Fic: Homecoming, 2/3
Title: Homecoming, Part 2)
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: This is the fic I've written to complete a bingo line for trek_crackbingo plus indulge myself in a bunch of K/S cliches, so highlight the following to view prompts/cliches fulfilled to some degree - Love Letters, Holidays, Wild Card (I picked Amnesia, and threw in kid!fic with a garnish of Mpreg), Tentacles - scary, and Dad Dancing.
Word Count: This chapter, 7300
Summary: Jim wakes after an attack to find everything changed
For: awarrington
I wake to the sound of footsteps running up stairs and a door slamming, the room dark and unfamiliar, panic rising in my chest, feeling like I'm paralyzed with what turned out to be the squid's venomous neurotoxin until I stretch out my arms and legs to reassure myself I can still move. I'm almost waiting for it now, the strange warmth flooding into my mind after a nightmare, a light fog in the center of my forehead that gently suggests that my muscles relax, my heartbeat calming. A thread of something else that I don't understand. Whatever the psi-squid did to me, it's not over yet and it doesn't quite feel like my mind's my own. I rub at my forehead, waiting for the sensation to dissipate.
Another door opens and closes somewhere, a woman's voice saying something but it's too muffled to make out. It sounds like a question, retreating into what I think must be the kitchen at the other end of the house. My house, I remember it now, trying out a verbal order to see if the smart glass can be voice-activated. It can, a tonal burble as my command is accepted and the glass clears, the room lightening to reveal a clear afternoon across the bay. I'm rubbing fingers into my eyes, sitting up with my elbows on my knees when I hear Spock's voice behind me, rich and deep.
"I am glad that you are awake, Jim, as I have someone here that I wish you to meet." The kids. I'm meeting my kids today. There's not a single thing I can do to prepare myself for this moment so I take a deep breath that doesn't help in the slightest and turn to look at Spock as a loud squeal and an excitable "Dadadada!" erupts from his direction. He's holding this chunky, squirming bundle of spiky blond hair and furiously windmilling arms, and Spock allows this fat little thing to wriggle out of his grasp to promptly tumble down the shallow steps with a squawk that turns into a fit of giggles. It's a baby. Potentially the biggest damn baby I've ever seen. He sticks his ass into the air as he pushes himself up onto these chubby feet and then toddles over to me, grinning and drooling over his chin in excitement, hands held out towards me and I reach out automatically, smiling in surprised pleasure as he grabs onto my fingers and holds on tight. Grayson Kirk, my son, fourteen months old, looking at me through enormous brown eyes beneath eyebrows that slant up towards his tufty hair. Everything else is all me, right down to his curved pink ears.
"PUPUPUP." He makes a grabbing motion with his hands, an approving gurgle as I heft him up into my lap, and he presses his open mouth against my cheek leaving a smear of drool behind. I think I just got a welcome home kiss. I'd like to say that I look at him and fall in love, but I don't. I think I'm supposed to. I like kids, although I've never had the slightest desire to have them myself and he's a cute kid even if I do have some sort of natural bias, unable to look into his face without seeing myself there, me with a touch of Spock which is possibly the most entirely bizarre thing I've ever experienced, psi-squid included. But I look at him and wait for this big rush of paternal love to overwhelm me, and it doesn't happen.
So I smile, laugh when he grabs at my nose, because he's totally adorable and seems like a cool kid and because I don't want to fail as a parent in five seconds flat. "Hi there, Grayson. I'm pleased to make your reacquaintance." I get a babble in reply and catch Spock looking at me expectantly. "What? What did I miss?"
"Babadoo is Grayson's approximation of Bouncy Do. He is requesting that you play with him."
"No shi- no way. I play Bouncy Do with him? How did I even remember that? Man, Bouncy Do. I'd clean forgotten all about Bouncy Do."
"BABABADOODOO."
"You want to play Bouncy Do? Okay, but you might need to help me out, I don't know if I can remember it all." I settle his legs across mine like he's riding a horse, holding onto his hands and start to bounce him up and down, jiggling him from one side to the other, Mom's old words coming back to me from I don't know where or when. Bouncy Do, Bouncy Do, Bounce for me then I'll bounce you. Bounce over here and this way too, up and down then we go . . . Boo! I drop him through my knees with the last word, his legs hooked around my thighs, his hands in mine as he throws his head back towards the floor and screams with laughter. I did a real dad thing, a parent thing, and I feel like even more of a fraud than I did sitting in the Captain's chair for the first time after provoking Spock into beating the crap out of me. I run through Bouncy Do with Grayson three more times, figuring out that he gurgles with approval the rougher I am, all the time wondering how long I have to do this and what I'll do if I say No to more and he screams. So I settle on jiggling him on my knees as I look back at Spock.
"Where's Lejiba? I thought she was due back same time as this guy."
"You said you were roused by a slamming door?' I nod. "In time, you will grow accustomed to what has become the habitual sign of Lejiba's return home."
"She didn't want to come say hi?"
"She did not." Spock finally comes down into the seating area towards me and Grayson, taking him firmly around the waist and swinging him up off my knee to tuck him under an arm as if he's a duffle bag, something Grayson seems to enjoy if the goofy chuckle emanating from Spock's armpit is anything to judge by. Spock simply acts like he doesn't have a diapered butt and two dimpled legs sticking out of the side of his body. "I believe that Lejiba is waiting in her room for you to attend to her."
"So I should go up there?"
"She has not seen you in twenty three days and is aware that you were recently involved in a near-fatal incident so, yes, I suggest that you should." Spock pats Grayson's bottom in an entirely expressionless manner then moves him easily up to a shoulder, Grayson grabbing at Spock's nose with one hand and sucking noisily on the other. Again, Spock doesn't acknowledge that his nose is being comprehensively squeezed or that another, spit-wet hand is now slapping at his cheek delightedly. "You will undoubtedly be told to 'Get lost'. I recommend that you fail to comply."
"A teenage daughter. Worse than the Romulans?"
Spock turns his head towards his son, face solemn as Grayson drools happily down Spock's cheek, and Spock delicately disengages one chubby hand from the pointed tip of his ear. "You have always maintained a certain level of pride in your tactical skills, Jim. Prepare to have them tested as never before."
I exit the couch, stretching kinks out of my back that wouldn't have been there twenty years ago, and leave the room with a brief and, I'm hoping, warm smile at Spock and Grayson, who is busy chewing on Spock's nose while Spock looks at him with a smile in his eyes. I cross the lobby and a woman comes out of what I'm guessing again is the kitchen, a stack of cloths in her hands that she's folding as she goes. Her face lights up when she looks up to see me, a look of genuine excitement, which is nice but I haven't got the slightest clue of who she is.
"Admiral! Oh, God, Jim." She tosses the cloths down on a side table and proceeds to hug the crap out of me, the top of her head coming up to the center of my chest. "We've been so worried. How's the memory, did you get anything back yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm sorry, I know this sounds rude but I don't recognize you."
"Don't sweat it." She stands back, waving my concerns away with one hand. "I'm Pui-Shan Lee, Parenting Support, although you usually say I'm part of the family if I introduce myself to visitors that way. It's very sweet, and more than a little disrespectful of my professional boundaries."
"I'll remember that. I think. You help out with the kids?"
"I have doctorates in Child Psychology and Development, wrote my most recent thesis on The Gifted Child: Family Dynamic and the Role of Support Professionals in Preventing Gotz-Chrobid Syndrome, and have tailored a classic six-point organizational scheme to this family in order to ensure Lejiba and Gray realize their unusual level of potential within a cohesive family unit. So, yeah, I guess you could put it like that, if you wanted to be super patronizing."
The wide grin tells me she's kidding and the way she keeps clinging to my arm like she's really happy to see me takes any sting out of her words. I nod in approval, agree with her that I'll make time this week to go over the plan, then ask if she can direct me to Lejiba's room as I haven't made it upstairs yet. She hikes a thumb towards the back of the house. "Upstairs, go left. Trust me, you won't miss it. We're big on encouraging the kids to express themselves, and Lejiba's very, uh, creative."
She's right: In a sun-filled house full of muted, earthy tones that continue upstairs, calming and restful, we thought it was a good idea to allow Lejiba to paint her door black with drizzles of pale purple running down from the top like a lavender blood stain. I think about the girl in the photos as I walk up to her door, think about her pale mauve skin, wondering if maybe her blood's actually this color and, if so, what the hell sort of statement are we encouraging her to make. I take a deep breath before knocking on her door, nervous beyond reason. I'm Jim Kirk, youngest Starship Captain in Fleet history, youngest officer decorated with the Starfleet Medal of Honor, defeater of Nero. Lejiba is a fifteen year old girl. I key her door chime.
