable - didn't Bones update you when he came back?"
"Doctor McCoy was in no state for conversation."
In short, Spock didn't have the heart to pester the exhausted doctor for all the details like regulations insisted a proper First Officer should. "Torosian is fine, all the others too, the Academy hospital is holding everyone overnight. We're scheduled for a visit tomorrow - how's your arm?"
Pushing up his left sleeve, Spock held up his arm to show off the pseudo-skin patches, "Merely superficial damage."
Being first on the scene, the Vulcan hadn't held back on diving into the carnage to offer assistance to crew pinned underneath the wreckage, in turn getting quite a few nasty scrapes and cuts. Jim had heard about him being injured of course, but by then he'd been ankles deep in damage control while Spock went off to deliver the one unlucky crewman who'd managed to break a hip, an arm and a leg to the Vulcan Academy Hospital.
"Still, take it easy; I'm sure Bones would agree with me that you need a day off." As he said this, Jim frowned, his eyes raking down Spock's body and noting what the Vulcan was wearing. He knew what the man wore to relax, and those slim-fit trousers with matching charcoal jacket weren't it. The Vulcan looked like he was dressed to go out. Jim wondered what was happening tonight.
"I'm surprised you're still up. You and Chekov were both supposed to be asleep hours ago."
"I believe Mister Chekov is asleep."
They both turned to where the young ensign lay on the couch. In support of Spock's observation, Chekov gave a soft little snore before shifting to curl up on his side away from them.
"Is he okay?"
"Mister Chekov had retreated to his private room for rest but was unable to due to nausea and migraine symptoms. Doctor M'Benga diagnosed a mild case of Exoplanet Adaptation Syndrome."
He winced, because poor Chekov - being told you were somewhat allergic to the whole damn planet when you had to stay there for another two months had to suck. "We could send him back to the ship."
It wouldn't be unusual. Despite recommendations that living on the planet as opposed to staying on the ship while repairs were in progress was psychologically stabilizing, Scotty had packed up after his mandated week of shore leave and went back to his usual quarters, insistent that the repair effort would be best served by his continual presence in case of any mishap. Since they were actually on schedule, there was probably some truth to that.
"It is under consideration but for the moment, Mister Chekov is confined to the base until further notice."
Jim raised his eyebrows, surprised. "No hypo-shot? Usually I'm the last person to recommend it, but I would have thought letting Chekov get some rest would be the highest priority."
"As there is a need to monitor the progression of his symptoms, Doctor M'Benga decided against pain relief as they may dull the senses."
Jim nodded and studied the lyre comfortably cradled in Spock's arms, a smile trying to stretch his lips despite his best efforts to control it; the last thing he wanted was to come off as mocking. "So you decided to play him a lullaby."
"I offered to monitor Mister Chekov," Spock corrected dryly, "and help alleviate his symptoms."
"Of course," Jim conceded, fond.
A familiar look of warmth passed between them and suddenly it was like he was back there, alone with Spock in his quarters aboard the Enterprise, the eve of the battle with Nero bearing down upon his shoulders and adrenalin pumping his veins, heightening every sensation. Memories of what Spock tasted like, the heat of their bodies pressed together, came flooding back after being locked away for so long. Jim exhaled, a buzz of anticipation coursing through him, because here they were again, alone together.
On the sofa, Chekov let out a sigh as he shifted into a more comfortable position.
Well, he thought with resignation, almost alone.
Spock silently rose, setting the lyre down in his vacated spot. "Though it is considered late by shipboard time, the evening has just begun in this part of the hemisphere and it would be a pleasing change to partake a meal at a local restaurant. If you are not averse to the suggestion, company would be much appreciated."
Smiling, Jim slid his fingers across the outstretched hand and felt an almost inappropriate thrill when he was easily pulled to his feet. "You read my mind, Mister Spock."
It had been a long time, so long that he felt almost giddy to be in the Vulcan's presence.
A week of mandated leave with Bones watching over the senior officers like a hawk had turned into long busy weeks negotiating for resources with local Starfleet, managing the rehabilitation of the injured and a gazillion other things. Despite attempts to continue with regular patterns of life by keeping a shipboard timetable, living on a planet with its own times of day made it close to impossible to keep up - and in turn, their meet ups for dinner ceased. Jim had forced himself to be content with lingering glances over shared group meals, official repair progress checks around the Enterprise which gave the occasional moment of privacy, and a few games of chess. It wasn't the same though, since the senior staff shared their living space. While it was nice having M'Benga or Chekov commentate on games, Jim missed the fascinating rambling conversations that occurred over the chessboard when it was just them.
"So, where are we going?"
The Vulcan opened his mouth to speak but then seemed to reconsider.
"It would be easier to simply show you," he finally stated.
Taking the quick route to the transporters, he stayed behind as Spock spoke quietly to the clerk on duty. The Vulcan, dressed in the standard navy knee-length stiff tunic and trousers of public servants, seemed politely interested in their destination. If he thought it was odd for a Vulcan male involved in classified Starfleet business to be taking a senior Starfleet officer out, he didn't twitch an eyebrow.
Moments after stepping onto the platform, the room dissolved in a flurry of light and they appeared in a busy transporter terminal, being ushered to the left by a young woman in a feminine version of the same navy uniform.
"This way," Spock murmured at his shoulder in the crowd, "Stay close, Jim."
WELCOME TO K'LAN-NE, the signage on the disembarkation mat announced.
Jim was surprised; K'lan-ne was the biggest city on this island and at three thousand klicks, it wasn't exactly close to the Starfleet base. Perhaps though, he had to readjust his concept of 'local restaurant' - Vulcan was almost twice Earth's size and possessed uninhabited areas large enough to encompass the United States.
Shuffling along behind Spock and trying to avoid elbowing anyone, Jim only noticed the crisp script over the grand arched exits when he was directly underneath them. PLA'KHUSH SQUARE, it stated in severe blocky Standard. He grinned because, well, Pla'khush Square? That Vulcans would call a place Sapphire Square seemed uncharacteristically romantic. But before he had a chance to ask, they exited the building and hit the stairs. Any questions that Jim had were forgotten at the view.
An expansive open-air public square lay before them, guarded by striking pillars of red stone that towered over visitors and buildings alike. Visually struck by the engineering gone into their construction, he could sense the immensity of what had been attempted. Squinting, he realized one could just make out the image of a Vulcan in each pillar of rock, facial features and sweeping robes somehow disappearing into the furrows and lines of the stone to merge with it. With the well-positioned lights highlighting groves and lengthening shadows, it was pretty dramatic.
"They are representations of ancient gods, from before the time of Awakening."
"Ancient gods?"
"The ancient Vulcans practiced paganism," Spock explained, his voice falling into a rhythmic cadence. "They worshiped anthropomorphic deities that represented concepts such as war, death and peace, through acts of animal sacrifice and ritualistic competitions, not unlike that of the ancient Greco-Roman culture of Earth."
