FicPost: Such a Perfect Anachronism
Title: Such a Perfect Anachronism
Beta: cozibizzle (Thank you!); thanks to bloodytastic for reading it ahead of time.
Pairing: Kirk/Spock, mostly theoretical Bones/Kirk
Rating: PG - PG-13
Warnings: Kirk's a slave (even if he doesn't really act like it); for the most part implied (but still present) substance abuse.
Summery: Spock has become a master escapist in a terribly literal way.
A/N: I saw the word 'anachronism' yesterday and looked it up. Cool word (English: you can love it or hate it or be like me (have a highly dysfunctional and confusing relationship that you regret each night as you go to bed)). It combined in my head with a vague recollection with a really awesome prompt from the kink meme a while back about an AU wherein Kirk is Spock's slave, and this was spawned. Also, this may or may not be the basis for a longer fic where I flesh out what's going on a little bit more, but, then again maybe not.
The first time it happens, Spock is beaming down to rescue the captain, and McCoy is hollering at him that there’s no way that Spock can make it in one piece through the shield-like interference surrounding the planet. The interference is thick and resilient to any and all attacks, and Spock has a bare forty-five minutes to locate and retrieve the Captain before he is sacrificed to the blood-thirsty goddess that all who live on the surface below worship.
Mr Scott is tense as Spock ascends the transporter pad. McCoy continues to yell about space madness and Spock’s supposed insanity but stops next to the Scotsman. Spock takes this as a good sign and orders a beam down.
( )
Spock wakes up in a variable nest of pillows and strange furs with a sharp, consistent pain in his side. He’s muzzy headed and can barely open his eyes, swallowing convulsively and attempting to regain his bearings.
Shh.
Spock’s attention drifts more then snaps to the previously unnoticed presence at his side. A tall, but rather delicate blond is kneeling beside him on the hard ground, wearing nothing but a long and beautifully embroidered loincloth and traditional slave bracelets that were indicative of a prized slave on pre-Surak Vulcan.
Pre-Surak Vulcan.
Spock feels it is somewhat redundant when he asks, Where am I?
You’re in your father’s dwelling. The slave makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat when Spock attempts to sit up and places his hands on Spock’s shoulders. He exerts no force, but the meaning is clear enough. Spock hesitates, meeting the slave’s gaze for a moment before he lays back down. He reflects that this boy (no more then fifteen or sixteen Earth years of age) is nothing like the supposed facts that he was taught as a child about slaves, how ‘properly broken’ slaves never met their master’s gaze, never spoke above a whisper and only then when asked a question. A slave that was not properly broken would never wear the bracelets that this one wears as if they are a part of his natural make up.
How did I come to be here?
You were attacked. Don’t you remember? Spock shakes his head once the negative. The slave looks concerned. I checked- it didn’t look like you took any blows to the head, but maybe I-
Who are you?
The question is articulated the instant it properly forms in Spock’s clouded mind. If the boy looked concerned before, now he looks alarmed. There’s something about his expression that is achingly familiar, but Spock cannot place it. Spock’s brow furrows and the boy’s face goes tight, lips pursed. His expression shifts and he appears… frightened.
You don’t know who I am? Spock shakes his head again, too baffled now to do anything else. Spock watches his hands curl into the material of his scant clothing, forming fists.
What is your name?
I don’t have one.
There must be something I call you by, at least.
The blonde cocks his head to the side, considering, and for the first time Spock notices how long his hair is as it tumbles in the direction that his head has gone. In Spock’s state, he has no qualms about mentally comparing it to an avalanche.
He is just opening his mouth to reply when the man Spock supposes is his father strides confidently into the room, pushing aside the cloth that hangs in the entrance in place of a door.
Rich strips of cloth are wound around him, meant to both protect the venerable parts of any vulcan’s body during a fight and speak of his wealth, and importance. His hair is long, dark and straight, and he’s well muscled. He looks far more able and fit then he does in Spock’s own reality, most probably the product of years of fighting to survive, of clawing his way through any contenders to his position within the tribe or rivals for the affections of his mate, whom Spock doubts is his mother.
His father makes short, cursory inquiries as to Spock’s condition, and Spock watches with interest as the slave adopts a submissive posture in his father’s presence. Despite the boy’s apparent show of concern for him, Spock wonders if his father is his real master.
Sarek’s attention shifts abruptly away from the being by Spock’s side to Spock himself, and it is all Spock can do to even attempt to follow what his father is saying. It is all talk of war and vengeance on a rival tribe, the one who attacked Spock. He is discomfited, but cannot say anything.
