Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Chapter One: Too Much Time on My Hands

In space, no one can hear you scream...from boredom.

Jim Kirk shifted in his command chair and sighed quietly. Yeah, space exploration was important. And Yeah, most of space exploration consisted of mapping star systems--mapping, mapping, mapping one system after another, most of them as bland as vanilla pudding, and most of the mapping almost completely automated, with just a couple of Star-mapping Department ensigns and whoever was at the helm actually paying any attention to what was going on. Jim felt like all he could do was sit in his chair and make sure they didn’t hit anything—not that that was a worry, with Sulu at the helm. So Jim was left to sit and look captainly, all the while feeling as useful as tits on a boar, as his farmer grandfather would have said. Jim took a padd that a passing yeoman handed him, jotted his initials at the bottom, handed it back, and waited until the yeoman was out of earshot before sighing faintly once more. He didn’t really want a Red Alert; no, really, he didn’t. It would have just been nice to have one little Klingon pirate ship to fire on, that’s all.

“You are restless.” The smooth, deep voice spoke right into Jim’s ear, and he all but leaped straight in the air like a cartoon cat on an electrified grid.

Damnit, I could have sworn he was at his station. Jim turned his head to see his First Officer, imperturbable as always, his uniform looking like it had just come from the replicator, standing beside Jim’s chair with his hands clasped behind his back and his dark eyes looking at Jim, one pointed brow slightly cocked in a quizzical manner.

“I swear to God, I’m putting a bell on you,” Jim said.

The brow rose higher as Sulu and Chekov both chuckled at Jim’s remark. “I see no logic in making me wear such a device,” Spock replied.

“Maybe not, but at least you’d quit scaring me out of ten years’ growth.” Jim gave his First Officer a grin. “I still can’t figure out how you can move faster than anyone on the ship and yet never make a sound. Yeah, I know—Vulcan voodoo.”

“There is no tradition of voodoo in Vulcan society.”

Uh, uh. Whatever.” Jim stretched. “What can I do for you, Mr. Spock?”

“I was wondering if you would be free for a game of chess this evening, say 2100 hours.”

Jim shrugged. “Sure; God knows that until we get new orders, I’ve got all the free time I need to let you reinforce the fact that you can beat my ass anytime you wish.”

“Sir, regulations do not permit me to offer physical violence to my commanding officer, even under the pretext of competitive games...”

Didn’t keep you from trying to throttle me, Jim thought but he didn’t say it. He’d long since forgiven Spock for that terrible day on this very Bridge, the day Spock’s world and his mother had died together and Jim had taunted him in order to break him down and save the whole lot of them from Nero. But Jim suspected that Spock had never forgiven himself, and after all, they were getting along well now, a real command team. Even Uhura had noticed that the two of them were playing well together, and Chris Pike was frankly smug over the success of his protégé and his former ship. So for all these reasons, Jim didn’t bring up the whole strangling incident.

“Well, if you promise to spot me a bishop so the game lasts longer than 10 minutes, I’d be happy to play, Mr. Spock.”

“You are a far better player than that, sir, but I will handicap myself accordingly.”

“Great. Main Rec?”

Spock hesitated for only a millisecond. “Could we possibly play in my quarters?” he asked. “I find Recreation to be somewhat boisterous when I am attempting to concentrate.”

Jim gave him a smile. “Now I know we should play there—another advantage for me.” However, he understood how humans letting off steam might be somewhat irritating—even if Spock would never admit to such an emotion.

“No problem, Spock—your quarters at 2100.”

Once off-duty, Jim headed back to his cabin, took a quick shower, and called up a sandwich from the replicator. He could have eaten in the Mess, of course, but just as Spock occasionally got tired of living in a crowd, Jim got tired of always being on display—the Captain couldn’t even chow down on a ham and Swiss on rye without people gawking, or at least it seemed that way. Jim knew it was mainly curiosity on the part of those crewmembers who didn’t see him that often; some poor ensign working in Maintenance could easily spend a year on a Constellation-Class cruiser and never see anyone from the Bridge crew in the course of his or her duties. So Jim could understand the occasional gawker in the dining hall—but it didn’t mean he enjoyed it.

Jim sighed and chewed on his sandwich. He didn’t much enjoy eating alone, either, but that was another part of the price he paid for being in command. He could be friendly with everybody; indeed, it was part of the job. But he could only make friends with a very few; Jim couldn’t afford the appearance of favoritism. Nothing messed up a crew worse than the feeling that somebody was getting promoted just because he or she was chummy with the captain. Jim’s best friend on board ship was Bones—he was already CMO, and there wasn’t anywhere else for him to go on the ladder. And of course, Spock was so brilliant that nobody would ever view his career as the result of cronyism. In the months since Nero, Jim and Spock had developed a really solid working relationship—Spock only told Jim he was bat-shit crazy once or twice a week now. Even better, they had slowly begun to be friends, and occasionally, just once in a while, Jim thought that maybe....

No. Jim cut off that thought as he did every time it cropped up. He knew damned well how it had been implanted in his head, and it had nothing to do with the reality in which he now lived. It was all Spock’s fault—not the Spock two doors down from him now, but the other Spock, the older one, the one Jim had met on Delta Vega. That Spock had rescued Jim from some kind of giant snow crab, set him down in front of a warm fire...and blown his mind just by touching his face....

