This Place at the Crossroads (3/5)
THIS PLACE AT THE CROSSROADS (3/5)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Starfleet intelligence says that Earth is decades away from developing warp-technology. Starfleet intelligence didn’t count on one James Tiberius Kirk getting anywhere near the issue.
A/N: If you haven’t already, go stare at the artwork and listen to the fanmix that summerslaughter made for this!
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Chekov is at Scotty’s at 9:50 exactly, waiting for Jim along with the rest of his crew. He fits in perfectly, if you ignore the fact that he’s at least five years younger than anyone else present. When Jim barges into the house at 10:14, it’s to the entire Engineering Team sitting in a semi-circle, cross-legged on the floor, with the equations Jim wrote on his wall already scattered in the emptiness before them as ghostly images on their multiple computer screens..
“Hey guys, I can’t stay long, I actually just came by to-”
“Where did you find this kid?” Rand interrupts him the second he walks in, smiling in a way he hasn’t seen since they first started this project. “He’s brilliant.”
“I know he’s brilliant, that’s why I called him,” Jim says, not a little bit petulantly.
Chekov looks like he’s trying very hard not to look smug, so Jim just rolls his eyes and ruffles the kid’s hair in a way that’s guaranteed to make anyone feel about six years old.
“He’s my star pupil, now isn’t he?” Scotty says as he jumps up and bounds for the kitchen. “Anyone fancy some food?”
The indecisive murmur is enough for him to pull out a loaf of bread and start very seriously constructing some sandwiches. Jim leaves him to it.
“Mr. Kirk,” Chekov says suddenly from across the room. “I mean, Jim. I was thinking. To build new element, with specifications like you have shown here,” he points to a spot on the screen, which shows a standard bell curve with the outlier percentiles marked off, “we will need…funds.”
“Yeah,” Jim answers. “Well, technically, we’d need access to a particle accelerator, and I’m meeting with Pike in a few minutes to figure that out. And then, we’d need to fix up the heap of junk we’ve got as a spaceship and refit the prototype core into it. So, yeah, I could see how we would need funds.”
“Yes, is my point,” Chekov says. “Hikaru, you met, has offered to help independently fund the project, if you needed the help.”
Jim feels his eyebrows climb up into his hairline.
“Seriously?” he says. “That’d be great. Except really fucking expensive on his part.”
“I say this to him,” Chekov answers. “He has friends, inwestors who would be interested too.”
“That’s…really awesome, Chekov,” Jim says. For a second he imagines a spaceship painted in four different shades of neon colors, with logos splashed across the hull like a genuine NASCAR relic. That wouldn’t be too bad, he finally decides; if it gets his ship off the ground. Besides, Sulu’s a licensed pilot, if his indignation from earlier is anything to go by. Jim doesn’t know how to fly a starship. He doubts anyone else does too. “Tell Sulu, thanks, and yeah, we’d love to have him on board.”
Chekov smiles brightly, before going back to his spot between Rand and Ortiz.
Jim feels excitement bubble up his chest again, because things feel like they’re going right, and after so long agonizing over how they were going to power that engine, it’s good to feel like he’s making progress again.
“Shit, I’ve got to go,” he says when Scotty comes back into the living room with a tray stacked high with sandwiches. He takes two and runs back out the door, not bothering to explain himself.
Pike’s buried in a stack of paperwork when he’s waved in, and he barely glances up when the door snaps shut.
“Tell me you’re here to say you’ve given up,” he says, filling out a file.
“You should really switch to paperless,” Jim answers. “We need those trees to produce oxygen, you know.”
Pike chooses to ignore that statement, but that does get him to stop what he’s doing and fix Jim with a glare that’s designed to see through his bullshit.
“What did you need this time?” he asks, already sounding resigned.
“So now I can’t even stop by to check up on you?” Jim tries to sound offended.
Pike glares.
“Okay,” Jim says, defeated. “I wanted to fill you in on our progress so far.”
“You’ve had progress?” Pike asks, way too surprised for Jim’s liking.
“Yeah, we’ve had progress. You were right, though; some of the technology we needed didn’t exactly exist before.”
That makes Pike close his eyes and take a deep breath.
