Archive of Our Own

Spock leaned back in his chair, and the movement caused his spine to shift in a series of subtle pops. He had been bent over his ‘project’ for hours now, and although he had hardly registered the passing of time—so intent had he been upon his work—his body still felt the strain. Logically, Spock knew that a meditative session would dispel any of his lingering discomforts, but he pushed the thought away, locking it up with the pain and cold that he refused to feel. He had no time for meditation. The captain—Jim—was relying on him to complete his work before Dr. McCoy arrived.

As if summoned by the Vulcan’s thoughts, a noise in the hallway beyond the door to the drafty apartment caused Spock’s ears to twitch. He recognized the sound as his captain’s footfalls and soon enough the door opened, and Jim stepped inside, his arms laden with bags. Spock quirked an eyebrow at the load, but Jim seemed to carry it with ease, and so he did not rise from his place behind the circuitry.

As Jim began to unpack the things he had purchased, Spock turned his attention back to a particularly stubborn portion of the circuit. After prodding at and adjusting it several more times, Spock set his tools back down and looked up to catch his captain’s eyes, only to find that the man was already staring intently at him. Spock raised an eyebrow in question but when no immediate response came, he decided to make a request of his own, “Captain, I require platinum.” Amused shock registered on the man’s face, but Spock pressed on. “A small amount would be sufficient. I must pass certain circuits through it in order to-” Spock was cut off by a deep laugh.

“Mister Spock,” Jim chuckled, holding up one of the brown bags, “I’ve brought you assorted vegetables, baloney in a hard roll for myself, and I've spent the other nine-tenths of our combined salaries for the last three days on filling this order for you. Mister Spock, this bag does not contain platinum, silver or gold, nor is it likely to in the near future.” The man laughed again. Normally, the sound seemed to warm Spock, as if he were wrapped in the captain’s embrace—illogical as that was. This time, however, no such feelings accompanied the sound, drowned out perhaps by Spock’s increasing frustration.

Standing from his chair, Spock looked his captain in the eyes, and he knew that his empty expression didn’t quite disguise his irritated frustration as he said, “Captain, you are asking me to work with equipment which is hardly very far ahead of stone knives and bearskins.”

The captain’s mouth quirked some at that, though it was hardly a smile. “I know, Spock, I know, but you have to make it work.” Jim leaned forward, placing his hands on the table, and his words adopted that sound that they always assumed when he was trying to bolster a particularly downtrodden crewmember. “McCoy will be here soon, and we have no way of knowing that the currents of time will bring us to him. This is our only hope.”

Spock looked down, unable to hold the captain’s earnest gaze. He was doing his best already—it would be illogical to do anything less—but his chances of success were slim. He was failing, and he told his captain as much. “In three weeks at this rate, possibly a month, I might reach the first mnemonic memory circuits.” He didn’t add ‘I’m sorry’ but it was in the air regardless.

Before the captain could respond to his First Officer’s report, footsteps sounded outside their door, sending Jim scrambling to his feet and Spock reaching over the wire-strewn table to grab his hat and shove it over his ears. As he did so, the door opened to reveal Edith Keeler.

Even before she began to speak, Spock felt the atmosphere of the room shift, the change radiating outward from his captain, whose face brightened instantly at seeing the woman. It was a look Spock had seen on his captain’s face many a time before, although even he had to admit that there was something different about it this time, something brighter. The thought caused something to stir within Spock, but he shoved it down, denying the ugly emotion its chance to see the light.

Turning his attention to the conversation with some effort, Spock caught the final words Ms. Keeler said. “-five hours work at twenty-two cents an hour.” As the captain nodded and stepped away from the door to grab his coat, the woman gasped. Spock saw the realization come over his captain’s face as the man sighed and turned back to Ms. Keeler. “What?” she gasped, searching for the words to describe her surprise. “What on Earth is that?”

Typically, Spock would be content to let his captain handle the woman’s curiosity, but as he stood, the words fell from his lips almost before he had a chance to think of them. “I am endeavoring, ma'am, to construct a mnemonic memory circuit using stone knives and bearskins,” he stated dryly. The captain quirked an eyebrow but said nothing as Spock pulled on his coat and followed the pair out the door.

. . .

Spock disliked menial work. Logically, he knew that the work that he and Jim were doing was important. Without these wages, Spock would have even less than stone knives and bearskins to work with. However, he could not help the irrational irritation that simmered inside of him as he and the captain swept and cleaned a repair shop.

Glancing over at his captain, Spock saw that the man was smiling and humming quietly to himself. It seemed odd to him that the captain could enjoy such menial work, although he had grown up on a farm, so perhaps the chores reminded him of his youth. The half-Vulcan nodded to himself, satisfied with that answer. Satisfied, that was, until his ears registered the song that the captain was humming. It was one that they had heard on the radio a few days earlier, and Jim—the captain—had explained that it was a popular love song of the time.

Edith Keeler. She was the reason for the captain’s smile and cheery mood, not the chores that they had been given. The realization was logical; women as kind and beautiful as she had caught the captain’s eye plenty of times in the past, and it made sense for the same thing to occur now. That logic didn’t stop Spock’s gut from tightening in an emotion he dared not identify, instead shoving it down and locking it behind the wall that hid his more human side, along with every other thing James T. Kirk had made him feel.

“Are you alright, Spock?” The captain’s concerned voice drew Spock from his thoughts.

“I am satisfactory,” he said and raised an eyebrow. “What reason would I have not to be?”

The captain looked down at that for a brief moment, looking as if he couldn’t decide on what he wanted to say. For an instant, something seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, but then he shook his head. “Never mind, Mister Spock. Carry on.”

Spock nodded and turned back to his work, allowing silence to fall between them, broken only by the scratching sound of the bristles of their brooms across the wooden floor. The entire time they worked, Spock could feel his captain’s eyes on him, and he berated himself for letting even a hint of his inner turmoil show. It was a disgrace to his Vulcan heritage, but more importantly, it had caused the captain undue worry and broken him out of his cheerful state.

Eventually, as the end of the five hours drew near, a pair of clockmakers sat down at a long table and began to painstakingly take apart, repair, and reassemble a small clock. Spock paid them no heed until his mind registered the delicate nature of their work and thus the delicate nature of their tools. The same kind of tools that would increase his efficiency on his project by over two hundred percent.

For several minutes, Spock grappled with himself internally. Such fine tools would make his work go much faster, thus increasing their likelihood of locating Doctor McCoy before the timeline could be irrevocably damaged. However, in order to procure them, he would have to steal them. He would, of course, return them as soon as he was able, but it was still theft, which was regrettable.

His captain must have sensed his dilemma, for the man stopped his work and looked at Spock, concern written in the crease of his brow. “What is it, Spock?”

Looking at his captain, Spock made up his mind. If these tools would help Jim get back to the Enterprise where he belonged, where his talents would be put to use instead of squandered on jobs such as this, they were worth a moral sacrifice on his part.

“Tools, Captain, for finely detailed work,” he explained, nodding subtly to the table where the two men sat hunched over their work. Realization dawned in the captain’s eyes, and Spock could see regret in the man’s face as he nodded.

“Very well, Mister Spock.” There was a heavy sigh in his words that seemed to cut at Spock’s insides, as illogical as the description was. Later, when Spock carefully cracked the combination lock and removed the tools he would need, he shoved down the feeling of guilt that seized him when he saw the pain in his captain’s eyes. This was the logical solution. Unfortunately, his human side didn’t seem to care.

. . .

A few hours later, Spock was stoking the boiler in the basement when he heard footsteps approach. He and the captain had returned to the mission after their previous job and been assigned to work here until dinner. The captain had been perfectly willing to obey, which Spock suspected had something to do with the increased likelihood of interacting with one Edith Keeler. However, if the force of the footsteps that Spock detected was any indication, the woman was far from pleased. Once again, guilt shot through him, more because his actions would likely affect the captain’s relationship with Ms. Keeler and thus affect his happiness than because of the theft itself.

Regardless, when the door opened to reveal a furious Edith Keeler, Spock put aside his shovel and moved to stand a few steps behind his captain’s side. He would, of course, take full responsibility should the need arise, but he had to admit that the captain had the superior skill when it came to interacting with others, particularly females.

“That toolbox was locked with a combination lock and you opened it like a real pro,” the irate woman stated, jabbing a finger in Spock’s direction. “Why did you do it?”

