(And I Wait) Without You 2/3

[kianspo]

Title: (And I Wait) Without You 2/3
Beta: secret_chord25 whose brilliance knows no bounds; all remaining mistakes are mine
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: sexual content, implied violence, language
Word count: ~18 000
Summary: Written for this prompt on my prompt meme. An obligatory amnesia story, but with a twist. Jim believes he has lost Spock, after seeing him die. Later he discovers that Spock is alive, but suffers from a memory loss. Jim wants Spock to remember everything, but he doesn't know what he's asking for.

Part 1/3 

Jim always liked watching Spock sleep.

There was something, ultimately, more intimate about it than even having sex. Admittedly it wasn’t as intimate as a meld, but it still felt deeply personal in a domestic kind of way - the type of everyday closeness that was simple in itself but not easy to come by. Just the thought that another person felt so safe and protected around him as to give up consciousness in his presence was slightly insane - and yet so very pleasant. And somehow, Spock just closing his eyes and falling asleep beside Jim made him all kinds of fuzzy, warm, disbelieving, and happy.

He never did get a chance to get used to it, and now, as he is watching Spock drifting on the quiet waves of artificial sleep, Jim wonders if he ever will.

“I can bring him out of it if you want,” Bones says quietly. “It’s about time.”

Jim shakes his head. He can already see Spock stirring. In a moment, he shifts on the bed slightly, and then slowly opens his eyes.

Jim watches him blink, taking in the room and the people in it. There’s still no sign of recognition, not even as Spock’s eyes linger on him. It hurts, but at least Spock doesn’t look like a wild animal about to be slaughtered anymore.

He does stiffen, collecting himself visibly, as Jim has seen Spock do countless times before a fight. And he’s not talking. His gaze shifts from Bones to Jim and back, but he keeps determinedly silent. Jim suppresses a sigh. He knows that look. He has seen, and been at, entirely too many prisons not to recognize it.

“Do you know where you are?” Jim asks gently.

Spock glances at him, and so does Bones. The Vulcan’s eyes are calculating and impassive. Bones seems surprised.

It becomes clear in a moment, however, that Spock isn’t planning on answering. Jim knows he should sympathize, but for some reason he’s seized by an inexplicable surge of irritation.

“Do you know who I am?”

Suspicion. Spock’s eyes are guarded as he studies Jim - closed up and so damn wary. Jim wants to shake him or hit him. He also wants to weep.

“Do you know who you are?”

Bones shoots him a warning look because Jim’s voice sounds sharper this time, but Jim can’t help it. The expression in Spock’s eyes is twisting Jim’s guts into knots, ripping something inside of him. A slightly insane thought invites itself into his unpleasantly hazed mind: Could he just kiss Spock and break the goddamn spell?

Fortunately for everyone, McCoy is perceptive enough to step forward, drawing Spock’s attention to himself.

“I know this is confusing,” he says, and Jim is certain he’s never heard Bones use that tender tone with Spock - anyone - before. For the first time in his life, Jim hears Bones talking like a model doctor. “And it’s alarming. But you have to know that you’re safe. You’re onboard a Federation starship. We’re your friends.”

The way Spock absorbs information is tangible; it’s like he’s breathing McCoy’s words in with every molecule of air around him, concentrating with 200 percent of himself. Jim can practically feel Spock’s mind working.

“My instruments,” McCoy continues, “tell me that you’re suffering from some form of memory loss. I take it from your reaction that you don’t remember us or this place?”

It’s a struggle; Jim can see it as clearly as if it’s happening within him and not Spock. A struggle to work up some minimal trust when there is no reason for Spock to trust them. Don’t be so stubborn, Spock, Jim prays silently. Give us something to work with. I know you’re frightened, but please. Don’t be like me.

Spock glances at him shortly, eyes boring into Jim’s, and Jim has to stop the instinctive impulse to scoop Spock into his arms and hold him fast and steady till they’re both breathless and it doesn’t matter anymore. He knows he can’t come closer, and, with an effort, resigns to stand still and let himself be evaluated.

He isn’t sure what it is Spock sees; the blasted Vulcan gives no outward reaction. But he turns to McCoy and finally speaks.

“I have no recollection of either of you or this place.” He pauses, and Jim knows what he’s thinking to the letter. Don’t give out any information if at all possible. Admitting weakness in front of an enemy is detrimental. Admitting he doesn’t remember makes Spock vulnerable, completely open to any and all harm. But if he doesn’t risk trusting them, he’s trapped within the blankness of his world. And Jim sees it, feels it buzzing under his own skin, that moment when Spock - his brave, indestructible, impervious Spock, the man who gave new meaning to the word ‘integrity’ - backs into himself and decides that the risk does not outweigh the benefit.

Jim turns away abruptly, his blood pounding at his temples, and he’s seeing red, because they had broken Spock, beyond what could be salvaged: they had broken Spock forever. And Jim is suddenly overwhelmed with anger and despair, and his eyes are filling with tears the way they didn’t want to when Spock ‘died,’ and he feels the deck entering rodeo mode under his feet, because now it’s lost - it’s all lost. Spock is broken, and Jim will never make him whole again.

