Star Trek XI -- "Seven Days"
a pinch-hit for freaky_anomaly's K/S Fic Exchange
written for saffrongreen, a blend of the following prompts:
1. Spock and Kirk don't actually like each other after the first few months of taking up command, but become infected with the same virus, and they have to be quarantined together with a minimum of distractions. They start getting to know each other and fall for the other through hearing their stories.
2. Kirk and Spock must pretend to be married for some reason and they have to carry the charade pretty far...
Request: first time rather than established relationship
Many thanks to ninjaboots for the lightning-fast beta.
Jim was just hoping they could go the week without killing each other.
Seven Days | PG | 2187 words | complete
“We have to what?” Jim said, staring at his First Officer.
If anything, Spock’s posture got even the slightest bit stiffer, and Jim sighed. “As Lieutenant Uhura noted in her report, the Kkristhalie will only negotiate with a mated pair. As you and I are the highest ranking members of the crew, it was suggested that we undergo the marriage ritual and begin negotiations for mining rights, as Starfleet cannot spare a married diplomat at this time. The Kkristhalie are not requesting admittance into the Federation, merely a trade agreement, therefore the marriage would have no lasting consequences. It is a logical solution to the problem,” Spock added, but there was a slight flare to his nostrils that Jim read as distaste.
“Has Uhura been able to get their marriage ceremony from them?” Jim asked. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had to go into an alien ceremony blind, but Jim would rather not.
“I have sent it to your PADD,” Spock said, and Jim looked down to find the file in his inbox. “There will be a brief ceremony of handfasting, lead by the Kkristhalie religious leader, and then you and I will be sequestered for one week. Lieutenant Uhura compared it to the ancient Terran ritual of the ‘honeymoon’.”
“Awesome,” Jim said, Spock’s raised eyebrow telling him that the sarcasm went right past his First Officer. Jim had largely given up on the whole epic friendship thing Old Spock had promised him, but there were times he wished he and Spock at least had the level of understanding Jim shared with the rest of his regular bridge crew. “I’ll look over the details. When does all this start?”
“Sunrise in the main capital,” Spock said. How romantic, Jim thought. “Which is 1804, ship’s time.”
“Alright, then,” Jim said, rubbing his hands together, before taking the PADD the yeoman standing at his right had been offering him for the last five minutes. “This should be fun.”
*
The ceremony wasn’t too terrible: speeches from the Kkristhalie Chief Elder-something in the native language and a lot of handholding-during which Jim did his best to keep his mind blank, all too aware of Spock’s touch telepathy and his aversion to any kind of contact under normal circumstances. There was a lot of well-wishing, and then they were alone in what Jim’s mind insisted on calling the Honeymoon Suite, two beings, a very large bed, a night table with the local equivalent of a food replicator built in, and bathroom facilities in a partially walled-off corner. Normally, this would be exactly Jim’s idea of a good time, but he was just hoping they could go the week without killing each other.
Jim immediately started stripping off the heavy ritual costume he was wearing over his uniform blacks, pleased to free himself from the constricting metallic fabric. “What is this?” Spock asked, and Jim looked up to see him pointing at the Starfleet-issue valise on the bed.
“Oh, I explained some facts of Human and Vulcan biology to the Kkristhalie ambassador, namely that we wouldn’t be making like bunnies for seven whole days, and you were likely to get cold during the off time.” Spock raised an eyebrow-probably at Jim’s illogical use of Standard, Jim guessed-but didn’t comment. “He said it was charming how thoughtful I was. Anyway, the bag has two extra sets of uniform blacks for each of us. And I was able to sneak in two PADDs, so at least we’ll have something to do.”
“I had been prepared to meditate for the duration,” Spock said, and Jim’s face fell. No matter what he did… “But both items are logical and…welcome. I thank you for your consideration, Captain.”
“Please, call me Jim,” he said, but he would readily accept the thanks as a victory. He looked around, and then hung the robes on one of a pair of hooks on the wall near the door. Then he jumped onto the high bed, pleased that the mattress was soft, and dug his PADD out of the valise, settling against the headboard. He spared a glance for Spock, who was already seated on the floor, eyes closed, and then opened the oldest files in his backlogged to-do list. At least the week wouldn’t be a complete waste of time.
*
Spock seemed to meditate himself out by the end of day three, at about the point Jim was running out of paperwork. He was contemplating hacking the PADD so he could remotely access the novels he kept on his personal computer when Spock stood and cleared his throat. “Doing alright, Spock?” he asked.