As Spock listens, the boy unwraps his wound and begins cleaning it, presumably for the second or third time. He’s careful and meticulous, wary of stray sand. His touch is light, and there is only a bare minimum of pain registering to Spock, so he allows the blond to clean the gash in his side, consumed with a numb sort of calm. His attention, despite his best effort, drifts from his father and he’s abstractedly fascinated by how long this nameless slave wears his hair. Spock can see no evidence of an attempt to contain it- it falls in messy, glossy curls to his hips when he stands to get fresh water and a new rag, and when he sits and bends over Spock’s side again, it obscures his face.
If Sarek notices Spock’s lack of attention to what he’s saying, he doesn’t mention it. He leaves in the same brisk, graceful way that he came, and the slave relaxes again as he rebinds Spock’s side.
You call me ‘t’hy’la’.
Spock blinks at the belated, unexpected response. The limited lucidity that is beginning to return to him gives him just enough self control not to say anything yet.
Spock calls this slave t’hy’la as if it were his given name. He does not, cannot, believe it, but there is nothing in the boy’s body language or voice that would indicate an untruth.
Spock takes a single deep breath and releases it slowly, relaxing into the pillows that he is lain on. He gives a single nod, more to himself then the one beside him, but…T’hy’la…beams anyway, unchecked without Sarek’s presence, and Spock finally places him.
Jim.
Jim Kirk, in a universe where Surak failed and the reign of logic never came, is somehow his slave. And in secret or no, Spock is allowed to have him. Spock is allowed to call him his soul mate.
Spock breathes deeply again, ignoring the pain, and takes a moment for himself, to be illogical. Just imagine- The privilege to take Jim into his bed. The right to curl around him and protect him from harm. He could, right now, pull Jim over to him and kiss him with both his hands and mouth, pull him down so Jim was in his arms and simply lie there, petting his hair.
Spock allows himself to consider it, turns his head to look at Jim more fully, but Jim already seems to know what he’s thinking. He grins and sets the bowl of water in his lap aside, and stretches out beside Spock, murmuring, Remember me after all, huh?
Jim’s hair goes everywhere, but it’s cleaner then Spock thought it would be and the curl that lands on his cheek he simply picks up and places back with the majority. Jim rests his head on Spock’s chest and his right hand over where Spock’s heart would be if he were human. Spock eyes close again, fingers sinking into Jim’s hair as the human sighs happily and nuzzles Spock’s bare chest.
He falls asleep, one hand still lost in Jim’s curls and the other resting over his t’hy’la’s hand where it has not moved from over his chest.
( )
Spock! Goddamn it, man! Wake up!
Spock! Oh, god, no! Bones! Fix it, fix him, he’s bleeding out, I can’t-
Shut your goddamn mouth, Jim, and get out of my Sick Bay! I can’t work with you hovering!
Bones, you can’t kick me out! What if he dies? He tried to beam down to save me, I can’t not-
OUT!
( )
Spock comes to and the remarkable gash in his side heals quickly and fades to an unremarkable scar, one of what is now many. When he wakes he comforts the Captain without touching him and watches stoically as Doctor McCoy touches him enough for the both of them. The Captain apparently got away - as always - though no one tells him how, and he doesn’t ask.
Work resumes. It is a consistent schedule that used to be a simple fact of life and strangely comforting in its own right and is now suffocating. During the day, he carefully rebuffs Lieutenant Uhura’s advances and buries himself in work. At night he continues research in the labs long after his colleagues have gone to bed.
Spock and Uhura never officially end their liaison. They just stop. They stop sharing a bed, then eating meals together, talking outside of work, talking while they work, and after that, it is like they don’t exist to each other. Spock feels badly when he stops to think about it, and the entire ship is gossiping about them, but then Spock will spend another night in the labs and it will be forgotten by him again.
The ship is strangely quiet. There are no attacks, the majority of their missions run smoothly. There are no diplomatic incidents, and the Captain even stops inadvertently offending important beings by propositioning them. Spock turns a willfully blind eye to the bite marks that are now visible on the Captain’s neck whenever he turns his head too far to the left or right, and to the smug expression the doctor wears every time he notices this fact. It is most likely a primal satisfaction at the visual conformation of the Captain’s submission to him. Spock thinks he may be developing an facial spasm in the form of an eye twitch.
Almost two months later, he has almost convinced himself that the other Jim was a hallucination of some sort brought on by extreme pain and blood loss. Almost.
All in all, he is painfully restless and bored in a way that he hasn’t ever experienced before. He has a hard time sleeping and meditation is difficult for the first time since he was very young. He thinks that the human colloquialism “going out of his skull” is perfectly applicable to this situation. He cannot even figure out why; Certainly it isn’t Jim-from-the-other-universe. He spent a bare twenty minutes with him, and for most of it he was dazed, and very confused.
And then it happens again.