"Did you memorize that from the travel advisory?"
Spock shot him a look that sent laughter bubbling up through his chest. Charmed by how hard the Vulcan was trying, Jim swallowed down his guffaws and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, you promised me dinner."
Jim Kirk had eaten a lot of food on a lot of planets in his three years careening about the galaxy, but at the end of the day, his favorite was still a toss between Chinese and a juicy steak. Unfortunately it was pretty rare to come across a decent Chinese restaurant, and cows didn't like space. This one was, naturally, situated near an annex campus of the Vulcan Science Academy. It was called Pinocchio's and according to Spock, was owned by a Chinese family who had emigrated from Earth. Others would assume that a Chinese restaurant would be run by Humans, but Jim learned the hard way to always check. Personally, he had enjoyed the Tellar attempt at Shandong chicken - though it was made with some local bat creature - but as a San Francisco native and the great-great-grandson of a proud Chinese-Filipino restaurateur, Sulu had been driven to tears. The visit to Bones after they had discovered the bat wasn't entirely safe for Human consumption was well, messy.
Of course, since Spock selected the restaurant, he knew the food would be safe; and since Spock had spent years living in San Francisco with Chinatown a shuttle hop away, he was certain that the place would be somewhat decent. The moment he stepped inside, Jim felt like he'd been transported back to Madam Chao's, just adjacent to the main gates of Starfleet Academy, a favorite haunt of students and instructors alike with its decent servings of noodles, vegetarian steamed buns, black bean beef, and fried rice. Whatever was cooking in the kitchen smelled delicious, and the hostess herself, a short slip of a woman with an accent as distinctive as Chekov's Russian, ran the joint like a drill sergeant.
Although most diners were Human or passed for one, Jim spotted several Vulcans, a merry group of Denobulans and even a Tellarite trio as they were led through the restaurant. Unlike Madam Chao's, this place was not full of mismatched furniture and tacky posters. Crisp white linens, jade-green china, and gorgeous twisting-crystal tumblers imported from Parvonis IV made up the tables - which made Jim squirm because despite hoping this was a date, he wasn't expecting anything fancier than Madam Chao's when Spock announced they were having Chinese. Soon however, he forgot about his discomfort, thoroughly distracted by the delicious food.
Though meatless, the mini steamed bun with its mashed chestnuts and pickled vegetables was delicious, and Jim ate two before moving onto the deep-fried garlic yam balls coated in Vulcan spices. They talked but if someone were to question him later, Jim had no idea what they talked about. Deciding to try the local brew, he drank more than he should have since his tolerance wasn't as it used to be; it wasn't enough to make him stupid but he was clearly tipsy. Soon, questions about the history of the area (ancient settlement - archaeological excavations were still in progress) and how Spock knew about this place (he remembered coming here as a child with his mother and her friends when they visited) turned into more random conversation. It jumped from Andorian mating rituals to how twisting-crystal was invented then Jim declared he would gladly become a vegetarian if he got to eat these delicious steamed buns every day and whether Vulcans should actually be classified as vegans, and then somehow he started yammering about the croaky pipes in the old house back in Iowa, and mystifyingly, baked goods.
"You know what I miss most since leaving for Starfleet?" Jim chased his spoonful of vanilla yarduk pudding across his bowl, "A decent oven. There's nothing like freshly baked bread."
"There were several bakeries on site at the Academy, and the Enterprise possesses a galley kitchen as well as replicators which can be programmed to produce any type of bread you desire."
"I know, I know - but it's not the same, Spock! Back in Iowa, I made my own bread. I used to knead the dough till it was crying for relief and lemme tell you, it makes a difference - oh the texture! And there's that smell, that freshly baked yeasty smell…hmm…" Jim groaned in remembered pleasure around his spoonful of pudding.
"This discussion is most illogical," Spock declared, "And you are inebriated."
Looking up, Jim opened his mouth to argue otherwise - on both statements - but the sight before him closed up his throat.
Sitting primly in his chair and looking as attentive as if he were with the most interesting person in the galaxy, Spock bore a serene expression, that non-smile where his eyes were alight with an almost mischievous gleam and his lips were curled at the edges. To anyone else, he was probably as aloof as always, but Jim knew his Vulcan officer, his friend, too well to mistake it for anything else; Spock was indulging him.
As it sank in, Jim ducked away from the watchful gaze, alcohol-flushed cheeks heating up even more, "I'm telling you, freshly baked bread - ambrosia."
"Then when our mission is complete, you shall have to induct me into its appreciation, so that I may make my own judgment."
Jim tried to stop his smile from going dopey but it probably went there anyway. It didn't matter though as nothing could be worse than Spock's first impression of him - a face-down at a disciplinary hearing on opposing sides followed by an all-out hair-tugging fist-slugging fight? But they were friends anyway.
And after tonight, well… they would become something more.
"You have yourself a date, Mister Spock."
With a look that said he would be holding Jim to that promise, Spock signaled for their bill.
Leaving the restaurant through the back door with assistance - let's just say that being tipsy in heavier gravity was not good - he was in the middle of declaring that they needed to come again and to bring the gang next time when he suddenly stopped speaking, unable to believe his eyes. Hanging up high to the far left side was a moon, heavy and round, glowing brighter than even the biggest harvest moon back home.
"Okay, Spock, tell me if I'm wrong, but I am pretty sure Vulcan doesn't have a moon."
"You are correct, Jim, that is the sister planet, T'Kuht."
"The Watcher," he translated, frankly amazed that his synapses were still firing.
"Yes," Spock agreed, giving him an appreciative glance. "It is in an eccentric orbit which brings it close enough to see with the naked eye approximately once every fourteen point six Human years."
"It's beautiful."
A companionable silence fell as they wandered down the street.
"In fourteen years time," Spock murmured, close enough that their shoulders brushed, "It shall be even closer, an event which has not occurred since Earth's mid-twentieth century. At that time, the planet will fill half the sky if viewed from the Mount Seleya observatory, and for twenty one days, the night sky will appear as bright as dusk."
Tucking his hands into his pocket to control his urge to touch, Jim felt abruptly and uncomfortably sober. What his first officer was speaking of never came to pass - for them at least - as in another fourteen years, the planet was already gone. Though Spock's face remained serene, he had to be thinking the same thing; they were walking on a planet that didn't exist, enjoying an astral event that didn't happen anymore. Pensive, Jim examined the artfully patterned lighting that spilled across the paving stones under their feet, unsure what to say. The patterns were lovely and fittingly pragmatic, lighting up the streets yet not obtrusive enough to be distracting.
"It's a renowned tourist attraction," Spock continued, a faraway look on his face, "and will draw many visitors."
The Vulcan turned back to face him abruptly, as if shaking off his thoughts. "If you are amiable we may travel to Raal, there is a well-known lookout point at a science outpost in the middle of the Sas-a-shar desert."
Dinner, a walk and stargazing in the desert on an alien planet - Jim tried to school his face because seriously, was there a checklist somewhere that Spock was ticking off?