“But I don’t suppose that stopped you, did it?”
“No way,” Jim answers. “Scotty and his squad of sexy engineers have been cooking something up for us and we’re almost good to go. Sort of.”
“Sort of,” Pike repeats, not looking all that pleased.
“Yeah, well, besides actually developing something called ‘transparent aluminum’, we need to invent some elements, have them decay on us and then wham. Problem solved. So, I need a particle accelerator.”
Pike blinks once, furrows his brow. Blinks again.
“You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding.”
Jim scowls at him and crosses his arms, consciously making the effort to lengthen his spine and appear imposing and menacing in front of the man who’s more of a father to him than he’s ever thought he had a right to have.
“No, I’m not,” Jim answers. “Look. If we take an unstable compound and smash it with hyperheated lithium and radiation, we’ll end up with something different.”
“That can’t be stable.”
“It’s not,” Jim says with a crooked grin. “But we don’t need it to be. It’ll decay within seconds, and the particle’s collapse is what will get that warp bubble to form.”
Pike tilts his head up towards the ceiling; Jim thinks he’s either cursing his existence or praying to someone for patience.
“I suppose you’ve found a way to keep it moving, once you’ve started moving?” he asks.
“Yup. Lithium trioxide. Which is why we need that particle accelerator. We’ve got to make it first.”
The admiral remains silent for a long time. Jim imagines he wants to bang his head against his desk.
“Pike,” Jim says, just a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Admiral. With all due respect, I really need to get my hands on a particle accelerator.”
“I could probably get France and Switzerland to let you use the LHC,” he finally answers.
The Large Hadron Collider is only about 17 miles long, and sure, at its peak it was the finest particle accelerator on earth, coaxing individual atoms to reach speeds up to 90 percent the speed of light. Now, however, it’s outdated and undermanned. Jim needs something better.
“I am not using the LHC,” Jim says. “First, I don’t think Scotty’s even allowed into Switzerland anymore, and Chekov’s only 17; I don’t think I can just take him across the country just like that. Most importantly, that thing is so old. It probably can’t even get an atom of hydrogen moving at 50 percent the speed of light anymore.”
“Since when do you have a teenager on your team?” Pike asks, pinching the bridge of his nose and proving that he doesn’t listen to at least half of what Jim says. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t actually want to know.”
“I didn’t kidnap him, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Jim starts. “But whatever. Point is, if you can’t build me one, preferably here, within the next week and a half, I’d kind of like to use the LPA.”
Pike makes a pained face at him; Jim wonders for a second if he’s finally caused the Admiral a heart attack.
“Okay, so now you’re kidding,” he says slowly. “The Lunar Particle Accelerator? Really? How do you expect to get the teenager to the moon if you don’t think you can even get him to Switzerland?”
“I’ll find a way,” Jim answers, making sure to keep his tone even. This is not a crazy idea, he projects to Pike. “And if there’s an explosion, it’s easier to control up there.”
“I really wish you weren’t being serious about that,” Pike answers.
Jim remains silent, waiting. Pike taps his fingers against the wood of his desk slowly, thinking. It’s a gesture Jim remembers from his early teenage years, when he would ask Pike for something particularly insane, and Pike would pretend to put up a fight but eventually give in. It gives Jim hope.
“Do you know how bad our relationship with the lunar colonies is?” he asks, rhetorically, Jim assumes, because everyone knows that. The smile Pike’s been holding back for the last twenty minutes finally breaks through, and he shakes his head slightly. “Well, I’ll give you this, Jim. Your goddamn delusions are doing wonders for global diplomacy. Let’s see if it works for global/lunar relations, too.”
Actually, Jim doesn’t know how to take that statement. He’s saved from remarking on it, however, when his phone beeps at, and he notes that there’s a message from an email that’s all numbers waiting for him. Jim only knows one person on probably this whole planet who’s got an address like that.
“Gotta run, Admiral,” Jim says distractedly, turning on his heel and ambling out the door. “Interstellar starships don’t just build themselves, you know.”
Pike calls after him, but Jim isn’t listening anymore; his attention is completely focused on the message in his inbox. He opens it without a second thought, and just as he had expected, it’s from Spock.
