Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

A cosmic joke.

A twisted sadistic nightmare conjured up by the same muses of fate that decided James T. Kirk couldn’t live happily. But by the gods he would live.

One second he’s dying, radiation leaking into him like fire, every nerve in his body screaming in agony as he finally gets to hear Spock call him a friend. He wants to stay. But there’s nothing Jim can do except let his eyes glaze over and unfocus.

Once it’s done, in a way, it’s a relief. He’s been moving for so long, he forgot what it was like to stand still. The crew is safe. He’s done his job. Maybe he finally did something right.

Resentment, neglect, and incident after incident had hardened him. Had left him unbearably exhausted. Born in a cosmic disaster, only fitting he should die in one. He’s scared, terrified even. He has no choice but to accept it.

Not even James T. Kirk can crawl into a warp core and survive.

Then his eyes snap open with a jerk of his head, and he sees Uhura - dressed in cadet reds and looking at him with some level of annoyance.

Exactly as she had the morning after the night they met, on the shuttle to the Academy.

“Once you exit the shuttle you are free to return to your dorms. Those of you who are new, you’ll follow me to registration and physicals,” a vaguely familiar-looking officer says, and Jim’s heart stops in his chest. Surprising, considering it shouldn’t be beating at all.

It is all exactly as he remembers it, right down to the smell of alcohol still clinging to his clothes, making his eyes water. Even the heavy throb in his head from getting the shit kicked out of him the night before at the bar. Every last noise leaves behind a stinging pain in the back of his head where a hangover lives.

Something is wrong. Very wrong.

That familiar feeling in his gut tells him so.

Is he really in the past?

Or is it some kind of illusion? A telepathic projection based on memories? Maybe he’s dead right now and hell is repeating the Academy over and over … or... or maybe he somehow survived the radiation by the grace of Bones and is in a coma?

Because there is no way his first thought is correct. There is no way that he is actually in the past.

But that’s one of the things he’s come to know about himself.

His instincts are usually right.

Not always…but usually.

“Thank God,” he hears the familiar, gruff voice. He knows there’s only five years separating his Bones and whatever this version of him is. But he can’t help thinking that Bones looks better in the future. Well, compared to this drunken mess, anyone would look better. But maybe, somewhere along the way, they both found their purpose on the Enterprise. “I thought it’d never be over.”

Jim feels like he should be the one to say it.

“At least you made it through without throwing up,” he comments, something similar to what he’d said the first time around, almost like an echo. But the words taste like bile on his tongue.

The more he looks around, the more it feels real.

Is it possible that he’s really five years in the past, somehow? Before his death, before Chris’s death, before Nero?

Before the destruction of Vulcan, and billions of her people?

“New recruits, follow me.” And Jim does. He’ll play along until he finds his footing - until he can confirm whether he’s really traveled back in time, or if this is an illusion or hell or a hallucination of his irradiated brain.

Almost instantly, he’s thrown a PADD and instructed to fill out a recruitment form.

Rationally - he dare not think ‘logically’ - he knows that time travel is possible. Ambassador Spock is proof of that; Jim saw it in the mind meld they’d shared. But to suddenly be in his own past, in a body almost five years younger. Still hungover from a last night of freedom.

His face still aches.

It shouldn’t be real.

It feels so real.

He’d been on the Enterprise and as far as he knows they hadn’t entered any wormholes or ion storms or other spatial or temporal anomalies. And if the Enterprise had entered some temporal disturbance, where are the others? It doesn’t seem like Uhura or Bones remember anything - and neither of them are as good at faking it as he is, so he thinks he’d know.

Why would he come back alone? And why in this body, rather than his own radiation-flooded corpse?

“Kirk?” the recruitment officer says, her voice half dubious and half curious. Then he sees the moment she realizes where she knows that name, like she just remembered a history lesson and why the name Kirk rings a bell. The pity sets in.

It’s a look Jim knows all too well.

The officer clears her throat as Jim raises a hand in acknowledgement. “Right, go into that room, there’s a uniform for you there. Wait for a nurse. First is your physical.”

“Thanks,” he says half-heartedly, somehow walking rather than running into the room for the first moment of privacy since his apparent resurrection. Pulling the door closed, he lets out a steadying breath.

An hour ago, Jim had no choice but to come to terms with the fact he was going to die. He’d been choking on his own irradiated airways as he reasoned with himself that the lives of his crew mattered more. Gasping for air, he’d found himself regretting that he’d ever been trusted with the captaincy. The thought loomed in his mind as he realigned the core that another captain wouldn’t have gotten his crew into that much danger in the first place.

He changes into the cadet uniform, and then Jim takes another deep breath. He’s staring at his bruised face in the mirror; he’d forgotten how much he hates this drab red. The shade is terrible for his complexion, the wide shoulders make him appear too broad, and the high collar constantly chokes him.

The shimmering gold of command is far more flattering.

Jim had closed his eyes behind a door, fingers pressed to glass with Spock reaching out. He laid a hand gently to the mirror. Cold to the touch, and he opens his eyes, and the only person looking back at Jim is his own reflection.

What is he now? A dead man walking? A ghost in a man’s shell? A temporal anomaly?

Despite the existential questions weighing down on him, his mind returns - again and again - to: “Because you are my friend.” It makes him want to cry, scream, throw a punch. Something. Anything. But most of all he wants to see Spock. To see that he’s okay. To look into those dark eyes and not see pain or grief - or tears.

He removes his hand from the mirror and takes another deep breath in through his nose.

“Welcome new cadets!” A poster in the small exam room reads, and Jim shuts his eyes again. He’d be lying to himself if he said that the strange pang of nostalgia doesn’t help to push back the rising panic and horror.

If he’s really in the past, this is before it all. Before three years of Academy training. Before the Kobayashi Maru. Before Nero and Vulcan’s destruction. Before Ambassador Spock came back to his past and Jim’s, now, future. Before Chris Pike was killed because Jim wasn’t quick enough, wasn’t able to put the pieces together faster. Before Khan killed him. Before Khan…

Before all of the lives that were ruined because of the political plays for power and the struggles of simple-minded men. Before Admiral Marcus. Before the disillusionment of Starfleet’s shining reputation.

Jim doesn’t know where to start with all of this “before” placed in his lap. There is no way to figure out if this is all some kind of prison meant to punish him or just plain karmic cruelty. After all, every time he tries to do better, to be better, he makes things worse - or so everyone enjoys telling him.

But if this is real, if he really is five years in his own past, then the foreknowledge that he holds is a dangerous map that could lead them all down so many different paths of destruction.

Or salvation.

So assuming he is not dead and in some poetic allegory for life flashing before his eyes, or in a coma somewhere in Starfleet Medical... then he has a lot to do.

He knows the theories of time travel, he’d mind-melded with the Vulcan who’d practically written the playbook on them. But now, as far as he is aware, there is no going back.

And even if he could figure out how to go back - what would he be going back to? His own irradiated corpse?

Besides, doesn’t he owe more than that - to Chris, to Spock?

If Fate, or whoever is responsible for this ‘gift’, thinks that Jim will just stand by and watch the same tragedies come about then they have another thing coming.

Right now, whether this is real or just some crazy fever dream caused by dying, he needs to go out there and get to work. The first concern, of course, is proving (again) that he deserves to be here, no matter who may think otherwise.

Because he’s here now, and if the way the recruitment officer reacted to his name was anything to go off of, still very much without a long-dead hero of a father. Which means things are already in motion, Nero is definitely coming, and there is no way he can stop that.

This time though…

Maybe he can save Vulcan. Save Spock’s mom. Save Gaila and his fellow cadets. Save Chris, and everyone else Marcus and Khan killed.

Now that he knows what waits for him, he can prepare. It is clear enough that he had been painfully unprepared. But now he knows what to expect - exactly what to expect.

All that matters is being ready and able to help - to fix it.

“Kirk, James?” The nurse asks as she knocks on the door. “We’ll begin the physical if you’re ready.”

The nurse is the same one from his memory, a tiny thing with a sugary voice and the kindest of smiles.

“Born ready,” he smiles as the nurse leads the way to a room with a few pieces of exercise equipment.

“We’ll go through some basic workouts, no need to push yourself, just show us what you can handle on a normal day,” the nurse says casually, PADD in hand ready to input the number of pull-ups, sit-ups, speed on a treadmill, blood pressure readings, pulse, and a whole bunch of other things that would determine if he is fit for duty.

“Easy enough,” Jim smiles as he stretches his arms to warm up some. Best to start off easy.

Maybe he’s been spending too much time in the chair over the last 2 years, or maybe the intervening 5 years aged him more than he realized, because he feels great for a man who died an hour ago - and had gotten into a drunken bar brawl the night before.

“Sadists, the lot of ‘em,” Bones comments under his breath as Jim joins him later. Taking the seat next to him in the waiting room before their written test, the man still reeks of booze. “Makin’ a hungover man do sit-ups of all things. I’m a doctor, not a bodybuilder.”

Jim can’t help but to smile as he claps the good doctor on the back. His saving grace is that he still has Bones, and there is no way he’ll allow any timeline where the two of them aren’t friends.

“They even made you shave your scruff. The monsters.”

“Laugh it up, your sorry ass probably didn’t do much better.” Bones quips back, and Jim nods. It's always been his biggest advantage that people expect so little.

“No need to rub it in.”

The written exam was easy the first time. Knowledge of Starfleet regs, computer literacy, computational skills, engineering prowess, simple reasoning, and a myriad of other skills.

But after 3 years of Academy training and another almost 2 years as a captain, it is now almost laughable. Which should have been his first clue that things were about to go wrong.

Typical.

“Mr. Kirk, if we could have a word.” A security officer stops him after the test, a human man almost 7 feet tall and biceps as wide as one of Jim’s thighs. Jim doesn’t remember him from before - and he’s certainly the kind of person that sticks in memory.

Though the placement exam portion took the better part of the day. Maybe last time he’d just been too exhausted to notice security looming outside the door.

“Is there a problem?” Jim asks as the officer escorts him to a private conference room and asks him to sit in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. This room must not get used by the Admiralty then; they’d never put up with being uncomfortable for a meeting. Stars forbid.

“Your exam was flagged for potential cheating,” the officer says. “Do you have any explanation for why that may be?”

Jim really shouldn’t be surprised. His answers were by the book, some word for word because Spock has quoted them to him so many times. How could he not have memorized them? (And really, the best way to get around the rules is to know them better than anyone else.)

Not to mention that the physics questions were a snap after he’d taken up reading Scotty’s notes and Spock’s research. If he can keep up with Chekov’s excited, accent-heavy babbling (and he can), then solving a few simple questions to place out of the basics physics classes is a piece of cake.

“I’m unsure what you’re implying, sir,” Jim begins, trying to be careful, trying to stall for time while he decides how to handle this. If he gets accused of cheating right out of the gate - it might keep him out of Starfleet for good.

Jim can’t let that happen. There are too many people relying on him.

Chris.

He needs Chris.

If there is anyone who would believe his innocence, it would be Chris. He’s seen Jim’s previous test scores - he at least has some idea what Jim is capable of.

Plus, Jim...kind of needs to be sure. That Chris is okay. Here breathing, talking, joking.

“Talk to Captain Pike, he’ll vouch for me,” is all Jim says when the officer presses him for information. When the officer just continues to push, Jim holds firm: “I’m not talking to anyone but Captain Christopher Pike - or legal counsel.”

Nearly an hour later, Chris finally enters the room, looking miffed.

“Let me see that,” Chris raves, immediately grabbing the PADD with Jim’s test results.

Jim doesn’t sigh in relief at the sight of him, but it’s a near thing.

Chris is okay. He is safe and alive and actually here - sitting directly opposite Jim, close enough to touch. Staring at him with a sort of fond exasperation.

Not unlike in the bar. The one in Riverside - only the night before for Chris. And the one in San Francisco - four agonizing days that feel like forever ago, for Jim.

A lifetime.

Two lifetimes: Chris’s, and Jim’s own.

Looking over the test results on the PADD handed to him, Chris smirks, reading off one of the questions. “Explain the procedure you’d take if an unknown object on the face of a planet needed inspection.”

“Nothing shall be beamed aboard until danger of contamination has been eliminated. Beaming down to the surface is permitted if the captain decides the mission is vital and reasonably free of danger.” Jim recites without hesitation.

“If a commanding officer is believed to be emotionally biased or unable to continue work in their position, what is the appropriate course of action?” Chris appears to read another, and Jim almost wants to burst out into manic laughter.

The question wasn’t on the test, he would have remembered that one in all its disgusting irony. Chris is testing Jim’s knowledge of the regulations now, not following the script.

“Should their current mission leave a commanding officer emotionally compromised and unable to make rational decisions, they are required to relieve themselves of command until such a time they can be capable or at the mission’s completion.” That is one regulation he could never forget.

No matter how much he might want to.

“This cadet just came off of a transport shuttle with little more than the clothes on his back. He didn’t cheat.” Chris hands the PADD back to the security officer. “You’re taking this seriously.” He comments, eyeing Jim almost warily.

“How else am I gonna keep my promise?” He asks, mustering a smirk when he really wants to smile, still thrilled at Chris being here, right in front of him. “Three years - or less. I’d mark it on your calendar, Captain. I’m just getting started.”

“I could always tell you were a fighter,” Chris says - cryptic to anyone else, but Jim knows what he’s talking about. “From the moment I saw you.”

“I’m not a teenager anymore, sir.” Standing up from his chair, Jim looks to the security officer, waiting for dismissal.

If he were still a ship’s captain, he wouldn’t need to wait for permission. But he’s a cadet now. Again.

He needs to play nice.

“Dismissed, Cadet,” the officer says with a nod, something like respect on his face, “Welcome to Starfleet.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Jim does is go out and buy a PADD of his very own. Each student is entitled to academy issued gear, but there’s no way he can trust that his personal files will be properly protected. Not with how underhanded he knows Starfleet can get when the higher-ups feel threatened. Not when he knows people like Admiral Marcus are still around and looking for any advantage they can get.

The information he has is dangerous. But he also can’t risk forgetting a single detail.

So every last bit of his savings is going into this PADD. But it’s worth it to have somewhere he can keep his story straight. Because he’s about to be very busy. He will have to start immediately to meet his new goal of completing a double major in Command and Tactics in just two years. 

He can’t avoid the credit requirements for all Starfleet personnel. But with his performance on the placement exam, Jim is able to shift into the more advanced courses in every subject. At least something good came out of it and not just an accusation of cheating.

This is everything that Jim has been putting into practice for two years, and it couldn’t have come easier. So for the first year of “re-education” he is going to be a model student while also beginning his plan. He is going to gather every drop of knowledge he can, any allies he can get on his side, all of it invaluable before Nero gets here. So it’s time to shake things up.

He may not be sure how he got here or why, but it’s not going to stop him from doing better.

From being better. 

And part of doing better is getting the right people around him as early as possible. He has Bones - thank the heavens he has Bones - but Jim knows that he’ll need more than Bones to stop Nero.

It’s occurred to him that he can subtly do more. Nothing as sinister as forcing his friends beyond their limits. But Jim knows where to find each of them, hell, he and Bones are already thick as thieves after only a few days. 

But he’s had to stop himself from seeking out Spock once or twice. He’s not sure if he can handle it. He doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself knowing that his friend grieved him - is still grieving him? - in a lifetime he will never remember.

One that very well may exist only in Jim’s mind.

No, he needs to approach carefully. Meticulously.

Maybe he can have Chris introduce them. Or he’ll just take one of Spock’s classes and show him he’s not some dumb hick way in over his head.

Because if Spock hates him again… 

No, he can’t focus on that now. If he plays his hand right, he can prepare them all for the exact situations they’ll be going into without them ever knowing. That needs to be his focus. Not hurt feelings or bad first impressions.

He has time before he meets all of his crew. Time to plan and figure out the best strategy with each of them. He has to be smart, plant the seeds of friendship but also the ones needed to alter Nero’s plans. But how? 

He’ll need Spock and Scotty and Sulu and Chekov and Uhura and so many more people. He decides Scotty is a good place to start. Better to catch him now before he gets himself shipped off to Delta Vega. 

Jim looks him up, and Scotty is already a lieutenant - stationed here at the Academy, working on advances in beaming technology. And, conveniently, part of an upcoming presentation for upperclassmen engineers. If he can get in there, then he may just have a chance to talk to Scotty.

In looking for his friends, he also manages to find a listing by Admiral Archer himself, apparently looking for a dog walker. He’s relieved that Scotty hasn’t touched Archer’s prized beagle just yet - or ever, if Jim has anything to say about it.

Jim’s PADD vibrates softly, making him freeze. The notification reads, “Message: Captain Christopher Pike.”

Kid,

Come to my office.

This should be interesting…

Walking into the Administrative building on the Command Campus is harder than he expects. So many faces he recognizes…so many he’d lost. He’ll have trouble sleeping tonight.

Again. 

“Can I help you?” asks the ensign working as Chris’s assistant this term, and Jim has to make sure to keep his breathing even when they lock eyes. 

He recognizes her immediately. She was a lieutenant on the Enterprise - one of the xenoagricultural experts in Spock’s science department. She’d been lost during an away mission gone wrong, a natural predator on a planet the security team was woefully unprepared for due to outdated intel.

“Captain Pike is expecting me,” Jim explains, and when his voice shakes he feels for the first time like the cadet he appears to be. 

“Name?” Ensign Deveaux asks, seeming bored and ready to leave after a long day. 

“Cadet James Kirk.”

“Captain, Cadet Kirk here to see you,” she says into the comm display and Jim takes a second to steady himself. 

“Send him in.”

The woman gestures wordlessly towards the hallway behind her.

“Thanks Lieute-, um, Ensign.” He corrects himself as he turns to go. Shaking his head, Jim gently scolds himself. 

“Get it together,” he mumbles when he bumps into a solid wall that someone left in the middle of the hallway.

Stumbling back a step, he manages to catch himself before he falls, clutching the PADD close to his chest. He can’t afford it breaking, not with everything he has encrypted on it. And not with his savings drained on top of it.

“Sorry,” he says right away, bringing a hand up to inspect his nose. Thankfully it isn’t broken. “I should have been watching where I was going.”

“There was no harm done,” Jim freezes at the clipped monotone. “Though I must agree, watching where you’re walking would be wise.” 

Jim looks up, eyes meeting Spock’s for the first time all over again. His breath catches in his throat and his entire body feels like a jolt of electricity was shot through it. He has to get out of here. 

“Sorry again, sir. If you’ll excuse me.”

He awkwardly moves around Spock and down another two doors before walking into Chris’s office. Thankfully the captain is on the phone and gestures for him to take a seat. It gives him a second to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. 

Somewhere in the back of Jim’s mind he knew he’d see Spock again, but he'd never seen him around campus before the Kobayashi Maru. 

He thought he had more time .

More time for what though… to figure out what to say? This Spock doesn’t know him. He can’t just explain what happened, Spock would put Jim in a psych rehab center as soon as the words “We’re friends” left his mouth. 

But he’s also afraid. Not just of being seen as crazy, but of Spock himself. Jim has no basis to go off for how Spock might feel about him this time. Would Spock still hate him? 

There is certainly no shortage of things to hate. Spock himself made sure Jim understood that.

“You alright kid? You’re out of breath.” Pike asks and Jim’s attention snaps back to the moment.

“Yeah, just busy getting settled and all that.” He waves it off with enough of a half-truth that Pike believes it. “You needed to see me about something?”

For the most part, his first run through the Academy had been without much interference. Maybe the accusation of cheating made the older man more wary.

“I wanted to check in on you after what happened after your exam. They haven’t given you trouble registering, have they?” Chris asks and Jim nods as the older man picks up one of the PADDs on his desk. “You’re enrolled in 3 extra classes, signed up for 2 clubs, and got a part-time job at the library.”

“What can I say? I’m a model student.” 

Chris hums to himself, seemingly taking in the story.

“Kid, I know you’re smart. And we made a deal. But I can’t have you working yourself to death.” Chris continues, looking more exhausted by the minute. 

“Sir, if I may speak freely?” His tone shifts from joking to serious and Jim can see the way it makes Chris tense up. It takes him a second to realize he’s using the “Captain” voice, the one Bones used to make fun of during their drinking sessions.

When he nods, Jim goes on. “You know better than anyone that I can handle more than your standard cadet. You know what I’ve survived.”

He almost wants to laugh at his own words. Pike has no idea what Jim miraculously survived. If that’s what one could even call it. But he’d go on letting everyone think that Tarsus and a childhood of abuse and neglect was the worst of it. He can always get easy acceptance and sympathy from Pike when he reminds the man of the 12 year old little boy he and Una rescued. 

“I get it, I do. Just promise me I won’t have to schedule the next visit in the Academy Hospital.” 

“Next visit? What do you mean next visit?”

“I brought you here, so it’s gonna be my job to make sure you don’t drown under all that work you’re piling on.” His tone shifts down slightly as he continues.
“But just because you’re already in the upper courses, don’t think that makes you ready for action.”

“I know,” Jim immediately agrees. “I’m far from it, but that’s why I’m taking advantage of whatever I can get my hands on. I’m going to make sure I’m ready.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, just ask.”

“Actually, if you’re offering…” Jim begins and Pike motions for him to go on, “There’s an engineering symposium coming up in a couple weeks. I placed into the right classes, but I technically don’t have enough credits to qualify for a spot in the audience.” 

With a nod, Chris concedes, looking down at his PADD. “Half of those lectures empty out after lunch time anyways. I’ll get you a seat. And after your shift at the library on Wednesday we’ll meet for lunch.”

“Sir?”

“If you have time for a job and extra lectures between all these classes then you have time for some real food.” Pike explains and Jim nods, turning to his PADD to enter the lunch meeting in his calendar. The forum posting for a dog walker is still on screen and looking up at him.

“Speaking of jobs… you don’t happen to know if Admiral Archer is still looking for a volunteer, do you?” Looking up in time to see the deep sigh Chris lets out, Jim smiles easily.

Chris reaches over to the console display at his desk and punches a few buttons before Jim hears the tone of a communicator trying to connect.

“What is it now, Pike?” The admiral’s voice finally cuts through.

“Jon, you still lookin’ for someone to walk Athos? I found a sucker who’s interested.” Chris says, smirking at Jim.

“Send them over, but they’ve only got the job if the dogs approve.”

Fortunately, they’re able to set up an appointment for later on in the week. As the day goes on, his schedule gets more and more jam packed with appointments, meetings, and activities; including a linguistics club.

It's the only way he can guarantee he'll run into Uhura again. And even though she's back to finding him annoying instead of the tolerant respect they used to have, he'll have to suck it up if he wants to win her over. Not to mention, he'll get to see Gaila. 

He'd mourned his bubbly, green friend after she was killed during Nero's attack. But as he walks into the first club meeting, he can't help the shiver of uncertainty that travels up his spine. She looks exactly like she did the last time he saw her, bright smile and signature bouncy red curls making her the center of everyone's attention.

Jim simply takes a seat at one of the desks rearranged into a circle in the middle of the room. On the board someone, probably Uhura, pulled up an image that reads "Welcome!" in at least a dozen Federation languages. 

Uhura, in her usual easy professionalism, is making the rounds and introducing herself as the club president. Even now she is making the effort to speak in each club member's native language, doing her part to help them feel welcome. When she eventually stops in front of the desk he's claimed, Jim stands up and offers his hand.

"Jim Kirk. I'm guessing there’s still no first name?" He jokes as Uhura takes his hand. "Or should I just call you Madam President?"

"That depends, are you only here to harass me?" she asks, letting his hand drop from her grasp.

"Actually, I'm somewhat practiced in Klingon," he admits with a shrug, pretending not to notice the slight widening of her eyes. "And this club is the closest thing the school has to an interspecies cultural exchange that isn't buried inside of history and ethics classes." 

"Then welcome to the club," she says after a pause, still obviously weary of him as she moves on to the next person walking in. If Rome wasn't built in a day, Uhura's friendship won't be either.

Taking his seat, Jim waits for the club meeting to start, only to be caught off guard by a green hand appearing in front of him.

"I'm Gaila, great to meet you," Gaila introduces herself and Jim's eyes widen in surprise, fumbling slightly to take her hand. The first time, he had been the one to introduce himself. Had gone out of his way to get her attention. 

"Oh, um, hi," he says, hoping he doesn't sound as nervous as he feels. He never thought he'd be able to speak with her again. Let alone reach out and touch her. "Jim, and the pleasure's all mine."

"I hope it's not totally rude to say this," she goes on, helping herself to the seat next to him. "But I've never met a human with eyes like yours."

Sitting down, Jim's not quite sure what to say. He sometimes forgets that other species are just as curious about humans. And his eyes are somewhat unique now that, without genetic modification, most humans have succumbed to the more dominant traits being passed down. He gets asked about them all the time. But Gaila  had never brought it up before.

"Not rude at all," he says easily. "I guess it's not so common anymore but a lot of humans used to have lighter colored eyes." 

Leaning on the desk, Gaila rests her cheek on a closed fist, eyeing him with noticeable interest. As her painted fingernail taps on the desk, she gives him a once over.

“No, I don’t think you’re common at all.”

Chapter Text

Jim had, in all honesty, not been expecting to find a TA position so easily as a first year cadet. But it was essential to earn access to a slightly higher security clearance. 

There is nothing stopping him from breaking into the more secure systems. But with a cheating accusation already under his belt and Chris taking a more significant role, he can’t risk wandering too far outside of his bounds. Not with so many eyes on him. His new clearance level will, at the very least, be able to get him access to student files. Another way he’ll be able to track down his crew. It isn’t much, but it’ll have to be enough for now.

Walking into his first combat class, he feels ready. He'd helped with these sessions before, and now he'd spent who knows how many hours in the gym practicing with Spock and Sulu. Not to mention the missions. So many missions. 

What he isn't expecting is to see Cupcake staring at him from across the red safety mats. Between them there are at least three dozen students busy doing warm-ups. No one else seems to see the sneering twist of his lips as Jim approaches. 

"Kirk," Commander Marlow's heavy New England accent calls across the gymnasium, beckoning Jim closer. He nods in greeting as he puts his bag down on one of the benches around the gymnasium. "This is Hendorff, my other TA. Because this is such a big class I'll be relying on you both."

"Of course," Jim says easily, plastering a smile on his face as he reaches a hand out, relieved when Hendorff takes it without issue. "Jim Kirk. It's nice to see you again."

"Good, you already know each other," the commander comments as one of the students tries to get his attention. "Excuse me, boys."

"So, this is fun," Jim says awkwardly as Hendorff grips his hand a bit too tight for comfort.

"Just don't cause any trouble," Hendorff warns, letting Jim's hand drop. 

"Strictly professional," Jim nods as he flexes his fingers, "I'm just here to do my job."

"Whatever you say, Cupcake." Hendorff bites back before Marlow motions for them both to join him as he begins class.

"We're gonna begin with a few basics for our first session," Commander Marlow speaks to the room as he guides students into basic defensive poses, Jim and Hendorff occasionally reminding someone to widen their feet or shift their balance. "Before getting into a fight, can anyone tell me the first thing you should try?"

A series of blank faces look anywhere but at the instructor and his assistants, not a single cadet willing to raise a hand or speak up on the first day. When a moment passes without change, Jim raises his hand.

"Don't fight unless you have to," he starts as Marlow gives him a nod to go on, "No matter your skill level, if they're bigger and stronger they have an advantage and they know it.”

Jim sees the slight tilt of Cupcake’s features from across the room. There’s a smugness to him but it’s not malicious. Jim knows when he’s being sized up.

“Don’t underestimate quick thinking,” Cupcake offers, getting the commander’s nod of approval. “Resourcefulness and speed can take you far in a fight. Even when outnumbered.”

Jim nods back as Marlow takes the point and runs with it, seizing the opportunity to teach methods of getting away from a stronger, bigger opponent. As the lesson goes on, Jim and Hendorff work well together in a respectful camaraderie. It may not be friendship, but a professional understanding. So long as he keeps this job, Jim will take what he can get. 

At least that’s what he thought until he begins packing up for the day, some of the students saying goodbye as he gets his gym bag together. It’s only once everyone else leaves that Hendorff approaches him at the bench. 

“Good work today,” the man states casually, a firm set to his jaw. “You really know what you’re doing.”

“Back at ya’,” Jim nods, “it’s been a while since I took a right hook like that.”

The comment seems to shake something in Hendorff as his shoulders slacken and a chuckle breaks loose. “Been a while since I’ve seen someone take a beating like that.”

“Well, uh, let’s not try for a repeat performance,” Jim offers as he stands, throwing his bag over his shoulder. 

“Maybe not a real one. A couple of the security upperclassmen formed a mixed martial arts club. Just sparring, nothing serious, but you should consider joining us.” The proposition throws Jim for a loop. It’s not just an invitation. That alone would be surprising. Instead, two men who have honed their shared skill look at one another in a breath of respect. An acknowledgement of ability in a way only two men who have beat the shit out of each other can reach. 

“Fight Club. Retro, I like it.” Jim admits as his PADD alarm goes off in his bag. His opportunity to meet Scotty is later today and he still has to shower. “I don’t know how often I’ll be able to show up, but count me in.”

With a friendly jab to Hendorff’s bicep and quick goodbyes between them, the two part ways. 

-

Jim doesn’t have time to waste when classroom equipment malfunctions. This is Starfleet for crying out loud. The mess hall ran out of coffee before he could grab a second cup after breakfast. Now the projector is broken. 

Wonderful.

He can’t waste his time on this nonsense. Not with all he has to get done today. And not when the professor's handwriting looks like a third grader holding a pen that’s too heavy.

Each day has to be planned out accordingly if he’s gonna graduate and be prepared for Nero. Sometimes planned down to the hour.

So when the instructor goes to shut off the projector, complaining about a work order under his breath, Jim stands up on his desk and pops the projector open. He manages to make the problematic connection secure enough that it’ll hold through lecture.

“Cadet, what do you think you’re doing?” The instructor asks.

“We’re a room full of the most technologically capable people on the planet. We can build warp cores but not fix a simple projector?” he explains when the light flickers on and the lesson plan appears on screen. 

“There is proper procedure for these things, Cadet,” the instructor chides, clearly not knowing what to do and wasting more time. The rest of the class are all looking at Jim and whispering as he climbs down and takes a seat.

“I’m sure there is, sir.” He picks up a PADD stylus before opening his notes. “The fall-rise intonation, could you go over the different variations in formal use?”

-

The beaming technology symposium is typically reserved for third and fourth year students, the intricacies of transporters being among the more complex subjects at the academy. But with some help from Chris, Jim is able to seize his opportunity. 