That is the exact moment when Spock decides to speak again.

“I have no recollection of anything whatsoever,” he says. “Clearly, I understand your speech, and I know what everything around me is. However, apart from that, my mind is a void.”

Jim bites his lip as his knees go weak, threatening to give. Spock’s voice is low and just that much quieter to transmit that yes, he understands that he might be cooperating with the people who hurt him in the first place. But he reaches out nonetheless. He takes a leap of faith, and maybe - maybe there’s hope for them after all.

Jim whirls back toward the biobed and takes a step closer, ignoring the way Spock recoils.

“You are Commander Spock of Vulcan, and this is the starship Enterprise, and you have been my first officer and chief science officer aboard this vessel for almost three years. You and I saved Earth together, and you decided to stay with me, stay in Starfleet, even though I was mean to you, and there hadn’t been a day during those three years, not a single day when you weren’t a pedantic ass, an outstanding officer, and an awesome friend. And I don’t know how many times I owe you my life, but it’s a lot, Spock; trust me, it’s a lot.” Jim only pauses long enough to draw in a shaky breath. “And I’m going to fix you. No matter what, you’re going to be okay.”

And before Spock’s eyes can get any wider or Jim’s knees finally give, Jim stalks out of the ward in a blurry motion.

Bones finds him in his office some couple of minutes later. He takes in Jim’s hands pressed against the messy desk, as Jim leans on them, head bowed and breathing hard, and sighs.

“You should probably...” Jim manages. “I mean you shouldn’t-”

“I left Chapel there,” McCoy says simply, and rubs Jim’s shoulder cautiously. “You okay?”

“I…” Jim tries intelligibly. “I - Bones...”

Bones tugs at his shoulder until Jim straightens up, and then Bones grips his arms, shaking him slightly and looking into his face. Jim stares back dazedly, and Bones sighs again, his grip tightening.

“One hell of a way to talk to a patient with amnesia,” McCoy grunts, but Jim can tell he isn’t really angry. “Spill the resume of his life in total amount of two seconds - sure, why the hell not? Can’t believe it’s not in the medical books yet.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. If it was anyone but Spock, I might have had to kill you. But he’s-” McCoy pauses. “Maybe he needed it. He’s the only one who could ever truly catch up with you.”

Bones is aiming for humor, and Jim nods.

“We’re gonna fix him, Bones. We’re gonna fix him.”

Bones holds his eyes steadily and probably gets that Jim won’t listen to reason. He settles for another sigh and an awkward one-armed hug.

“I only hope we can.”

Six hours later, Spock hacks the Enterprise’s computers. He’s dissatisfied with the carefully organized files Chapel prepared for him to study, which are screened painstakingly for upsetting and potentially health-hindering facts. Jim rolls his eyes at the news and grins as a very dismayed Chekov reports that he couldn’t stop the attack.

Jim does, however, log into the system himself, because while he’s fairly certain what Spock is after, he’s only too aware of Spock’s computer prowess - apparently unaffected by his time spent mining - and Jim can’t risk Spock interfering with critical systems. Jim makes his presence known but doesn’t take any action; he simply watches.

Just as he thought, Spock isn’t interested in the navigational controls or engineering subroutines. He’s skimming through the database, and Jim knows that Bones would be livid, but he leaves Spock to it. Spock is trying to recapture the essence of his life, and Jim can’t deny him that. He won’t.

Jim derives a fairly dark sense of satisfaction from explaining to Command why they haven’t reported to Starbase 14 yet. Jim remembers only too well that Admiral Cartwright looked anything but upset when Jim informed him that he no longer had a first officer. The son of a bitch has been trying to push his own protégé for the position ever since, while Jim rebuffed him. True, Sulu is only acting XO, but he does his job fine. Jim knows that the chances of Spock actually being back are moot at this point, but he doesn’t even try not to gloat when he gives Cartwright the news and watches the admiral pale and squirm.

After Jim’s earlier escapade, he’s banned from Med Bay, but he wouldn’t be eager to return there anyway. Truth be told, he’s grateful that Bones seems determined to keep him away for the moment. Jim has no idea what he feels.

It is ironic, really. For over a year when Spock had been considered dead, Jim couldn’t assimilate that knowledge no matter how hard he tried. He kept glancing over his shoulder, expecting Spock to be there, and being momentarily surprised every time that he wasn’t. It almost started to seem like Spock had gone on a long vacation, but his presence lingered, refusing to fade away.

But now that Spock is back, snatched from hell and oblivion almost literally… Now that Spock is actually right here, Jim doesn’t feel anything. There’s no euphoria, no elation, no bliss. There’s a stranger wearing Spock’s face, looking at Jim with eyes devoid of warmth and recognition, and Jim feels enervated and indifferent. Not overjoyed; not even angry.

