Star Trek XI -- "Second Chance"
for freaky_anomaly's K/S Fic Exchange
written for gaylarain, prompts:
1. McCoy breaks Kirks heart. Spock picks up the pieces.
3. Kirk becomes a father. Adoption for some reason or it's his kid. One or more kids. Spock becomes co-parent and they raise the kids on the ship.
Request: Kirk as a great dad.
Many thanks to kashmir_ki_kali for letting me bounce ideas and ninjaboots for the lightning-fast beta.
Jim Kirk gets a second chance at the life he wants.
Second Chance | R | 3346 words | complete
“Hey, Bones, you busy?” Jim asks, walking into sickbay. Bones is running a dermal regenerator over Engineer Kazinsky’s hands.
“Do I look busy, kid?” Bones grumbles.
“Bones, I’m older than you were when we met,” Jim says. “When am I going to be old enough for you to stop calling me that?”
“It’s about maturity, not age,” Bones says, but Jim can see the fondness in his scowl. “Wait in my office, I’ll be done soon.”
Jim tries to sneak a peek at Kazinsky’s chart over Nurse Chapel’s shoulder, oofing when she elbows him in the gut and then smiles sweetly. He rolls his eyes and goes to hide in Bones’ office.
He gets up from the guest chair when the office door whooshes open, and greets Bones with a kiss, grinning when it causes his lover’s normally dour expression to soften. “So, what did Kazinsky do to himself this time?”
“Burns from a welding torch,” Bones says. “Nothing serious. I’ll have the report for you by the end of beta.” Jim nods, kisses him again, and then steps back so Bones can move around him and settle into a chair. “What’d you need to talk about?”
“I got a message from Command,” Jim says, and Bones looks up from his PADD. “I’m being promoted to Admiral at the end of the mission.”
“Congratulations, Jim,” Bones says. “Have you told anyone else yet?”
“Just Spock,” Jim says, wondering at the tightening of Bones’ eyes in response. “They’re going to be stationing me at the Academy for a year, and then who knows after that. I know you haven’t decided where you’re going to request being stationed yet, but I have a question for you.”
“Yes?” Bones’ expression is unreadable.
“I’ve always wanted kids,” Jim says. “And I was thinking, I’ll be grounded, out of harm’s way, maybe now would be a good time. We could adopt. There were a couple children orphaned in that accident on the Clara Barton, and Starfleet is always rescuing kids from Orion slavers-”
“Jim, stop,” Bones says, and Jim realizes that he looks pained. “I can’t.”
Jim stares at him. “What do you mean?”
“Jim, you’re one of my best friends,” Bones says, and Jim’s heart sinks. “And this was fun, right? It was never supposed to get that serious.”
“It’s been fun since the beginning of our second deep-space mission,” Jim says. “We’ve been doing this for almost five years. I know we don’t talk about our feelings, but I fell in love with you a long time ago. I thought you felt the same, but clearly I was wrong.”
“I do love you, Jim.”
“But not like that.”
“I’m not cut out for that kind of relationship,” Bones says. “I tried with Jocelyn. We know how well that turned out.”
Jim doesn’t even know where to begin to point out everything that’s wrong with that assertion. “I guess that’s it, then,” Jim says instead, almost surprised when the words come out of his mouth, but knowing they’re probably the right ones. “I have gamma. You should probably get your things while I’m on the bridge.” He turns and stalks out of sickbay, unwilling to hear…whatever Bones has to say.
And if he cries in the turbolift? There isn’t anyone to see him.
*
Word gets around quickly, in that way it has in an insular community like a spaceship, and Jim finds himself surrounded by people congratulating him on his promotion and being silently sympathetic over the breakup. He takes to eating in his quarters, unwilling to face it all. He catches up on paperwork for the first time since their last stellar cartography stint, goes over his backlog of scientific journals, is on his best behavior on their next away mission so he doesn’t have to wind up in sickbay. He can’t believe it’s only been a week.
He’s contemplating rearranging his quarters when the door chime sounds. “Computer, identify visitor.”
“Commander Spock is at the door.”
Jim sighs, but he’s surprised to realize that he’s pleased. Jim would consider them friends now, but he hasn’t seen Spock off-duty since the breakup; he’d assumed Spock was avoiding having to deal with Jim’s illogical human emotions. It’s probably just ship’s business, but he calls, “Come,” anyway and puts down the stack of books he was holding.