"You realize that's on another continent."
"There is a transporter station at the science outpost. I have already checked with the relevant authorities and was informed that all may freely access the public areas, including the viewing platform and auxiliary observatory."
He might as well have said something romantic for the way that Jim felt in response, because dammit, the man had obviously thought this through.
The reflective glow of T'Kuht appeared even brighter in the desert. Painfully aware that he was witnessing something that no one would ever seen again in their universe, Jim memorized every passing moment until they sank into his very bones. Spock shared in his reverence, their elbows brushing. Below them, the usually red and brown desert were shades of mauve and blue in T'Kuht's soft light. They were not alone, as other Starfleet personnel were also enjoying the view, their general chatter and coos of awe filling in the silence, but no one bothered them.
After some minutes had passed, Jim bumped their shoulders together, "Dinner was great, but just so you know, don't think I've forgotten the fact that you nerve-pinched me."
"I do not know to what you refer."
"I'm still including it in my log. HQ is gonna know about it. There may even be a meeting."
"I would never expect otherwise."
There was something in the delivery, in the body language, in the expression on Spock's face. Jim wanted to lean forward and catch those lips with his, to finish what they had started on the ship, to run his hand over the curve of that angular cheek, cup that sharp jaw, and curl his fingers in the short hairs at the nape of Spock's neck.
Feeling as though he were stepping past some invisible barrier, Jim touched the elbow closest to him and slipped his hand into Spock's. There was a moment of hesitation but then Spock's fingers closed around his, strong and certain. Something inside him gave a sharp painful tug. Unlike the scenarios Jim had imagined, no one turned to look at them. In fact no one took any notice at all.
Spock glanced down to where their hands were clasped, hidden by the closeness of their bodies. "Please be sure to include your report that I stand by my decision; under the circumstances, it was the only logical solution."
Jim almost laughed. "Well, then you'll like this part."
Grabbing Spock by the back of the neck, he kissed him. At first the angle was all wrong and there was no response, but then Spock was pulling on the hand he still held and his other hand was clutching at Jim's hipbone, lips soft and yielding as the kiss deepened till they were sharing breath, entranced by one another. They broke apart at the sound of people approaching. Jim panted for air as he pulled away, a little shocked that it had escalated so quickly. Blushing, he turned his attention back at the night sky. Besides him, Spock did the same, a faint green tinting his cheeks.
For a long time they stood there, contemplating the vista above even as their skin pricked with the frisson of desire that simmered between them, unmoving except to point out a star here, a comet there. Sometimes, these movements lead to brushes between hand and elbow, or more dangerously, hand with hand; there was always a brief entanglement of their fingers during these encounters. Finally, Jim noticed that people were starting to leave.
"It's late," he murmured, not watching to break the spell over them but having to say it - because it was late, and despite how wonderful this entire evening had been he was tired. He could only imagine how tired Spock must be as he'd been awake for even longer.
"Very."
"You have a shift starting in five hours."
"I need significantly less rest than yourself."
As much as he wanted to stay here, he would never forgive himself if Spock was so tired for his shift that he might endanger himself or others. "Spock -"
"Jim," Spock countered, "Ten additional minutes shall not impinge upon the quality of my rest."
"Ten minutes," Jim agreed, because he didn't want to leave either in all honesty.
It only took another five minutes for the place to almost completely empty, and free from the inhibition of witnesses, they resumed what they had begun.
28 continued here
Pairing: nu!K/S and counterparts
Rating: Teen
Notes: for a PROMPT on the old kink meme.
SUMMARY: As the Enterprise crew take downtime on Vulcan and begin the process of repairing their ship, Kirk and Spock take the time to clear the air between them. Meanwhile Winona Kirk mulls over her decision for young Jimmy's future - to send him to Tarsus IV or keep him on Vulcan - and seeks out both Spock and the Lady Amanda Grayson.
Betas : karmic_fic (who has been with me from the beginning and seriously went all out Vulcan on me and made all these awkward sentences so much more awesome and eloquent, but couldn't beta this part yet deserves the mention) and
ate (who has acted as my stress ball as I constantly bombarded her with all my brain storming and various incomplete drafts) and the VIP for part 28, newaunty (who arrived on the scene at the end to help with the beta, and went above and beyond in not only looking over this part and the epilogue but the entire fic for me so I could put it on AO3) and amothea (who did a readthrough for part 28) -
Planet-side: Vulcan, Starfleet Base - Sato Campus, year 2246
The last and only time he visited the desert planet, Jim Kirk had been preoccupied with making sure he didn't plummet to his death. There had also been Romulans trying to kill him, Romulans trying to blow up the planet, and Sulu falling without a chute. While he hadn't the luxury to take note of his surroundings, he couldn't miss the heat; hitting the planet's atmosphere had been like jumping into a blast furnace. There was nothing quite like it - Vulcan was scorching. This time though, the searing wind that whipped across his face seemed more like a greeting, carrying with its caress bittersweet half-remembrances.
Not his home; he had never been here, barring that one space dive. But Ambassador Spock had.
Despite Bones' warnings, Jim lowered his cloak's hood, seduced by the sultry hot breeze and the faint scent of ozone generated by distant sand storms that sprung up constantly like afternoon showers in Singapore. The echo of transferred memory sang through him, stirring up a swell of adoration.
Ahead, their greeting party approached; a Vulcan woman with impeccable hair dressed in a desert version of the enlisted personnel uniform led a disgruntled Captain Pike in his regulation ensemble. Having no such discomforts in his airy non-regulation robes, Jim grinned and leaped off the last step of the shuttle onto solid ground, duffel bag slung over one shoulder. As soon as his group cleared the flight zone, the shuttle doors snapped shut and blinkers flashed to warn everyone of its imminent takeoff.
"Welcome to Vulcan," Pike shouted over the whine of shuttle engines cycling, "This way!"
Jim glanced back to check on his people then fell into step with the older man, who stalked with purpose to a flat building emblazoned with a faded Starfleet Medical symbol. The triple-door airlock entry system kept out the heat and dust to the relief of many, but Jim didn't like how it also killed the scents so fundamental to the planet - the tang of ozone and a faint charcoal burn.
"This is Doctor Lee," Pike introduced, gesturing to an Asian man who turned from his datapad to examine the arrivals with great interest, "your crew will need to be checked over before being allowed to wander the base."
"Oh thank the Lord," Bones groaned, immediately accosting Doctor Lee by seizing the man's shoulders. "My good man, just show me where the tri-ox is."
Jim wondered if he should step in as Bones managed to brow-beat Doctor Lee into giving him access to the tri-ox and letting him in on inoculations, for he insisted the crew was his business; while Doctor Lee would only see them this once, he'd be stuck with them.
"I thought you said he was only rude when being fired at."
"Actually, this is him polite," Jim hid a laugh at the incredulous look on the older man's face.
"Why in the world did you make him your CMO?"