“I needed the fine tools for my radio work,” he replied, keeping his voice cool. There was no point in denying his actions, and he didn’t bother to ask how the woman knew it was him who had stolen them. Perhaps she simply did not wish to believe that Jim was capable of the crime. “They will be returned as soon as I am finished.”

“As soon as you've finished? You’ve taken the livelihood of those men from them. Even a day’s worth of work lost could be detrimental to their families!”

Spock nodded once. “Then the tools shall be returned by morning.” To do so, he would need to work at a rate 1.57 times faster than he had planned through the night, but he would manage.

“Do you really think you can finish whatever monstrosity it is that you’re working on in a single night?”

Thankfully, the captain stepped in before Spock could reply. “If Mister Spock says that he needs the tools and that they'll be returned tomorrow morning, you can bet your reputation on that, Miss Keeler.” The captain caught his eye, and Spock nodded, grateful for his show of faith.

Edith glanced between them for a few seconds before all of the anger seemed to seep away from her, replaced instead by a small smile. “On one condition, Mr. Kirk. Walk me home? I still have a few questions I'd like to ask about you two.” Spock raised an eyebrow at the phrase, an expression that was closely copied by his captain. “Oh, and don't give me that questions about little old us? look. You know as well as I do how out of place you two are around here.”

Spock’s lips turned down in a slight frown. This woman was unusually perceptive. “Interesting. Where would you estimate we belong, Miss Keeler?”

The gaze that the woman turned on Spock was discomforting, almost piercing—to use the human phrase—in its intensity. She looked him up and down before saying slowly, “You? At his side, as if you've always been there and always will.” She then turned to Kirk and began to speak, but Spock barely heard her. This woman who had known them for little more than a week had in a single sentence summarized and dismissed Spock’s entire existence. And she had done it with incredible precision. After all, Spock couldn’t imagine himself anywhere but Jim’s side so long as the man would have him. Seeing as those thoughts would do him no good at the present moment—he would meditate on them later—he pushed them back.

The captain and Ms. Keeler seemed to have finished their conversation, and they were both smiling softly. Recognizing that his captain would feel uncomfortable if Ms. Keeler had to wait on him, Spock spoke up. “I will finish with the furnace.” He nodded at his captain, but before Jim could say a word, Ms. Keeler laughed lightly.

“Captain,” she laughed again. “Even when he doesn’t say it he does.”

Spock didn’t respond, and Jim looked at him with a look Spock couldn’t begin to decipher before turning back to Ms. Keeler. Together, they walked up the steps of the basement, and by the time they reached the door Spock could hear Ms. Keeler’s laugh floating on the air.

. . .

Spock’s limbs were heavy, despite the effort he had taken to ignore the complaints of his body as he had worked. The tools had allowed him to work 1.87 times faster than he had originally anticipated, and as such, he suspected he would be able to make the device work for at least a minute within the next half hour. By that time, Jim should be back from his date with Ms. Keeler.

It confused Spock, the way the captain so readily attached himself to Edith Keeler. Logically, it made no sense. The captain was constantly asking for updates of his progress and seemed eager to get back to their time and the Enterprise and her crew. Forming an attachment with Ms. Keeler seemed to oppose this attitude. It was obvious that Jim enjoyed being in her presence, but if Spock was successful, Jim would be forced to leave her, which would bring them both heartache. Would it not be better, then, for them to have as little interaction as possible?

A flicker on the tricorder screen drew Spock from his thoughts, and he watched as the images flew across the screen. Carefully, he turned a few of the knobs and adjusted a portion of the circuit—he was placing more strain on the wires than they could take—and looked at the screen once more. There, grainy and distorted, was an image of a newspaper. A newspaper that reported the death of social worker Edith Keeler.

At that moment, the door opened and Kirk walked in, a broad smile on his face. “How are the stone knives and bearskins?” he asked, eyeing the circuitry that had consumed the entire table.

“I may have found our focal point in time,” Spock replied, turning his attention back to the tricorder, unwilling to miss any more information.

Kirk hesitated at the edge of the table across from him. “I think you may also find you have a connection burning someplace.”

Spock didn’t bother looking up. “Yes, I am overloading those lines.” The screen began to flicker, and Spock gestured for Jim to come over. “I believe we’ll have our answer on this screen, Captain.”

“Good!” There was excitement in the man’s voice as he quickly moved around the table. Before he could lean over to view the tricorder properly, however, Spock stopped him.

“Captain, you may find this distressing,” he warned. Later, he would realize that distressing was not the proper word, that it didn’t come close to describing the pain that the knowledge caused his captain. In the moment, however, it had seemed appropriate.

“Let’s see what you have.”

Spock nodded and moved over to allow the captain to view the tricorder screen as he explained, “I’ve slowed down the recording we made from the time vortex.” Turning one knob, Spock caused the image to flicker again before settling on a different newspaper.

“February 23rd, 1936,” the captain read. “Six years from now.”

Spock was about to reply when the wires behind the tricorder caught fire. The fire spread quickly, and by the time Spock and Jim were able to put it out, days of work had been negated. Spock had known the risk when he had overloaded the lines, but he had calculated that the possibility of answers would be worth the potential damage.

“How bad?” the captain asked, rubbing at his now-bare arms. He and Spock had both removed their coats to smother the fire.

“Bad enough.”

Jim crossed the room and sat carefully on the bed. “The President and Edith Keeler,” he said at last, and Spock could hear awe in his voice.

For a brief moment, the half-Vulcan hesitated to speak, but his captain deserved the truth. “It would seem unlikely, Jim.” Before the man could protest, Spock continued. “A few moments before you walked in, I read a 1930 newspaper article.”

Jim didn’t seem to hear him. “We know her future. Within six years from now, she'll become very important. Nationally famous!”

“Or Captain, Edith Keeler will die this year. I saw her obituary. Some sort of traffic accident,” he explained calmly.

Jim stood from his bed so quickly, Spock was worried that the man would topple over. Thankfully, he stabilized himself. “You must be mistaken.” Had Spock had more human blood, he might have flinched at the unintentional insult. “They can’t both be true.”

“Captain, Edith Keeler is the focal point in time we've been looking for, the point that both we and Doctor McCoy have been drawn to.” It made sense now, how they had managed to find the one woman in the city who could sense just how out of place they were, even if she didn’t know why. Time itself had drawn them to her.

“She has two possible futures then, and depending on whether she lives or dies, all of history will be changed. And McCoy-”

“-is the random element,” Spock finished with a small nod.

Jim sat down on the bed once more, the old springs groaning under his weight, and placed his head in his hands. “In his condition, what does he do? Does he kill her?”

“Or perhaps he prevents her from being killed. We don't know which,” Spock reminded quietly. They had to remain logical and thus they had to be prepared for either scenario.

For a moment, there was silence, then Jim raised his head from his hands and looked at the burnt-out circuits scattered across the table. “Get this thing fixed,” he ordered, his voice tight with emotion and harsher than usual. “We must find out before McCoy arrives.” Spock only nodded once in reply before turning his attention back to the fried circuits. Out of the corner of his eye, Spock saw his captain fall back against the bed and turn his back.

. . .

Spock opened the door to the apartment slowly, not wanting to wake the captain, who was no doubt still sleeping. It was only a few minutes after dawn, and he had just returned the clockmakers’ tools. He had managed to repair forty-three percent of the damage to the wires and thirty-one percent of the damage to the tricorder itself last night. Unfortunately, he was still a long way from done, and without the tools, it would take him at least four times as long to finish the rest of the work, assuming nothing went wrong.

Stepping into the room, Spock removed his coat and hung it over a chair. It had been frigid outside the entire time he and the captain had been stranded here, and his Vulcan blood made him especially susceptible to the cold. He was determined, however, to focus only on the task at hand for as long as he could, and thus pushed the cold that seemed to have seeped into every part of his body into the back of his mind as he sat once more at the wire-strewn table.

Unfortunately, as he did so, the old chair creaked and scraped across the floor, emitting a sound loud enough to wake the captain from his sleep. He sat up in his bed and blinked blearily a few times before turning to Spock. “Mister Spock?”

“My apologies, Captain. I did not intend to wake you,” he said, dipping his head in apology.

Jim shook his head, waving off the words. “No, no, it’s fine. I should be up anyway.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes before truly looking at the mess in front of Spock. “Did you do all of that last night?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Indeed. Unfortunately, I had to return the clockmakers’ tools, so my efficiency will be greatly decreased from this point forward. I apologize.”