The door slides open and reveals Spock, holding a tray with two steaming bowls and assorted other dishes. “I predicted there would be a 73.2% chance you have not yet eaten, Captain,” he says. “I thought I might remedy that situation.”
“Correct as usual, Mr. Spock,” Jim says, grinning, before moving to clear space on his desk. He has a little table where he usually eats, but there’s currently a half-played chess game set up there, from the last time he and Spock had spent off-duty time together. Jim feels a sudden urge to finish the game, to just bask in Spock’s soothing presence for a while. “What’s on the menu?”
Spock places the tray on the table and begins to unload it: bowls, two cups, a teapot, spoons. “I am told that chicken soup is a Terran comfort food,” he says, placing one bowl in front of Jim. “I have taken tomato soup for myself. I am told that both are pleasing to the palate. And since you have not been sleeping well, I have also brought chamomile tea, which Terrans believe to have a mild sedating effect.”
“You are told correctly,” Jim says, pulling up a chair for Spock and then sitting down. “Thank you.” The soup is as delicious as replicated food can be, and the gesture loosens the knot in Jim’s chest.
“I understand that you are distraught because of the recent termination of your romantic liaison with Dr. McCoy,” Spock says, and Jim feels the familiar pain when something reminds him. “Your performance as captain continues to be excellent, so I come to you not as a fellow officer, but as a friend. I am willing to provide-I believe the phrase is a ‘sympathetic ear’-if you hypothesize that this will be beneficial.”
Jim feels a warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with the soup. “Let’s just finish that game of chess,” he says, smiling, and he can almost see an answering smile in the corner of Spock’s mouth before he takes another spoonful of soup.
*
If anything, Jim finds himself spending even more time with Spock, which shoots his avoidance theory right out of the sky. A lot of the time he used to spend with Bones he’s spending with Spock: playing chess, sure, but also working on reports and requisitions, reading while Spock works on one of his pet projects, sometimes even pitching in an idea (and he doesn’t know who that surprises more, Spock or himself). They don’t even talk much, but there’s something in Spock’s bearing that says that Jim could talk, if he wanted to, and Spock would listen. And it’s enough.
Jim will admit-if only to himself-that he once had a crush on Spock, back when they first started working together. He’d thought he’d gotten over it, but he’s feeling that telltale flutter again, especially when he starts catching Spock looking at him like he’s a fascinating specimen of whatever from Planet I-Don’t-Remember. Jim worries it’s just a rebound thing, but it doesn’t feel like it has that tinge of desperation he’s so used to seeing in people who’re in the predicament. And he should know; he has a lot of experience alleviating it.
And when he realizes that looking at Bones doesn’t hurt anymore, it dawns on Jim that maybe this is more than just a crush.
*
The chime of the door is so unexpected, Jim actually jumps slightly and drops his PADD. There shouldn’t even be anyone on the ship, beside the skeleton crew and himself; everyone else is supposed to be on the planet’s surface, enjoying their shore leave. “Come,” he says warily, only slightly reassured when Spock steps into the room. “Spock, something wrong?”
“Yes, there is,” Spock says, and Jim sits up in his chair, worried. “Why have you not transported down to the surface?”
“And here I thought it was something important,” Jim says, slumping again. “I just thought I’d skip it this time. Not in the mood.”
“To the contrary, this is important,” Spock says. “You, too, require rest and the opportunity to spend relaxation time away from the Enterprise. Particularly after recent events-”
“Yeah, I get it,” Jim cuts him off, uninterested in hearing Spock’s sometimes too-forthright observations. “I’m really just not in the mood.”
“You do not wish to encounter Dr. McCoy,” Spock says. “Especially if he is in the company of another.”
“Yeah, that, too,” Jim says, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking even deeper into the desk chair.
“I recall a similar experience after Lieutenant Uhura ended out romantic relationship,” Spock says evenly, and Jim stares at him. It’s been seven, eight years since they inexplicably (to Jim, at least) broke up, and Spock’s never brought it up. Jim didn’t even know who it was that broke it off. “I offer a compromise.”
“Oh?”
“I have procured tickets for a concert of music from multiple Federation cultures, and reservations for an Andorian-style restaurant,” Spock says. There’s an air about him that Jim would almost call anxious. “Both are likely to be to your taste. And, considering the Doctor’s preferences, it is unlikely we will encounter him in either locale.”
“Spock, you don’t have to rearrange your shore leave plans to cater to me,” Jim says, but it makes him a little giddy to think that Spock would.
