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“I’m done here. Beam me up,” Jim Kirk said. He replaced the communicator on his belt as the air began to shimmer around him. Then the shimmer didn’t resolve; he was immobilized in a stasis that held him as if in a dream. After what seemed like forever, Jim felt the floor beneath his feet again, and started forward. But the room where he found himself wasn’t the one he’d beamed down from a few hours ago. It was a transporter room all right, but smaller, and simpler, like one he’d seen in the Starfleet museum when he was a cadet. Spock stood at the console, but—that wasn’t Spock. At least—it wasn’t— Coming over light-headed, he stumbled off the platform; the Vulcan leaping forward to catch him by the arm.
“Spock!” Jim righted himself, grabbing the man by the biceps, looking into his face. This wasn’t ... this was ... “Oh my God. You’re—”
It was old Spock—Uncle, as Jim had come to think of him privately—but as a young man! As Jim had seen him when they’d shared the elder Vulcan’s memories in the meld. Each Spock, his and the one from the other side of the black hole, were so alike, but there were differences. Subtle but visible. And this room, his uniform, they were those of that other universe. As if to confirm that he was very much in the wrong place and the wrong time, when Jim felt for his link with Spock, the ever-present tickle at the back of his mind that represented the bond, it was gone.
He was alone.
He hadn’t been alone in almost two years, he’d forgotten what it was like, not to have that reassuring presence in his head, of Spock, who let him love him, who loved him back. It was like the floor opening up at his feet to swallow him; he was queasy.
“How am I here?”
“Unknown. Who are you?” the other Spock said, giving him the once over with widening eyes.
“C’mon Spock. I’m Jim. Jim Kirk.” He reached for his hand, hoping that somehow the touch of this other one, skin to skin, might re-establish the balked mind link. But Spock stepped back out of reach.
“You are not Captain Kirk. What have you done with him?”
The communicator on the wall buzzed. Spock hit the button.“Spock here.”
Kirk’s voice came through the speaker. “I’m still waiting, Mister. What’s going on up there?”
At that, Spock dashed behind the console, working the controls with flying fingers. “I have a lock, Captain. Beaming you up now.”
Jim looked over his shoulder to see who would appear as the mechanism hummed. A sturdy handsome man in a command gold tunic, so recognizable from Uncle’s memories, still holding the communicator up to his face, materialized and strode immediately towards them. He barely registered Jim’s presence, going behind the console to look at what Spock had been doing. “A malfunction?”
“Apparently. My first attempt to beam you up brought—this gentleman.” The way he said it, the word, instead of gentleman, might have been child.
The captain whipped around then to look at Jim. “Who are you? What— Huh.” He faltered, taking in Jim’s uniform, insignia, the pips on his collar.
Jim sprang forward, offering a hand. “Admiral Kirk, sir. What an honor!”
“Not admiral. Captain. Like ... like yourself. And you are—”
“I’m Captain James T Kirk of the Starship Enterprise.” Saying it to these two, a phrase he repeated so often with total confidence, felt ridiculous.
The other man, out of muscle memory more than intention, gave his hand. As they shook, Jim looked him over. They weren’t the same height, how odd. He was, probably, three inches taller than the other man. Nor were they the same age; he’d put the other man in his mid-thirties, almost a decade older than he.
Beside them, Spock was staring with all his eyes. “Fascinating.”
But Kirk turned the handshake into a headlock. “Some mirror universe shenanigans again?” he huffed, holding Jim immobile even as he struggled.
“Doubtful. The iconography is wrong for that. The iconography is ... remarkably similar to our own.”
“Let me go and I’ll explain!” Jim cried.
“Explain what?” Kirk said, not letting go.
Jim decided he’d better stop resisting; even older and shorter than him as he was, the other Kirk’s grasp was immovable. “Quits! Turn me loose. I’m from—I’m from—the other universe. An other universe.”
“What other universe?” Kirk and Spock spoke in unison.
Jim laughed nervously. “The—through the wormhole—you know—” He stopped, seeing that they didn’t know, they couldn’t know. Because he was in Uncle Spock’s past. His ... long ago. The implications lined up now, slotting into place with a chunk of panic. If he was here, and this Kirk was also here— Then who if anyone had his Spock beamed up? Spock too would have felt the snapping off of their link, and he would be—well, not frantic, he very seldom did frantic anymore. But ... well, maybe this would call for frantic.
Kirk turned him loose then. He said, “What wormhole?” while Spock said, “No such phenomenon has been detected anywhere in this sector.”
“Can you put me back where I belong?”