"Oh my God, what now?"
"Lejiba? It's me. It's -" Dad? Daddy? I imagine Spock's probably 'Father', I can't imagine anyone calling Spock 'Daddy'. My brain takes itself on a swift inappropriate detour before I wrench back my concentration. "It's time we caught up."
There's a pause. "I'm busy. Come back later."
"I want to see if you're as pretty in person as in your holofiles."
"I said, I'm busy."
"I'm coming in." I step up to the door, sort of expecting it to stay in place, unsure if we'd allow her a private lock code. Doesn't seem like it as it opens for me easily and I look down into a pair of furious eyes the color of emeralds, half-covered in a long sweep of hair that's such a dark blue it's almost as black as Spock's. "Da-ad! You promised you wouldn't just walk in anymore."
"I didn't walk in, I chimed and asked."
"And I said no."
"Spock recommended that I take an assertive approach."
"Don't blame him. You're the one in my room uninvited. Again."
She's tiny, barely up to my chest, Ooniuum by birth and unlikely to ever grow much bigger. I think over the small amount of information that was available on her file, and over the rather larger amount available on my personnel file as her adoption was the first of many times I've decided to ignore Fleet directive and do whatever the hell I felt needed doing. Reading over my missions history on the way back to Earth from Ibahn I couldn't believe my eventual promotion didn't get blocked over pulling this kind of shit repeatedly throughout my captaincy. Lejiba, my work of art in that respect, a third daughter on a planet with a too-high female birth rate and a culture that forbids polygamous marriage. A almost three year old child who darts out of the crowd and boldy slips her hand into mine and asks me to rescue her. So I do, on finding out that unwanted female children not adopted by a childless couple are culled on their third birthday.
Culled, the report even refers to it in that way. I carried her around with me that whole first day of membership negotiations, then insisted on adopting her, and caused a whole Prime Directive shit storm to come down on my and Spock's heads when the head of Ibahn government complained to Federation government. I wish I could remember it, it's kind of cool. It sounds like a me thing to do, storming in to rescue someone who's been abandoned, regardless to the consequences. Even if it meant becoming a parent overnight.
"You're beautiful." It's barely more than a murmur, muttered under my breath but her cheeks flush a darker purple, the color of the spray of freckles across her long nose.
"You have to think that, you're my dad."
"Can I get a hug?" Do I want one? Weirdly, I do. There's something about her delicacy combined with the fierce expression on her face, along with the bittersweet nature of her being my daughter in the first place. The way she decided on her own to disregard the law of her world and to chose her own destiny, which, it seems, was me. Me and Spock. Two skinny arms wind around my waist and, although her face is still wearing a resolutely dismissive expression, she hugs me tight for a moment, then tighter still, squeezing her eyes shut as my arms go around her. I kiss the top of her head and pat her shoulder, feeling more like an uncle than anything else. A godparent, maybe. There's a definite affection there, whatever it is. She draws away and frowns up at me, folding her arms accusingly.
"You don't remember me at all, do you?"
I have to shake my head. "I'm sorry, I don't. I want to."
"I can't believe you got attacked by a squid. I told you something like this would happen if you didn't let Pops come too. Something stupid always happens to you if he's not there."
"I guess you were right. 'Pops', huh?"
She rolls her eyes, sighs. "You love telling people that story. It was how I pronounced 'Spock' when I was three. You think it's the cutest thing ever."
She's got me there. I follow her into her bedroom, taking an uneasy perch on the end of her unmade bed while she slumps back down into the huge memory bag she was sprawled in when I opened the door, already grabbing a pair of headphones like she's itching to put them back on to block me out. Her room looks like somebody turned it upside down and shook it around, and it still doesn't manage to come close to how messy my room was at her age. She plays with the headphones and stares at me through those bright green, unblinking eyes until I clear my throat, searching for something else to say. "So, how's life? How's, uh, school?"
Wrong thing to say. She frowns, her cheeks blushing dark lavender, eyes sparking angrily. "School? I'm barely scraping by. I guess I might as well remind you now, because you're going to find out anyway: I'm the dummy in the family. Gray's going to be the smart one, just like you and Pops."
"Oh. I got the impression from Pui-Shan a second ago that you and Gray are both, I don't know, above average. Did I get that wrong?"
A dismissive snort. "She's probably talking about the piano. I'm musically gifted, I'm starting at the Conservatory two years early next Spring semester. I suck at everything else."
"I'm sure that's not true."
"Dad, you haven't got a clue about me. Trust me, compared with all you guys, I'm dumb as a rock. I guess it's genetic."
"You're right, I don't know any better. But you seem smart enough to me. Smart, beautiful, and talented, too. I bet I'm the proudest dad in the galaxy."
Another sudden blush and again I've said the wrong thing, her face closing down as she tugs the headphones over her ears. "You're proud of Gray. You love me and everything but I'm never going to, I don't know, save entire planets. Not like you and Pops did. Whatever, it's not important. I guess I'm glad you're home and all that, but I've got stuff to do."
"Lejiba . . ."
"Later. Okay, Dad? I'm transcribing."
The dismissal is total, a shut-out that I don't know how to properly counteract so I get to my feet, about to say something but she orders her music to resume, grabbing a PADD from the floor beside her and hunching her shoulders away from me.
---
“What is this?”
“It is a data chip.”
“Spock, I can remember what a data chip looks like.” I turn it over in my fingers, like I'm in any way able to figure out why he's given it to me simply by looking at it. “What's on it?”
“It holds a chronological approximation of the development of our relationship.”
“You recorded notes on us?” It's more than a little weird and I look away from Spock and back at the chip again, slightly creeped out. Spock disappeared for a few minutes when I got the balls necessary over breakfast to ask him to start to fill me in about us, how we got together and everything. I only asked because Bones flatly refuses to tell me a thing. Spock came back and wordlessly handed me this.
“I did not.” A hint of censure. “The chip is yours. I suggest that you view the contents, and I will answer any remaining questions that you have for me once you have done so. I have an academy appointment this morning, which I am able to cancel if you wish -”
“No, go for it. I'm good, I'll take a look at our, uh, chronological approximation while you're out.”
He inclines his head in one of those tidy nods of his. “I shall be home this afternoon. I will check on Grayson before I leave.”
“Great. You want to bring him down to me if he's awake?” Stupid thing to say, we'd have heard him over the comm system if he was, I forgot.
“Of course. Goodbye, Jim.”
“Yeah, bye, Spock.”
An awkward pause and he turns, leaves the room, his tread soft on the stairs a moment later. Spock informed me last night that he was retiring to meditate, showing me up to our bedroom first and I went to sleep alone and coyly pajamaed in the huge bed that I usually share with him, waking this morning after a lingering, vaguely distressing squid dream to see an indentation of his head on his pillow that hadn't been there before, but no lingering warmth on his side. It wasn't a surprise that he hadn't slept long, he never seemed to need sleep when I first knew him, but the idea of him lying there next to me at all and me being so totally unaware of it makes me feel a little uncomfortable. Did I reach out to him at all, in my sleep? I hope not but I'm usually a friendly sleeper and imagine that, knowing me, I'd probably spend my nights wrapped around a husband like bindweed. The idea of sleeping wrapped around Spock means I need to take a further five minutes under a water shower, beating out a guilty orgasm that makes my toes curl against the tiling.
I look around the living room with the chip in my hand, trying to figure out where I'd stash a nearby PADD if this were my place. Which it is but I didn't think I'd ever live anywhere with so much stuff, little knick-knacks and mementoes on every surface, so many that I feel like I should apologize for all the dusting to Mike, the housekeeper I met this morning. But where's a PADD when you need one? I can't see anything on the shelves. A drawer on the desk seems to make sense, and it gives me an entirely disproportionate sense of achievement when I tug open the top drawer and find a stack of PADDs inside. It's this new, flashy design and it takes me a moment to figure out how to key one up, stuffing in the data chip to start looking at what Spock's got for me just as I hear the front door close behind him. I feel bad, for a moment, wondering if I'd usually see him off in a more personal manner. But it's Spock. I can't, not with him, not like I could fake it easily with somebody else.