“I value the time we spend together,” Spock says, more earnest than Jim has heard him in a long time. “It would be…my pleasure.”
Jim stands and stretches. “I’ll change into civvies, I guess,” he says. “You should, too, we’ll draw enough attention to ourselves already.” Spock nods once and turns to leave. “You know, this almost feels like a date,” Jim tries to joke.
“I am cognizant of that fact,” Spock says, the line of his shoulders a touch tighter than usual. “Is this acceptable?”
Jim finds that he’s grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. “It’s great.” He’s glad Spock’s not looking, because Jim’s sure he’s blushing.
Spock nods again, and Jim can see his shoulders loosening. “I will return to retrieve you in one hour.” The tips of his ears have turned a distinct shade of green, and Jim realizes that Spock’s blushing, too.
*
And so-of course-they run into McCoy and some girl when they’re two blocks away from the restaurant. Jim doesn’t even notice them at first, engrossed in discussing the Betazoid sonata that had been the finale of the concert, but then he hears someone call his name and looks up. The girl on McCoy’s arm is tall, blonde, and statuesque, but Jim realizes he’s not jealous…of either of them. Still, Spock steps forward, standing so close behind him that their shoulders are pressed together. It sends a completely inappropriate thrill down Jim’s spine.
“Thought it was you,” McCoy was saying, and Jim fakes an easy smile. It’s easier to look at them than he would have guessed, but that doesn’t make this pleasant. “Glad you decided to come down, after all.”
“Yeah, well, Spock can be pushy,” Jim says, and now it’s easier to smile.
“Oh, really?” McCoy says, and there’s a flash of expression across his face that Jim thinks might be jealousy. He finds he doesn’t care, which is even better than being pleased.
“I believed it would be beneficial for the Captain to enjoy some leisure time on the planet’s surface,” Spock says, and Jim feels a momentary hot pressure against the small of his back. Spock’s hand? “I do not believe that this meeting is conducive to that.”
“Wow, harsh, Spock,” Jim says, but he has to hide his grin. “We’re all friends here.” He glares at McCoy, who looks like he’s going to say something. “We should probably go, we have a dinner reservation.”
McCoy’s eyes widen. “Enjoy your date,” he says, and if there’s a sarcastic twist to the last word, Jim is content to ignore it.
Which is why he’s surprised as hell when Spock’s hand closes around his own, fingers tangling. He knows that’s a big deal, and so does McCoy, if the way his eyes widen is anything to go by. “Yes, we will.”
*
Dinner is delicious but uneventful, but Jim knows he’s hopelessly distracted. There’s no hint of Spock’s earlier possessiveness in his placid façade, but Jim can still feel the heat of his alien-warm hand wrapped around Jim’s own. He knows that that kind of contact is practically a full-on make-out session to a Vulcan, and he wants to confront Spock about it as soon as he can.
The middle of the restaurant is definitely not the place, and Jim finds himself fidgeting through dessert and the process of calling for the check and the passage of credit chips.
Spock insists on paying.
Jim keeps the conversation light while they walk back to the transporter station and beam back up to the ship. He’s pleased when Spock follows him to his quarters, and they stop outside his door. Telegraphing the move carefully, Jim reaches out and runs the first two fingers of his right hand over Spock’s. Spock’s eyes widen slightly, but Jim can practically feel Spock’s attention focus on the contact between their fingers. “Join me for a nightcap?” he asks, practically whispering. He reaches back with his free hand to palm open the lock, and they all but tumble into the room.
The door’s barely hissed closed when Jim finds himself pressed against it, Spock’s unbelievably warm lips pressed against his own. Their fingers are still tangled together, and it’s ridiculously hot. Jim tangles his free hand in Spock’s hair, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat and deepens the kiss.
“This isn’t just a rebound,” Jim gasps when he has to pull away for air. “I’ve had a crush on you for years.”
“I am aware,” Spock says, flexing his fingers against Jim’s, and Jim remembers that he’s making out with a touch telepath. On a whim, he visualizes a particularly dirty fantasy he used to masturbate to, and grins when Spock flushes a fetching shade of green. “I suggested we remove ourselves to a location more conducive to the continuation of these activities.”
“Read my mind,” Jim says, laughing at the exasperated uptick of Spock’s eyebrow. Hands still linked, Jim tugs him toward the bed, stealing kisses as they go. He lets go when they reach the end of the bed, just long enough to strip out of his clothes, not caring where they land. He’s gratified that Spock seems just as eager. Then they’re tumbling onto the bed, Spock’s lean body pressing him into the mattress.