“I have found the extended meditation time to be most beneficial,” Spock said. “I noticed that you had packed a chess set among our uniforms. I was not aware that you played.”
“Yeah,” Jim said, with that faint uncomfortable feeling he usually got when someone saw under his affable idiot façade when he wasn’t prepared for it. “I know you do. I guess I thought it would be something we could do if we-if I got bored.”
“I would be amenable to a game,” Spock said, retrieving the little box from the valise and then settling on the bed with his usual grace. “You may play white.”
Jim hadn’t played chess against anyone with any real skill in quite a while, and Spock wasn’t going easy on him. Jim lost the first game, but Spock’s face had that combination of raised eyebrow and slight upturn of the lips that usually accompanied the statement that something “fascinating”. Jim made him work for his second victory, and the third game was a stalemate.
“You are improving rapidly,” Spock said, and if he were anyone else Jim would have said he was surprised.
“No, I’m just adjusting my strategy as I learn more of yours,” Jim said, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back against the pillows he’d stacked against the headboard. “It’s what I do.”
“But your moves are increasingly illogical.”
“And yours aren’t, so that’s where I’ll catch you,” Jim said, grinning. “Another game?”
Spock’s eyebrow lifts even higher. “I would have expected you to be bored by this time.”
“Nah, this is the best challenge I’ve had in a long time,” Jim said. “It’s…invigorating.” Spock inclined his head, and then reset the board
They played another game, and then it was time for dinner, and after Spock went back to meditation. Jim realized that not only was Spock’s chess game the biggest challenge he’d had in a long time, it was the most fun, too.
*
“May I ask a personal query?” Spock asked during their second chess game on the fifth day.
“Always,” Jim said. “Well, almost always. But yeah, go ahead.”
“When did you learn to play chess?” Spock moved a bishop. “You did not play for the chess team at Starfleet Academy, and unless you use a code name, I have not seen your name among the high scores for the Enterprise’s chess program.”
Jim bit his lip. Leave it to Spock to ask one of the few questions he was hesitant to answer. But, Spock had made the effort to reach out just by asking, so Jim owed him some sort of answer in return. “My mom got me a chess program in grade school, thought it would keep me out of trouble,” he said, surprised to find that it was easier to admit this to Spock than it had been to anyone he could remember, even Bones. “I was too smart, and people treated me differently-because of my dad-so I used to act out. Mom thought if I had a challenge I’d be better behaved.” Jim shrugged. “It didn’t help my behavior much, but I liked the game.”
“My mother taught me how to play chess,” Spock said, and Jim tried to hide his surprise that Spock was opening up to him. “She thought Terran games based on logic would be beneficial to my education when I was eight and nine Standard years old. It is similar to a Vulcan game, but I have always found the variety of moves in chess to be more challenging.”
“I’m not used to playing against another person,” Jim admitted. “I usually play the computer.”
“Why?”
“I’m sure you’re aware of my reputation,” Jim said with a sardonic grin. “Being an awesome chess player doesn’t really fit.”
“But it is clear you are much more intelligent than you allow others to assume,” Spock said, with a slight confused wrinkle between his brows that Jim thought was adorable. “It is illogical to hide a single skill set, much less much of one’s intelligence and abilities.”
“But there can be a tactical benefit to being underestimated. Checkmate,” he added, grinning.
Spock scanned the board. “Fascinating.”
*
“I know Vulcans can go extended periods without food or sleep,” Jim said, the end of their last day in the room, “but I really don’t mind sharing the bed. You could probably use some real sleep by now.”
“That will not be necessary,” Spock said, so quickly Jim could only assume he was nervous, though he couldn’t imagine why. “I would not impose-”
“Psh,” Jim said, grinning when Spock raised an eyebrow at the noise. “We’ve been talking about things the last few days I’ve never told anyone. Sharing a bed that’s big enough for four is nothing by comparison.”
“It is likely that I will generate enough heat that you will feel uncomfortable,” Spock said, and Jim was treated to the sight of what a Vulcan looked like when he was grasping at straws.
“Then I can kick off the blanket,” Jim said, getting irritated. “I know we don’t always get along, but if you find me that objectionable, just say so.”
“To the contrary,” Spock said, but did not elaborate when Jim mimicked Spock’s inquisitive eyebrow. “If you are certain it would not be incommodious for you.” Jim nodded. “Thank you…Jim.”
Jim grinned and tossed back the covers on the other side of the bed. “You are more than welcome, Spock,” he said. And then he watched as Spock laid down, tucked himself in, and-as far as Jim could see-fell right to sleep.