Despite Scotty’s presentation being the one that Jim is really interested in, he needs to attend all the lectures - it wouldn’t do to waste Chris’s efforts. And not when he knows some small piece of information might come in handy somehow. Eventually. 

Looking around the crowded auditorium, it takes longer than Jim would like to find the lieutenant’s engineering uniform in a sea of drab cadet reds.

“A load of rubbish,” the man next to him grumbles under his breath in an all-too-familiar voice as he reads the opening slide of the upcoming lecture. Jim almost gives himself whiplash as he jerks to look at Scotty, not expecting his once-upon-a-time friend to already be speaking to him. It takes him a moment to realize Scotty’s really talking to himself. “A hundred miles. A baby could beam someone a hundred miles.”

“How far do you think you could push it?” Jim asks, leaning in to the conversation as the auditorium fills.

Talking to Scotty is a better use of his time than paying attention to the presentation: it’s rubbish, just like Scotty said. A joke even, given that the audience should all be familiar with transporter technology if they are all upperclassmen in the engineering track.

And still, as the presentation gets underway, the speaker spends all of his time explaining the very fundamentals of the technology, broken down into the simplest components possible. As if he’s speaking to grade school children.

“One planet to another, and not just a grapefruit.” Scotty answers, and Jim’s eyes briefly flick to the front of the auditorium. He has to at least try to look like he’s learning something…right? Though…most of those around him look just as bored, and none of them as fiery and passionate as Scotty.

“Not to mention they gave me the worst time slot. Everyone’ll be at dinner by then.”

Jim nods sagely before considering his options. He’d been coming to meet Scotty anyways. And a protein bar or two were sitting in his bag. 

“I’d planned on going to your presentation,” he finally says in a hushed whisper. 

Seemingly content knowing he will have at least one audience member, Scotty offers him a nod of respect before continuing to grumble the rest of the way through the presentation.

Later that day, after all the other lectures are over and done with, Jim finds himself in a significantly less crowded amphitheater. Fortunately, he’s not the only one willing to skip a meal and he can even see a familiar head of bouncy little curls poking up in the front row. 

Chekov - younger than Jim has ever seen him. Taking the seat beside the boy, Jim offers a welcoming smile as Scotty begins his presentation.

He is about halfway through explaining that he could warp someone from planet to planet when he throws in something Jim isn’t expecting at all. 

“You could even take it so far as to beam while in warp!” Scotty explains to the meager handful of people in the room. Before he can move on to the next slide of his presentation, Jim jumps up from his seat. 

“Would accomplishing that put too much stress on the engines while in warp?” He asks, knowing that Scotty won’t be able to resist.

“Well sure, on a ship built 10 years ago but the new models. And that new flagship?” The man almost whistles with excitement. “Those reactors are so efficient it’d hardly matter so long as you’re not at maximum.”

“Beaming while in warp though, you’d have to compensate a lot to get a direct ship-to-ship matter transfer.” Jim argues.

“Not if the ships are traveling at the exact same speed.” Scotty argues back, pulling up a blank document to begin writing out formulas. Around them, the engineers take out their own PADD pens. Chekov is already writing down something in his familiar tightly woven scrawl. 

Taking Scotty off the original subject, Jim finds himself oddly nostalgic and maybe a little homesick. Scotty starts theorizing, and Jim wonders if he looks hard enough the gears turning in the Scotsman’s head might become visible.

Stylus in hand, Scotty begins writing out what looks like a familiar formula. It’s obviously wrong with big pieces missing or in the wrong spot, Jim can tell that much, but Scotty’s sort of got the right shape.

Jim admonishes himself for not paying closer attention to the exactitudes in his previous life. Who would have known he’d need to know it beyond the grave?

Jim isn’t able to keep up with Scotty’s frantic scribblings. Fortunately, Chekov can. Scotty is getting more excited as the math begins to come together, students around the room standing from their seats to crowd around the board together.

“No, no, you must compensate for the matter conversion,” a lieutenant argued, taking the stylus out of another person’s hand to correct the board. 

“Yeah but you can’t do that until you adjust for the size of the warp field,” another chimed in.

They’re a long way off, but it’s the progress Jim needs if he’s going to be able to help Vulcan. Having the warp formula now would be huge. 

Risky, but huge.

Ideally, they could begin planetary evacuation before the Federation ships even breached Vulcan space.

“Incredible.” Scotty says after they run out of time and everyone exchanges contact information, the rest of the presentation long forgotten. Jim derailed the entire thing, but the audience of only a handful seemed to get even more excited than he and Scotty were. “That idea about the warp field staying in place! Lieutenant Montgomery Scott,” He introduces himself, excitedly holding out his hand. The gesture makes Jim’s thoughts stutter, forgetting that he and Scotty aren’t supposed to be friends. 

“Cadet Jim Kirk.”

“You should join the physics club,” Scotty supplies as the trio walks out of the lecture hall together. “I’m the advisor and we could use someone that thinks like you. That little Russian fellow too.” 

“I doubt I’ll be able to keep up with a couple of geniuses like you two, but sure. Count me in.”

When they separate Jim feels light. Lighter than he has since arriving at the Academy. 

-

Flight training is one of the things that relaxes Jim the most. He loves the feeling of being in open space, feet countless miles from solid ground and nothing but infinite possibilities. And until he can get back out there he has to make do with his simulation the following day. 

But now he is sitting next to Sulu for his supposed first flight course, the upperclassmen acting as an advisor for Jim’s group. He holds out a hand to offer a handshake as soon as they meet and for a second Sulu seems surprised. Right…cadets aren’t usually so formal with each other. God maybe Spock did rub off on him. 

“Kirk, looks like I’m in your care.” He explains in greeting.

“Sulu, nice to meet you.”  It’s awkward and stunted. The way it never was before because they met while fighting for their lives together. Introductions like that tend not to need moments like these. And unfortunately for Jim, most of his introductions are life or death. 

They get into the simulator and it takes Jim a moment to notice that Sulu is already familiar with all the controls and consoles. Right, upperclassmen, he reminds himself.

“Lots of experience?” He asks, hoping he sounded casual enough Sulu would just assume since he was a cadet, that he didn’t really know what he was doing. And maybe be pleasantly surprised when Jim keeps up. 

“Only simulations, haven’t gotten to the real thing just yet.” Sulu explains with an awkward smile and Jim can’t help but to laugh. 

“At least you’re honest.”

“What about you? You seem pretty relaxed.” Sulu offers, gesturing to where Jim’s hands are already situated comfortably on the panel.

“Grew up in a fleet family.” He shrugs, hoping the lie was just close enough to the truth where Sulu could fill in his own blanks. “I know this guy who forgot to disengage the inertial dampeners and was fielding jokes about parking brakes for months.” Jim explains as he reaches across to the middle of the cockpit to start powering down the mechanism. 

“Nothing like embarrassment to remind you to do something for the rest of your life.” If he needs as much time as possible, then this is another chance to buy a few minutes. To get there at the beginning of the fight rather than after half the fleet gets destroyed. Enough to get a warning to other ships. 

“Another thing for me to add to my checklist.” Sulu says with a chuckle.

Chapter Text

Standing in Captain Pike’s personal kitchen is…different. Jim of course knows about the man’s famous get-togethers. And so many of the Enterprise crew had told him about Chris’s home-cooked meals during his captaincy. He just…never expected to be on the receiving end. 

“You get any of your final grades back yet?” Chris asks from his place at the island stove-top, their dinner sizzling in the frying pan.

“So far just Environment Regulations,” Jim shrugs as he chops the last of the veggies before placing them to Chris’s right.

“How’d you do?”

“Perfect score,” reaching into the hot pan, Jim steals a freshly seared piece of chicken and pops it into his mouth. “I’m not really worried about the rest.”

“Clearly,” Chris jokes, a half smile lighting up his face as he tosses in the last of the vegetables and lowers the heat. “How are you feeling now that your first semester is done?”

“Top of the world,” Jim shrugs again, walking around the counter to take a seat on one of the barstools. “Perfect grades, I haven’t gotten my face beat in since I got here, and between Athos and the security officer’s Fight Club, I’m in the best shape of my life.”

“Which explains the bags under your eyes,” Chris comments as he plates their food. Setting a dish down in front of Jim, he seems to think better of it and adds another scoop. “You gonna be getting any sleep during your week off?”

“I sleep plenty,” Jim insists as he digs in. “But yes, with everyone gone I’m gonna be enjoying the peace and quiet.”

“You’d better.” Leaning against the counter, Chris seems to use his first bite as an excuse to consider his next words. Jim can already tell he isn’t going to like them. “Didn’t want to visit home?”

Jim would sell whatever was left of his soul to be able to stroll through the Enterprise again. To poke his head into the botany labs and invite Sulu to a few rounds in the gym. To bicker happily in the turbolift with Uhura until he sees the crinkles form around her eyes as she tries not to smile. To play a game of chess with Spock and wait for the spark in the other man’s eyes to catch fire.

“Not an option,” he finally says, hoping Chris doesn’t push further. 

“It might be too late to make plans this time, but since you’re spreading yourself thinner than butter on toast, how’s about a trip over the summer?” Jim knows that Chris already knows he’ll accept. He can see it in the way Chris’s smile ticks up more on one side to form a smirk. “There’s going to be a trip to Vulcan for some Science Academy Symposium. A few of my science team are doing presentations and cadets are getting the opportunity-“

“I’ll do it.” Jim says, cutting him off. 

“Good, because I already added you to the list.” Pike explains as his smirk turns into a grin. “As it gets closer you’ll start getting communications from Commander Spock with details.”

Jim tenses and he can see the way Pike’s eyes focus. He knows something is weird but doesn’t know why. As far as this universe is concerned, Jim and Spock should have no reason to have even spoken before, let alone have history.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” 

-

“Wha’ d’ya mean yer goin’ away? We’ve gotta get ready for testin’. We cannae do it without ya’!” Scotty is in near hysterics in the middle of the canteen, Bones shaking his head as the Scotsman draws more attention their way. Across from him, Jim rolls his eyes and picks at his french fries.

“It’s only a week and I told you it’s not until Summer. Besides, we still have to get official permission to do any testing on something considered sentient.” He insists between forkfuls.

“I tol’yae I can do it, lad!” Scotty gestures at Jim to emphasize his point, his drink still in his hand. Jim lifts his PADD off the table in case the other man spills the water from his glass. “If you’d just let me show ya’ with that dog yer always bringin’ around-”

“Watch it,” Bones chides Scotty gently as he moves his food farther away. “Soup wasn’t on the menu today.”

“I know you can do it,” Jim begins, ignoring Bones’s remark. “But Admiral Archer cares more about his dogs than he cares about most living things. There’s no way he’d give us permission to use one in an experimental transport. And I’m not stealing Athos.” Jim tries again. He has no idea how Scotty got the dog last time, but he’s invested too much time into making Athos and Admiral Archer like him to screw this up. “Look, I happen to know that Commander Spock is leading this trip to the symposium. While I’m there I can show him our progress. If anyone will recognize the potential for this sort of project it’d be him. And if someone with Commander Spock’s prowess supports a scientific project, the admiralty will for sure give us the green light.” 

“Fine.” Scotty admits as he throws his arms up in surrender, drink still in hand. “But I’m still gonna try it with the grapefruit.” 

“Yeah, yeah, beam as much produce as you want.” Jim rolls his eyes. “Did you-“ 

Before he can finish his sentence, Chekov sits down next to him, violently swearing under his breath in clipped Russian. His head hangs so low, Jim wonders if maybe his brain’s finally gotten too big for his neck to support. 

“Что не так, крошка?” Jim asks, switching to what little Russian he knows to ask him what’s wrong. He’s far from fluent, but he hopes the small effort is of some comfort to his friend. Moving his tray towards Chekov, Jim offers some of his lunch, urging him to eat something.

Bones, across from them, gives Jim a harsh look. Like he’s trying to tell Jim he shouldn’t be giving away some of his first real meal of the day. Jim ignores him. 

“It is no thing.” Chekov answers as the other three share a look between them. “Is small thing. I want to meet a cool person in my class, but is nerve wracking.” 

“Aww,” Jim says before he can stop himself. Chekov is too young for anyone on campus. But he supposes there’s no harm in humoring the kid’s daydreams. “Who is it?” 

“Is the problem. I do not know his name.” Putting his head down on the canteen table, Jim pat Chekov on the back. “He runs from class to flight simulator so is never time to ask or talk. Is very frustrating.”

“Well then we go to the flight simulator.” Jim says as Scotty gives a grin over his drink and Bones pretends to not be amused. They’ve long since learned that once Jim decides to help someone then help is what they get. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow at 1000 hours, after quantum maths lecture.”

“Wait….” Jim’s brain, which these days is like a nuclear powered hamster wheel, halts to a grinding stop. “My advisor from last semester assists with a simulator on Wednesdays at 10. Your crush, he has short black hair? Asian descent?” With every word Chekov’s eyes grow larger, looking more and more like the disk of the Enterprise. 

“You know of him?” Jim nods and lets out a breath of relief. At least he knows for sure that Sulu won’t take advantage of such a young admirer.

“Kid, Jim knows everyone around here,” Bones says with a smile. “He’s got half a’ campus wrapped around his little finger.” With a roll of his eyes, Jim pats Chekov on the shoulder. 

“His name is Hikaru Sulu,” Jim explains, “and if you want to talk to him I could introduce you.”

“No, no. Is too intimidating.” Chekov starts shaking his head and puts his arms in an “X” shape in front of his chest. “I do not know what to say.” 

Wrapping an arm fully around the boy's slim shoulders, Jim is immediately aware of just how young he is. He had watched him finish out his adolescence and bloom into adulthood in a past life. Now he holds a baby bird and never wants to let go. 

“Okay” he concedes. “But we’ll think of something.” 

“Aye, we’ll see it done.” Scotty adds, his own hand reaching across to ruffle the boy's hair. 

“No no, I am only fifteen. Is no chance.” 

As far as Jim knew, Chekov never had these feelings in his first life. Or maybe he did and Jim didn’t know about it. “Look, because you’re so young, it’s good if nothing happens. But maybe you’ll make a new friend. Sulu’s great to talk with and he’s an interesting guy. I don’t know too many fencing botanists.” 

By slowly combining the interests that forged their friendships before, he’s very carefully getting his best pieces into position. Forming chemistry sooner will mean they all work better once they get to the ship. Even if it needs a slight push this time, it will be every bit as genuine as the first go around. And without the stress of trying to stay alive against a psycho Romulan. 

“You’ve already been taking self-defense. If I invite you to join us in the gym it’ll be the perfect excuse for you two to talk.” Jim explains and turns to Scotty and Bones, sparks already flying behind his eyes at the thought of his crew - his family - almost coming back together completely. “What about you? Want any self-defense training? We can make a group out of it.” 

“I danae think so. I’m a lover, not a fighter.” 

“One of these days I’ll get you to the gym, Scotty.” 

“When pigs fly.” 

“They can if you beam them aboard a ship.” Jim quips back easily. “What about you Bones?”

“Not on your life.”

“Careful what you wish for.” Jim teases back.

Chekov is about to speak up when a surprised yelp rings out in the canteen. At the replicator, a young cadet is sprayed down with some unknown drink. The same green goo staining the front of his uniform shirt now in pools around the floor. Taking one final bite of lunch, Jim rolls up his sleeves.

“Not this again,” Bones grumbles, “finish your food before you go solving everyone else’s problems, again .”

If the dispenser doesn’t get shut down before someone can fix it, it’ll short out the motor. And who knows how long it will be before a cargo ship can get another sent out this far into deep space, they might need the old one for parts if they are going to get it working again. He can’t have a replicator down during dinner. No one on his ship is going to bed hungry.

For the second time today, his train of thought comes to an emergency stop.

He is not in deep space. 

He is not on Enterprise . 

He’s on the Starfleet Academy campus. It isn’t his job to fix every little problem. But he can still help.  

“Give me a hand with this, Scotty.” Jim says, as he stands up to go shut off the dispenser himself. 

“Can’t get through a single damn meal,” Bones grumbles, “one of these days I’m gonna nail you to your chair.”

“Yeah, yeah, after we finish this you can nail whatever you want.” Jim says with a wide grin as he and Scotty leave to help shut off the dispenser. 

Chapter Text

“It was the strangest thing,” Spock hears as he oversees lab instruction. Thankfully he doesn’t need to pay much attention to the cadets, leaving them to their own devices while he does his own work. But the topic of discussion is an odd one. 

“It was the same guy that just got up on the desk and fixed the projector right in the middle of the lecture.” The cadet explains in between writing down their experiment observations. “Even the instructor was surprised.”

“Thank god,” Another student, a young biochemist if Spock remembers correctly, agrees. “I love Professor Ishida’s class, but the guy has such bad handwriting. If Jim hadn’t fixed it I would have had to waste my time trying to interpret all of it. It would have taken me hours.”

“It can’t be that bad.” Someone else from the back of the room comments with a roll of their eyes. 

“It is when it’s an advanced Romulan language class. It’s impossible to learn that calligraphy if it’s slanted and squished together.”

“And then translate it? You may as well walk out before you fail anyways.” someone else adds.

“You’re quite right, Cadet,” Spock speaks up for the first time since the beginning of the lab session. Several of the students, surprised to hear him join in the classroom gossip, whirl around to watch him. “There are many intricacies to Vulcan calligraphy, and Romulan is rather similar in its dedication to detail. Without being clear it would likely be unintelligible. It is quite fortunate your classmate was so resourceful.”

“See, even Commander Spock agrees.”

“But sir, is it not proper protocol to submit a work order?” Another cadet asks, a first year, if their messy lab station is anything to base assumption on. “And to stand up on the desk, it seems crude.”

“Perhaps,” Spock stands from his lab stool, using the opportunity to walk the room and examine the ongoing experiments. “I am confident that your instructor did follow procedure after their lesson. Although protocol is to be followed, it is also necessary to be efficient and expedient in our work. When stationed on a ship, especially those in deep space territories, it is necessary to be resourceful. We do not always have the benefit of proper procedure. And it is in my experience that those who take initiative in such matters are the most effective and sought after in the fleet.”

Spock can see the way some of the students are enthralled, almost starry-eyed at the idea of being so praiseworthy. He is often told his cold demeanor is off-putting to students, a young cadet having run off in fear last semester after having bumped into him.

His praise, however miniscule, seems to mean they are more willing to internalize his message. It is something he has always known about human interaction, but not something he has seen as a result of his own action. 

Though it is concerning that someone teaching calligraphy supposedly can not write it well enough without a computer assisting them…

-

“You wished to see me, Captain.” Spock says, as he walks into Captain Pike’s quiet office, taking the offered seat in front of the man’s desk.

“Spock, have you noticed anything weird with the new cadets?” Pike asks, looking up from the PADD in his hand. 

“Weird, sir?” Spock questions, unsure what the Captain is referring to with such vague terminology. 

“I was asked to sit in on a lecture. In the middle of it, the teacher was called away because of an emergency across campus. Instead of canceling the lecture, the teacher’s assistant stood up, walked to the front of the room and took over the lecture. Then in a combat class, I witnessed a more experienced senior cadet aiding the first years. When I asked about it they said their TA was called off planet and she volunteered to take over.”

“I see,” So it had not just been a one-time occurrence. “It is rather fortunate that the cadets were able to solve their individual issues.” Spock has always known humans to be industrious and resourceful. But even he must admit, he has never seen Cadets so ready to serve.

“Spock, I know this might seem contradictory and illogical, but follow me here.” Pike begins, standing up from his chair and gesturing with his hands in the way humans often do when they speak. Spock notes Chris seems more confused than angry. “Any time there is a technical issue or scheduling conflict, historically, the students are the first ones to ask that class be canceled. What’s changed? Since last semester professors have been saying this is happening all around campus. Cadets who come across a problem they can help with are offering their aid as if they’ve been assigned a duty post already. They are unwilling to let their education be put on hold for administrative bureaucracy.”

“I must admit, sir, I do find it illogical that under normal circumstances students would request not to learn. However, I will have to take your word for it.” Spock explains, noting the knit in Pike’s brow. “I do believe, I know the source.”

“Do tell.” Pike walks around to the front of his desk. He leans back on it and crosses his arms. 

“The students in a lab I oversee mentioned an incident in the canteen. Although I’ve heard stories similar to yours, this was the first one I witnessed personally.” Pike made an odd circular motion with his hand, Spock has come to know it means to keep going. “A drink dispenser began to malfunction. I witnessed a cadet and lieutenant abandon their meals to shut down the mechanism themselves. The lab attendees mentioned the same cadet had done something similar in their language course last semester with a faulty projector. When I praised the act, the students appeared more receptive than usual. I believe the cadet, a man named Jim, has inspired these cadets to behave similarly after the act received such praises from a senior officer.”

Captain Pike is no longer looking at Spock, and has a fond grin as he shakes his head and rubs his temple. 

“I shoulda known.” 

“Sir?”

“That cadet, he has blonde hair? Blue eyes?” The unique features had been immediately recognizable indeed. Most humans in the modern age had lost their fairer recessive traits through natural evolution of the species. To his knowledge, the young cadet who had bumped into him in the hall is one of the few on campus with such a rare set of physical characteristics.

“That’s correct. Are you familiar with the person in question?”

“Kirk is of special interest to me.” Standing back at his full height, the man pauses only long enough to run his fingers over an invisible beard. “He’s on the list of cadets going to the VSA in a couple months. In an unofficial capacity, I’d like you to observe him.” 

“Observe for what specifically?” What relation does Captain Pike have to this cadet? What warrants such interest?

“It’s difficult to explain,” Pike offers as he moves around the room, seemingly in thought. “Just be aware of him, though it’s hard not to be. Trouble seems to follow him wherever he goes. But I have a theory that if steered in the right direction, he could be the exact kind of trouble Starfleet needs.” 

Before Spock can interject, the impossibility of “desirable trouble” at the front of his mind, the captain sits at his desk again. Leaning back in his chair, the man seems more pensive than usual.

“I can only say one thing for certain. He’ll surprise you.”

Chapter Text

“Commander, if I could have a moment of your time.” The cadet begins before Spock can even acknowledge his presence. They are boarding the small transport vessel that will take his contingent of scientists to Vulcan and he has already gone through his final checks. All that is left is to wait for the passengers to be seated. He is the first one onboard and already one of the cadets is vying for his attention.

This is precisely why he requested not to lead this expedition. There always seems to be some excitable cadet following him with what they swear will impress him. With his reputation as an accomplished scientist as well as being among the few Vulcans in Starfleet, they all look for the opportunity to get drafted onto his team, or at the very least receive his seal of approval. However, as the only Vulcan available, and the officer with the most experience with the VSA, it is the logical choice. One he found difficult to counter.

“Now is not the time for official inquiries, cadet.” He says without turning around, continuing to walk to his seat. It is usually the case that, after seeing his disinterest, the cadets will leave him alone. 

“Well seeing as we’re going to be on this shuttle for a few hours I think now would be the perfect time for discussion.” The man says easily as Spock ignores him and sits down next to the window. He watches the cadet move to sit down to his right, surprised to see the same man who had run into him outside of Chris’s office at the beginning of the academic year. 

He had appeared distracted and flustered at the time, perhaps even fearful. Today, Spock notes, the cadet is neither. 

“Official appointments are to be scheduled through the administrative office.”

Ignoring his dismissal, the cadet shoves a PADD into Spock’s hands.

“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t have that kind of time.” As other passengers fill the seats around them, his voice gets softer like it is a secret. But he, curiously, does not lean in towards Spock like most humans do when they are trying to be heard at such low volumes. 

“As you have stated, we will be on this shuttle for several hours.” Spock begins, watching the man’s features shift from determined to curious. Strangely, while he is careful of physical boundaries, he is extremely outwardly expressive in a way humans often try to restrain when speaking with Vulcans. “It would appear you have an excess of time.” 

The comment seems to catch him by surprise. A breathy chuckle slips past pink lips before they resettle into an easy smile. “I know you must get this a lot, every day probably. But I can guarantee no other cadet has come to you with transwarp beaming technology before.”

His eyebrow shifts upwards as blue eyes meet brown. He can see the firmness in them, the determination he often witnessed in Captain Pike.

Spock is not used to picking up on human jokes or lies. The cadet has given him no reason to suspect deceit. If not for the impossibility of what he suggests, Spock would believe him enough to look over the work presented. But it is not likely that a first-year cadet can deliver what is being promised. 

“Cadet Kirk,” He begins and the name gives the blonde pause. Spock, for a single instance, can see the determination waver. “How is it possible that a first-year cadet has accomplished what Starfleet’s most exemplary physicists could not?” A smile spreads across his face, and Spock can not reasonably explain the unease in the back of his mind.

“I guess you won’t know if you don’t read it.” Seeming to think he made the point effectively, Kirk faces the front of the shuttle and fastens the safety harness without another word. Spock hands the PADD back to Kirk and watches as the blonde looks down without taking it. 

“Forward me your work, cadet. Though I cannot guarantee I will be able to make time for such a fruitless endeavor.” 

“We’ll see.” Kirk finally accepts the device back and settles it in his lap.

Relaxing into the seat, Kirk pulls up some other document to work on and seems content to end the conversation there. Until another cadet sits in front of them and acknowledges Kirk directly.

“Hey, Cupcake,” the tall, muscular man speaks up. To Spock’s right, Cadet Kirk’s head immediately snaps to attention. “What do you think you’re doin’ here?”

“I could ask you the same.”

While the tone is casual, the use of an odd nickname catches Spock’s attention. If the two did not know the other would be on this voyage it would imply they are not familiar enough to garner such affection. 

“Been too busy for us or are you just avoiding me because you’re tired of getting beat up?” The larger of the two asks with a certain smugness. Apparently this man takes pride in being able to defeat those who are significantly smaller than himself.

“Cute, but avoiding isn’t my style. If I’m gonna get punched I’d rather take it head on, Princess.”

“Once we get back to campus it’s you and me in the ring, I’ve been practicing.” 

“Are you stalking me or something?” Another cadet asks, interrupting the two as she takes the seat across the aisle from Jim. Apparently another acquaintance. “You two aren’t going to start a fight here too, are you?”

Spock recognizes her, one of the more intelligent cadets who had once requested his critique of her Vulcan accent.

“Technically I was here first,” Kirk says with a tilted smile. Spock assumes this suggests a touch of playfulness, though he is too unfamiliar with the man to know for certain. “And not if we can help it.” 

“What are you even doing here?” Cadet Uhura asks with a roll of her eyes, though Spock thinks he sees the smallest of smiles gracing her lips.

Kirk smiles. There is no sign of discomfort, yet Spock can still see it in the stiffness of his shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I know how to behave myself,” Kirk says easily. Uhura’s only reply comes in the form of a scoff, the small group returning to silence as everyone settles in their seats.

Spock thinks for a moment to ask Cadet Kirk if he is being harassed or bullied in some way. But the obscure details of human interaction escape him and he is unsure how to bring it up. Or if it’s appropriate to do so right now. 

Perhaps this explains the blonde’s fearful reaction in the hallway almost a year prior… does he get physically assaulted often enough that apologizing and running away is his instinctive reaction to bumping into someone by accident?

He is about to speak when he turns to look at the other man. Kirk’s hand hovers over the harness that secures him into the shuttle, thumb tracing over the release button. His eyes, Spock notes, are looking at the exit of the shuttle briefly flicking over to Cadet Uhura and back again. A moment passes without change, and Spock wonders if he is considering leaving. 

With a breath in through the nose, Kirk returns both hands to the PADD in his lap. Spock can see it’s a schematic of some sort, though he can not make out what of.

He’s relieved when none of the cadets speak up for the rest of the shuttle journey.

Chapter Text

From before sunrise to long after sunset, Jim plans to make every second on Vulcan count. He’s scheduled out every hour of the symposium to fit in as many of the lectures and demonstrations as he can. And outside of that, he plans to make sure he doesn’t miss a bit of the authentic Vulcan experience.

Thankfully Cupcake is a heavy enough sleeper to not rouse when Jim’s alarm goes off at 0400. Their provided accommodations are near the science academy, and all of the places on Jim’s itinerary are scattered around the sprawling capital city. So he has to move quickly.

First on his list, a quick early morning visit to the Surak Memorial Garden followed by the T’Plana-Hath Historical Museum. 

Even Vulcans are not immune to the horrors of tourist traps. Because when Jim arrives at the massive five-story archive, it is unsurprisingly bustling. But the thing Jim wants to see most, what he’s always wanted to set eyes on, is the museum’s namesake as well as its most prized display.

The T’Plana-Hath survey ship that carried those who initiated First Contact. For all that Vulcans talk down about humans, they also show off this wondrous symbol of their unity. Enough of a source of pride to their people that it garners such pomp and circumstance, even now - two hundred years after first contact.

If he could, he would spend his entire day here. Not just in the museum exploring artifacts and documents, but right here. Stood face to face with this historic ship. One that changed all of Earth and Vulcan history. 

A holographic re-creation of the famous meeting plays out in front of the crowd. On all sides he is overwhelmed by strangers of various Federation species, all watching the defining moment they have undoubtedly heard about countless times. All of them are looking at this single piece of history and Jim thinks he even sees Vulcans watching with rapt expressions. 

For the first time since waking up, Jim loses track of the ticking clock. This is what he’s fighting for. 

But the spell is broken when his alarm goes off, signaling he needs to leave if he wants to make it in time for the first demonstration. A supposed in-depth analysis  on the properties and origin of Supernova Remnants G46.8-0.3. 

Reaching into his bag, Jim waits until he’s outside of the museum to start eating the first of many protein packs during his stay on Vulcan. 

-

Art galleries, the Interplanetary Wildlife Preserve, each and every spare moment is flooded with all of the delicacies and experiences ShiKahr can offer. 

He’s so busy, in fact, that he doesn’t see Spock again until the third day of the symposium. Spock is the only Vulcan around wearing a Starfleet uniform. It makes him uncharacteristically easy to spot in a room crowded with dark hair and pointy ears. Jim has to do his best to forget about his former - and paradoxically future - friend sitting just two rows behind him in the amphitheater style lecture hall.

Sitting beside Uhura, Jim’s PADD matches hers as it overflows with notes on the long-range communications sensors being discussed. The Interplanetary Distress Signaling System works similarly and the improved speeds of the subspace transmitters could theoretically be transitioned between systems. 

He’s so focused that he almost misses Uhura leaning into his space to read over his shoulder. Almost.