And then the urgency seems to go out of them and they kiss languidly, Jim running his fingers over the surprisingly soft skin of Spock’s back and shoulders. Spock lifts himself up on his elbow and touches the fingers of his right hand to the side of Jim’s face. “Is this…acceptable?”
They’ve done this before, when the mission called for it, but never like this. “Always,” Jim says, and Spock whispers something against his lips and then Jim doesn’t have words for the sensations. Spock’s mind wraps around his like a blanket, and Jim’s never felt so content.
*
And then that’s the way it goes for a few months: fabulous sex, companionship, and a faint ever-present mental link with Spock; gradually thawing relations with Bones; and adventures with his beautiful ship. But there’s an air about the crew, an awareness than things can’t go on like this forever, that soon it’s going to end. His crew are going on to great things, and Jim’s going to miss them all.
And, yeah, he’s still idly following Starfleet’s Refugee Services listing of sentient beings in need of fosterage or adoption. He has a future to plan for, too, and it’s not like he and Spock have made any promises to each other. He’s been burned once, and Jim figured out a long time ago that it pays to learn from your mistakes.
He’s sitting in his quarters, working on reports, when Spock hands him a PADD. Jim assumes it’s another requisition that requires his signature, but the first screen contains the image and identifying data of a pale-skinned, blue-eyed humanoid from the RS adoption listing. Jim looks up at Spock, curious.
“The child is approximately 25 standard months old, likely of mostly Human parentage, name unknown,” Spock says. “He was rescued from an Orion Syndicate slave transport 3.53 days ago. Their records were incomplete, but it is almost certain that his parents are either deceased or somewhere in Orion space, unreachable.”
Spock inhales, and Jim can feel his nervousness. “He is currently on the medical ship Elizabeth Blackwell. The Enterprise could intercept her course in 2.45 weeks. Enough time for us to file for adoption.”
Jim’s eyes widen. “Us?”
“Jim, we do not speak of such things,” Spock says, “but according to Vulcan law, we have been bonded for 3.86 months. Is it not logical for us to consider children now that we are transitioning to a safer, more stable environment?” Jim’s expression must still be confused, because Spock adds, “I have chosen to take the position of new head of the Command Track at Starfleet Academy. I wish to continue our relationship in San Francisco and, if it is acceptable to you, formalize our relationship in the eyes of the Vulcan, Earth, and Federation authorities.”
“Spock, did you just ask to marry me and raise my children?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Spock say stiffly.
“Then yes,” Jim says, putting down the PADD and taking one of Spock’s hands, changing the thread between them from the usual faint impression to a wide open connection. “I will marry you. And we can talk to RS about adopting the kid.”
Spock smiles.
And later, when they’re in bed, and Jim asks, “Wait a minute, did I just willingly agree to do even more paperwork,” Spock hits him with a pillow. Gently, of course.
*
“Daddy!” David yells, running to Jim as he enters the arboretum. Jim swings him up into his arms and spins them around until they’re both good and dizzy.
“Did you have fun poking around in the dirt with Sulu?” Jim asks, and David nods excitedly. He smears dirt on Jim’s shirt as he treats Jim to a litany of babytalk as Jim does his usual paranoid checks for any cuts or bruises. David’s already developing the Kirk charm…and the tendency to get into trouble.
“You’re good with him,” a voice says behind them, and Jim turns to see McCoy watching them. He puts David down and nudges him to go over to Sulu again. “Thought it would surprise me, but it doesn’t.”
“I’ve always been good with kids,” Jim says, sitting down next to Bones on the bench. “Tarsus, you know?” Bones nods, and Jim is reminded how nice it is to have a best friend who knows you. Ex-best friend? Jim’s not sure.
“You and Spock, I’m happy for you,” McCoy says, surprising Jim again. “He’s able to give you something I couldn’t. I’m glad. You deserve to be happy, Jim.”
Jim’s not sure what to say to that, so they sit in companionable-enough silence for a while, watching David fall into flowerbeds. It’s getting close to dinnertime, so Jim stands and calls for him, smiling when the small cannonball impacts with his shins. Jim swings the boy up into his arms, settling him on one hip. “You should join us for dinner sometime. I think that level of domestication won’t kill you,” he adds, smiling tentatively.
“I’d like that,” Bones says, and Jim knows that everything’s going to be alright.