There is the beginning of a serious storm on the horizon when the Captain calls for beam-up. They can’t stay the night, or even after dark- the minister that they had been negotiating with has six daughters, all of whom are very…friendly…and the man quite understandably would prefer it if four strange men did not spend the night down the hall from his hormonal daughters in a house that has no locks.
It is inevitable, Spock thinks, that something will happen to the Captain. He does not, however, expect what happens to him.
( )
He wakes up to Jim’s voice, murmuring a sleepy Good morning, from where it sounds as if he is resting his head on Spock’s abdomen.
Spock takes a deep breath, and decides to play along until he has more information- whether this is another (or possibly the first) hallucination, or if this is real, in which case Spock does not know for how long he will be here.
So Spock answers in kind, stretching carefully so as not to jostle the human laying on him.
Jim sighs against his skin when Spock begins to stroke his hair again. He has been thinking about it for two months, and if the Spock and Jim of this world are lovers, surely there is nothing wrong with indulging himself?
We need to get up, Jim mumbles, sounding singularly unmotivated. Spock almost frowns before he catches himself, and then has to remind himself that it is not the display of emotion that will provoke questions here, but exactly the opposite.
Spock attempts to scowl first, as it is the facial expression most in line with what he is currently feeling- annoyance, confusion, stubbornness. It feels odd, his mouth twisting in ways that it feels as if it was not meant to.
This appears to be the right thing to do, though, because when Jim lifts his head and catches sight of his face, he laughs, and says That’s the same way you react every day- are you ever going to change?
I suppose not. Even Spock is not certain if he sounds pleased or sullen. Jim chuckles and places a kiss where his cheek has been resting before standing, carefully dancing off of the cushions before he can make them dirty. Spock does not see the point- if he has his way, they will become very dirty, very quickly.
This in mind, Spock manages to catch the cord holding Jim’s so-called-clothes in place, and tug him back. Jim collapses in top of him with an undignified squeak, and Spock immediately tucks him into his side and holds him there, waits patiently until he stops struggling and laughing and saying Spock- what- Spock, we need to get up! Let me- let me up, Spock, I-, before he tilts his face toward him.
Jim’s breathing in uneven, littered with random, out-of-breath chuckles and giggles. The last of his mirth is still present when Spock catches his hand in his own, sliding their fingers together in a way that makes Jim’s breath hitch with arousal, and Jim leans up, laughter dissipating and eyes already half-closed, and Spock closes the remaining two inches easily.
Jim’s lips are slightly chapped, and he tastes of sleep, but Spock couldn’t care less. His t’hy’la is pleasantly cool and busy shifting to tumble over him and pull Spock down on top of him, and Spock can’t think, can’t breathe, all he can hear is Jim’s ragged breathing and yes, gods above Spock, yes…
( )
Spock, not for the first time, wishes very much to strangle both the Captain and Doctor McCoy. However, this is the first time this particular inclination in brought about by them saving his life by somehow locating and beaming him out of an alternate dimension.
Spock watches the lovers laugh and congratulate each other on their brilliance and, for some reason, good looks, and his eye twitch comes back as he begins to plan how he will hide from them in the future.
( )
The next time Spock…visits…he learns many things.
He learns that his mother is his father’s favorite slave and wears the same slave bracelets that Jim does. He learns that he was conceived with his mother’s consent, as much as it can be given.
His mother is not the same person. She is still beautiful, and has a natural intelligence to rival Jim’s, but her education is nearly non-existent. Spock suspects that she is not entirely sane, either, and waves of nausea almost overcome him with every vacant-eyed smile she gives him.
He goes with his father to a gathering of feihans. He is disturbed by their warmongering, but almost despite himself, he offers occasional suggestions, ones that are listened to and respected, and there is no Captain to talk over him.
He learns that his relationship with Jim is only a secret outside their family dwelling. Inside, Amanda and Jim both perform minor tasks, and Amanda enjoys cooking, but for the most part, it is as Sarek says when Spock inquires about Jim's possible education: They are here for our pleasure- they need not concern themselves with tasks too difficult for them. What would be the point, my son? Spock... He is not quite certain how he feels about that.
And there is something he teaches: he teaches Jim his name.
But my name is ‘t’hy’la’.
No, it is Jim. 'T’hy’la’ is what you are.
I don’t understand. You have always called me ‘t’hy’la’! Ever since our young times.
I have neglected to teach you, and for that I apologize, but your name is Jim.
…Spock?
Yes, Jim?
You’ve been talking strangely. Is everything alright?
And Spock doesn’t know how to answer that.
( )
The longer Spock spends going back and forth between the Captain and Jim (The Captain will never be ‘Jim’ to Spock, because he is quite simply not Jim.), the more differences he notices between them.