Lunch is provided for all attendees and most of it is Vulcan cuisine with seasonings that tickle Jim’s nose. Some are so strong his eyes water and his stomach growls. It’s the first time he’s eaten lunch at the actual symposium, the other days spent at cafes or some other activity he deemed as more worth his time. Today though, he’s happy he came. Across the dining area he can see Spock sitting among some of the higher ranking officers. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Spock so…at ease.

“What are you actually doing here?” He’s knocked out of his thoughts when Uhura speaks down at him. She stands next to Jim’s table where he sits alone, his PADD propped up on his bag as he gets some reading done. 

“Eating lunch?” He asks.

“I mean on this trip.” Uhura specifies, setting down her tray opposite Jim’s. “You’re not a scientist.”

“Neither are you. But I guess communication qualifies as a science.” Jim offers with a shrug. Uhura gives him an unimpressed look, eyes sharpening as if to tell him to stop messing around. “But even you realized this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Who wouldn’t want a free trip to Vulcan?”

“Hendorff said you’ve left the base at 4AM and haven’t come back until past midnight every day.” Uhura explains, her tone half accusing and half confused. It reminds Jim dangerously of Spock. 

She takes a sip of her spice tea and Jim watches, wondering idly if he should ask what it tastes like. It’s on his exceedingly long list of alien foods he can’t have. He’s asked Spock before, but can’t help wondering if a human would explain the complex flavors differently. 

“I’ve been taking in the sights.” He says instead before going in for a sip of his plain water. “We are in the cultural center of a different species, you know.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“But you didn’t think I did.” Jim wishes he didn’t see the slight nod. He knew that Uhura would be the hardest to win over given how they met. Even while he was captain, he always got the impression she respected him because she had to. And liked him well enough to work alongside him. But he never did feel like they were close. Not like he was with the others. 

He knows he needs her, but he can’t help the desperation that builds in his chest when Uhura demands he prove himself. It leaves him wondering why she’s sitting with him in the first place when she’d no doubt enjoy other people’s company more.

Looking across the dining area once again, he notes that Spock is gone, seemingly moved on from the luncheon.

Jim takes a deep breath, not bothering to eat the last bite of his meal. He goes to stand up, taking his not-quite-empty tray with him, when Uhura speaks up again.

“I saw the schematic you drew of the new subspace relay antenna. It was surprisingly detailed.”

“Thanks?” Jim’s not entirely sure if she means it as a compliment, he can never tell with her. But after working with Scotty all year, he’d learned to capture the finer details quickly before the engineer moved on in his excited blathering.

“I got most of the logistics to go along with it,” she says in between bites of her gespar fruit. “Maybe we should compare notes...”

His watch chimes, reminding him of another demonstration he wants to see as he takes the final bite of his lunch.

“Yeah, of course,” he says quickly as he gathers his things. “I’ll forward them to you but I gotta run!”

“What for?” She asks before he can run off.

“Experimental self-propelled transportation lecture starts in 5 minutes,” he explains as he quickly navigates his PADD. “Here, take the notes, but I really can’t be late.”

Uhura’s own tablet beeps gently in her bag as she gets the file. Before she can say anything more, he’s gone. 

-

Halfway through the presentation, Jim has near encyclopedic notes on the prototype engine when Professor Podav, a small but fiercely intimidating Vulcan woman, opens the rest of her time slot for questions. And he cannot fathom why such a useful technology is only being tested and applied to the least pragmatic of operations. After two or three questions about the mechanics and inner-workings, Jim raises his own hand.

“I have a question about the engine’s proposed applied use." Jim can see the Vulcan woman’s curiosity in the way her head tilts ever so slightly. He’s half worried her intricately braided hair might topple from where it’s piled on top of her head.

“You noted that these engines could reach speeds close to Warp Factor Four, far surpassing the needs of the proposed use of public transport vehicles. If you can get such power from an engine small enough for personal transit, why not pursue its use in interplanetary travel?”

“Interplanetary vessels are already equipped to reach speeds that far surpass this engine and are typically much larger. Such a small mechanism is more suited to the limited capacity metro transport vehicles of ShiKahr.” The professor explains easily, and Jim nods along before gently pushing back.

“Although that is the case, most emergency evacuation shuttles are much smaller. Even the largest only equates to the size of a single train car.” Jim argues back easily. “Vulcan’s emergency response vehicles are suited to space travel, yet they lack the power to reach even half the speeds of your prototype.” The crowd around him murmurs in a swell of interest at this fact. It’s unlikely any of them are even aware of the inadequacy of a seldom-used system. “Would you ever consider submitting your design to the Emergency Response Commission?”

-

Moving through the mercantile district, Jim is more aware of his surroundings than usual. It takes a considerable amount of effort to keep a respectful distance between himself and the countless Vulcans crowding the shopping center. For people who claim to value their personal space, Jim wonders if they’re just as stressed as he is while trying to get where he needs to be.

Today’s his last chance to get any shopping done while he’s here and he still hasn’t been able to find anything that’s caught his eye. Not for himself, but as a gift.

There are a seemingly endless number of wares on display, everything from fine Vulcan linens to rare and exotic jewelry pieces. But none of them feel right.

He’d managed to find a bookshop, his hand cramping slightly as the bag strained his fingers. And he found the perfect bottle of liquor to bring back to Bones. 

Without any idea of what to look for, Jim is running out of time before the stores close for the evening and he’ll have to move on. But this is his final chance to find the perfect gift.

“You still have not practiced for the V’Shal ceremony?” A young woman asks her companion as Jim browses a display of hats. None of them looks right, but he’s running out of ideas. 

“I have stated no less than 15 times that I am well versed in brewing a simple pot of tea.” The Vulcan man replies to his supposed partner. 

“And I have warned you 15 times that should you prove unpracticed, undisciplined, my mother will not approve of our bonding.”

“Fortunately, it is only tea. Which I make every day.” The man states again, and Jim pretends to not see the obvious disgruntled twitch of the Vulcan woman’s eye.

“Not for a betrothal ceremony. Unless there is something to which I should be informed.” The woman cuts fiercely before turning away from the garment seller’s shop.

A pang of regret stings in Jim’s heart. He has no idea if the couple ended up getting married or not in his timeline. But statistically, they likely did not survive the disaster. He almost makes himself sick thinking that in the end, their petty argument won't matter should he fail.

Then it hits him.

Tea.

“Excuse me,” he asks the closest merchant he can get the attention of. “Do you know where the closest teaware shop is?”

Chapter Text

Spock is perplexed. 

It is his typical practice to locate the source of his confusion and through research organize his thoughts on the matter. However, in his years at Starfleet, he has never met a cadet like James Kirk. The man, by all accounts, is an anomaly.

A first impression that left much to be desired, Spock had dismissed him as another young cadet with no sense of awareness. It is not often that his first judgments are proved incorrect. However, it is often that even members of Spock’s own science division, if not specialized in his particular fields, are unable to read his works and derive their full meaning. He has been told on numerous occasions that his excessive, meticulous detail makes his work inaccessible to most. Often leading to feelings of inadequacy. 

Yet the determination with which Jim forced his work on a commanding officer suggests not a bit of fear or humiliation. In fact, Spock has never had a cadet speak with him with such ease and confidence. The scientists on his own team are sometimes too intimidated to be so sure he will be interested in their work. And to promise something as remarkable and improbable as trans warp theory. 

The image of the cadet forming in his mind is muddled further after watching him more closely. In nearly every presentation Spock attended, he easily spotted the young man, his fairer traits making him easy to find among a crowd of dark-haired Vulcans. Taking copious, extensive notes and even prompting lecturers with unique queries - often inspiring similar lines of questioning from other attendees, Kirk is certainly noticeable. To Captain Pike’s credit… it is difficult not to notice Jim. 

Although Spock knows he should be preparing for departure the following morning, he is curious. Illogically so. 

He picks up the PADD he brought with him and finds his inbox yet again full. From his superiors, subordinates, students, and a myriad of others. A sisyphean task, indeed.

Searching by name, he finds the work Cadet Kirk had been so insistent about. It is not likely the man was being honest. Someone of his rank and experience could not possibly have done what he claimed.

Opening the document, he sees more than one name listed. A collaboration with 2 others, neither of whom he recognizes. Settling into the less-than-comfortable arm chair in his temporary quarters, Spock begins to read, confident he will not be impressed by what he finds. Beaming technology is too delicate to be able to accomplish something as intricate as mid-warp transport. 

The contents of the work tell an entirely different story.

It is mathematically proven on the screen before him. With each page his captivation grows and although he never succumbs to the human trait of “losing track of time,” he is distinctly aware that he has returned to his home planet only to spend an entire evening reading this. 

He could be utilizing his time by preparing for tomorrow’s departure. He could visit the VSA and inquire about experiments he has read about. He could be in the archives working on his own research. Or possibly at a museum or symphony. Even visiting his mother, who presently has no idea he is on the same planet as her. 

Yet he cannot pull himself away from the brilliance presented before him.

Each step is laid out in meticulous detail with extreme precision and expounding of data points. It is an excess of thorough delineation he is familiar with because it is so similar to his own. The very standard he attempts to instill in all of his subordinates, to push his fellow scientists further in their capacity to reason. Not only in how they work but how they present their results.

He cannot deny that this work is revolutionary. If proven correct and utilized as such, this has the potential to change the future of an entire field of astrophysical study and engineering.

Why present it to Spock and not the Admiralty directly? If Jim Kirk has a close personal relationship with Captain Pike, why not approach him instead? Spock has too many unanswered questions to do what Kirk has requested on the last pages of this report. He cannot recommend this project for further testing. Not yet. 

Pulling up the cadet’s personal file in hopes that it will help explain some of the contradictions, Spock begins his research. But the more he reviews the more of a mystery Jim Kirk becomes. The man’s record has many holes in the information available; some redacted entirely, others simply left blank where no verifiable information can be found.

Spock’s initial assumption is correct, Jim Kirk is in relation to the famous George Kirk, a hero and moral guidepost of Starfleet’s recent past. Jim is the infamous child of the martyr captain. 

Spock idly wonders if Captain Pike was acquainted with the family prior to the disaster. This might be the only explanation for the man’s seemingly irrational care over one student in particular. 

Despite the prestigious family name, Spock notes that Kirk’s record is marked with countless juvenile criminal offenses. If the various theft charges are accurate, he can assume there is a history of poverty as each one comes from a food market of some kind.

His confusion only grows when teen years are redacted almost entirely. Large censored bricks of text cover most of the screen.  Even more surprising is that an officer of Spock’s clearance level isn’t able to bypass the security measures. 

Only to be followed by more criminal charges of theft into early adulthood. Still only for food, but this time in excessive frequency.

If these are the instances Kirk was caught, Spock wonders how many there may be where he was not. And although he did see the cadet eating at the symposium, it was only a single instance. The other days he could not find the man during the designated lunch hours.

Scrolling down, there is a large gap in Kirk’s record until he reaches the academy. By all accounts it is as though Kirk disappeared. Until he shows up on a shuttle from Riverside, Iowa on route to Starfleet Academy. Where he has since been able to keep an exemplary record. 

Looking into the other two collaborators, Spock is not surprised to find that they are both remarkable as well. One, a young Russian prodigy child accepted at the ripe age of 14.

The other, a man noted on his record as being exceptionally skilled in engineering, as well as a master physicist. Though his academy grades do not support this, his various listed credits in research publications certainly do.

Both of these men have more standard files compared to Kirk. All evidence suggests that Kirk has not played a part in doing the advanced crafting required of the proposed transwarp formula. If his criminal record can be relied on, and there is no reason for it not to be, Spock can deduce that Kirk has perhaps helped in a minor way in order to attach his name to the project while the other two individuals actually accomplished the task.

Yet, Spock does not think this is the case at all. The rest of Kirk’s record is without parallel, and he is doubtlessly at the top of his class. So much so that it appears he will graduate in half the time of his peers. Not to mention his behavior during this very excursion. There are not many cadets who would be brave enough to stand before an expert in their field and suggest better use for their projects. Let alone a human among vulcans. 

The following morning, Spock boards the return transport with more questions than when he began. And when he sees the familiar head of blonde hair already seated near the window in the farthest back row of the shuttle, Spock can not explain why he sits down beside him.

Cadet Kirk nods to him and offers a soft greeting as he sips from a vitamin-rich hydration pack. Spock briefly notes that it is of the same brand his mother often uses when she plans to spend long days in the sun. An odd choice of drink considering they will spend most of the day in transit.

“I thought you’d miss the shuttle.” Spock hears, looking up to see Cadet Uhura sitting down in the row in front of them. “You and Hendorff left in the middle of the night.”

Wiping his mouth, Kirk swallows before explaining. “You have to get there early to see the sunrise over Fir’Creeta. Cupcake and I didn’t want to miss our chance before heading back.” 

Spock’s eyebrow raised at the nickname. He and the other cadet were seemingly not enemies. Perhaps the nickname is not derogatory, but affectionate? Though… he was under the impression such nicknames were reserved for romantic couples. 

“You two went rock climbing at 3 in the morning?” Uhura asks, a look of disbelief on her face. 

“That is quite difficult terrain to navigate, you were able to schedule a guide on such late notice?” Spock asks, having heard of many getting injured doing the same.

“No, but I have a lot of experience climbing. I’ve never done it in such high gravity but the challenge made it even more worth it.” Kirk explains, and even in the dark back corner of the shuttle, his bright blue eyes are ablaze with excitement. Perhaps it is merely adrenaline. 

“Where did you learn rock climbing?” Uhura asks, a knot forming between her brows.

“You know me, I pick things up here and there,” Kirk says with a smile spread across his face, eyes lit up with what Spock’s mother would equate to mischief. 

Uhura lets out an exasperated sigh before turning to take her seat. “And here I thought all you knew how to do was sit around a library.” Shaking her head, the woman lets out a grumble under her breath, “Rock climbing at 3am. Ridiculous.”

Kirk chuckles to himself, and puts away his drink, in favor of a PADD. It would appear he is content to forego conversation. Spock, however, is not. 

He does not have any answers, and the conversation with Cadet Uhura has only given him more questions. Seeing as how his research proved fruitless, he decides to go to the source directly.

“Cadet, about the project you forwarded,” He begins, and instantly the blonde’s attention is on him, moving so quickly to put down the PADD Spock wonders if Kirk might break it in his enthusiasm. “I was able to review it last evening.”

“Review,” Jim repeats, “Not approve.”

“Not yet. I wish to inquire on what methods of testing you wish to proceed with.” If the cadet has played as much a part in the work as Spock has been led to believe, then he should have no problem discussing.

“Well, the only tests we’ve done so far have been using produce,” Kirk begins, folding his hands over the PADD in his lap. “We’ve been pushing the limits on how far, how quickly, and under what extreme conditions we were able to beam. We’ve found that ion-based anomalies are the largest obstacle in allowing for proper beaming before disruptions in molecular structure start to occur. After that there are more minor things like magnetic field variables that can be compensated for.”

“Compensate in what manner.”

“As you know, an engineer is able to run calculations in relation to the scenario at hand,” as he explains, Jim picks up the PADD, flipping through files to find something. “But in the time it takes to make those adjustments, it could be too late and there could be a new set of circumstances. So if it’s possible to beam during warp, I also want to test this.”

He offers the device to Spock, showing a schematic for a small handheld device. No bigger than a pneumatic screwdriver, it appears simple. While he looks it over, the cadet explains. 

“I figured that if it wasn’t possible to calculate for an ever-changing signature, then strengthening the signal itself would mean fewer, slower changing variables to account for.” 

“You have invented a beaming signature stabilizer,” Spock says out loud, an eyebrow raised. 

“I wouldn’t say invented,” Kirk shrugs, “I opened up a CommBadge and dissected it for parts. Then it was just a matter of bringing more power to the signal emitter.” 

While reviewing the detailed plans, Spock notes the same dedication to thoroughness as in the last project. The only difference is that this document only has a single name attached.

James T. Kirk. 

“You believe this device could replace the current Communicator model?” Spock asks, handing the work back to the cadet.

“Unfortunately it would be too heavy on resources to work on such a large scale. It takes a lot to get so much power out of something this small.” The PADD returns to Kirk’s lap as he goes on, “Ideally I’d like them installed in exosuits for atmospheres that are less hospitable. Those are the most likely to cause interference with grounded parties.” 

“That would be quite logical.” Spock concedes.

“I can only say one thing for certain. He’ll surprise you.” Captain Pike’s words echo in the privacy of Spock’s thoughts.

He does not know what to think of Cadet James T. Kirk. He does not have any of the answers he wished to find. But he can say two things for certain. That Kirk is a surprise. And that he is more capable than people give him credit for. 

Spock included.

Chapter Text

Working in the archives is one of Jim’s favorite parts of the week. He shelves, organizes, and dusts different sections of the Academy’s massive library, unbothered by the hustle and bustle of the rest of campus. Unfortunately for him, there aren’t enough hours in the day. So while he tries to relax, he also has to get shit done.

Instead of reading assigned chapters, he listens to them while doing other projects. Multitasking at all times is the only way he’s able to get by. That and about 4 cups of coffee a day. Which explains why his hand shakes as he picks up the next stack of books. 

It’s only a couple of weeks into his second year and Bones has been pushing him to cut back on the caffeine. But how can he explain that the fate of an entire planet is more important than his stomach problems? 

He reaches the end of a chapter on the founding principles of modern ethics just in time for the end of his shift. Which means he has exactly 10 minutes to get to the transit station. Bringing his coffee, he rereads his assignment on the way. It’s the first time he’s ever taken one of Spock’s classes, and the experience is a bit more surreal than he initially thought. Even after getting Spock’s support for the beaming project, he can’t help the overwhelming anxiety at turning in his first major assignment of the semester.

He was used to having to defend himself to Spock, to explain in harsh detail just to get the other to see his perspective. And he liked to think he’d gotten good at it. Arguing and debating Spock was one of the most fun things to do on the Enterprise, at least for him. 

But he’d never received a grade for it. He’d never gotten a physical measure of just how intelligent or competent Spock really thought he was.

The idea of his perfect record being ruined was one thing. But it being at the hands of Spock…

Sitting on the monorail shuttle, he starts drafting the outline of his paper when the distinctive buzz of a communicator wails from his bag. Stuffing the PADD back in his pocket, he rummages for the source of the noise. “Kirk here,” he says, flipping the unit open.

“Jim, we could use yer help in the transporter test today. We need ya’ to work yer magic with these simulated storm conditions,” Scotty’s heavy accent calls back to him.

“I’ll swing by later today, but it might take a while.”

“Aye, whenever ya have a wee bit o’ spare time. I’ll send over the code to ya’ now.” The two agree before the signal is cut out. 

Jotting down a reminder on his PADD, Jim begins sorting through the code. He won’t be able to get it done before the tram reaches the Command Administration building. And if he doesn’t remind himself, something else will inevitably demand his attention. But he does manage to find the problem by the time he walks into the elevator up to Pike’s office.

He doesn’t look up again until his communicator chirps at him. Blinking fiercely, his eyes take a second to refocus after squinting at the screen for so long. 

“Jimmy, help!” Gaila bellows from the other end, “My PADD is totally fried and I have a paper due! I tried taking it to equipment support but they’re so slow. All of my research is saved on here, I really need your help.”

“Deep breath,” he tries, knowing how stressed she gets at the beginning of the semester. “Bring it to the club meeting today and I’ll see what I can do. Worst case, I download directly from the drive and you use mine.”

“You’re an angel, dinner’s on me tonight as thanks.” And just like that, Gaila hangs up. Leaning against the wall of the elevator, Jim takes a deep breath. Bringing his coffee cup up, he realizes his hand is shaking more than before. Even worse, the cup is empty. 

He straightens up as the elevator reaches Pike’s floor. Since last year, Ensign Deveaux has been replaced and these weekly lunches are a lot easier now that Jim doesn’t recognize her replacement. 

Walking into Chris’s office, he receives a wave from the captain, still on the phone as he often is when Jim arrives. The room is filled with the smell of chinese takeout and it reminds him of how empty his stomach is. Dropping his empty cup into the trash can by the door, he ignores the pointed frown thrown his way.

They had done this once or twice in his past life. Yearly check-ins, Chris called them. And he can’t deny that he is happy that changed. Even if it means his caffeine intake gets furiously judged. These meetings aren’t just a welcome respite from a cramped schedule. They double as an opportunity to learn all he can from the only person who has ever seen potential in him. For years Chris had been keeping him in his peripherals, and he can’t help but to wonder what made the man decide Jim was finally worth the extra attention.

“Admiral Barnett again?” he asks as he cracks the cheap chopsticks in half and digs in.

“If I have to listen to that pompous ass complain about allocation of funds one more time I’m gonna-” He seems to remember Jim is supposed to be an impressionable youth and stops when he sees the amused smirk, “Anyways, I told you to lay off the coffee. At this rate you’re gonna burn out your motor, kid.”

“I know, I know,” he starts when Chris turns in his chair to grab some drinks from the mini fridge behind his desk. Accepting the offered bottle of water, Jim twists off the cap. “It’s just the beginning of the semester, things will calm down soon.” 

“Haven’t heard that one before.” Instead of chopsticks, Chris picks up a fork, stabbing a piece of chicken before gesturing at Jim with it. “What’s it this time? Reinventing the wheel?”

With a roll of his eyes, Jim swallows a steaming piece of broccoli. “First paper for Commander Spock’s ethics class.”

“Stressing over a paper? That’s not like you.” Chris pops another piece of chicken into his mouth, eyes narrowing in thought, “what’s really going on, kid?”

Jim’s hand doesn’t want to listen as he tries to maneuver the chopsticks with the ease he normally does. Some chef thought it would be hilarious to cut his carrots extra small today.

He knows Chris is waiting for an answer, and he is feeling more and more like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. Letting out a sigh, he knows he can’t explain himself. But he has to say something.

“I’m not used to things going this well.” In a way, it’s true. It’s the key to making the lies believable. Give just enough truth that it stings. Vulnerability makes people uncomfortable. It means they stop asking questions. “I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“And this has something to do with Spock?”

“I’m familiar with his reputation. If anyone’s gonna see through my bullshit it’s gonna be him,” he admits, surprised how much the thought bothers him. Jim’s brow furrows as he gives up on the chopsticks and grabs a plastic fork instead. 

“Playing the underdog is all well and good until you start to believe in your own lies, kid.” With a shrug, Pike gestures vaguely. “And if you’re worried about him poking holes in your work like he does to everyone else, then just do what you always do.”

“Which is?” 

“Be a cut above.”

“I’m gonna need more coffee for that,” Jim nods in agreement. 

After lunch with Pike, he still has a packed day. But he manages to fix the coding problem for Scotty, and gets Gaila’s PADD working before their club meeting finishes. And he doesn’t even stop for coffee on the way back to the library.

Settling in with the dinner Gaila promised, he quickly loses track of time, hands cramping as he switches between writing notes, typing his paper, and shoveling food into his mouth. Even without coffee, he feels wired. He doesn’t remember the last time he pushed himself like this, not just for a paper that will get an A. But one that actually means something to him. 

He almost forgot what it felt like to really flex his muscles.

“So Gaila was right,” Bones says in place of a greeting. “You’ve been here for hours already.”

“What?” Jim asks, turning away from his work for the first time since he sat down. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight.” Bones supplies, placing a hand on Jim’s arm to hoist him up from his chair. “Come on, you need a break.”

“I’m fine, Bones, relax,” he swats the other’s hand away, staying planted. “I just need to finish reading this, then I’ll be done.”

“Fine, my ass,” Bones scoffs as he lets go, “And don’t think I didn’t notice how you’re squinting. I’m scheduling that surgery.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Waving a hand over his shoulder, Bones starts to walk away before Jim turns and takes hold of his arm. “Just make it during break, I don’t have time for it before then.”

“No time. I’ll show you no time when I send you to the psych ward for involuntary downtime. I’m a doctor, not a secretary.” He grumbles as he walks away, but Jim can see the slight smile on his face and goes back to reading. He hesitates for just a moment before making the font bigger. 

“Jim?”

“What?” he jolts back in his seat, looking around. Right. He’s just in the library. Doing…something. Looking up to see who woke him, Hikaru standing where Bones just was and looking down at him with concern.

“Everything okay?” The other man asks, taking the seat beside him.

“Yeah, yeah, just working on this paper,” he waves it off easily, saving his work. “Thanks for waking me.”

“No problem, figured you didn’t want to miss breakfast.” Sulu says with a shrug, turning on his own PADD to get to work. “You get here early to turn something in?”

Breakfast? He’d been here all night. God, maybe Bones was right…not that Jim would ever tell him that.

“Yeah, I should probably get something to eat,” Sliding his work into his bag, Jim tries to ignore the stabbing hunger pains. He’s had worse. 

“Good luck, mess’ll be half empty by now,” Sulu says with an apologetic frown. So much for that idea. He digs around in his bag for a protein bar, thankful he still has one left. Taking out his PADD he makes a note to buy more before the end of the day.

“Thanks for the assist, I’ll see you later,” he says to Sulu with a clap on the shoulder.

“Later,” Sulu calls after, already getting wrapped up in his own work.

Heading out of the library, Jim heads back to his dorm building. The least he can do is clean up before class. Even if he isn’t going to make it to breakfast, he can at least try to feel more put together. And he has more snacks hidden in his room. 

How did he manage to lose track of time so easily? How long had he even been sitting there working before he finally fell asleep?

“Hey Jimmy,” Gaila, as cheerful as always, joins him after passing each other outside the dormitory. “Not like you to be out all night. Finally get lucky?”

“It’s not like that,” he can feel how sleepy he still is as they walk upstairs, his muscles sluggish and body stiff as he unlocks the door. His roommate is nowhere to be found and Gaila makes herself comfortable, stretching her long legs out on Jim’s bed. “I fell asleep in the library doing some research.”

“That’s more like you,” Gaila leans back, her red hair sprawling in waves around her. “But you really need to cut loose every once in a while.”

“I cut loose,” Jim shrugs as he walks into the attached sonic shower for a quick cycle. “I’m a regular party animal. But I’m busy.”

“Uh huh, sure.” Gaila rolls over onto her stomach, feet kicking up in the air. “Unless there’s a secret someone I should know about, you’ve been all work and no play.”

“Trust me, there’s no one.” Jim explains as he shuts off the sonic shower, the low hum dying with the UV lights. Slipping on a fresh uniform tunic, he rolls up the sleeves. He always tries to keep his uniform presentable, good impressions and all that. But after a night spent hunched over a library table, he really can’t be bothered.

“That’s even worse than keeping secrets from me.” Gaila pouts, getting up from the bed to come help. Taking the comb off the dresser, she starts shaping his hair into less of a tumbleweed. “I don’t normally offer this to humans, but since you’re so desperate and cute, how about me?”

“How about you what?” Jim asks, meeting Gaila’s eyes in the mirror. His friend’s long, slender fingers card through his hair with ease and it makes Jim’s eyelids heavy.

“How about you and I cut loose together. You know I won’t get attached, and I know you’re too focused on your work for it to turn into anything.” Gaila shrugs, “it could be fun.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jim agrees as he turns to press a thankful kiss to his friend’s cheek. He loves that they have this. Someone who just understands the casual comfort and affections without the need for more. The two of them have always been like this - easy, happy to give the other what they need when they don't trust others to not ask too much. 

He’s never had this with someone before, and the thought makes him wonder if Gaila misses her brothers and sisters from home. It’s why he is so hesitant to make things sexual this time… and some other emotional attachments. “Come on, we’re gonna be late to class.”

“Okay, but actually think about it.” Gaila continues as Jim grabs his stuff, shoving a small pack of crackers into his bag. Just in case. Locking the door and leaving the dorm buildings together, Gaila goes on. “I don’t want you to say you’ll think about it if you actually mean no. I hate when people do that.”

“You know I’d just say no if I meant no.” Jim says with a smirk as she links their arms together. 

“Do I know that?” The Orion teases, “For all I know you’re asexual and sober. You say you’re a party animal but I’ve never seen you party. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I’m starting to worry you’re isolating yourself.”

“I’m just focused. I have a lot to do. Besides, I’m constantly around people. Hell, sometimes I can’t get a moment alone,” he tries as they pass a coffee cart. Jim stops to buy a latte and cheese danish, offering Gaila the first bite but she shakes her head.

“There’s a difference between being focused and obsessed, sweetie.” Gaila explains as they approach the Xenology complex. Of course it would be Spock’s class that he has to fight himself to get up in time for most mornings. Only Spock would choose to have a three hour ethics lecture at 0900.

“I know it’s a lot, I just need to get through this semester, then I’ll relax. Bones already has me scheduled for involuntary rest or whatever because of some eye surgery,” he explains nonchalantly between bites of his danish. It’ll take some time for the stinging in his side to go away, but each bite is a warm comfort as he chews.

“Eye surgery?” Gaila asks, her tone cautious in that way people get when they don’t want to ask what is wrong but are still curious.

“He says I stare at screens too much and that it’s affecting my vision.” It’s an echo of a conversation he isn’t supposed to have for another 3 or 4 years. But all of his extra work is supposedly taking its toll earlier than he thought. “Nothing serious, 1 day of bed rest.” 

“Only 1 day? You probably need a full week to catch up on all the sleep you’re missing.” Gaila pouts again, her cheeks puff out as her irritation grows. And Jim has to keep himself from reaching up and poking one of her cheeks with his finger.

“Look, I’ll think about it. I promise.” Jim concedes, opening the door to the class building. He’s still early, most students probably on their way from the canteen.

“You better.” Gaila teases, but is interrupted by one of the lecture hall doors slamming open, echoing in the otherwise deserted corridor. They both flinch and turn to the source only to watch Uhura storm out of the room. Pushing past the two of them, Jim can’t tell if she’s angry, upset, or maybe both.

“Nyota, wait!” Gaila calls after her, pulling away from Jim to go after her friend. Yelling over her shoulder, she calls back, “Sorry, Jim, talk later!”

“Let me know if I can help!” He shouts back, hoping his smile is reassuring. But he has some idea about what is going on.

As the two women leave him behind, Jim stands alone in the hall. Readjusting the bag on his shoulder, he takes in a deep breath through the nose and eats the last bite of his makeshift breakfast.

Looking to the still open lecture hall door, he knows who is inside. And he can only think of a handful of reasons why the usually level-headed Uhura would be so openly upset. 

One, Spock and Uhura are already together and are having a fight. Which would be reasonable. He has no idea when or how they got together originally. For all he knows, they’d been dating for months by now. 