Feedback is better than chocolate.
written for gaylarain, prompts:
1. McCoy breaks Kirks heart. Spock picks up the pieces.
3. Kirk becomes a father. Adoption for some reason or it's his kid. One or more kids. Spock becomes co-parent and they raise the kids on the ship.
Request: Kirk as a great dad.
Many thanks to kashmir_ki_kali for letting me bounce ideas and ninjaboots for the lightning-fast beta.
Jim Kirk gets a second chance at the life he wants.
Second Chance | R | 3346 words | complete
“Hey, Bones, you busy?” Jim asks, walking into sickbay. Bones is running a dermal regenerator over Engineer Kazinsky’s hands.
“Do I look busy, kid?” Bones grumbles.
“Bones, I’m older than you were when we met,” Jim says. “When am I going to be old enough for you to stop calling me that?”
“It’s about maturity, not age,” Bones says, but Jim can see the fondness in his scowl. “Wait in my office, I’ll be done soon.”
Jim tries to sneak a peek at Kazinsky’s chart over Nurse Chapel’s shoulder, oofing when she elbows him in the gut and then smiles sweetly. He rolls his eyes and goes to hide in Bones’ office.
He gets up from the guest chair when the office door whooshes open, and greets Bones with a kiss, grinning when it causes his lover’s normally dour expression to soften. “So, what did Kazinsky do to himself this time?”
“Burns from a welding torch,” Bones says. “Nothing serious. I’ll have the report for you by the end of beta.” Jim nods, kisses him again, and then steps back so Bones can move around him and settle into a chair. “What’d you need to talk about?”
“I got a message from Command,” Jim says, and Bones looks up from his PADD. “I’m being promoted to Admiral at the end of the mission.”
“Congratulations, Jim,” Bones says. “Have you told anyone else yet?”
“Just Spock,” Jim says, wondering at the tightening of Bones’ eyes in response. “They’re going to be stationing me at the Academy for a year, and then who knows after that. I know you haven’t decided where you’re going to request being stationed yet, but I have a question for you.”
“Yes?” Bones’ expression is unreadable.
“I’ve always wanted kids,” Jim says. “And I was thinking, I’ll be grounded, out of harm’s way, maybe now would be a good time. We could adopt. There were a couple children orphaned in that accident on the Clara Barton, and Starfleet is always rescuing kids from Orion slavers-”
“Jim, stop,” Bones says, and Jim realizes that he looks pained. “I can’t.”
Jim stares at him. “What do you mean?”
“Jim, you’re one of my best friends,” Bones says, and Jim’s heart sinks. “And this was fun, right? It was never supposed to get that serious.”
“It’s been fun since the beginning of our second deep-space mission,” Jim says. “We’ve been doing this for almost five years. I know we don’t talk about our feelings, but I fell in love with you a long time ago. I thought you felt the same, but clearly I was wrong.”
“I do love you, Jim.”
“But not like that.”
“I’m not cut out for that kind of relationship,” Bones says. “I tried with Jocelyn. We know how well that turned out.”
Jim doesn’t even know where to begin to point out everything that’s wrong with that assertion. “I guess that’s it, then,” Jim says instead, almost surprised when the words come out of his mouth, but knowing they’re probably the right ones. “I have gamma. You should probably get your things while I’m on the bridge.” He turns and stalks out of sickbay, unwilling to hear…whatever Bones has to say.
And if he cries in the turbolift? There isn’t anyone to see him.
*
Word gets around quickly, in that way it has in an insular community like a spaceship, and Jim finds himself surrounded by people congratulating him on his promotion and being silently sympathetic over the breakup. He takes to eating in his quarters, unwilling to face it all. He catches up on paperwork for the first time since their last stellar cartography stint, goes over his backlog of scientific journals, is on his best behavior on their next away mission so he doesn’t have to wind up in sickbay. He can’t believe it’s only been a week.
He’s contemplating rearranging his quarters when the door chime sounds. “Computer, identify visitor.”
“Commander Spock is at the door.”
Jim sighs, but he’s surprised to realize that he’s pleased. Jim would consider them friends now, but he hasn’t seen Spock off-duty since the breakup; he’d assumed Spock was avoiding having to deal with Jim’s illogical human emotions. It’s probably just ship’s business, but he calls, “Come,” anyway and puts down the stack of books he was holding.