There is, of course, the physical- Jim is shorter then Spock by several inches, whereas the Captain is eyelevel with his first officer. Jim has an abundance of slightly wild curls atop his head, but has virtually no hair anywhere else; the Captain has very short hair, and in addition to being more muscular then Jim, he’s also rather…hairy.
There are their personalities, of course. Jim is submissive, and becomes pliant when Spock caresses him or brushes his hair. He laughs freely, a clear, beautiful sound, and smiles often- Spock finds it gratifying that he is usually the source of Jim’s good humor. He can be serious, though, and very earnest. He is just as smart as the Captain, if not as well educated. Spock is determined that he will remedy this.
The Captain. The Captain is loud and domineering. He is brash and unethical and appears to be completely oblivious to his own personality flaws. His smiles are fake, forced when he thinks he should be smiling, and his laughter is often bitter, malicious, or hollow. He knows Star Fleet regulations by heart, just as Spock does, yet seems to go out of his way to flout them. He is as earnest as Jim, though, and Spock doesn’t hate him. Rather, Spock (admittedly illogically) resents him for not being Jim. Resents the fact that he is in a relationship with Doctor McCoy, but most of all, he resents Doctor McCoy for not attempting to fix the Captain.
The Captain is broken. Spock does not know what broke him, whether a single catastrophic event or a series of misfortune, but it is McCoy’s place to fix this, to heal his lover, the man he is in love with. It is not Spock’s. Spock is quite occupied with Jim and his double-life as it is, encouraging Jim to speak more freely then he does, and learning to emote there and keep himself closed off here.
( )
Another lull, this time for three months.
Spock had been gritting his teeth and getting on with this life, had been waiting patiently for another ion storm, or electrical interference, or anything else out of the hundreds of thousands of things that could have gone “wrong” and thrown him into what he is coming to think of as his real life. His life with Jim.
He snaps at his old friends, has no patience with ensigns. His work quality deteriorates rapidly and he is detracted all the time. If he didn't know that he was suffering from the prolonged separation from his mate, he would be worried that he was showing the first stages of pon farr
He can’t do it any longer.
Towards the beginning of the fourth month, Spock stays late in the lab again. Not unusual, nowadays (as a matter of fact, most of the science department is almost surprised when they come back in the morning and find that Spock has left), but he sets aside the report that he was writing the second Commander R’leituh leaves for the night.
Spock scrolls rapidly through his personal PADD, stops when he finds the formula he has theorized about. A combination of hallucinogenic chemicals, properly mixed and injected before he meditates could send him back home. Spock has to be careful, though, because while not lethal, it could rapidly become addictive. The danger is not, as with most human drugs, overdosing. It is the danger of staying too long. Of submerging himself too deeply, and loosing himself to madness, both here and there.
But Spock is at the end of his rope, going back and forth between the Captain, who he cannot touch, cannot heal, cannot hold or talk to, and Jim, his dear, sweet Jim, who is utterly baffled.
Jim says that he is falling into deep sleeps, almost like a healing trance, but instead of all of Spock’s energy simply diverting to healing his wounds, he is…blank. There is nothing there. Jim says that he is becoming frightened, that when Spock leaves (though Jim does not know where he goes), his body becomes a lifeless husk. It is not as Spock originally thought- when he leaves, the Spock of that world does not replace him. He believes that the wound that was inflicted upon him when he was attacked was fatal, and that he was sent to replace that world's Spock.
Jim is frightened, and Spock is guilty. He feels he has no choice: he must find a way to stay with Jim.
He has an obligation to the people on the Enterprise, though, and to the federation. He will complete this year and the next, and then remove himself to New Vulcan, where he will find the answer, where he will be able to create an artificial environment that will send him home, to Jim, and there he will stay.
This universe holds no draw for him anymore. The Captain, a Jim that belongs to another man; his tedious work; being caught between Earth and New Vulcan, neither of which welcome him without dispute- they are all things that must be tolerated, nothing more.
He does not think himself illogical for wanting to be with his t’hy’la, for wanting to be among his people, where he is respected for his own power and heritage, for wanting to spend nights knowing that he has Jim and his planet is whole, not a poor, cold, rainy copy of itself.
He has no regrets or second thoughts when he spends a fortnight perfecting and analyzing his drug, his way back.
He locks his quarters, injects himself with a hypo filled with the concoction, and mediates.
( )
This time when he awakens, the room is dark. He feels the cool presence of Jim asleep beside him, breathing deeply and evenly. Spock can almost make out his features in the minimal light- he is naked, now, slave bracelets gleaming weakly in the poor light.
Spock watches him sleep with a perfectly peaceful expression, an unconscious imitation of Jim’s, and observes the way one of Jim’s hands is resting over his own stomach and the other is twined in his hair next to his head. Spock feels…content. He feels at peace for the first time in over a year, and when he next closes his eyes, he does not open them again, drifting into sleep with his Jim.