A long chain of chronologically listed files appears on the PADD as I access the chip, listed by stardate. I open the first, dated what I calculate as being ten months into the original mission.
Captain
Thank you for your invitation to the Five Worlds botanical exhibit. I found the evening to be most informative.
Spock (Cmdr)
I read it over four times. Did he write me a thank you note over a date? Was that our first date? I bring up the second, dated almost two weeks after the first.
Captain
I wish to express my gratitude for your introducing me to Kravag Norr cuisine. It was an interesting experience and one that I believe will remain at the forefront of my memory for some time.
Spock (Cmdr)
I took Spock out for Kravag Norr? The hell was I thinking? I don't remember ever disliking him that much but that's a shitty second date in anyone's book. Maybe it was simply a bad joke on my part. I frown, key up another file. This isn't helping me figure out anything other than the fact that Spock's mom obviously drilled the importance of stuff like Thank You notes into him, and that I suck at dating even worse than I thought.
Captain
I concede that you may have had cause in your initial concerns re: Vulcan opera.
Spock (Cmdr)
I check the date, then cross-check it with Enterprise's mission files. It was the ship's first visit to the established colony at New Vulcan. I sat through opera for Spock? Or maybe it was a diplomacy thing. Either way, I thought the message was important enough to save. I find the next file.
Captain
In answer to your query, I have not been camping, in the Human understanding of the term. The concept of leisure time spent in a flimsily-constructed shelter as a method of recreation is new to me. I trust that you and Dr. McCoy will be able to direct my efforts in the matter.
Spock (Cmdr)
I took Spock camping. Well, that seals it - I was definitely after his ass because a night under canvas always makes me horny. I guess I dragged Bones along for support in case Spock turned me down flat. Poor Bones, I owe him a drink. It occurs to me that the next note might hold a clue over whether or not I jumped Spock successfully, and I bring up the wrong file in my rush, closing it out with a curse as I fumble for the right one. It seems very important all of a sudden.
Captain
Not the most promising of starts.
I would welcome the opportunity to continue with our discussion regarding practices and traditions typical to 'camping out'. I suggest that your quarters at 2100hrs would make an acceptable setting for said-discussion.
Spock (Cmdr)
I hear an odd little groaning sound and look over in the direction of the comm system before I figure out that it came from me. I jumped Spock on a camping trip. With Bones in the next tent! At least, I hope there was a next tent. God. Maybe I owe Bones more than a drink. I read it over once more, mind boggling over the fact that Spock sent me a booty-comm. Spock - sent me - a booty comm, and signed it with his rank. Fifteen years later and it's totally turning me on. The sound of the front door slamming makes me almost drop the PADD in surprise and I shove it back in the drawer, crossing my legs to disguise the beginnings of a boner as Pui-Shan appears in the doorway.
“Morning, Admiral! Still a blank slate?”
“And possibly getting blanker.”
“Oh dear.” She tilts her head with a fake pout. “I'll see if I can get Gray to poop on you later. That'll spark some recent memories.”
“Heh, thanks. I'd like to spend some time with him this morning. What are your plans?”
A huge smile like I did good. “We've got a languages lesson this morning, followed by yoga, then we're going to hit SFMOMA for a little art history before swinging by the Academy to meet Spock for lunch.”
“Art history? Really?” Seems like a bit much for a kid who seems to enjoy sucking on his own foot as much as anything else. She shrugs like it's no big deal.
“Gray's testing off the charts, it's best to keep his brain busy.”
“He's Spock's kid, he's bound to be scary smart.”
“Nice try, Admiral.” She leaves and I hear her voice trailing up the stairs after her. “Quit fishing, I'm paid to powder your son's behind, not yours."
I turn to the desk and pull the PADD back out, accessing the next file, pulse beginning to jump at the base of my throat as I read it through.
Jim
Last night was most gratifying. That your mind was able to accept my own with such apparent ease is unusual, although I confess that I am learning to expect the unexpected where you are concerned.
Spock
Fuck. I'm buzzing over something so simple, the idea of Spock in my head, the evidence here in front of me that he enjoyed it. One more, I have to make time for one more, even though I can hear Gray upstairs complaining to Pui-Shan that she woke him up. The PADD's like a book I can't bear to put down, needing to flip to the next page to see what happens.
Jim
I apologize for my lack of response during our conversation last night, and I am grateful you accept that I find it difficult to verbally express my regard for you. I wish to reassure you that the sentiment you declared is entirely requited.
Spock
It's a month after we first slept together, two months after our first date, and I told him I loved him already? I must have felt it for some time because I'm not the sort of guy to simply blurt it out soon as I feel it. An uncomfortable level of unwanted emotion itches at the back of my throat and I swallow heavily, placing the PADD down on the desk in front of me. It's stupid to be jealous of yourself. Really stupid.
---
"So, let me get this right: I got attacked by a twenty meter psychic squid -"
"More accurately, a twenty meter marine cephalopod similar to the Mesonychoteuthis genus on Earth but to a much larger scale -"
I silence the lieutenant with a glare. "My apologies: I got attacked by a twenty meter psychic marine cephalopod as some sort of planned ritual sacrifice?"
Cupcake clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him. "It appears so. The Ibahnians believe that the creature is their god, and that it feeds on, uh . . ."
I look at him expectantly and he actually flusters a little, grabbing the PADD off his lieutenant to read off it. "The report from the cultural negotiator explains that the Ibahnians believe that their god feeds on love. Their last three annual harvests had failed due to catastrophic climate change, and they believed they needed to make a meaningful sacrifice to appease their god and therefore avoid planet-wide starvation."
"They believe that the squid-god feeds off love?"
He clears his throat once more and I feel like advising him to take a drink of water. "Yes, Admiral. The report states that the Ibahnians were aware of your marriage and felt it was, and I quote directly from the report here, 'A legendary love affair known across the galaxy to have crossed dimensions and saved entire solar systems'. Sir."
"I got fed to a giant squid on a diplomatic 'welcome' visit because I'm married? For crying out loud . . ."
"It seems that way, yes sir. The Ibahnian government applied for Federation membership in the hope of famine relief, but primarily because they felt that you'd make an ideal sacrifice, which is why you were requested by name to attend the opening negotiations. They had considered other options but felt that Captain Spock as a Vulcan might be less vulnerable to psychic attack, which is why they were so insistent about your presence."
The memory of sharp, biting tentacles tightening around me and squirming into my throat slithers its way into my head once more and I close my eyes, breathe it out in one of the relaxation exercises Bones has me doing, waiting for the warm fuzz to flood my mind in the manner I think I'm becoming a little addicted to. Whatever it did to me, I guess the squid's mind fuck had one nice side effect. My voice is a little more relaxed as a result and I can see Cupcake relaxing a little on the comm screen when I address him next. I have to admit, I'm a petty asshole and get a kick out of how nervous I seem to make him these days.
"Hall and Mentam still haven't discovered the process by which the squid removes memory engrams?"
"Not yet, but the dissection is delicate and on a massive scale, and Doctor Hall is certain they'll have more information for you in a matter of days."
I nod, disappointed but unwilling to show it. "Thanks for the update, Captain, and thank your team for me. I'll expect another report soon as there's any progress."
"Of course, Admiral. Jules Verne out."
I relax back into my desk chair, closing my eyes, exhausted by one short morning and a million debriefings back at HQ. The irony of the situation strikes me as particularly biting, that I got fed to the squid because everyone in the Federation has heard about how much I'm in love with Spock, and now I can't even remember it myself. I spin around in my chair a few times, wondering if I can hide out in my office and avoid any further discussion of squids or of Operations or any further updates on everything I've missed. My head's already buzzing with too much, a tension headache throbbing at the base of my neck from still not having a grip on anything after this long, the trauma still waiting for a moment's weakness to make itself known once more. I woke alone again this morning with a faint memory of waking at some time in the night after another nightmare, a gentle hand on my back stroking over my skin and soothing me back into sleep. If nothing else, it made me thankful that I quit my attack of the prudes and returned to sleeping naked, figuring that Spock must be used to it after all these years. It makes me wonder if he sleeps nude too and I find myself lying in bed late into the night, trying to stay awake long enough to find out. It never works.