Or two, they aren’t together, but are still having a personal disagreement, and Uhura is getting frustrated. Maybe about the forming of their relationship. If they’re in the beginning stages of getting to know one another then it’s entirely possible they’re having trouble connecting.

It isn’t his business…but damn is he curious.

Taking another breath, he walks into the lecture hall, being sure to “accidentally” let the door slam shut behind him to announce his presence in the almost  empty amphitheater. And sure enough, Spock looks up from where he stands at the podium, pulling up his lesson for the day. 

“Everything okay?” he asks, as nonchalant as he can manage. “Uhura looked upset.” Upset, angry, pissed, who the hell knows. Uhura is the only person on Earth harder to get a read on than Spock.

“I was unaware that you and Cadet Uhura were on friendly terms,” Spock says instead of answering, and Jim is a little impressed. He knew Spock would deflect, but not with something he thought would make Jim uncomfortable.

Unfortunately for Spock, he’s more curious than sensitive. 

Rolling his eyes, he drops his bag in his usual seat, puts down his coffee, and makes the trip down the steps of the lecture hall. “Don’t avoid the question, Spock,” he says as he approaches the podium. 

“I have not avoided anything. I’m merely making an observation as there appeared to be tension between the two of you.” He pointedly does not meet Jim’s eyes, focusing on his lecture notes.

“Yeah she’s not exactly my biggest fan.” He explains vaguely, arms crossing over his chest in a challenge. Finally, Spock looks up, his eyebrow raised. “Frustrating when someone gives you a vague and unhelpful but honest answer. Isn’t it?”

“Frustration, one of your human emotions.” He says, and Jim’s jaw drops open. He has to remind himself he’s not supposed to think the commander is anything more than a computer. 

They aren’t friends. 

“Your attempt to elicit an emotional response from me aside, I fail to see why Cadet Uhura would hold you in contempt.” 

Jim fights the urge to argue back that he is, in fact, avoiding the question again. 

“I’m not trying to get you to emote, Spock, I’m trying to figure out what’s going on here.” He leans forward on the podium, trying to keep eye contact as Spock attempts to shift away. “Uhura and I, well let’s just say she didn’t exactly get a good first impression.” He is distinctly aware that today of all days, he looks like a mess. At least he managed a sonic shower. “But she’s professional. She’s not exactly someone I’d expect to see near hysterics in the middle of campus.”

“I too believed her to be professional, however, her actions today have shown the opposite.” Spock says cryptically, and Jim, if he hadn’t gotten used to reading these particular microexpressions by now, would have missed the subtle clearing of the throat.

“Uhura, really? She’s not professional?” Jim almost scoffs, but pauses at the unease that colors Spock’s face, “You’re actually serious…”

“Vulcans are always serious, Cadet Kirk.” Spock’s voice is firm and monotone, and Jim has half a mind to laugh in his face. 

“We’ll get back to how ridiculous that is another time,” he says with an accusing finger pointed at the other man. “But what-” Wait. Uhura and Spock alone in a classroom when they knew everyone else would be at the canteen… “did she hit on you?”

“If you’re referring to the Cadet’s unethical romantic advances towards me, yes.” Spock finally says and Jim is floored. So much so that he’s surprised he’s even able to process the obvious frustration on Spock’s face. 

For the first time, he’s happy Spock isn’t meeting his eyes. He has no idea what his face could possibly be doing in the midst of this confusion. “It is rather inappropriate for a Cadet and Professor to interact in such a way, particularly when I’m aware of her attempts to be assigned to the Enterprise, of which I will be in charge of recruitment for.”

What the hell is going on? Why were Spock and Uhura together in the first place if he is so insistent on taking this moral high ground? What changed?

Well…Jim had changed.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He needs to do something about this. He can’t be the reason for them not getting together. Jim has already wronged Spock in so many ways. Too many. 

He can’t take this from him too.

Spock must take the silence for disbelief and not surprise that he didn’t reciprocate, because he goes on.

“I assure you, I will be reporting her immediately.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, hold on,” Jim shakes his head, walking around the podium to finally stand face to face with Spock. “Reporting her?”

“It’s the proper course of action.” Spock explains, having to look slightly down at Jim now that he is so close. His tone is firm, as though it is obvious, a simple fact. Which, to anyone but Jim it probably is. 

“You’re willing to end the career of one of the best cadets in the Academy because of a misunderstanding?” Jim asks, having to hold himself back from taking Spock by the shoulders to shake some sense into him. He can tell from the dubious look on Spock’s face that he’s losing him. “What I mean is,” he says after a breath. “How are you sure her intentions were deceitful? Because the Uhura I know wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize her career. She’s worked hard to get where she is. There’s a reason she’s the best.”

“Her actions today would suggest otherwise.” Spock says coldly and Jim lets out a small sigh, breaking their eye contact. 

“Maybe she likes you so much she thought the risk was worth it.” His tone is soft, one he doesn’t often take because god forbid the world knows he’s softer than his rough edges make him appear. 

It’s also not often that something leaves Spock speechless. Jim has only ever seen it a handful of times. Typically in a lot more dire situations than this. And he is looking at Jim as though he has two heads. Hell he’s already come back from the dead and time traveled, for all he knows he’s suddenly a siamese twin. 

“You admit the two of you do not get along,” Spock says, and Jim is caught off guard at the change in subject. “She thinks less of you and still you come to her defense.”

Spock’s eyes are sharp as they meet his. Jim’s feet grow roots and plant themselves into the floor. For the first time, he feels like someone is looking into him and not at him. 

“I’m not gonna pretend that we don’t have issues.” He looks away, Spock’s eyes too similar to a reflection in a warp core decontamination chamber. And he’s scared that if he’s not careful, Spock will see exactly how much it hurts that Uhura doesn’t really consider them friends. “Her skills and usefulness to the fleet matter more than my hurt feelings.”

“You are telling me to let it go.” Spock restates, and Jim opens his mouth but decides against it. He really has no say in their relationship. He’s already screwed up enough for them.

“I can’t tell you to do anything,” he shrugs slightly.

“What of my ethical obligation to the Academy?” He asks, and Jim nods.

“Would it not also be ethical to try and understand her perspective before dismissing her as unfit for service?” He asks, walking back around to the other side of the podium. “We like to say we hold ourselves to a higher moral standing, but in reality we can’t control who we develop feelings for. We’re only human.” He gestures to the empty room around them. “You’re on Earth, at a school built and designed for humans. Isn’t it also the ethical obligation of both of you to be sensitive to one another as being from different species?”

“You are taking the subject matter of this course, meant for professional settings and intergalactic diplomacy, and applying it to the personal.” Spock seems too intrigued by what Jim is saying to still be embarrassed.

A small victory.

“I’ve found that the personal is usually more important than the diplomatic. People, or humans at least, tend to not care about things that don’t touch them intimately.” He shrugs as he hears students begin to file into the lecture hall. “My advice is to talk to her. You and I both know the fleet could use someone with her talent.”

Turning back to the rows of seats, Jim goes to sit and wait for the lecture to start. Of course, Spock doesn’t let any of his conflict show throughout the lesson, and Jim pushes the thought to the back of his mind as best he can. 

For all he knows, this is normal. He never could get them to tell how they got together, so this might be how things went naturally. It’s possible that Spock, on further reflection, realizes that he also likes Uhura…

God, Jim hopes that’s the case.

Chapter Text

For all that it seems illogical, Spock takes Cadet Kirk’s advice. Which would explain his current predicament of awkwardly sitting at his desk with a visibly uncomfortable Cadet Uhura opposite him. The woman has not made eye contact with him since entering the office and sits with posture stiff enough to make even the Vulcan High Council envious. That is, if they were prone to such emotions. 

“On further reflection, I realize that my response to your advances was rather cruel.” He begins, “I apologize if I have caused you unnecessary pain.” 

Uhura’s shoulders slump slightly, and he is not sure what it indicates about her emotional state. His best guess is relief, but given the discomfort still evident on her face, he can not be certain.

“Thank you, sir,” she finally speaks up, but she still does not look at him directly. “I won’t let this happen again.” 

“I am sure that you will not,” he begins, remembering something Cadet Kirk said. “I do not have any evidence to suggest otherwise, therefore I must assume your intentions were honest.”

“They were,” the cadet seems to regain some of her composure as she squares her shoulders again. “I would never do anything to risk my position in the fleet.” Given the human propensity to lie, it is not logical to take the cadet’s words at face value. But it echoes Kirk’s words enough that he does. “You have my word. Nothing like this will happen again.”

“It is nothing to be ashamed of,” he surprises himself by saying. “I believe that it’s ‘all part of being human’?”

“I guess so” Uhura lets out a small laugh, the sound jarring in the quiet of his small office, “Sometimes it can get a little too human.” 

His eyebrow raises at that, the phrase catching him by surprise. “An interesting sentiment. Your tone would suggest you take exception to this aspect of humanity.”

“Not as such,” she seems to think for a moment before linking her hands together in her lap. Though the discomfort is still evident on her features, Spock is relieved to see it less so than when she arrived. “It’s easier to be human when you forget there are other ways to live. I admire your control, sir. I doubt you would get yourself into a situation like this.” 

The idea rolls around in Spock’s mind for a moment. Such a wise statement from such an unsure cadet. 

His eyes catch the PADD open on his desk, the paper Jim submitted looking back up at him. Thinking back to what Commander Pike had said previously, indeed, the recent cadets appear to be a cut above their predecessors. 

“It is easier to be Vulcan when one forgets their humanity.” He agrees, knowing that the cadet will not be able to appreciate his full meaning. Still, he believes it important to share. Whether it be for her benefit or his, he can only speculate. “Cadet, I see no reason this issue should be reflected on your record. I hope it will not keep you from my company. There are few I have met who speak Vulcan as eloquently as yourself.”

“Thank you, sir,” she nods gracefully, the elegant bow reminiscent of the ballet performances his mother often enjoys. “I appreciate your understanding and discretion in such a delicate matter.” With her hand up in a ta’al salute, the cadet takes her leave. 

He must agree with Kirk’s assessment, Uhura is quite professional. Spock’s haste in judgment had been the result of his own discomfort. In allowing himself to be embarrassed, he very well may have taken severe probationary measures against an undeserving cadet. One who, inexplicably, likes him.

Yes, it is logical to report her. He can not deny that. It is within reason that a person of his rank and station is expected to adhere to a strict set of regulations and protocol. Ones that explicitly outline matters such as this to startling exactitude. 

He looks down at the PADD again, the screen dim until he taps the glass. The display holds an exploration into Terran animals’ capacity for agency and communication across species. A communitarian model for multispecies ethics outlined through the unique species that already live on a single planet.

In a mere 6,000 words Spock has become spellbound by the overemphasis on competition in the original Darwinian paradigm. Kirk has taken this concept so familiar to human developmental history and instead stresses the cooperationist aspects of evolutionary theory. The social bonds diverse animals form is a remarkable model for communitarian justice and cosmopolitan peace. It challenges the human exceptionalism that drives modern moral ideology. Particularly that of Starfleet.

For a brief moment he considers having Cadet Kirk summoned to his office. He wishes to discuss all of the finer details that are barely grazed in the actual contents of a single essay, but have a thesis length argument waiting behind them. To see him defend the ethical supposition against the unwavering hand of rigid Vulcan philosophy.

This, he realizes, is entirely without reason. 

Jim’s work has far surpassed needing to be scrutinized. There is nothing to defend, as his paper already solidifies his argument beyond what Spock can accurately debate without further research. 

Which, he must remind himself, is not the point of instructing this course. He is simply meant to measure the magnitude with which his students comprehend his lessons. And determine if their understanding is sufficient to work in Starfleet.

Just as he expected after their conversation in the lecture hall, Kirk’s understanding of interspecies ethics is remarkable. 

As his work always is. 

Turning off his console display, Spock places his PADD in his bag. Today has been more trying than most. Perhaps extra meditation this evening would be wise.

Chapter Text

Jim fucking hates running. Unfortunately, Athos loves it. And if he took the dog back to Admiral Archer upset, he’d be in for it.

It’s only the fifth lap around the large Vulcan meditation garden. He can already feel the encroaching fire in his lungs, no doubt made worse by the brisk weather of early morning San Francisco. It might be California, but being so close to the water means wind and cold, and he’s starting to feel the bite. 

Weather entirely unsuitable for a Vulcan. Ironic for both the garden and the Science Officer standing at its entrance.

Jim rounds the corner to the start of his lap and is confronted with a raised eyebrow. Taking out his earbuds, he pauses the book he’s listening to and tugs gently on Athos’s leash to get him to stop.

“Mr. Spock,” he greets as he catches his breath, “Haven’t seen you out this early before.” 

“Indeed, I am typically eating at this time,” Spock offers, “however, I have made alternate plans today.” 

“Breakfast date? Cute.” For all the experience Jim has at reading his Spocks, he can’t tell if the pastel green tinge is from the cold or embarrassment. But he can make a reasonable guess. “I haven’t seen you outside of class, is everything okay with you and Uhura?”

“As a matter of fact, I took your advice. I spoke with Cadet Uhura and the situation has been resolved.” 

“Resolved how?” Shifting weight onto one foot, Jim pulls his ankle up behind him in a quick stretch. The burn in his thigh muscles is the only thing keeping him from speculating on every possible scenario. And how this might lead to problems later on.

Athos, on the other hand, curls up beside Jim, unhappy that his run is being interrupted.

“I determined that you were correct. There was no reason to assume the cadet’s intentions were deceitful in nature. After confirming as much from the cadet herself, I came to the conclusion that there would be no reason in reporting her. It also appeared appropriate to apologize.” 

Dropping his foot, Jim switches to the other leg, “and now you’re going to breakfast with Uhura…”

“No, I am not involved with Cadet Uhura.” He clears his throat and Jim lets his foot fall without stretching. “And I would appreciate you keeping this personal matter to yourself.”

“Oh, yeah of course, I would never even think to-“ he’s cut off by the shrill beep of his comm. Unclipping it from his armband, he flips it open while holding up a finger to Spock. “Kirk here.”

“Kid, you wanna earn a couple extra bucks?” Commander Marlow’s thick New England accent replies. “I’ve got an advanced combat class coming today and could use an assistant.” 

“You mean a punching bag,” Jim can’t help the joke, smiling at the raised eyebrow directed his way. 

“I’ll treat you to lunch afterwards.”

“You’ve got yourself a punching bag.”

“Atta boy, see you at 1300 hours. Marlow out.” The signal cuts off and Spock watches as Jim puts the comm back.

“You were saying?”

Rather than pointing out that Jim had, in fact, been the one in the middle of speaking, Spock asks, “Do you often get requests of that nature?”

“Oh, all the time,” Jim shrugs as he takes out his handheld PADD and blocks out an hour in the middle of his day. 

“This doesn’t interfere with your own work?” Spock asks, and Jim shakes his head.

“I multitask,” he offers instead of explaining. He wouldn’t even know where to start. “I was a TA for Commander Marlow last year, he asks me to help with demonstrations all the time.”

“As a punching bag.” Spock supplies with his ever present monotone and Jim can’t stop the smile that blooms on his face.

“If I was one, maybe Marlow would be able to beat me one of these days.” He teases, shaking his head. “Anyways, we were saying something about breakfast?”

“Yes, my mother is visiting Earth on business.”

If Jim didn’t know Spock so well - if he didn’t know the specific discomfort he expresses only when his mother is discussed - he might have missed the subtle shift in posture and the way his arms go from comfortably resting behind his back to awkwardly hanging at his sides. 

“That’s nice,” Jim hopes Spock is too distracted with his own discomfort to notice the panic. Maybe he’ll think the heavier breaths were from running and not a sinking feeling in the pit of Jim’s stomach. “I’m guessing you don’t get to see her often.”

“Indeed, she lives on Vulcan and we are both often too busy to travel.” It wasn’t quite the same as Jim’s own experiences. But close enough to sting. He knows what it’s like to be separated by an endless void from the only people he cares about. 

“Must be important work to bring her all this way. What does she do?” 

“I’m a cultural xenoanthropologist and teacher,” The voice sneaks up on Jim in its tenderness. As though every word is laced with warmth and able to cut through the foggy chill of a San Francisco morning.

Stepping out from the entrance to the gardens, the woman smiles and Jim’s heart stops. At his feet, Athos perks up, rising from the ground to a sitting position, gently sniffing the newcomer. 

“Dr. Amanda Grayson.” She holds her hand out politely and Jim is almost blown away at the boldness of it. A Vulcan Ambassador’s wife offering a handshake in front of her Vulcan son.

This woman is audacious .

He sees where Spock gets it from.

“James Kirk,” he offers a smile, taking Dr. Grayson’s hand in his own. Her grip is firm, but still delicate compared to his own calloused and scarred skin. He can feel the anxiety building in his gut at meeting this elusive, almost ethereal woman before him. He never got to meet her and Spock never speaks of her. In any reality, Amanda Grayson is an enigma to him. And he had no way of knowing how difficult this would be. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“Likewise,” Spock’s mom gestures to the garden entrance beside them, “do you visit often?”

“Oh, I’m here every day,” Jim is used to seeing surprise appear on Spock’s face, even if he’s the only one to notice it. 

It arrives with the subtlest widening of his eyes and raise of the brows before returning to their resting position. It’s nearly imperceptible to most, but Jim likes to think he knows better. What he isn’t expecting is the same reaction, only far more visible, on his mother. 

“I walk Admiral Archer’s dog every day and he likes to run so I do a few laps around the outer walkway with him.” He tries not to recoil at the way Dr. Grayson takes him in. Just his luck that he’s wearing standard issue athletic leggings and a hoodie. Was it possible to make a worse first impression? Maybe the dog curled up at his feet will make him seem more appealing. 

“You use a meditation garden as a running track?” At the confusion on Spock’s face, Jim can’t help but smile. 

“I actually tried using it for its intended purpose when I first came to the Academy,” With a shrug he crosses his arms over his chest. “Turns out my allergies are too sensitive to the flowers.”

“Why not simply change venues? Meditation can be done anywhere you wish.” He can see the furrow form in Spock’s brow, the knot that only ever shows up when confounded by an utter lack of logic. Jim wants to make it deepen and linger. He wants it to settle so deep into the skin that its silhouette is permanently etched into Spock’s features.

“I still meditate, I just do it while running.” Jim shrugs, “Why not do it in a meditation garden?”

“A clever compromise,” Dr. Grayson says, her smile wide enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes. And Jim wonders if Spock’s eyes would crease in the same way if he smiled that wide. “It’s interesting you chose such a physically active approach. It’s entirely antithetical to Vulcan meditative practices.” 

The woman’s sincere eyes are too much like her son’s. Too similar to a past life and a conversation that should have never happened. And she seems to want nothing more than to stare into Jim’s own eyes. 

“I actually got the idea from a piece I read about the Rollright Stones of England,” Jim can see the shift from curious to enthralled as it happens.

On Spock it’s clinical, but obvious. The straightening of his back, squaring of the shoulders. As if preparing himself to use all of his processing power.

Ironically, on Dr. Grayson it’s slower and more subtle. Her slightest gasp inwards at the recognition, the miniscule lean in towards Jim’s words. The magnetism of an explorer discovering something for the first time. 

“I’m familiar with the site. What about it inspired you?” Dr. Grayson pushes. Jim suddenly feels like he’s writing another paper. This time for Dr. Grayson’s class instead of her son’s. 

“Every day locals walk around the stones as part of their daily rituals,” Jim begins, and his heart feels like it is beating out of his chest. Spock’s hardened gaze is one thing, but his mother’s eyes scorch like a plasma torch. “It’s a purpose that ancient humans likely couldn’t even fathom for their potentially spiritual site. But that very same disconnect from its intended purpose has kept an ancient site in use for thousands of years.”

His alarm chimes up from his wrist and Jim is suddenly very aware that it’s already 0800 and he should have been on his way back to the dorm ten minutes ago. Shit, Bones is gonna kill him if he is late to breakfast. And Admiral Archer will want Athos back home by now.

“Do you have plans?” Dr. Grayson asks as Jim silences his watch, “I’d love to have you join us.”

“I’d be delighted, ma’am. I’m sorry to say I already have appointments lined up.” 

“A shame,” she says, “Next time we meet we must continue this conversation. I’m fascinated by what you have to say.”

Jim feels his chest constrict at her verbiage. 

“I’m flattered,” and he is. But he also wants to run and hide “I’m so sorry to have to leave. I hope you enjoy whatever delicious breakfast I’m sure Spock’s planned.”

“I’m sure I will, it’s been a pleasure, dear.”

Jim leaves and doesn’t start breathing again until the pair walk into the meditation garden. As soon as he’s out of view, Jim takes off in a sprint, Athos excitedly running beside him. His feet don’t stop until he’s reached Admiral Archer’s residence. 

“What’s got you all worked up?”

Jim is still in the foyer, cleaning off Athos’s paws with one of the dog-friendly wipes the admiral insists he use.

“Just running late,” he explains, shifting to focus on the front legs. “Got lots to do.”

“Ya always got lots to do,” Archer says gruffly. “What are you late for?”

“Just breakfast, nothing big.” But Bones will kill him if he skips another meal.

“I got food here. Stay a while.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Jim tries as he finishes up with Athos, allowing the pup to return to his owner’s side. 

“Who’s imposing? Come on.” The admiral insists, urging Jim into the kitchen. He must have been preparing something for himself already, because the smell of fresh bacon makes Jim’s stomach grumble. “Take a seat.”

“Thanks,” Jim says, unsure what else to add as a plate gets shoved into his hands. Strips of bacon, eggs, and a few orange slices have never looked so good.

“What’s really got you worried?”

“Do I seem worried?” Jim asks before taking a bite of bacon, lightly burning his mouth.

“You always do,” Archer comments as he sits down to Jim’s right, peeling another orange. Athos, sitting between them, looks up with pleading eyes for someone, anyone, to give him a bite. “I looked over that argument of yours. About planetary protection.” 

“You did?” Jim’s head snaps up, bacon half hanging out of his mouth. 

“You’re right. Most Federation planets are woefully underprepared for planet-wide disaster,” the admiral explains. “But ya gotta be careful with these things, kid. The second a weapon is made there’s gonna be someone trying to use it. And they’re not always on your side.”

“I know, believe me, I do.” He’d seen what Khan and Admiral Marcus did. Or are possibly yet to do. “But, sir, you faced the Xindi yourself. You know threats of that level are out there. And those weapons already exist.”

“That they do,” Archer agrees, “But sometimes having a bigger stick isn’t the answer.”

“Sometimes it’s best to make sure you have a stick in the first place.” And right now, Vulcan was no more than a sitting duck.

“I’ll think about it,” the admiral concedes, offering an orange slice to Athos before taking another for himself. “Something like that needs to be taken to the brass carefully.”

“Of course, go in too aggressively and they’ll shut it down before it’s on the table.” 

Archer pauses a moment, eyeing Jim carefully. 

Shit.

He’s not thinking straight right now. A cadet shouldn’t know how to approach admirals with hair-brained ideas.

“You’ll do well to remember that.” The admiral stands from his chair and lets Jim finish his meal quickly.

His watch chirps at him again.

Instead of allowing himself the time to think, he follows his schedule and rushes back to his dorm. Getting undressed, he calms his manic breathing and gets in the shower.

Too much has happened already. And the day hasn’t even started.

-

Jim’s head is going to split open.

In the overcrowded lecture hall, Jim’s headache thrums a heavy drum beat behind his eyes. His only respite, the cool table top pressing against his cheek. The chill is even more severe compared to the building heat of his PADD, the fans only doing so much to calm the overworked computer.

“I didn’t realize you were such a lightweight,” Jim cringes at the sudden voice. “Out partying last night?”

Sitting up straight, Jim squints under the harsh lights of the classroom. Above him, Uhura watches with a knit in her brows and a gentle downward tug at the corners of her lips. 

“Yeah, big rave in the library, you should really come next time,” Jim jokes and sits up as best he can, body resisting in its stiffness. 

“Is it alright if I sit down?” Uhura gestures to the seat beside him, the coffee in her to-go cup sloshing gently with the gesture. Jim nods and takes a sip of his own drink. “I heard you and Gaila practicing that song for Cultural Heritage day. You’re pretty good with a guitar.”

“Thank you, I’m glad I could give her a hand.”

“Yeah, she seems really excited to share something from Orion with everyone.”

“You’re a singer, aren’t you?” He asks and Uhura’s only response is a flash of confusion. “We’ve been in the same club for almost a year and a half. And I’m friends with your roommate.” Jim reminds her.

“I just didn’t think that’d be something you’d care to remember,” Uhura admits, looking down at her PADD as she brings up her notes. “I am. I love singing as much as I love studying language. I had actually considered offering to help you guys.”

“What stopped you?” Jim asks, hiding the calculating set of his jaw behind another sip. 

“No time,” Uhura waves her hand dismissively.  

“Right,” Jim agrees, looking down at his PADD. The list of things he has to get done is growing by the hour. Not to mention the immediate order of his Kobayashi Maru test by Captain Pike. Chris seems to think sooner is better than later. “I’m having that problem myself.”

“Might be easier if you didn’t stay out all night doing God knows what.” The same frown as before forms on Uhura’s face and Jim rolls his eyes.

“Is there a reason you’re talking to me?”

“I wanted to say thank you,” Uhura begins and Jim’s eyes widen in immediate shock. 

“What?” Jim hopes, prays that he doesn’t give anything away. But Uhura always works in opposition to him and reads his reaction in every line of his body. She makes a neutral sound, lifting her cup so it hides most of her expression. “What for?”

After a beat she answers, “For taking over as treasurer of the xenolinguistics club.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course. I’m always happy to-” His comm buzzes sharply against the tabletop. Snatching it up, Jim flips open the top. “Kirk here.”

“He asked if I would go to the Botanical Gardens with him to hang out!” Chekov’s excitable high pitched voice comes out of the speaker and Jim shakes his head with a small smile. Beside him, Uhura watches with increasing interest. 

“It’s about time,” Jim adds with a smile. “Be sure to ask him about all the flowers, he loves talking about them.”

“Especially the alien and carnivorous ones.” Chekov laughs in agreement, “I must get ready, I will tell you all about later.”

“Knock him dead,” Jim finishes as they both hang up. “Sorry, what were you-” Jim cuts himself off at Uhura’s confused frustration.

“Who was that ?”

“A friend of mine,” Jim shrugs, downing the rest of his coffee in one gulp. He reattaches his comm to his belt, silencing it before the lecture starts.

“You have a lot of teenage friends?” 

“Only the ones Starfleet recruits,” Jim finishes with a flashy smile.

Chapter Text

The Kobayashi Maru is infamous. The unbeatable test designed to judge a potential captain’s decision making skills in the heat of the moment. It’s Spock’s largest personal undertaking to date and has thus far proved its effectiveness. 

He oversees several dozen testings each semester, his presence often mandatory as the officer recruiting for the future flagship. Capacity for command is not something measurable in scientific data. Leadership, by all accounts, is unquantifiable.

The closest approximation that can be reviewed is a simulation. That of the utmost devastating circumstances. That forces genuine emotion and sincerity of action. Wrenches it to the surface and tests one’s ability to act. 

Over the last 5 years, Spock has witnessed many future command track officers make their attempt. Some of them have already been elevated to high ranking command positions. Starfleet accepts only the finest, it did not take long for cadets to realize the test was impossible to beat and its true intentions were revealed to frustrated students intent on maintaining their reputations as the smartest of a species. 

Still, the fact of the simulation not including the possible data for a hidden ending does not dissuade rumors. An impossible victory. There are some students who surrender themselves to multiple tests to see about their theory. All of them, of course, fail.

That does nothing to quell his own unease at today’s test. By all accounts there is no difference between today and any other test he has supervised. There is no logical reason for the anticipation settling into his stomach as he arrives at the testing center.

Except for the simple fact that today’s test is for Cadet James T. Kirk. 

He knows without doubt that there is no victory. No possible way to end the simulation with ideal results. Yet, if there is anyone who can make it possible, he irrationally wonders if it’s Jim. 

“Commander, we were about to call you,” Admiral Barnett begins when Spock walks into the computer center. “Test’s canceled.”

“For what reason?” 

“The student didn’t show, Pike said something about a medical emergency.” The admiral explains without looking up from his PADD. “You’re free to go.” 

“Medical emergency?” He asks with a lifted brow. The admiral has already turned away, having moved on to the next matter of business. 

Exiting the testing center, it takes some time for Spock to walk back to his office in the Command Division Administration building. And in that time finds himself, rather illogically, speculating. 

He has not been informed of a medical emergency involving Captain Pike. And as none of the other test admins, or even the volunteer assistants are necessary to the completion of the exam, he can only reason that it is Cadet Kirk in need of medical attention of some kind. He’s unaware of any prior medical conditions. Though he supposes he is unaware of most students’ particular medical needs. Still, if it is an emergency, it is likely not from a known pre-existing condition. 

It’s not until Spock reaches his office that he considers asking Captain Pike for details. But the lack of light in the office two doors down from his own is telling. Even if his presence isn’t needed at the testing center, Captain Pike is often busy with meetings or pressing matters involving the construction of the new flagship.

Spock keys in the door code and steps into his office. Kept much warmer than other rooms on campus, it’s regulated to a Vulcan’s optimal conditions. The warm rush of air flooding the corridor is typically a relief from the cold wind of San Francisco Bay. Passing the thermostat on the wall, he turns it up a few more degrees.

As always, there are a multitude of messages awaiting him. Most of which, he notes, are students attempting to argue his strict grading practice. Many of whom, if not all, complain that their work is not held to such a high standard in the rest of their courses. He does not respond to them unless they have proper reasoning behind their discontent.

Expectedly, the majority of them do not. 

It’s some time later that he sees it. Buried almost inconspicuously beneath his other messages and not marked with the usual signifier of importance that might typically come with Captain Pike’s correspondence. 

“Spock,

Kirk’s test is canceled, he’ll be available for a reschedule beginning of next week. Mess around with the time slots for me, I want him in there as soon as possible.

Pike.”

Even more frustrating than the lack of proper communication is the Captain’s imprecise language. If Spock is to reschedule he will need more details. The cadet’s schedule, recovery time, as well as Chris’s own availability. 

It’s as he locates Jim’s personnel file to check his course schedule when he sees it and admonishes himself for not thinking to look before. While he can not access classified medical files, he can very clearly see that Jim was sent to the on campus hospital, the cause listed as ‘severe burns.’

Signed in at 2330 last night, with no time listed for departure. And an occupying room number. 