The door slides open and reveals Spock, holding a tray with two steaming bowls and assorted other dishes. “I predicted there would be a 73.2% chance you have not yet eaten, Captain,” he says. “I thought I might remedy that situation.”
“Correct as usual, Mr. Spock,” Jim says, grinning, before moving to clear space on his desk. He has a little table where he usually eats, but there’s currently a half-played chess game set up there, from the last time he and Spock had spent off-duty time together. Jim feels a sudden urge to finish the game, to just bask in Spock’s soothing presence for a while. “What’s on the menu?”
Spock places the tray on the table and begins to unload it: bowls, two cups, a teapot, spoons. “I am told that chicken soup is a Terran comfort food,” he says, placing one bowl in front of Jim. “I have taken tomato soup for myself. I am told that both are pleasing to the palate. And since you have not been sleeping well, I have also brought chamomile tea, which Terrans believe to have a mild sedating effect.”
“You are told correctly,” Jim says, pulling up a chair for Spock and then sitting down. “Thank you.” The soup is as delicious as replicated food can be, and the gesture loosens the knot in Jim’s chest.
“I understand that you are distraught because of the recent termination of your romantic liaison with Dr. McCoy,” Spock says, and Jim feels the familiar pain when something reminds him. “Your performance as captain continues to be excellent, so I come to you not as a fellow officer, but as a friend. I am willing to provide-I believe the phrase is a ‘sympathetic ear’-if you hypothesize that this will be beneficial.”
Jim feels a warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with the soup. “Let’s just finish that game of chess,” he says, smiling, and he can almost see an answering smile in the corner of Spock’s mouth before he takes another spoonful of soup.
*
If anything, Jim finds himself spending even more time with Spock, which shoots his avoidance theory right out of the sky. A lot of the time he used to spend with Bones he’s spending with Spock: playing chess, sure, but also working on reports and requisitions, reading while Spock works on one of his pet projects, sometimes even pitching in an idea (and he doesn’t know who that surprises more, Spock or himself). They don’t even talk much, but there’s something in Spock’s bearing that says that Jim could talk, if he wanted to, and Spock would listen. And it’s enough.
Jim will admit-if only to himself-that he once had a crush on Spock, back when they first started working together. He’d thought he’d gotten over it, but he’s feeling that telltale flutter again, especially when he starts catching Spock looking at him like he’s a fascinating specimen of whatever from Planet I-Don’t-Remember. Jim worries it’s just a rebound thing, but it doesn’t feel like it has that tinge of desperation he’s so used to seeing in people who’re in the predicament. And he should know; he has a lot of experience alleviating it.
And when he realizes that looking at Bones doesn’t hurt anymore, it dawns on Jim that maybe this is more than just a crush.
*
The chime of the door is so unexpected, Jim actually jumps slightly and drops his PADD. There shouldn’t even be anyone on the ship, beside the skeleton crew and himself; everyone else is supposed to be on the planet’s surface, enjoying their shore leave. “Come,” he says warily, only slightly reassured when Spock steps into the room. “Spock, something wrong?”
“Yes, there is,” Spock says, and Jim sits up in his chair, worried. “Why have you not transported down to the surface?”
“And here I thought it was something important,” Jim says, slumping again. “I just thought I’d skip it this time. Not in the mood.”
“To the contrary, this is important,” Spock says. “You, too, require rest and the opportunity to spend relaxation time away from the Enterprise. Particularly after recent events-”
“Yeah, I get it,” Jim cuts him off, uninterested in hearing Spock’s sometimes too-forthright observations. “I’m really just not in the mood.”
“You do not wish to encounter Dr. McCoy,” Spock says. “Especially if he is in the company of another.”
“Yeah, that, too,” Jim says, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking even deeper into the desk chair.
“I recall a similar experience after Lieutenant Uhura ended out romantic relationship,” Spock says evenly, and Jim stares at him. It’s been seven, eight years since they inexplicably (to Jim, at least) broke up, and Spock’s never brought it up. Jim didn’t even know who it was that broke it off. “I offer a compromise.”
“Oh?”
“I have procured tickets for a concert of music from multiple Federation cultures, and reservations for an Andorian-style restaurant,” Spock says. There’s an air about him that Jim would almost call anxious. “Both are likely to be to your taste. And, considering the Doctor’s preferences, it is unlikely we will encounter him in either locale.”
“Spock, you don’t have to rearrange your shore leave plans to cater to me,” Jim says, but it makes him a little giddy to think that Spock would.