Over two weeks at home with Spock now and it feels like I don't really know him any better, but I'm working my way through the data chip of his notes to me and am finding myself more and more drawn to him, all the unstated passion, the love in them, which he keeps so tightly wrapped up in himself that I only catch an occasional glimpse of it in person. I hear it in hs voice, level and totally patient as I listen to him reasoning with a grumpy, withdrawn Lejiba upstairs at her bedroom door before coaxing her down to a family dinner that ends in her smiling at me for the first time since I've been home, the first time that I remember. I see it in the way he is with Gray, relaxed and affectionate and matter of fact, and in the clear evidence that Gray adores him in return. And the way he looked at me when I come out of the bathroom after a shower with a towel slung around my hips under my gut, Spock's eyes all over me dark and hot for a second before he excuses himself quietly and leaves the bedroom.
I guess he doesn't care that I got fat, but I spend forty minutes each day in our gym trying to work it off and run into Spock again there later on, unaware he was even home yet. I'm a mess, red in the face and sweating like a pig and he's beautiful, composed and half-stripped in exercise pants, his chest and feet bare. He nods at me with a measured 'Good afternoon, Jim. Have you had a productive day?' before starting to stretch, waiting for my response. I watch him, open-mouthed, unable to tear my eyes away from the way his body moves, the long limbs and that slim, taut torso, the body and chest hair that I'd never have suspected to be there and the way it tapers down his flat stomach to point its way to Happy Town. He notices me watching him and I stutter out an apology, to which he gazes back at me and states simply that he is glad that I have the desire to look. A long, heated pause flashes between us and, for maybe the first time in my life, I chicken out of something and leave. Things would be much easier if I just wanted to fuck him, but I read through more of his notes to me whenever I get a moment, a building testament to a relationship that, seen through Spock's eyes at least, seems to work, and I find myself wanting more with no idea how to go about getting it. I want my memory back. I want all of it and find myself getting more frustrated with every day that passes without even the slightest hint of recovery.
My desk clock chimes the hour and I open my eyes as my PA comes in with a stack of PADDs for me to look through and sign, and a cup of coffee because, much as I tried to like it for all of a day, tea tastes like Klingon piss and I can't believe that I was ever so whipped that I gave up coffee for it. Then it's time for a meeting with department heads, most of whom it turns out I vaguely remember from my academy days and it's a mental derailment, looking at the faces around the conference table and seeing so many years marking them all of a sudden. I guess we all ended up running things because there were so few of us left after Nero cut a swath through Starfleet. Strange to think how he's still affecting things so long after his death.
"Admiral! Wait up! Hey, Admiral Kirk, that thing make you go deaf, too?" It finally dawns on me that the person is calling out to me. I'm an Admiral! Still blowing my mind after a month. I turn around to see Uhura catching up to me and I do my best to be polite and not leer all over her but it's tough because, goddamn, she got older in the nicest way. She's no longer so slender, heavier now in the hips and bust, a whole heap of curves poured into a uniform that looks like she's had it refitted by some expert couturier, her hair cropped short to show off that regal face and those killer cheekbones. Wow, Spock totally traded down. It's a surprise when she flings her arms around me for a warm hug, her smile genuine as she cups my face with both hands for a moment before dropping them away and smacking me on the arm.
"Ow. That's insubordination, Mister."
"A psychic squid? Only you, I swear to God. Have you any idea how worried we all were?"
"Okay, you know how I don't remember anything much? You've heard about that?"
She nods, reaching out to stroke my arm over my uniform jacket like she wants to touch me, as if she wants a physical connection. "Yeah, Bones told me all of it."
"Last I remember, you wouldn't have shed a tear over me getting squished by a giant squid. In fact, I think you might've encouraged it."
"Oh, pft." She shrugs like it's nothing. "Water under the bridge a long time ago. You got time for lunch? You know I know all the gossip you missed out on that you're not going to find in any official records."
"Look at who you're talking to: I'm an admiral, I can do whatever the hell I want."
Which, it turns out, isn't true and I have one further comm conference to wrap up quick as I can, barely keeping track of what everyone's talking about no matter how often my PA, Luca, whispers reminders in my ear. It means I'm more than ready to share a bottle of wine once I'm finally done for the day, watching Nyota suck at her crawdad shells with buttery fingers while I attack a plate of garlicky grilled baby octopus with spiteful glee. She was sure it would give me a flashback and wanted to avoid a seafood restaurant altogether, but she's wrong and chewing on each and every sucker is a vindictive kind of justice that's as ridiculous as it is rubbery and delicious.
"You know Bones is worried about you."
We're halfway through our second bottle of wine, a pot of coffee cooling ignored between us on the table, dessert long since cleared away. "Bones is always worried about me."
"True, but it's not bodily harm he's worried about this time. He says that you're not, you know, sorting things out with Spock."
I frown into my wine, then finish the glass, reaching out to pour another and topping hers up. "What did he expect? That I'd come home and simply start up where I'd left off?"
"I guess we all did. You don't understand: you and Spock are meant for each other, you have to get it working again."
"Is it really any of anyone else's business? I don't mean to be rude -"
She laughs into her glass. "Sure you do." Takes a gulp, her eyes narrowed at me over the rim. "It's our business because we're your friends and we care about you. You'd be lost without Spock and, Spock, I don't know, I think he'd seriously physically suffer if anything happened to you or your bond. He's very reliant on it and this whole thing has been tough on him. I bumped into him a few days ago at the academy and he was much more withdrawn than usual."
"Our bond?" It's as if everything has stilled around me.
"Your bond. You know, your psychic bond. Your soul bond, Jim, don't tell me this is news to you, it's how Spock alerted the Endeavor to your attack. Surely when Bones told you that you're married to Spock -"
I gape at her, my mind spinning on its axis. "I'm mentally bonded to Spock?No, Bones didn't tell me. What the hell does that even mean?"
"Jim, I'm sorry, I thought you were aware . . . I guess all I really know about it is stuff you've told me over the years. You and he have a psychic link, the bond itself. Not, like, telepathy, more like a permanent mental and physical awareness of the other. There was even a small scandal about it when Fleet officially recognized your relationship, because Komack tried to have you barred from attending a senior operations quorum because issues on the table for discussion went over Spock's level of clearance, and Komack was convinced Spock would sticky beak on it all through your bond. You had to explain it doesn't work that way. Can't you feel him? From everything you've told me about it and how much stress you've been through recently, I'm surprised you haven't noticed Spock's presence."
I've always been clear with everyone around me that I'm not as smart as aptitude testing suggests, and it's taken way too long for me to figure this out. Every time it's happened, every horrifying recollection of the attack, every setback and every nightmare, each time I've been tired and worried and hating how confusing everything is these days, that warm flood of mental comfort I'd get in return had nothing to do with lingering aftereffects of the psychic attack. I should've known, because it felt like something warm and good, like someone wrapping a soft blanket around you after you've been caught in the rain. It was Spock all along, feeling my distress and, I don't know, somehow sending me a mental embrace of sorts. Maybe it's because I'm a little drunk, or because I'm tired after a frustrating day of knowing precisely dick about my own job, or simply that I'm sick of this, being stuck in a life that feels like it's not mine no matter how much I ache for it to be real.
Whatever it is, I'm anticipating Spock's response, guessing that he must be able to feel that I'm confused and a little shocked at the idea of having someone take up permanent residence in my head. So when the warm rush of drugging bliss comes, something I recognize now as a flood of pure love wrapping itself around my mind, I get pissed. My mind is my own, it's pretty much the only thing I've ever had that nobody could touch without my say so. Now I'm aware of it, Nyota's eyes focused on me as I look at her and feel unjustly mad at Spock, I notice a brief flicker of emotion that's not mine, a hint of confusion and worry that comes from somewhere deep in my head. It feels so entirely wrong, to have Spock's emotions in my mind, Spock of all people, that I get angrier, throwing back the last of my wine and getting to my feet. My communicator warbles at me as I'm digging out my credit chip to press against the pay stub at the table and I flip it open, fairly certain who it's going to be.
"Kirk here."
"Jim, are you well?"
"No, Spock, I'm not. Where are you?"
"I am currently within my department, but am able to leave if you need my assistance."
"Meet me at home. We need to talk."
I close out the communicator without waiting for his answer and Nyota takes me by the elbow, turning me towards her, her fingers soft as she strokes across my uniform lapels. "Jim, I love you, very much and you've been a wonderful friend to me over the years, but I said this to you a long time ago and think it needs repeating: If you hurt Spock, I'll rip off your balls. Do we understand each other?"