He, of course, finishes his task of rescheduling the test. Afterwards, Spock can not reasonably explain why he stands from his chair and makes for the door. 

-

Arriving at Jim’s room, the door is wide open and Spock can hear voices from inside. He’s not as familiar with Terran languages as he is with English and Federation Standard and can not discern its origin. One voice, however, is obviously Jim’s. Even laced with a foreign accent, his lilting energetic expressions seem to push themselves through the language barrier.

Stepping into the room, Spock feels his eyebrow raise. Sitting beside Jim’s hospital bed is a teenager dressed in a cadet uniform. The two make animated gestures towards one another while speaking and Spock’s eyes immediately latch on to the bandages along Jim’s entire left arm.

“Я бы не стал делать этот шаг на вашем месте.” Jim says, and while Spock does not understand the phrase, he can tell by the upward twisting of his smirk that Jim is making a joke of some kind. 

“Ты не я! Я сделаю ход, который хочу!” The young man seems to be whining about something, a righteous tone of indignation in his words. “Oh! Commander,” The boy looks up at him with wide, almost doll-like eyes. Spock wonders how young this man is to be wearing cadet reds and still look like such a child. “Welcome, have you come to lose next?”

“I am unsure of your-,” Spock begins, before noticing the 3D chess set between them. “I see, I did not realize I was interrupting.”

“No, no, I can only take so much losing in one day,” the boy explains as he picks up his bag off the floor. “I must go, Scotty is waiting for me in beaming lab.” The boy reaches across the board, careful not to knock it over, and takes Jim’s uninjured hand in his own. “Отдыхай, солнышко.”

“Don’t let Scotty do anything crazy without me,” Jim replies easily, finally speaking in a language Spock understands without the aid of a universal translator. As the young cadet slips out of the room, Jim cranes his neck to see Spock, still standing in the doorway. “Commander, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was informed of your injury,” he begins, stepping into the spot where the young cadet had previously sat. “I wish to inform you that your exam has been rescheduled to next week.”

“Next week?” Jim’s eyes widen, though from what, Spock can only guess. “I can do it tomorrow.”

“Captain Pike’s request was quite clear.” Spock offers, eyes focusing on the chess game between them. “He had expressed that your injury was serious enough that you would not be available until then.”

“This little thing?” Jim lifts his bandaged arm, groaning in exasperation. “This is nothing and he knows it.” 

Spock is about to retort. About to state that it does not appear to be nothing. The wrappings are carefully placed beginning at the wrist. They climb his arm until they disappear under the short sleeve of a civilian t-shirt, the text so faded that it’s no longer legible. 

“What?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re staring at the game board, what’s wrong?” Jim asks, and Spock watches as the blonde attempts to cross his arms defensively. Thankfully he seems to reconsider and lets both hands drop unceremoniously into his lap. 

“It would appear that your opponent is not well versed in tridimensional chess.” 

Jim attempts to hide his laugh behind a smirk, but Spock notes he does not succeed.

“Yeah, he’s decent with regular chess, but I think 3D rules are a bit much for a beginner,” He shrugs lazily with the uninjured shoulder. Spock briefly wonders how far up the burn must go that even his shoulder has limited range of motion. “What do you say, Spock?” A small flourish of his hands accompanies Jim’s words, “care for a match?”

“You are well-versed?” He asks before he can think not to. As he sits down in the previously occupied chair, Spock is taken aback at the excitement that lights up Jim’s face. “I was under the impression most humans did not enjoy such a complex game.”

“I’m not most humans.” They begin the process of resetting the board and Spock can not help but to find he agrees.

“I must warn you, I am undefeated.” 

A breathy chuckle is Jim’s first response, the sound raspy as it escapes him.

“I guess that makes two of us,” he says as Spocktakes to the board, only now realizing that Jim has given him the advantage of first move. Meeting blue eyes, he notes the same determination as on the shuttle to Vulcan. A sharp confidence. And he vaguely wonders what it means.

Even while making his first move, Spock speculates what Jim’s skill level is, observing him closely. The tremble in Jim’s right hand, though uninjured, is evident. Are his injuries more severe than previously thought?

“May I make an inquiry?” He asks suddenly.

“Shoot,” Jim agrees. When Spock’s eyebrow jumps towards his hairline, the human clarifies, “I mean go on.”

“How long have you played chess?”

Jim repeats his lopsided shrug, “Feels like a lifetime ago. I remember I was little.”

“You continued to play into adulthood?” Spock asks, curious beyond what he is willing to put into words.

“I tried, but there weren’t many kids who knew how. I mostly played by myself.”

“You mean against a computer.”

“No, the only access I had to one was at school. At home I had to make do with an old school wooden set. No one at home would play with me so I’d walk around a table in a circle playing from bo-“ 

Spock sees a flare of embarrassment at too much information given thoughtlessly as Jim’s eyes focus in on the board, refusing to make direct contact.

Fascinating.

“Well I’m sure you don’t want to hear my life story,” Jim comments, still not looking at Spock, voice light and almost teasing despite the tense set of his shoulders. His knuckles are white where one hand grips a captured pawn. 

“I shall listen to whatever you are willing to share,” Spock admits.

Jim glances sidelong at him, turning away again almost immediately, but the tension eases fractionally. That minute relaxation resonates with Spock like an accomplishment.

“What about yourself?” Jim asks after a moment, “Are you ranked?”

“Grandmaster.”

A smile spreads across Jim’s lips, but not as vibrantly as usual, “I should’ve seen that coming.”

Spock remains silent. His body and mind gradually becoming more attuned to his opponent.

However, as the game progresses, Spock is left wanting. Jim is sluggish. Taking his time with each move only to utilize strategy that Spock would consider amateur at best. Perhaps it is merely a symptom of his injury and his obvious fatigue.

“Do you play often?” Spock finds himself asking.

“I don’t have much time for it these days…” Jim’s words wander off before his focus shifts to Spock again. “And you’re the only friend I have who actually knows how to play well enough to challenge me.”

Spock, too, hesitates before answering, although for a different reason. He has never been so casually referred to in this manner. And while it unreasonably pleases him, he is unsure what to make of this declaration. 

A beat passes and Spock shifts a pawn forward on the middle tier of the game board.

“I shall endeavor not to disappoint,” Spock finally says, acutely aware of the stiffness of his voice and the discomfort in his chest.

Jim beams, his smile easy, eyes light as they shift between Spock and the game between them.

“May I ask why, precisely, you began to learn this game? Few humans care for tridimensional chess.” Spock says, relieved when Jim doesn’t comment on the change of topic.

Jim pauses in the placing of his rook, frowning. Attempting to steady his shaking hand, he goes on. “Regular chess wasn’t hard enough.”

“So you sought intellectual stimulation by other means,” Spock deduces.

Jim laughs, a beautiful sound. If not for the exhaustion in his mannerisms, Spock would think Jim was anywhere but a hospital bed. “You could say that! I’m guessing 3D is a more common variation on Vulcan?”

Spock pauses. While Jim is not incorrect, Spock’s true motivation is slightly more…abstract. “That is…partly accurate. My father enjoys chess. We often bonded over it in my youth.”

“I still have my dad’s old set,” Jim admits and again Spock is pleased at the admission. “Guess all dads are the same no matter what planet they’re from.” He drawls, looking over his pieces and moving a pawn to b3.

“Sorry, should I not have brought that up?” Jim asks tentatively, and Spock realizes that he has been silent for a moment too long. The blonde appears genuinely apologetic, and Spock shakes his head minutely, moving his own pawn.

“It is of no consequence,” he says slowly, ignoring the voice in the back of his head urging him to say otherwise. He pauses, feeling he should offer up another possible conversation topic in the place of his metaphorical dead-end, but he is pulled from his thoughts as two discarded pieces clatter to the floor. In attempting to place his bishop on the knight’s layer, Jim has knocked them over despite his best efforts. 

“Sorry,” Jim apologizes, “It’s hard to be careful with these bandages.”

Spock bends to pick up the pieces, returning them to their place alongside the board. “May I inquire as to the nature of your injury?”

“I was working on an engineering project and got myself with the plasma torch,” Jim explains, flexing a bandaged arm as if testing its effect. Spock’s brow furrows at the slight wince that slips out.

“Yeah, after you passed out,” The third voice catches Spock by surprise as a man in medical uniform walks in. The tag clipped to his shirt reads ‘Dr. McCoy.’ “And gave yourself a concussion while you were at it.”

“A burn is a burn.” Jim waves him off with his injured hand, the other already moving his next piece.

“Just hope that it doesn’t scar.” The doctor says with a scoff, “Arm out, I have to change your bandages. Unless you want an infection to fester and I have to amputate the whole damn thing.”

“Again with the bandages? That’s the second time today and it’s not even noon.” Jim argues, trying to push the man away but twinges when it aggravates his wound. “Don’t you have other patients to bother? Spock and I are in the middle of something.”

“On the contrary,” Spock begins as the doctor unwraps Jim’s arm, lifting the short sleeve of his shirt ever so slightly to get at the shoulder. “Matters of health are far higher priority than a game of chess.”

Despite his argument, Jim still leans over as the doctor does his work. With the uninjured arm, he moves a rook almost as soon as Spock’s piece leaves his hand. “Taking his side? Not fair.”

“Try listening to him,” the gruff man gives Jim a pointed look, as though disciplining a child. “Maybe then you won’t work yourself to the point of exhaustion. You’re lucky all you got was this burn and a concussion.” Spock looks up from his bishop, the fierce bright red that runs up and down Jim’s otherwise creamy skin makes him look away instantly.

“You are implying that excessive work has led to the cadet’s loss of consciousness?” Were Jim not moving pieces so quickly, Spock would have neglected the game entirely. Instead, he focuses on the conversation and not the brutality of Jim’s scorched arm.

“Not implying anything, I’m sayin’ it out right,” Discarding the old bandage, Spock carefully does not watch as the man applies fresh ones. “He runs around like a chicken without its head on a good day. Then he ignores his doctors and I gotta spend my time on shift making sure he doesn’t go running off.”

Jim trades a bishop for a knight and the furrow in Spock’s brow deepens. 

“I’m perfectly fine, there’s no reason I need to stay in bed all day and get even more behind.” Jim argues before turning to Spock again. “Can you believe him, Spock? Keeping me here against my will and on top of it he’s been hounding me for months about some eye surgery only to find out I’m allergic to Retinax. Talk about a waste of time.”

Spock nods slightly as Jim goes on, then moves up his queen, strengthening his vertical ranks. He was unaware there was an issue with Jim’s eyes. 

“Like it’s my fault you’re blind as a bat. And don’t think I won’t shackle you to that bed.” 

Jim’s pawn advances and Spock retreats to safety.

“I don’t have time for this.”

Queen forward.

“Well you do now.” The doctor drops Jim’s newly wrapped arm back into his lap. Illogical, Spock thinks, to act so dramatically towards a patient only to handle him with so little care. “You’d better be sleeping by the time I get back.”

“Send someone with lunch and I’ll think about it.” Jim looks up. “And Spock will make sure I don’t orchestrate a prison break. So go take care of your actual patients. You’re a doctor, not a babysitter.”

“Yeah yeah, not a damn miracle worker either.” McCoy shakes his head, picking up a medical tricorder. Before turning to leave, he glares with a finger pointed Jim’s way. “And no more bribing the nurses to bring you PADDs to work on.”

With a roll of the eyes, Jim shifts one of the moveable attack boards onto the top most layer, letting the magnets do the precise work his shaking hand cannot. 

“Are you certain you would not prefer to rest?”

“Hell no.” If not for the accompanying smile Spock would think Jim was angry. “I’ve been stuck in this bed all morning.” Jim’s hands, he notices, have seemingly slowed down now that the doctor is not in the room. Perhaps the extra stimuli had broken his concentration, leading to such manic and ill-planned moves. Or perhaps an aversion to medical professionals? Curious. “I couldn’t even go on my run this morning.”

“Your morning run through a meditation garden.” 

“Around a meditation garden,” Jim pauses his statement, focusing on the placement of a precarious pawn at the highest peak of the board, his arm stretching slightly as he reaches. When Jim removes his hand carefully, he offers a shrug, “remember I can’t actually go in.”

“Due to your allergies if I recall.” There is more time now between moves, Jim’s energy having seemingly been drained after such an erratic display while the doctor was in the room. Compared to the wide expanse of the hospital bed, Jim’s slim frame appears even smaller as he catches his breath. 

“Yeah, it sucks. I can't properly enjoy it. But I do it in my own way.” 

Almost thoughtlessly, Spock castles his king.

“A shame,” Spock says idly, as though it is an afterthought. At Jim’s cocked head, he wonders how to explain. He stalls a moment, watching Jim take one of his pawns. “My mother has often said that she enjoys the hardy scent of Vulcan flowers. She often compared them to Terran spices she uses to cook with.”

“She uses seasonings from Earth? I would think it’d be difficult to find them so far from home.” It’s the first time either of them makes any mention of Spock’s mother being human. Judging by the flicker of Jim’s eyes, he notices the tension in Spock’s shoulders, but doesn’t acknowledge it. Returning Jim’s earlier gesture, Spock takes one of Jim’s pawns.

“Occasionally,” He watches the frown settle onto Jim’s face as he strains to move his queen up a number of levels. “It was not often possible to get many of the necessary ingredients. She would make substitutions with what was readily available.”

“How human of her,” Jim smiles, though the gesture falters slightly as Spock moves his pawn. 

“In what manner?” He asks, watching as Jim places his bishop back a few steps while considering a response.

“Humans survive by adapting what they know to their new surroundings. Even today our food in San Francisco is unique compared to its places of origin. Necessity gave way to culture.” 

“You suggest my mother’s resourcefulness to be a greater aspect of her humanity.” Spock nods, seeing the idea for its merit as he creeps his bishop forward.

“In a manner of speaking yes,” Jim places his knight and Spock shifts his bishop again, “There was an old saying I heard when I was a kid. Resourcefulness will always be the most useful thing in your toolbox.”

“An interesting proverb,” Spock retorts as Jim quietly moves a pawn, and Spock takes his bishop backwards a third time. “Testament to the human ability to adapt.”

“And our stubbornness,” Jim argues as he slides his bishop to d4. “Even in uncharted waters, we default to what we know.”

“You are quite paradoxical in your willingness to analyze from all angles,” Spock watches Jim pause, hand halfway between himself and the board. “Has it not occurred to you that it is more efficient to explore a single possibility to its entirety before considering another?” 

“That’s what I have you for,”  Jim says brightly, finally capturing Spock’s bishop.

“An untenable idea, as I cannot always be present. Particularly when you will be on a ship, or more immediately in the Kobayashi Maru exam.” Spock replies carefully, taking Jim’s own bishop with his pawn. He is drawn back to Jim when he hears a scoff.

“Damn test,” he frowns, cautiously moving his king to queen’s level c4. “No way to beat it anyways.”

The game goes on between them, and Spock allows himself to focus on Jim’s strange reaction. It has been his experience that command students enjoy the test and the challenge it presents, even knowing they will not beat it. For some, knowing they will not is a reprieve from normal grades. While some are often disappointed at the lack of satisfaction, he has never seen them scowl at the mere thought of the simulation.

“You take issue with the test.” Spock states as his knight drifts down a level.

Jim rolls his eyes, moving his queen forward a space. “I take issue with a no-win scenario.”

“Many students have expressed that they believe the test to be unfair.” Spock replies with a huff, and shuffles his own queen away from danger. “However, it is evident that they miss the intended goal.”

“Right, not to win, but to be forced to make a decision in a time of crisis. Being judged on one’s ability to make rational strategic moves that are in the best interest for the crew.” Jim summarizes, expression ever so slightly scornful as Spock moves a knight towards Jim’s king.

The game, which had been in his favor, has deteriorated. He is now uncertain of his odds, having gotten so caught up in conversation he has lost track of Jim’s strategies.

“Precisely. While it is the ideal to rescue as many as possible while not having any crew lost or injured, that is scarcely the reality of command.” Spock easily agrees. 

“I suppose even if you know the outcome, you can’t always change things. Knowing the parameters won’t make it any less unwinnable.” For a moment, Spock thinks he sees sadness behind glacial eyes. The crystalline blue speaks volumes of grief, Jim’s shaking hand shifts a bishop across the board.

Before he can begin to process, Jim’s expression changes instantaneously, catching Spock in its suddenness. The sadness permeating Jim’s eyes before is now interchanged for a beaming smile, nose crinkled in pride.

“Checkmate.” 

Before Spock can even look at the board, his eyebrows jump behind his bangs. In his lack of concentration, Jim has managed to make it impossible for Spock to escape. Finally taking in the whole of the game board, he cannot stop himself from realizing that his strategy was woefully inefficient. 

Jim is correct, and for the first time since he was an adolescent, Spock has lost a game of chess. 

His only regret is that he missed it. 

“I believe I underestimated you.” He finally manages to say, and is pleased to see Jim’s smile get impossibly wider.

“Most people do.”

Yes, Jim Kirk is most definitely one of the most fascinating people Spock has ever met.

“Can I interest you in another match?” Spock offers as anticipation floods through him. 

“I’ll have to be careful. I don’t think you’ll underestimate me twice.” Jim’s words are playful, laced with an excitement that Spock can see in his eyes. Even as they reset the board, he finds himself anticipating Jim’s every move. 

“Indeed I will not.” This time, Jim’s skill presents itself immediately. All the while, blue eyes grow heavy, head lolling to one side gently as he relaxes back into the bed.

How many turns ahead is Jim able to see to manipulate pieces at the rate he was when the doctor was in the room? Had his louder personality not just been a performance to dismiss the doctor, but also to distract his opponent? Is it necessary for him to play on the psychological playing field? Or is it merely for entertainment? Intellectual stimulation?

Jim, for all that he’s still winning, seems to be eyeing Spock’s every move with more interest than their first game. 

“You’re trying a different strategy this time.” Jim offers. Another query, how can he make such a determination on Spock’s playing style after only a single match? 

“Indeed, however it appears to be no more effective.” Spock begins as they continue the game in comfortable silence, both far too focused to come up with another topic. It’s as Jim’s bishop slides past Spock’s final line of defense that he realizes he has lost yet again, this time without announcement.

“Oh good,” a voice startles him, making Spock look to the doorway. The same doctor as before, McCoy, walks in. “It’s about time he got some sleep. How long has he been out?”

Spock has no concept of how much time has passed. Looking at Jim, he is in fact asleep. How long has he been sitting here dissecting a lost game?

“Not long,” he says vaguely, attempting to soothe the knit in between his brows but not succeeding. “I believe it best I take my leave.”

“Yeah, sure,” the doctor waves him away in favor of the tricorder in his hand. The small device beeps as it scans Jim’s wounded arm and it rings in Spock’s ears as he makes his way to the elevator at the end of the corridor. 

Jim beat him.

Twice.

Chapter Text

Jim does not want to take the Kobayashi Maru. As much as he needs to, he really wants nothing more than to not sit in this chair knowing he can’t win. 

His cheating was very much the reason he thinks that Spock did not like him at first. Believing Jim wanted the easy way out rather than to try and learn a lesson and accept responsibility. Funny, considering Spock of all people knows how much work needs to go into hacking his program. Easy way out? Jim doesn’t think so.

Jim is of the mind that there is always a way. Whereas Spock believes there are simply some difficult decisions that need to be made, some of them coming with sacrifice. At the end of his last life, Jim had understood Spock’s point. And his own sacrifice was how he managed to win. 

Jim knows by now that he won’t win against Spock’s simulation without cheating. There’s no way to take out the Klingon warbirds and rescue the stranded crew of the Kobayashi. At least not without Scotty on board the simulated ship to supercharge something to throw at them. There’s also no way to save the Kobayashi while safely escaping. 

Now with years of experience, this isn’t a game. It’s a firefight. Which really was the idea to begin with. 

Even if this faux ship isn’t the Enterprise, he’ll sure as shit act like it is. Maybe that’s why he so badly wants to be measured on anything but this.

“How many still trapped?” he asks the volunteer crew.

“14 civilians left, Captain.” If he wasn’t preoccupied with trying to do this test he’d probably feel a bit upset that it isn’t Sulu and Chekhov sitting at the helm today. And Uhura isn’t here.Or Bones.

It’s just not his crew.

“Shields critical.” the person at the security station supplies. 

They aren’t able to get all of the crew in need of rescue. Jim has no choice. Unless he wants to let his own ship blowup, it’s not possible.

Spock made sure of that.

And it’s not worth risking not graduating for the chance to help a simulated person. No matter how much Jim’s heart aches and his stomach churns at the thought of leaving even one pretend person behind.

“Helm, begin retreat back to Federation territory.”

This was the closest he’d ever gotten to honestly winning the unwinnable. But had this been a real scenario…people still would have been lost.

Even one is too many.

“We’re safely behind Federation lines.” Navigation supplies a few moments later.

“That’ll complete your test, Cadet, you’re free to go.” A voice says over the intercom, someone who is definitely not Spock. 

There’s no way of knowing how well he did in the eyes of the observers and no idea what Spock’s initial summation of his abilities would be. The test is unwinnable. For all he knows, they’ll deduct points just because he willingly sacrificed a perfectly fine shuttle as a decoy. 

“Cheer up, kid, you did way better than most of these clowns,” Bones claps him on the back as they leave the testing center, going outside into the windy San Francisco air. “Hell, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d been doing this all your life.”

“Yeah, but if I was actually on the bridge just then people would have died,” he says mournfully.

After a mission like that, with crew lost and injured, it was his habit to meet with Spock. Over a game of chess they’d talk about what they did right, what they did wrong, what needed to be more efficient for next time.

Or if he needed to, they wouldn’t talk at all. 

And Spock, in his own way, would reassure Jim that he’d done all he could. That sometimes victory is bittersweet or even tragic.

“The test is impossible, no one is supposed to be able to save the entire crew. You just set a new record, at least be a little excited.” Bones answers, steering him in the direction of the mess hall. “Come on, lunch is on me you moping buffoon.” 

“For a doctor you have a shitty bedside manner,” Jim teases, letting himself be guided by the shoulders. 

“So I’ve been told.” 

Taking out his PADD, he follows Bones to the canteen, idly listening to him gossip about the other doctors in his shift rotation. “And I told the guy if he’s gonna use a hypo to administer the menixinil he needs to double check the pressure gauges.”

“Unbelievable,” Jim comments without much thought, preoccupied with typing out a message.

“You’d think these people were trained in the dark ages.” When a moment passes without response, Bones looks at Jim without breaking his stride. “Kid if you’re already working again-“

“It’s one message,” Jim argues. Bones pulls him away from a dip in the asphalt beneath their feet and uses it as an excuse to read over Jim’s shoulder.

“Commander Spock? What, gonna try to see how you did on the test already? You know he can’t tell you.” 

“I know I know. I just want to meet with him,” he waves Bones off with a lazy flick of the wrist before hitting send. “There, see? It’s going away.” 

“I’d think you’d learn to relax after being hospitalized.” 

“That word’s not in my vocabulary.”

“Then look it up.” With a harsher scoff than necessary Bones rolls his eyes. 

“With what time?” Jim teases, opening the mess hall door with a flourish and following Bones inside. 

“Cute, just remember that next time I’m treating you for severe plasma burns.” 

“That’s what I love about you,” getting in line for their lunch, Jim claps him on the back, “you already know there’s gonna be a next time.” 

Stepping up to the replicator, Bones shakes his head, “Not like I need a crystal ball to see you’re not gonna stay out of trouble.”

True to his word, Bones orders their food and Jim makes a point not to comment on the opportunity to force feed him something healthy. “Will you at least consider quitting your job at the library?” 

“I happen to enjoy working at the library.” Taking their individual trays, they sit opposite one another at a nearby table. “And if I wasn’t there the kids would be crushed having to give up storytime.”

“They’ll have to give it up when you leave the planet anyways.” Bones points out before taking a long sip of his sweet tea.

“That’s not for a little while.”

“You’ll get busier and you’re already in over your head.” Instead of answering him, Jim takes a bite of his sandwich, grimacing at the extra lettuce and tomato that Bones snuck in. “And you said it yourself, it has nothing to do with your actual work at starfleet.”

Fixing him with a firm glare, Jim swallows hard, “That doesn’t mean it isn’t important.” 

“Yeah, yeah, so you keep saying. When was the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”

“This week, maybe,” he waves his fork around before he picks out the olives from his side salad and piles them on Bones’ plate. 

“Jim,” Bones sighs as he looks down at his soup.

“I never miss a meal. I’m doing just fine.”

“Yeah but those protein packs you carry around aren’t real food.”

Jim’s about to cut back when his PADD chimes.

“You said no working,” Bones chides again. 

“It’s not work,” he explains without looking up. Digging through his bag he pulls out the PADD, “this is personal stuff.”

“Unless you’re lying down for naptime work is work.” 

With one more oversized bite of his sandwich, Jim rolls his eyes and gets up from the table. Snagging the protein bar off the tray, he swings his bag over his shoulder.

“For your information I’m gonna be relaxing with a friend. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Why am I seeing you tonight?” Bones asks, his eyebrows creasing in the middle.

“I’m helping with your self defense class,” Jim explains before taking a big gulp of water, waving as he turns to run toward the exit. 

Leaving the canteen Jim doesn’t stop until he’s at Spock’s office door. 

Technically, he has never stepped foot in Spock’s office. His own had been on the opposite side of Pike’s and he never much cared for it. If there was work to be done, it would be done on the Enterprise. And usually Spock was with him, there was never any need to go searching.

“Afternoon, Commander.” Jim greets cheerfully, knocking on his cracked-open office door with a smile. The warmth hits first, followed by the deep scent of incense that reminds Jim of the desert. “Ready for a rousing game of chess?”

“Indeed, I was quite pleased to receive your message,” He gestures for Jim to sit in one of the two armchairs in the middle of the room, a tridimensional chess set already situated between them. At his desk, Spock sets an electric kettle to boil before joining, “I took the liberty of giving you white.”

“You sure? I wouldn’t want to give myself another advantage,” Jim teases while situating himself comfortably.

“I have been experimenting with a new strategy, one I believe will allow me to beat you even at your best.” Spock explains, finally sitting down and gesturing for Jim to make the first move.

“For your sake, I hope so.” The first piece is in play immediately.

“Your Kobayashi Maru results were rather interesting.” Spock offers in the way of polite small talk. They both know they’re not supposed to talk about it without Pike in the room. Jim wasn’t going to ask. Partially because he doesn’t want to know. 

“Oh, that,” Jim nods slightly.

“You are displeased?” Any other cadet would be satisfied with results as outstanding as his. 

Spock must think he’s being childish…

“It was a unanimous decision that you are well suited to command. You also received commendation for your sacrifice of the shuttles in order to save more lives. A rather unique tactic.”

“I considered taking it again, just to see if I could beat it. But I know it’s impossible.” Jim explains as he looks down at the board, considering his next move before sliding a bishop into position, sacrificing it to Spock’s rook. 

“Indeed it is,” Spock explains, but instead of moving his rook, his pawn shifts down a level. “I am aware of the rumors surrounding a hidden victory.”

“Yeah, but they’re not true.” Jim knows it for a fact. He’s been in that code, and has rewritten the parameters enough to know there isn’t anything more than what should be. Nothing superfluous, nothing wasted. It was entirely Spock.

“If you are aware, then why consider trying again?” It’s only as Spock’s electric kettle goes off that Jim remembers it’s there. 

“I know I can’t beat it honestly…” He hesitates, watching as Spock stands from his chair and goes to prepare their drinks. The warm, almost nutty scent of Spock’s favorite tea fills the room, and Jim wonders if he should continue. It had taken so long for Spock to welcome him into the private sanctuary of his quarters in his past life. 

Yet, here he is.

Does he really want to rock the boat?

“I had considered reprogramming the simulation.” He says before he can convince himself not to. 

Bringing the tea over, Spock sets the tray beside the chess board. As he sits down, he moves his bishop diagonally to the edge of the board, directly into Jim’s territory. Sitting up in his chair, Jim takes a moment to reassess the board. 

Spock isn’t one for such bold, aggressive moves. 

“Reprogram, as in to cheat.” At the last word, Jim’s shoulders deflate but he stays close to the board.

“Yeah, I guess it would be.”

“Which is why you did not.” It is a fact. He did not cheat. There’s no evidence of him tampering with the program because in this universe he didn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that he knows that simulation like the back of his hand. 

Why, of all people, is Spock so hard to lie to?

“Right.” His knight retreats and Spock begins pouring the tea for himself, and a cup of coffee for Jim. “But I can’t say I’m totally innocent either.”

“Explain.”

“I thought if I changed the simulation and won, it would make the admiralty see my point. No Captain should be willing to accept a no-win scenario. The test judging our character should reflect that.” Spock stares at him and to avoid meeting his eyes, Jim picks up his mug and takes a sip. 

“I didn’t change anything. But I did download and study the limitations.” He clarifies after a moment.

“That is how you knew the shuttles would work as a distraction. You knew the enemy did not have the capacity to fire at the shuttles and your ship at the same time. The computer would focus on the most immediate threat.”

“It’s not technically cheating,” he points out again, but can’t stop his hands from fidgeting, fingers running along the uneven surface of ceramic. “So, you know, no reason to go tattling on me.”

“Indeed, your…research, as it were, did not technically break any regulations.” Spock picks up his own teacup and finally takes a long sip, eyes still focusing on Jim. “It would only be a waste of time to debate the matter.”

A smile overtakes Jim and he hides it behind another sip. “I’m glad we came to the same logical conclusion.”

Spock watches carefully as Jim shifts a rook horizontally. So far, he cannot tell what this new strategy is. But it’s not at all like Spock’s usual style.

As they slip into easy silence, Jim can’t help bundle of nerves in his stomach. Maybe his little tricks won’t hold up and Spock will see through him.  Maybe he’ll realize Jim’s last wins were a fluke.

“Your style is very impressive.” Spock says, the silence broken between them. Jim grins, and Spock relaxes somewhat.

“Only because I’m trying to predict how you play.”

“And how is that?” Spock cradles his tea closer to his chest, taking a sip as Jim thinks of an answer.

“Like a Vulcan,” he finally settles on. Meeting Spock’s eyes, Jim sees something in them, but isn’t sure what. 

“In what manner?”

Grin widening impossibly further, Jim leans forward against the arm of his chair. Cheek cupped in hand, eyes trained directly into Spock’s own, 

“Methodically. Carefully… Predictably.”  

Mute, Spock could only shake his head. Jim smothers a laugh with more coffee, before returning his mug to the tray between them. 