“We must ascertain where that is,” Spock said, getting immersed in the transporter console, while the other Kirk continued to stare at him.
“Are you saying ... you’re me?”
“Yes. Uh ... sorry. I don’t know why I’m taller.”
“You’re me.” Kirk stepped to him, grabbed him by the shoulders, giving him a hard shake. As if, Jim thought, that was going to tell him anything.
“You’re not me. Your eyes are blue.”
“Yeah. I—I got them when I was seventeen, I was in a rebellious phase, okay, I mean, an even more rebellious phase, and it was either the color change or a big tattoo, but they were having a sale at the mall, and this girl I was seeing said—" Jim decided instantly that he’d been an idiot to swap those smoky stormy hazel eyes for bright prosaic blue. The eyes that were glaring at him now were way more authoritative.
“I was still on Tarsus IV at seventeen,” Kirk said. He looked grave. Sounded grave. “There was no rebellious phase. There was no mall.”
“Really? You didn’t—drive the ‘vette off—” Jim fell silent against that implacable face. “I’ve never been to Tarsus IV. I’ve never even heard of Tarsus IV.”
“You’re not me,” Kirk said, turning on his heel to join Spock at the console, leaving Jim feeling as dismissed as if he’d slammed a door between them. Restraining his urge to try to take charge, he watched the two men review the transporter data, exchanging information in little words or phrases that were all each needed to follow the other. That made sense. They’d be communicating so much through the bond, just like he did with Spock.
“He is you,” Spock said then. “Your DNA is identical. The eyes are indeed surgically altered. The height difference may be accounted for by his not having experienced the malnutrition you did as a youth.”
That was startling. “Malnutrition?”
Spock glanced up, expressionless. “Tarsus colony was the site of a famine and a mass-casualty atrocity which occurred when the captain was thirteen. He lived there with his family.”
“Oh,” Jim said. “That’s different from ... I mean, that’s terrible. I’m sorry.” He wanted to ask about the family, but didn’t dare.
Kirk didn’t even look up, busy with the transporter logs. “Let’s get Scotty in here.” He punched the comm button on the wall.
“What was going on before I got here?”
“Quick diplomatic courtesy call,” Kirk said. “We were going to break orbit.”
This jibed with what Jim himself had been doing. It was a relief at least that he hadn’t beamed into this reality in the middle of some crisis.
“What should we do with him while this is being worked on?” Kirk said, talking across him to Spock.
“You could feed me,” Jim said. “I’m hungry.”
The other Kirk faced him then with a look of stunning contempt. Jim shrank before it. Excuse me for existing, he thought, automatically looking to Spock for assurance. But this Spock didn’t notice.
“You might take him to the mess. I will remain and work with Cmdr Scott,” Spock said.
“We’ll stay here,” Kirk decided. “I happen to know there’s some crewpeople decorating the mess for the Yule party.” He punched the comm unit again and asked someone to bring sandwiches and coffee to Transporter Room One. Pointing at the platform, Kirk gestured to Jim. “Sit.”
Jim sat on the edge. The news that this Enterprise also threw parties was strangely heartening in the circumstances. Jim almost wished he could stick around long enough to attend it.
Spock was immersed in the machine and never looked at him. When Scott entered, Kirk pounced on the engineer, and the three conferred, ignoring him entirely. Then a young woman in a uniform that barely covered her behind turned up, with a tray. Jim rose and took it from her, wondering if he’d know her. But the face wasn’t familiar. She stared at him, at his uniform, but apparently deciding that it wasn’t her place to ask questions, quickly left.
Jim set the tray down. He couldn’t help compulsively feeling around inside himself for Spock; their link was so integral, so much part of his sense of wellbeing, of reality, that he worried at its absence as if it was a lost tooth, tonguing the empty socket over and over where it ought to be. Jim was no longer used to be alone in himself.
“So—there’s coffee,” he announced. No one looked up. Jim realized he wasn’t actually so hungry, his stomach was flopping around in a don’t-try-it-buddy way. What he really wanted, he realized, was the can.
When he asked, it was Kirk who detached himself from the tight working scrum to lead him out into the corridor.
He was still there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, when Jim came out of the head.
“Why do you despise me?”
“Why do I—” The other Kirk’s eyes blazed up in quick annoyance, but as quickly softened. “You ... throw me a little. But you’re a guest on my ship. Pardon my brusque manners.”
“Hey, I’m the one who’s been thrown—out of my entire universe.” Jim tried a smile. “But I know you, and I know him—so I’m not as worried as I might be. We’ll figure it out.” He tried to shrug, but was met with a surge of anxiety.