Next
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: This is the fic I've written to complete a bingo line for trek_crackbingo plus indulge myself in a bunch of K/S cliches, so highlight the following to view prompts/cliches fulfilled to some degree - Love Letters, Holidays, Wild Card (I picked Amnesia, and threw in kid!fic with a garnish of Mpreg), Tentacles - scary, and Dad Dancing.
Word Count: This chapter, 7300
Summary: Jim wakes after an attack to find everything changed
For: awarrington
I wake to the sound of footsteps running up stairs and a door slamming, the room dark and unfamiliar, panic rising in my chest, feeling like I'm paralyzed with what turned out to be the squid's venomous neurotoxin until I stretch out my arms and legs to reassure myself I can still move. I'm almost waiting for it now, the strange warmth flooding into my mind after a nightmare, a light fog in the center of my forehead that gently suggests that my muscles relax, my heartbeat calming. A thread of something else that I don't understand. Whatever the psi-squid did to me, it's not over yet and it doesn't quite feel like my mind's my own. I rub at my forehead, waiting for the sensation to dissipate.
Another door opens and closes somewhere, a woman's voice saying something but it's too muffled to make out. It sounds like a question, retreating into what I think must be the kitchen at the other end of the house. My house, I remember it now, trying out a verbal order to see if the smart glass can be voice-activated. It can, a tonal burble as my command is accepted and the glass clears, the room lightening to reveal a clear afternoon across the bay. I'm rubbing fingers into my eyes, sitting up with my elbows on my knees when I hear Spock's voice behind me, rich and deep.
"I am glad that you are awake, Jim, as I have someone here that I wish you to meet." The kids. I'm meeting my kids today. There's not a single thing I can do to prepare myself for this moment so I take a deep breath that doesn't help in the slightest and turn to look at Spock as a loud squeal and an excitable "Dadadada!" erupts from his direction. He's holding this chunky, squirming bundle of spiky blond hair and furiously windmilling arms, and Spock allows this fat little thing to wriggle out of his grasp to promptly tumble down the shallow steps with a squawk that turns into a fit of giggles. It's a baby. Potentially the biggest damn baby I've ever seen. He sticks his ass into the air as he pushes himself up onto these chubby feet and then toddles over to me, grinning and drooling over his chin in excitement, hands held out towards me and I reach out automatically, smiling in surprised pleasure as he grabs onto my fingers and holds on tight. Grayson Kirk, my son, fourteen months old, looking at me through enormous brown eyes beneath eyebrows that slant up towards his tufty hair. Everything else is all me, right down to his curved pink ears.
"PUPUPUP." He makes a grabbing motion with his hands, an approving gurgle as I heft him up into my lap, and he presses his open mouth against my cheek leaving a smear of drool behind. I think I just got a welcome home kiss. I'd like to say that I look at him and fall in love, but I don't. I think I'm supposed to. I like kids, although I've never had the slightest desire to have them myself and he's a cute kid even if I do have some sort of natural bias, unable to look into his face without seeing myself there, me with a touch of Spock which is possibly the most entirely bizarre thing I've ever experienced, psi-squid included. But I look at him and wait for this big rush of paternal love to overwhelm me, and it doesn't happen.
So I smile, laugh when he grabs at my nose, because he's totally adorable and seems like a cool kid and because I don't want to fail as a parent in five seconds flat. "Hi there, Grayson. I'm pleased to make your reacquaintance." I get a babble in reply and catch Spock looking at me expectantly. "What? What did I miss?"
"Babadoo is Grayson's approximation of Bouncy Do. He is requesting that you play with him."
"No shi- no way. I play Bouncy Do with him? How did I even remember that? Man, Bouncy Do. I'd clean forgotten all about Bouncy Do."
"BABABADOODOO."
"You want to play Bouncy Do? Okay, but you might need to help me out, I don't know if I can remember it all." I settle his legs across mine like he's riding a horse, holding onto his hands and start to bounce him up and down, jiggling him from one side to the other, Mom's old words coming back to me from I don't know where or when. Bouncy Do, Bouncy Do, Bounce for me then I'll bounce you. Bounce over here and this way too, up and down then we go . . . Boo! I drop him through my knees with the last word, his legs hooked around my thighs, his hands in mine as he throws his head back towards the floor and screams with laughter. I did a real dad thing, a parent thing, and I feel like even more of a fraud than I did sitting in the Captain's chair for the first time after provoking Spock into beating the crap out of me. I run through Bouncy Do with Grayson three more times, figuring out that he gurgles with approval the rougher I am, all the time wondering how long I have to do this and what I'll do if I say No to more and he screams. So I settle on jiggling him on my knees as I look back at Spock.
"Where's Lejiba? I thought she was due back same time as this guy."
"You said you were roused by a slamming door?' I nod. "In time, you will grow accustomed to what has become the habitual sign of Lejiba's return home."
"She didn't want to come say hi?"
"She did not." Spock finally comes down into the seating area towards me and Grayson, taking him firmly around the waist and swinging him up off my knee to tuck him under an arm as if he's a duffle bag, something Grayson seems to enjoy if the goofy chuckle emanating from Spock's armpit is anything to judge by. Spock simply acts like he doesn't have a diapered butt and two dimpled legs sticking out of the side of his body. "I believe that Lejiba is waiting in her room for you to attend to her."
"So I should go up there?"
"She has not seen you in twenty three days and is aware that you were recently involved in a near-fatal incident so, yes, I suggest that you should." Spock pats Grayson's bottom in an entirely expressionless manner then moves him easily up to a shoulder, Grayson grabbing at Spock's nose with one hand and sucking noisily on the other. Again, Spock doesn't acknowledge that his nose is being comprehensively squeezed or that another, spit-wet hand is now slapping at his cheek delightedly. "You will undoubtedly be told to 'Get lost'. I recommend that you fail to comply."
"A teenage daughter. Worse than the Romulans?"
Spock turns his head towards his son, face solemn as Grayson drools happily down Spock's cheek, and Spock delicately disengages one chubby hand from the pointed tip of his ear. "You have always maintained a certain level of pride in your tactical skills, Jim. Prepare to have them tested as never before."
I exit the couch, stretching kinks out of my back that wouldn't have been there twenty years ago, and leave the room with a brief and, I'm hoping, warm smile at Spock and Grayson, who is busy chewing on Spock's nose while Spock looks at him with a smile in his eyes. I cross the lobby and a woman comes out of what I'm guessing again is the kitchen, a stack of cloths in her hands that she's folding as she goes. Her face lights up when she looks up to see me, a look of genuine excitement, which is nice but I haven't got the slightest clue of who she is.
"Admiral! Oh, God, Jim." She tosses the cloths down on a side table and proceeds to hug the crap out of me, the top of her head coming up to the center of my chest. "We've been so worried. How's the memory, did you get anything back yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm sorry, I know this sounds rude but I don't recognize you."
"Don't sweat it." She stands back, waving my concerns away with one hand. "I'm Pui-Shan Lee, Parenting Support, although you usually say I'm part of the family if I introduce myself to visitors that way. It's very sweet, and more than a little disrespectful of my professional boundaries."
"I'll remember that. I think. You help out with the kids?"
"I have doctorates in Child Psychology and Development, wrote my most recent thesis on The Gifted Child: Family Dynamic and the Role of Support Professionals in Preventing Gotz-Chrobid Syndrome, and have tailored a classic six-point organizational scheme to this family in order to ensure Lejiba and Gray realize their unusual level of potential within a cohesive family unit. So, yeah, I guess you could put it like that, if you wanted to be super patronizing."
The wide grin tells me she's kidding and the way she keeps clinging to my arm like she's really happy to see me takes any sting out of her words. I nod in approval, agree with her that I'll make time this week to go over the plan, then ask if she can direct me to Lejiba's room as I haven't made it upstairs yet. She hikes a thumb towards the back of the house. "Upstairs, go left. Trust me, you won't miss it. We're big on encouraging the kids to express themselves, and Lejiba's very, uh, creative."
She's right: In a sun-filled house full of muted, earthy tones that continue upstairs, calming and restful, we thought it was a good idea to allow Lejiba to paint her door black with drizzles of pale purple running down from the top like a lavender blood stain. I think about the girl in the photos as I walk up to her door, think about her pale mauve skin, wondering if maybe her blood's actually this color and, if so, what the hell sort of statement are we encouraging her to make. I take a deep breath before knocking on her door, nervous beyond reason. I'm Jim Kirk, youngest Starship Captain in Fleet history, youngest officer decorated with the Starfleet Medal of Honor, defeater of Nero. Lejiba is a fifteen year old girl. I key her door chime.