Beta: cozibizzle (Thank you!); thanks to bloodytastic for reading it ahead of time.
Pairing: Kirk/Spock, mostly theoretical Bones/Kirk
Rating: PG - PG-13
Warnings: Kirk's a slave (even if he doesn't really act like it); for the most part implied (but still present) substance abuse.
Summery: Spock has become a master escapist in a terribly literal way.
A/N: I saw the word 'anachronism' yesterday and looked it up. Cool word (English: you can love it or hate it or be like me (have a highly dysfunctional and confusing relationship that you regret each night as you go to bed)). It combined in my head with a vague recollection with a really awesome prompt from the kink meme a while back about an AU wherein Kirk is Spock's slave, and this was spawned. Also, this may or may not be the basis for a longer fic where I flesh out what's going on a little bit more, but, then again maybe not.
The first time it happens, Spock is beaming down to rescue the captain, and McCoy is hollering at him that there’s no way that Spock can make it in one piece through the shield-like interference surrounding the planet. The interference is thick and resilient to any and all attacks, and Spock has a bare forty-five minutes to locate and retrieve the Captain before he is sacrificed to the blood-thirsty goddess that all who live on the surface below worship.
Mr Scott is tense as Spock ascends the transporter pad. McCoy continues to yell about space madness and Spock’s supposed insanity but stops next to the Scotsman. Spock takes this as a good sign and orders a beam down.
( )
Spock wakes up in a variable nest of pillows and strange furs with a sharp, consistent pain in his side. He’s muzzy headed and can barely open his eyes, swallowing convulsively and attempting to regain his bearings.
Shh.
Spock’s attention drifts more then snaps to the previously unnoticed presence at his side. A tall, but rather delicate blond is kneeling beside him on the hard ground, wearing nothing but a long and beautifully embroidered loincloth and traditional slave bracelets that were indicative of a prized slave on pre-Surak Vulcan.
Pre-Surak Vulcan.
Spock feels it is somewhat redundant when he asks, Where am I?
You’re in your father’s dwelling. The slave makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat when Spock attempts to sit up and places his hands on Spock’s shoulders. He exerts no force, but the meaning is clear enough. Spock hesitates, meeting the slave’s gaze for a moment before he lays back down. He reflects that this boy (no more then fifteen or sixteen Earth years of age) is nothing like the supposed facts that he was taught as a child about slaves, how ‘properly broken’ slaves never met their master’s gaze, never spoke above a whisper and only then when asked a question. A slave that was not properly broken would never wear the bracelets that this one wears as if they are a part of his natural make up.
How did I come to be here?
You were attacked. Don’t you remember? Spock shakes his head once the negative. The slave looks concerned. I checked- it didn’t look like you took any blows to the head, but maybe I-
Who are you?
The question is articulated the instant it properly forms in Spock’s clouded mind. If the boy looked concerned before, now he looks alarmed. There’s something about his expression that is achingly familiar, but Spock cannot place it. Spock’s brow furrows and the boy’s face goes tight, lips pursed. His expression shifts and he appears… frightened.
You don’t know who I am? Spock shakes his head again, too baffled now to do anything else. Spock watches his hands curl into the material of his scant clothing, forming fists.
What is your name?
I don’t have one.
There must be something I call you by, at least.
The blonde cocks his head to the side, considering, and for the first time Spock notices how long his hair is as it tumbles in the direction that his head has gone. In Spock’s state, he has no qualms about mentally comparing it to an avalanche.
He is just opening his mouth to reply when the man Spock supposes is his father strides confidently into the room, pushing aside the cloth that hangs in the entrance in place of a door.
Rich strips of cloth are wound around him, meant to both protect the venerable parts of any vulcan’s body during a fight and speak of his wealth, and importance. His hair is long, dark and straight, and he’s well muscled. He looks far more able and fit then he does in Spock’s own reality, most probably the product of years of fighting to survive, of clawing his way through any contenders to his position within the tribe or rivals for the affections of his mate, whom Spock doubts is his mother.
His father makes short, cursory inquiries as to Spock’s condition, and Spock watches with interest as the slave adopts a submissive posture in his father’s presence. Despite the boy’s apparent show of concern for him, Spock wonders if his father is his real master.
Sarek’s attention shifts abruptly away from the being by Spock’s side to Spock himself, and it is all Spock can do to even attempt to follow what his father is saying. It is all talk of war and vengeance on a rival tribe, the one who attacked Spock. He is discomfited, but cannot say anything.