I currently have no pressing engagements. Would you be amenable to sharing an hour of repast with me?
Fuck yeah, Jim answers. Lunch in 10? I’ll meet you at yours.
That would be acceptable.
Jim knows he’s in trouble the minute he steps out into the hot California afternoon. He’s known this guy for a couple of months and it’s probably not healthy to be this excited about lunch, especially since he hasn’t done anything as bold as he had on their first night together-also, he’s a little embarrassed to admit this even to himself, but he’s seriously considering asking Spock to go to the moon with them. It’s way too early to be considering the weekend-vacation date; it’s fucking weird-also, should he even consider them dating? But there it is. He’s calling it a relationship because he wants it to be a relationship.
Then again, if he’s played his cards right, he’ll be on a shuttle to the moon in under a week-with a team of engineers who’re about to make his dream a reality, if not with a certain man who he can’t seem to stop thinking about. He’s got more reasons than lunch to be in a good mood right now.
Spock is concerned over his growing attachment to Jim Kirk. He cannot in all honesty hide behind his mission of data collection, not after he has spent a superfluous amount of time with the human. The fact that he and Commander Gaila have stayed at this particular location for three earth-months speaks more of his growing attachment than anything else.
However, he cannot consider leaving this location. He knows Jim Kirk is very close to creating a fully functioning warp drive, that he has been working on this project for months before he met Spock, and Spock will not miss the opportunity to engage in First Contact once this has been achieved. It is only logical to remain until this occurs.
Whether he will be willing to reveal to Jim that he has in fact been lying about his identity since the two of them met is another matter entirely.
Currently, he is sharing lunch with Jim in a small, vegan-alternative restaurant. It is warm inside, pleasantly so as rainfall began not ten minutes before they were seated. His hands are clasped firmly in his lap as Jim explains to him everything that has happened since their last encounter. Spock is very surprised to hear that he has found a viable substitute for trilithium.
“You have discovered a creative solution to your problem,” Spock agrees when Jim has finished speaking.
Jim graces him with a brilliant smile before turning away reluctantly.
“It’s still just a theoretical solution,” he says. “There’s no way we can actually test it on earth without a risk of, you know, tearing the globe apart from gravitational impulse waves.”
“Indeed,” Spock answers. “Have you already begun work on retrofitting your engine with a chamber to house this particle decay?”
Jim nods once, smiling at the waitress when she arrives with their meals. Spock considers his soup thoughtfully, reminding himself that it is not his place to either help or hinder Jim’s goal.
“Have you considered the possibility of hyperinflation and taken the necessary steps to prevent it?” he cannot help but ask.
Jim only blinks at him for a second, over the rim of his glass.
“Yeah,” he says slowly. “We’ll be sticking mainly to the high frequency gravitational wave band; we won’t have anything so volatile that might trigger hyperinflation.”
Spock inclines his head, pleased that Jim is actively searching for any anomaly that may occur in his project.
“You know,” Jim says after a brief pause. “In all the time we’ve known each other, you haven’t once mentioned you know anything about physics.”
Ah. Spock takes a sip of his tea to compensate for the fact that he has no proper answer for the human. He has taken great pains to hide the fact from Jim because he did not want Jim to believe he was offering assistance to his endeavor. He has already interfered far too often; he is constantly running the risk of violating the prime directive. Yet he cannot tell Jim this. Perhaps there is a way for him to redirect their conversation away from the topic at hand.
“I have never mentioned it,” Spock begins slowly, “because you have never asked.”
Jim is silent for a moment, and then he laughs. Spock releases a breath he did not realize he had been holding.
“That’s true,” he says, shaking his head. “All this time I figured you were just humoring me. I thought you were just letting me whine about all this space-warping stuff, like my roommate. If I had known you actually knew what the hell I’d been saying, I would have asked you for your input. I’m sorry.”
“Regret is not logical, Jim,” Spock answers. “And it is obvious you have no need of my expertise.”
“Hey, we can use all the help we can get at this point. Did you know I recruited a seventeen-year-old to help us? You’ll fit right in.”
“Jim, I do not believe it would be the best course of action-”
“No, look, it’s fine,” Jim says, already standing and swiping his credit bar across the sensor. “Come on, I want to show you what we’ve got so far.”