He stares at the wall of his quarters unseeingly. Has he been deceiving himself? He thought he was in love with Spock, but the truth is that he was only in love with a phantom. This must have been one of the most brilliant schemes he’s ever come up with: he and Spock were having a lot of sex, and Jim apparently had activated some kind of latent subroutine telling him that if he was staying this long with one partner, there must be deeper feelings involved.

Only there weren’t. Jim never found them, and then Spock died and Jim decided that he had. It was convenient; it made his suffering so noble.

It was also a lie. He had never loved Spock. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be hiding in his quarters now, afraid to look Spock in the face.

Would he?

Jim had probably never loathed himself so much in his life.

Somehow three days slip by unnoticed. Jim lives on rumors and hearsay, drinking them hungrily whenever he comes across them, and shying away from all the mirth and sympathy directed his way. He can’t exactly forbid people to discuss Spock’s miraculous rescue, but he does his best to discourage them from doing so in his presence. His face hurts from all the glaring, and he vaguely asks himself how long it has been since he adopted any other kind of facial expression.

Bones is waiting for him in his quarters when Jim comes off shift. Jim knew about it - they’d arranged it - but this knowledge does little to prepare him for this conversation. Bones squints at him disapprovingly; Jim only shakes his head.

“Is that your report?” Jim nods at the PADD McCoy is holding.

McCoy nods in kind, looking terse.

Jim sighs at his friend’s continuous silence. “Well, spill it, Bones; let’s get this over with. Is his memory loss permanent?”

McCoy purses his lips. “I don’t know that yet, Jim. From what I can tell, he’s suffering from some kind of extreme form of source amnesia.”

“Source amnesia?”

“He knows things. If you ask him the value of pi, he’ll tell you. If you give him a tricorder and ask him to scan for something, he’ll do it. In fact, we’ve tested him through and through, and he’s as knowledgeable in every science and skill he possessed as he used to be, before all this. But he doesn’t remember where he knows all that stuff from.” McCoy sighs. “In other words, he’s got a full skill set of an Academy graduate, but he doesn’t remember attending the Academy. He can hack the damn computer, but he can’t remember when the first time he worked on one was or who taught him how to use it.”

Jim ponders this. “You said ‘extreme’?”

“Source amnesia usually doesn’t spread onto personal stuff.”

“Meaning that he could forget what his mother told him when he left for Earth or even that they had a conversation, but he should still remember that her eyes were brown?”

Bones nods unhappily. “Roughly, yeah.” He jerks his chin to the side as if trying to loosen an invisible, strangling tie. “He doesn’t, though. He doesn’t remember anything personal about himself or other people. At all.”

Jim frowns. “Brain damage?”

“I don’t think so.” Bones shakes his head. “And it’s good news. It means his Vulcan mind had probably come up with some kind of defensive mechanism and the memories aren’t eliminated; just suppressed.”

“Is there anything you can do to make him remember?”

McCoy’s face darkens, and he looks at Jim gravely. “No. Even with a human brain there are no certain methods for this, and messing with a Vulcan one is never a good idea.”

Jim feels his frustration well up. “So we just… What? Sit on our butts and wait for him to remember?”

“Vulcan minds have incredible capacity for self-healing.”

“He had a year to remember,” Jim mutters bitterly. “He didn’t.”

“He still had that implant in his head,” McCoy reminds him. “Besides, I’m starting to think it’s a good thing.”

Jim stills. “What do you mean?”

McCoy cringes. “Jim. You saw that tape. You remember what they did to him, and what we saw was probably only a glimpse.”

Bones pauses, as if expecting a reaction. Jim is stubbornly silent.

“You know Spock; you know he’s not a doll. He’s been through hell and then some, and he always bounced back. If his mind chose to wipe itself clean this time, they obviously subjected Spock to something that even he couldn’t handle.” McCoy shakes his head angrily. “Brainwashed him, probably; screwed his entire mental system. As long as he doesn’t remember it, he doesn’t have to deal with what I’m sure was a horrible experience.”

McCoy steps closer, leaning toward Jim. “You know Vulcans and their mind powers. This was probably the last resort to save him from clinical insanity. Jim. If those memories resurface, I don’t know” - Bones swallows - “I don’t know if Spock can survive that.”

Jim closes his eyes. “He’ll bounce back.”

“He might not have that option.”

“Then the Spock we know is gone.”

“Jim.” Bones stares at him. “Just this morning he called me illogically emotional to my face and looked so smug about it that I wanted to slap him.” Jim looks up at him in time to see McCoy’s features soften. “He’s still there, Jim. The Spock we know is there; his personality is intact. He isn’t aware of it, but he’s still the same person. And he-”

“Don’t say he needs me,” Jim snaps.

“I won’t. You know he does. Just as you need him.”

“No.” Jim shakes his head resolutely. “No, Bones. He’s not my Spock; not anymore. And if he wasn’t mine in the first place” - his voice fell down to a whisper - “none of this would have happened. They wouldn’t have taken him if he wasn’t mine.”

“Jim, you can’t blame yourself for this.”

“I’m not,” Jim says quietly. “It’s not about blame, Bones. It’s about truth.”