Spock moves his knight and Jim shifts forward in his chair. As though being physically closer to the pieces will help him understand what Spock just did. 

He had completely abandoned his queen, leaving her for the taking. 

“What are you-” there’s no way Spock is so distracted that he would leave his queen as a sacrifice ripe for the picking. Trying to meet Spock’s eyes, Jim looks across the board to see the man standing, taking the tea tray to his desk to prepare more.

With his back facing Jim, it’s impossible to read his particular micro-expressions. Eyes now glued to the board, Jim’s at a loss. For all that he’s played against Spock, he has never seen the man make such a reckless sacrifice. 

And that it paid off.

Every possible scenario is playing through Jim’s head. 5, 7, almost 10 moves ahead and he can not see any way this does not end in a loss for him.

The drinks return to the side of the board but before Spock can return to his seat, Jim stands. 

“Don’t sit down,” he says, putting a hand in front of Spock’s chest to stop him from moving. 

 Shifting around to the other side of the board, Jim’s eyes do not leave the game. But still, he can feel Spock’s heavy gaze, his eyebrow raised in curiosity. Standing in front of Spock’s empty seat, Jim looks down and begins to study the board.

“What exactly does this accomplish?” Spock asks, leaning over Jim’s shoulder slightly. Jim can feel the warmth radiating off of him. Or maybe it’s just that the room is so hot. He can’t be sure. 

“I’m getting a new perspective.” There is a moment of silence as he thinks.

“A rather literal interpretation,” is Spock’s only reply as he pulls away. Jim wonders if he’s imagining the smugness in Spock’s tone as he takes a seat.

“Don’t tease,” he plays back, a wry twist of his lips as he picks up his coffee again, “maybe if you took a page from my book you’d actually beat me.”

“Boastful words from someone who has thought of his next move for nearly 8 minutes.” Finally breaking his staring contest with Spock’s queen, Jim looks down at the watch on his wrist. Only to discover Spock is right. Of course he is. 

“Well you must be proud of yourself.” Jim concedes.

“Must I?” 

The loud cackling laugh escapes before Jim even feels it build in his chest. It leaves him surprised enough that he nearly misses the sound of a communicator beeping. Smothering his laugh behind the back of his hand, his other one feels around his belt. It’s only when Spock turns towards his desk that Jim realizes it’s not his comm going off. 

Easing into the chair, Jim turns his focus to the board as Spock answers his call.

“Mother,” he greets easily as Dr. Grayson’s face lights up the small view screen. Mostly hidden from his view behind Spock, Jim can only make out some of her features if he cranes his neck. Though he makes an effort not to, eyes still on the game in front of him. “To what do I owe this call?”

“I saw you published another journal, I wanted to congratulate you.” 

Jim read that paper. Nearly 30 pages of in depth scrutiny over the most specific cosmic entity anyone could possibly name. It doesn’t get any more ‘Spock’ than that really. 

“Unnecessary, but appreciated. I believe this research to be some of my most comprehensive to date.” Jim stifles a snicker.

Jim was evidently not quick enough as Spock turns to look at him, eyebrow raised. “There is something amusing in my statement?”

“You passed comprehensive after 10 pages,” he can’t help the smile on his face as Dr. Grayson’s eyes widen and the woman looks between the pair. “I think you’ve reached ‘encyclopedic’ analysis of the chromosphere and transition region of planet-hosting star JS 836B.”

“I didn’t realize you had company,” Spock’s mother cuts in, nodding a slight greeting to Jim, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all, it’s a pleasure seeing you again, ma’am.” Jim explains despite the seizing in his chest. And it is. It’s always a pleasure. He can see so much warmth in this woman that he almost feels her presence in Spock’s office. Looking around at the Vulcan atmosphere though, Jim can’t help but to wonder where her influence is. “Please don’t let me get in your way.” 

 Spock resumes his conversation and Jim turns to focus on his queen. Right…he was trying to figure out how to get out of this trap.

“Our transport is scheduled to land Friday morning,” Jim’s ears perk up. “Will I see you before the exhibition?” 

“I will have to consult my schedule, I am unsure of any prior engagements.” Jim has never seen Spock so domestic, relaxed even. Despite all they’ve been through, or perhaps because of it, he has never known the version of Spock that didn’t exist solely in his job. Spock wouldn’t so much as open a personal email around him before. 

“Either way, I’ll see you Saturday, did Captain Pike discuss the additional guest with you?”

“Indeed, I was quite surprised to see a Klingon among the Vulcan dignitaries.”

Klingons?

What the hell kind of exhibition is this? What does it have to do with Chris?

“It’s a very delicate matter. Thank you for recommending that cadet as translator. I spoke with her this morning and she seems perfect for the job.”

“You’re welcome, I have found Cadet Uhura’s work to be remarkable. There are not many who can seamlessly translate from Vulcan to Klingon.” So he and Uhura are getting closer? 

Thank God.

But what is a Klingon doing talking to Vulcans? What is this exhibition and why is Spock allowing him to hear this? 

This is Spock, he doesn’t just go with the flow like Jim does. Everything is a conscious decision, every action done with intent and meticulous purpose. 

Looking down at the board, Jim plays out one final maneuver, counting the moves ahead as he goes. If he falls into this trap it won’t end the game, just set him up to check. There is a long con here, one he can’t see the end of. 

 Piecing it together, the moves begin to make more sense. Spock is trying to overload him with information, knowing he’d be too interested in what all is happening around him. 

Which means Spock’s figured out Jim’s interest in his mother - a logical assumption. Though he could not know why. So he must assume it’s simple curiosity.

Combined with a Klingon supposedly attending an event at the Vulcan embassy as well as Jim’s clear interest in his relationship with Uhura. 

Spock is good.

He is very good . 

And if Spock is taking to Jim’s way of thinking on the psychological playing field…then maybe he’s using a strategy more like Jim’s own on the gameboard too. Examining the pieces again, Jim’s eyes scan each layer individually. He almost has to remind himself not to begin thinking through moves like Spock would. 

No, he needs to think like himself. He wouldn’t set up a big move like this unless he has something to gain.

“In fact, Mr. Kirk, would you like to join us this weekend?” Dr. Grayson asks.

“Pardon?” Jim says as he turns, seeing Spock’s casual posture snap back to rigid.

“We’re holding an art exhibition at the embassy as a sort of diplomatic convergence of species. Given your appreciation of the meditation garden, I’d love to have you as a guest.” 

Spock turns to peer at Jim, looking like a statue. Is he even breathing? Is he just at a loss for words or is this what his panic looks like? 

This, it seems, is not part of the plan. And now that a wrench is thrown in, Spock has no idea how to recalculate.

Moving his remaining bishop across the board and up to queen’s level b3, Jim stands from Spock’s chair.

“Checkmate,” he says briefly to Spock before taking the spot at his side to speak with Amanda directly. “I’d love to attend, Dr. Grayson.” 

Beside him, Spock’s chest starts rising again, but only after a careful, grounding intake through the nose that Jim doesn’t miss.

“I had a feeling you would,” Amanda’s smile seems to grow as Spock turns back to the viewscreen. “Spock can give you all the details, I’ll let you both get back to your meeting.”

Spock wordlessly holds up the Vulcan salute as his mom ends the call and Jim turns back to the small table behind them. Picking up his coffee cup, he takes a long sip.

“You nearly had me,” he confesses, watching as Spock walks around the table to witness his loss for himself. “I think that makes it 3 to nothing?”

“Exceptional,” Spock lowers into the chair on Jim’s side of the board.

Air can’t seem to escape Jim’s lungs fast enough.

“What’s this event your mom mentioned?” He asks, hoping Spock will allow the subject change. Eyes still fixed on the board, he nods.

“A retired Klingon military commander has formed a sect of his own, supposedly as a demonstration of possible peace. He believes his people would retaliate to his secession. Without proper protection he and his followers may be in danger. Thus, a supposed attempt at garnering allies among the Federation has been requested.”

“Your mom wasn’t kidding, that’s pretty delicate stuff.” 

“Yes, I believe that was her reasoning behind hosting an art showing,” Spock explains, finally looking away from the board and relaxing in his chair. “While Vulcans would prefer a more official forum, my father believes it would be more welcoming for the Human and Klingon guests. And will perhaps allow the Vulcans to view Klingons as cultured rather than barbaric.”

“Your father?” Spock stiffens somewhat, but his muscles ease nearly immediately.

Jim begins moving the chess pieces back to starting positions, Spock joining him.

“My father is the current Vulcan Ambassador to Earth,” He begins to explain, placing the white pieces in neat, perfect little lines. “My mother is a board member of the Federation Interspecies Relations Administration. Their frequent work together on events such as these was how they were first acquainted.”

“That’s so sweet.” Spock tilts his head in question and Jim rolls his eyes. “I just mean it’s cute, you know? How they bonded over work. Your mom seems to really enjoy what she does.”

“Yes, she derives great satisfaction through her work and has for as long as I can remember. Much of her research is considered foundational to her field.” 

“I see where you get your appetite for discovery.” 

“And where does yours originate?” Spock asks, neither of them moving to begin another game. 

“Boredom.” Jim supplies with a shrug before getting back up and gathering his bag. “It’s been fun, Spock, but I have a class to get to.”

“Of course, I will forward you the details regarding Saturday’s event. Thank you for another fascinating game.”

“I should be thanking you, it’s not often that someone almost gets the best of me.” Pulling up the strap of his bag, the weight of his books pulls his shoulder down noticeably. 

“I am beginning to see that. I am quite uncertain how you managed your victory.”

“What can I say? I work well under pressure.” With a conceited smile, he pats Spock on the shoulder in a show of support before turning to the door. “Maybe next time, buddy.”

Chapter Text

Dozens of Starfleet officers, many of whom Spock recognizes, mingle among the paintings, statues, and sculptures carefully displayed throughout the Vulcan Embassy’s gallery. Every so often one of them will greet him in passing, others offer a polite nod of acknowledgement from across the room. 

The various visiting Vulcan diplomats, while welcoming, do not appear overly interested in the Humans. Which is why he is distinctly aware of where their attention is directed instead. A Klingon dignitary. The first of the species to attempt life on Earth in an effort to show it is possible to coexist. 

“They are still weary of welcoming him,” Spock’s father had said to Captain Pike before entering the gallery, “They believe Klingons to be even less in control of themselves than Humans.”

Now, watching from across the room as Cadet Uhura acts as translator between them, Spock can see the tension in all parties. 

The Klingon man is accompanied by a small entourage. He bears the insignia of a high ranking military official, those around him all officers. General Tahek K’togh, veteran of some of the most infamous battles of recent history.

“A Klingon, a Vulcan, and a Starfleet Captain walk into an art gallery,” he hears beside him, turning gently to confirm that he is correct in recognizing Jim’s voice, taking his place at Spock’s right. “There has to be a joke in there somewhere.”

“You would be correct in finding the situation rather strange,” So strange, in fact, that they do not have any qualified translators who could switch between the three languages. At least none on the planet at the moment. “Quite fortunate that Cadet Uhura was able to attend.”

“Is that your way of saying, ‘You were right, thank god I listened to you’?”

“If that is how you wish to interpret-,” Turning to face Jim, he is forced to take a small step back. Spock is not used to meeting crystal blue eyes so directly, and certainly not when they are outlined with kohl. They are made even more noticeable with the silken gold shirt Jim is wearing, obviously Orion in origin judging by the geometric shapes cut out from the fabric on the sleeves.

“I’m not hearing a no.” Smirking behind his champagne, Spock cannot help but notice the pink of his lips against the glass.

“I believe I have already expressed my opinion on the matter.” Warmth blooms in Spock’s chest as Jim chuckles, the sound low and breathy.

“Since you’re being such a good sport about it I won’t even say ‘I told you so’.”

“I believe you just did,” More than a chuckle this time, Jim catches the attention of a few Vulcans discussing a statue nearby. Spock merely arches an eyebrow at them before they turn away. “Are you well versed in Vulcan artistry?” 

While he might assume most humans are nearly entirely unfamiliar with the topic, he cannot make any such inferences about Jim. 

“I’ve studied some,” Jim explains, “Truthfully, my knowledge is limited. I don’t know much about human art techniques either, but I enjoy going to museums.” Jim confesses as the two of them begin gliding through the gallery together. 

“There is a certain irony in your statement,” Spock comments idly, noticing Jim linger on a display featuring poetry written in complex, ornate calligraphy. The gold ink under the flickering candlelight gives the illusion of movement in the swirling figures.

“I suppose, I’m of the mind that good art can leave an impression on anyone.”

“A rather poetic outlook.” 

“That’s more where my interest lies,” Jim confirms, gesturing to the piece in front of them. His shirt has an attractive sheen that gently reflects the same candlelight, mirroring the poem being admired. The plasma burn, it would appear, did leave a scar behind as it snakes out from under the geometric cutouts in the left sleeve. And despite Spock’s discomfort at the sight of it, he is enthused at the new topic.

“Are you much of a poet?” Jim asks, and Spock feels his palms begin to sweat. Since Jim beat him several days ago, Spock’s mind has been in more chaos than usual in anticipation of this evening.

“I am a fan of many forms of literature and art. However, I have been told it seems rather out of character.” He explains. In his endeavor to master all aspects of Vulcan culture, he has delved tirelessly into the arts just as much as the sciences.

“Really?” Jim asks, turning away from the display to meet him eye to eye. Despite the low sounds of conversation around them, Spock’s too focused on the man, the brilliant mind, beside him. “I think the arts suit you rather well.”

“You’ve deliberated on the matter?” Spock prods and is all too aware of the lively jump in his heartbeat at the response.

A playful tone tickles Jim’s words as he explains, “Scientific types always have a guilty pleasure.”

“Is that so?” Spock asks, and cannot deny the satisfaction in the back of his mind as a creamy cheek dimples with the effort to snuff out a laugh. 

“Mr. Kirk,” Spock’s shoulders stiffen involuntarily under his mother’s hand. Its appearance on his shoulder is all the more jarring considering their surroundings. “I’m glad to see you’re having a good time.”

“I can’t thank you enough for the invitation,” Jim raises his glass in a subtle faux-toast towards Spock’s mother. Had Spock not been aware of Jim’s status as a cadet, he might think the man were a professional diplomat with how natural the gesture seems. “I was wondering if you were the sole-curator of the collection.”

“In fact I am,” His mother agrees easily. It’s not difficult to see that she is intrigued by the question as well. At her expression Spock internally shutters with the concern that his own captivation is, hopefully, not as obvious. 

“As I’ve been going around the gallery I’ve been trying to discern a theme,” Jim explains, gesturing vaguely to two nearby paintings. The pair are the largest in the gallery. Hung side by side they share nothing in common but their dimensions, “Pre-Reform Primitivism placed next to Surakian Suprematism is quite a bold statement.”

“ Fascinating what is considered to be a supposed limited knowledge. ” Spock thinks privately.

“A very keen eye,” his mother’s smile widens into a grin, “it was my intent to show the varied styles of Vulcan culture rather than those known more commonly  among humans.”

“I had noticed almost all of the books available in the Starfleet library on the subject were fixated on the more modern artistic movements. Some people seem to forget that Vulcans existed before we got a chance to meet them.”

“You’re very well-read on the subject.” His mother supplies. Curiously, Jim’s cheeks flush. 

“Hardly,” he hesitantly waves away the compliment, “I used to work in the library.”

“You no longer hold that position?” Spock finally speaks up. He had no idea Jim even had the job in the first place. “Was there a conflict?”

“Only with Father Time,” Jim supplies. “There never seem to be enough hours in the day.” 

“I’m glad that you can still make time to play chess. I’m told it can be quite relaxing,” Spock’s mother hides her own obvious smile behind her champagne flute. She is prying in her own way. Trying to get more information without asking for it directly. 

Passively, he thinks she is in for a surprise. His mother, one of the most intelligent and insightful people he has ever known, has never been fully confronted with the anomaly that is James T. Kirk. An ever growing list of questions that appears to have answers buried so deep, Spock can not see the bottom of the well that is his character. 

“Especially when in good company,” Jim says easily and Spock’s eyebrow raises. “I’m looking forward to the day my winning streak is broken.”

“Three victories hardly constitutes a streak.” Spock finds himself replying immediately. While he expects the gleam in Jim’s eyes, the widening of his mother’s is entirely off-putting. 

“I’m confident it’ll grow into one.” Jim supplies.

“An impossible assumption to make with so little data.” Spock clips back easily. 

“Then we’ll just have to keep playing.” 

“It would seem that is the best course of action.” Spock is about to continue when Captain Pike cuts in. 

“My apologies for intruding,” With a fond smile, he bows his head gently to Spock’s mother. “Jim, I didn’t know you were in attendance.” 

“Dr. Grayson kindly extended an invitation,” Jim explains as Pike takes the spot between him and Spock. 

“You two are also acquainted?” Amanda asks, and Spock cannot reasonably explain the tension that builds in his shoulders. 

“Jim is my godson.”

Spock, much like all Vulcans, is practiced in controlling his reactions to sudden stimuli. It is why he is aware of the considerable effort it takes to keep his jaw from falling slack.

“I should have known, he has every bit of your charm and tact.” Spock’s mother replies and for the second time tonight pink dusts Jim’s cheeks and nose.

“I’m glad you think so, because I’ll have to leave him in your care. Spock, may I borrow you for a moment?”

Following the captain’s eyes, Spock can see where two Admirals are nursing drinks and idly chatting. This is very clearly a work issue and it is his top priority. 

Knowing this logical fact does nothing to quell the disquiet that grows at the idea of leaving Jim alone with his mother.

“Of course, Captain,” He forces himself to say as Pike pulls him aside. But not before hearing his mother turn to Jim.

“I was so pleased to hear that you enjoy the meditation garden. When I proposed the idea my husband wasn’t sure many would be interested.” 

“I see people there all the time, it’s a great place to read.” The rest of their conversation fades into the surrounding chatter, their voices drowned out and too distant for even his heightened senses.

Regrettably, his job tonight as a member of the diplomatic team means he is very much obligated to engage in social commentary with the attending admiralty. Which means, from his position on the opposite end of the gallery, he can not hear what his mother says to make Jim laugh loud enough to make Vulcans around the room turn and watch.

Or what Jim says in reply to get her to playfully swat at his arm.

“Spock, what are your thoughts?” His eyes widen sharply as he realizes Admiral Marcus has been speaking. Too focused on the other goings on to pay attention. “You’ve seen the Kobayashi results for this year.”

“These cadets just don’t have the drive to be in command anymore.” Admiral Barnett shakes his head before taking a long sip of his drink.

“Indeed, there were not many who performed well.” His eyes drift back across the room, Jim’s golden hair and shirt standing out easily among the sea of dark hair, Vulcans and Humans alike. “All but a select few were deemed unfit for command.”

“It’s the hardest position to fill. Especially without ship experience.” Admiral Marcus agrees. “I don’t put much stock in those fancy tests.”

“The real test is what happens when they think no one is keeping score.” Captain Pike agrees.

True to the Captain’s point, many of the cadets in the gallery remain huddled amongst their own kind. Quietly remarking on paintings before moving on, not engaging with the Vulcans directly. 

The Vulcans in turn, ignore the Humans in favor of observing them like specimens. Neither species wishes to engage directly with the Klingons.

In true Jim Kirk fashion, Spock is further amazed to see that his mother has led Jim directly to Spock’s father. Easing into the conversation with the Klingon dignitary, Jim is standing almost shoulder to shoulder with the statuesque figure of the Vulcan Ambassador. 

Spock’s blood begins to race, the thrum of his heartbeat echoing in his ears. For all that his mother appears delighted to speak with Jim, he has no gauge to measure his father’s reaction.

He once again is not listening to the Admirals and Captain Pike, his attention fully focused on the ta’al salute Jim offers his father. It is easy, casual, well practiced, and holds none of the discomfort that typically comes with the gesture on human hands.

General K’togh, getting louder by the minute, gets the attention of nearly everyone in the room. Spock’s father steps forward slightly, defensively, in front of his wife.

Before Spock can figure out why, the Klingon is reeling back just in time for Jim to get directly in the way. Loud gasps fill the room. The champagne flute, once in Jim’s hand, shatters against the stone floor. In three long strides, Spock’s body is moving before he knows where he’s going.

Before he can reach the small group, without missing a beat, Jim throws a punch of his own. The Klingon man stumbles for a step before steadying.

Spock, like every other guest, is stunned into silence and frozen in place. It is the only way he’s able to hear from across the room the clear, enunciated Klingon that slips from Jim’s lips.

Unflinching despite his bloody nose, Jim recites, “bISeH'eghlaH'be'chugh latlh Dara'laH'be'.” The room is still quiet as Jim holds his hand out in an offered handshake.

The spell holding the room hostage seems to break as General K’togh barks out a raucous laugh.

“Suvwl’ tlhlngan suvwl’ ylghoSchoh!” He nearly yells as he takes Jim’s hand in his own.

“Bring him a drink,” Cadet Uhura translates while taking a glass off of a nearby waiter’s tray and handing it to Jim.

The room bursts into discussion. And Spock is still frozen in place as he watches. Jim, blood still dripping from his nose, clicks his glass against the Klingon’s before downing the entire drink in one gulp.

General K’togh, seemingly pleased, claps him on the back before doing the same. Spock cringes at the bright red blood that has dripped past his chin and down the front of Jim’s shirt.

He watches, unaware of what to do with himself as his mother pulls aside the same waiter and takes napkins off of his tray. The Klingons seem content to let Jim leave as Spock’s mother gently pulls him away. It is only once they are gone and Captain Pike walks towards Sarek that Spock thinks to move.

“What the hell happened?” Pike asks Uhura more than the Ambassador.

“Well, sir, General K’togh was getting frustrated when he swung. Jim…stepped in the way.” Uhura said, seemingly unsure of how to explain.

“The cadet clearly spoke Klingon, what was it he said to satisfy the General?” Spock’s father asked.

“A Klingon proverb,” Uhura explains. “If you cannot control yourself, you cannot command others.”

Spock’s eyebrows raise, as do his father’s.

“They seemed to like it.” Pike comments as the group disburses. Spock’s eyes meet his father’s.

Logically, he knows that continuing to postpone this conversation will not make it any easier. Nor is his anxiety in any way productive. He corrects his posture, hands latched behind his back. Spock inclines his head and says, "Father."

"Spock."

The two of them regard each other in silence for several long moments. For years – from the time of Spock's departure for Starfleet to now - Spock has not spoken to his father.

"It is quite fortunate for you that Cadet Kirk was able to appease General K’togh," Spock says.

"Rather illogical for a human to get involved. I would not have sustained such injury," Sarek says, as expressionless as ever. Spock suppresses a wave of irritation.

"I quite agree,” he has never wanted to punch his own father. However, the thought of him being injured rather than Jim is… unreasonably appealing. “Though it cannot be overlooked that his quick thinking has likely assisted in avoiding rising tension among guests.”

"Your mother introduced him as your friend.” There is no question, and he certainly does not take on an accusatory tone. Spock still does not miss the implication of his displeasure at the concept. 

"Indeed."

"Fascinating." Sarek says, and Spock inclines his head. “He appears well-versed in Klingon diplomacy.”

"It would appear so," Spock says simply.

"Your mother was rather distraught at his injury," says Sarek. "She has taken him in search of medical supplies."

Chapter Text

Spock is immediately aware of the stillness as he exits the gallery floor. The rest of the Embassy is empty. The only clue as to the night’s events is the sounds that escape the stone chamber before the door is completely shut behind him.

Which makes it not at all difficult to hear the very human voices, laced with emotion, wafting from the central atrium. The closer he gets, the more his suspicions are confirmed, one of them is Jim. Blood stains his pale features and smears across the front of his shimmering ensemble.

“You’re never going to change.” Cadet Uhura’s voice is hushed, an attempt to keep her anger from reverberating through the mostly stone and glass circular foyer. “I can’t believe I actually like you.”

“You say that every week.” Jim’s voice is softer than Uhura’s, the lack of anger making his faux whisper more like the real thing.

Uhura’s scowl deepens as Jim turns away from her, going to a bench that sits at the edge of the room. His blond hair crumples somewhat as he leans back against the wall. He closes his eyes and it only seems to make Uhura more frustrated with him.

“Yeah well, this time I mean it. Sometimes I wonder how you manage to survive here.”  

“I got here the same as you.” Jim doesn’t open his eyes as he speaks, a hand bringing more tissues to his nose. “Wouldn’t that say more about you than me?”

“That was a lucky break. You’d never be here if Pike hadn’t stopped that bar fight and if it wasn’t for-“ 

“For what?” Jim’s eyes snap open and his posture is suddenly straight. The movement is so sudden that despite being across the room, Spock has to keep himself from stepping backward involuntarily. “Is it luck? Or is it something else? Because if one more person mentions my dad today - or maybe that’s not even it and you just want to call me a whore or a slut a few more times despite the fact I’ve lived like a cloistered nun since I got here. Will that make you feel better?”

For a moment the room is silent, Uhura’s expression flickering from pissed off to guilty and back. “I didn’t mean that, Jim. I just don’t understand how you always do this to yourself. You’re so smart but you’ve got to be the biggest idiot in the galaxy.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Jim’s shoulders slump against the wall behind him again. And Spock has to deny himself the urge to flinch as he sees Jim gesture widely with a blood-stained hand. “You don’t think I feel bad enough? I get a personal invitation and end up in a fistfight.”

Almost as an afterthought, Jim sighs. “And now I have to buy Gaila a new shirt.” His eyes close again, napkin returning to his face. “Fuck, where am I supposed to find Orion silk in San Francisco.” 

“Maybe if you thought ahead more than one swing at a time you wouldn’t have to.” 

Jim doesn’t move as Uhura turns away. Her eyes widen at the realization they have an audience. She clears her throat before she starts moving again. Passing Spock in the doorway, she bows her head slightly in acknowledgment as they brush shoulders.

Spock never understood the odd relationship between the two of them. Now, just like in all things involving Jim, he is more confused than when he started.

Despite the loud click of heels on marbled stone, Jim does not move until an echo of the gallery door swinging shut comes down the hall. With a sigh, he lazily drops his hands into his lap and opens his eyes.

“Your turn?” Jim asks with a half-hearted smile. Spock is displeased to know it does not have the same effect as it usually does through bloody and split lips. Especially when Jim’s eyes quickly leave him to examine the tissues in hand.

“I wished to inquire about your injuries,” Spock explains after a deep breath. One he did not realize he needed. 

“Oh, nothing serious,” Jim’s slumped shoulders shrug as Spock clasps his hands behind his back and walks across the room to join him. “I’ve had worse.”

“That is not a comforting thought,” Spock admits, stopping briefly in front of Jim. It’s only as his shadow looms over him that Spock thinks better of it.

Taking a seat to Jim’s right, he keeps his hands folded in his lap, all too aware of his desire to reach across to blood-stained knuckles.

“Maybe not to you,” Jim teases, mouth opening again but pausing as footsteps approach.

“Here we are,” Spock’s mother says, softly placing a first aid kit into Spock’s hands before turning her attention to Jim, “Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Jim goes to wave a hand flippantly, as he often does when downplaying his discomfort.

The first aid kit, though usable, is not ideal. But he is not aware of any dermal regenerators in the embassy so it will have to do. The sharp smell of sterilizer cuts through the still air, though he doesn’t realize it until he processes a stray thought. An illogical aversion to the scent, one he has never had before. It does not even occur to Spock that the thought might not be his own until he looks down. His hand, seemingly of its own accord, has taken Jim by the wrist as the other grabs for disinfectant. 

“Is there anything I can do as thanks?” His mother asks, taking Jim’s face in her hands, and examining him for serious injury.

Guilt rushes over Spock in waves as he tries to clean Jim’s wounds. Guilt that is not his own. 

Jim’s emotions churn like a whirlwind inside his mind and thump heavily against his veins. If he can get this task done quickly, and efficiently, this will pass.

“Thanks? I should be apologizing for causing such a scene.”

Spock irrationally wishes he was not feeling every inch of Jim’s regret. His mental shields fail him more and more as he moves over each knuckle to clear it of blood. Any attempt at reestablishing control is futile, the effort too great while he is preoccupied with the storm brewing in the back of his mind.

“Oh please, you didn’t cause anything,” despite his mother’s attempts at comfort Jim’s guilt only grows, as does his anxiety. If he did not appear so calm, Spock would think he was running for his life. Perhaps residual adrenaline from the punch, or his verbal match with Cadet Uhura. “I have to get back, can I leave you in Spock’s care?”

Warmth radiates upwards from Jim’s hand and into Spock’s chest like phaser fire. It presses inside him, burning for a second before he realizes what it is. 

Jim’s mind, fully open and directed toward him. Spock does not look up from where Jim’s hand sits in his own.

“Yeah, I think we can trust him.” Jim’s tone is facetious, and so is the squint of his eyes. It should not be remarkable at all. If not for the point where Spock presses sterile gauze onto Jim’s knuckles, he would believe it was a joke.

The pads of his fingers cannot lie to him any more than Jim’s thoughts allow.

Spock does not trust himself to speak so he does not. His mother says her goodbyes and the two of them are left in silence. As he finishes wrapping the last bandage around Jim’s hand, he feels the last emotions dissolve under his touch. 

Once again, he is alone in his mind.

“Sorry, about all this,” Jim finally says as Spock puts the first aid kit to the side.

“There is little sense in apologizing for that which is not your fault.” He says back, the two of them still sitting side by side without looking at one another. 

Without it clouding Spock’s thoughts in its intensity, the very strength of Jim’s guilt is puzzling. 

While Starfleet Admirals praise him-

As Spock’s mother thanks him- 

The only thing on Jim’s mind is his blame for a situation he stumbled into. 

“Still feels like I should be saying it.” Jim insists.

“I am sorry that you are hurt,” Spock says and is surprised when Jim turns towards him, his electric eyes scrunching up in confusion. “Unless I’m mistaken, it is a human trait to express sympathy through apology.” 

Jim’s laugh fills the atrium, the echo of it ringing off the stone walls like ritual chimes. 

Slumping against the wall next to him, Jim catches his breath and Spock feels singes where their shoulders brush. Magma simmers underneath the woven sleeve of his dress uniform jacket.

“Sometimes I think you understand humans better than I do.” Jim teases and Spock is all too pleased when he doesn’t pull away. Ironic that Jim is the one scarred, yet Spock’s left arm feels at the mercy of a plasma torch.

“You appear to understand Klingons very well.” 

“Hm,” Jim hums curiously, shifting the fabric of Spock’s sleeve as he shrugs, as though it refuses to let go. “If you’re learning how to fight someone, you should probably learn how to tell them you don’t want to.” 