Spock reluctantly follows Jim out, already examining possible excuses he could make that would dissuade Jim.
“Spock! Spock!”
Spock cannot express how relieved he is at the sound of his lieutenant’s voice. He stops abruptly to face her; Jim continues on for several feet before he realizes that Spock is no longer following him.
“Yes, Commander Gaila?” he asks quietly.
“Where have you been?” she asks, apparently unaware that Jim is only several steps away from them. “I just got back from Angel Island State Park. I’ve not seen wildlife reserves open to the public since-”
“Gaila, right?” Jim asks once he is back at Spock’s side.
She blinks once, her gaze bouncing from him to Spock before settling on Jim again. When she smiles again, it is with a certain tightness.
“Hey, you,” she says. “I didn’t think you and Spock would become such fast friends.”
Jim laughs at that. “I take it he doesn’t get out much, if I’m not around to force him to do anything.”
“You could say that,” she answers after a moment. “Spock is more of the observant type.” Here she turns to Spock and very deliberately adds, “Or, at least he’s supposed to be.”
“If you will excuse us, Jim,” Spock says, clasping his hands behind his back to keep them from clenching into fists. “I must speak with Gaila.”
“Yeah sure. No problem.”
“Perhaps it would be best if you returned to your experiment. I estimate this conversation will take longer than would be necessary.”
“Um, okay, sure,” Jim answers, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll catch you later then?”
“I do not intend to flee from you,” Spock answers, unsure why Jim believes he would need to ‘catch’ Spock.
Jim smiles at his statement, looking almost relieved. Spock cannot think why. With that, he turns and quickly disappears into the crowded streets. When Spock turns back to the commander, it is to her frowning countenance.
“I thought we’d discussed this,” she whispers.
“We discussed the possibility of my violating the prime directive, yes,” Spock answers. “However, I have meditated on the situation and have concluded that I am in no danger of doing so.”
The lieutenant frowns for a moment, her arms crossed defensively over her chest, before sighing.
“Are you or aren’t you emotionally attached to this individual?”
“I am,” Spock answers bluntly. “I agree that it was unwise and illogical for me to allow such an attachment to develop, and yet, the attachment is there. However, this slight miscalculation on my part does not preclude a successful mission.”
“Right.” She does not sound convinced. “So you’d be fine with us moving on to a different location to continue our observation then?”
“We cannot leave,” Spock says, “Jim is very close to reaching warp capability. If he does achieve warp speed, this mission becomes a first contact. We will not leave until such an occurrence.”
“Your logic has been corrupted by emotion, sir,” she answers after a pause.
“That was an order, Lieutenant Commander. You are dismissed.”
Gaila blinks once before turning on her heel and storming off. Spock takes a very deep breath and follows her back to their hotel.
One week later, he receives a message from Starfleet command, explaining that their mission has been pulled and that they are to return to headquarters on Vulcan for a complete debriefing. Spock stares at the message for a full three point six minutes longer than is strictly necessary before he turns off his console and goes in search of his lieutenant commander.
When Jim had turned 18 he signed up for the military, and they’d put him on a spaceship as a junior-grade engineer. He spent the first two weeks of his time onboard holed up in the engineering deck, sore from head to toe from all the hands-on work they had him doing. He’d never felt more at home.
He remembers talking to Pike about it, how much he loved that damn engineering deck; Pike had just smiled at him knowingly.
So yeah, climbing into the Icarus, knowing that this ship is pretty much his, that’s a great feeling. He can’t even imagine where he’d be in life if Pike hadn’t been around to bully him into doing something with his life.
It’s a standard long-range spaceship; Jim’s guessing it was built about a decade ago and was meant to travel about as far as Neptune on any given day. The bridge is spotless but outdated, with only enough room for four. He motions Chekov and Sulu over to the navigation console, watching the way Sulu’s face lights up with excitement as they worry about outdated matrices and long range sensors. Jim’s really glad that they’ve somehow acquired a former pilot with a checkbook.
The rest of the team stands around just outside the bridge for a minute, looking in and frowning.
“So, who’s gonna be your bridge staff then?” Rand asks oh so nonchalantly.