Jim knows that, much as he might want to, Bones can’t come up with a reply.

Spock is released from Med Bay and Jim starts running into him all over the ship. It’s disconcerting - he sees Spock walking and talking to people; taking meals in the mess; studying something. Spock never gives him any grief - only nods politely at Jim, never initiating a conversation. Jim watches him with masochistic reverence and sometimes catches Spock watching him in turn.

“Captain, may I talk to you?” Lieutenant Palamas, chief science officer since Spock’s abduction, is standing at his elbow, looking at Jim with respectful alertness.

“Of course, Lieutenant.” Jim smiles at her.“What can I do for you?”

“I would like to ask your permission for Mr. Spock to join my staff.”

Jim blinks. He probably should have expected this, but somehow he totally wasn’t.

“As what?” he asks, not particularly smartly.

“As a science officer,” Carolyn Palamas replies smoothly, seemingly oblivious to his surprise. “Mr. Spock is one of the leading Federation scientists and, despite his memory loss, his expertise remains significant.” She looks at Jim calmly, with a patient air of a parent explaining a calculus problem to a child. “I have spoken with Doctor McCoy, and he says he doesn’t see any reasons against it, provided Mr. Spock works under supervision.”

Jim swallows. Trust Bones to ambush him like that.

“I have also spoken with Starfleet Sciences,” Palamas goes on, before Jim can come up with a counterargument. “They raised no objections if it is agreeable with Mr. Spock himself.”

“And what did he say?” Jim asks, his throat suddenly dry.

Palamas blinks, looking both surprised and cautious. “I haven’t asked him, sir. I didn’t wish to offer him a position without obtaining your permission.”

Jim nods, feeling suddenly like a complete bastard. Of course she didn’t want to get Spock’s hopes high when her mean captain could take it away afterwards. He isn’t blind, after all: the whole crew, particularly the senior staff, has been treating Spock like their favorite brother who was missing for a while and had returned home. They tell him stories and answer his questions; they bring him meals and smile at him; they touch him constantly, as if trying to reassure themselves of his presence.

Spock smiles shyly and doesn’t pull away.

His natural Vulcan reserve is still there, but years of imposed inhibitions are gone from his memory, and he reacts much more openly than any of them have ever seen him. The first time Jim caught sight of Spock’s smile, he felt like he was shot through his gut. Spock intercepted his glare and his smile was gone on the spot, and Jim’s self-loathing reached a whole new level.

They tag-team Spock. Chekov plays chess with him; Sulu drags him down to the botany lab; Scotty practically papers him with blueprints; Uhura hugs him frequently like she can’t help herself, and Spock only hesitates for a moment before hugging her back. Even Bones is game, having lunch with Spock almost daily. Jim is the only one who won’t give Spock time of the day - not that Spock is asking.

Palamas is still looking at him expectantly, and Jim shrugs.

“Won’t it be awkward for you?” he asks, suddenly more curious than averse. “To boss him around after he was your commanding officer?”

She smiles, and Jim totally gets Scotty’s fascination with the woman right there and then.

“Captain,” Palamas says, leaning toward him slightly. “When I came aboard, I thought that Commander Spock was a demanding and soulless ass of an officer who didn’t know what scientific passion is. But he was my teacher, my mentor, and I don’t know anyone who would be that patient or that generous. He made me a better scientist - he fought me to make me a better scientist. If I get the chance to work with him again, I’ll take it in any capacity. And when he’s ready to reclaim his position, I’ll be the one cheering the loudest in the front row.”

Jim blinks while she stares at him, serene and confident. For a moment, he can see an imprint of Spock in her, and it leaves him breathless.

“Permission granted,” he manages.

Palamas’ smile is less about relief and more about approval. “Thank you, Captain.”

Jim looks after her numbly, his head buzzing, heart pounding erratically in his chest. For some unfathomable reason, he feels as if he has just signed his own death warrant.

It bugs him that he can still pick out Spock’s quiet voice in a crowded room when everybody’s talking, because really, that’s just unfair. It’s been two weeks since Jim stopped flinching upon seeing Spock on the bridge; another week since Spock’s signature under an update from the science department put Jim into a stupor. He’s been handling it well, goddamn it. This is just plain wrong.

He walks across the rec room before he really knows it. Both Spock and Chekov look up at him from their game, and Jim feels like a complete idiot because he has no idea what to say.

“Captain,” Spock says. Polite, civilized precision, and Jim hates him for it like all hell. “Is there anything you require?”

Jim stares at him. Is that a dismissal? From Spock? Shit; Jim has probably earned it for the weeks of avoidance.

“No,” Jim says, fumbling for some kind of intelligently worded inspiration. “No, I just... I’m-”

“Would you care to join us?”

Jim blinks. Spock’s eyes are warm. Different somehow, but warm.

“I-”

“Maybe you could save my game for me?” Chekov quips, getting to his feet and gesturing at the board innocently. “Mr. Spock says it is unsalvageable, but I have faith in you, Keptin.”

Jim grins automatically. “Thanks, Chekov.”