“I value the time we spend together,” Spock says, more earnest than Jim has heard him in a long time. “It would be…my pleasure.”
Jim stands and stretches. “I’ll change into civvies, I guess,” he says. “You should, too, we’ll draw enough attention to ourselves already.” Spock nods once and turns to leave. “You know, this almost feels like a date,” Jim tries to joke.
“I am cognizant of that fact,” Spock says, the line of his shoulders a touch tighter than usual. “Is this acceptable?”
Jim finds that he’s grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. “It’s great.” He’s glad Spock’s not looking, because Jim’s sure he’s blushing.
Spock nods again, and Jim can see his shoulders loosening. “I will return to retrieve you in one hour.” The tips of his ears have turned a distinct shade of green, and Jim realizes that Spock’s blushing, too.
*
And so-of course-they run into McCoy and some girl when they’re two blocks away from the restaurant. Jim doesn’t even notice them at first, engrossed in discussing the Betazoid sonata that had been the finale of the concert, but then he hears someone call his name and looks up. The girl on McCoy’s arm is tall, blonde, and statuesque, but Jim realizes he’s not jealous…of either of them. Still, Spock steps forward, standing so close behind him that their shoulders are pressed together. It sends a completely inappropriate thrill down Jim’s spine.
“Thought it was you,” McCoy was saying, and Jim fakes an easy smile. It’s easier to look at them than he would have guessed, but that doesn’t make this pleasant. “Glad you decided to come down, after all.”
“Yeah, well, Spock can be pushy,” Jim says, and now it’s easier to smile.
“Oh, really?” McCoy says, and there’s a flash of expression across his face that Jim thinks might be jealousy. He finds he doesn’t care, which is even better than being pleased.
“I believed it would be beneficial for the Captain to enjoy some leisure time on the planet’s surface,” Spock says, and Jim feels a momentary hot pressure against the small of his back. Spock’s hand? “I do not believe that this meeting is conducive to that.”
“Wow, harsh, Spock,” Jim says, but he has to hide his grin. “We’re all friends here.” He glares at McCoy, who looks like he’s going to say something. “We should probably go, we have a dinner reservation.”
McCoy’s eyes widen. “Enjoy your date,” he says, and if there’s a sarcastic twist to the last word, Jim is content to ignore it.
Which is why he’s surprised as hell when Spock’s hand closes around his own, fingers tangling. He knows that’s a big deal, and so does McCoy, if the way his eyes widen is anything to go by. “Yes, we will.”
*
Dinner is delicious but uneventful, but Jim knows he’s hopelessly distracted. There’s no hint of Spock’s earlier possessiveness in his placid façade, but Jim can still feel the heat of his alien-warm hand wrapped around Jim’s own. He knows that that kind of contact is practically a full-on make-out session to a Vulcan, and he wants to confront Spock about it as soon as he can.
The middle of the restaurant is definitely not the place, and Jim finds himself fidgeting through dessert and the process of calling for the check and the passage of credit chips.
Spock insists on paying.
Jim keeps the conversation light while they walk back to the transporter station and beam back up to the ship. He’s pleased when Spock follows him to his quarters, and they stop outside his door. Telegraphing the move carefully, Jim reaches out and runs the first two fingers of his right hand over Spock’s. Spock’s eyes widen slightly, but Jim can practically feel Spock’s attention focus on the contact between their fingers. “Join me for a nightcap?” he asks, practically whispering. He reaches back with his free hand to palm open the lock, and they all but tumble into the room.
The door’s barely hissed closed when Jim finds himself pressed against it, Spock’s unbelievably warm lips pressed against his own. Their fingers are still tangled together, and it’s ridiculously hot. Jim tangles his free hand in Spock’s hair, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat and deepens the kiss.
“This isn’t just a rebound,” Jim gasps when he has to pull away for air. “I’ve had a crush on you for years.”
“I am aware,” Spock says, flexing his fingers against Jim’s, and Jim remembers that he’s making out with a touch telepath. On a whim, he visualizes a particularly dirty fantasy he used to masturbate to, and grins when Spock flushes a fetching shade of green. “I suggested we remove ourselves to a location more conducive to the continuation of these activities.”
“Read my mind,” Jim says, laughing at the exasperated uptick of Spock’s eyebrow. Hands still linked, Jim tugs him toward the bed, stealing kisses as they go. He lets go when they reach the end of the bed, just long enough to strip out of his clothes, not caring where they land. He’s gratified that Spock seems just as eager. Then they’re tumbling onto the bed, Spock’s lean body pressing him into the mattress.