Before he could answer, a new voice cut in; "Captain Pike."
Spinning around, Jim found himself face to face with an elderly Vulcan man with gray hair and a craggy well-weathered face. Despite his obviously advanced age, he was the definition of robust and his eyes shone with alertness, his gaze reminding Jim of the way cats looked when hunting for prey. He was clearly older than Ambassador Sarek, and yet not quite as old as Ambassador Spock.
"Ah Mister Sabek, thank you for coming on short notice," Pike smile, "Jim, may I introduce the groundskeeper, Mister Sabek. Mister Kirk here is the commanding officer in charge, and will coordinate with you regarding crew lodgings."
Sabek gave a deferent nod which Jim responded to with one of his own.
"I come to serve."
"Your service honors us," Jim replied on rote.
If Sabek thought it was strange for a Human to know the ritual words, the groundskeeper didn't bring it up as Pike left them to welcome the next batch of arrivals. The Vulcan immediately launched into a detailed description of their accommodations, the Syrran building, which was on the very outskirts of the Sato base. With full medical facilities, a transporter station and public areas, the complex was entirely self-sufficient, powered by on-site solar collectors and even had closed environmental systems just like one would find on the Enterprise. It had once been the base's main housing, hewn out of rock for camouflage as its construction period fell during the Romulan-Earth War. The continual expansion of Starfleet presence once the Federation Charter had been signed meant that within a decade, it had been outgrown. Despite the clinical language, Jim could tell that there was a sentimental attachment for groundskeeper, and Sabek was pleased to see it inhabited once more.
"It is directly connected to the Starfleet transporter network, but there is no direct connection to Shikahr. The only external connection available is the terminal in K'lan-ne; from there, one may travel to Vomeek Plaza in Raal to reach the main continent, before traveling onwards to Shikahr. Two transport monitors shall be on duty at all times..."
The Vulcan handed him a data card as he spoke on, which Jim gratefully accepted. While his memory was good, this was a lot of information to absorb and unlike Lieutenant 0718, his brain was not part machine.
"Here are the details of the transporter network, contact details for key support personnel, codes for the food synthesizers and industrial replicators, various catering arrangements available if needed, and blueprint specifications for your lodgings, Captain."
"Thank you, Mister Sabek."
"If you will attend to your medical requirements now," the groundskeeper said pointedly, "we shall begin room assignments."
"Of course," Jim felt his mouth stretch into an irrepressible grin.
Sabek's eyebrows quirked pointedly, obviously of the mind that the young Human captain wasn't moving fast enough. Spinning on his heel, Jim apologetically cut into the queue for the tri-ox injection and wondered if he'd just discovered a new universal truth: if you wanted a job done right, you didn't do it yourself - you got a Vulcan to help you.
USS Enterprise, currently docked at 40 Eridani-A Starfleet Construction Yard, year 2246
"Lieutenant, if I may be of assistance."
I'm fine, she almost snapped before recognizing who it was. Nyota Uhura paused in her struggle to shove her regulation travel case into the overhead compartment and turned to face the Vulcan. She waved for him to go ahead. Without even needing to strain himself, Spock reached up to the handle she could barely touch and fitted her case into a sliver of space left on top of all the other bags. Relieved that it was done, she grinned with tired satisfaction.
"Thanks."
Spock tilted his head regally in acknowledgement and took his seat, PADD in hand as he finalized last checks.
"Attention all passengers, shuttle to depart."
A thrum of audible anticipation went through the crew in the forward cabin. Relieved that she was finally off-duty, Uhura sank down next to Scotty who had somehow, amazingly, fallen asleep in the five minutes he'd been onboard. Spock gave the man a look of deep Vulcan aggravation as the Scotsman began to snore opposite him, jaw slack and drooling. Hiding her snicker, she buckled in then cast her memories back to her very first meeting with the chief engineer where she'd called him a vagrant. Uhura smiled begrudgingly as Scotty's snores rose in volume, because while heading to a planet that shouldn't exist remained emotionally draining, at least the company was good.
"Cut him some slack." She met Spock's disapproval with an exasperated smile, "I think he's been awake for four shifts."
"Which is barred by regulation and against direct medical orders set by Doctor McCoy." The young commander studied the chief engineer's haggard face, "The human body is not meant to withstand such stress - I do not understand; Ensign Chekov or myself would have been perfectly capable of understanding his instructions and overseeing their completion."
Uhura read between the lines with fluency and grinned; Spock was worried about the chief engineer. "You know that he's intimidated by you, don't you?"
Spock cocked a considering eyebrow before turning back to his PADD. "I believe that Mister Scott proved since our first encounter that he delights in resisting the coercion of rank."
"True, but he respects you. The prospect of answering with anything less than a perfect all-ready to you is…" Uhura cast about for an appropriate word to make the Vulcan understand how much the engineer respected him - "Daunting."
Spock did not reply, fingers lingering over his datapad. For anyone else, it seemed to be a dismissal but the head of communications only felt fond, being able to differentiate this silence as confusion, not censure. Oblivious to them, Montgomery Scott turned to the window with a grunt, his snores quieting with the change in posture.
"Lieutenant, I have not yet received a reply from the Sector 3 Requisitions Office."
"Chief Sivapakiam says that the quartermaster won't be able to fulfill our request until she receives a shipment from the USS Musashi."
"Has there been any progress on locating replacement phase transition coils?"
Uhura knew she was staring and most probably smiling like a fool. It had been a long day, preparing the ship for lockdown and then getting everyone organized to leave. With only two shipyard shuttles in service, it had taken all day to ferry everyone off. As ship's first officer, Spock was always the last to leave but this was the first time that Uhura had been required to stay behind. Without the usual logistics support of Approach Control to keep track, she'd been needed on the bridge to coordinate. It had been a full shift of busy work, so frankly, she was behind on self-reflection time. She imagined that was doubly true for Spock - and yet he was calm, even comfortable. It was a good look for him and though she had expected the successful completion of their mission to be cathartic, she wondered if…
Well, she imagined that there was nothing quite the same as meeting your own alternate self to reframe one's perspective.
The Vulcan's typing paused. "Lieutenant?" He prompted.
"The USS Erzsebet lost their warp plasma distribution manifold, and they have priority. Also the USS Montballen needs new phase transition coils for all their cargo transporters, so we will have to wait for the next convoy shipment." Uhura leaned forward, unable to keep her observation to herself, "You seem happy."
Spock looked up, taken off guard by the sudden declaration. Just as quickly, he turned his gaze away and tried to refocus. Was he that obvious?
Reaching out, Uhura placed a comforting hand upon the jut of his knee like she sometimes would when they talked - a moment after, she was reminded of the gesture's intimacy and pulled away before it could grow awkward. "I'm glad."
Though there was no agreement, the Vulcan made no direct verbal refutation either, "The mission is not over, Nyota."