“You’re the captain of the Enterprise. You. At your age.”
“I went straight from ensign to captain. It wasn’t ... usual.”
“I’ll say,” the older Kirk was looking him over again now. “I’m the youngest captain in the fleet, but I was thirty-one.”
“Uh, twenty-three. I’m twenty-five now.”
“You look like a kid.” Kirk shook his head. “I never looked like a kid so much as you do.”
“Our lives are different.”
“Apparently. What did you do to your mouth?”
Jim put his fingers to his lips. “Just—oh, I had a little procedure—”
“Another one? Before or after you swapped out your eyes?”
“Um ... after. It’s no big deal, lots of people do it. Anyhow—is it okay for me to ask you a question?”
Kirk gave a curt nod.
“Your parents?”
“Both alive. Back on Earth, over ten years now. Yours?”
Jim shook his head. “My father died as I was being born. On the USS Kelvin, when it was under attack. I hardly ever saw my mother. Her career’s in deep space, and ...” At the expression on the older Kirk’s face, Jim trailed off. “But, it’s better now. I’ve got a great crew.” He gave Kirk a look. “And I’ve got Spock.”
“Spock, yes,” Kirk said, not seeming to register the look at all. “What would we do without Spock.” But a smile passed over Kirk’s face, that Jim recognized, the way any thought of Spock brought its little rush of brightness. It made Jim feel more comfortable with his counterpart. Whatever else their differences, they shared that love for their remarkable Vulcan.
“Come on, let’s go to my quarters. They’ll alert us when they’ve figured out a solution.”
Kirk started off at a fast clip. Jim flew after him, disoriented by how much smaller this Enterprise was than his; the corridor narrower, the ceilings lower. Was their tech less advanced, or was it that somehow their resources were limited compared to his reality? Jim was full of questions, and hoped there would be time to ask some of them.
Along the way they passed various crewmembers, the women all wearing those skimpy minis. Jim wondered what it said about this universe that the women consented to such a uniform. Some glanced at him, but no one stopped to stare. He hastened after Kirk whose strides seemed longer than his height indicated, and followed him through a door.
“This is it?”
“What?” Kirk was keying something into a pad on the wall. Jim glanced around; it took only the barest glance to see the whole thing. What a dump. What a tiny dump. The bathroom in his quarters was almost as large as this entire space. There was a desk, a potted palm, a small clay sculpture, a handful of books, a bed designed for an elderly asexual, with what looked like very scratchy sheets, and ... nothing else. Where was all his stuff? Where was Spock’s stuff?
“I guess yours is more of a neat freak,” Jim posited.
“My what?” Kirk didn’t look around. “Doesn’t your yeoman clean up after you? Do you still want something to eat? What would you like?” He almost barked each sentence.
Kirk wanted to say Whatever you eat, but something told him that might not be to his taste. “A sandwich is good. Tuna salad on whole wheat. Not your yeoman—your Spock.”
“My Spock what?”
“Is more of a ... “ Their signals were hopelessly crossed. “Never mind.” Jim’s bad feeling intensified. This Kirk was extremely business-like. Would he, Jim, outside of a crisis, behave like that? He hoped not. It seemed kind of ... dour.
Kirk set the sandwich plate and coffee on his desk. Jim glanced at him, and at the tray, and took a chair. The senior Kirk remained standing with his arms crossed in a big power pose that if he thought he was going to intimidate him with ... he was right. Jim’s mouth was too dry to take a bite. He sipped at the coffee, which was terrible.
He made one more try. “You couldn’t at least requisition yourselves a bigger bed?”
Kirk answered this with nothing but a frown. Jim could see that the Spock here did not bunk with the captain. Still, he told himself, that didn’t mean they weren’t ... “So,” he pulled himself up into a bit of a sitting swagger, ready to try again. “what are we getting Spock for Christmas this year?”
This got the other Kirk. He absolutely stopped. Frozen in a look of irritation.
“I’m finding this line of questioning odd from someone who is supposed to be my counterpart. You haven’t asked anything about how you got here or how we’re going to put you back.”
True. And, yes: weird. But Jim had an answer. “Because I know us. You and Spock will put it right. As for me, what’s the point of interfering? I know at least when I’d be in the way.” He picked up the sandwich. “So, what are you getting—”
“The commander and I don’t exchange gifts.”