“Good luck, sir.”

Jim nods at the fleeting hand on his shoulder. He knows it’s not about chess but can’t really spare a glance at Chekov.

He slides into the seat opposite from Spock and takes in the board. Spock doesn’t comment on the abrupt change of his chess partner, and they’re still silent by the time Jim makes the first move.

“Mr. Chekov has informed me that you and I played each other often,” Spock remarks neutrally while taking Jim’s pawn.

“Yes,” Jim says, contemplating his next move. “We did.”

“Did you manage to be victorious?”

That makes Jim glance at Spock sharply over the board. He’s swayed by the sudden sense of déjà vu: the damn Vulcan is teasing him.

“I was often victorious,” Jim tells him, grinning despite himself. “On your lucky days.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow. “What happened on my unlucky days?”

Jim smirks. “I beat the pants off you.”

“I presume your meaning is figurative?” Spock specifies casually. “I cannot imagine crew morale withstanding the literal sense.”

Jim laughs out loud before he knows it. “I wouldn’t be so sure, Mr. Spock,” he teases, meeting Spock’s eyes finally. It only hurts a bit. “For all I know, it could raise the spirits around here.”

“Indeed,” Spock drawls, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Not this time, I’m afraid.” He moves his rook to the upper level. “Checkmate.”

Jim shakes his head, grinning. “It wasn’t my game. Want to start over?”

Spock gives him a hesitant smile that makes Jim’s heart race. “It would be my pleasure, Captain.”

They reset the board. Jim ignores the way his hands are shaking; Spock doesn’t comment, though he must have noticed. Instead, halfway through the match, he starts telling Jim about an experiment he’s currently running and the way Spock thinks it might affect future starship designs. Jim listens, grateful for the work-related conversation to be pulling him through this, and he’s not at all upset when Spock beats him the second time around. With the way his concentration is slipping, Jim is surprised he still remembers how the pieces move.

“We should- well…” Jim exhales, trying to collect himself. "We should do this again sometime.” He stands up to go.

Spock inclines his head politely. “I would be pleased to have another game whenever you are available.”

“Same time tomorrow?”

“I am free.”

“Great. See you then.”

He’s already taken several steps toward the exit when he hears Spock speak again, quietly.

“Jim.”

Jim freezes. He turns around slowly, not knowing if he can face it. Spock is looking at him oddly.

“Yes?”

Spock shakes his head. “I apologize; I do not have an inquiry. I was merely... wondering if the privilege of using your first name was still mine.”

Jim doesn’t even blink, and his tone is so firm when he speaks it could bend steel.

“Always.”

Spock relaxes visibly and Jim immediately hates himself so much more, because he should have been there for Spock all those weeks, and he wasn’t.

“I’ll see you,” he says vaguely and leaves, fighting the urge to smack his head against the nearest bulkhead.

“I understand we did not always see eye to eye,” Spock remarks mildly.

Jim glances sideways at him. The two of them are working on the Observation deck, fixing one of the sensor arrays for Stellar Cartography. Spock self-imposes the task onto himself, as he is sometimes wont to do. When Jim tracks him down, he stays to help.

“You could say that,” Jim offers with a hint of a smile. “The first time I saw you, I wanted to kill you and watch you suffer.”

Spock looks up at him from where his hands are working on the conduit.

“Did I warrant such a ferocious response?”

“Oh, yeah.” Jim smirks. “Though not as much as I did yours.”

Spock gives him an eyebrow. It’s disconcerting how much this simple motion still affects Jim.

“I was - angry? With you?”

“You were murderous. Of course, you’re a Vulcan, so you hid it much better than me.” Jim leans closer to the wiring, trying to single out the one he needs. “Then you were horribly pissed with me, and I was awfully mean to you, and then we were working together.”

“Fascinating.” Spock leans toward the mechanism as well, and suddenly his eyes are level with Jim’s - so very close.

“Yeah.” Jim swallows. “Pretty amazing.”

He flees the room shortly afterwards, trying to outrun the mad drumbeat of his blood.

The music is beautiful.

“Must be the muscle memory,” Sulu says, brushing Jim’s shoulder lightly with his own.

Jim acknowledges him with a slight nod, but doesn’t take his eyes off the corner where Spock’s playing his lyre.

“Do you know what piece that is?”

Jim hasn’t been paying attention to the contents of the concerto and frowns slightly in concentration.

“It’s Serel’s interpretation of the Paganini theme,” he says after a few moments. “Spock liked - likes it. Used to be… my favorite.”

Sulu pats his arm and doesn’t comment. Jim watches Spock finish the piece and nod to a small audience that has gathered around him.

Uhura lays her hands on his shoulders and compliments his performance. Jim reads Spock’s lips as he says ‘Thank you,’ and there’s so much genuine wonder in his expression, as if he can’t quite believe it himself. Uhura leans closer and kisses Spock’s cheek. Spock blushes slightly and holds her hand for a moment.

Jim turns to leave. He can praise Spock’s playing some other time.

“Jim,” Sulu says softly. Jim looks at him. “You know she’d never do that to you, right? Either of you?”