"Oh my God, what now?"
"Lejiba? It's me. It's -" Dad? Daddy? I imagine Spock's probably 'Father', I can't imagine anyone calling Spock 'Daddy'. My brain takes itself on a swift inappropriate detour before I wrench back my concentration. "It's time we caught up."
There's a pause. "I'm busy. Come back later."
"I want to see if you're as pretty in person as in your holofiles."
"I said, I'm busy."
"I'm coming in." I step up to the door, sort of expecting it to stay in place, unsure if we'd allow her a private lock code. Doesn't seem like it as it opens for me easily and I look down into a pair of furious eyes the color of emeralds, half-covered in a long sweep of hair that's such a dark blue it's almost as black as Spock's. "Da-ad! You promised you wouldn't just walk in anymore."
"I didn't walk in, I chimed and asked."
"And I said no."
"Spock recommended that I take an assertive approach."
"Don't blame him. You're the one in my room uninvited. Again."
She's tiny, barely up to my chest, Ooniuum by birth and unlikely to ever grow much bigger. I think over the small amount of information that was available on her file, and over the rather larger amount available on my personnel file as her adoption was the first of many times I've decided to ignore Fleet directive and do whatever the hell I felt needed doing. Reading over my missions history on the way back to Earth from Ibahn I couldn't believe my eventual promotion didn't get blocked over pulling this kind of shit repeatedly throughout my captaincy. Lejiba, my work of art in that respect, a third daughter on a planet with a too-high female birth rate and a culture that forbids polygamous marriage. A almost three year old child who darts out of the crowd and boldy slips her hand into mine and asks me to rescue her. So I do, on finding out that unwanted female children not adopted by a childless couple are culled on their third birthday.
Culled, the report even refers to it in that way. I carried her around with me that whole first day of membership negotiations, then insisted on adopting her, and caused a whole Prime Directive shit storm to come down on my and Spock's heads when the head of Ibahn government complained to Federation government. I wish I could remember it, it's kind of cool. It sounds like a me thing to do, storming in to rescue someone who's been abandoned, regardless to the consequences. Even if it meant becoming a parent overnight.
"You're beautiful." It's barely more than a murmur, muttered under my breath but her cheeks flush a darker purple, the color of the spray of freckles across her long nose.
"You have to think that, you're my dad."
"Can I get a hug?" Do I want one? Weirdly, I do. There's something about her delicacy combined with the fierce expression on her face, along with the bittersweet nature of her being my daughter in the first place. The way she decided on her own to disregard the law of her world and to chose her own destiny, which, it seems, was me. Me and Spock. Two skinny arms wind around my waist and, although her face is still wearing a resolutely dismissive expression, she hugs me tight for a moment, then tighter still, squeezing her eyes shut as my arms go around her. I kiss the top of her head and pat her shoulder, feeling more like an uncle than anything else. A godparent, maybe. There's a definite affection there, whatever it is. She draws away and frowns up at me, folding her arms accusingly.
"You don't remember me at all, do you?"
I have to shake my head. "I'm sorry, I don't. I want to."
"I can't believe you got attacked by a squid. I told you something like this would happen if you didn't let Pops come too. Something stupid always happens to you if he's not there."
"I guess you were right. 'Pops', huh?"
She rolls her eyes, sighs. "You love telling people that story. It was how I pronounced 'Spock' when I was three. You think it's the cutest thing ever."
She's got me there. I follow her into her bedroom, taking an uneasy perch on the end of her unmade bed while she slumps back down into the huge memory bag she was sprawled in when I opened the door, already grabbing a pair of headphones like she's itching to put them back on to block me out. Her room looks like somebody turned it upside down and shook it around, and it still doesn't manage to come close to how messy my room was at her age. She plays with the headphones and stares at me through those bright green, unblinking eyes until I clear my throat, searching for something else to say. "So, how's life? How's, uh, school?"
Wrong thing to say. She frowns, her cheeks blushing dark lavender, eyes sparking angrily. "School? I'm barely scraping by. I guess I might as well remind you now, because you're going to find out anyway: I'm the dummy in the family. Gray's going to be the smart one, just like you and Pops."
"Oh. I got the impression from Pui-Shan a second ago that you and Gray are both, I don't know, above average. Did I get that wrong?"
A dismissive snort. "She's probably talking about the piano. I'm musically gifted, I'm starting at the Conservatory two years early next Spring semester. I suck at everything else."
"I'm sure that's not true."
"Dad, you haven't got a clue about me. Trust me, compared with all you guys, I'm dumb as a rock. I guess it's genetic."
"You're right, I don't know any better. But you seem smart enough to me. Smart, beautiful, and talented, too. I bet I'm the proudest dad in the galaxy."
Another sudden blush and again I've said the wrong thing, her face closing down as she tugs the headphones over her ears. "You're proud of Gray. You love me and everything but I'm never going to, I don't know, save entire planets. Not like you and Pops did. Whatever, it's not important. I guess I'm glad you're home and all that, but I've got stuff to do."
"Lejiba . . ."
"Later. Okay, Dad? I'm transcribing."
The dismissal is total, a shut-out that I don't know how to properly counteract so I get to my feet, about to say something but she orders her music to resume, grabbing a PADD from the floor beside her and hunching her shoulders away from me.
---
“What is this?”
“It is a data chip.”
“Spock, I can remember what a data chip looks like.” I turn it over in my fingers, like I'm in any way able to figure out why he's given it to me simply by looking at it. “What's on it?”
“It holds a chronological approximation of the development of our relationship.”
“You recorded notes on us?” It's more than a little weird and I look away from Spock and back at the chip again, slightly creeped out. Spock disappeared for a few minutes when I got the balls necessary over breakfast to ask him to start to fill me in about us, how we got together and everything. I only asked because Bones flatly refuses to tell me a thing. Spock came back and wordlessly handed me this.
“I did not.” A hint of censure. “The chip is yours. I suggest that you view the contents, and I will answer any remaining questions that you have for me once you have done so. I have an academy appointment this morning, which I am able to cancel if you wish -”
“No, go for it. I'm good, I'll take a look at our, uh, chronological approximation while you're out.”
He inclines his head in one of those tidy nods of his. “I shall be home this afternoon. I will check on Grayson before I leave.”
“Great. You want to bring him down to me if he's awake?” Stupid thing to say, we'd have heard him over the comm system if he was, I forgot.
“Of course. Goodbye, Jim.”
“Yeah, bye, Spock.”
An awkward pause and he turns, leaves the room, his tread soft on the stairs a moment later. Spock informed me last night that he was retiring to meditate, showing me up to our bedroom first and I went to sleep alone and coyly pajamaed in the huge bed that I usually share with him, waking this morning after a lingering, vaguely distressing squid dream to see an indentation of his head on his pillow that hadn't been there before, but no lingering warmth on his side. It wasn't a surprise that he hadn't slept long, he never seemed to need sleep when I first knew him, but the idea of him lying there next to me at all and me being so totally unaware of it makes me feel a little uncomfortable. Did I reach out to him at all, in my sleep? I hope not but I'm usually a friendly sleeper and imagine that, knowing me, I'd probably spend my nights wrapped around a husband like bindweed. The idea of sleeping wrapped around Spock means I need to take a further five minutes under a water shower, beating out a guilty orgasm that makes my toes curl against the tiling.
I look around the living room with the chip in my hand, trying to figure out where I'd stash a nearby PADD if this were my place. Which it is but I didn't think I'd ever live anywhere with so much stuff, little knick-knacks and mementoes on every surface, so many that I feel like I should apologize for all the dusting to Mike, the housekeeper I met this morning. But where's a PADD when you need one? I can't see anything on the shelves. A drawer on the desk seems to make sense, and it gives me an entirely disproportionate sense of achievement when I tug open the top drawer and find a stack of PADDs inside. It's this new, flashy design and it takes me a moment to figure out how to key one up, stuffing in the data chip to start looking at what Spock's got for me just as I hear the front door close behind him. I feel bad, for a moment, wondering if I'd usually see him off in a more personal manner. But it's Spock. I can't, not with him, not like I could fake it easily with somebody else.
