Archive of Our Own

As a Starfleet captain, Jim often finds himself in unfamiliar territory. He’s inured himself to the discomfort of constant change. He grounds himself on his ship, and in his purpose, mission, and crew. He knows that he will be okay because he’s entrusted his life to Bones, Uhura, Sulu, Chekov, Scotty, and Spock. Always Spock.

The region of planet P3X-774 that he stands in now could be any unpopulated area that he’s camped in near Seattle or Vancouver — air tinged with petrichor and loam, mild temperatures, predictable weather patterns, blue waters, and green. So much green. Unlike the Emerald Coast, there are no native inhabitants, and no apex predators he’ll need to dodge. His on-the-ground scans have confirmed the lack of bugs bearing deadly diseases, and plants or microbial enemies harboring threats.

It will be okay, Bones. It’s only thirty days.

His orders and objectives for the next thirty days are clear: set up a base camp on the closest inhabitable planet to the Neutral Zone, gather intelligence, and assess the veracity of a Romulan defector’s claim. It is his final report that will confirm or deny a cloaked Romulan incursion into Federation space, and his final report that could lead to war.

Regardless of that fact, the mission itself holds very little risk. He has shelter, a power source, weapons, water, food, clothes, medical supplies, and redundancy after redundancy built into the survival system, so he’s assured he won’t have to struggle or go without. He’s not to engage any Romulans should they be spotted on the planet, and emergency extraction will never be more than two hours away.

By all rights, this should be the easiest mission he’s undertaken in years. In reality…

Jim leans against the opening of the cave that will serve as his shelter for the next thirty days, and surveys the lone figure seated at the edge of a lake in a meditative pose. Spock’s back is to the cave, his lithe Vulcan form concealed beneath a robe. Jim’s heart rate kicks up.

There will be no blue Science tunic on this mission. No pervasive hum from a tricorder. Every snippet of intelligence they gather in the next thirty days will be compiled like this — with psionic amplifiers strategically situated across the planet, Spock’s telepathic shields completely lowered, and Spock’s psionic energy stretching much, much farther than Jim ever thought it could go.

If there’s a thought outside of Spock’s own on this planet, then Spock will hear it. If there’s a feeling outside Spock’s own on this planet, then Spock will feel it. And let it be said, Jim will be within 100 meters of Spock for the next thirty days, every second of which will be dominated by his many, many thoughts and feelings about his first officer. Perhaps, even more so than they would have been a mere day ago.

Our orders being what they are, there’s something I need to tell you before we leave tomorrow, Spock…

Palms raised toward the blue sky, Spock’s fingers twitch. Jim turns away then steps back into the cave.

It took less than an hour for them to set up camp, and if it weren’t for the stone walls and dirt floor, Jim wouldn’t classify it as a “camp” at all. They have power, a portable replicator, lights, a handheld sonic, and beds — actual beds, despite their proximity to the ground. It’s close quarters for sure, but no closer than if they shared a room in a hotel or on another ship. Jim refuses to think about them sharing space on the Enterprise. He can’t. Not after last night.

I believe it’s only fair for you to hear it from me directly instead of piecing together thoughts and impressions over the next month. All cards on the table, as Terrans say. I’m in love with you, Spock. Body, mind, and soul; all of you.

Their schedule is their own to set. For now, they’ve agreed to adhere to a rhythm similar to their days in space. The rotation of P3X-774 is close enough to a standard day for Jim to wing it and find tasks to fill the additional time. He has no doubt that Spock has already restructured his mental to-do list to account for every second.

Reports have always been Spock’s forte more than Jim’s, but documentation is of critical importance on this mission. He wasn’t given a directive on how to compile his and Spock’s findings, and while one secured case at the back of the cave contains enough padds and styli to document decades on this planet, he opted for a blank notebook he’s had sitting on his shelf for years and a fountain pen that’s centuries older to record their days. He’s fully aware of the inherent intimacy of his choice; tangible documentation focused on a man he’s permitted to observe but, under no circumstances, to touch.

Quite frankly, I think it’s a subject we must broach because I believe you feel the same way about me…

Jim slips off his boots then settles onto his bed, his back against the stone wall. From this position, he has a clear line of sight down to the water, to the spot Spock identified as optimal for his meditation sessions. A phaser rests on the table next to Jim, its power level adjusted to a deadly burst that will eliminate any threats to Spock while he’s at his most vulnerable. Jim eschews his notebook and pen for a moment. For a moment, he looks.

Spock must feel the weight of Jim’s gaze, the churn of Jim’s thoughts and emotions, yet he does not move. Once his Vulcan first officer has come to a decision, he cannot be moved.

I do, Jim.

No more than 100 meters. Per his orders, that is the maximum distance Jim is to maintain from Spock for the duration of their mission. The mission briefing set no parameters for how close they could get.

He and Spock did.

***

The elimination of his shields has been…an adjustment.

In the six-point-four-two days that have elapsed since he arrived on P3X-774 with his captain, Spock has found it more difficult than anticipated to truly relinquish control. The irony of this fact has not passed his notice. A lifetime spent deriding himself for his inability to maintain control, yet it has taken him nearly one standard week to exist without raising his defenses.

It is not a comfortable existence.

P3X-774 may not be inhabited, but it teems with life. Not thoughts or feelings of its fauna, per se, more an awareness of the sheer amount of energy it takes to survive. He struggles to breathe around the pressure; it makes his bones ache.