As Spock listens, the boy unwraps his wound and begins cleaning it, presumably for the second or third time. He’s careful and meticulous, wary of stray sand. His touch is light, and there is only a bare minimum of pain registering to Spock, so he allows the blond to clean the gash in his side, consumed with a numb sort of calm. His attention, despite his best effort, drifts from his father and he’s abstractedly fascinated by how long this nameless slave wears his hair. Spock can see no evidence of an attempt to contain it- it falls in messy, glossy curls to his hips when he stands to get fresh water and a new rag, and when he sits and bends over Spock’s side again, it obscures his face.
If Sarek notices Spock’s lack of attention to what he’s saying, he doesn’t mention it. He leaves in the same brisk, graceful way that he came, and the slave relaxes again as he rebinds Spock’s side.
You call me ‘t’hy’la’.
Spock blinks at the belated, unexpected response. The limited lucidity that is beginning to return to him gives him just enough self control not to say anything yet.
Spock calls this slave t’hy’la as if it were his given name. He does not, cannot, believe it, but there is nothing in the boy’s body language or voice that would indicate an untruth.
Spock takes a single deep breath and releases it slowly, relaxing into the pillows that he is lain on. He gives a single nod, more to himself then the one beside him, but…T’hy’la…beams anyway, unchecked without Sarek’s presence, and Spock finally places him.
Jim.
Jim Kirk, in a universe where Surak failed and the reign of logic never came, is somehow his slave. And in secret or no, Spock is allowed to have him. Spock is allowed to call him his soul mate.
Spock breathes deeply again, ignoring the pain, and takes a moment for himself, to be illogical. Just imagine- The privilege to take Jim into his bed. The right to curl around him and protect him from harm. He could, right now, pull Jim over to him and kiss him with both his hands and mouth, pull him down so Jim was in his arms and simply lie there, petting his hair.
Spock allows himself to consider it, turns his head to look at Jim more fully, but Jim already seems to know what he’s thinking. He grins and sets the bowl of water in his lap aside, and stretches out beside Spock, murmuring, Remember me after all, huh?
Jim’s hair goes everywhere, but it’s cleaner then Spock thought it would be and the curl that lands on his cheek he simply picks up and places back with the majority. Jim rests his head on Spock’s chest and his right hand over where Spock’s heart would be if he were human. Spock eyes close again, fingers sinking into Jim’s hair as the human sighs happily and nuzzles Spock’s bare chest.
He falls asleep, one hand still lost in Jim’s curls and the other resting over his t’hy’la’s hand where it has not moved from over his chest.
( )
Spock! Goddamn it, man! Wake up!
Spock! Oh, god, no! Bones! Fix it, fix him, he’s bleeding out, I can’t-
Shut your goddamn mouth, Jim, and get out of my Sick Bay! I can’t work with you hovering!
Bones, you can’t kick me out! What if he dies? He tried to beam down to save me, I can’t not-
OUT!
( )
Spock comes to and the remarkable gash in his side heals quickly and fades to an unremarkable scar, one of what is now many. When he wakes he comforts the Captain without touching him and watches stoically as Doctor McCoy touches him enough for the both of them. The Captain apparently got away - as always - though no one tells him how, and he doesn’t ask.
Work resumes. It is a consistent schedule that used to be a simple fact of life and strangely comforting in its own right and is now suffocating. During the day, he carefully rebuffs Lieutenant Uhura’s advances and buries himself in work. At night he continues research in the labs long after his colleagues have gone to bed.
Spock and Uhura never officially end their liaison. They just stop. They stop sharing a bed, then eating meals together, talking outside of work, talking while they work, and after that, it is like they don’t exist to each other. Spock feels badly when he stops to think about it, and the entire ship is gossiping about them, but then Spock will spend another night in the labs and it will be forgotten by him again.
The ship is strangely quiet. There are no attacks, the majority of their missions run smoothly. There are no diplomatic incidents, and the Captain even stops inadvertently offending important beings by propositioning them. Spock turns a willfully blind eye to the bite marks that are now visible on the Captain’s neck whenever he turns his head too far to the left or right, and to the smug expression the doctor wears every time he notices this fact. It is most likely a primal satisfaction at the visual conformation of the Captain’s submission to him. Spock thinks he may be developing an facial spasm in the form of an eye twitch.
Almost two months later, he has almost convinced himself that the other Jim was a hallucination of some sort brought on by extreme pain and blood loss. Almost.
All in all, he is painfully restless and bored in a way that he hasn’t ever experienced before. He has a hard time sleeping and meditation is difficult for the first time since he was very young. He thinks that the human colloquialism “going out of his skull” is perfectly applicable to this situation. He cannot even figure out why; Certainly it isn’t Jim-from-the-other-universe. He spent a bare twenty minutes with him, and for most of it he was dazed, and very confused.
And then it happens again.