A long chain of chronologically listed files appears on the PADD as I access the chip, listed by stardate. I open the first, dated what I calculate as being ten months into the original mission.
Captain
Thank you for your invitation to the Five Worlds botanical exhibit. I found the evening to be most informative.
Spock (Cmdr)
I read it over four times. Did he write me a thank you note over a date? Was that our first date? I bring up the second, dated almost two weeks after the first.
Captain
I wish to express my gratitude for your introducing me to Kravag Norr cuisine. It was an interesting experience and one that I believe will remain at the forefront of my memory for some time.
Spock (Cmdr)
I took Spock out for Kravag Norr? The hell was I thinking? I don't remember ever disliking him that much but that's a shitty second date in anyone's book. Maybe it was simply a bad joke on my part. I frown, key up another file. This isn't helping me figure out anything other than the fact that Spock's mom obviously drilled the importance of stuff like Thank You notes into him, and that I suck at dating even worse than I thought.
Captain
I concede that you may have had cause in your initial concerns re: Vulcan opera.
Spock (Cmdr)
I check the date, then cross-check it with Enterprise's mission files. It was the ship's first visit to the established colony at New Vulcan. I sat through opera for Spock? Or maybe it was a diplomacy thing. Either way, I thought the message was important enough to save. I find the next file.
Captain
In answer to your query, I have not been camping, in the Human understanding of the term. The concept of leisure time spent in a flimsily-constructed shelter as a method of recreation is new to me. I trust that you and Dr. McCoy will be able to direct my efforts in the matter.
Spock (Cmdr)
I took Spock camping. Well, that seals it - I was definitely after his ass because a night under canvas always makes me horny. I guess I dragged Bones along for support in case Spock turned me down flat. Poor Bones, I owe him a drink. It occurs to me that the next note might hold a clue over whether or not I jumped Spock successfully, and I bring up the wrong file in my rush, closing it out with a curse as I fumble for the right one. It seems very important all of a sudden.
Captain
Not the most promising of starts.
I would welcome the opportunity to continue with our discussion regarding practices and traditions typical to 'camping out'. I suggest that your quarters at 2100hrs would make an acceptable setting for said-discussion.
Spock (Cmdr)
I hear an odd little groaning sound and look over in the direction of the comm system before I figure out that it came from me. I jumped Spock on a camping trip. With Bones in the next tent! At least, I hope there was a next tent. God. Maybe I owe Bones more than a drink. I read it over once more, mind boggling over the fact that Spock sent me a booty-comm. Spock - sent me - a booty comm, and signed it with his rank. Fifteen years later and it's totally turning me on. The sound of the front door slamming makes me almost drop the PADD in surprise and I shove it back in the drawer, crossing my legs to disguise the beginnings of a boner as Pui-Shan appears in the doorway.
“Morning, Admiral! Still a blank slate?”
“And possibly getting blanker.”
“Oh dear.” She tilts her head with a fake pout. “I'll see if I can get Gray to poop on you later. That'll spark some recent memories.”
“Heh, thanks. I'd like to spend some time with him this morning. What are your plans?”
A huge smile like I did good. “We've got a languages lesson this morning, followed by yoga, then we're going to hit SFMOMA for a little art history before swinging by the Academy to meet Spock for lunch.”
“Art history? Really?” Seems like a bit much for a kid who seems to enjoy sucking on his own foot as much as anything else. She shrugs like it's no big deal.
“Gray's testing off the charts, it's best to keep his brain busy.”
“He's Spock's kid, he's bound to be scary smart.”
“Nice try, Admiral.” She leaves and I hear her voice trailing up the stairs after her. “Quit fishing, I'm paid to powder your son's behind, not yours."
I turn to the desk and pull the PADD back out, accessing the next file, pulse beginning to jump at the base of my throat as I read it through.
Jim
Last night was most gratifying. That your mind was able to accept my own with such apparent ease is unusual, although I confess that I am learning to expect the unexpected where you are concerned.
Spock
Fuck. I'm buzzing over something so simple, the idea of Spock in my head, the evidence here in front of me that he enjoyed it. One more, I have to make time for one more, even though I can hear Gray upstairs complaining to Pui-Shan that she woke him up. The PADD's like a book I can't bear to put down, needing to flip to the next page to see what happens.
Jim
I apologize for my lack of response during our conversation last night, and I am grateful you accept that I find it difficult to verbally express my regard for you. I wish to reassure you that the sentiment you declared is entirely requited.
Spock
It's a month after we first slept together, two months after our first date, and I told him I loved him already? I must have felt it for some time because I'm not the sort of guy to simply blurt it out soon as I feel it. An uncomfortable level of unwanted emotion itches at the back of my throat and I swallow heavily, placing the PADD down on the desk in front of me. It's stupid to be jealous of yourself. Really stupid.
---
"So, let me get this right: I got attacked by a twenty meter psychic squid -"
"More accurately, a twenty meter marine cephalopod similar to the Mesonychoteuthis genus on Earth but to a much larger scale -"
I silence the lieutenant with a glare. "My apologies: I got attacked by a twenty meter psychic marine cephalopod as some sort of planned ritual sacrifice?"
Cupcake clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him. "It appears so. The Ibahnians believe that the creature is their god, and that it feeds on, uh . . ."
I look at him expectantly and he actually flusters a little, grabbing the PADD off his lieutenant to read off it. "The report from the cultural negotiator explains that the Ibahnians believe that their god feeds on love. Their last three annual harvests had failed due to catastrophic climate change, and they believed they needed to make a meaningful sacrifice to appease their god and therefore avoid planet-wide starvation."
"They believe that the squid-god feeds off love?"
He clears his throat once more and I feel like advising him to take a drink of water. "Yes, Admiral. The report states that the Ibahnians were aware of your marriage and felt it was, and I quote directly from the report here, 'A legendary love affair known across the galaxy to have crossed dimensions and saved entire solar systems'. Sir."
"I got fed to a giant squid on a diplomatic 'welcome' visit because I'm married? For crying out loud . . ."
"It seems that way, yes sir. The Ibahnian government applied for Federation membership in the hope of famine relief, but primarily because they felt that you'd make an ideal sacrifice, which is why you were requested by name to attend the opening negotiations. They had considered other options but felt that Captain Spock as a Vulcan might be less vulnerable to psychic attack, which is why they were so insistent about your presence."
The memory of sharp, biting tentacles tightening around me and squirming into my throat slithers its way into my head once more and I close my eyes, breathe it out in one of the relaxation exercises Bones has me doing, waiting for the warm fuzz to flood my mind in the manner I think I'm becoming a little addicted to. Whatever it did to me, I guess the squid's mind fuck had one nice side effect. My voice is a little more relaxed as a result and I can see Cupcake relaxing a little on the comm screen when I address him next. I have to admit, I'm a petty asshole and get a kick out of how nervous I seem to make him these days.
"Hall and Mentam still haven't discovered the process by which the squid removes memory engrams?"
"Not yet, but the dissection is delicate and on a massive scale, and Doctor Hall is certain they'll have more information for you in a matter of days."
I nod, disappointed but unwilling to show it. "Thanks for the update, Captain, and thank your team for me. I'll expect another report soon as there's any progress."
"Of course, Admiral. Jules Verne out."
I relax back into my desk chair, closing my eyes, exhausted by one short morning and a million debriefings back at HQ. The irony of the situation strikes me as particularly biting, that I got fed to the squid because everyone in the Federation has heard about how much I'm in love with Spock, and now I can't even remember it myself. I spin around in my chair a few times, wondering if I can hide out in my office and avoid any further discussion of squids or of Operations or any further updates on everything I've missed. My head's already buzzing with too much, a tension headache throbbing at the base of my neck from still not having a grip on anything after this long, the trauma still waiting for a moment's weakness to make itself known once more. I woke alone again this morning with a faint memory of waking at some time in the night after another nightmare, a gentle hand on my back stroking over my skin and soothing me back into sleep. If nothing else, it made me thankful that I quit my attack of the prudes and returned to sleeping naked, figuring that Spock must be used to it after all these years. It makes me wonder if he sleeps nude too and I find myself lying in bed late into the night, trying to stay awake long enough to find out. It never works.