Prior to his experience here, he would not have claimed any planet to have a lifeblood flowing through its veins. Now, he bends under the unending crush of life and marvels that thousands of miles of bedrock can withstand the weight.

I have hypos I could give you to ease the transition. Stuff that M’Benga recommended. But I’m guessing you’re too proud to accept the help.

Spock bends with the weight of life instead of against it, and the urge to buttress his defenses fades. He settles into the space between corporeal and ethereal. The lifeblood of P3X-774 churns in and around him, ceaseless movement set to a rhythm he is beginning to learn.

On the nocturnal side of the planet — in the region with the greatest likelihood of incursion — the hush of darkness, the skittering of foraging, and the stealth of nighttime hunt. The philosophical questions of sentience play through his mind, yet there is no indication of sentience as it’s currently defined. He notes the time and location, then pulls his awareness closer.

Here, where the sun is rising toward its apex, the tide of life is at its height. His bones ache from the psionic pressure, so he retreats into his body instead of raising his shields. He sinks into the warmth of solar radiation on his skin, the lapping of waves against the shore, the susurration of a flock of swallow-like birds flitting between trees. He finds solace in the strength of his spine and the steady beat of his heart. Respite comes from a firm grounding in the physical. A wind flows down the mountains and over the lake, carrying with it the scents of pine, ozone, and the midday meal Kirk is preparing outside the cave. His focus falters.

Prior to this mission, he believed that should he ever be granted full access to his captain’s mind then it would be a place of solace, respite.

He was wrong.

Listen, Spock. For as much grief as we give each other, I think you and I know each other pretty damn well…

He was given the option to decline, and shown a respect for his biology, culture, and heritage that he did not expect from the Admiralty. He accepted the orders due to the dearth of alternative options, the import of the findings, and a theory that these thirty days could lead to a new understanding between he and his captain. He did not know that the understanding would come before they departed.

I saw how Jim looked when he left your quarters, and I’ve never seen you look more Vulcan. It’s raising all kinds of Red Alerts. As your CMO, I have no reason to call off this mission. As Jim’s friend, I need to know if I should. Jim’s not fragile, by any means. But you, Spock… You could break him.

While he was the sole Vulcan at the Academy, he is one of many in Starfleet now. There are other telepathic species who serve in Starfleet and are members of the Federation as well. He could have said no and the Admiralty would have found a substitute. He did not wish to put another at harm when he could bear the risk.

The nocturnal side of the planet remains quiet and still, uninhabited and known. In the wash of sun, Spock is caught in the tides of life and tumbled in the eddies of the only other sentient being on the planet. He fights for breath, drowning in the desolation of his captain’s mind.

Twenty-three-point-five-eight days remain in the mission. He has already borne the risk; he will bear the weight.

On the contrary, Doctor. It is Jim who holds that power over me.

***

Yesterday — on their tenth day of the mission — Spock picked up his first indication of sentient life besides the two of them. It was a whisper at the edge of his psionic reach, here and gone; a blip somewhere in the atmosphere or beyond, not planetside. Likely a ship, Spock said. He didn’t glean enough information to reach a definitive identification, and theorized it could’ve been a Federation fly-by, a curious interstellar traveler, or a scout.

It’s the last consideration that has Jim stationed fifty meters from Spock, phaser at his hip and restlessness itching under his skin.

Spock is seated near the water in deep meditation, the space between his breaths so elongated that an entire Romulan army could descend on him before he inhaled again. Jim resists the urge to pace and holds his position at Spock’s back. He scans the shoreline for threats.

There’s one last thing we need to address before we end the comm, Captain Kirk…

The wind kicks up and waves lap at Spock’s robe. Spock remains still.

Jim steps closer, unease gnawing at his frayed nerves.

There are too many potential avenues of attack and Spock is too exposed — a black dot on a white stone beach, a life sign unlike any other in this universe. A life that Jim has been ordered to protect.

A life that Jim values more than his own.

It has come to the Admiralty’s attention that there are rumors about the nature of your relationship with Commander Spock.

The chance of anyone evading Spock’s telepathic notice remains negligible, practically non-existent, but it’s not zero, and that, quite frankly, is too great of a risk.

Hunger claws at Jim’s stomach; his throat scratches, dry from thirst.

He ignores both.

Outside of their shelter and the protection it affords, Jim is it. He’s the first and last line of defense — the only person on which Spock can rely — and the weight of that responsibility presses on him like captaincy never has.

In this, Jim will not fail.

Now, I know how fast ‘Fleet gossip spreads and how inaccurate and insidious it can be. I trust that the rumors are exactly that — rumors — and I’ve refused to entertain them, but not everyone in the Admiralty sees it that way.

When it comes to fulfilling his duty, it doesn’t matter that he owes his life to Spock ten times over, or that he can’t quite remember the time when he didn’t have a Vulcan standing between him and Death. It doesn’t matter that he would knowingly sacrifice his life for any member of his crew, but he’d do it more readily for Spock.

His duty requires that he remain steadfast and vigilant, unmoved by personal sentiment. He’s been outfitted with all of the tools necessary for defense and survival, he has years of experience to draw upon, and the strength of his instinct to fall back on. The success of their mission hinges on Spock’s safety, and Jim’s been set up to succeed from a steadfast, vigilant, unsentimental distance.

Regardless, the need to shelter Spock within the protection of his arms consumes him.