“Huh.” Jim shook his head. “Spock pretends he thinks it’s unnecessary, but in fact he’s just as much of a genius at choosing presents as he is at everything else.” Suddenly, Jim decided it was time to go hell for leather. “It’s harder for me. Jewelry is out, so are clothes. Sexual favors he gets gratis. Last year I went with a wool blanket, a Zuni antique. He gets cold overnight in my quarters. This year I was thinking ... jade anal beads?”
That did it. The older Kirk’s expression broke into open astonishment.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Jim had his confidence back. “Spock is my husband. We’re bonded. I assumed it would be the same here. It ought to be the same ...” he made a gesture in the air, “everywhere.”
All the color had drained from Kirk’s face, his forehead came out in sweat. His hand came up in a convulsive threatening gesture. “If you so much as—”
At that moment the door chimed. In unison they called “Come!” Spock entered, hands clasped behind his back. Surveying the pair of them, caught obviously in the midst of something, he paused.
Kirk stepped forward. “Report, Mr Spock.”
“Mr Scott and his team have the problem in hand, and no longer require my assistance. However it may be some hours before they can complete the fix.”
Jim rose slowly from his chair, and went up to Spock. Now that he confronted him directly, he was able to claim the Vulcan’s attention. Spock looked at him questioningly.
Jim said, “I can’t ... I can’t feel the bond, here.”
“To what are you referring?”
Kirk stepped up and physically yanked Jim aside. “He’s not referring to—”
“Put me in the brig for the rest of my stay, but I’ve got to ask,” Jim said, letting go of all caution. “How is it that you’re not together? Spock and I made it in the first year. I can’t understand it—I mean, you two are—what I saw in Uncle’s mind was definitive—” He stopped, knowing that none of this would make sense to them. Kirk was plucking at his arm. Jim looked at Spock. “I know you. I mean, I’ve met you. I’ll meet you. In the future. We met, and you were an old man, from another universe, probably this universe, and you melded with me, and you let me see. God ... you set me on the path. You let me see everything.”
Spock’s brow jumped. “Indeed? And what was this everything?”
“That we’re meant for one another. That we would become bondmates. And I’ve got to believe that’s what we are, in every possible reality. I don’t think it was supposed to take you two this long to figure it out. Or that I’d be the one to knock your heads together.”
“Knock our heads—”
“Oh for Chrissake,” Older Kirk said, shaking him a little. “Shut up.”
Jim held up his hands as if waiting to be cuffed. “Hey, I’ll head to the brig right now.” Even as he made this gesture, Jim looked avidly at their faces, noticed how carefully neither one looked anywhere near the other. “It’s the truth. I can’t believe that neither of you feels—”
Spock, looking intensely curious, stepped closer to him, raising a hand towards his face. “I should like, if you would permit—”
“I permit! I permit!” Jim braced himself for the entry into his mind of this other Spock, recalling how it had gone two years ago in the freezing cave, the incredible onrush of sensation, emotion and information he’d received from the senior Vulcan.
This wasn’t like that. Spock entered slowly, almost imperceptibly; his own thoughts expertly shielded. He sought not to reveal but to examine. Jim didn’t have to try to push the relevant memories forward; Spock was always in his mind, his voice always speaking, his body always near, his kisses always savored. Both the Vulcan’s eyebrows rose as he made his inspection, his fingers so gentle on Jim’s face as he took in the young man’s mindscape of love. Jim showed him Old Spock, strained to remember his every look, gesture, word. He could feel the awe, the stirrings of the Vulcan touching his face, as he took it in. The powerful sadness that made him freeze for a few long breaths, concentrating on assimilating all the worst of it. Old Spock’s loss of his Jim. The trip between universes. The cataclysm on Vulcan.
Jim fought an impulse to take this Spock in his arms; longed to kiss him, as if that would make him understand, as if that would bring on the bond that every one of him had with every one of Spock.
Or just to comfort him. The urge to comfort Spock—his, all of them, was ever present in Jim. It was only in coming to love Spock that Jim understood himself to have any power to console. It was something precious to the pair of them.
His Spock, he thought, wouldn’t mind if he embraced this one. Jim leaned closer.
Aloud, Spock said, “However, my captain would object to anything so unseemly.” As he spoke he removed his hand, and the sudden absence of even this other Spock left Jim feeling he’d lost his breath. He sagged, and Kirk caught him again by the arm.
Diffidently, gaze withheld, Spock said, “Sir, what he has told you is true.” Jim took a peek at him, and saw that his eyes were full of grief. Was it because of what he’d seen of his own future, or of the fate of his home planet in Jim’s universe? Or was it all about them, their connection, which should already be flourishing and wasn’t?