Jim shrugs.
“Who says I’ve got any say in that?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Uhura asks. She blinks at him in a really scathing way. “Kirk, every starship needs a captain. And this is your project. For all intents and purposes, when this thing gets off the ground, you’ll be Captain.”
“That is so weird,” Jim says when he can’t think of a more suitable response. “Rand, Ortiz, I want you guys in deck C, making sure life support works ok. We don’t want the gravity simulators to crap out on us halfway to nowhere, do we?”
“No, sir,” they answer in near unison before they honest to god salute him and march away.
“Oh my god, you broke my engineers,” Jim says to Uhura after a beat of silence. “I hate you. Now they’re gonna like, treat me with respect or something.”
“Don’t worry; I’ll be sure to be extra disrespectful from now on. Captain.”
“Aye, she’s a good one for that,” Scotty says. Uhura smacks him sharply on the arm, even though she’s smiling. Scotty ducks good-naturedly and dances out of her reach. “Well, come on then. Got to get a look at this girl’s nacelles, now don’t we?”
Scotty wanders off vaguely to a turbolift, waving his arms madly as he explains something or other to Uhura. Jim watches them go for a moment before he follows, listens to Sulu and Chekov argue physics on the bridge not twenty feet away, and feels at home for the first time in years.
“She’s a wee bit dodgy,” Scotty says in the engineering deck, picking up a wrench from somewhere and banging it lovingly against what looks like a standard anti-hydrogen powered engine. “But she’s in line for some upgrades now, isn’t she? Personally, I think anti-hydrogen went out as a reliable power source five years ago.”
“It’s stable enough,” Uhura answers placidly; Jim gathers that they’ve had this conversation more than once.
“Aye, she’s stable, but that’s not countin’ anything for speed or duration. This lass can’t go more than what? 50,000 Kilometers per hour? Nowhere near what you need to get anywhere outside the Solar System in the time we want it too.”
“But she’ll get us to the Lunar Science Base in one piece?” Jim asks, because with Scotty you need to make absolutely certain you’re talking about the same thing.
“She’ll get us there, no doubt,” Scotty says. “Even if I have to get out and push. And after that, it’ll be easy to refit her with the core we’ve been designing.”
“Great, awesome.” He turns to Uhura and graces her with his customary appreciative look. “How’s the communication station?”
“It was in pretty decent shape when we got the Icarus,” she answers, mostly ignoring Jim’s antics by now. “I just have to check the subspace frequencies, and key in my control commands.”
“Awesome,” he says again, trying to curb the sudden urge he gets to jump up and down in excitement. “So, you think we’ll be ready for flight within the week?”
Uhura and Scotty share a significant sort of look before turning to Jim in near unison and nodding.
“With Rand, Ortiz and Chekov in here, we should be good to go by Wednesday,” Scotty says, turning his full attention to the engine. They’ve lost him now; it may be days before he pulls himself out of that mess of metal and wires again.
“Are we taking Sulu?” Uhura asks him suddenly. “I think Chekov mentioned that he knows a few things about communications too, and I might need help somewhere along the line.”
“Sulu’s turning out to be Wonderboy or something,” Jim answers. “Of course we’re bringing him along; I think he might’ve volunteered to look after Chekov anyway. Or something. Possibly to get into his pants.”
Uhura blinks at him.
“Chekov’s seventeen, Kirk.”
“Yeah. Well,” Jim shrugs; Sulu, after all, is probably only 21, 22 himself. And if he wants to be hung up on genius Russian jailbait, then who is Jim to judge?
“Not everyone talks to people to get into their pants,” Uhura answers, just a little bit of scorn in her voice.
“You’d be surprised, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart. God, ever.”
“You know you love it. Secretly.”
Jim takes that moment to make his speedy exit, since Uhura is glaring at him like she’s thinking up ways of killing Jim quickly while not jeopardizing the current mission. At least she’s got her priorities in line.
Ortiz stops his brilliantly planned exit by bleeding all over the hallway-well, technically she’s slumped in the corner by the turbolift. But, basically, same deal. The whole crew’s surrounding her, except Uhura and Scotty of course. Chekov’s waving a medical scanner around the gash on her forehead, while the others fret around her like mother hens.