No, it wasn't. Uhura allowed her gaze to drift out the side viewport. In all the fictionalizations or documentaries of Starfleet, this next part was rarely covered. They'd already laid the dead to rest and triaged the injured, but now came the months in between the climax and the epilogue: recovery. It was a crucial time for both ship and crew, and in their unique situation, the beginning of a new mission: to find a way home. It was possibly an even more harrowing exercise than tracking down and containing the Narada.
While that had threatened destruction and mortal peril, and demanded both daring and courage, this rested on their resolve and intellect, and a good dose of luck. Despite being safely ensconced in Federation space, they were under express orders to isolate themselves from any Starfleet personnel and minimize interactions with the civilian population, and would embark on repairing the Enterprise without logistical support. Overall their chances of returning to their timeline was theoretical at best and whimsical at worst.
Spock abruptly straightened. "Lieutenant - Uhura- Nyota."
With silent astonishment, she realized that he was stammering.
"As a friend, it is my wish to seek your advice on a private matter."
Nyota Uhura waited patiently, recognizing that this was unusual, perhaps even a pivotal moment in their personal association.
After a terse huff of breath, Spock began. "Though it was unwise to speak of a future made irrelevant by the many things that have happened in our timeline, I nevertheless conversed with Ambassador Spock at the conclusion of our maiden voyage…"
Feeling a growing sense of both dread and fascination, Uhura listened - and tried to imagine what a meeting between the Spock she knew and the one whom she had heard about from Kirk would be like, what meeting her own self from a hundred years in the future would be like. It was fantastical, something from a story.
"He informed me that in his timeline, he had a professional and personal relationship with the captain, and urged me to consider the benefits that our continued acquaintance could bring to Starfleet, and myself personally. He was confident…that despite our conflicting personalities and mindsets, we were uniquely enabled to urge one another to our full potential."
The barest suggestion of wonderment and confusion in equal measures creased his brow, both remembered and afresh.
"He expressed that despite his action having robbed me a future of some if not all that he knew, he did not desire to deprive me of the revelation of all that the captain and myself could accomplish together, a…friendship that would define us both in ways that I could not yet imagine."
It almost felt too much, to listen to all of this. In a few sentences, he had reframed her entire perception on the remainder of their relationship after that very first mission. Uhura noted the clear avoidance of Jim Kirk's name.
"I didn't know you two had met."
The implications of everything revealed by Spock stretched between them in an awkward silence.
"It was inadvertent."
She didn't point out that sticking around after the initial shock of meeting himself to speak to the ambassador wasn't inadvertent. Nor their discussion turning to Kirk. Nor that that his elder self had attempted some Vulcan form of matchmaking to get Spock to accept his commission. And that it had worked.
"When did you talk?"
"We encountered one another, at the shuttle bay, a week prior to the departure for New Vulcan."
A few days before the Enterprise was due to jet off, and two weeks after she had already accepted her commission, under the impression that they were going to maintaining a long-distance relationship.
Looking as aggrieved as a Vulcan had any right to be - which is to say, not enough to calm a frustrated Human on the receiving end - Spock met her eyes, solemn. "I did not contrive to hide these facts from you, though you may come to that conclusion. I understood the ambassador's benevolent intentions, but I believed that my future could not be determined by his past - my future is my own, independent from his…"
But, she thought, there was always a 'but.'
She wasn't angry, disillusioned maybe, and perhaps even slightly petulant. Even if she had ended the relationship, she had at least thought Spock was serious enough about them to have considered her in his decision to be on the Enterprise.
"Was he right?" She asked, bitter.
A second later, she felt juvenile and wished she could take it back. Though she didn't know the ambassador, she knew Captain James Tiberius Kirk, a man wholly different from the Jim Kirk who had tried to pick her up. While she may have scoffed once upon a time at the idea that he could be of consequence to anyone, she respected him too much after three years of service to summarily dismiss it. She would go to the ends of the galaxy for him, and couldn't fault Spock if he felt the same.
"His idea had merit," Spock admitted, sotto voce. "Though I do not believe he meant for me to pursue the relationship beyond its bearing upon my career."
Oh.
As a communications officer, Uhura knew that accurate comprehension of a conversation was as much about what was being said as what wasn't being said. Her expertise in communications and personal experience with Spock had served her well in deciphering the science officer, but in this very moment, she doubted her interpretation.
Holy Asimov on a pogo stick, was he saying what she thought he was saying?
"The society we inherited lived with the aftermath of unprecedented devastation. I was…enticed, by the notion of achieving the vision set out by the ambassador. And freed from the burdens of rebuilding the Vulcan civilization by his undoubtedly more experienced presence in my stead, I accepted my commission." Spock spoke reluctantly, so quiet that he sometimes dipped below the humdrum of background conversation and she strained to hear him. "I did not expect an easy transition upon the Enterprise, and for a time, I was correct. The captain…perplexed me, and I believe that I perplexed him in return."
Uhura would have snorted at that understatement if she wasn't distracted by the conclusion that Spock appeared to be leading her towards.
"When this changed, I was surprised, and pleased. Now…" Pausing to shore up his courage, Spock spoke on, giving no hint of nervousness except for an abrupt break in eye contact, "The captain has signaled that he would be willing to consider possibilities of an intimate relationship."
Bewildered by the direction this conversation had taken, and somewhat blindsided by the revelation that Spock wanted to date someone else and that someone was Jim Kirk, Uhura slumped back against her seat and resisted the urge to exclaim 'Wow' like a fourteen-year old. She wasn't sure how she felt. On one hand it made perfect sense - she had seen the two of them together. And yet on the other, she couldn't understand how this had happened - when had this happened? She knew they were close, but that was like saying Doctor McCoy and Kirk were close, or Sulu and Chekov were close, or Scotty and Keenser were close. She saw them every day and despite their incredible command dynamic and friendship, she hadn't noticed this. And why was Spock even telling her? Sure, it was somewhat polite considering their history but-
In the potent silence, a single snore pierced the tension and deflated it as quickly as it had built up. Scotty had turned from the window, unnoticed by either of them, and had resumed his snoring. Their eyes met and if it were anyone else, they probably would have broken down in giggles, but one only raised an eyebrow while the other grinned.
"Are you asking me for permission?" Uhura probed, trying to understand where this was all coming from. "Spock, you don't need to do that. I mean, more or less, I broke up with you."
"Though our relationship was never formalized and largely exploratory, it was…for me, important."
Touched despite herself, she nodded, "Okay, well, thank you, for telling me - but, it's none of my business. Good luck with Kirk, I mean it."
"I appreciate your restrained approval."
Her smile turned wry.
There was another silence as both officers fell into contemplation.
For Uhura, she arrived at the conclusion that there was an ulterior motive for this discussion, though unsure what, and decided to give Kirk the shovel talk on Spock's behalf once they start seeing each other.