Jim purses his lips, glancing briefly at where Spock is collecting his things with Uhura’s help. Jim suppresses a sigh and shakes his head at his first.

“I don’t think it’s her choice, Sulu - just as it’s not mine.”

He leaves, and this time nobody stops him, but he can still feel Spock's gaze following him out.

A tray of food is set on the desk in front of him. Jim studies its contents, then lifts up his gaze incredulously.

“Since when do you eat meat?”

Spock seems nonchalant. “It is for you. Doctor McCoy alerted me that you have not been eating regularly lately-”

“He would,” Jim grunts.

“-and recruited me to supervise the correction of this ‘disorder.’”

“Disorder?” Jim grins disbelievingly. “Really, Spock?” Spock gives him an eyebrow. Jim waves him off. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I am aware,” Spock says calmly, folding himself into a chair opposite Jim. He picks up a steaming cup from the tray, and it’s only then that Jim notices there are two of them.

“Spock-”

“I will confess that I had an ulterior motive,” Spock says evenly.

“Oh?”

Spock shows him the PADD he’s been holding. “I wished to discuss the new resources distribution.”

Jim groans, picking up his fork. “Palamas sent you, didn’t she? That woman plays dirty.”

Spock stares at him unrepentantly. “You have rescheduled your meetings with her five times, Captain.”

“So she sent you and you brought food and now I’m gonna have to listen to how the science department feels they are the ship’s least wanted people because I didn’t give them enough funding to buy a fancy new microscope?”

“Analyzing unit.”

“Because that makes so much of a difference.”

“It does for us, Captain.”

Jim sighs and pokes at something on his plate. “What’s this? It looks really weird.”

“Artificial meat supplement number twenty-four.”

Jim drops his fork in disgust. “Then it’s not real meat?”

“I replicated it.”

“Why? What happened to the galley?”

“It has been quarantined by Doctor McCoy due to the contamination caused by a stock of bacteria inhabiting the food supplies we uploaded at Starbase 21. The biofilters have not caught it because they are not equipped with the new set of features designed specifically for this purpose, which the new analyzing unit could provide.”

Jim stares at Spock for a moment, then presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I kind of hate you right now.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow silently and hands him the PADD. Jim signs it with another groan, pushing it back to Spock sulkily.

“No one could ever corner me the way you do,” he grumbles. “Moments like this make me wish you’d never come back.”

Spock’s hand drops down slightly as he takes the PADD back, and Jim freezes. Shit.

“Spock, I didn’t mean that,” he pleads, searching the Vulcan’s features frantically. “It was a stupid thing to say, really, I-”

Spock composes himself quickly. “I understand, Captain,” he says quietly. “Please, excuse me.”

“Sure,” Jim mutters weakly, watching him go. “Sure, Spock.”

It’s for the best, he tells himself. For the best. Talk about Freudian slips. It’s better if Spock keeps his distance. Jim gravitates toward him whenever they’re in the same room, and he can’t let that happen. Not again, oh dear God, please not again. Besides, it’s not like Spock wants him. If he did, Jim would know. Spock has never been shy before.

With a resigned groan, Jim pushes the plate away.

When Uhura corners him, Jim raises his hands defensively.

“Please tell me we’re not having this conversation.”

She ignores his plea in favor of incinerating him with her eyes. The woman is a menace.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“You remember you’re talking to your commanding officer, right?”

“Shut up, Jim.”

“I’m just saying. Court-martial and everything.”

“I said, shut up! How can you do this to him?” she hisses. “His whole world is gone, and the best you can do is keeping him at arm’s length and tell him you’re sorry he’s back? You’re supposed to be his friend, if nothing else - what on Earth is wrong with you?”

“He’s not all that keen for my company, in case you haven’t noticed!”

“Gee, I wonder why, Jim? Maybe if you’d shown you care the tiniest bit, he wouldn’t be so miserable now!”

“He’s miserable?”

She jerks her hands up in disgust. “I’m done talking to you.”

Jim is on the verge of giving up, too, but he calls out nonetheless, desperate for some kind of acceptance at least, if not redemption.

“Uhura.” Reluctantly, she turns around, waiting. He pleads with her - he needs someone, anyone to understand. “I can’t do this again. I can’t.”

She purses her lips, something profound shifting in her eyes as she looks at him.

“He’s alone, Jim,” she says at last. “And you are - you’re punishing him for not being there. He couldn’t help it.”

“I know.” Jim swallows. “It's just that... neither can I.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that if I die an alcoholic, it’d be your fault?”

Bones looks at him over the rim of his glass, unimpressed. “That’s supposed to be my line to you.”

Jim cringes, gulping the liquid as it burns down his throat. “This stuff is foul.”

“Yet you blackmailed me into sharing.”

“Bones... Am I being an asshole?”

“Jim.” McCoy sighs.

“Maybe you should seduce me,” Jim murmurs, his head rolling precariously close to the bed’s edge.

McCoy snorts. “Sure, ‘cause that would really lighten the mood around here.”