“I already told you, I’m fine,” Otriz snaps. “Just go back to your engineering or something.”
“Don’t be stupid, Gloria, your face is nearly split in half,” Rand says, pacing the width of the hallway with her hands behind her back. “You’ll never be able to wear your hair back again.”
“Fuck you, Janice,” Ortiz answers. “I mean, seriously. I’m here, possibly hemorrhaging into my brain and all you can think about is my hair?”
“Is not so bad,” Chekov says in what he obviously thinks is a placating tone. “Only minor concussion. There is old Russian saying: Head wounds like to bleed.”
“That’s not a Russian anything, Pavel,” Sulu says, flipping the dermal regenerator in his hands over and over. “I don’t think you should go to sleep if you’ve got a concussion. That’s an actual thing, right? I’m not just thinking of alcohol poisoning?”
“Okay,” Jim finally says. Four pairs of eyes snap to him suddenly, ranging from genuinely relieved (Chekov) to mildly embarrassed (Ortiz). “What happened here?”
“Turbolift 11 is malfunctioning,” Ortiz explains, waving away everyone’s nervous fluttering for the moment. “I went up to try and fix it, and when it started moving, well, I sort of fell back into the lift?”
Jim blinks at them. He turns to turbolift 11, where its doors are hissing open in a very unassuming way.
“You were assaulted by a turbolift,” he repeats.
“Shut up, Jim. Captain. Sir. Kirk. Whatever.”
“What have I told you guys? Never call me sir. Captain, I can get behind.” He looks up for a moment, a serene expression glazing over his face. “Captain James Tiberius Kirk. I could get used to that. Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” Ortiz says, finally letting Sulu stitch together the cut on her head, and after a few seconds, he helps pull Ortiz to her feet.
“Space is a dangerous place,” Rand remarks neutrally as Ortiz walks off with Sulu and Chekov.
“Tell me about it,” Jim answers.
“No,” she says, crossing her arms. “What I mean is, we need someone with a medical background with us. In case we get attacked by something more dangerous than turbolifts. Or catch space plague and end up bleeding out our various orifices.”
“Why, Janice Rand, I do believe you are correct,” Jim says, clapping his hands together with sudden inspiration. “And I’ve got just the guy for the job.”
When Commander Gaila finally returns to their place of habitation, Spock has already packed up most of their technical equipment and all of his personal affects. She hovers by the doorway for a moment before cautiously entering and sitting in the only available chair.
“We have been recalled to headquarters,” Spock says without looking up from where he is locking up his valise. “I expect us to be ready for departure within the next 20 hours.
“Did you get that message from the Ambassador, too?” she asks.
“I received a message directly from Starfleet command,” Spock answers, curious. “Which ambassador contacted you?”
“Sardak,” Gaila answers, blinking. “He contacted me directly, wanting to know when exactly we would be out of here.”
“I see,” he says even though he does not. “The Ambassador is neither part of Starfleet command nor a direct member of the Federation Council. Why would he have any interest in our terminated mission?”
The Commander only shrugs.
“He doesn’t really like you,” she says, almost to herself. “Maybe he just wants to gloat over your failed mission or something.”
“I do not believe so. There is more to our current situation than it would seem.”
Silence descends upon them as Spock tries to find evidence that may support his claim.
“The Vulcan High Council specifically requested you for this mission,” the commander says.
“How is that relevant?”
“Well,” she starts, standing from her position and pacing the length of the room. “No offence, Commander, but neither of us are exactly diplomatic material. What right did they have to assign you onto this mission anyway? It’s Starfleet business. It stands to reason that someone on the High Council wanted you here, for whatever reason.”
Spock goes over the information once in his mind, considering.
“I can discern no logical reason why I would be volunteered for this mission,” he agrees. “It is debatable, therefore, to say that one or all of the High Council may have had illogical or emotional reasons behind our assignment.”
“One member of the council does hold a supremely illogical grudge against you, sir,” Gaila says seriously.
“The tension between Ambassador Sardak and myself has no logical place in the Vulcan High Council. I cannot believe that he would condone such illogic.”
“And yet, he seemed pretty upset that we haven’t yet left the planet when he had words with me.”