It’s of little consequence how we feel about each other, though, isn’t it, Spock? It — we — can’t happen.

A firepot burns at Spock’s side, smoke curling from the Vulcan metal and around Spock, carried by a current that flutters Spock’s robe and teases at the strands of his hair; smoke and air embracing him in a light, intimate touch.

White stones scatter beneath Jim’s feet as he shifts away from temptation; the wind carries the scent of it to him nonetheless.

We cannot, Jim.

Restlessness itches under his skin. Unease gnaws at his nerves. The need to shelter and protect consumes him, and the urge to give in infects his every thought.

Spock shivers, his breath faltering.

An entire Romulan army could descend upon them at any moment, yet it’s Jim who is a threat to their mission. It is his overly Human heart that is the greatest threat to their future.

So it falls on me to say it, Kirk: should there be any action between you and Commander Spock that breaches fraternization regulations, the reaction will be swift. At best, we’re talking about the loss of command responsibilities, permanent reassignment, and a significant drop in rank. At worst, court martial, then brig time, followed by dishonorable discharge. The same applies for Commander Spock. Is that understood, Captain?

“I’m sorry,” Jim whispers.

A presence flits through Jim’s mind, here and gone. One that is uniquely identifiable. It’s not a fly-by, a curious traveler, or a scout. It’s a more powerful mind reaching out to assure Jim that he does not shoulder the responsibility alone.

It brings him no peace that, in this, they will not fail.

Commander Spock and I understand, Admiral.

Waves lap at Spock’s robe.

The space between Spock’s breaths lengthens again.

Jim checks the phaser at his hip, scans the shoreline, and holds his position.

***

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re frustrated with our lack of progress, Mr. Spock.”

“Then it is advantageous that you do know better, Captain.”

A hint of a smirk flits over Kirk’s lips that he conceals behind his canteen, and an echo of mirth reverberates through Spock’s mind before it’s swallowed up again, dragged into Kirk’s depths. Spock’s urge to raise his defenses stirs, threatens to awaken. He coaxes it back into sleep by focusing on each step he takes, one foot at a time, over white stone.

Precisely two meters separates them — no closer, no farther — a distance Spock modulates second by second as they traverse the uneven ground of the beach. Maintaining a boundary yet skirting the edges of his limits.

It has taken him sixteen days to allow himself to get this close to Kirk outside of the cave, and their proximity threatens to awaken an urge he does not want to deny. However, he will not permit his own discomfort to rise above other concerns. He can — he will — provide the companionship Kirk requires for optimal mental health.

He is determined to eradicate the loneliness from his captain’s mind.

We have to be careful, Spock. Extraordinarily careful. The Admiralty has taken notice, and I think it’s fair to say that one well-placed rumor could topple everything for us.

“I do know better.” Kirk pauses, and Spock comes to a stop as well, turning toward him; gravitated, always. “Still… A walk? I can’t decide if you suggested it for my benefit or yours.”

“I am not accustomed to this many days of physical inactivity. And you, I presumed, would welcome an alteration to our schedule.”

“A very diplomatic answer, Commander.”

“Have I erred in my assumption, Captain?”

“No. You’ve got it right. The mission itself has become rather…boring.”

“Indeed.”

Spock would have said tedious or monotonous. Repetitive. Boring is, therefore, apt too.

Thirty days was to be the maximum amount of time allotted for the mission, with the greatest likelihood of incursion occurring within the first two weeks, and the odds precipitously falling for each day past that mark. Now, Spock calculates a mere 20.6% chance the defector’s claims will be proven true. Tomorrow, it will be less than 15%.

This is the portion of the mission when they should be most on guard; when tedium overtakes novelty, and danger no longer looms on the horizon. Complacency can come far too easy and at great cost.

But it is guardedness that has been the hallmark of their last sixteen days, Kirk’s loneliness its byproduct. If Spock is to assist his captain, then at least one barrier between them must fall.

We’ll have thirty days alone on that planet and it doesn’t matter that no one else will be watching; we will know. For the sake of our careers and our future, the mission must be our primary focus.

“Jim —”

“Spock —”

Spock inclines his brow at their simultaneous entreaties; both of them breaching an unspoken agreement. Kirk laughs lowly, and it carries an edge that reinforces the distance between them instead of cutting through it.

The resignation in it does not come as a shock.

If we put one toe over the line, then I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from leaving that line, and Starfleet, in the dust. And if — if — we ever make that decision, then it can’t be rushed. You’re too important to me.

“You first,” Kirk says easily; his jaw tenses. “What were you going to say?”

In the distance, smoke rises from the firepot Spock left burning on the beach; untended and falling into ash. Farther still, their cave lies dark, shrouded in the leaves of the forest.

As he will not return to either until he has achieved his task, Spock glances down the beach, away from their encampment, and contemplates how much farther Kirk will allow them to stray from their stronghold. How much further he himself will allow them to stray from each other.

“Would you care to continue our walk, Jim?”

“Our walk…”

“Yes.”

“That’s what you were going to say.”

“Yes. As long as you deem it safe, it appears as if a continuation would be of benefit to both of us…” He skirts the eddies of Kirk’s mind and anchors himself in the physical; inhaling the pine-tinged air, noting the warmth of his robes against his skin. With the sun at its zenith, they cast no shadows on the white stones. “And it is a pleasant day.”

“I suppose it is. But I don’t know if it’s worth the risk.”

“Jim —”

“Don’t.”