“What?” Kirk hissed. He still held Jim’s arm, but all his attention was for Spock. “What did you see in him?”
Spock blinked rapidly, as if succumbing to a petit-mal seizure. On a sigh, he said, “I saw myself. As I have never yet let you see me.”
“You—what?”
“And I saw reflections of you—that are new to me. And I saw ... myself without you.”
“Oh, Spock ...” Kirk breathed, bewildered, stirred by pity but ignorant of what it was for.
The air around the trio filled up with a kind of heady incredulous awe; the two older men were outright staring at one another now. Jim thought that if Spock was only to take his other arm, he’d be a perfect conduit for their understandings to flow together through the medium of his own requited passion.
The staring seemed like it would never end. “How could you not know?” Jim burst. “He wants you, Spock. He’s always wanted you!”
What the hell. He’d demonstrate. Jim seized hold of Spock by the back of the neck, dragged him close, kissed his mouth, slowly, deeply. Surprised and not surprised to find that, after a minute stiffening, the Vulcan did not yank himself away. He received the kiss passively, but he received it all, letting Jim linger with his mind full of the memories he’d gleaned from old Spock in that cold place, of kisses he’d warmed himself on decades ago. Before his James Kirk died and left him to live on alone.
Spock took it in, as he put into the caress an urging.
Maybe, Jim thought, my being here will change it for them. They won’t be separate any more.
Beside them, Kirk made an inarticulate sound that was astonishment, or protest, or both.
Drawing back, Jim said, “Spock’s been in love with you since practically the first month he’s known you. Okay? Why have you been so obtuse? What are you gonna do about it?”
Kirk was staring at Jim, but it was to Spock he spoke. “Can this be true?”
Spock, eyes lowered, hands once more hidden behind him, was silent.
“You two need to have a talk. You need to stop wasting time pretending you don’t need each other in every possible way.”
He stepped away from between them. The two men didn’t move. Kirk was looking at Spock, and Jim knew he was willing Spock to return that look. The Vulcan continued subdued.
“Spock,” Kirk said, and now there was demand, and pain, and some hope, in his tone. “It’s true?” He went to him, laid a tentative hand on the point of his shoulder. “Tell me.”
“It’s for you to tell me,” Spock muttered, still averting his gaze.
Kirk blanched. “My God, Spock. You never guessed? How I’ve thought of you.”
The Vulcan shook his head blindly.
“I was certain ... that if I spoke, you would leave me—leave our ship—altogether. I couldn’t bear it if that happened. I couldn’t take the risk.” He took a deep breath. “Spock, I was afraid.”
Now Spock raised his eyes. Jim saw his lip quiver.
Kirk said, “Yes, I want you, Spock. I’ve been in love with you for some time.”
Jim pumped a fist. “Huzzah!”
The two older men looked at him then.
“Well?” Jim said. “Go on—kiss!”
Kirk was still exasperated with him. But Spock, over whose face rippled a variety of micro-expressions, each gone before it solidified, said, “How can that be?”
Kirk repeated, hands outspread, “I was afraid!”
“Of me? Captain ... of me?” Had Spock broken into tears, Jim wouldn’t have been surprised. He looked at Kirk with such bleak disbelief.
“You!” Kirk said, also seemingly bewildered.
“I believed all the fear was my own,” Spock said.
“Oh, my friend.” Kirk shook him a little, his expression giving way to an incredulous openness.
“Kiss him! Go on. You want to. We’re all friends here, right?” Jim said. He really wanted to see them do it, he wanted to be able to tell Spock, when he got back, a story with a perfect ending.
Kirk stood with all his weight on one foot, clearly deliberating with himself among possible next actions, and uncharacteristically uncertain. When Spock stepped closer to him he actually shied away, so that Spock had to catch him by the arms. And then Kirk went still, a look almost of shock on his face, that was only subdued by Spock’s leaning in to touch their mouths together.
Jim kept quiet now. Remembering the first time he’d kissed his Spock, and been kissed back. It wasn’t like this. The tall Vulcan loomed a bit over his captain, who had to lift his face to receive him, and did, though he was otherwise oddly arrested, as if by some force field. He did nothing, but let Spock, holding his arms, press their lips together. For a long moment Jim thought this might be a failure, that despite his words, this Kirk wasn’t ready. But then Kirk pulled his arms free, and instead of stepping away, encircled Spock completely, walking him back until they disappeared into the dressing alcove, where Jim couldn’t see them. But he could perfectly hear the sounds they made: Kirk’s sudden groan, and Spock’s whispered, “Captain ... oh, Jim ...” and then another kiss, more audible.