“I’m the one who should apologize,” Jim said with a sigh, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing. “You’re doing all of the hard work to make sure we get back to our own time, and I snapped at you when you found an answer.”

“One could argue, Captain, that it is you who has been doing most of the ‘hard’ work. I have been threading wires, you have been performing physical labor.” And it was true. Although Spock had worked for several hours each day to earn the money they needed to help pay for his supplies, Jim had worked for much longer, often doing much more labor-intensive jobs. “That being said, now that we need fewer parts, I would like to stay here and work on the tricorder.”

Jim smiled, and for a brief moment, some of the tension in the room dissipated. “Of course, Spock. Just don’t forget to rest sometime. All the circuits in the world won’t do us much good if they’re in the wrong place because you were too tired to tell the difference.”

Spock recognized this as one of Jim’s affectionate jibes and not a true insult, so he refrained from pointing out that Vulcans could go much longer without rest than a human could. Instead, he nodded and turned his attention back to the two wires he was working with as the captain changed into his work clothing.

When he was finished, Jim turned back to Spock. “Would you like me to bring you something to eat before I leave for work?” he asked. If Spock had been looking up at him, he might have seen the genuine concern written on his face, but he didn’t.

“I do not require sustenance at this time, Captain. Thank you.”

“Very well. I’ll be back late today; I’m taking Edith to dinner.”

At that, Spock looked up and caught his captain’s eye. He saw defiance there, and knew that whatever he would say, his captain would either ignore or refute. Regardless, he found himself putting the wires down and saying, “Is spending so much time with her wise, Captain? We do not know her fate. If she is destined to die-”

“We don’t know that!” the captain exclaimed before calming himself. “What we do know is that she’s the focal point in time, which could mean that McCoy will be drawn to her the same way we were. The more time I spend with her, the more likely it is that I will find him.”

“Very logical, Captain,” Spock said cooly as he turned his attention back to the circuits, ignoring the churning feeling in his stomach and refusing to look up as Jim left the room, the door closing behind him with enough force to cause Spock’s ears to twitch.

. . .

When the captain returned that night at 11:48 p.m. Spock carefully ignored the lipstick stain on his cheek and lips, pushing down the ugly feelings that rose, reminding himself that his captain’s happiness took precedent over his own.

For awhile, there was silence, the captain obviously lost in his own thoughts, a smile on his face. After a little while, he began to sing. Once again, Spock recognized it as the love song he had been humming. Then, to Spock’s surprise, he suddenly stopped.

“Mister Spock?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Have you been sitting here all day without any heat?” There was a note of anger in his voice, which surprised Spock.

“Affirmative. It seemed illogical to waste resources when only one of us was present.”

For a few moments, the captain only stared at him. “Spock,” he finally said, “you’re a Vulcan.”

“I am aware.”

“Vulcans are even more susceptible to cold than humans are! What about that is logical?”

“You seem to forget that Vulcans can turn off their temperature receptors. The cold has not kept me from my task.”

The captain blinked at him. “That’s not the point!” he declared but didn’t seem to be able to articulate what the point actually was. Instead, he shook his head and turned to start the small furnace in their room, muttering under his breath all the while.

Before long, the room was comfortably warm, and Spock was able to allow his body to feel again. Privately, he had to admit that the warmth was a welcome change to feeling nothing at all, and slowly, his limbs began to loosen.

Once he was satisfied with the furnace, Jim walked over to the small kitchen area—it was little more than a stove and a spicket for water—and began to prepare something to eat. Although Spock had told himself that he was going to devote all of his attention to the project before him until it was completed, he found himself distracted by Jim’s movements.

Eventually, he gave up on the project for the time being and crossed the room in a few swift strides until he was standing at Jim’s side, peering at the dish the captain was struggling to make. Some kind of soup.

“Sorry, Spock, it seems I’ve been spoiled by the replicators and the mission. I’ll have this ready soon enough. Don’t worry, there isn’t any meat in it,” he said over his shoulder, a shy expression on his face.

“While the gesture is appreciated, it is unnecessary, Captain. Did you not eat with Ms. Keeler?”

This time, Spock was almost certain that the captain—that Jim—was blushing. “I did. We ate at a little restaurant downtown and talked about the stars…” His voice trailed off before he shook his head and focused on the Vulcan once again. “This is for you. I want to apologize for my actions earlier, for the whole time we’ve been here, really.”

“As I stated earlier, Captain, such apologies are unnecessary.” And they were. After everything that Jim had put up with from him, Spock could let a few harsh words slide.

“Spock?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Shut up and let me make you dinner...even if it is nearly midnight.” Jim sounded strangely regretful, which surprised Spock enough to cause the Vulcan to obey the order. Fourteen minutes and thirty-two seconds later, Spock held a warm bowl of soup in his hands as Jim stood over him, waiting expectantly for him to eat his first spoonful. Spock did, and was pleasantly surprised to find that, while severely watered-down and lacking the spices of the soups he enjoyed on the Enterprise, it was flavorful.

“My thanks, Captain. It is quite good,” Spock said honestly.

“I haven’t been a captain for over a week, Spock. Call me Jim, please.”

Spock frowned slightly, his second spoonful frozen halfway to his mouth. He returned it to the bowl before shaking his head minutely. “Even without your starship you could never stop being a captain, Jim. It is your first and greatest destiny.” You could never stop being my captain.

Jim laughed at that, a deep rich sound, and he sat down across from Spock. They were sitting on their beds rather than at the table, as it was currently littered with wires and electronic parts. “Destiny, Spock? I didn’t take you as a believer in cosmic fate.”

Spock swirled his spoon for a few moments before replying. “There are many things in this universe that we do not understand. But destiny, that is almost certain. It is simply one of the many laws that all things must abide by.”

Jim raised an eyebrow, that smile still on his face. “Okay then. If my destiny is to be a starship captain, what’s yours?”

“Mine, Capt-Jim?” Spock kept his voice carefully neutral and took another sip of the soup.
“Yes.” Jim leaned forward, a strange light in his eyes. He actually seemed interested in what Spock’s answer would be.

Spock was silent for a few moments. A part of him wanted to say what he thought, to tell Jim that Ms. Keeler’s words regarding him had been more exact than she had known. The rest of him pointed out the illogic of that action, especially when he considered the emotional state that Jim was in at the moment. “I do not know,” he finally settled for saying, his eyes fixed firmly on the bowl in front of him. It wasn’t exactly a lie—Vulcans did not lie—it was simply an omission of the entire truth.

For awhile, Jim didn’t respond, and when Spock risked a glance up, he found the man’s eyes studying him. There was an odd expression on his face, one that told Spock that Jim didn’t fully believe him, and he braced himself for the question he was certain would follow. If Jim asked him directly Spock would answer and omit nothing.

Thankfully, when Jim spoke again, it was not to ask about destiny. Instead, he turned slightly to gaze at the table covered in wires. “How long before we get a full answer?” he asked, eyes still trained on the contraption.

Spock set his soup on the floor and steepled his fingers in front of him. “I’ll need at least two more days before I dare make another attempt,” he answered.

“McCoy could have been in the city a week now for all we know, and whatever he does that affects her and changes history could happen tonight or tomorrow morning,” Jim said, turning back to face Spock. There was pain in his eyes, and Spock illogically wished that he had a better answer for him.

“Jim, our last bit of information was obtained at the expense of thirty hours work in fused and burned circuits.”

Jim took several deep breaths, eyes slipping closed. “I know, I know. But I must know whether she lives or dies, Spock. I must know what to do.” His voice was quiet, and as he lowered his head into his hands, the lipstick stain on his neck caught the light of their flickering lamp.

Earlier, the sight had caused jealousy to fly through Spock before he had locked it away once more, but now the image brought him only an empty kind of sadness. “Sleep, Captain,” Spock said, reverting to Jim’s rank as he stood from his bed and moved to the table once more, his soup forgotten on the floor. Jim, for his part, didn’t argue. The captain laid back onto his bed and pulled the covers over himself. A few minutes later, Spock could hear the even breathing that indicated that his captain had fallen asleep.

Spock began to work on his project once more, but his mind wasn’t fully concentrated on the wires he held. Instead, his thoughts seemed intent on centering around Jim and the question of destiny. He knew his destiny almost as certainly as he knew its futility. He would be by the side of James T. Kirk in whatever capacity the man would allow for as long as he would allow it.

. . .