For Spock, he wondered how he came to be here, in this moment. Against his own good judgment, he had come abroad the Enterprise, uncertainty shadowing his every step. But Spock's sense of impending doom gradually gave way to the daily marathon of life aboard with the young captain; Jim Kirk was energy in humanoid form, constantly in motion. He possessed formidable intelligence, acute perception, and despite what his outward behavior would suggest, a ruthlessly logical mind. His attention span was exhausting on one subject, while nonexistent on another, and he was possibly more compulsively curious than Spock. He had enjoyed Jim's company and hadn't expected that. Or to begin telling tales of his planet, his experiments and all the worlds and peoples he had seen traveling with his father, night after night as they mapped stars and explored worlds.
A commotion from the front cabin drew both of them from their thoughts. The heightened emotions thrumming through the other crewmembers had reached a fever pitch now, as everyone seated to portside strained for a glance out the starboard viewports. Uhura turned to the viewport across the aisle and found herself arrested by the sight.
A solidly red orange speck grew larger and larger. No one needed to murmur its name for they all knew; the tangible summation of all their sacrifice; their justification for taking the risk of never being able to get home again:
T'Khasi, Minshara, Ti-Valka'ain, Vulcan.
Uhura spared a small glance at Spock, feeling her eyes tear she caught the hint of tenderness that he tried to hide. A smile played upon her lips as she went back to enjoying the views.
"He likes Chinese food."
The Vulcan glanced at her, surprised by the non-sequitur. He didn't ask her to clarify who she was speaking of. Overhead, the pilot's voice informed them that they were entering the outer atmosphere and beginning their descent.
Planet-side: Vulcan, Starfleet Base - Sato Campus, year 2246
It was evening on Vulcan when his shift supervising the Enterprise repairs came to an end. Currently, Sulu was on duty at conn; back at the base, Jim Kirk quietly entered the ambassadorial suite but walked past his shared bedroom, mindful that Bones had probably just gotten to sleep. The man needed every moment of it, as far as he was concerned. The day shift had started with engineers taking a tumble when a walkway decided to collapse, followed by a full-scale medical emergency that afternoon when flammable materials from a cannibalized torpedo caught fire in the main cargo hangar. Needless to say, Sickbay had been overrun.
After his shower, Jim followed the delicious smell wafting from the kitchenette he'd noticed coming in. It had already been tidied up but a covered plate was left for him beside a full pitcher of blue-colored juice. Jim sighed as he lifted the cover; a perfectly wholesome salad that looked about as appetizing as cardboard. Knowing the caterers wouldn't introduce anything harmful to Humans, he tried the drink instead. It was kind of like pineapple to his surprised pleasure, and Jim poured himself a second glass before looking to see if anyone was up.
A low light was shining in the living area. Jim thought it had been left on for him until soft strains of music drifted up the stairs.
Looking pale and uneasy, Chekov was lying on the couch with his arm flung over his forehead. Sitting in the adjacent armchair, Spock was strumming a Vulcan lyre, like the one he kept on board the Enterprise except that this one appeared older, more worn - and Jim couldn't put a finger on it but it sounded different somehow to what the Vulcan usually tuned it to.
With unnerving precision, Spock turned to face him despite Jim trying his hardest to be quiet. Waving for the man to continue, he fell into the armchair opposite. It was of Vulcan design thus hard as a rock, but several pillows which hadn't been there when he left for his shift added some much needed comfort. Jim wondered who he had to thank for this, Spock or Sabek.
The Vulcan ended the tune. "Good evening, Jim."
"Hey," he smiled tiredly.
On the couch, Chekov opened his eyes in response to the whispering, took in the fact that it was his captain and not the feared Doctor McCoy, and closed them again.
"Are you aware of Mister Torosian's current status, captain?"
"He's stable - didn't Bones update you when he came back?"
"Doctor McCoy was in no state for conversation."
In short, Spock didn't have the heart to pester the exhausted doctor for all the details like regulations insisted a proper First Officer should. "Torosian is fine, all the others too, the Academy hospital is holding everyone overnight. We're scheduled for a visit tomorrow - how's your arm?"
Pushing up his left sleeve, Spock held up his arm to show off the pseudo-skin patches, "Merely superficial damage."
Being first on the scene, the Vulcan hadn't held back on diving into the carnage to offer assistance to crew pinned underneath the wreckage, in turn getting quite a few nasty scrapes and cuts. Jim had heard about him being injured of course, but by then he'd been ankles deep in damage control while Spock went off to deliver the one unlucky crewman who'd managed to break a hip, an arm and a leg to the Vulcan Academy Hospital.
"Still, take it easy; I'm sure Bones would agree with me that you need a day off." As he said this, Jim frowned, his eyes raking down Spock's body and noting what the Vulcan was wearing. He knew what the man wore to relax, and those slim-fit trousers with matching charcoal jacket weren't it. The Vulcan looked like he was dressed to go out. Jim wondered what was happening tonight.
"I'm surprised you're still up. You and Chekov were both supposed to be asleep hours ago."
"I believe Mister Chekov is asleep."
They both turned to where the young ensign lay on the couch. In support of Spock's observation, Chekov gave a soft little snore before shifting to curl up on his side away from them.
"Is he okay?"
"Mister Chekov had retreated to his private room for rest but was unable to due to nausea and migraine symptoms. Doctor M'Benga diagnosed a mild case of Exoplanet Adaptation Syndrome."
He winced, because poor Chekov - being told you were somewhat allergic to the whole damn planet when you had to stay there for another two months had to suck. "We could send him back to the ship."
It wouldn't be unusual. Despite recommendations that living on the planet as opposed to staying on the ship while repairs were in progress was psychologically stabilizing, Scotty had packed up after his mandated week of shore leave and went back to his usual quarters, insistent that the repair effort would be best served by his continual presence in case of any mishap. Since they were actually on schedule, there was probably some truth to that.
"It is under consideration but for the moment, Mister Chekov is confined to the base until further notice."
Jim raised his eyebrows, surprised. "No hypo-shot? Usually I'm the last person to recommend it, but I would have thought letting Chekov get some rest would be the highest priority."
"As there is a need to monitor the progression of his symptoms, Doctor M'Benga decided against pain relief as they may dull the senses."
Jim nodded and studied the lyre comfortably cradled in Spock's arms, a smile trying to stretch his lips despite his best efforts to control it; the last thing he wanted was to come off as mocking. "So you decided to play him a lullaby."
"I offered to monitor Mister Chekov," Spock corrected dryly, "and help alleviate his symptoms."
"Of course," Jim conceded, fond.
A familiar look of warmth passed between them and suddenly it was like he was back there, alone with Spock in his quarters aboard the Enterprise, the eve of the battle with Nero bearing down upon his shoulders and adrenalin pumping his veins, heightening every sensation. Memories of what Spock tasted like, the heat of their bodies pressed together, came flooding back after being locked away for so long. Jim exhaled, a buzz of anticipation coursing through him, because here they were again, alone together.
On the sofa, Chekov let out a sigh as he shifted into a more comfortable position.
Well, he thought with resignation, almost alone.
