FIC: THE SPACES THAT WERE MEANT TO BE FILLED, KIRK/SPOCK
the spaces that were meant to be filled
Kirk/Spock, PG, 1011 words
Spock has to admit, staring into his own eyes, albeit older and from a different time, is a disconcerting and strange experience. He instinctively wants to know everything about his life, to learn from it, to study under himself, already thinking of the vast amounts of knowledge to be found between their two minds.
When his other self tells him that Spock belongs on the Enterprise, he fails to see the logic and feels compelled to ask "Why?" promoting a thoughtful expression on the other's face as he visibly wavers between decisions before extending his hand in open invitation.
"If I may show you something? From my past."
Spock nods his assent, pleased at being granted privy to wisdom well beyond his years. It is an opportunity many Vulcans crave and yet few so rarely receive.
He walks forward until he feels the cool touch of fingers on his cheek and jaw and then, the silent press of a mind against his own - not quite the same: more weathered and lived-in, but with recognizable tendrils of thought that, if he cares to follow them, will lead to equally logical conclusions.
He has a desire to probe the mind, to engage with it, to ask it questions, but it gently pulls him along deeper without stopping. He reluctantly passes through spaces for philosophy and mathematics, astronomy and physics linked together in complex networks that hum with the undercurrent of knowledge and logic. They are so shallowly guarded and open that, if any empath so chose, he could explore them all at will.
Spock has only a moment to notice this before he is whisked across what feels like an event horizon, dark and endless, as his pliant mind falls into emotions of fear, longing, trust, pain, hope, love, always love and sensation that run so deep Spock might just be lost forever in what he hasn't felt exist since his childhood and never ever as intensely as this.
He reels from the shock; surely his body must be lying crumpled on the ground, caught in convulsions. Surely no being, human or Vulcan, can survive this sudden intrusion.
"You are not dead, Spock," a voice tells him. "Do not worry. No harm will come to you. I have yet a little more for you to see."
What was permeated and scattered of Spock's mind is pieced back together by invisible forces. Yet even as he is made whole again, he can't help but think about the Vulcan parts of his mind that must have been invariably lost in the experience. There is a new knowledge inside of him, perhaps a piece of his older self that fits into and fills the space where some of his logic used to reside.
Spock hesitates in continuing, but something he vaguely recognizes as impulse and curiosity make him say "I'm ready."
He prepares himself for another journey, but instead, he remains static and the images come to him. He watches himself smile for the first time, the muscles working awkwardly against the even lines of his mouth but the emotion genuine. He feels happiness and the elusive irrational feeling of abandon that suddenly chokes him a little at the throat, makes his vision go blurry with water that pools in his eyes as his older self cries in the memory. He feels the unbidden rush of desire at the sight of women, gone just as quickly as it came like flashes of anger and pangs of loss.
The next memories shift, almost imperceptibly into something impossibly resembling Th'y'la - a soothing, grounding presence Spock has only distantly learned about from books and lectures. He lets his mind go to the feeling of his other self's memories: arms wrapping around him from behind, kisses pressed to his neck, fingers fumbling with his tunic, and then, a body laid bare before him, moaning as they move together; and Spock, tumbling into too much, too much, more than he can stand, rips himself away from the memory and the fingers that hold his mind in place.
His physical body still burns with sensation, not at all unpleasant but it leaves him too raw and too vulnerable for it to ever be logically welcome again. He breathes heavily, the image of James Kirk's face looking up at him in complete trust and love refusing to purge itself from his thoughts.
His other self stands calmly and placidly before him, hand still in the air before he slowly brings it down.
"It was never my intention for this to be painful for you. I only wished to show you my reality so that you may know what might await you in yours." His eyes look saddened and worn, as if they've seen too much in one lifetime and don't know how to forget.
Spock thinks of the Kirk in the memories and their residual feel and can't help but wonder by how much the sensation would be magnified without going through the medium of another mind. "You think I may have a similar fate?" he asks.
"There are some time lines, I have found, that inevitably converge at the same destination no matter their course or origin. Yours and your Jim Kirk's are but one example." His face turns pensive and he adds: "Do not undervalue the power of emotion, Spock. It is in its fragility that life is made beautiful."
Spock nods, cataloging the words in his mind for future pondering. For now, he says "Thank you," and "I'm sure that we shall see each other again," trying to convey his gratitude through his eyes, his expression, as he's seen humans do many times before. He knows his other self appreciates the gesture when he gives him an encouraging nod.
Spock takes a brief moment to orient himself before he turns to walk in the opposite direction, a tentative smile on his lips, the feel of old memories from a different time still thrumming beneath his skin, and a newfound and compelling resolve to find his Captain James Kirk.