Spock clasps his hands behind his back and allows himself to puzzle over the strange juxtaposition of events for approximately two minutes.
“I was not told why we were recalled,” he finally says.
“Neither was I,” Mister Gaila says. “Who would want us off this planet in such a hurry? And for that matter, why?”
Spock does not have an answer for her queries. However, there may be a logical explanation for this event. It is perhaps plausible that Starfleet would recall them in order to send a proper First Contact envoy. Given that Spock has yet to send his most recent reports detailing the possibility of warp travel here, that option is not very likely.
“Did you know,” Commander Gaila begins hesitantly, “that Ambassador Sardak met secretly with his son, who’s been convicted of serious crimes against the Federation, in unclaimed space months before our assignment?”
Spock is aware that currently, Stonn is banned from Vulcan and all of Federation space, for suspected terrorist activity to other Federation planets and conspiring with the Klingon Empire.
“I was unaware of this fact,” Spock answers, surprised. “Where did you learn such a thing?”
“I did some research early on,” she responds. “I didn’t like the way he spoke to you.”
“I see. Were your sources reliable? I cannot believe the Ambassador would risk his position on the council by communicating with a convicted enemy of the Federation. Do you believe this incident to be relevant to our current status?”
“Yeah, I do, Commander,” Commander Gaila answers, turning to Spock with excitement written clear across her body. “I don’t think we should leave yet. At least until we figure all this out.”
Spock is sorely tempted to agree. However, he acknowledges that his desire to do so stems from his emotional need to seek closure with Jim Kirk.
“We have been given direct orders from Starfleet command to return to Vulcan and await orders. Your suspicions are based on hearsay and intuition, and until we have more than an intuitive suspicion of the situation, I cannot condone our continued presence on this planet. We will leave tomorrow at 2200 hours, earth-standard.”
“But Spock-”
“That is an order, Lieutenant Commander.”
Commander Gaila is silent for long enough that Spock assumes she has accepted the inevitable. However, when she speaks again, her tone is sharp and biting.
“What do you plan to do about your little human experiment, then?” she asks in a way that is dangerously close to insubordination.
The statement gives Spock pause. He understands, theoretically, that he cannot explain to Jim Kirk the exact reason for his upcoming departure. However, he has not fully considered the consequences of their exodus. Once they depart, it is likely he will never set foot on this planet again, and if Jim fails in creating his warp drive, it is possible that they will never cross paths again. It is a disconcerting thought.
He does not want to leave. Specifically, he does not want to leave Jim Kirk.
“I shall do what needs to be done,” he finally says. “There is no other alternative.”
Commander Gaila looks away from him at that proclamation. If he is reading her correctly, he can detect something very much like pity emanating from her as she reluctantly packs up her sparse belongings.
“I’m sure you will, Captain,” she says.
So, they leave for the moon in about 8 hours, and Jim’s actually starting to get a little bit anxious about the trip. Everything’s going pretty good, for one thing; Scotty’s holding off on any ‘upgrades’ until they get to the moon and see if this gamble is actually going to get them out into deep space, and everything else is running pretty smoothly too. It makes Jim nervous. He keeps getting the feeling that something bad is just around the horizon, like he should be personally overseeing everything that happens, just in case someone makes a tiny mistake and gets them all killed.
It doesn’t really help that now that Rand’s mentioned not having a medic with them, suddenly the whole crew’s afraid of an outbreak of horrible space-pox or something (Jim’s not immune to it either; he hasn’t been able to sleep these last two days because he keeps waking up to nightmares of getting sucked out into the vast reaches of space in a mass of explosions, asteroids, and enemy warships, never mind that he doesn’t even know what an alien warship might look like).
“Not a chance in hell, Jimmy,” Bones says for the umpteenth time that morning.
“Oh come on, Bones,” Jim answers, just this side of begging. “We need you out there.”
“No, what you need is a good old-fashioned kick in the ass.”
Jim’s followed Bones to St Mary’s because he really needs someone to look out for his crew up there in space. And well, Bones is the best. A little bit of astrophobia surely wouldn’t keep Bones from looking out for his best friend.
Apparently, it could.