Kirk said, flustered, “Oh my. Oh ... To be continued, Spock ... soon. Very soon.”
Then Kirk reappeared, his face flushed, yanking on the hem of his tunic.
“I suppose I ought to thank you.”
“No thanks required,” Jim said.
Spock emerged then, looking grave, and addressed Jim. “James Kirk ... what you showed me ....”
Jim approached him. “Yourself, you mean? What happens to you, many years from now?”
Spock nodded. He looked, Jim realized, more devastated, having had his moment of realization with his Kirk, than he did after their meld. “He—I—was alone there,” Spock said, barely aspirating. “And ... I found you.”
“Spock found me,” Jim said. “He saved my life. You. Did—will do. Hell, I don’t know—maybe me showing up here like this changes all our futures.”
“And Vulcan ... is gone.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
Spock put a hand to his eyes. “Vulcan is gone.”
“They’re making a new Vulcan. Uncle is helping make it. It’s his purpose there.”
“But he’s alone.”
“He’s unbonded, yes.”
Spock looked at him then, his eyes glittering. “Will you speak to him again?”
“Yes. I can reach him on New Vulcan. Is there something you want me to tell him?”
Kirk took it up. “A message? Yes.” He went back to Spock, took his shoulders in his hands and studied his face. “I hate thinking of it. You—an old man. Without me.”
“I will never stop being yours,” Spock breathed, and there it was, his eyes watered, a tear slid down the sharp-cut cheek. Kirk pulled him into his arms, and as Jim watched, held him swaying a little, faces buried in one another’s necks.
“No, no, no,” Kirk crooned, “no tears. I’ve hurt you, haven’t I? I should have known. Let me make it up to you.”
“I concealed it,” Spock murmured. “Unworthy.”
“You, unworthy? No. Most worthy. My lov—”
The communicator chimed. Jim, closest to it, hit the button. Scott reported. Another hour was needed, or two at the most, and the visitor could be returned to his place and time.
Jim wished now that he could leave the other two alone. But where was he to go? Kirk lifted his head from Spock’s shoulder and smiled at him in a manner he hadn’t yet done. “Well, Jim T Kirk, look at all you’ve accomplished here. And we still haven’t fed you.”
As he spoke, Spock slipped off and disappeared into the head.
“Come on,” Kirk said, leading the way out into the corridor. Jim followed, still trying as they moved through the ship, to map it onto his own Enterprise, but they weren’t the same. At the end of a long hall they came to a bulkhead door decorated with tinsel garlands and strings of blinking fairy lights.
“The officer’s mess,” Kirk said, showing Jim in. The room was decorated for Christmas, all green and silver and red baubles glittering among blinking lights that almost put the view of the stars through the portholes into the shade. There was no one there. “I’d invite you to the party, but if all goes well, you’ll be long gone before it starts.”
“You’ll have to put in an appearance,” Jim said. “You and Mr Spock. Though I know you’ll only want to be alone.”
“We have a lot to talk about,” Kirk agreed, rubbing his mouth. “I—”
“It’s staggering,” Jim said. “When I met your Spock, when he showed me his life ...”
“Staggering, yes.” Kirk looked at him appraisingly. Enviously?
Jim hastened to add, “Spock will show you. I mean, he’ll meld with you. You’ll ... you’ll be bonded, and then—”
“What’s that like?” Kirk asked.
Jim straightened up, and took a deep breath. “There’s nothing else like it. I’m not even going to try to tell you. You’ll find out. I thought getting to be a starship captain was the apotheosis, but I hadn’t seen nuthin’ yet.”
“Really?” Kirk looked curious. “Your Spock—is he just like—”
“Quite a bit, but no. The way you and I are different—they’re different. But in all the things that make them who they are—they’re the same. Each of them is Spock.”
“What color are his eyes?”
Jim threw back his head and laughed.
Over sandwiches and beer, they sat in the empty mess hall asking and answering each other’s questions. Before they were finished, Spock showed up, devoid now of any sign of feeling, and brought a cup of tea to their table. He took the chair opposite his captain. So he can look at his Jim without turning his head, he thought. But so completely was Spock’s demeanor restored, that it was impossible to tell that this was any but an ordinary day for him.
“I have been to the transporter room. There are delicate calibrations still to be carried out, but they pose no problem to Mr Scott.”
“Good,” Kirk said. “What do you want to ask our friend here, before we send him back to his universe?”