I couldn’t live with myself if I did anything that jeopardized your position…

With that one word — in the exhale of a plea — Kirk’s mind catches, stops, and Spock freezes too, snapped from the physical and into the ethereal. He sees what he should have known, what churns at the center of his captain’s unrest: not loneliness, but despair. A sun gone dark; hope extinguished.

He sees his own error even clearer.

“I’m sorry,” Kirk backtracks on his next breath. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I want it. I want the ease between us again — our friendship. I’m starved for it. And that’s the problem, Spock. I know what lengths I’m willing to go to when I’m starving.”

But, god help me, Spock. There’s a part of me that would burn our lives to the ground for one night with you.

Spock now knows too.

The Admiralty could have bypassed him completely, and Kirk could have declined this mission on the barren grounds of Tarsus alone. Instead, the Admiralty chose to elevate Spock’s security clearance; his captain chose to rely on their foundation of trust. A foundation Spock has left untended, a friendship shrouded in silence. He has allowed the light of his captain to go dark.

Two meters separates them, a distance defined by Spock’s missteps.

If he is to eradicate Kirk’s loneliness, his despair, then all barriers but one must fall.

There’s a part of me that wants you off my ship so I don’t have to look at you anymore, too, and a part of me that wants you to make the decision so I don’t make the wrong one… But none of those thoughts change our situation. We have to be extraordinarily careful.

His captain does not retreat as Spock draws close enough to note the fine sheen sweat at Kirk’s brow, the freckles that have appeared on sun-burnished skin, and the graze of Kirk’s fingers over the phaser at his hip.

Through years at his side, Spock has learned that Captain James T. Kirk will never retreat; even when it causes him great pain.

“I should not have enforced a boundary that led to deprivation — for both of us. Above all else that we could be, Jim, you are my friend.”

“I don’t know if I can be that for you right now.”

“I am uncertain as well,” Spock cedes. “However, for this time, it is all we may have.”

I shudder to think of who I’d become without you, Spock.

Kirk glances down the beach, away from their encampment, and a breeze rifles through his hair; a sigh escapes his lips.

When he meets Spock’s eyes again, it is with a clarity that matches the maelstrom within his mind beginning to settle. The frown marring his face fades. The furrow between his brows smooths. Kirk lifts the hand from his phaser and rests it on Spock’s shoulder; a light touch, fleeting. A test.

Spock’s hands remain clasped behind his back, but he does not retreat.

“Let’s continue our walk, Spock.”

“As you wish, Jim.”

***

When he was still a boy — a curious one unsure of his place in the world — Jim’s parents went through a rough patch.

His memories from that time are marked with Sam’s anger, silences that screamed, and Starfleet assignments that stretched longer than they ever had before — but, this time, solely for his dad. He ventured farther from home, sometimes with a kid from a nearby farm, often not, and found peace in the whisper of a warm Iowan summer breeze through the trees. He muddied his knees catching frogs and scraped his hands climbing trees. He learned what it meant, for him, to explore.

By the time the tension faded, and days on the Kirk family farm returned to a gentle, familiar routine, he wasn’t old enough to understand why a change in Starfleet regulations had caused that tension in the first place. He wasn’t old enough to grasp the complexities of command structure, reporting lines, and the choice of re-assignment versus resignation. He didn’t know what “fraternization” meant.

No longer a boy, yet still just as curious — and with a surety that he’s found his place in the universe — Jim listens to the whisper of a warm breeze through alien trees. He understands, like he never has before, the sacrifice his mom made.

I know you have other things to think about besides the CMO you’re abandoning for a month, but there’s something I need to say to you before you head out to parts unknown — I won’t be around to patch you up, so don’t take any stupid risks.

Spock’s seated across the table from him, the last of their fresh halak wilting on his plate. His gaze is fixated on the trees, a slight divot between his brows hinting at the process, if not the subject, of his focus — observe, note, correlate, theorize.

The sun has begun its arc to the west, its waning rays dappling through the canopy above them, patches of light playing over the stitching on Spock’s robe, the cut of his cheekbone, the hands steepled at his chin. Jim can’t say for sure if it’s the direction of his memories — too dark — or the increase in his heart rate — too telling — that has Spock abandoning his study and meeting Jim’s eyes.

“I discovered a system of tunnels below the cave while you were meditating today.”

One elegant eyebrow inclines in response. Most would interpret it as an entreaty for further information, some would view it as a challenge, others would see it as patronizing. Jim’s witnessed this specific angle enough to know that he’s surprised Spock with the seemingly abrupt turn of his thoughts.

Satisfied that, despite their circumstances, he can still elicit that response, Jim feels something quiet and familiar returning. He pushes his empty dinner plate away and rests his forearms on the table, leaning in.

“The vast majority of them were formed by volcanic activity, but I adjusted the settings on the tricorder and uncovered a branch formed through erosion. I’ll finish up my notes tonight so you can review them before we head into the tunnels tomorrow.”

The eyebrow climbs higher.

Now, I get the irony of that statement since it’s your penchant for taking stupid risks that landed you this assignment. But, my god, think before you act. This crew needs you. Both of you.

“You wish to venture into the tunnels?” Spock asks.

“We need to.”

“Elaborate.”

“We only have nine days left. Because of P3X-774’s proximity to the Neutral Zone, it’s virtually unexplored and it would be negligent to leave the planet without a comprehensive survey. I’ve done what I can, but I’m not a science officer. I need your expertise.”