Two days later, images began to flicker across the tricorder screen once again. They were too grainy to make out with any certainty at the moment, but Spock estimated that he would be able to finish making repairs by the end of the night. Hopefully, before Jim returned from his evening out with Ms. Keeler. Despite his warnings, Jim continued to emotionally invest himself in the woman, and Spock had given up trying to dissuade him.

Jim’s insistence on attachment to the woman was simply illogical, something that Spock had pointed out the day before. If they found that Edith Keeler was destined to die, Jim’s relationship with her would only cause him more pain at her death. Even if she didn’t die, assuming they were successful in their mission to stop Doctor McCoy, Jim would be forced to leave her to return to the Enterprise.

If Spock had been less Vulcan, he might have admitted to the worry that had begun to pool in his stomach over the last twenty-four hours as a single thought ran through his mind over and over again. What if Jim didn’t want to go back? What would Spock do then? He had already admitted to himself that his destiny was to be by Jim’s side, but if the other man stayed, Spock would have no place in the life Jim would build. Spock was even more of an outcast on this old-fashioned Earth than he was on the 23rd century version. And yet, he would stay.

Acknowledging that these thoughts would get him nowhere, Spock pushed them away and focused on the tricorder in his hands. It had already defied the odds of failure that Spock had calculated when they had first arrived in the past, and now he simply had to coax a bit more power out of it. Before long, his mind was empty of all thoughts save for the tricorder and its many wires.

Fifty-six minutes later, the images on the screen became clear enough and slow enough to read. After a few seconds of scanning the images, Spock felt his stomach tighten. These images were not of the Terran history that Spock had read about during his time at Starfleet Academy. As Spock began to calculate all of the differences in the timeline, the door creaked open and Jim stepped in.

“Spock, how’s the project coming?” he asked, his voice sounding too loud in the quiet space. When Spock didn’t immediately reply, he stepped behind the table to peer over his shoulder. “Spock?”

“Captain-”

“I told you, no titles.”

“Very well. Jim, I have discovered what happens to the timeline after McCoy changes it,” Spock reported.

“What, you mean aside from the fact that Starfleet doesn’t exist and neither does the Enterprise?” There was laughter in Jim’s voice, but it quickly faded when Spock turned the tricorder toward him and the images flashed across the screen.

“This is how history went after McCoy changed it,” Spock explained as Jim watched the screen, horror dawning on his face. “Here, in the late 1930s. A growing pacifist movement whose influence delayed the United States' entry into the Second World War. While peace negotiations dragged on, Germany had time to complete its heavy-water experiments.”

“Germany. Fascism. Hitler.” Jim muttered in a daze, taking a step back from the tricorder. “They won the Second World War.”

Spock nodded. “Because all this lets them develop the A-bomb first.” Jim shook his head, and Spock could see a stubborn glint begin to take root in his eyes. “There's no mistake, Captain,” he said softly. “Let me run it again.” He turned a few of the knobs a fraction and flipped the center switch again. The same images played across the screen, a familiar looking woman featuring prominently in most of them. “Edith Keeler. Founder of the peace movement.”

Spock turned off the tricorder and looked up at Jim, who was blinking slowly. “But she was right,” he whispered. “Peace was the way.”

“She was right, but at the wrong time. With the A-bomb, and with their V2 rockets to carry them, Germany captured the world.”

Jim shook his head again, more forcefully this time. “No.”

“And all this because McCoy came back and somehow kept her from dying in a street accident as she was meant to.” Spock placed a hand on Jim’s shoulder, causing the man to look at him once more. “We must stop him, Jim.”

“How did she die? What day?” Jim had slipped back into his command voice, his stance becoming that of a captain. Unfortunately, Spock didn’t have an answer.

“We can estimate general happenings from these images, but I can't trace down precise actions at exact moments, Captain.” He paused and stood so that he was face-to-face with Jim, close enough to see the tears that were beginning to form in the man’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

For several long moments, Jm didn’t speak or move. Then all at once, Spock could see his strong facade deflate as Jim slumped against the table and bury his head in his hands. Spock reached out to him, but his hand froze in midair before falling to his side. He was woefully unequipped to comfort his captain.

After several moments of silence, Jim looked up at Spock, his eyes now red from tears that had silently made their way down his face. Spock had to suppress the urge to wipe them away. “Spock,” Jim said, his voice cracking on the single word. “I believe I’m in love with Edith Keeler.”

Spock had already known that, of course. He had seen it in the glances that Jim had given the woman when he had thought that no one was looking. He had heard it in the love songs that Jim had hummed under his breath. He had felt it in the jealousy that had coiled through his insides every time Jim had spoken of her. That jealousy was gone now, replaced with an empty sadness that seemed to invade every inch of his being.

“Jim,” he said, hoping his voice could convey the sorrow he knew Jim needed to hear. “Edith Keeler must die.”

At those words, the tears began to run down Jim’s face once more. This time, Spock couldn’t contain the urge, and he reached out to brush them away. As soon as he made contact, Jim jerked away from his touch, hitting the table with enough force to send part of the circuit tumbling to the floor. Spock retreated instantly, backing up until he hit the wall.

“Forgive me,” he said, refusing to meet his captain’s eyes and see the loathing there. “I overstepped. It will not happen again.”

Silence.

When Spock finally gathered the courage to look up, he found Jim staring at him with a myriad of emotions swirling in his gaze. Spock prepared himself for a rebuke, perhaps even disgust at his blatant breach of conduct, but instead when Jim finally spoke, it was with weary sorrow. “I am going to sleep, Mister Spock. Wake me if there are any changes.”

“Yes, Captain.”

. . .

The next few days passed in a haze. Rather than drawing away, Jim spent more and more time with Ms. Keeler, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the truth. At first, his behavior had irritated and frustrated Spock, but those emotions had quickly bled away to be replaced by the emptiness he now felt.

Once they found McCoy and Edith Keeler died, they would return to their time, to the Enterprise. The thought should have pleased Spock, now that they had a higher chance of success, but he found that all he could think of was the captain. If they returned to the Enterprise, how different would things be? According to some of the stories Doctor McCoy told, Jim had loved and left people behind before, but Spock doubted any of those occasions had occurred under circumstances quite like these. What would he do if Jim never recovered?

As he had done several times throughout the past few days, Spock locked those thoughts away. He had been trying to meditate, but it was clear that such a feat was impossible at the moment, despite his exhaustion. It had been eighty-nine hours since he had last meditated, and one hundred and thirteen hours since he had last slept. Although Vulcans required much less sleep than humans, it was beginning to take its toll. Unfortunately, sleep didn’t seem likely in his near future.

Instead, Spock stood from his place on the floor of the small room and made his way back over to the circuits and wires that covered the table. While Jim had worked and spent time with Ms. Keeler, Spock had been attempting to adjust his tricorder contraption to give him more specific information regarding Ms. Keeler’s demise. So far, he had been unsuccessful, and he was beginning to doubt that such a feat was possible. Still, if there was even the smallest chance that he would be able to find the information that his captain wanted, he would continue to try.

After a few more hours of work, Spock accepted the fact that there was nothing further he could do without more precise tools. His hands simply were not designed to carefully manipulate such small wires in the confined spaces of a tricorder. After a moment of hesitation, Spock stood from his chair. He needed fine tools, so he would return to the clock-makers and ask to borrow theirs. It was beginning to get late, but he had overheard Ms. Keeler tell Jim that the store was often open very late.

Grabbing his coat and hat, Spock stepped out the door and was about to turn down the hall to the entrance of the building when he heard his name called. Turning, he saw Jim and Ms. Keeler approaching, arm in arm. As he watched, Ms. Keeler stumbled on one of the steps, but Jim caught her with ease.

“Mister Spock,” Jim greeted again when he and Ms. Keeler had reached the bottom of the steps. Earlier that morning, those words had been said with hardly any emotion in them at all. Now, Jim was smiling widely, an effect that no doubt had to do with the woman attached to his arm. “I was unaware that you were going out tonight. Would you like to join us at the movies?”

Spock shook his head once. “I am currently engaged in another task,” he explained shortly, not wanting the conversation to last any longer than it had to. It was already the longest conversation that he and Jim had had in two days. Unfortunately, Jim didn’t seem to get the message.

“Really?” he raised an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

Recognizing that he wasn’t going to be able to avoid the conversation, Spock fell in line next to Jim as the trio made its way down the stairs. “I am going to attempt to negotiate with the clock-makers for the use of their tools. I believe they would aid me in fine tuning-” he glanced at Ms. Keeler, “-my radio.”