Over two weeks at home with Spock now and it feels like I don't really know him any better, but I'm working my way through the data chip of his notes to me and am finding myself more and more drawn to him, all the unstated passion, the love in them, which he keeps so tightly wrapped up in himself that I only catch an occasional glimpse of it in person. I hear it in hs voice, level and totally patient as I listen to him reasoning with a grumpy, withdrawn Lejiba upstairs at her bedroom door before coaxing her down to a family dinner that ends in her smiling at me for the first time since I've been home, the first time that I remember. I see it in the way he is with Gray, relaxed and affectionate and matter of fact, and in the clear evidence that Gray adores him in return. And the way he looked at me when I come out of the bathroom after a shower with a towel slung around my hips under my gut, Spock's eyes all over me dark and hot for a second before he excuses himself quietly and leaves the bedroom.
I guess he doesn't care that I got fat, but I spend forty minutes each day in our gym trying to work it off and run into Spock again there later on, unaware he was even home yet. I'm a mess, red in the face and sweating like a pig and he's beautiful, composed and half-stripped in exercise pants, his chest and feet bare. He nods at me with a measured 'Good afternoon, Jim. Have you had a productive day?' before starting to stretch, waiting for my response. I watch him, open-mouthed, unable to tear my eyes away from the way his body moves, the long limbs and that slim, taut torso, the body and chest hair that I'd never have suspected to be there and the way it tapers down his flat stomach to point its way to Happy Town. He notices me watching him and I stutter out an apology, to which he gazes back at me and states simply that he is glad that I have the desire to look. A long, heated pause flashes between us and, for maybe the first time in my life, I chicken out of something and leave. Things would be much easier if I just wanted to fuck him, but I read through more of his notes to me whenever I get a moment, a building testament to a relationship that, seen through Spock's eyes at least, seems to work, and I find myself wanting more with no idea how to go about getting it. I want my memory back. I want all of it and find myself getting more frustrated with every day that passes without even the slightest hint of recovery.
My desk clock chimes the hour and I open my eyes as my PA comes in with a stack of PADDs for me to look through and sign, and a cup of coffee because, much as I tried to like it for all of a day, tea tastes like Klingon piss and I can't believe that I was ever so whipped that I gave up coffee for it. Then it's time for a meeting with department heads, most of whom it turns out I vaguely remember from my academy days and it's a mental derailment, looking at the faces around the conference table and seeing so many years marking them all of a sudden. I guess we all ended up running things because there were so few of us left after Nero cut a swath through Starfleet. Strange to think how he's still affecting things so long after his death.
"Admiral! Wait up! Hey, Admiral Kirk, that thing make you go deaf, too?" It finally dawns on me that the person is calling out to me. I'm an Admiral! Still blowing my mind after a month. I turn around to see Uhura catching up to me and I do my best to be polite and not leer all over her but it's tough because, goddamn, she got older in the nicest way. She's no longer so slender, heavier now in the hips and bust, a whole heap of curves poured into a uniform that looks like she's had it refitted by some expert couturier, her hair cropped short to show off that regal face and those killer cheekbones. Wow, Spock totally traded down. It's a surprise when she flings her arms around me for a warm hug, her smile genuine as she cups my face with both hands for a moment before dropping them away and smacking me on the arm.
"Ow. That's insubordination, Mister."
"A psychic squid? Only you, I swear to God. Have you any idea how worried we all were?"
"Okay, you know how I don't remember anything much? You've heard about that?"
She nods, reaching out to stroke my arm over my uniform jacket like she wants to touch me, as if she wants a physical connection. "Yeah, Bones told me all of it."
"Last I remember, you wouldn't have shed a tear over me getting squished by a giant squid. In fact, I think you might've encouraged it."
"Oh, pft." She shrugs like it's nothing. "Water under the bridge a long time ago. You got time for lunch? You know I know all the gossip you missed out on that you're not going to find in any official records."
"Look at who you're talking to: I'm an admiral, I can do whatever the hell I want."
Which, it turns out, isn't true and I have one further comm conference to wrap up quick as I can, barely keeping track of what everyone's talking about no matter how often my PA, Luca, whispers reminders in my ear. It means I'm more than ready to share a bottle of wine once I'm finally done for the day, watching Nyota suck at her crawdad shells with buttery fingers while I attack a plate of garlicky grilled baby octopus with spiteful glee. She was sure it would give me a flashback and wanted to avoid a seafood restaurant altogether, but she's wrong and chewing on each and every sucker is a vindictive kind of justice that's as ridiculous as it is rubbery and delicious.
"You know Bones is worried about you."
We're halfway through our second bottle of wine, a pot of coffee cooling ignored between us on the table, dessert long since cleared away. "Bones is always worried about me."
"True, but it's not bodily harm he's worried about this time. He says that you're not, you know, sorting things out with Spock."
I frown into my wine, then finish the glass, reaching out to pour another and topping hers up. "What did he expect? That I'd come home and simply start up where I'd left off?"
"I guess we all did. You don't understand: you and Spock are meant for each other, you have to get it working again."
"Is it really any of anyone else's business? I don't mean to be rude -"
She laughs into her glass. "Sure you do." Takes a gulp, her eyes narrowed at me over the rim. "It's our business because we're your friends and we care about you. You'd be lost without Spock and, Spock, I don't know, I think he'd seriously physically suffer if anything happened to you or your bond. He's very reliant on it and this whole thing has been tough on him. I bumped into him a few days ago at the academy and he was much more withdrawn than usual."
"Our bond?" It's as if everything has stilled around me.
"Your bond. You know, your psychic bond. Your soul bond, Jim, don't tell me this is news to you, it's how Spock alerted the Endeavor to your attack. Surely when Bones told you that you're married to Spock -"
I gape at her, my mind spinning on its axis. "I'm mentally bonded to Spock?No, Bones didn't tell me. What the hell does that even mean?"
"Jim, I'm sorry, I thought you were aware . . . I guess all I really know about it is stuff you've told me over the years. You and he have a psychic link, the bond itself. Not, like, telepathy, more like a permanent mental and physical awareness of the other. There was even a small scandal about it when Fleet officially recognized your relationship, because Komack tried to have you barred from attending a senior operations quorum because issues on the table for discussion went over Spock's level of clearance, and Komack was convinced Spock would sticky beak on it all through your bond. You had to explain it doesn't work that way. Can't you feel him? From everything you've told me about it and how much stress you've been through recently, I'm surprised you haven't noticed Spock's presence."
I've always been clear with everyone around me that I'm not as smart as aptitude testing suggests, and it's taken way too long for me to figure this out. Every time it's happened, every horrifying recollection of the attack, every setback and every nightmare, each time I've been tired and worried and hating how confusing everything is these days, that warm flood of mental comfort I'd get in return had nothing to do with lingering aftereffects of the psychic attack. I should've known, because it felt like something warm and good, like someone wrapping a soft blanket around you after you've been caught in the rain. It was Spock all along, feeling my distress and, I don't know, somehow sending me a mental embrace of sorts. Maybe it's because I'm a little drunk, or because I'm tired after a frustrating day of knowing precisely dick about my own job, or simply that I'm sick of this, being stuck in a life that feels like it's not mine no matter how much I ache for it to be real.
Whatever it is, I'm anticipating Spock's response, guessing that he must be able to feel that I'm confused and a little shocked at the idea of having someone take up permanent residence in my head. So when the warm rush of drugging bliss comes, something I recognize now as a flood of pure love wrapping itself around my mind, I get pissed. My mind is my own, it's pretty much the only thing I've ever had that nobody could touch without my say so. Now I'm aware of it, Nyota's eyes focused on me as I look at her and feel unjustly mad at Spock, I notice a brief flicker of emotion that's not mine, a hint of confusion and worry that comes from somewhere deep in my head. It feels so entirely wrong, to have Spock's emotions in my mind, Spock of all people, that I get angrier, throwing back the last of my wine and getting to my feet. My communicator warbles at me as I'm digging out my credit chip to press against the pay stub at the table and I flip it open, fairly certain who it's going to be.
"Kirk here."
"Jim, are you well?"
"No, Spock, I'm not. Where are you?"
"I am currently within my department, but am able to leave if you need my assistance."
"Meet me at home. We need to talk."
I close out the communicator without waiting for his answer and Nyota takes me by the elbow, turning me towards her, her fingers soft as she strokes across my uniform lapels. "Jim, I love you, very much and you've been a wonderful friend to me over the years, but I said this to you a long time ago and think it needs repeating: If you hurt Spock, I'll rip off your balls. Do we understand each other?"
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