In the dim light of the night setting, Jim watched Spock for a few minutes, the rise and fall of his chest, the shadow of his eyelashes on his cheek. Spock’s face softened slightly in sleep, the hard line of his mouth loosened into what could almost be a smile. In sleep, Jim could actually believe that Spock was only a few years older than he was. He was also reminded that Spock was-objectively, of course-a rather attractive being. Jim shook his head at his wandering thoughts and laid down. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep.
And when he woke up the next morning with a Vulcan space heater wrapped around his back, there was a moment when he thought, This is nice, before finding a way to fidget out from underneath the warm arm and head to the bathroom.
*
The ceremony in the morning was brief, which was good because Jim knew he could do with a shower. No handholding this time, but more speeches from the Elder, and his minion, and his minion, and so on for a few people Jim knew he’d been introduced to but couldn’t tell apart.
“And now,” the Chief Elder said, in heavily-accented Standard, “a sign of closeness from the new married couple.”
Jim turned to Spock, unsure how to proceed. But before he started to really worry, Spock raised his right hand in what was obviously a ritual gesture, first two fingers extended from a closed fist. Taking a wild guess, Jim mimicked the gesture, raising his hand as well. Spock pressed his fingertips to Jim’s own, and Jim felt a frisson of emotions, embarrassment and pride and a heat that could only be desire. Jim looked up, startled, and realized that these were Spock’s emotions, if the slight greening of the tips of his ears was anything to go by.
Jim found himself smiling broadly. Acting on a hunch (moving is better than not moving, right?), Jim stroked his fingertips down Spock’s fingers and then back up again. He was rewarded with the sight of Spock’s blush spreading down his ears and onto his cheeks. Jim realized it was even more attractive than Spock looked while sleeping. There was an answering spike of heat in his mind, and Jim’s grin stretched even wider.
The mood was broken by the ululations the Kkristhalie made instead of applause, and Jim reluctantly dropped his hand. The memory of Spock’s emotions carried him through leaving the temple walking to the beam-up point for the ship. Then there was the slightly dizzying sensation of beaming, and he was standing in the transporter room, Spock at his side.
“Spock, chess tonight?” Jim asked, quiet enough in the din that only Spock would hear.
Jim could have sworn Spock smiled, just a little. “I would not miss it for the galaxy.”
Feedback is better than chocolate.
written for saffrongreen, a blend of the following prompts:
1. Spock and Kirk don't actually like each other after the first few months of taking up command, but become infected with the same virus, and they have to be quarantined together with a minimum of distractions. They start getting to know each other and fall for the other through hearing their stories.
2. Kirk and Spock must pretend to be married for some reason and they have to carry the charade pretty far...
Request: first time rather than established relationship
Many thanks to ninjaboots for the lightning-fast beta.
Jim was just hoping they could go the week without killing each other.
Seven Days | PG | 2187 words | complete
“We have to what?” Jim said, staring at his First Officer.
If anything, Spock’s posture got even the slightest bit stiffer, and Jim sighed. “As Lieutenant Uhura noted in her report, the Kkristhalie will only negotiate with a mated pair. As you and I are the highest ranking members of the crew, it was suggested that we undergo the marriage ritual and begin negotiations for mining rights, as Starfleet cannot spare a married diplomat at this time. The Kkristhalie are not requesting admittance into the Federation, merely a trade agreement, therefore the marriage would have no lasting consequences. It is a logical solution to the problem,” Spock added, but there was a slight flare to his nostrils that Jim read as distaste.
“Has Uhura been able to get their marriage ceremony from them?” Jim asked. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had to go into an alien ceremony blind, but Jim would rather not.
“I have sent it to your PADD,” Spock said, and Jim looked down to find the file in his inbox. “There will be a brief ceremony of handfasting, lead by the Kkristhalie religious leader, and then you and I will be sequestered for one week. Lieutenant Uhura compared it to the ancient Terran ritual of the ‘honeymoon’.”
“Awesome,” Jim said, Spock’s raised eyebrow telling him that the sarcasm went right past his First Officer. Jim had largely given up on the whole epic friendship thing Old Spock had promised him, but there were times he wished he and Spock at least had the level of understanding Jim shared with the rest of his regular bridge crew. “I’ll look over the details. When does all this start?”
“Sunrise in the main capital,” Spock said. How romantic, Jim thought. “Which is 1804, ship’s time.”
“Alright, then,” Jim said, rubbing his hands together, before taking the PADD the yeoman standing at his right had been offering him for the last five minutes. “This should be fun.”