“You’re still working on that monstrosity?” Ms. Keeler said with a laugh. “Jim told me you’ve already blown it up twice.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at the man in question, who avoided his look, before replying. “‘Blown it up’ is far from an accurate description. I have merely short-circuited several of the wires and caused internal damage to the radio.”

By that time, they had reached the door, which Spock held open for the pair of them. A blast of icy wind hit him when he stepped through himself, making him wish he could shut off his receptors to the feeling. Unfortunately, his half-Vulcan nature meant that the lack of sleep was taking its toll and limiting his abilities.

Jim seemed to notice the discomfort that momentarily crossed his face. “Spock?”

Before Jim could say anything else, Spock interrupted. “Enjoy your evening. Ms. Keeler, Jim.” He nodded to both of them before quickly turning away and walking down the street towards the clock-makers’ store. As he moved away, he could almost feel Jim wanting to say something, but there was silence.

He only made it halfway down the block before that silence was broken. “Spock!” He heard his name yelled over the sound of the wind and traffic. The sound was urgent, causing Spock to spin back around and run toward the front of the apartment once again. When he reached Jim’s side—he must have crossed the street again, for Ms. Keeler was not next to him—the man grabbed him by the shoulders. Spock’s first instinct was to flinch away from the touch, but he resisted.

“What is it, Captain?”

“It’s McCoy! He’s here! He’s in-” Jim was cut off by the door opening to reveal Doctor McCoy. The man grinned widely before grabbing Jim in a hug, allowing Spock the chance to disentangle himself from his captain.

As the two men excitedly began to recount their experiences, Spock swept his gaze around them. That gaze landed on Edith Keeler. The woman was crossing the road, a wide smile on her face, and paying little attention to her surroundings; her gaze was fixed solely on Jim.

Jim must have seen her too, for Spock heard him whisper, “Edith!” and begin to move toward her.

Instantly, time seemed to slow down and the obituary that he had seen days ago flashed in Spock’s mind. Social worker killed in traffic accident. “No, Jim!” he shouted as the realization struck him. This was the moment in time that changed the rest of history, and if Jim saved the woman he loved millions more would die.

Time resumed its normal course, and the next thing Spock heard was the screech of tires and the dull sound of a blunt impact. Blood spilled from Ms. Keeler’s body onto the snow, turning it from white to red. Time was intact. But Jim wasn’t. Spock turned back to his captain to see his arms wrapped tightly around Doctor McCoy, holding the man back. After a few seconds, the doctor stopped struggling and turned to Jim, rage in his eyes.

“You deliberately stopped me, Jim. I could have saved her!” McCoy grabbed Jim by the arms, not seeing the anguish on his friend’s face. “Do you know what you just did?” But Spock saw it. He saw the tears that were beginning to build in his captain’s eyes soon to stream down his face, and so he grabbed the doctor by the arm, moving him away from Jim.

“He knows, Doctor. He knows.”

. . .

Two weeks later, Spock ran into Doctor McCoy while on the way to Beta shift. Literally.

“Watch it, hobgoblin!”

“My apologies, Doctor,” Spock said, stepping past the man toward the turbo lift. He didn’t make it far before he felt McCoy grab his arm.

“Not so fast, mister. Where do you think you’re going?”

“It is my shift, Doctor. I am going to the bridge,” Spock responded coolly, removing his arm from the man’s grasp.

“But it’s Beta.”

Irritation crept in. “Yes, it is. Now, would you please allow me to attend to my duties?”

A frown came over the country doctor’s face as he folded his arms. “No, I won’t. You never reported for your physical after our little trip through time and you’ve been behaving strangely. Now, because you won’t let me run a full examination, that’s basis enough for me to declare you unfit for duty.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, grateful that the hall was empty. “If you did examine me, doctor, you would find that I am functioning within normal levels.”

Typically in their usual arguments, this would be where McCoy grinned and said something highly illogical, or at the very least insensible. This time, however, his frown deepened and looked Spock over with the critical gaze of a doctor examining a patient. After several moments, he nodded slowly, the frown never leaving his face.

“Spock,” he finally asked, “when’s the last time you talked to Jim?”

“Doctor, I do not see how this pertains to—”

“Answer the question, Spock, or I’ll declare you unfit right now and you’ll spend the next two weeks in a bed.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at that. While the doctor often behaved illogically, he was typically above petty threats and abuse of power. Regardless, Spock nodded slightly and answered, “I have not spoken to the captain since the day after we returned from our mission. Now, may I please go to the bridge?”

The frown on McCoy’s face had gotten impossibly deeper, but the man nodded. “Yes, all right. But after the shift, I want to see you in the med bay.” He didn’t repeat his threat from earlier, but Spock could hear its implication in his words. As much as he would rather avoid the sick bay, he couldn’t risk McCoy declaring him unfit for duty. The ship couldn’t afford to have him inactive, not with—

“Very well,” he said, nodding once before turning around and striding toward the turbo lift.

. . .

Beta shift passed uneventfully, which was to be expected. They were traveling through largely empty space for the next week or so on their way to Starfleet Outpost 27, where they would exchange a few members of the crew and take a few days of shore leave. Still, Spock couldn’t shake the feeling that the shift was missing something. A spark of life. It was a highly illogical thought—there was life all around him—but he couldn’t help it as it flitted through his mind as he rode the turbolift down to the medbay.

The turbo lift doors hissed open, drawing Spock from his thoughts. He stepped through into the empty hallway and made his way to the med bay where Doctor McCoy was no doubt waiting to run him through every possible test he could within reason.

The door to the med bay slid open as he approached, and to his surprise, Jim stepped out. The man looked equally surprised to see him, cutting off whatever he had been saying mid-sentence to look him over. Unsure of what else to do, Spock nodded respectfully.

“Captain, I figured you would be sleeping at this hour.”

Before Jim could say anything, McCoy’s voice was heard from within the med bay. “He should be! Now get your pointy-ears in here, Spock!”

Jim’s mouth turned up in a smile at that, but it was gone in an instant, a weary grimace taking its place instead. “You’d better go, Spock. The longer Bones has to wait, the more time he has to come up with alternate means of torture.”

Spock nodded. “Of course, Captain.”

Jim hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say something more, but after a moment he shook his head and muttered something under his breath that not even Spock’s Vulcan ears could pick up. Then he nodded once to Spock, a stiff, jerky movement, before stepping past him and making his way to the turbolift. For a long moment, Spock watched him walk down the hall, feeling as if he should do something but not knowing what. Eventually, Jim disappeared into the lift, and Spock broke himself out from his daze.

McCoy met him inside the med bay with his hypos and machines primed. Sighing inwardly, Spock resigned himself to what would no doubt be at least an hour of unnecessary tests. He laid down on the table and allowed the doctor to scan his vitals, which were of course fine. He had done a careful job of keeping them within the normal range over the past few days.

Once that was finished, he sat up and rolled up his sleeve, expecting McCoy to take a blood sample as he usually did. To his surprise, when the doctor returned, he held two drinking glasses instead of medical apparatus.

“And what purpose,“ Spock asked, raising an eyebrow, “is this intended to serve? If you expect me to open up to you—to use your human term—under the influence of alcohol, you will be disappointed. Vulcans are not easily inebriated.“

The doctor waited for him to finish speaking before handing him one of the glasses. “Just take it, Spock. I’m gonna need it, and I don’t like to drink alone.”

“If my examination is finished, Doctor,” Spock said, ignoring the glass in front of him, “I request permission to leave. If you are in need of a drinking partner, I am sure that Mister Scott or perhaps the new ensign Mister Halph would join you.”

“Sit your Vulcan self back down,” the man responded as Spock started to rise. After a brief moment of deliberation, Spock obeyed and took the glass. “Now, will you please tell me what in the stars happened down there?”

Spock quirked an eyebrow. “I believe you were briefed by the captain. Were you not?”

“All ‘the captain’ told me was that you two jumped in the portal, spent a week in the past, built a machine, and discovered that that woman had to die in order for the timeline to remain intact.”

“That is an accurate retelling. What do you expect me to add?” Spock asked, carefully keeping his voice neutral. Internally, his mind was quickly reaching a conclusion that was far from ideal.