Jim props himself up on his elbows and pouts. McCoy shakes his head. “Not convincing. You’re losing your touch.”

“I lost it a long time ago,” Jim says flatly.

McCoy drinks down his glass and refills it, leaving Jim’s empty. They’re silent for a while.

“I never thought it would happen to me, you know?” Jim says finally. “Not then and not now.”

“Some people would envy you.”

“Some people are idiots.”

“Spoken by the one who should know.”

Jim glares at him, but the angle is wrong, so he picks himself up before he slides of the bed headfirst.

“I hate him. I hate myself. I wish this had never happened.”

“You’re drunk, Jim.” McCoy sighs. “And that’s the only truth around here.”

Jim looks at him bleakly, seconds from passing out. “Yeah; I guess it is.”

“Enter,” Spock’s voice calls, and the door slides open.

“Hi,” Jim says, stepping into the room. “How’s it going?”

Spock glances back at the disassembled pieces of equipment splayed all over his desk. “I am progressing at a slower rate than I have anticipated,” he admits. “However, it is too early to predict a failure.”

“No, never that.” Jim grins, walking toward him. “Though you do know that if you can’t make this piece of space junk work, it’s not your fault, right?”

“Indeed.” Spock nods. “I am most curious about it, however.”

“Maybe I could lend you a hand?”

Spock looks at him briefly and then shifts slightly to the side. “Thank you, Captain. I have heard you are most adept with ancient mechanical devices.”

Jim grins, pulling up a guest chair and sitting down next to Spock. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Commander,” he teases, reaching for a microspanner.

“And yet here you are, assisting me.”

Jim laughs. “Got me there.” Their elbows brush, and Jim forces himself to stay calm. “Is that a concluded chain?”

“Affirmative. I am attempting to connect it with this processor here-”

“Yeah, I see it. Let me adjust this first.”

Minutes tickle by without either of them noticing. Well, Jim’s pretty sure Spock’s time sense is as accurate as ever, but he seems to be as absorbed in putting together this puzzle as Jim is. There’s a soft gleam in Spock’s eyes when Jim finally lifts his head to look at him, grinning.

“That’s a-”

“A child’s toy. Fascinating.”

Jim’s grin widens. “Of all the things we could pick up...”

Spock turns to him, eyebrow raised. “Would you like to keep it?”

“Hey!” Jim punches his shoulder and forgets to take his hand off. “I don’t see why you get to tease me - you couldn’t tell what it was, either.”

“I was not teasing you, Captain. That was a serious question.”

Jim chuckles, but the atmosphere has already shifted. His eyes are drawn to Spock’s of their own volition, and he can’t move. It’s suddenly overwhelming, being in Spock’s presence, being in his space, breathing in his air. Jim’s mind screams at him to run, telling him it was a stupid idea to stay alone with Spock, but the thoughts are fading.

All Jim can think about are Spock’s lips, so close it hurts, so damn close that Jim simply can’t stand it. He leans in and captures them, greedy and wary, drinking in the feel of Spock, craving every fleeting second of contact, like a man dying of thirst craves water. Spock’s lips are soft and pliant under his, and there isn’t even some token resistance or surprise before he opens his mouth agreeably to let Jim in.

Jim tears himself away with a groan loud enough to spook lab mice two decks below, and so desperate that it frightens him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, dazed and bleeding because some wounds never heal. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, Spock, I’m...”

He gets to his feet shakily and staggers away, apologies seeping from his lips like rain. He takes precisely two steps when Spock catches his wrist, halting him.

“Jim.”

Jim stills, closing his eyes and praying for the deck to swallow him.

“Doctor McCoy told me about our relationship.”

Jim’s heart stops - then comes back with a vengeance. He turns around very slowly.

“He did, did he?” Jim asks, his insides going numb. “It wasn’t his place.”

“Jim.” Spock speaks softly, still holding Jim’s wrist as he rises to his feet as well. “He did not tell me anything that others had not told me before.”

“Great. I have a crew that can’t keep a fucking secret.”

“They did not tell me anything that I had not previously assumed on my own, Jim.” Spock’s voice becomes unbearably kind. “I asked questions. They could not lie to me.”

Jim’s pulse picks up a notch. “Then...”

“I did not speak of it to you,” Spock continues, “because I assumed that since you had not, my current condition must be displeasing to you, and despite our previous relationship, you now find me undesirable.”

His calm, matter-of-fact tone as he says it cuts right through Jim, and he jerks his hand free to grab Spock’s face between his hands, pulling him closer none too gently.

“There’s nothing displeasing about you being alive!” Jim yells in Spock’s face. “Do you know how many nights I spent praying like a little kid to any deity who’d listen, promising them my eternal worship if they could give you back to me in any way they could? I prayed like a weak-minded idiot that they’d give you back to me, without an arm or a leg or hell knows what else, but alive, alive, because I love you so much - I couldn’t fucking live, not without you!” He sucks air in unsteadily. “I’d have taken you any way I could, any way at all, and if you think that I find you undesirable-”

Spock knocks Jim’s hands away and grabs him, bringing their mouths together roughly and cutting Jim off mid-shout. Jim tries to resist at first, but Spock holds him in a vice-like grip, crushing Jim against himself and kissing him with searing intent, as if he wants to physically chase away the pain and grief out of Jim’s body.