*
The ceremony wasn’t too terrible: speeches from the Kkristhalie Chief Elder-something in the native language and a lot of handholding-during which Jim did his best to keep his mind blank, all too aware of Spock’s touch telepathy and his aversion to any kind of contact under normal circumstances. There was a lot of well-wishing, and then they were alone in what Jim’s mind insisted on calling the Honeymoon Suite, two beings, a very large bed, a night table with the local equivalent of a food replicator built in, and bathroom facilities in a partially walled-off corner. Normally, this would be exactly Jim’s idea of a good time, but he was just hoping they could go the week without killing each other.
Jim immediately started stripping off the heavy ritual costume he was wearing over his uniform blacks, pleased to free himself from the constricting metallic fabric. “What is this?” Spock asked, and Jim looked up to see him pointing at the Starfleet-issue valise on the bed.
“Oh, I explained some facts of Human and Vulcan biology to the Kkristhalie ambassador, namely that we wouldn’t be making like bunnies for seven whole days, and you were likely to get cold during the off time.” Spock raised an eyebrow-probably at Jim’s illogical use of Standard, Jim guessed-but didn’t comment. “He said it was charming how thoughtful I was. Anyway, the bag has two extra sets of uniform blacks for each of us. And I was able to sneak in two PADDs, so at least we’ll have something to do.”
“I had been prepared to meditate for the duration,” Spock said, and Jim’s face fell. No matter what he did… “But both items are logical and…welcome. I thank you for your consideration, Captain.”
“Please, call me Jim,” he said, but he would readily accept the thanks as a victory. He looked around, and then hung the robes on one of a pair of hooks on the wall near the door. Then he jumped onto the high bed, pleased that the mattress was soft, and dug his PADD out of the valise, settling against the headboard. He spared a glance for Spock, who was already seated on the floor, eyes closed, and then opened the oldest files in his backlogged to-do list. At least the week wouldn’t be a complete waste of time.
*
Spock seemed to meditate himself out by the end of day three, at about the point Jim was running out of paperwork. He was contemplating hacking the PADD so he could remotely access the novels he kept on his personal computer when Spock stood and cleared his throat. “Doing alright, Spock?” he asked.
“I have found the extended meditation time to be most beneficial,” Spock said. “I noticed that you had packed a chess set among our uniforms. I was not aware that you played.”
“Yeah,” Jim said, with that faint uncomfortable feeling he usually got when someone saw under his affable idiot façade when he wasn’t prepared for it. “I know you do. I guess I thought it would be something we could do if we-if I got bored.”
“I would be amenable to a game,” Spock said, retrieving the little box from the valise and then settling on the bed with his usual grace. “You may play white.”
Jim hadn’t played chess against anyone with any real skill in quite a while, and Spock wasn’t going easy on him. Jim lost the first game, but Spock’s face had that combination of raised eyebrow and slight upturn of the lips that usually accompanied the statement that something “fascinating”. Jim made him work for his second victory, and the third game was a stalemate.
“You are improving rapidly,” Spock said, and if he were anyone else Jim would have said he was surprised.
“No, I’m just adjusting my strategy as I learn more of yours,” Jim said, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back against the pillows he’d stacked against the headboard. “It’s what I do.”
“But your moves are increasingly illogical.”
“And yours aren’t, so that’s where I’ll catch you,” Jim said, grinning. “Another game?”
Spock’s eyebrow lifts even higher. “I would have expected you to be bored by this time.”
“Nah, this is the best challenge I’ve had in a long time,” Jim said. “It’s…invigorating.” Spock inclined his head, and then reset the board
They played another game, and then it was time for dinner, and after Spock went back to meditation. Jim realized that not only was Spock’s chess game the biggest challenge he’d had in a long time, it was the most fun, too.
*
“May I ask a personal query?” Spock asked during their second chess game on the fifth day.
“Always,” Jim said. “Well, almost always. But yeah, go ahead.”
“When did you learn to play chess?” Spock moved a bishop. “You did not play for the chess team at Starfleet Academy, and unless you use a code name, I have not seen your name among the high scores for the Enterprise’s chess program.”
Jim bit his lip. Leave it to Spock to ask one of the few questions he was hesitant to answer. But, Spock had made the effort to reach out just by asking, so Jim owed him some sort of answer in return. “My mom got me a chess program in grade school, thought it would keep me out of trouble,” he said, surprised to find that it was easier to admit this to Spock than it had been to anyone he could remember, even Bones. “I was too smart, and people treated me differently-because of my dad-so I used to act out. Mom thought if I had a challenge I’d be better behaved.” Jim shrugged. “It didn’t help my behavior much, but I liked the game.”