Spock silently rose, setting the lyre down in his vacated spot. "Though it is considered late by shipboard time, the evening has just begun in this part of the hemisphere and it would be a pleasing change to partake a meal at a local restaurant. If you are not averse to the suggestion, company would be much appreciated."
Smiling, Jim slid his fingers across the outstretched hand and felt an almost inappropriate thrill when he was easily pulled to his feet. "You read my mind, Mister Spock."
It had been a long time, so long that he felt almost giddy to be in the Vulcan's presence.
A week of mandated leave with Bones watching over the senior officers like a hawk had turned into long busy weeks negotiating for resources with local Starfleet, managing the rehabilitation of the injured and a gazillion other things. Despite attempts to continue with regular patterns of life by keeping a shipboard timetable, living on a planet with its own times of day made it close to impossible to keep up - and in turn, their meet ups for dinner ceased. Jim had forced himself to be content with lingering glances over shared group meals, official repair progress checks around the Enterprise which gave the occasional moment of privacy, and a few games of chess. It wasn't the same though, since the senior staff shared their living space. While it was nice having M'Benga or Chekov commentate on games, Jim missed the fascinating rambling conversations that occurred over the chessboard when it was just them.
"So, where are we going?"
The Vulcan opened his mouth to speak but then seemed to reconsider.
"It would be easier to simply show you," he finally stated.
Taking the quick route to the transporters, he stayed behind as Spock spoke quietly to the clerk on duty. The Vulcan, dressed in the standard navy knee-length stiff tunic and trousers of public servants, seemed politely interested in their destination. If he thought it was odd for a Vulcan male involved in classified Starfleet business to be taking a senior Starfleet officer out, he didn't twitch an eyebrow.
Moments after stepping onto the platform, the room dissolved in a flurry of light and they appeared in a busy transporter terminal, being ushered to the left by a young woman in a feminine version of the same navy uniform.
"This way," Spock murmured at his shoulder in the crowd, "Stay close, Jim."
WELCOME TO K'LAN-NE, the signage on the disembarkation mat announced.
Jim was surprised; K'lan-ne was the biggest city on this island and at three thousand klicks, it wasn't exactly close to the Starfleet base. Perhaps though, he had to readjust his concept of 'local restaurant' - Vulcan was almost twice Earth's size and possessed uninhabited areas large enough to encompass the United States.
Shuffling along behind Spock and trying to avoid elbowing anyone, Jim only noticed the crisp script over the grand arched exits when he was directly underneath them. PLA'KHUSH SQUARE, it stated in severe blocky Standard. He grinned because, well, Pla'khush Square? That Vulcans would call a place Sapphire Square seemed uncharacteristically romantic. But before he had a chance to ask, they exited the building and hit the stairs. Any questions that Jim had were forgotten at the view.
An expansive open-air public square lay before them, guarded by striking pillars of red stone that towered over visitors and buildings alike. Visually struck by the engineering gone into their construction, he could sense the immensity of what had been attempted. Squinting, he realized one could just make out the image of a Vulcan in each pillar of rock, facial features and sweeping robes somehow disappearing into the furrows and lines of the stone to merge with it. With the well-positioned lights highlighting groves and lengthening shadows, it was pretty dramatic.
"They are representations of ancient gods, from before the time of Awakening."
"Ancient gods?"
"The ancient Vulcans practiced paganism," Spock explained, his voice falling into a rhythmic cadence. "They worshiped anthropomorphic deities that represented concepts such as war, death and peace, through acts of animal sacrifice and ritualistic competitions, not unlike that of the ancient Greco-Roman culture of Earth."
"Did you memorize that from the travel advisory?"
Spock shot him a look that sent laughter bubbling up through his chest. Charmed by how hard the Vulcan was trying, Jim swallowed down his guffaws and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, you promised me dinner."
Jim Kirk had eaten a lot of food on a lot of planets in his three years careening about the galaxy, but at the end of the day, his favorite was still a toss between Chinese and a juicy steak. Unfortunately it was pretty rare to come across a decent Chinese restaurant, and cows didn't like space. This one was, naturally, situated near an annex campus of the Vulcan Science Academy. It was called Pinocchio's and according to Spock, was owned by a Chinese family who had emigrated from Earth. Others would assume that a Chinese restaurant would be run by Humans, but Jim learned the hard way to always check. Personally, he had enjoyed the Tellar attempt at Shandong chicken - though it was made with some local bat creature - but as a San Francisco native and the great-great-grandson of a proud Chinese-Filipino restaurateur, Sulu had been driven to tears. The visit to Bones after they had discovered the bat wasn't entirely safe for Human consumption was well, messy.
Of course, since Spock selected the restaurant, he knew the food would be safe; and since Spock had spent years living in San Francisco with Chinatown a shuttle hop away, he was certain that the place would be somewhat decent. The moment he stepped inside, Jim felt like he'd been transported back to Madam Chao's, just adjacent to the main gates of Starfleet Academy, a favorite haunt of students and instructors alike with its decent servings of noodles, vegetarian steamed buns, black bean beef, and fried rice. Whatever was cooking in the kitchen smelled delicious, and the hostess herself, a short slip of a woman with an accent as distinctive as Chekov's Russian, ran the joint like a drill sergeant.
Although most diners were Human or passed for one, Jim spotted several Vulcans, a merry group of Denobulans and even a Tellarite trio as they were led through the restaurant. Unlike Madam Chao's, this place was not full of mismatched furniture and tacky posters. Crisp white linens, jade-green china, and gorgeous twisting-crystal tumblers imported from Parvonis IV made up the tables - which made Jim squirm because despite hoping this was a date, he wasn't expecting anything fancier than Madam Chao's when Spock announced they were having Chinese. Soon however, he forgot about his discomfort, thoroughly distracted by the delicious food.
Though meatless, the mini steamed bun with its mashed chestnuts and pickled vegetables was delicious, and Jim ate two before moving onto the deep-fried garlic yam balls coated in Vulcan spices. They talked but if someone were to question him later, Jim had no idea what they talked about. Deciding to try the local brew, he drank more than he should have since his tolerance wasn't as it used to be; it wasn't enough to make him stupid but he was clearly tipsy. Soon, questions about the history of the area (ancient settlement - archaeological excavations were still in progress) and how Spock knew about this place (he remembered coming here as a child with his mother and her friends when they visited) turned into more random conversation. It jumped from Andorian mating rituals to how twisting-crystal was invented then Jim declared he would gladly become a vegetarian if he got to eat these delicious steamed buns every day and whether Vulcans should actually be classified as vegans, and then somehow he started yammering about the croaky pipes in the old house back in Iowa, and mystifyingly, baked goods.
"You know what I miss most since leaving for Starfleet?" Jim chased his spoonful of vanilla yarduk pudding across his bowl, "A decent oven. There's nothing like freshly baked bread."
"There were several bakeries on site at the Academy, and the Enterprise possesses a galley kitchen as well as replicators which can be programmed to produce any type of bread you desire."