There is the beginning of a serious storm on the horizon when the Captain calls for beam-up. They can’t stay the night, or even after dark- the minister that they had been negotiating with has six daughters, all of whom are very…friendly…and the man quite understandably would prefer it if four strange men did not spend the night down the hall from his hormonal daughters in a house that has no locks.
It is inevitable, Spock thinks, that something will happen to the Captain. He does not, however, expect what happens to him.
( )
He wakes up to Jim’s voice, murmuring a sleepy Good morning, from where it sounds as if he is resting his head on Spock’s abdomen.
Spock takes a deep breath, and decides to play along until he has more information- whether this is another (or possibly the first) hallucination, or if this is real, in which case Spock does not know for how long he will be here.
So Spock answers in kind, stretching carefully so as not to jostle the human laying on him.
Jim sighs against his skin when Spock begins to stroke his hair again. He has been thinking about it for two months, and if the Spock and Jim of this world are lovers, surely there is nothing wrong with indulging himself?
We need to get up, Jim mumbles, sounding singularly unmotivated. Spock almost frowns before he catches himself, and then has to remind himself that it is not the display of emotion that will provoke questions here, but exactly the opposite.
Spock attempts to scowl first, as it is the facial expression most in line with what he is currently feeling- annoyance, confusion, stubbornness. It feels odd, his mouth twisting in ways that it feels as if it was not meant to.
This appears to be the right thing to do, though, because when Jim lifts his head and catches sight of his face, he laughs, and says That’s the same way you react every day- are you ever going to change?
I suppose not. Even Spock is not certain if he sounds pleased or sullen. Jim chuckles and places a kiss where his cheek has been resting before standing, carefully dancing off of the cushions before he can make them dirty. Spock does not see the point- if he has his way, they will become very dirty, very quickly.
This in mind, Spock manages to catch the cord holding Jim’s so-called-clothes in place, and tug him back. Jim collapses in top of him with an undignified squeak, and Spock immediately tucks him into his side and holds him there, waits patiently until he stops struggling and laughing and saying Spock- what- Spock, we need to get up! Let me- let me up, Spock, I-, before he tilts his face toward him.
Jim’s breathing in uneven, littered with random, out-of-breath chuckles and giggles. The last of his mirth is still present when Spock catches his hand in his own, sliding their fingers together in a way that makes Jim’s breath hitch with arousal, and Jim leans up, laughter dissipating and eyes already half-closed, and Spock closes the remaining two inches easily.
Jim’s lips are slightly chapped, and he tastes of sleep, but Spock couldn’t care less. His t’hy’la is pleasantly cool and busy shifting to tumble over him and pull Spock down on top of him, and Spock can’t think, can’t breathe, all he can hear is Jim’s ragged breathing and yes, gods above Spock, yes…
( )
Spock, not for the first time, wishes very much to strangle both the Captain and Doctor McCoy. However, this is the first time this particular inclination in brought about by them saving his life by somehow locating and beaming him out of an alternate dimension.
Spock watches the lovers laugh and congratulate each other on their brilliance and, for some reason, good looks, and his eye twitch comes back as he begins to plan how he will hide from them in the future.
( )
The next time Spock…visits…he learns many things.
He learns that his mother is his father’s favorite slave and wears the same slave bracelets that Jim does. He learns that he was conceived with his mother’s consent, as much as it can be given.
His mother is not the same person. She is still beautiful, and has a natural intelligence to rival Jim’s, but her education is nearly non-existent. Spock suspects that she is not entirely sane, either, and waves of nausea almost overcome him with every vacant-eyed smile she gives him.
He goes with his father to a gathering of feihans. He is disturbed by their warmongering, but almost despite himself, he offers occasional suggestions, ones that are listened to and respected, and there is no Captain to talk over him.
He learns that his relationship with Jim is only a secret outside their family dwelling. Inside, Amanda and Jim both perform minor tasks, and Amanda enjoys cooking, but for the most part, it is as Sarek says when Spock inquires about Jim's possible education: They are here for our pleasure- they need not concern themselves with tasks too difficult for them. What would be the point, my son? Spock... He is not quite certain how he feels about that.
And there is something he teaches: he teaches Jim his name.
But my name is ‘t’hy’la’.
No, it is Jim. 'T’hy’la’ is what you are.
I don’t understand. You have always called me ‘t’hy’la’! Ever since our young times.
I have neglected to teach you, and for that I apologize, but your name is Jim.
…Spock?
Yes, Jim?
You’ve been talking strangely. Is everything alright?
And Spock doesn’t know how to answer that.
( )
The longer Spock spends going back and forth between the Captain and Jim (The Captain will never be ‘Jim’ to Spock, because he is quite simply not Jim.), the more differences he notices between them.
There is, of course, the physical- Jim is shorter then Spock by several inches, whereas the Captain is eyelevel with his first officer. Jim has an abundance of slightly wild curls atop his head, but has virtually no hair anywhere else; the Captain has very short hair, and in addition to being more muscular then Jim, he’s also rather…hairy.