“My mother taught me how to play chess,” Spock said, and Jim tried to hide his surprise that Spock was opening up to him. “She thought Terran games based on logic would be beneficial to my education when I was eight and nine Standard years old. It is similar to a Vulcan game, but I have always found the variety of moves in chess to be more challenging.”
“I’m not used to playing against another person,” Jim admitted. “I usually play the computer.”
“Why?”
“I’m sure you’re aware of my reputation,” Jim said with a sardonic grin. “Being an awesome chess player doesn’t really fit.”
“But it is clear you are much more intelligent than you allow others to assume,” Spock said, with a slight confused wrinkle between his brows that Jim thought was adorable. “It is illogical to hide a single skill set, much less much of one’s intelligence and abilities.”
“But there can be a tactical benefit to being underestimated. Checkmate,” he added, grinning.
Spock scanned the board. “Fascinating.”
*
“I know Vulcans can go extended periods without food or sleep,” Jim said, the end of their last day in the room, “but I really don’t mind sharing the bed. You could probably use some real sleep by now.”
“That will not be necessary,” Spock said, so quickly Jim could only assume he was nervous, though he couldn’t imagine why. “I would not impose-”
“Psh,” Jim said, grinning when Spock raised an eyebrow at the noise. “We’ve been talking about things the last few days I’ve never told anyone. Sharing a bed that’s big enough for four is nothing by comparison.”
“It is likely that I will generate enough heat that you will feel uncomfortable,” Spock said, and Jim was treated to the sight of what a Vulcan looked like when he was grasping at straws.
“Then I can kick off the blanket,” Jim said, getting irritated. “I know we don’t always get along, but if you find me that objectionable, just say so.”
“To the contrary,” Spock said, but did not elaborate when Jim mimicked Spock’s inquisitive eyebrow. “If you are certain it would not be incommodious for you.” Jim nodded. “Thank you…Jim.”
Jim grinned and tossed back the covers on the other side of the bed. “You are more than welcome, Spock,” he said. And then he watched as Spock laid down, tucked himself in, and-as far as Jim could see-fell right to sleep.
In the dim light of the night setting, Jim watched Spock for a few minutes, the rise and fall of his chest, the shadow of his eyelashes on his cheek. Spock’s face softened slightly in sleep, the hard line of his mouth loosened into what could almost be a smile. In sleep, Jim could actually believe that Spock was only a few years older than he was. He was also reminded that Spock was-objectively, of course-a rather attractive being. Jim shook his head at his wandering thoughts and laid down. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep.
And when he woke up the next morning with a Vulcan space heater wrapped around his back, there was a moment when he thought, This is nice, before finding a way to fidget out from underneath the warm arm and head to the bathroom.
*
The ceremony in the morning was brief, which was good because Jim knew he could do with a shower. No handholding this time, but more speeches from the Elder, and his minion, and his minion, and so on for a few people Jim knew he’d been introduced to but couldn’t tell apart.
“And now,” the Chief Elder said, in heavily-accented Standard, “a sign of closeness from the new married couple.”
Jim turned to Spock, unsure how to proceed. But before he started to really worry, Spock raised his right hand in what was obviously a ritual gesture, first two fingers extended from a closed fist. Taking a wild guess, Jim mimicked the gesture, raising his hand as well. Spock pressed his fingertips to Jim’s own, and Jim felt a frisson of emotions, embarrassment and pride and a heat that could only be desire. Jim looked up, startled, and realized that these were Spock’s emotions, if the slight greening of the tips of his ears was anything to go by.
Jim found himself smiling broadly. Acting on a hunch (moving is better than not moving, right?), Jim stroked his fingertips down Spock’s fingers and then back up again. He was rewarded with the sight of Spock’s blush spreading down his ears and onto his cheeks. Jim realized it was even more attractive than Spock looked while sleeping. There was an answering spike of heat in his mind, and Jim’s grin stretched even wider.
The mood was broken by the ululations the Kkristhalie made instead of applause, and Jim reluctantly dropped his hand. The memory of Spock’s emotions carried him through leaving the temple walking to the beam-up point for the ship. Then there was the slightly dizzying sensation of beaming, and he was standing in the transporter room, Spock at his side.
“Spock, chess tonight?” Jim asked, quiet enough in the din that only Spock would hear.
Jim could have sworn Spock smiled, just a little. “I would not miss it for the galaxy.”
Feedback is better than chocolate.