Jim turned to smile at Spock. “Ask me anything. Or I suppose, since you’ve been in my mind—”
“It would take considerably more than one brief meld to plumb the depths of even the simplest humanoid mind,” Spock said.
“Oh ho.”
“I have a question.”
“Yes, Mr Spock?”
“Before you met my future self—”
“Was I in love with Spock? Um, no. No, I wasn’t. He was a pain in my ass.”
At this, the older Kirk hooted with laughter. “An enemies to lovers story, then? I like that trope.” He cocked his head towards Spock. “Too bad you and I have never been enemies. Those stories can be spicy.”
“Not enemies exactly. Adversaries,” Jim said. “Competitors. And I ... was very young. I mean, you think I’m young now....”
They asked him to tell the story of how he’d joined Starfleet, and come to captain the Enterprise without going up through the ranks. Spock listened attentively, but kept his expression flat. Kirk reacted as if he was watching an action movie.
Then the door opened, a skimpy-skirted yeoman put her head in and told them that Mr Scott was ready to beam the visitor out.
The two officers led Jim back to Kirk’s quarters, to wait while they composed a message to Spock’s older self. For this purpose, they left him alone and withdrew into Spock’s room. Jim took a seat at Kirk’s desk, and after staring around for a few moments, tried to see if he could get access to Kirk’s computer terminal.
He could not. He picked up a book from Kirk’s shelf, but couldn’t focus on it; all he could think of was what those two were doing and saying on the other side of the bulkhead. Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty-five. After almost forty, the two men returned. It was easy to see they’d done more than come up with a message; their mouths were kiss swollen. Jim beamed at them. “All set?”
Kirk put a data card into his hand. “You’ll send this to him marked private.”
“Yes,” Jim said.
“And ...” Kirk gave him a small envelope, with Spock printed on it by hand. “This as well, get it to him however you can, by the fastest way. So he can open it himself.”
“I can do that too.” Kirk watched the envelope as he gave it over, and seemed reluctant to let it go. “It’s not enough,” he said, as if talking to himself. “But it’s something. I wish I could go to him.”
“You are with him,” Jim said. “He’s right here.” He glanced around at Spock, who was looking now at his Kirk with the opposite of that studied blankness, a yearning look which practically wept, practically bled.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be able to visit him any time soon?” Kirk asked.
“Doubtful. But if I can make it happen, I will. You want me to have another meld with him, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Kirk said. “Yes, let him have that, if you can.” Suddenly, Kirk wrapped Jim in a hug. Into his ear, he said, “Tell him—tell him—”
“I will. I’ll make sure he knows,” Jim said.
Kirk laid a hand on Jim’s cheek, looking into his eyes as if to confirm his words, though there was no doubt there. Then Kirk kissed him, a brotherly kiss, but on the mouth. “I trust you.”
“Yes,” Jim said.
“I entrust him to you. You’ll make sure—”
“Yes,” Jim repeated. “He’s not alone, you know. He’s one of the leaders on New Vulcan. He’s very much respected, and looked after.”
“I’m sure of it.” Kirk said. “But he’s not ...” Kirk glanced uneasily at Spock, and lowered his voice. “What does he do about ... the seven year ...?
“I don’t know,” Jim admitted.
Kirk was obviously going down paths of thought that were only occurring to him now; he was on the verge of tears. “I wish I could go to him,” he said again.
“He’s all right,” Jim said. “Really.”
“Captain,” Spock said. “We had better see our new friend off.”
Now that it was about to be over, Jim’s anxiety resurged. What if it didn’t work? What if the place they sent him to wasn’t the place he was meant to be? Following the two back to the transporter room, the envelope and card in his hand that was beginning to sweat, Jim breathed a prayer to the Gods of Space-Time.
Mr Scott awaited them. “This posed a pretty set of problems, Captain, I won’t deny it, but I’ve found an elegant solution. You’ll be home in a trice, Laddie,” he said, seemingly oblivious to Jim’s captain’s stripes.
“Well,” Jim said. “Then this is goodbye. Gentlemen, this has been a most ... unusual, and satisfying, meeting.” He extended a hand to Kirk, who clasped it warmly, then turned to offer Spock the Vulcan hand gesture of parting.
Spock returned it, with a dip of his head. “Live long and prosper, James Kirk. I should say that our meeting was indeed, bashert.”
Kirk smiled. “Now I see that I must learn Vulcan.”
“Not Vulcan, Captain,” Spock said. “Yiddish. A language of my mother’s people.”
“Bashert. What does it mean?”
“Destiny. That is bashert which fulfills one’s personal destiny. It is inevitable. It is what’s meant to be.”