“It is possible that descending into the tunnels will take me out of reach of the amplifiers, therefore nullifying my ability to gather intelligence.”

Jim’s prepared to refute that argument with a well-reasoned rebuttal, then Spock’s leaning forward too, his gaze fixated on Jim, studying — observe, note, correlate, theorize.

He doesn’t flinch away from the scrutiny. He allows Spock to see the hope-tinged direction of his thoughts, to hear the unsteadiness of his heart rate as the anticipation of discovery unfolds.

“However,” Spock continues, “it is likely I could manufacture a portable version to maintain my connection to the network. May I review your preliminary findings, Captain?”

“Of course, Mr. Spock.”

The choice you’ve made isn’t going to be easy, Jim, so don’t lose sight of why you’re making it. The fleet needs you and Spock, yes — almost as much as the two of you need to be out here, exploring the universe— but not as much as you and Spock need each other.

He hands over his tricorder and notebook without comment.

Spock doesn’t need guidance, or for Jim to verbally expand on his written notes. His first officer has accustomed himself to Jim’s process and acclimated himself to the mess. Spock sees the gaps and knows which ones Jim’s left because there’s a lack of information, which are meaningless asides, and which gaps Jim’s left for his most trusted advisor to fill.

“If I may, Captain?” Spock asks. He’s opened the notebook to a fresh page.

Jim hands over his pen too. He watches Spock work — flipping between pages, scanning readings on the tricorder, filling blank spaces in Jim’s notebook with an elegant, precise script — and the warmth of camaraderie eases a tension he’s held onto for twenty-one days.

Before confessions and demarcations, before they received the orders for this mission, before chess nights and reports completed over dinners in his quarters, he and Spock were already the strongest command team in the fleet.

It’s taken Jim twenty-one days to realize, and he gets it now: a return to their friendship might not be possible yet, but finding solid footing in their well-worn path of captain and first officer is.

If they can be the strongest command team in the fleet even with the weight they carry — the regrets, the uncertainties, the longing for more — then they have a foundation to rebuild upon.

“We will require an alteration to the tricorder settings and seventeen sample containers to complete a geological survey. I estimate we can complete all necessary tasks in six hours.”

“Exactly six hours?”

“Perhaps seven, if the terrain is challenging to Human lung capacity.”

“Or if the composition of the rock requires intense Vulcan study.”

“Granted,” Spock says, tipping his head. Jim smiles. “Entry into this western system may be hazardous, so I advise caution.”

“Agreed.”

“I am curious about your notes on mapping exit points from the tunnel system, Captain.”

“Call it Plan C. We only have nine days left and it’s unlikely any Romulans will be showing up on our doorstep, but I saw the tunnels and realized that they could be a good place for us to hole up in during the two hours it would take for extraction.”

“Ah. However, the only exit point you have been able to identify is the cave.”

“Correct. And, well, you know me. Unless I’m willing to sacrifice everything, it’s not an option if I don’t have an escape plan.”

A hush has fallen over the forest as the sun dips closer to the horizon; the silence between them loud with unintended metaphor.

The brass absolutely has the power to split you up, and not just by reassignment or taking your ship. Don’t let the bastards win.

“I wasn’t talking about us,” he clarifies, then immediately backtracks. “Or, hell, maybe I was. I get all knotted up about what ‘sacrifice’ really means in our situation — our careers, our goals, what’s necessary for life and what’s necessary for the soul… I should be able to see how we get ourselves through this mess without harming either one of us. But I can’t.”

“Captain…” Spock says.

That word should jolt Jim back into his place, firmly grounding him in the roles they must play, yet the tone of Spock’s voice envelops him like an embrace.

“…you have already found a way.”

Spock lays his hand on the notebook, opened to a page with Jim’s scrawl and Spock’s script. His pen rests between Spock’s fingers, and the tricorder waits, silent.

And Jim remembers:

By the time the tension faded, and days on the Kirk family farm returned to a gentle, familiar routine, Jim was old enough to understand that his parents were different than they’d been before. The routine was the same, but they worked side-by-side. United.

“We have a job to do then, Mr. Spock.”

***

Spock stands at the transparent aluminum in Kirk’s ready room, his thoughts precise, his mind ordered, and his spine straight.

Despite Dr. McCoy’s insistence that even stubborn Vulcans have a circadian rhythm, the return to ship-time has been unremarkable. In the three days since he and Kirk returned from their mission, they have resumed their duties and routines — alpha shift on the bridge, beta in reports and the business of a starship, delta in reflection of the day’s events and preparation for the next. Gamma, however…

Spock’s controls falter.

The nighttimes on P3X-774 were wholly unlike those on the Enterprise. Amphibians rose a chorus of chirps from the lake, stars in a foreign configuration domed the mountains, and he did not have the solitude of his quarters to retreat into at the end of the day.

He faced an uncommon weariness each night when he stepped back into the cave. The need for sleep dragging at him like it never had before. Yet he rarely gave in to the impulse when he should have, as — unlike nights on the Enterprise — he shared that space with his captain.

“Any final observations before I finish up my notes for the day, Mr. Spock?”

Kirk rests against the rock wall, on his bed, his notebook in one hand and pen in the other. Twenty-nine days into their mission, Kirk’s hair has begun to curl over the curve of his ears. The light next to him casts a golden glow.

“No. I believe I relayed all salient details to you during our debrief.”