“What happens if we get cooked by a solar flare then? Or someone catches a space-cold and infects the whole crew, or-”
“Or your damn theoretical warp drive doesn’t work and you all get blown to kingdom-come?” Bones adds in, scowling down at a medical chart this pretty blonde nurse hands him. “Then you’ll all be dead, Jim, while I stay safely alive here with my feet on the ground.”
“If I die in space, I’ll haunt your ass ’til the day you die, Bones.”
“Threats’ll get you nowhere, Jim,” Bones answers solemnly. “No way you’re gonna convince me to follow you anywhere that doesn’t have its own atmosphere.”
“Bones.”
“Okay, look,” he finally says. “Get to the moon and smash atoms together or whatever it is you’re doing up there. If you actually succeed, call me up, and we’ll talk again. But not a second sooner, okay?”
“Fuck yes Bones,” Jim says, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”
“Quit clogging up my office,” he answers and shoves Jim off of him. “Go update your medical files, in case you end up in emergency care again and someone decides to give you a shot of aspirin. M’Benga! Where the hell’d you get to? I need the files on the McKlein case!”
Jim takes that to mean he should leave now before Bones calls security on him again, and obediently heads home. He needs to pack anyway.
But when he gets to his apartment, he finds Spock outside, standing rigidly by the door. And that’s when he knows that he’s in way over his head, because Spock is just standing there, hands behind his back, and when he catches sight of Jim and the corner of his mouth twitches upward ever so slightly, Jim pretty much melts.
That settles it; he’s in fucking love.
The realization should probably be more terrifying than it actually is.
“Hey, Spock, what’s up?” he says.
“Presently, nothing but the various particles of oxygen, hydrogen and helium that make up the atmosphere.”
“Awesome,” Jim answers, smiling like a loon and not even caring. “Look, listen, it’s great that you came by; I actually wanted to talk to you. Want to come upstairs?”
Spock seems to hesitate at that, he blinks three times in rapid succession and swallows minutely.
“Regrettably, I cannot, Jim,” he says. “There are things which I must also discuss with you, and I am on a schedule today.”
“No big deal, that’s awesome. I just wanted to ask you something really quick.” Jim takes a deep breath, suddenly nervous. He takes Spock’s hand and reminds himself that he’s not asking to marry the guy or anything, ignoring the way Spock automatically tenses at the contact. “We’re heading up to the moon early tomorrow morning, to test the prototype and see if our antiprotons and positrons’ll explode the way we want them too. And I was wondering-wanted to know, if you’d come with us. You know. Come with me.”
Spock looks down at their hands, where he’s slowly running his thumb over Jim’s knuckles, and doesn’t respond. He doesn’t say anything for a really long time, actually, and Jim starts panicking in earnest.
“Hey, if you think it’s too soon, that’s no big deal either,” he backtracks. “I was just thinking you might be an asset to us up there; and if the trip to the moon is a success, then we’ll most likely be heading out past Neptune to try the warp-jump, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you after that. I thought it would-”
“I am leaving, Jim,” Spock says suddenly, very quietly.
“What?”
Spock’s eyes snap onto Jim again, like he’s some kind of magnet. There’s a flash of barely constrained hurt hiding in there, but in a second, it’s gone.
“I cannot accompany you to the lunar colony because Gaila and I are leaving. Tomorrow morning.”
“What? To where?”
“It is not within my jurisdiction to-”
“Bullshit,” Jim says, gripping Spock’s hand tightly in his own. This is wrong, all wrong suddenly; how can Spock just be leaving? “Spock, look at me, please.”
But he won’t tear his eyes away from the cracks in the sidewalk.
“I am sorry, Jim,” he says, and to be fair, he does actually look sorry. “I must go.”
“I can still comm you, right? Or email you sometime? Spock, at least tell me where you’re going, dammit.”
Carefully, he pulls away from Jim. The second Spock drops Jim’s hand, he feels fucking lost.
“It would perhaps be best if we did not remain in communication,” Spock says slowly; Jim sees the way his hands clench into fists at his side before he clasps them behind his back again. “Live long and prosper,” he finishes, and just like that, walks away.
Jim watches him go, a faint buzzing in his ears; Spock doesn’t once turn back.
(next)