“I expect you to add whatever it was that hurt Jim!” the man shouted, his hand clenching his glass so tightly his knuckles were white. McCoy closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before reopening them and continuing in a softer voice. “Spock, he isn’t eating, he’s barely sleeping, and he hasn’t said a word about what happened.” The doctor ran a hand through his hair. “Usually, he records every detail of what happened so that Starfleet can research it and prevent it from happening again. This time, he’s only said as much as the regulation requires.”

Spock felt guilt surge through him, and this time he didn’t bother to suppress it. He deserved this feeling. Still, he wasn’t sure what to tell the doctor. What had happened between the captain and Miss Keeler was the captain’s business, but if it was affecting his performance…

“The woman,” Spock finally said, keeping his voice level, “who died was named Edith Keeler. While the captain and I were stranded in the past, she helped us to find lodgings and employment. She and the captain often found themselves together, and over the course of our duration, I believe they fell in love.” Spock had to stop then, as a memory invaded his mind—Jim’s red-rimmed eyes and broken voice as he declared his love for a woman destined to die.

“Spock?” the doctor asked, a frown pulling his lips down.

Spock continued on as if he had never stopped, ignoring the concern in the man’s expression. “Despite my warnings of her fate, the captain insisted upon spending an increasing amount of time with Miss Keeler. They were to spend their evening together at the movies when the accident occurred.”

There was silence for several long moments as the doctor processed what Spock had told him. Eventually, McCoy drained his glass in a single swallow and shook his head before saying, “You’re telling me that Jim was in love with that woman and then stopped me from saving her?”

“Yes, doctor. The captain knew that if Miss Keeler were to live, the Nazis would go on to win World War II, and Starfleet would never be created.”

The doctor shook his head again and took Spock’s untouched glass from him, draining it the same way he had drained the other. “That explains why Jim is acting this way. But it doesn’t explain you.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly to conceal the turmoil that was beginning to build within him. “Me, doctor?”

“Yes, you, you hobgoblin! You’ve been neglecting your duties.”

“Respectfully, I disagree. I have been attending to my duties as both First Officer and Chief Science Officer with no loss in efficiency in the past two weeks.” He had made sure of that. He refused to allow his own state to impact the Enterprise in any way.

The doctor rolled his eyes and muttered something about ‘dense Vulcans’ under his breath, but Spock wasn’t paying enough attention to catch the rest. “Not those duties. You’ve been neglecting your duty to Jim. You’re his friend, Spock, and you’ve been ignoring him! You even switched your schedule so that you wouldn’t be on the bridge with him at the same time. He just experienced heartbreak, man! He needs someone by his side!”

Spock looked down, unable to meet the doctor’s eyes as he said quietly, “I do not believe that my presence would have the effect you are hoping for, doctor.”

“What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

Unable to reply without compromising his already fragile state, Spock stood suddenly from the table. “Doctor, if you have no further need for me, I request permission to leave.” He still couldn’t meet the doctor’s eyes, focusing his gaze on a spot on the wall just above his head, but he could feel his gaze.

After several long moments, the doctor sighed and stood as well, stepping forward into Spock’s personal space. The Vulcan stood stiffly, unwilling to show his weakness. “You need to talk to him, Spock.”

Spock didn’t reply, keeping his gaze forward.

“He cares about you, you know? Stars know why, but he does. Avoiding him is only going to hurt both of you, and in case you’ve forgotten, we’re stuck in this tin can in space for four more years.”

Still, Spock stayed silent.

Finally, the doctor sighed again and stepped to the side. “Fine, Spock. You can leave, but at least promise me that you’ll talk to him.”

“I will consider it,” Spock answered, his tone short. He could feel his control slipping away. He needed to meditate before it disappeared entirely and he did something that he would regret. Thankfully, the doctor didn’t press the issue, and Spock was able to step past him and out of the med bay. Then, once he was a safe distance away from the door of the med bay, he practically fled to his room.

. . .

Once Spock was safely in the darkness of his own room, he leaned against the door, his breath ragged from emotions he could barely control. When his usual breathing exercises had no effect, he stumbled almost blindly to the cabinet where his meditation robe was and quickly changed into the coarse fabric. The scratch of the robe against his skin was calming, helping him to center his mind on the present.

After a moment to regain his balance, Spock moved to the mat in the corner of his room. Kneeling down, he began the process of meditation. Slowly, focusing on every detail of his environment, Spock began to sift through his crowded thoughts and emotions. He considered each one in a detached manner, weighing its pros and cons, understanding it, accepting it, and then releasing it. Within an hour, his mind was much more relaxed than it had been, and he almost felt like himself again.

Then, he reached that part of his mind. The place where all of his thoughts and feelings pertaining to his captain were stored. The part that had so treacherously opened recently, allowing the tangled mess inside to bleed out and infect the rest of the order of his mind.

The first thing he felt was pain. Bright and blinding. After several long moments of concentration, he was able to dim its intensity enough to see the layers of it in his mind. The first layer was easy to comprehend. It was pain of second-hand nature. He was concerned for his captain and felt his pain at the loss of someone dear to him. He accepted and released it. The next layer took considerably longer. This pain was one of fear, a fear of losing what he had worked so hard to obtain, both in his position on the Enterprise and his position at Jim’s side. This took longer to accept, although in some ways he already had. Once he did, he let it go and moved on to the final layer.

In his mind’s eye, this layer was molten hot and dense, like the core of an iron planet such as Earth. For several moments, he had to work to bring it under control to the point that he could begin to analyze it. A few times, his grasp on his detachment slipped, but he quickly regained his control, determined to move past this.

This layer was pain of a different kind, almost sweet in its agony. This was the pain that he had consistently buried and ignored while he had been trapped in the past with Jim and before. A pain best described as longing.

Here, in the safety of his meditation, Spock was able to admit to himself the things he felt for his captain, for Jim. Miss Keeler had said that he belonged at Jim’s side, and he couldn’t agree more. He had known what his feelings were for some time, but it had been the experience of living so close to Jim in such a domestic setting for over a week that had truly cemented them. He loved his captain.

When he had first realized it, he had determined that he would never let his affection show and thus he would avoid compromising his friendship and working relationship with Jim. But his time in the past had made him realize that that was much easier said than done. Watching Jim spend so much time with Miss Keeler had caused jealousy to swirl in his mind enough times to make him ashamed. But it also made him realize that he didn’t want to stay this way. He didn’t want to exist in this state of perpetual longing forever.

But he would.

And that was why this layer was different from the others. It was self-induced. Because no matter what he wanted, he would always do whatever was required to preserve Jim’s happiness. He would always choose Jim over himself. There were tears running down his cheeks now, but he barely felt them, his mind too consumed in the memories of Jim that flashed by one after another, a tumbling mess of joy and pain. Then, a different, far more recent memory surfaced.

‘Avoiding him is only going to hurt both of you.’

A question bloomed in Spock’s mind, its simplicity and clarity a beacon of light in the dark confusion. Am I hurting him? Spock had told himself that their separation was for Jim’s benefit. After all, the man had isolated himself the first two days that they had been back, so Spock had assumed that his presence was unwanted and had stayed away out of respect.

But that was all an elaborate excuse.

In reality, Spock had been avoiding the captain because he was afraid of his tenuous control snapping. He was afraid that he might not be able to control himself in the captain’s presence, and the idea of Jim seeing him like that terrified him in a way he had never felt before. But if what Doctor McCoy said was true, his absence was negatively impacting Jim. And he would always choose Jim’s happiness and comfort over his own.

Suddenly, his mind calmed, as if he had reached the eye of a hurricane. All at once, his decision emerged from the mire of his mind, and he found himself at peace. His pain dissipated, and his tears stopped.

Opening his eyes, Spock stood from his meditation mat and removed the robe. He hesitated for a moment before changing into a black shirt and pants. It would be important to make sure Jim was as comfortable as possible if he was to help him. Then, he asked the computer the time. He had spent nearly five hours in meditation. Usually, the captain would be asleep at this time, but if what Doctor McCoy has said held true, he was most likely awake.

Breathing deeply to center his mind once more, Spock opened his door and stepped into the empty corridor. The captain’s room was adjacent to his own, and he could have stepped through the ‘fresher, but he decided that this approach would give the captain more control and thus make him feel more secure. Buzzing the door, he said in a calm voice, “Spock here.”

For several long moments, the door remained closed, and fear began to creep into Spock’s mind. Then, when Spock was about to turn away, the door hissed open, revealing the dimly lit room. Spock stepped inside, and the door closed behind him.