“Is it not typical to learn the language first?” Spock asks, already seeing the uptick of Jim’s lips. 

“Why do you think I don’t fight Vulcans?”

“I would imagine it’s because they do not wish to engage in violence. Most I have met are pacifists.” 

“Exactly, it’s not that they don’t fight, but they choose not to,” Jim holds up a finger, pointing a blood caked nail at Spock. “I know enough about Vulcans to not want to test it. I’ve seen your martial arts.” Jim clears his throat briefly, attempting to hide it behind wiping away some of the blood uselessly with saturated napkins. 

Spock hands him a disinfecting wipe from the first aid kit beside him. He pointedly does not watch as Jim takes and uses it. 

“Yet you punched a Klingon.” 

“Because I knew I could win.” When Spock arches an eyebrow, Jim continues, “see everyone knows not to go for the nose. The ridges will break your hand every time, it’s one of the first things they teach in combat class at the Academy. What they don’t tell you is to go for the jaw and neck. You wanna teach someone a lesson that’s where you…” 

Jim trails off, hand hanging in the air with his floating thought. “Well, you get it.”

“You appreciate violence in a rather unique way.” 

“It…comes in handy.” The admission comes with a pink tinge to his cheeks and Spock wonders why. Like all things involving Jim, the more information he gathers, the more questions appear. “And forms of fighting have a history all their own. Just because we’re farther along than our barbaric ancestors doesn’t mean we can’t learn something from them.”

“Are you alright to stand?” Spock asks suddenly, the beginnings of an idea in the back of his mind.

“It was just a punch,” Jim rolls his eyes off to the side, only looking back at Spock when the Vulcan goes to stand. “I’m not such a fragile flower, ya’ know.”

“It is in my experience that flowers can be quite resilient when need be.” Gesturing down the corridor opposite the banquet hall, he asks, “Shall we?”

“Is wandering around an intergalactic diplomatic embassy a good idea?” Jim asks, looking across the atrium with equal parts curiosity and reluctance.

“Is punching a Klingon war veteran?” With an impish raise of the eyebrow, Spock turns to walk away.

“Point to you,” playfulness rings in Jim’s voice as he stands. “But where exactly are we going?”

“There is an artifact stored here that I think you will find interesting.” Spock’s voice, thankfully, does not disclose his internal battle.

“An artifact. How delightfully vague.” 

“I’ve been told that too much detail ‘spoils a surprise.’”

“That it does, but I didn’t think you were one for surprises,” Jim admits as they travel down the corridor.

“Some things are best appreciated without a preamble.”

“How could anyone think you’re unsuited to the arts when you have such flair for the dramatic?” 

Suddenly stopping in front of a door Jim tries to lean around him, attempting to see the code Spock is entering. As his weight leans into Spock, Jim’s warmth spreads from his thigh and hips to their shoulders. Thankfully he can’t see that Spock’s normally nimble fingers slip and he has to start over.

“The Ambassador’s office? How many crimes are we committing right now?” Jim asks, letting Spock pull him into the room.

“Nothing more than discourtesy for entering uninvited,” he explains as the automatic lights flicker on. Before Spock can continue, Jim pulls away and he’s halfway across the room. Standing in front of the large hewn stone desk, his gold shirt stands out more against the dark red tones of the decor. The flickering light shines against his metallic dress shirt like a flame. 

The door glides shut, the room so still that Spock can hear the whir of the motor inside the wall. Clamping his hands tightly behind his back, he joins Jim. Over a scarred shoulder, he takes in the “artifact”. Set behind glass, in a display embedded into the wall, is one of his family’s greatest treasures.

“An ancient lirpa,” Spock explains. The last time he had seen it was during the only childhood trip to Earth that he can remember. When his father decided that here, a seldom used office on a planet he scarcely visited, was the place best suited to house one of the most valuable treasures of their ancestors. “Passed down through my family’s pre-Surakian dynasty.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Jim finally supplies, tone softening in the way humans inexplicably do around fragile objects. “The shape of it, wouldn’t that weaken the metal?”

“Significantly.”

“Na’ lo’uk lof,” Jim recites, tilting his head in an attempt to follow the script around the blade’s curve. “For great purpose.”

He can see the deep concentration settle into Jim’s features as he explores the room. Inquisitive eyes flicker with each passing thought, like turning the pages of the books sitting untouched on the shelves. Spock’s hand clenches behind his back, knuckles turning shades of white and green under pressure. 

He wants nothing more.

Nothing more than to reach out and press his mind into Jim’s. To see and understand what exactly he is calculating so intensely. Vulcan calligraphy is subtle in its intricacies. And he, undoubtedly, is searching for all of them in the faded and cracked lettering.

“This would be a lot easier if I was sober,” Jim says softly, squinting more at them. As if through sheer mental effort he can decode an ancient scripture. If given enough time, Spock wonders if he could. 

“You are welcome to open them.” Leaning back against his father’s desk, Spock crosses his arms over his chest. Effectively trapping his hands beneath his biceps. 

“They’re way too fragile,” Jim shakes his head, taking a step back from the shelves. Instinctively, he puts more distance between himself and the objects of his affection. In turn, Jim floats into Spock’s orbit, vaguely circling as he takes in the room’s other oddities. “I have blood all over me. I couldn’t risk it.”

“Absurd” , Spock’s mind supplies. That he’d sooner protect an ancient book than his own well-being. 

“ There is always next time,” a thought, reminiscent of his mother, says somewhere in the back of his mind. An illogical concept, as there is no guarantee he and Jim will ever be in this room together again.

“This is an instrument?” Spock hears from across the room. Hanging on the wall beside the door is a harp, its 12 strings all undoubtedly tuned to perfection despite its home in an unused office. Supported from the bottom on a small shelf, the delicate curled neck is balanced to prevent warping.

“The closest human equivalent would be a lyre.” Spock explains, standing from his perch on the desk’s corner to take the spot behind Jim. “Though this one is a child’s replica.”

“Really? Is a full sized one much bigger?”

“Not significantly, however for you it likely would be difficult to play comfortably.” 

“You’re not that much taller than me.” Jim turns around to face him. Without taking a step back, they are entirely too close together and there is a pout to his lips as Jim seems to take in his size. 

“No, but your fingers are shorter and not as strong.” Jim’s pout turns into a half smile, a dimple only poking through on his right side.

“I bet I could learn.” 

“I have no doubt.” Spock agrees. Reaching behind Jim to grab the lyre off the wall, he has to lean forward. 

Jim does not pull away. Instead, he lets Spock invade his space even further.

“Would you like me to show you?”

“You play?” Jim asks, voice softer the closer he gets.

“This is the same harp I used when I was young.” Placing his hand at the small of Jim’s back, Spock turns to lead him to one of the office chairs situated in front of the desk. Jim easily follows and takes a seat. When Spock goes to place the lyre in his lap, Jim jerks almost violently back in his chair, trying to keep his hands off of it.

“Spock, I’m covered in blood.” His eyes are blown wide, hands hovering above the carved wooden instrument. Looking at it in front of him, Jim’s nearly breathless, utterly at a loss for what to do or say.

Spock’s own lips pull upwards into a smirk, and he doesn’t care to hide it.

“It is only a children’s toy,” Jim’s shoulders soften as Spock says it, but he makes no move towards the lyre. When placed in his lap, Jim doesn’t protest. 

As Spock lays the long body of it against Jim, he naturally tilts his head towards the strings now nestled beside his ear. The neck curls around him and Jim looks at home here in the cocoon of a harp. 

His bandaged hand does nothing to help his dexterity as he plucks the strings one by one. It’s the clumsy hesitant steps of someone unsure of what they’re doing. 

Strange, how the discovery of something Jim is not good at feels like a victory. 

Stringing together a chord, Jim looks up at him. Eyes sparking with something Spock cannot name, Jim shakes out his injured hand. His hold on the instrument, keeping it tucked close to his chest, is still gentle and reverent.

“This might be beyond me for now.”

“For now?” Spock asks, taking back the harp as Jim finally hands it to him. “You intend to try again?”

“Of course, as soon as you let me get a hold of yours that is.”

The image of Jim sitting with him in Spock’s cramped campus apartment curled around the instrument he lovingly cares for. The very thought threatens to send a chill up his spine. 

“You are welcome any time,” Spock says as he strums a few gentle chords before turning to place the lyre back in its home. In truth, he had not known it was here. He had not given much thought to where this forgotten childhood toy lived.

Far too insignificant a piece to share the same room as an ancient symbol of their people. 

“You’re a puzzle,” Jim stands from his chair to join Spock by the door. “You say Vulcans aren’t swayed by emotions, but you put so much value into them.”

The lyre takes its place on the shelf, and Spock hesitates to release the neck. 

“How have you come to such a conclusion?” He asks, turning to see Jim leaning his shoulder against the door, hip cocked out in a lazy but graceful curve.

“I know feelings are important to you,” Jim’s arms cross in front of his chest, “Because I see how much you care about mine.” 

Jim’s eyes avoid his gaze, turned down towards the floor as he stands upright. Before Spock can think of a response, Jim presses the button to open the door. 

Logic, reason, control, restraint. They all are out of Spock’s reach. Not in the angry, shameful way he is most familiar with. But something different. 

Something far more terrifying. 

And exhilarating.

“I shouldn’t overstay my welcome,” Jim steps out into the corridor. For lack of knowing what else to do, Spock follows and they begin the short journey back to the embassy’s foyer. “And you’ll probably want to get back to the party.”

Spock does not know what to say. He wants Jim to stay. He wants to invite Jim to his apartment and show him the harp that is waiting for him beside his couch. He wants to stay with Jim and talk about music, poetry, fighting, art, and feelings.

“Can I offer you an escort home?” 

“You don’t get to see your parents often. I don’t want to steal too much of your time with them.” 

Jim’s reasoning is logical. 

Spock does not care for it. 

He has limited time with them before they return to Vulcan. What Jim does not know is Spock’s strained relationship with his father. If not for his job and mother requesting his presence, he is unsure if he would have attended at all. 

But Jim.

He can see Jim any time he wishes. Or rather, that is what is implied. And that is what Spock has offered. Invited even. 

“I am sure Captain Pike will appreciate the consideration. He often prefers to have me present when dealing with Vulcans.” Jim hums in agreement as they approach the lobby, “I was unaware he was your godfather.”

“It’s not something we advertise.”

When Jim fails to provide any further explanation, Spock adds it to his ever growing list of confusion. 

“Thank you,” turning to stand in front of him, Jim gives Spock one final smile, “for tonight.”

“I believe it is my family and I that are in your debt.”

With one hand on the door, Jim’s other, injured hand presses delicately to Spock’s bicep. He isn’t sure what it means, but the heat pooling under the surface may now be a permanent fixture when in Jim’s presence. 

“Goodnight, Spock.”

“To you as well, Jim.” The double doors swing closed and Spock is alone.

Turning back to the night’s festivities, his steps echo upwards in the glass cylinder of the entryway. His mind is nowhere near as calm as the almost silence around him. 

On re-entering the gallery showroom, Spock notes Cadet Uhura is back at her post. The young woman is translating between Klingon and Standard with practiced ease, occasionally dipping into Vulcan for the comfort of some of his father’s diplomatic contingent. 

His father, as expected, appears unbothered by the earlier events. However, he is keeping his person noticeably farther away from the Klingon, likely in case of a repeat offense. And his mother is far across the room, well out of danger.

“You were gone for quite a while,” Captain Pike’s voice approaches from behind. A drink in hand, his shoulders are noticeably less tense than before the incident. “Everything okay?”

“Indeed,” Spock begins to explain. Settling his hands behind his back, he resumes in what the Captain has named Spock’s ‘assessment’ tone of voice. “After assuring his injuries were not serious, Cadet Kirk has opted to return to campus for the evening.” 

“Good, the Klingons were wondering if he was willing to join their ranks.” 

“A grave loss to Starfleet if such a thing should come to pass.” Pike nods in agreement as he takes a sip of his drink. “Sir, if I may inquire.”

“Shoot.”

“When I asked about your relation to Cadet Kirk, you made no mention of your status as his godfather.” 

“He’s never been one for sentimental titles,” Chris explains easily, though Spock notes his captain’s eyes stay locked on his drink. “I’ve always been a better captain than a godfather.”

“It was my understanding that you two were rather close.”

“Not until he joined the academy,” the thought seems to bring forth a memory, one that makes a smile break out on his features. “When I tried to recruit him he wanted nothing to do with me. Somewhere between then and his entrance exam the next day, he had a change of heart.”

“Intriguing, do you have any idea as to what could have been the cause?” 

“No one knows what goes on in his mind.” Again, a fond smile and almost half-hearted laugh escape Chris. “You two have been hitting it off.”

“Hitting it off, sir?”

“Getting along. I was a little worried you two would mix like oil and water.”

“On the contrary, I have found he is an extraordinary conversationalist,” Spock confesses.

“Frustrating, isn’t it? How he never seems to give a direct answer.” 

Spock has served under Captain Pike for 4 years, 8 months, and 17 days. He is very familiar with the man’s capacity for emotion. “Easily frustrated” is not a phrase he would use to describe him. Rather, he is far more familiar with the casual and sincere pride that is on his captain’s face now. 

“Perhaps not the phrasing I would use.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” Chris agrees. 

Chapter Text

Two weeks until graduation. 

Until he has to decide if it's worth going out onto a ship. Worth risking getting assigned a duty posting and going out into uncharted territory. Possibly literally.

“Jim?”

Or stay on campus for another year. Safe and sound. While he knows other ships are out there in danger, where they could use his experience and expertise. 

There's no easy answer. Whichever he chooses could have significant consequences either way.

“Jim!” Uhura shouts, making him flinch back in his seat. Looking around, the xenolinguistics club meeting is over, and the two of them are the only ones left. “Are you alright? You’ve been sitting there staring off into space for 15 minutes.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Shaking his head, Jim takes a deep breath and goes to stand. “Just tired.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Uhura asks, taking a step into the blonde’s path. “I mean, after what happened at the embassy you’ve seemed kind of…distant.”

“No worries,” Planting a smile on his face, Jim shrugs, “You’ve seen me take worse.”

“I owe you an apology,” Uhura’s shoulders deflate, “You didn’t deserve what I said to you that night.”

“It’s really not a big-”

“It is a big deal. To me it is,” Straightening her posture and jutting out her chin slightly, she goes on, “I’m sorry. That was no way to treat a friend.”

“If we’re friends, does that mean you’ll tell me your first name?”

For a beat Uhura looks at him confused, eyes squinting before a moment of realization hits. “Not on your life, farm boy.”

“That’s the best you can do? I thought language was your whole thing.” Jim teases, throwing his bag over his shoulder. 

“And apparently yours." Uhura cuts back playfully, holding open the door as the two leave the club room.

"I had to learn something from this club, didn't I?"

"I guess so, I was impressed-" Uhura is about to go on when Jim's watch blares at him angrily.

"Shit, I'm late." He’s about to take off running when Uhura tries to stop him and just barely misses his arm.

"Late for what? The next classes aren't for another hour." Uhura shouts, obviously confused.

"I have a meeting with Spock. I gotta go!" Jim says over his shoulder, already halfway down the hall.

"Spock?" Uhura asks. But Jim pays no attention to her as he bolts from the Communications building. 

Spock's office is almost entirely on the other side of campus and he's already missed his shuttle. Standing at the station terminal, Jim’s foot starts tapping against the pavement. 

"Come on, come on," he mutters to himself despite knowing it won't make the next shuttle arrive any sooner.

He spends the entire 4-minute ride across campus reading over his notes for the exam he has after their meeting. Even as he walks into the administration building, his nose is buried in the screen of a PADD. His feet, now so used to the path to Spock's office, take him there on their own. 

"I was beginning to wonder if you were otherwise occupied," He hears, finally looking up. Bleary eyes blink several times to adjust to the darker atmosphere of Spock's office.

"Like I'd ever miss a chance to beat you at chess." Jim takes his usual seat. Spock rises from his desk and goes to join him, stopping by the door to lower the temperature on his way. "Sorry that I'm late, I got held up at the xenolinguistics club."

"It is of no consequence, though I did think it strange. You are normally very punctual."

"Yeah, no time for anything these days." He shrugs as he makes his first move. So far his record is safe. And each new game, his streak gets higher and higher. "Have you decided what new strategy you'll try today?"

"If I told you then it would only serve to put me at a disadvantage." Spock cuts back and Jim smiles, the gesture only faltering as he watches Spock take the first captured piece off the board. 

"Damn, I thought I was being sneaky," Jim rests his cheek on a closed fist.

"If you will recall, I have stopped underestimating you." Spock teases and Jim bites back a grin. 

They manage to get through several moves in companionable silence before Spock's brow furrows. 

“You appear distracted today,” Spock announces from across the board.

“A lot on my mind,” Figures Spock would see right through him. “Sorry if our game isn’t as exciting as usual.”

“No apology is necessary, I am more concerned with your health,” Spock explains, and true to his word, does not bother to move his bishop like Jim knows he was about to. 

"I'm fine, it's just end-of-semester stress. It'll pass." 

"Fine has variable definitions, and I'm aware of the human tendency to use it as a deflection of sorts," He can never let Jim get away with anything... "I believe you also said you were fine when you needed to be hospitalized. If there is something troubling you-"

"No, no trouble." Jim says a little too quickly, cutting the other man off as he reaches across to check his king. Without hesitation Spock shifts away, in no real danger. 

“If you insist.”

“ What am I doing playing chess when the transporter buffer is still too slow? ” Jim thinks to himself. The buffer is too slow, the power supply for the stabilizers is still not right in the exosuits, and Jim doesn't even know if by this time next month he'll be on this planet. There's still too much to do.

"Jim?" 

When Jim meets his eyes through the pieces scattered between them, Spock’s brows are furrowed in concern. He’s stayed quiet for a bit too long, fading into his own thoughts again. Spock is waiting for him to make his next move on the board. "If you require help of some kind-"

"Sorry," he tries again, but he can tell Spock isn't buying it. Jim’s hand reaches to pluck his rook, placing it down a level to threaten Spock’s knight. He's not at all surprised when Spock captures it and puts him in check in a single move. 

"I'm just tired." He really doesn't want to have this conversation again. Bones, Chekov, Scotty, even Chris have all mentioned the bags under his eyes.

"I assumed you were experiencing some level of anxiety given how tightly you are gripping that piece." Looking down, Jim finds out Spock's right. His knuckles are going white from how firm his grip is on the captured pawn. Placing it down onto the table he shakes out his hand. "Jim, if I-"

"No, I-" He cuts in. Spock startles slightly at his immediate insistence. "Sorry,” he apologizes, this time Spock doesn’t remind him not to. “It’s not something that can be helped. I just need to make it through.”

“Through what?” 

“I just have to finish my finals.”

“That does not-” Spock begins before getting cut off by the shrill beeping of an alarm. 

“Shit, I gotta get to an exam.” Reaching for his bag, Jim goes to stand. Their game is only half finished. He doesn't even know if he'll be planetside long enough to finish it.

“Jim, please-” Spock grabs him, taking him by the wrist as Jim goes to leave. At first moving to stand with him, Spock falls back into his seat, quiet in an instant with eyes blown wide as he stares up.

Jim has only seen this exact expression on Spock’s face one time before.

Just once. 

Jim’s feelings are bleeding into him. 

Hemorrhaging.

The overwhelm of emotions is obvious on Spock’s face, his jaw slack as he gasps for air. Spock’s breath shortens to quick shallow bursts and he clutches Jim’s wrist like a vice.

Jim manages to wrench himself free.

“I’m…” his voice is soft, revealing no hint of the panic he knows Spock feels. “Sorry.”

The cold air of the corridor makes Jim’s muscles tense but he can’t afford to stop.

Chapter Text

Spock has never known true fear.

He has been afraid in the same way any Starfleet officer has been afraid. But despite all of the harrowing experiences, the unknown awaiting him at every new horizon, he now knows he has never felt true terror. 

In Jim exists the purest form of emotion. The instinctual fight or flight of an animal being preyed upon. 

Jim… needs help, but Spock does not know how to give it. It takes Spock the better part of twenty minutes to calm himself. 

Jim has no such luxury. 

It’s ten minutes to get from Spock’s office to the exam centers of the Command campus. Jim will have had to run there to make it in time for his exam. All while Spock is in his office, fighting for a single full breath of air.

Again, Jim has left him mystified. 

An alert from his console finally forces Spock into action. Reaching for his PADD, he realizes his hands are shaking. Jim’s fear is still present in his mind. He needs to meditate. He is obviously not fit for duty... not while high on Jim’s emotions. 

As far from his right mind as he has ever been. 

While he can barely function, Jim is putting the rest of Starfleet to shame.

Looking down at his PADD, Spock takes a steadying breath in when he reads the notification.

-

"You requested my presence, Captain," Spock says as he joins Chris in his office.

"We're being called away on a mission," Chris begins without looking up from the PADD in his hand. 

"So close to the end of the semester?" Spock asks, receiving a nod. Starfleet has likely already taken care of handing off his end-of-semester workload to some other unfortunate officer.

"I need you to start putting together a small crew for launch on Saturday. Because it's a high priority we're gonna be borrowing the Farragut."

"The Farragut, sir? A small vessel for a mission supposedly so important.”

"She'll be a little out of her depth. Certainly no Enterprise, but she'll stay afloat till the new ship's ready." Chris explains with the barest of smiles on his lips. "A recently welcomed planet has asked for Federation representatives at a council meeting with their neighbors. Some kind of trade dispute so a science vessel should be more than enough." 

"Most of your preferred officers are currently on duty in the Laurentian System and are not scheduled to report until Enterprise launches," Spock notes as he lifts his own PADD to begin making notes. "Shall I request immediate transfers?"

"No, I'm hoping we'll be back in time for the graduation ceremonies. No need to disrupt their mission."

"Graduation, sir?" Spock asked. In all his time working with Captain Pike, he has never known the man to care about commencement ceremonies.

"I'd like you to assign Cadet Kirk to the mission." Spock's gaze snaps up from his PADD to look at the captain, still focused on his own reading. 

"An unorthodox request seeing as how he has yet to complete his finals." Spock comments in what he hopes is a tone of nonchalance. 

"He's taking his last one tomorrow. He'll be ready for the mission... if he accepts."

"You have reason to believe he would not?" Spock asks, making a note to send the duty request. Even with graduation only 2 weeks away, Jim will need to be approved by an admiral before he can report for active duty.

"I'm planning on being back in time for graduation," Chris reiterates, a bit of hesitancy lacing his words. "But you know how these diplomatic things go. We could end up stuck there. Which means Jim wouldn't just get stuck missing the ceremony, he'd miss the chance to get assigned immediately."

"Forgive my assumption, Captain, but I had suspected he would be joining us on the Enterprise once construction is completed."

"Once he's an officer he'll be able to sign up for ship rotations the same as anyone else. And he hasn't asked me about waiting for Enterprise." Though the captain spoke with a casual firmness, Spock noted the way his jaw clenched at the end of his sentence. "But it'd be nice if he could be there for the ceremony. I'm surprised they haven't asked him to write a speech."

"I believe this is a circumstance where human fathers often feel pride." Chris's eyes finally lift to meet Spock's. "That would perhaps be more meaningful to the cadet than a ceremony."

Chris nodded once, then twice before putting down his PADD. "Send the request to Archer for approval. Barnett's been cracking down on regulations and I can't take a chance with Marcus."

"Chances, sir?"

"Jim doesn't like Marcus for whatever reason. Hard to imagine him not liking anybody." 

"Indeed, it is rather out of character."

"Every time I ask, he gets all prickly." Pike shrugs and before Spock can ask what 'prickly' means in this context, the captain continues. "Hell if I know what's going on there. But I'd rather avoid Marcus taking out some personal grudge. Archer likes Jim, no chances with him."

“I will forward it immediately, sir.”

Chapter Text

Jim has never before set foot on the Farragut. The ship had been destroyed by Nero in the first attack. When the smoke began to settle, the namesake, like all great ships, was passed along to a new vessel. And her crew memorialized on a wall of names on the Command Division’s campus. 

Getting on board, Jim half expects to start seeing ghosts. 

“Acting Ensign Kirk, welcome aboard,” Spock greets, appearing on Jim’s left as he makes his way down the corridor. “The captain has requested your presence in his ready room.”

“Understood, Commander,” he replies casually, noting the odd lift of Spock’s eyebrow. He has no idea what it means in this context, but he can’t waste the time to try and decipher Spock today. Not when this is supposed to be his first-ever mission. And amazingly enough, being a midshipman is entirely unknown to him. 

While it’s entirely possible this mission happened in his previous life, he doesn’t know anything about it.

The turbolift stops in front of them with a lilted chime, both men boarding quietly as two engineers follow inside.

"Jim, I didn't know you were in command!" One of them says, gesturing to his yellow shirt as the lift begins to move. Ensign Greeley if he remembers correctly. "You spent so much time working on that transporter, I was sure you were one of us."

"Only when I need to be," Jim says with a cheeky wink as the turbolift bellows again and the two engineers depart with a friendly wave. Jim doesn’t realize he lets out a deep breath until Spock speaks in reply.

"There is no reason for you to be nervous," Spock says calmly as the doors slide shut again, leaving them alone.

"What?” Jim, embarrassingly, jumps at the sudden reassurance. “Thanks, Spock. Just… first mission jitters."

With a pat to Spock’s bicep as the lift stops again, Jim exits in search of the ready room. There’s a mission briefing in a short while, so Chris’s request to meet immediately is an odd one. They would have been seeing each other soon enough, what could be so important it can’t wait?

The doors slide open, Chris sitting at the head of the oblong table. He appears to be looking something over on the console display until he sees Jim enter. 

“There you are,” Chris greets before gesturing to the seat at his right. “Pop a squat, kid.”

“Sir,” Jim greets, patting Chris on the back as he crosses behind to his supposedly designated seat. “You needed to see me?”

“I want to thank you for coming aboard,” Pike begins and Jim tilts his head in a bit of confusion. “You’ve really been putting in some leg work these last few weeks. Well, more than usual. I know you were probably looking forward to graduation and the parties after.”

Jim’s curiosity melts into a pool of uncertainty and something else that he’s not sure he wants to name. 

“That’s… sweet of you, Chris,” Jim admits, voice coming out softer than he means despite his best efforts.. “But I worked hard for this.” He gestures vaguely to the ship around them and the open space outside the window. 

This is what matters.

Besides, Jim hadn’t gotten an official ceremony for his first graduation either, the event was canceled in respect of those who lost their lives. Those who would never be able to walk the stage or receive their proper commencement.

“I’d rather be out here doing something important. Not sitting around listening to long-winded speeches from people who’ve been sitting behind a desk for twenty years.”

Chris lets out a soft chuckle as he shakes his head.

“What’s so funny?” Jim asks, not understanding the joke.

“You are,” Chris clarifies, reaching across and placing a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “It’s only been two years, but you’ve come a long way. I don’t think there’s anything left I can teach you.”

“I…” Jim pauses a second, unsure of where to even begin. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No, it is,” Chris says as he gives one final pat on Jim’s shoulder before retreating. “You’ve made me proud, son. I mean that.”

“Th-thank you?” Before Jim can think of a more proper reply, the doors to the ready room open once again and the command team joins them. 

As everyone gets situated, Chris begins and Jim’s thoughts take a moment to refocus on the job at hand. First Spock tells him to not be nervous, now this. Since when did everyone in Starfleet get so… maudlin?

It didn’t help that at that moment, Spock chooses to sit down directly across from him, taking the spot to Chris’s left.

“Alright everyone, we’ve been invited to participate in peace talks between two disputing planets on the edge of Vulcan space.”

“Sir, is this correct?” One of the ensigns asks as she looks over the mission details. “The planet who requested our presence isn’t even warp-capable yet. How can that be?”

“It is no mistake. The Himol, though rich in dilithium, have reportedly not sought to expand beyond their planet.” Spock explains and Jim's heart pounds.

It’s one thing to see Spock’s mind at work in a lecture hall or during a chess game, but Jim’s favorite setting is always a starship. 

“The Paeroxi people from the neighboring system have had a long-standing trade deal with the Himol. One that predates their status as a Federation world,” Spock continues, “They were allowed to continue their contacts with Himol free of further involvement from Starfleet. It is only in recent years the Prime Directive has become more of a concern. This is likely a situation in which old regulations do not meet current diplomatic needs.” 

“If we haven’t been in contact with them, how did they know to ask for our aid?” Jim wonders, unsure how they could have gotten a message to Starfleet without warp-capable ships. 

“I am hoping it’s nothing more than what it sounds like. A trade dispute. And if the Himol people contacted us for aid, we may be able to initiate an unofficial First Contact.” Captain Pike concludes. 

“Sir,” Jim begins, “If the Himol people aren’t Federation, is there anything we know about them? They may not subscribe to the same peaceful diplomatic ideals most Federation species do.”

“A good point,” the captain says with a nod. “Let’s keep in mind that the Himol are the ones who asked for Federation representatives. I think it’s safe to assume they are at least not hostile toward us.”

“That does not necessarily mean they will not be hostile toward the Paeroxi.” Spock offers, catching Jim’s attention again. “However, there is little point in speculating.”

“Prepare for the worst, hope for the best,” Captain Pike says as he rises from his chair before looking out at his crew. “Spock, Kirk, you’re coming with me to the assembly. The rest of you, maintain low orbit and keep the sensors going. Even if they don’t listen to us, this is a good chance to study their planet.”

-

Their small contingent seems even tinier compared to their hosts. While all three men are tall, the Himol people are towering, muscular, and striking in appearance. With light blue skin and dark hair wove into intricate braids. Each one has to look down or stand at a distance to comfortably meet any of the human men in the eye.

As they make their way into the impressive capital building, Jim notes he does not see any Paeroxi. The Federation database has extensive knowledge of their people as one of the major suppliers of the quadrant’s dilithium. And Jim expected to easily spot the trademark lilac hair and antennae. Captain Pike is apparently on the same page.

“Our other guests won’t be joining us yet?” Captain Pike asks their guide, a woman named Adreena. While still impressively tall, the captain can meet her eye without craning his neck.

"Our diplomatic teams have elected to refrain from mingling before your arrival," she explains as they are led toward the central building of the government complex.

Situated on six separate mountain peaks, the outer five buildings surround a central spire that towers high above the others. Between them, intricately carved and decorated bridges connect them. The bridges, Jim notices, have two levels. The top layer is a bright and airy walkway bustling with officials. The tier underneath carries water in channels like small rivers built above the lush valley. 