Finally Jim whimpers, surrendering; his arms fly up to wrap around Spock and he lets his head fall back slightly, allowing himself to drown in the kiss - it seems to be miraculously resurrecting him from whatever dark place he’d locked himself in.

“I don’t want to need you anymore,” Jim whispers hoarsely, even as Spock’s hands start to divest him of his clothes. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want to... Not again...”

“Shh,” Spock soothes, gentle and certain, lifting Jim up as if he weighs nothing and depositing him on the bed. “It is all right, Jim; it is all right.”

It’s more than all right, and Jim’s mind refuses to take it. He’s painfully hard in seconds within Spock finishing undressing him, and his arousal takes him by surprise almost as much as it had the very first time so many, many years ago. But even this thought is fleeting, because all he can concentrate on is Spock - hovering over him, sliding against him, kissing and stroking him in all the right places.

It’s excruciating despite all the pleasure because it means that Spock’s body remembers when Spock himself does not. Spock’s body remembers.

It remembers that Jim likes to be held down, but only if Spock’s holding his eyes. Remembers that Jim likes his nipples being played with. Remembers that Jim goes wild when Spock licks and nibbles up his inner thighs. It remembers everything - how much time Jim needs to be prepared; how he likes it best. It remembers that Jim loves being opened a little more than he seems to be comfortable with. Remembers that there is that special place on Spock’s back where Jim’s hands go, and Spock always flexes his spine just a little to accommodate him. It’s like Jim slipped into one of his own memories, back in the day when Spock was gone forever, and it’s just this side of cruel to be reliving it like this, reminding himself to cling to the reality of it, tooth and nail, or else the spell would be broken.

It’s been too long, though, way too long, and while Spock’s control over his body might still be mostly intact, Jim’s definitely isn’t. He comes the moment Spock enters him, spilling all over his stomach and chest, incapable of holding anything back. Jim closes his eyes, throwing his head back and shuddering through it, intense pleasure mixed with humiliation and guilt and something else he can’t identify.

It’s a small eternity before Jim realizes that Spock is lying fully on top of him, sheathed deeply in him. Spock is stroking his hair and kissing him, gently, softly, and the angle is wrong, but his lips are tender against Jim’s wet, trembling eyelashes, and he’s warm, so warm all around Jim, and so deliciously hot inside him, throbbing with life-life-life, and Jim aches to kiss him and can’t make his lips comply. Spock senses it, and in an instant he’s kissing Jim’s mouth, opening it delicately, moving carefully but without hesitancy, without doubt. He’s not teasing and not arousing; he’s loving Jim at this moment with every pore of his being.

“Move,” Jim whispers when Spock finally breaks the kiss. Spock holds his eyes and makes to pull away, but Jim has anticipated this and catches Spock firmly, stilling him. “Please. I need to feel you.”

Spock looks at him, eyes unguarded and bare, and the sight is killing Jim. Spock kisses him again, lightly, and starts to move, so slow and even that, at another time, would have been maddening. Jim watches him, watches every motion - every slight crease in Spock’s expression, every feeling flashing in his eyes.

Never breaking eye contact, Jim pulls his knees a little wider apart, and Spock picks up the pace, changing the angle just so, and his body does remember exactly how, and Jim moans in sharp pleasure and disbelief, because spent as he thought he was, he’s becoming hard again.

Spock notices, and uses every dirty trick his subconscious supplies him with to help Jim get there. Jim writhes beneath him, closing his hand around Spock’s wrapped around him. He’s not exactly certain if it’s for guidance or to bat Spock away, but then Spock would hit that spot inside him again and again, and Jim would start to dissolve all anew, forgetting he had any kind of coherent intentions. He’s running way ahead of Spock again, but this time, Spock catches up with him deliberately, because memory loss or no memory loss, he’s a crazy control freak like that.

Except that he isn’t right now, swept up in the power of his release, gripping Jim hard enough to leave bruises, and hissing through gritted teeth, holding back a scream.

Jim knows this is it for him, because he might be captain and all that shit, but he’s only human, and he knows he’ll be asleep within seconds. Spock moves to get up, probably meaning to clean them up, but Jim catches him, pulling back feebly.

“Iduncare,” he mumbles, eyes drooping closed. “Don’t go.”

Spock settles back, without even a sigh, and it’s huge for him, Jim knows, because Spock is neat like a cat and hates being dirty. But Jim rolls onto his side and Spock settles behind him obediently, pulling the covers up. He wraps an arm around Jim’s waist and rests his cheek against the back of Jim’s head, inhaling deeply.

“Love you,” Jim breathes out, more asleep than awake, and finishes his thought in the dreamworld. Don’t ever leave me again.

Spock’s arm tightens around him in response.

Part 3/3