And then the urgency seems to go out of them and they kiss languidly, Jim running his fingers over the surprisingly soft skin of Spock’s back and shoulders. Spock lifts himself up on his elbow and touches the fingers of his right hand to the side of Jim’s face. “Is this…acceptable?”
They’ve done this before, when the mission called for it, but never like this. “Always,” Jim says, and Spock whispers something against his lips and then Jim doesn’t have words for the sensations. Spock’s mind wraps around his like a blanket, and Jim’s never felt so content.
*
And then that’s the way it goes for a few months: fabulous sex, companionship, and a faint ever-present mental link with Spock; gradually thawing relations with Bones; and adventures with his beautiful ship. But there’s an air about the crew, an awareness than things can’t go on like this forever, that soon it’s going to end. His crew are going on to great things, and Jim’s going to miss them all.
And, yeah, he’s still idly following Starfleet’s Refugee Services listing of sentient beings in need of fosterage or adoption. He has a future to plan for, too, and it’s not like he and Spock have made any promises to each other. He’s been burned once, and Jim figured out a long time ago that it pays to learn from your mistakes.
He’s sitting in his quarters, working on reports, when Spock hands him a PADD. Jim assumes it’s another requisition that requires his signature, but the first screen contains the image and identifying data of a pale-skinned, blue-eyed humanoid from the RS adoption listing. Jim looks up at Spock, curious.
“The child is approximately 25 standard months old, likely of mostly Human parentage, name unknown,” Spock says. “He was rescued from an Orion Syndicate slave transport 3.53 days ago. Their records were incomplete, but it is almost certain that his parents are either deceased or somewhere in Orion space, unreachable.”
Spock inhales, and Jim can feel his nervousness. “He is currently on the medical ship Elizabeth Blackwell. The Enterprise could intercept her course in 2.45 weeks. Enough time for us to file for adoption.”
Jim’s eyes widen. “Us?”
“Jim, we do not speak of such things,” Spock says, “but according to Vulcan law, we have been bonded for 3.86 months. Is it not logical for us to consider children now that we are transitioning to a safer, more stable environment?” Jim’s expression must still be confused, because Spock adds, “I have chosen to take the position of new head of the Command Track at Starfleet Academy. I wish to continue our relationship in San Francisco and, if it is acceptable to you, formalize our relationship in the eyes of the Vulcan, Earth, and Federation authorities.”
“Spock, did you just ask to marry me and raise my children?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Spock say stiffly.
“Then yes,” Jim says, putting down the PADD and taking one of Spock’s hands, changing the thread between them from the usual faint impression to a wide open connection. “I will marry you. And we can talk to RS about adopting the kid.”
Spock smiles.
And later, when they’re in bed, and Jim asks, “Wait a minute, did I just willingly agree to do even more paperwork,” Spock hits him with a pillow. Gently, of course.
*
“Daddy!” David yells, running to Jim as he enters the arboretum. Jim swings him up into his arms and spins them around until they’re both good and dizzy.
“Did you have fun poking around in the dirt with Sulu?” Jim asks, and David nods excitedly. He smears dirt on Jim’s shirt as he treats Jim to a litany of babytalk as Jim does his usual paranoid checks for any cuts or bruises. David’s already developing the Kirk charm…and the tendency to get into trouble.
“You’re good with him,” a voice says behind them, and Jim turns to see McCoy watching them. He puts David down and nudges him to go over to Sulu again. “Thought it would surprise me, but it doesn’t.”
“I’ve always been good with kids,” Jim says, sitting down next to Bones on the bench. “Tarsus, you know?” Bones nods, and Jim is reminded how nice it is to have a best friend who knows you. Ex-best friend? Jim’s not sure.
“You and Spock, I’m happy for you,” McCoy says, surprising Jim again. “He’s able to give you something I couldn’t. I’m glad. You deserve to be happy, Jim.”
Jim’s not sure what to say to that, so they sit in companionable-enough silence for a while, watching David fall into flowerbeds. It’s getting close to dinnertime, so Jim stands and calls for him, smiling when the small cannonball impacts with his shins. Jim swings the boy up into his arms, settling him on one hip. “You should join us for dinner sometime. I think that level of domestication won’t kill you,” he adds, smiling tentatively.
“I’d like that,” Bones says, and Jim knows that everything’s going to be alright.
Feedback is better than chocolate.