“That’s right,” Jim said. “We are bashert. He’s my ashayam. We are t’hy’la.”
“Ashayam? T’hy’la?” Kirk said. “More Yiddish?”
“You’ll see.” Jim stepped onto the transporter platform. “You’ll see so much. Goodbye and good luck, Captain Kirk. Commander Spock.”
~~~
The first thing Jim did, upon returning to his own universe, after showing his crew that he was back safe and sound, and dragging Spock behind a closed door to kiss him senseless, was to dispatch the private message on the data card to Ambassador Spock, along with his own message telling him about his cross-universe occurrence, and alerting him to look out for a package. He arranged for the little paper envelope to beam its way from ship to ship to station to ship across half of Federation space until it reached New Vulcan.
Three days later, he was alerted to a subspace call from New Vulcan, and took it in his quarters. Uncle’s face appeared, unchanged since last they’d spoke.
“Hello James. I have received the messages.”
“Good. I hope they ...” Jim didn’t know how to finish this sentence. “I’m privileged to be the messenger.”
Spock held up the envelope then, and Jim saw it was still sealed.
“This arrived an hour ago. I find myself strangely wary of opening it. I thought I would prefer your company when I did so.”
“Really? Are you sure? I mean—”
“Do you know its contents?”
“No sir. Nor do I know what was in the video message. I was just the courier.”
A strange smile visited old Spock’s face, barely moving his lips but lighting his eyes in a brief flash. “It was most affecting. Most precious. To see my Jim again, as he once was. And myself, as I once was. I had forgotten how young we were.”
“They were not so young as me,” Jim smiled.
“No one is so young as you, James Kirk,” Spock said. “Well. Let us find out what this is.”
“You don’t have to show it to me,” Jim hastened to say.
“Perhaps I won’t. But I want you here while I look at it.” His other hand appeared, wielding a paper knife; he made a careful neat slit in the top of the envelope, and drew the notecard out. Envelope and card were of heavy cream-laid Starfleet stationary; with the fleet insignia embossed on the front. Jim could see this much, but not the interior as Spock slowly opened the card. His eyebrow rose as he took in the contents. Jim waited as Spock stared at it.
At last, when Spock hadn’t moved, Jim dared, “Is it ... is it all right?”
“Yes, my dear.” Spock said without looking up. That ‘my dear,’ spoken so absent-mindedly, made Jim flush hot. Another long minute went by, before Spock turned the card so that Jim could see the inside.
There was nothing written in it. Only a small clear bag attached with tape, which contained a lock of honey-colored hair.
“Ohh,” Jim breathed.
“This also, is most precious,” Spock said. “I will have it set into a locket and keep in on me always.”
“That’s ... that’s beautiful. Oh, I’m so glad,” Jim said, not even trying to stop the tears from coming to his eyes.
“Now tell me, James. Tell me everything that happened. And tell me about yourself.”
~~~
When the young James Kirk disappeared from the transporter pad, Kirk thanked Scotty for his clever work, and left with Spock at his heels. Spock followed him silently all the way to his quarters.
“There’s so much I want to say to you,” Kirk said once they were inside.
“Captain, I remind you that in two hours we must attend the Yule party.”
“Yes, yes, I know. We don’t have to get there when it begins. Three hours will be plenty. There’s a lot we can say in three hours.” Even as he spoke, he crowded Spock against the wall, and began to kiss him.
“Captain, we cannot speak if our mouths are so busy.”
“I know. I don’t want to stop.”
“We can speak later on,” Spock said, amenably, drawing Kirk closer into his arms.
“Is this really all right with you?”
“We have already kissed for nineteen point seven six minutes after we recorded our message. I have not revoked my consent since then.”
“Spock, what if this hadn’t happened? If that kid hadn’t appeared out of—”
“I do not know,” Spock said. “But as we are bashert, I can only conclude that we would come to this, somehow.”
“Bashert,” Kirk repeated, wonderingly. “Meant to be. And those other words he said—what were they ...”
“Ashayam. Beloved.”
“So much Yiddish.”
“No, that is Vulcan. As is t’hy’la.” Spock brought his mouth close to Kirk’s ear. “A special designation. Between two men. Friend. Brother. Lover. These are what you are to me.”
Kirk shivered all down his body, and shivered again when Spock’s mouth traced the line of his jaw, and down his neck.
“Spock—I’ve wanted this—for so long—”
“And I. We were too cautious. But that’s done now.”
“And this,” Kirk said, leaning against him. “This has begun.”
~END~