"I know, I know - but it's not the same, Spock! Back in Iowa, I made my own bread. I used to knead the dough till it was crying for relief and lemme tell you, it makes a difference - oh the texture! And there's that smell, that freshly baked yeasty smell…hmm…" Jim groaned in remembered pleasure around his spoonful of pudding.
"This discussion is most illogical," Spock declared, "And you are inebriated."
Looking up, Jim opened his mouth to argue otherwise - on both statements - but the sight before him closed up his throat.
Sitting primly in his chair and looking as attentive as if he were with the most interesting person in the galaxy, Spock bore a serene expression, that non-smile where his eyes were alight with an almost mischievous gleam and his lips were curled at the edges. To anyone else, he was probably as aloof as always, but Jim knew his Vulcan officer, his friend, too well to mistake it for anything else; Spock was indulging him.
As it sank in, Jim ducked away from the watchful gaze, alcohol-flushed cheeks heating up even more, "I'm telling you, freshly baked bread - ambrosia."
"Then when our mission is complete, you shall have to induct me into its appreciation, so that I may make my own judgment."
Jim tried to stop his smile from going dopey but it probably went there anyway. It didn't matter though as nothing could be worse than Spock's first impression of him - a face-down at a disciplinary hearing on opposing sides followed by an all-out hair-tugging fist-slugging fight? But they were friends anyway.
And after tonight, well… they would become something more.
"You have yourself a date, Mister Spock."
With a look that said he would be holding Jim to that promise, Spock signaled for their bill.
Leaving the restaurant through the back door with assistance - let's just say that being tipsy in heavier gravity was not good - he was in the middle of declaring that they needed to come again and to bring the gang next time when he suddenly stopped speaking, unable to believe his eyes. Hanging up high to the far left side was a moon, heavy and round, glowing brighter than even the biggest harvest moon back home.
"Okay, Spock, tell me if I'm wrong, but I am pretty sure Vulcan doesn't have a moon."
"You are correct, Jim, that is the sister planet, T'Kuht."
"The Watcher," he translated, frankly amazed that his synapses were still firing.
"Yes," Spock agreed, giving him an appreciative glance. "It is in an eccentric orbit which brings it close enough to see with the naked eye approximately once every fourteen point six Human years."
"It's beautiful."
A companionable silence fell as they wandered down the street.
"In fourteen years time," Spock murmured, close enough that their shoulders brushed, "It shall be even closer, an event which has not occurred since Earth's mid-twentieth century. At that time, the planet will fill half the sky if viewed from the Mount Seleya observatory, and for twenty one days, the night sky will appear as bright as dusk."
Tucking his hands into his pocket to control his urge to touch, Jim felt abruptly and uncomfortably sober. What his first officer was speaking of never came to pass - for them at least - as in another fourteen years, the planet was already gone. Though Spock's face remained serene, he had to be thinking the same thing; they were walking on a planet that didn't exist, enjoying an astral event that didn't happen anymore. Pensive, Jim examined the artfully patterned lighting that spilled across the paving stones under their feet, unsure what to say. The patterns were lovely and fittingly pragmatic, lighting up the streets yet not obtrusive enough to be distracting.
"It's a renowned tourist attraction," Spock continued, a faraway look on his face, "and will draw many visitors."
The Vulcan turned back to face him abruptly, as if shaking off his thoughts. "If you are amiable we may travel to Raal, there is a well-known lookout point at a science outpost in the middle of the Sas-a-shar desert."
Dinner, a walk and stargazing in the desert on an alien planet - Jim tried to school his face because seriously, was there a checklist somewhere that Spock was ticking off?
"You realize that's on another continent."
"There is a transporter station at the science outpost. I have already checked with the relevant authorities and was informed that all may freely access the public areas, including the viewing platform and auxiliary observatory."
He might as well have said something romantic for the way that Jim felt in response, because dammit, the man had obviously thought this through.
The reflective glow of T'Kuht appeared even brighter in the desert. Painfully aware that he was witnessing something that no one would ever seen again in their universe, Jim memorized every passing moment until they sank into his very bones. Spock shared in his reverence, their elbows brushing. Below them, the usually red and brown desert were shades of mauve and blue in T'Kuht's soft light. They were not alone, as other Starfleet personnel were also enjoying the view, their general chatter and coos of awe filling in the silence, but no one bothered them.
After some minutes had passed, Jim bumped their shoulders together, "Dinner was great, but just so you know, don't think I've forgotten the fact that you nerve-pinched me."
"I do not know to what you refer."
"I'm still including it in my log. HQ is gonna know about it. There may even be a meeting."
"I would never expect otherwise."
There was something in the delivery, in the body language, in the expression on Spock's face. Jim wanted to lean forward and catch those lips with his, to finish what they had started on the ship, to run his hand over the curve of that angular cheek, cup that sharp jaw, and curl his fingers in the short hairs at the nape of Spock's neck.
Feeling as though he were stepping past some invisible barrier, Jim touched the elbow closest to him and slipped his hand into Spock's. There was a moment of hesitation but then Spock's fingers closed around his, strong and certain. Something inside him gave a sharp painful tug. Unlike the scenarios Jim had imagined, no one turned to look at them. In fact no one took any notice at all.
Spock glanced down to where their hands were clasped, hidden by the closeness of their bodies. "Please be sure to include your report that I stand by my decision; under the circumstances, it was the only logical solution."
Jim almost laughed. "Well, then you'll like this part."
Grabbing Spock by the back of the neck, he kissed him. At first the angle was all wrong and there was no response, but then Spock was pulling on the hand he still held and his other hand was clutching at Jim's hipbone, lips soft and yielding as the kiss deepened till they were sharing breath, entranced by one another. They broke apart at the sound of people approaching. Jim panted for air as he pulled away, a little shocked that it had escalated so quickly. Blushing, he turned his attention back at the night sky. Besides him, Spock did the same, a faint green tinting his cheeks.
For a long time they stood there, contemplating the vista above even as their skin pricked with the frisson of desire that simmered between them, unmoving except to point out a star here, a comet there. Sometimes, these movements lead to brushes between hand and elbow, or more dangerously, hand with hand; there was always a brief entanglement of their fingers during these encounters. Finally, Jim noticed that people were starting to leave.
"It's late," he murmured, not watching to break the spell over them but having to say it - because it was late, and despite how wonderful this entire evening had been he was tired. He could only imagine how tired Spock must be as he'd been awake for even longer.
"Very."
"You have a shift starting in five hours."
"I need significantly less rest than yourself."
As much as he wanted to stay here, he would never forgive himself if Spock was so tired for his shift that he might endanger himself or others. "Spock -"
"Jim," Spock countered, "Ten additional minutes shall not impinge upon the quality of my rest."
"Ten minutes," Jim agreed, because he didn't want to leave either in all honesty.
It only took another five minutes for the place to almost completely empty, and free from the inhibition of witnesses, they resumed what they had begun.
28 continued here