The room was in disarray. Looking at the scattered items and haphazardly piled clothing, Spock could almost feel the frustration of the room’s occupant. Slowly, Spock’s gaze fell on the couch, where Jim was stretched out, wearing a rumpled Starfleet Academy t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked tired, as if he had been woken from a fitful sleep.

“My apologies, captain. I did not think that you would be asleep,” Spock said, bowing his head slightly. “Perhaps I should return at a later time?”

Jim sat up and shook his head, and even from across the room, Spock could see the exhaustion in the movement. “Stay, Spock. And please, call me Jim. Would you like something to drink?” There was false cheer in his voice, a sound that tore at Spock’s heart.

“No, thank you, Jim,” he said softly, taking a seat at the table where they usually sat to play chess. It had been so long since they had last done that. Jim seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts, for as he sat down, a glass of water in his hand, in the seat across from him, he said,

“It’s been awhile since we played. You’ll have to excuse my rude behavior; I guess I haven’t been myself lately.”

Spock shook his head. “There’s no need to apologize, Jim. I believe I am at least equally guilty for our missed engagements.”

Jim nodded somewhat listlessly. He stared at his drink for several moments before saying, “You changed your schedule. If my unprofessional behavior drove you away-”

Spock cut him off before he could say anything else. “Jim, I moved to the Beta shift because I believed that you wished to avoid contact with me and were simply too polite to say so. I have been made to realize that this conclusion was erroneous, and I apologize for any confusion that I have caused.”

Jim’s head jerked up at that, and something akin to hope glimmered in his eyes. “You—you weren’t avoiding me because of my behavior in San Francisco?”

A frown found its way onto Spock’s face. “Why would I do that, Jim?”

“Because I was an idiot.” Jim looked down again and began to play with his drink,watching it slosh back and forth as he continued. “You were working constantly, and instead of helping or encouraging you, I demanded results sooner than they were possible, and when you delivered them I got upset because they weren’t what I wanted to hear.” His words gained speed, as if they had been bottled up behind a dam that was now broken. “I took my anger and frustration out on you, and I completely understand if you want to file a report or something against me. I’m honestly surprised that you haven’t already. My behavior was unprofessional at best, cruel at worst, and you didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry.”

For a few moments, Spock simply stared at Jim in silence. Here was his captain, a man who had only two weeks ago lost a woman he loved, apologizing to him. It was incredible and completely misplaced. “Jim,” Spock said, urging the man to look at him. When he did finally look up, Spock could see tears beginning to form in his eyes. “You do not need to apologize to me. Your behavior was understandable for someone in your situation. It is only human to want answers.”

Jim scoffed and looked down again. “Only human. Yes, only someone as barbaric as a human could watch as his friend skipped sleep and food in order to work and then demand more from him.” Jim suddenly looked up again, catching Spock’s eyes with a piercing gaze. “How much did you sleep while we were trapped in the past?”

This time, it was Spock’s turn to look down. “I do not remember exactly, but it was between sixteen and twenty hours.” Even without looking up, Spock could see the enraged shock on Jim’s face. His tone was neither of those things when he spoke next.

“Spock…” His voice was little more than a whisper, but Spock could hear the pain and sadness in it regardless. “I’m sorry. You worked non-stop, and I went off and had—had a fling.”

“No, Jim,” Spock said firmly, placing his hand on Jim’s wrist, carefully shielding himself so he didn’t accidently probe his friend’s mind. “I do not pretend to understand the complexities of human courtship, but I know that what you and Miss Keeler had was far more than a simple ‘fling’.”

Jim didn’t respond for several moments, and Spock squeezed his wrist gently, a gesture that Jim had often used to convey his support whenever Spock had found himself struggling. Eventually, Jim looked up and met Spock’s eyes. A few of the tears had slipped down his face, and once more Spock found himself wanting to wipe them away. He resisted the urge, focusing instead on Jim’s next words.

“I miss her, Spock. I miss her, and yet if I could go back, knowing what would happen, I would do it all again. Stars above, I would do it again. I loved her, Spock.”

“I know you did, Jim,” Spock answered simply. And that was why Spock had stayed away. He knew Jim had loved Edith Keeler, and he hadn’t been sure he would be able to withstand seeing that love when it could never be directed at him. And it did hurt but not as much as seeing Jim in pain did.

“When was the last time you slept properly, Jim?” Spock asked, still holding the man’s wrist.

“I haven’t slept more than three hours a day since we got back,” he admitted. “Every time I fall asleep I—I see her death, and every time, I do nothing.” Tears began to pool at the corner of Jim’s eyes again.

For a moment, Spock hesitated, but he quickly overcame his trepidation. He could help Jim, and that was worth whatever the side effects would be. “Jim, if you would like, I could help you sleep.” Confusion came over Jim’s face, and Spock hurried to explain. “Using a shallow mind-meld, I could convince your body and mind to relax enough to sleep. I would not see any of your thoughts or feelings, but because I am not as skilled as some of my full-blooded counterparts, you may feel a faint echo of some of my own feelings. It is likely you would not be able to distinguish them from your own. Once the link is established, it should take only a matter of minutes for you to fall asleep. When you do, I will sever the link, and you will sleep until your body wakes naturally. I know the idea of having another mind touch your own is...uncomfortable, and you will not offend me if you decline.”

Jim thought for a few moments before nodding slowly. “I trust you, Spock. What do I need to do?”

Spock’s eyes widened ever so slightly. He hadn’t expected Jim to agree. “You simply need to lie down. I must meditate for a few minutes to prepare my mind.” Jim nodded and stood from his seat and moved across the room before laying down on the couch once more. Spock raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t question his captain’s choice of location.

Closing his eyes, Spock cleared his mind of all thoughts except the task on hand. He had never used a mind meld in this way before, but he had studied it and seen it used on numerous occasions in his youth. Two minutes and forty-seven seconds later, Spock’s mind was ready.

Standing from his chair, Spock moved to the couch and knelt at Jim’s side. The man was lying with his eyes closed already, but Spock could hear that his heartbeat was slightly elevated. “Are you sure you want to do this, Jim?” he asked.

“I’m sure, Spock.”

“Very well.” Spock took a deep breath and moved his hands to the psi points on Jim’s face. Before he could place the last finger, however, Jim caught him by the wrist and opened his eyes to meet Spock’s.

“Thank you, Spock,” he said softly as he released Spock from his grasp.

Spock only smiled slightly. “Sleep, Jim.” He placed his last finger and carefully joined their minds.

Even from just a shallow meld that prevented Spock from seeing any of the details of Jim’s mind, he could tell that it was beautiful. It seemed to glow warmly in Spock’s mind's eye, a comforting, inviting light. For a few moments, he simply basked in the feeling before forcing his mind to turn to the task at hand. Carefully, Spock coaxed Jim’s mind and body to let go of awareness. He could feel the exhaustion from both and knew it was only Jim’s stubbornness and the unwelcome dreams that kept him from collapsing. A few minutes later, Spock could feel the steady rhythm of Jim’s breathing and his mind quieted. Jim was asleep. Gently, Spock severed the connection of their minds, unable to help the flash of sadness that shot through him as he did so.

Once the connection was broken, Spock stood from his place by the couch. For a moment, he gazed at the relaxed expression on Jim’s face, an expression he hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Goodnight, ashayam,” he whispered before turning away and leaving the room.

. . .

The next morning, Spock woke to the sound of his Padd buzzing, indicating that he had received a message. Instantly awake, Spock sat up and grabbed the Padd, opening the message. It was from Jim.

‘Thank you for your help last night. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept that well. Would you like to play chess this evening at 21:30? I think it’s time we got back into the habit.’

Spock smiled a little at the message before typing out his own. ‘I am gratified to hear that the mind meld had the desired effect. I would be glad to resume our nightly chess games.’ He sent the message, the smile still on his lips. The promise of being able to return to his friendship with Jim made him happier than he had expected, and this time, he was hardly ashamed of the emotion.

Then, his Padd buzzed again. Another message from Jim. ‘Great! I’ll see you tonight!’ Spock smiled at the message before standing from his bed and readying himself for the day.

. . .

Toward the end of his shift, Spock’s Padd buzzed again, this time with a message Doctor McCoy. ‘Come to the med bay.’ For a brief moment, Spock thought about ignoring the message, but he didn’t truly have a reason to. His work was nearly completed, and what he had left was far from urgent. With that in mind, he informed his second that he was handing over command and then left the bridge.