“Very well, then. Give me a few moments and I’ll turn off the light.”

Neither of them comment on the domestic nature of their nightly discussions; to do so would fracture the illusion of control that they have cultivated over the previous twenty-nine days.

The ready room doors open, revealing his captain.

Spock’s controls immediately, effortlessly, slide back into place.

“There’s no need to apologize for the unconventional timing of your arrival,” Kirk says as he breezes inside, speaking over his shoulder to their guest. “Commander Spock and I are still adjusting to the time differential since our return. Or, that could just be me.”

“Indeed, Captain.” Spock faces their visitor directly and nods in greeting. “Admiral.”

“Commander Spock. I was saying to Kirk that my colleague intended to arrive when he’d be pulling you away from your duties instead of out of bed, but there was an urgent matter that he needed to resolve, so I came in his stead. I apologize for the delay.”

His shields re-strengthened to an impenetrable degree, Spock no longer has access to his captain’s mind. He does not require it to interpret the tightening of Kirk’s hand on the back of his chair, or that Kirk’s easy smile is a hint too forced.

“As the captain stated, no apologies are necessary. Is there anything you require before we begin, Admiral?”

“No. Let’s get on with it. We have a lot to discuss.”

The Admiral takes the seat at the head of the table.

Kirk’s gaze flickers to Spock’s, then away.

Spock re-checks the generator, then the shield enveloping the entrance to the cave. Kirk has taken on responsibility for their security while planetside, however Spock’s drive to protect his captain remains. When he turns back toward his bed, Kirk is looking at him, one eyebrow raised, and even if he did not have complete access to Kirk’s mind, he would be capable of hearing the wry question Kirk has left unsaid: Are you checking my work, Commander?

He raises an eyebrow in silent response, and his captain laughs lowly, then returns his focus to his notebook. A wash of affection sweeps through Kirk’s mind, temporarily displacing the longing that has seated itself in Kirk’s katra.

The part of him that wishes to protect Kirk bristles at his inability to heal that wound, yet he no longer fights for breath in the tidal surge of Kirk’s thoughts and emotions. He has learned to anticipate the ebbs and flows, and weather Kirk’s capricious turns of logic.

He understands Jim in a way he did not before.

“I’ve read your final report, Captain. In truth, everyone above a certain security clearance has because it’s not what any of us expected.”

“Tell us, Admiral. What did you expect?”

“Romulans,” the admiral says succinctly. “All data and intelligence led to the conclusion that they were using P3X-774 to test the Federation’s surveillance capabilities, at best, or establish a base of operations for attack, at worst.”

“I’d say that I don’t know what to tell you, but we already did — in a comprehensive report that laid out all steps taken to fulfill our mission parameters. I protested the use of citations and footnotes, but Commander Spock insisted.”

“They are logical to include in a thorough analysis, Captain.”

“Logical, yes, but under-appreciated. I doubt that anyone besides you and I read them.”

The admiral glares. “The thoroughness of your report isn’t in question, Captain Kirk. I’m sorry you see it that way.”

“Hmm. Then maybe it’s me who should be apologizing — for not delivering you your war.”

He lies on his bed and listens to the scratch of Kirk’s pen across the page. Kirk’s thoughts are like the patter of rain on a rooftop; he listens to the rhythm and the cadence, yet he does not glean any meaning, allowing them to wash over him and cleanse him of all thoughts of incursion and war.

With his eyes closed, sleep should overtake him, yet he finds himself shifting in bed, facing his captain.

“If you’re looking for something to lull you into sleep, I’m fresh out of bedtime stories.”

Kirk’s gaze has not left the notebook. His hand floats over the page, pen held loosely between his fingers — the tips of which are stained with ink.

“A geological survey would not be an uncommon bedtime story on Vulcan.”

“Why does that not surprise me, Mr. Spock?”

“You know me well, Captain.”

Kirk smiles easily, his mind lit up with amusement and his cheeks reddened from an emotion Spock does not wish to name. The desire to press his fingertips to the blush and sink into the emotion sits heavy in Spock’s chest nonetheless.

“Who do you think they’ll send to check up on us after we get back — Komack or April?”

“Regardless, our answers will be the same.”

“True. But our approach shouldn’t be.”

“Explain.”

Admiral April sits back. Huffs. “This is about Komack’s accusation.”

“No,” Kirk says. “Komack had grounds to remind a command team of the regulations they swore to uphold. He had no reason to question our integrity.”

“Questioning the conclusions and validity of our report, therefore, appears to originate from the same fault, Admiral.”

“That’s fair,” April cedes.

“So, what will it be?” Kirk leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Either the Admiralty trusts that Commander Spock and I will act with integrity on every mission you set forth for us, or you don’t. We won’t be sent on another mission that’s a thinly-veiled chastity test again.”

“Jesus, Jim.”

“Tell us that wasn’t a secondary purpose of the mission, and I’ll gladly retract.”

April holds his silence; Spock does not require his telepathy to interpret Kirk’s soft, exasperated exhale of breath.

“April wants me in the Admiralty; Komack doesn’t. Neither has made their opinion a secret.”

Spock ensures his features do not shift.

As much as he has contemplated a full bond with his captain over the previous twenty-nine days, it is this inevitability he has returned to when he reminds himself why they have made the choices they have.

If Kirk becomes an admiral, there are alternative futures Spock will need to explore.