The images, the feelings—they rushed into Jim’s brain like a shuttlecraft slamming into an asteroid, overwhelming and almost terrifying. Stars, ships, planets, and people, including a golden-eyed human with a smile Jim almost recognized—“Jim, my Jim,” the voice inside Jim’s head whispered. “My lost one, my t’hy’la”....More images more emotions, all tied to that Jim, all devastating in their intensity...

And then Jim was himself again, down on the floor of the cave gasping for breath, staring up at the old Vulcan with tears in his eyes, tears that were reflected in those black eyes staring back at him.

Forgive me,” the old Vulcan had said, a warm hand clasping Jim’s and pulling him gently to his feet. “Emotional transference is a side-effect of the mind meld.”

He hadn’t been kidding. Even now, almost a year later, all Jim had to do was close his eyes and think about it, and he could once again feel that flood of emotions, all those memories that Old Spock—Selik, as he was now calling himself—possessed in regards to that other James Kirk, the one who’d had a normal life, the one whose father had lived to see him become a starship captain—the one who’d had someone at his side, always there to support him, always there to...love him.

In the months since Delta Vega, Jim had become close friends with Selik, and he knew the old Vulcan hoped that history would repeat itself, that the Jim and Spock of this universe would enjoy what Selik had with his Jim Kirk.

But Jim, the Jim Kirk of this universe, wasn’t sure that was such a good idea.

As he sorted through those memories and feelings, he’d seen a lot, times of great love and devotion, joy and happiness—and just as many times of doubt, of alienation, of cultures clashing and missteps turning into long-term misunderstandings. And he’d seen death, the other Jim’s death and all the agony that had caused Selik, who had spent decades alone, even before he’d been exiled to this universe. No, looking at all the factors, Jim wasn’t sure that the “life-changing” relationship the other Jim and Spock had enjoyed was worth the pain. Besides, he wasn’t that James Kirk, any more than Spock and Selik were identical in every way. Jim doubted that anyone would be interested in taking him on as a long-term burden, let alone someone like Spock, who could have almost anyone he wanted. No, the whole idea was ridiculous

And yet, and yet...Jim sighed as he got to his feet and dumped most of his sandwich into the recycling bin. Sometimes late at night, when he was lying in his bunk in that stage between sleep and wakefulness, a memory would float to the surface, not one of his memories, but a feeling associated with the other Jim Kirk, so sweet, so wonderful, that Jim would mentally cling to it like a child clinging to a favorite teddy bear, and he’d allow that feeling to lull him to sleep, at peace for a few hours at any rate. It was all he could hope for—and probably all he deserved.

Dressed in a blue t-shirt and jeans, Jim arrived at Spock’s cabin at exactly 2100, unsurprised when the door opened even before he buzzed.

“You’re spooky; you know that, don’t you?” he asked as he stepped inside. Spock merely raised one eyebrow.

Your footfalls are distinctive, and my hearing is quite keen enough to distinguish them in the corridor,” he replied. “Besides, you are agreeably punctual.”

“Gee, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Jim replied with a grin as he moved into Spock’s living area, where the small round table was already set up with the 3-D chessboard. As usual, Spock’s quarters were a couple of degrees warmer than the rest of the ship, and Jim felt his tense neck muscles begin to relax in response to the soothing heat.

“If that is so, I must try harder,” Spock replied quietly from behind the human. Jim turned around and gave him a smile.

“Oh, come on, Spock. I was just kidding. You say plenty of nice things to me, and what’s even better, you’ve quit rolling your eyes and sighing whenever you think I’ve fucked up.” Jim sat down in “his” chair as Spock, dressed in a red cashmere sweater and black cashmere pants—his version of casual Friday, Jim thought with an inner grin—moved across the room to the wall replicator and dialed up his usual cup of tea, as well as Jim’s usual mocha latte.

“Bones must wonder since when you’ve taken up lattes,” Jim chuckled as Spock brought him his drink and settled into his own seat.

“I suspect the good doctor knows these are for you,” Spock replied. He took a sip of his tea and then reached over to remove one of the black bishops from the board. “As promised, Jim, my handicap.”

“You’ll still cream me.” Jim regarded the board for a long moment and then made his opening move. The two played in silence for several moves, and Jim felt himself relaxing even more. Spock’s cabin was spare and uncluttered, yet there was something welcoming about it. Maybe it was the cozy dark red wall hangings and the faint hint of incense, or maybe it was just that here Jim didn’t have to be the captain for an hour or two.

Jim tried to trap one of Spock’s rooks, but as usual, the Vulcan had probably seen the move four moves before Jim made it, and he managed to adroitly escape. As he set his rook in its new position on the board, he looked up at Jim.

“There is a matter I would like to discuss, if you are willing,” Spock said.

Jim’s eyes never left the chessboard as he tried to figure out what fiendishly clever move Spock would make in ten minutes, but he nodded. “Sure, Spock,” he replied cheerfully. “I can lose and talk. What’s up?” He moved his queen.

“I was wondering,” Spock said calmly his eyes on the board, “if you would be amenable to developing a romantic and sexual relationship with possible long-term commitment.”

Jim stood up so suddenly that his knee hit the table, and pieces went flying everywhere.

“I...You...sexual...what?”