When he reached the sick bay, he found it empty aside from Doctor McCoy, who was sitting at his desk. “Doctor, may I inquire as to the nature of your message?” he asked as he stepped inside. McCoy gestured for him to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk, and Spock did so, noticing the glass of brandy in front of the doctor. It appeared untouched for now.

“Did you talk to Jim?” the doctor asked.

Spock nodded. “I did.”

“What else did you do to him?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your question, doctor.”

“What else did you do to him? Yesterday, I could barely get three sentences out of him. Today, he was acting like everything was fine. I caught him staring into the distance a few times and he’s still talking softly, but it was nothing like the melancholy mood he’s been in for the past two weeks. So what did you do? Did you use some of your Vulcan-voodoo on him?”

“I did mind-meld with him, but all I did was convince his body to relax enough to sleep. Such a meld would not cause Jim to behave any differently than normal,” Spock explained.

McCoy threw up his hands. “Well, something happened, and it happened after you went to talk to him.”

“I do not know what caused this change in his behavior, doctor. Perhaps Jim is simply trying to return to his normal state of being.” The doctor nodded slowly, but he didn’t look as if he truly believed what Spock was saying. “If that is all, doctor, I should be going.” When McCoy didn’t reply, Spock stood from his chair and made his way to the door. Still, the doctor didn’t stop him, so Spock left the med bay and made his way back to his quarters. It would be beneficial for him to meditate before seeing Jim this evening.

. . .

They were thirty minutes into their game of chess when Spock brought up the topic of Jim’s change in behavior. “Doctor McCoy told me you have been in better spirits today. He seemed to think that I had somehow used my ‘Vulcan-voodoo’ on you to cause you to behave differently. I assured him that I did nothing of the sort, but he didn’t truly seem to believe me.”

To Spock’s surprise, Jim blushed and looked down, not meeting Spock’s eyes. “I didn’t think my behavior was that obvious.”

“Evidently, it was.” Spock moved his knight forward, but he was paying far more attention to Jim than the game at this point. “I must admit, however, I find myself just as surprised as the doctor by your change in behavior.”

Jim moved one of his pieces in a move that Spock knew instantly wasn’t thought through. Jim always had an erratic, even illogical, style of play, but that move was simply wrong. Instead of taking advantage of his friend’s obvious distraction, Spock frowned and tilted his head. “Is there something wrong, Jim?” he asked, concern seeping into his voice. He didn’t even try to stop it.

“No, no, it’s nothing. Go ahead and play, Spock.” Jim’s tone was light, but Spock could tell that the man was hiding something. Still, Spock moved his piece, but before he could withdraw his hand from the board, Jim moved his own piece, causing their hands to brush. The contact caused both of them to jump backward. Their movement disturbed the chessboard, and several pieces tumbled off and onto the table below, but neither of them spared the fallen pieces a glance. Their eyes were locked on one another.

“What was that, Spock?” Jim asked quietly.

For several moments, all Spock could do was shake his head, unable to find his voice. In that brief touch, he had felt a flash of emotions from Jim. Embarrassment mostly, but also something...else that Spock didn’t dare put a name to. Eventually, he regained the ability to speak and said, “We bonded. For a brief moment when our skin touched, a mind meld flared up between us. I do not know why. I didn’t mean for it to, and I apologize. I did not mean to invade your privacy.” Spock stood from his chair, but before he could go any further, Jim’s hand shot out and caught him by the wrist.

Once more, emotions flashed between them. This time, Spock thought he detected hope among them coming from Jim, but the man let go before he could fully decipher it. “Please don’t go, Spock,” Jim plead. Spock obeyed the request, sitting down once more.

“Jim,” he said after a few long moments. “You are hiding something. I will not press if you do not wish to share, but I would like to understand what has happened between us.”

Jim hung his head, the action seeming out of place for the usually confident man. “Of course, Spock. Just...please don’t think too much less of me.”

“There is very little that you could do to damage my opinion of you,” Spock responded honestly, resting his hands on the table a few inches from Jim’s. He wasn’t sure what this was between them, but he craved the feeling of Jim’s skin against his own.

“When we got back from the past, I shut myself off from everyone. I was mourning, and I didn’t want to burden anyone with my presence. After a few days, I realized that I was being a jerk, but by then, you had already changed your schedule and canceled our chess games. I didn’t realize that you were giving me the space you thought I needed. I thought—” Jim took a deep breath and met Spock’s eyes. “I thought that I had lost you too.”

Spock frowned. “I do not understand what you mean. I was alive and well.”

Jim chuckled a little at that, but the sound had no humor in it. “I know, Spock. It’s just,” he took another long breath before starting over. “When we were stuck in the past and I was spending so much time with Edith, it felt wrong. Even before you found out about her fate. Then, as I fell in love with her, that felt even worse. It was like I was being torn apart.”

Spock shook his head. The words that Jim was saying didn’t make any sense to him. Individually, he understood them, but together he couldn’t grasp their meaning. “Jim, I don’t understand. What does this have to do with me?”

Jim smiled, tears running down his face. “When we got back to the ship, I pushed you away on accident. When I realized that you were avoiding me, I realized why being with Edith felt so wrong.” He had to stop and catch his breath, sobs wracking his body. Spock wanted so badly to reach across the table and wipe the tears away, but he resisted, instead waiting patiently for Jim to finish.

“I realized that while I loved Edith, I didn’t love her fully, because my heart already belonged to someone else. But by the time I figured that out, I had already managed to push you away.” Jim laughed, the sound full of self-deprecation, and dropped his head once more. “That must sound so perverted to you. Stars, you must hate me. I pushed you so hard, ignored you, confessed my love for Edith, and now I’m telling you that I love you too.” The tears were falling faster now, dropping against the wooden table.

For a moment, Spock was frozen, his mind processing all that Jim had said. Then, he leaned over the table and gently brushed away the tears and tilted Jim’s head up so that his honey eyes met Spock’s.

“Jim, I could never hate you,” he whispered. “You asked me once what I thought my destiny was, and I told you that I didn’t know. That was only partially true. I do not know what my destiny is, but I do know that I will be by your side in whatever capacity you desire for as long as you desire me there.” The words tumbled from his mouth before he had a chance to think them through. Once they were in the air, Jim’s eyes widened, and Spock worried that he had overstepped. But then Jim spoke.

“Whatever capacity I desire? Spock, what does that mean?” he asked, sounding hesitant and hopeful.

Deciding to take a risk, Spock moved his hands to the psi points on Jim’s face. He looked to Jim’s eyes for approval, and the man nodded slightly, eyes open and trusting. Concentrating, Spock sent his love for Jim to the other man’s mind, warm and bright. Jim gasped, and Spock broke the connection.

“It means, Jim, that I want to be by your side, always,” he said simply. “I understand if you do not reciprocate the depth of my feelings. I merely ask to serve by your side as your friend. That would be enough for me.”

Jim was quiet for a few moments. “I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship,” he admitted. “I love you, I know that, but…”

Spock smiled and gently wiped away the tears that threatened to fall from Jim’s eyes. “I know, Jim. I can wait for you, Ashayam. And if you find that you are never ready, I will be content with whatever you give me.”

“Ashayam… What does that mean, Spock. I heard, or maybe I felt, you say that to me last night too.”

Spock’s eyes widened at that. He hadn’t thought Jim had been aware enough to hear him. Nevertheless, he answered, “It means Beloved.”

Jim smiled at that, and he held out two fingers of his right hand to Spock hesitantly. Spock’s eyes widened, but he copied the gesture, gently sliding his fingers across Jim’s. The gesture sent tinglings of emotion through Spock, and he gasped at the sensation. The amount of love that Jim held for him was incredible.

Spock pulled away from the gesture before he lost his last shred of self-control. “Jim,” he said, “I don’t want to rush you. If you aren’t ready to be in a relationship, I respect that. Please do not do this because you feel you have to. I am willing to wait.”

“Thank you, Spock. I just—I know we should take things slow. My heart still hurts, still grieves, for Edith, but it yearns for you.” Jim said with a soft sigh.

Taking a chance, Spock leaned across the table, and placed a brief, chaste kiss on Jim’s lips. “And I will be here when you are ready. That is my first and greatest destiny.”

Jim smiled and took his hand. “Thank you, Spock.” Spock didn’t reply, instead sending his feelings through their strange bond, flooding Jim with reassurance and love. His ashayam would never need to feel alone again.