“I won’t shy away from confronting the real issue here if it’s April sitting in front of us. If it’s Komack… Well, I may need you to restrain me from punching him.”

“You assume I would hinder you from that action.”

“You’re a pacifist, Mr. Spock.”

“Ah, yes. In that case, I will do as ordered, Captain.”

“And Komack dares to argue with me when I tell him that you’re the best first officer in the fleet. Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right.”

 “I can see how the chain of events led to that conclusion,” April finally says. “And I assure you that wasn’t the reason I recommended the two of you for this mission.”

Kirk scrubs a hand over his face, then sits back. “I admit that I didn’t know you were the one who recommended us, Bob.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Jim. Komack didn’t argue with me when I proposed the idea, so I have no doubt that your analysis — as usual — is spot on. That’s an issue that I can, and will, deal with when I’m back in San Francisco.”

“We appreciate your support,” Kirk says.

“I think Spock would point out that appreciation for doing something that’s right is redundant, therefore, illogical.” Spock nods to cede that point, and April smiles. “And, anyway, fraternization regulations are antiquated, a discriminatory minefield, and, more often than not, weaponized against those they purport to protect. If I have my say, then those and a whole host of regulations of the same type will be nullified.” April chuffs, then leans back, matching Kirk’s ease. “I’ll step off my soap box. That’s a subject for another time.”

“I’m hoping for April,” Kirk says. “Can’t forget that he’s the only admiral who’s publicly expressed his views on frat regs.”

“It would be relevant for you to remember that I am the son of an ambassador as well.”

“Why would that be relevant?”

“There are connections I could access to ensure a matter of great urgency arises. One that requires the specific expertise of a long-standing Starfleet leader.”

“Remind me to never get on your bad side, Mr. Spock.”

“I’m sorry to say that it’s a subject we’ll have to follow from afar,” Kirk says. The slight upturn of his lips is meant solely for Spock. “But while we have you, Commander Spock and I are prepared to talk through any points of clarification from our final report. The untapped tactical advantages of P3X-774 cannot be overstated.”

“I’m eager to hear all of it. Where do we begin?”

Spock sits across from his captain — his thoughts precise, his mind ordered, and his spine straight. His controls do not falter.

If Kirk becomes an admiral — as he inevitably will — then regulations will be more heavily enforced; there will be separation. When that occurs, Spock knows which path he is likely to explore. But that is not a consideration for tonight.

Kirk smiles; his gaze softens when he glances at Spock.

“Where all good space adventure stories start — with an unknown planet, a mystery, and a cave.”

***

Five years later…

As a Starfleet admiral, Jim rarely finds himself in unfamiliar territory anymore.

He inured himself to the static nature of his job long ago, and ignored the static in his brain, dulling the discomfort behind the rationale that he was getting too old for constant change. That he stands on the Enterprise now — a refit ship that’s not, technically, his own — and he needed a map to find his way from sickbay to his quarters, should be proof enough that, despite his best efforts, he’s found himself in unfamiliar territory yet again.

But his purpose hasn’t shifted much, the mission to stop V’ger from destroying Earth felt like it was torn out of a book he wrote, and he had Bones, Uhura, Sulu, Chekov, and Scotty at his back. It would be ground well-worn — a comfortable path — if it wasn’t for the lithe Vulcan in a robe at his side.

The Vulcan who disappeared on him two years ago without an explanation, and gave even less of one when he stepped onto the bridge.

“I heard you,” Spock says. “At my final rite for Kolinahr, I heard you as clearly as I could on the beach. That is how I knew I had to return.”

The anger takes effort to bite back.

Jim closes his eyes, breathes.

“Do you remember what I used to do on that beach when you were meditating? In the days after I was sure you weren’t going to be attacked if I turned my back for a fraction of a second? I skipped rocks. I hunted the beach for the flattest stones and would spend hours seeing how far I could make them jump before they sunk into the lake, never to be seen again.”

“I remember.”

“There’s an analogy in that memory, if you care to examine what you just said.”

Spock’s silence doesn’t last half as long as Jim expected it would; the sensation of unfamiliar territory persists.

“You wish for me to speak about my initial decision to leave Starfleet and undergo Kolinahr.”

“Yes.”

“Very well. As we neared the end —”

“Forget about it, Spock. I don’t want to hear it. Not yet. I…” He scrubs a hand over his face, sighs. “You have to understand, I thought that part of my life was over. I wasn’t done with it yet, but what I want has never seemed to influence what I actually get. I moved on because it was the only choice available to me.”

“I violated your trust.”

“Yes and no. I spent twenty-nine nights with you in that cave and we served together for years after that. We were each fighting our own private war. I hated you for your decision, and I understood why you did it.”

“And now?”

“It’s easier to be angry with you than admit that four sentences in a document that I mostly overlooked has dictated so many years of my life.”

He leans against the wall of the quarters that are his in name only — for an unknown, limited time at that — and crosses his arms. He surveys the stitching of a Vulcan word, slightly offset from center, the billowing sleeves, and the asymmetric hem. For a culture steeped in logic, Jim’s always found Vulcan fashion overdramatic.

“Still, you didn’t have to show up in that robe.”

“It was my sole item of personal clothing.”

“Which means that the only thing you took to Gol was the robe you wore on P3X-774 for thirty days.”

“Correct.”

“Then, as I see it, I’m not the only one with regrets.”

“Self-punishment for harming you, perhaps, but not regret.”