There are their personalities, of course. Jim is submissive, and becomes pliant when Spock caresses him or brushes his hair. He laughs freely, a clear, beautiful sound, and smiles often- Spock finds it gratifying that he is usually the source of Jim’s good humor. He can be serious, though, and very earnest. He is just as smart as the Captain, if not as well educated. Spock is determined that he will remedy this.
The Captain. The Captain is loud and domineering. He is brash and unethical and appears to be completely oblivious to his own personality flaws. His smiles are fake, forced when he thinks he should be smiling, and his laughter is often bitter, malicious, or hollow. He knows Star Fleet regulations by heart, just as Spock does, yet seems to go out of his way to flout them. He is as earnest as Jim, though, and Spock doesn’t hate him. Rather, Spock (admittedly illogically) resents him for not being Jim. Resents the fact that he is in a relationship with Doctor McCoy, but most of all, he resents Doctor McCoy for not attempting to fix the Captain.
The Captain is broken. Spock does not know what broke him, whether a single catastrophic event or a series of misfortune, but it is McCoy’s place to fix this, to heal his lover, the man he is in love with. It is not Spock’s. Spock is quite occupied with Jim and his double-life as it is, encouraging Jim to speak more freely then he does, and learning to emote there and keep himself closed off here.
( )
Another lull, this time for three months.
Spock had been gritting his teeth and getting on with this life, had been waiting patiently for another ion storm, or electrical interference, or anything else out of the hundreds of thousands of things that could have gone “wrong” and thrown him into what he is coming to think of as his real life. His life with Jim.
He snaps at his old friends, has no patience with ensigns. His work quality deteriorates rapidly and he is detracted all the time. If he didn't know that he was suffering from the prolonged separation from his mate, he would be worried that he was showing the first stages of pon farr
He can’t do it any longer.
Towards the beginning of the fourth month, Spock stays late in the lab again. Not unusual, nowadays (as a matter of fact, most of the science department is almost surprised when they come back in the morning and find that Spock has left), but he sets aside the report that he was writing the second Commander R’leituh leaves for the night.
Spock scrolls rapidly through his personal PADD, stops when he finds the formula he has theorized about. A combination of hallucinogenic chemicals, properly mixed and injected before he meditates could send him back home. Spock has to be careful, though, because while not lethal, it could rapidly become addictive. The danger is not, as with most human drugs, overdosing. It is the danger of staying too long. Of submerging himself too deeply, and loosing himself to madness, both here and there.
But Spock is at the end of his rope, going back and forth between the Captain, who he cannot touch, cannot heal, cannot hold or talk to, and Jim, his dear, sweet Jim, who is utterly baffled.
Jim says that he is falling into deep sleeps, almost like a healing trance, but instead of all of Spock’s energy simply diverting to healing his wounds, he is…blank. There is nothing there. Jim says that he is becoming frightened, that when Spock leaves (though Jim does not know where he goes), his body becomes a lifeless husk. It is not as Spock originally thought- when he leaves, the Spock of that world does not replace him. He believes that the wound that was inflicted upon him when he was attacked was fatal, and that he was sent to replace that world's Spock.
Jim is frightened, and Spock is guilty. He feels he has no choice: he must find a way to stay with Jim.
He has an obligation to the people on the Enterprise, though, and to the federation. He will complete this year and the next, and then remove himself to New Vulcan, where he will find the answer, where he will be able to create an artificial environment that will send him home, to Jim, and there he will stay.
This universe holds no draw for him anymore. The Captain, a Jim that belongs to another man; his tedious work; being caught between Earth and New Vulcan, neither of which welcome him without dispute- they are all things that must be tolerated, nothing more.
He does not think himself illogical for wanting to be with his t’hy’la, for wanting to be among his people, where he is respected for his own power and heritage, for wanting to spend nights knowing that he has Jim and his planet is whole, not a poor, cold, rainy copy of itself.
He has no regrets or second thoughts when he spends a fortnight perfecting and analyzing his drug, his way back.
He locks his quarters, injects himself with a hypo filled with the concoction, and mediates.
( )
This time when he awakens, the room is dark. He feels the cool presence of Jim asleep beside him, breathing deeply and evenly. Spock can almost make out his features in the minimal light- he is naked, now, slave bracelets gleaming weakly in the poor light.
Spock watches him sleep with a perfectly peaceful expression, an unconscious imitation of Jim’s, and observes the way one of Jim’s hands is resting over his own stomach and the other is twined in his hair next to his head. Spock feels…content. He feels at peace for the first time in over a year, and when he next closes his eyes, he does not open them again, drifting into sleep with his Jim.