“It’s the same thing in the end, isn’t it?”

Spock inclines a brow. “Indeed. Therefore, I must question what it is you believe you regret.” Jim opens his mouth to respond, and Spock holds up a hand to stop him. “You knew there would be no place for me at your side when you were promoted. You chose first to leave the ship, knowing I did not wish to serve under anyone else’s command. Regulations limited our options, but they did not dictate either of our actions.”

Jim gets it then. “Neither of us believed there was a future in this — in us. We hoped, but we didn’t believe.”

“We did not. And we made our decisions accordingly.”

He pushes away from the wall and rests against the back of the couch, hands gripping unfamiliar fabric. Spock remains at the window, a stark silhouette against the stars, and Jim’s reminded of sun streaking through leaves, patches of light playing over the stitching on Spock’s robe and the cut of his cheekbone.

He was so careful with Spock during their thirty-day mission; intentional about his every thought, action, and word. He’s left to wonder what they could have been if he’d carried that care and intention into the remaining years on their Enterprise.

“P3X-774 isn’t uninhabited,” he finally says.

Spock turns toward him then. “Clarify.”

“Between one crisis and the next, and with the Romulans going silent, exploration of the planet was deprioritized until six months ago. The Nox decided to reveal themselves to a survey team led by Uhura and Sulu. Let’s just say that Romulan cloaking technology has nothing on what the Nox are able to do.”

“Fascinating. What led them to establish first contact?”

“They wanted to provide us with gentle, yet not-so-subtle guidance that study of their planet would be welcome, but that they exceeded us in technological capacity and any harm to their environment or people would lead to our expulsion from their territory. When I read Uhura’s report, it made a hell of a lot more sense why we couldn’t find any hint of the Romulans.”

“They were expelled. However —”

“We weren’t. Yes, I’ve thought a lot about that.”

“Has there been any contact with them since?”

Jim shakes his head. “Teams have been back, but the Nox have remained hidden. I think they’d make an appearance for you, though. One of the reports indicates they have telepathic abilities.”

“It sounds as if they would make strong allies.”

“They also made it clear that we have a lot of growing to do before they’d even consider the idea. But Sulu said they were smiling when they drew that line, then the Nox invited them to their camp for dinner and drinks, so it was impossible to be offended.”

“It would be intriguing to visit the planet again with this knowledge.”

Familiarity stirs.

These quarters look nothing like his – too sterile, too beige – but the echo of discussions exactly like this one resounds.

“I’m going to ask to keep command of the Enterprise, and I want you as my first officer and science officer. Is it safe for me to assume that you remained on board after Bones released you because you’re open to the idea of returning to Starfleet?”

“It is.”

“The same frat regs are still in force.”

“I see. I was unsure if you would pursue a change upon your promotion.”

“Turns out, becoming an admiral doesn’t make changing regulation any easier. I may not have envisioned a future for us, but I couldn’t let go of the possibility either. My own form of punishment, I suppose.” He waves that away, toward a void big enough to contain the pain contained in those few words. “Anyway, I couldn’t make it happen — same regs, same consequences.”

Spock nods. “It is for us to decide if we make a different decision.”

“That’s the thing, Spock — I already have. And if I’m interpreting what you said to me in sickbay correctly, then you have too.”

“There is nothing I would not sacrifice to have you as my bondmate, Jim.”

“That’s terrifying in its simplicity.”

“It is.”

“Even more terrifying that I feel the same way,” he admits. “I’ve seen who I am without you, though, and I won’t live like that anymore — damn the consequences.”

“Do you recall what I said to you our last night in the cave?”

“Yes, Spock. Yes, I do.”

Jim’s about to turn off the light when the thought slips, without conscious intention, past his lips. “I realize you’ve likely picked up on this already, but I have to confess — not knowing what’s going on in your head is starting to do me in.”

It’s a subject he shouldn’t broach; a discussion they shouldn’t have. Not on the last night before they return home, when they’ve made it twenty-nine days without one mention of the circumstances that would lead to Jim having unfettered access to Spock’s mind too.

He holds Spock’s gaze and doesn’t retreat.

“I could perform a meld with you, as we have done before, however, circumstances have changed. Separation is necessary.”

“I’m going to need you to explain that without using the passive voice.”

“With anyone else, I could maintain a calculated distance and control. With you, touch would amplify our connection, strengthen it to the point that our desires could not be denied. For you to know my mind as well as I know yours would be an intimacy deeper than the physical. With us, as we have become, the two cannot stand alone.”

Approximately six feet between their beds, a space Jim could cross in two strides, yet he does not cross the divide. He’s too certain his advances wouldn’t be refused — not even on their last night, when they’re hours away from laying claim to a truth they both vowed to uphold.

“I want that, Spock. All of it.”

“As do I, Jim.”

“Someday.”

“Yes.”

Jim shakes off the yoke of regret, of the punishments he’s levied on himself, and crosses the divide; two strides years in the making, eliminated before he takes his next breath.

It should be the most unfamiliar of territories, but the scent of Spock’s incense permeates his every inhale, the robe beneath his fingers is as soft as in his memories, and Spock kisses him with the care and reverence he reserves for rare, precious discoveries.

He smiles against Spock’s lips.

The more powerful mind that presses into Jim’s will, someday, be more familiar than his own. But, for now, it is words that are needed for their last barrier to fall.

“Show me everything, Spock. I’m ready to see it all.”