"An aqueduct system?" Jim asks. 

"At such high elevations, snow forms on the buildings and mountain peaks. The runoff is led to turbines placed throughout the bridges." As she explains, Jim wonders if he sees a hint of pride in the way she gazes out at one of the structures. This one is seemingly under construction as workers stand on hovering platforms. The sound of chiseling echoes through the mountain valleys. 

"Quite resourceful," Spock comments from Pike's other side, taking in the sight. “Not dissimilar to how my people harvest water in many areas of the desert.”

"Our other Vulcan guest said something similar," Adreena says as they are led into the central spire's entryway. The three men walking behind her share a look amongst themselves.

There had been no mention of Vulcans.

Despite the massive chamber being made of stone, Jim is surprised when there seems to be no echo of their footsteps or conversation as Adreena continues. "She also stated Vulcans use a similar method of natural architecture by building underneath cliff faces to shield themselves from the sun and circulate cool air. I was delighted to find our methods of construction to be so alike."

“Indeed, there may be much our species can learn from one another.” Spock agrees.

"I take it you're responsible for these masterworks," Captain Pike says.

"They are hardly my design," Adreena answers, "They have stood for nearly a century. It is merely my job to maintain them."

"I imagine it’s difficult battling such extreme conditions," Jim offers as they board an elevator. Instead of rising as he expects, they begin to descend into the mountain. 

"Our people have sculpted the world beneath our feet for millennia. There is nothing we are better suited to do." Adreena explains as the doors open. Instead of a dark, damp cave, they reveal archways carved from the outermost layer of the mountain, forming windows that look out into the valley. "From the rock, we breathe life."

"I hate to interrupt what I am sure is a wonderful tour," an 8-foot-tall goliath of a man says in a deep booming voice as he approaches. When he leans over in a slight bow, Jim almost worries the man's weight will make him topple over. "I am Chancellor Thiwell. An honor to have you, my friends."

"The honor is all ours, Chancellor. I am Captain Pike," he says, turning to gesture at his crew. “My First Officer Commander Spock, and Ensign Kirk. We’re looking forward to learning about your people.”

"As are we. Please," the chancellor gestures to a wide arched doorway at the end of the corridor. "I understand the high elevation may be difficult for you. Come, sit. We will begin shortly."

Following into the main chamber, the Paeroxi finally reveal themselves by beaming directly into the room without any formal address.

"They certainly feel at home here," Captain Pike comments to Spock under his breath as they take their seats around the circular table set in the center of the room. Despite its slim profile, Jim’s fingers trace the marbled lines and cool surface. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen marble cut so thin for such a large, steady surface. 

"After much strange circumstance," Chancellor Thiwell begins, voice loud, and somehow not reverberating around the stone room. "We welcome all visitors to our home today. It is my hope we can enter a new era of trade that is fair to all parties."

"Fair," A Paeroxi woman spits out. "You claim that it is fair to go back on trade agreements that have been in place since before you were born?" 

"First Minister Shadar," the chancellor begins as he sinks into his chair, "If you are so eager, perhaps you would like to begin our discussion."

"Gladly," the woman says as she stands, looking out over the crowd. 

Around her eyes, there is an implant of some kind that does not appear on any of the rest of her species. Two sleek-looking pieces of metal curve around the outside of her eye sockets like crescent moons. 

"We have held these contracts since before the founding of the Federation. To expect us to bow to their demands is not only an insult to us but not legally sound. They hold no power in any dealings with non-Federation species.”

One of the chancellor's advisors stands up faster than Jim thinks someone of his size should be able to. In front of him, a small plaque shows he is from the Resources Management Bureau. 

"Our agreement was finalized based on the little knowledge you provided us about the galaxy at large, which we now know was not accurate for the time. Neither is it accurate now. We had no way of knowing how valuable dilithium was and is." He explains, turning to speak to Captain Pike more directly. "They take advantage of our lack of allies beyond our world. They have acted against our wishes. They view themselves as a mouthpiece for a world that is not theirs!"

“In what specific instance have they spoken for you?” Captain Pike asks, attempting to find the truth buried under the bickering.

“A Vulcan requested permission to build a new development on our planet’s surface. They mistook us for a mere colony. Instead of correcting the mischaracterization, the Paeroxi used it to establish further false authority over us.” The bureau administrator seems to only get more angry as he recounts the tale.

“By their own admission, the Vulcans have no right to speak with you!” Another Paeroxi man stands up, pointing an accusing finger.

“That is not for you to decide.” A Himol woman jumps to her feet in turn, her stone chair scraping heavily against the floor. Adreena, sitting beside her, takes her by the forearm and gently tugs her back down.

“I see, so the Minister accepted on your behalf without consultation.” Captain Pike goes on, believing he’s pieced together the puzzle.

“Quite the opposite,” Chancellor Thiwell answers, a grave look on his face. “They rejected on our behalf. Which they have no right to do. When we spoke with the Vulcan, she advised this was a matter better resolved by the Starfleet.”

“This is more complicated than we were led to believe,” Captain Pike explains, looking between all three parties. “I’d like to sit down with each of you alone and get each side’s story straight. With only the most essential members of your teams.”

“As we have said,” First Minister Shadar interrupts, “The Federation has no say in treaties established before we joined.”

“No, but interfering in the politics of a non-warp society is considered a punishable offense,” he counters. “And if you would like to solve this matter peacefully and without investigation, I expect you to cooperate.”

The minister huffs, but relents. Turning to her contingent, she dismisses most of them. Instead of beaming out, they begin walking towards the exit. The chancellor’s people appear to be doing the same as Chris turns to Jim.

“Spock and I are gonna be busy for a while,” he explains, pointedly looking towards the hall now bustling with aliens. “See what you can find out. I want to know everything going on here and start with what the Vulcans even want with this place.”

“It is curious,” Spock agrees after a moment, and Jim wonders if he’s imagining the hesitancy. “They stated the Vulcan science team mistook this planet as a colony. It is not typical for my people to make such a mistake. Our scientists are particularly thorough.” Spock explains, eyes still focused on the crowd, as if trying to locate a rogue pair of ears.

“Ya don’t say,” Chris comments with a sideways smile, meeting Jim’s smirk.

“I’ll see what I can dig up,” he agrees before joining the other ‘non-essential’ dignitaries.

Stepping out into the corridor, the divide between factions is dramatic. Along the arched windows, the Himol cluster together. The Paeroxi, on the other hand, gather along the innermost wall of the chamber. Far away from their hosts. Spotting Adreena a short way down the hall, Jim walks over with a smile.

“Looks like we might have to wait a while,” he begins, leaning on the balustrade beside her. “Hopefully they can at least get somewhere without everyone yelling at each other.”

“Yes, it’s not how I hoped today would go,” Adreena agrees with a nod. “We had no idea a simple request would lead to such problems.”

“I’m sure the captain will get to the bottom of this faster than you think.” Jim started, “If you don’t mind, I have a question for you.”

“How can I be of help?” She asks, standing to her full height and looking down at him.

“You mentioned speaking with a Vulcan about engineering techniques,” Jim begins. “I was wondering if you knew what they were interested in building here.” 

“Ms. Podav had expressed Vulcan’s desire to create an emergency outpost and supply center,” Adreena began, Jim’s eyes widening at the name. “The more she learned of our planet, the more interested she was in beginning construction.”

“Emergency outposts,” Jim repeats, “Would you know, by any chance, if Ms. Podav is still here?”

“Yes, she was very insistent on staying until this issue was resolved. Her team seems eager to get construction started immediately and are currently performing geological surveys.”

“Would you be able to arrange a meeting between us?”

“Of course, I’ll let you know the moment she returns.”

-

“So it’s very rare among your people?” Jim asks the Paeroxi men around him. While they did not wish to converse with the Himol, they seemed all too ready to complain to an unknown human.

“Not unheard of, but yes,” One of the men says, his antennae twitching curiously. “Many do not wish to integrate technology into our bodies. The First Minister, however, found her failing eyesight to be detrimental to her work.”

“If it’s rare then I’m surprised such a complex procedure was able to be done. Ocular surgery and implants can be very delicate from what I understand.”

“Yes, well,” The man’s antennae twitch again, this time more suddenly. “I suppose the Himol are good for more than their mining.”

“The Himol performed the surgery?” Jim asks, unsure if he is understanding correctly. 

“There is much danger in mining. Injuries, sickness, muscle and tissue damage. Since introducing our medical training to them, they have flourished. Another blessing we have bestowed upon them.” 

“I see,” Jim starts, nodding along with the man as his antennae calm. “If it is your medical knowledge, then what did the minister need from them?” 

“They are craftsmen,” he explains, “Better suited to delicate work.”

"It is you," A firm but level voice says behind Jim. He is met by the small Vulcan woman, Professor Podav. Her intricate pile of ink-black braids and short stature, surprisingly, allow her to blend in more with the Himol milling about the corridor. "You are the young man from Starfleet, are you not? The one who pointed out Vulcan's inefficient emergency procedure."

"I'm flattered you remember me," Jim offers as the Paeroxi man excuses himself. At least Jim could get a bit of information from him. 

Turning to face the professor properly, he holds up his hand in the ta'al salute. "I apologize for taking you away from your surveys. They must be important to your work."

"Quite important, yes," she begins, taking him in slowly from toes to ears. "However, no work can officially begin until this planet is welcomed into the Federation. Adreena tells me that is why you are here."

"Yes, absolutely. Starfleet made sure to send their finest," he agrees as the two of them move to stand along the arched windows overlooking the valley. "But while the important people get this taken care of, I was talking to some of the people around here. They seem excited about your project."

"Yes, they were quite taken with our idea for a Vulcan settlement." Professor Podav explains as she joins Jim. Her hands neatly fold into a practiced meditative position in front of her while she seems to consider her words. "Their kindness and willingness to work with us is more than my team expected."

"An entire settlement?" Jim asks, "I was under the impression it was a single outpost."

"It perhaps started that way. And is what we have constructed on Delta Vega," Podav says as she turns away from Jim to look out across the valley. "We were unaware of the untapped potential of this planet. Were it not for the halting of our scans we would have been able to finish construction months ago."

"Scans were stopped midway?" Jim asks, seeing Adreena scowl slightly over Podav’s shoulder.

"The Paeroxi contacted our ship to inform us we were trespassing." The professor explains.

"Which, of course, is not true." Jim supplies and watches as the woman seems to take a deep breath in through the nose. 

"Vulcan has been purchasing dilithium from Paerox for decades. Every source we have informs us that this planet is only populated by their people. Not naturally, but as a colony." Podav explains, and Jim wonders if he is imagining the tightness in her jaw. "A single scan of the surface proved this to be incorrect. We simply did not discover this impropriety until now because we had no reason to doubt them. Their illogical deceit delayed my project and left me with no choice but to turn to Starfleet."

"At the symposium, you had said your designs were intended for public transit. That the new engines would improve efficiency and lower maintenance costs for existing lines." Jim begins, trying to figure out how the woman managed to almost entirely change careers in a year. "Is that no longer your goal?"

"When confronted with the nearly nonexistent infrastructure for planetary disaster, it was logical to submit my designs where they would be most useful," Podav explains as Adreena approaches, joining the two of them with a silent nod in greeting. "My designs and experience in metropolitan traffic patterns and city planning led the High Council to elevate me to head of a new division. I suppose I have you to thank for that."

"Me?" Jim asks, taken aback. "Ms. Podav, I didn't do anything. I only made a suggestion, it was you who made it happen. A perfectly efficient civilian transport system reaching across all of Vulcan space doubling as emergency evac. This could change everything! The High Council clearly saw your degree of skill and training free of my influence."

"I had always wondered if humans were as prone to exaggeration as rumored," Podav says and Jim sees the barest hint of a smile. He knew Spock wasn't the only Vulcan with a soft spot for being told they were efficient.

"No exaggeration is needed, Professor," Adreena agrees, finally speaking up. "With your assistance, the plans for the central buildings of the settlement have already been vastly improved."

"I take it you're the Master Engineer?" Jim asks, meeting Adreena with a broad grin.

"Only in title when stood beside someone so skilled," She argues, turning to gesture at Podav with an upward palm. "I cannot begin to tell you how exhilarating it is to see the foundation of my world's next wonder."

"Yes, well," Podav clears her throat softly as she turns away from them both to go back down the hall. "If you're both finished with your expressions of emotion, I do have a team to get back to."

"If it wouldn't be any bother," Jim begins with a bite of hesitation. "May I see what you're working on?"

-

"This is-" Jim nearly gawks at the plans laid out before him. The holographic projection simulates all the routes traveling to and from Vulcan.

"Incomplete," Podav specifies before Jim can finish his thought.

"I was going to say impressive," he corrects as he leans over the projection table in her temporary office. 

The intricately carved walls remind Jim of the Vulcan Embassy, but instead of the rich red tones he was used to, the stone was painted with various pigments. In contrast, the Vulcan woman’s dark hair and robes made her seem more like a shadow.

"These separate docking systems," he points out, "Are the modular platforms so much more efficient than a stationary one?"

"In normal conditions for transit, not at all," Podav explains as Jim looks through every detail of the new Vulcan Emergency Response System. "A stationary platform is more than efficient if properly managed. Moving platforms are unnecessary and create an extra need for labor as well as maintenance and training. But when platforms can be constructed on any level ground-"

"You can have as many landing stations as there are people to set them up." Jim finishes the thought. 

The scientific data, the maps, scans, and geological surveys were one thing. But this ! An entire plan was devised by a Vulcan specialist for peak efficiency of the one thing he'd been looking for.

"How many people could be moved here from Vulcan with this system working at full capacity?" Jim asks, too focused to notice another member of her all-Vulcan team appears in the open doorway. Behind them, Captain Pike and Spock.

"Approximately 340,000 people per hour on a standard transit schedule. The same as Shikahr's most state-of-the-art commuter lines," she explains, before shifting the display screen to show all of the emergency procedures being activated. The simulation shifts red as more lines than Jim can count appear. "With my current allocated resources for shuttles and assuming I will have the staff to support them, I can guarantee evacuation of over 600,000 an hour."

"And that's taking into account the unload times and return trips for more passengers," Jim says.

"As well as delays potentially caused by space debris, technical malfunction, and pilot error, that is correct," Podav explains as her team member approaches. 

"My apologies," the Vulcan man interjects, "The Starfleet representatives have come to collect their crewmember."

"I don't mean to interrupt," Captain Pike says, looking between Jim and the professor. "But we're about to beam back to the ship for the night."

"Night?" Jim asks, turning to look outside the office’s door to see that the sun had since set over the valley. Maybe he shouldn't have spent so much time asking for engine specifics before being herded away by nitpicky Vulcan engineers. "I'm sorry, Professor, I didn't mean to monopolize your entire day."

"On the contrary," Podav begins as she shuts the hologram down, the travel patterns, time slots, and emergency protocols all hidden from Jim's view. "Your input has been highly assistive in our planning for the on-site medical facilities and food delegation systems. You are well suited to crisis management."

"Ha, you don't know the half of it," Jim says with a wide grin. "But, I guess that's where we part for today. Thank you for indulging me."

"It has been a pleasure, Mr. Kirk," Podav bows her head gracefully, "And thank you for your assistance once again." 

-

"Assistance?" Captain Pike asks once they are safely beamed aboard. "What could you possibly have assisted with?"

"Nothing!" Jim holds up his hands innocently, "I just did what you asked, and she… recognized me."

"Recognized you?" Pike asks as the three of them step down from the transporter. 

"Yeah, well-" Jim turns as he follows, looking to the transporter controller. Except Scotty's not there. Nothing is. Farragut's transporter terminal is an older model. And the technician is on Jim's opposite side. 

"Professor Podav is well known for her contributions to the Vulcan Science Academy" Spock explains without looking up from his PADD., following the other two men's lead without so much as a glance. "Her presence at the last symposium, however, was somewhat overshadowed if I remember correctly."

Jim rolls his eyes. Spock remembers everything correctly.

"Let me guess," Chris turns, looking at Jim. "Your sparkling personality charmed everyone at that symposium?"

"Not everyone," Jim shrugs before he realizes they're not going to the bridge or the ready room. "Too tired for a debrief, Captain?"

"Never," Chris says without explanation. Instead, Spock speaks up, falling in step to Jim's right.

"The captain has a strict policy regarding dinner," Spock explains, "Aside from Red Alert, it is not to be delayed."

"How... wholesome," Jim comments as they enter the captain's quarters. Jim doesn't think he used his in-room kitchen for much of anything. Aside from trying to hide the occasional bad choice from Bones, he might have even forgotten he had one.

Chris never had the chance to move his things onto the ship before Nero attacked. With his injury and handing the ship over, this was Jim’s first real glimpse into Chris's captaining style in action. But this isn't the Enterprise. So why is all of his stuff here?

"How do you like your steak, Jim?" Chris asks, reaching for an apron. 

"Medium?" he says, a bit unsure if he should be playing along. Maybe this was all a joke. Chris cooked for him plenty before but... as a captain, he was cooking for his command team? "You brought all of your cooking utensils onboard for a week-long mission? How many cadets did you have to take away from their posts to carry all this here for you?"

"It would be best not to argue," Spock says cryptically as he finally puts down his screen and turns to wash his hands. "I have tried to inform Captain Pike many times that this practice is illogical. He does not listen."

"I listen," Chris says as he begins to take trays of prepped food out of the fridge. "I just don't care to change my behavior because of it."

"As I said," Spock agrees, looking to Jim as he dries his hands and reaches for a knife to begin cutting vegetables. "There is little use in searching for reason when it comes to the captain's cooking."

"Come on, Jim, you've seen me cook lots of times," Chris doesn't bother to look Jim's way, too busy heating his trusty cast iron. "I get all my best crew involved in the most important functions of the ship. This is one of them."

"Uh-huh, sure," Jim nods, leaning against the counter and watching as Chris starts gathering his fixings while Spock cuts perfectly identical slices of cucumber for their salad. "Good luck with that."

"You will not be assisting?" Spock asks, pulling the knife away from the board before turning to look up at Jim.

"Jim's not allowed," Chris explains, pointing an accusing spatula in the ensign's direction. 

"He'll trust me to talk to unknown aliens but not with a paring knife," Jim shrugs, "Another battle not worth fighting."

"Speaking of talking with aliens," Chris begins, "What did you manage to find out?”

“Well,” Jim let out a big sigh. Where to start? “The Vulcan High Council is expanding their planetary transport and setting up outposts and travel hubs in nearby systems. According to the professor, all the information they had about this place was secondhand so their computer considers this Paeroxi space. They didn’t know they were dealing with a pre-warp civilization until after they began scanning.”

“Which means they’re innocent bystanders,” Pike concludes.

“Not entirely,” Jim explains. “Professor Podav was the one who told Adreena to contact Starfleet. The two of them have been working together to begin building a settlement. The Vulcans can’t construct their outpost until this is settled-”

“But the Himol can,” Spock concludes with a final chop. “They are working together on an unsanctioned construction project.”

“Sanctioned by the Himol and built entirely by their own hands,” Jim argues.

“With Vulcan advisement and technology,” Spock argues back. “They are effectively breaking the prime directive.”

“Does it matter?” Jim asks, leaning over and snatching a cucumber slice from the cutting board, “The Paeroxi have been interfering for years. People who don’t know what a warp core is are repairing their aqueducts with hovering scaffolds. I don’t think further meddling is going to matter.”

“Regardless, it is against Federation law,” Spock insists. “The presence of Professor Podav’s team has already changed the course of this planet’s future.”

“Maybe for the better!” Jim tries again.

“So what do you suggest?” Chris asks as the hot pan sizzles in front of him. Even with his back turned, Jim can hear the smirk on the man’s face.

“Ideally the Paeroxi still need their dilithium. It could be devastating if they are cut off from their resources so suddenly,” Spock offers, sliding the cutting board farther away from Jim. “The Himol will not allow themselves to remain under their influence.”

“The Himol don’t have the infrastructure or desire to ship their own product. In exchange for continuing to move the material, the Paeroxi could keep their reduced rate and get priority.” Jim explains, still trying to reach for the vegetables as Spock moves them farther away. “

“They will still need to be approved for a Vulcan outpost to be built on a pre-warp non-Federation planet,” Spock says. “And they will not be easy to convince.”

“The Himol have gone from knowing a single alien race to potentially dozens in a matter of weeks and all they care about is what they can do to be a part of it.” Jim explains, getting more animated the longer he’s allowed to go on. But using it as an excuse to further lean in and take more veggies. “They want to help and learn. Isn’t that more of a marker of their readiness to join the Federation than a warp core?”

“Whether they are ready or not, they are unaware of Federation regulation, ideals, interspecies ethics and diplomacy,” Spock says, giving up on moving the cutting board and just dumping the veggies into the salad bowl. He takes it and places the salad next to Jim on the counter and hands him a fork. “If they are welcomed today, they will still not be ready to engage with the rest of the galaxy in such a complex business as dilithium trading for some time.” 

“Which is why they’ll need Jim,” Chris says as he begins plating food.

“What?” Jim asks at the same Spock turns and says, “Captain?”

“Jim, the first rule of construction on a new Federation planet,” Chris says instead of explaining.

“Starfleet oversight is required for every step of the process in case of unforeseen crisis or endangering of life.” Jim recites without thinking about it. It was second nature to any captain who had been on about a dozen supply runs to any colony planet. The first person he always dealt with was an official Starfleet liaison appointed to the project.

“How long did the professor say construction would take on that outpost?” Chris asks.

“About seven months.” Which leaves Jim plenty of time to get back before Enterprise launches. And before Nero.

“Most colony planets are wastelands. The most dangerous things there are the colonists.” Chris begins to explain, “This is complicated and whoever is stationed here will not only need to be the bridge between Starfleet and 3 very different alien species. But also someone willing to get their hands dirty. And who knows the job better than anyone else.”

“An inexperienced cadet-” Spock starts.

“Ensign.” Chris corrects before going on. “Think about it, they’re going to need someone anyway. Would be one hell of a start to your career. Fast track to captain with that under your belt.”

“They’d have to be Federation first,” Jim says, about to go on when he sees Spock turn toward him with a sharp glare. The same glare he got while explaining his plan on how to save Nibiru from the volcano.

“We’ll see what we can do tomorrow in negotiations."

Chapter Text

“I am simply unclear on what you wish to accomplish by accepting this mission.” Spock explains as he follows Jim out of the captain’s quarters. “I was under the impression you desired to work on Enterprise.”

With the captain.

“And I will!” Jim says with a spring in his step as they move down the corridor, passing countless crew going to enjoy their meals after a long shift. “But that’s almost a year from now. And I can’t exactly sit back and do nothing.”

“No, you are not good at doing nothing.” Spock agrees and Jim lets out a strange laugh. As though Spock has made a joke. Which he certainly has not. 

“When are you going to learn that I’m good at everything?” Jim asks, and Spock does not appreciate the attempt to move away from the matter at hand.

“You would have to be good at ‘everything’ before I can learn such a thing.”

“Ouch,” Jim says with a slight hiss, as though he has touched something hot. “But I didn’t finish in two years to sit around and wait for my ship. Not when there’s so much to do.”

Spock supposes it is logical. Jim is the so-called crown jewel of his graduating class.

But why choose an ensign at all? Why not an established professional? One who has the proper experience for such a task. Instead of a cadet who, other than his homeworld, has only ever visited a single planet.

“I am concerned about Captain Pike’s willingness to put you in such a precarious position,” Spock admits as he stops in front of the door to his quarters. “He perhaps has become too reliant on you.”

“Spock,” Jim says firmly as he crosses his arms over his chest in a display of frustration. “Captain Pike knows I can do this. I know I can do this. Why don’t you?”

“I-” Spock pauses. He had not meant to give such an impression. “You misunderstand.”

“Then explain it to me,” Jim pushes, his eyes squinting as they usually do when he is deep in thought. 

Jim is more than competent. Accomplished, knowledgeable, charismatic. He possesses every trait that an officer will need to complete this mission. He demonstrated that today with tact and ease.

“I merely have… concerns.” Spock does not like the sound of his voice. Even more so, the way Jim’s expression stays firm. “You will succeed at all you desire. Of that, I have no doubt.”

Jim’s shoulders drop, any tension held in them leaves instantly. Eyes widen and brows raise, lips part before he finally swallows. 

Not unlike a sehlat cub being called to attention.

“Which is why the scope of such a task prompts consideration. It is a daunting endeavor to relocate one’s entire life for the sake of their career without planning-“

“Like you did to join Starfleet?” Jim asks, head tilting to one side. 

Spock’s jaw clenches.

“I applied to Starfleet. There was forethought. It did not happen in a matter of hours.” He explains and Jim nods, but the odd twist of his lips gives Spock the impression he does not agree.

“I don’t need more time. I’m doing this.” The finality of Jim’s words makes Spock take a breath.

There is nothing he can say to change Jim’s mind. 

“Come on,” Jim continues, gesturing back down the corridor, “I think there’s a chess set in one of the rec rooms.”

“I believe it best I get proper meditation before tomorrow’s assembly.”

“Oh,” Jim takes a half step back, hand waving in front of him and dismissing the offer. “Of course, yeah, rest well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Likewise.” Retreating into his temporary quarters, Spock takes a sharp breath in through the nose and goes to adjust the climate controls. Just like all of Starfleet, the room is intended for a human guest by default. And is far too cold. 

“Computer, raise temperature to Vulcan standard.”

Spock is Jim’s friend. He is meant to be… proud. Just as he suggested to the captain. 

Both Captain Pike and Jim are correct. Based purely on merit, qualification, and ability Jim is the perfect candidate.

Spock settles into a meditative pose, not bothering to change out of his uniform.

Jim has an apparent talent for large-scale resource management and planning. This much is obvious. So much so that Professor Podav recognized it immediately. Seemingly without any of the initial trepidation Spock expressed toward Jim.

“Computer, raise temperature an additional two degrees,” he instructs, shifting out of position to reach over and light incense before reseating.

Jim has achieved perfection. A golden standard to be strived for among the greatest collection of minds. Anyone in Starfleet, and apparently Vulcans and Himol as well, can see that.

Spock understands that data must be reviewed in full before a final determination can be made. Others do not have all the facts.

Others have not felt Jim’s mind.

-

Three days. 

Three long, tedious, negotiation and detail-filled days before the new trade agreements are signed. They still must initiate a makeshift First Contact to establish Starfleet communication arrays as well as other official documents to get in order. The list of things that must get done is growing by the hour. The coming days are about to be even busier and Spock has hardly seen Jim since their conversation in the hall. 

And Spock’s patience is being greatly tested today by First Minister Shadar.

“You expect our highly trained dilithium transport engineers to report to a child?” Spock’s hands clench uncomfortably as Shadar complains. “This is an insult. I will not waste my time with such a useless creature.”

“I can assure you, Minister,” Spock begins before Captain Pike can answer. Squaring his shoulders, he meets her eyes and recognizes the disgust in them all too well. “Starfleet is making a grand gesture in assigning its most capable officer to a position of such importance. To refuse his appointment would be akin to insulting Starfleet itself.”

“Minister,” a member of her staff says, “I spoke with this officer. He showed great interest in our medical technology and encouraged the Vulcan science team to utilize our current systems in all emergency outposts. It would provide us with a great deal of influence in these new agreements.” 

“You will find,” Captain Pike starts, Spock’s eyes not leaving the minister’s. “That Mr. Kirk has a rather unique approach to diplomacy. One that will certainly benefit a people with as much to offer the Federation as yourselves.”

“I suppose time will reveal all,” Shadar states as she looks down her nose at them. “I trust a replacement will be found quickly after his failure?”

“While I doubt it will come to that,” the captain insists before Spock can argue, lips parting to bite back at her with an illogically cutting remark. “Yes, should the need arise, one will be assigned and transported immediately.”

“So long as production does not get delayed I will humor the child.” The stylus in Spock’s hand cracks under the pressure of his grip, a fissure running up the length of it.

“I have no doubt you will be pleasantly surprised by his work ethic and effectiveness,” Captain Pike says and Spock’s grip loosens. Tapping the pen against his PADD, the screen thankfully responds and he is relieved he did not damage the mechanisms inside. “Give him a chance to show you what he can do.”

Spock manages to hold his tongue through the rest of their assembly. It’s not until they all depart for the day that Captain Pike addresses him directly.

“I thought you were opposed to Jim doing this,” the captain states, eyeing Spock warily. “So, why the dramatics back there?” 

“I do not know what you speak of,” Spock says carefully, rotating the stylus in its holder so the crack is hidden. He will have to replace the casing when he has the time.

“Uh-huh,” the captain nods, “and since when is Jim the most capable officer in all of Starfleet?”

“Statistically there is no one who can compare to his record. He has accomplished in two years what most hope to in their entire career.” It is logical. Factual. 

“Including getting in your good graces. Which I know from experience, is not easy.” 

“Again, I am unsure of what you speak,” Spock states, but before the captain can reply, they are cut off by a voice.

“You have to be out of your corn-fed mind,” the voice is surly, human, and laced with frustrated concern. “Seven months? With an entirely unknown alien species.”

“They’re nice people, Bones,” both Spock and Captain Pike pause in the hall at Jim’s voice. “And they like me! Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Nothing my ass! We’re talking about your eyes!” Jim’s eyes? “I’m taking the first transport and I’m going to see about this ridiculous surgery for myself.” 

“Bones?” Jim asks before repeating, “Bones!” Rounding the corner of the long stretch of hallway, Jim greets them both with a bright smile despite the odd call. “Hey, done already?”

“What was all that?” The captain asks, gesturing to the PADD in Jim’s hand. 

“Just recruiting a volunteer,” Spock notes that he is, once again, using a colorful euphemism. “Bones is gonna be a big help.”

If Spock remembers correctly, which Jim has pointed out he always does, this same doctor was urging Jim to have a medical procedure performed.

“You are allergic to Retinax,” he states, realizing what has happened. “You told your doctor you were undergoing a foreign procedure to force him to come here.”

“I didn’t force him to do anything,” Jim points a finger up at Spock. “And if he hung up before I could convince him not to come, is that my fault?”

“It is, I believe the term to be, emotionally manipulative?” Spock asks, suspicious of Jim’s true motive in bringing his doctor to the edges of Vulcan space. 

“I guess you could call it that,” Jim shrugs casually. As though he could not care less about the implication. “Everything went well today?”

Spock swallows despite his efforts not to and Jim’s eyes are immediately on him. Spock does not like it. But Jim does not say anything either.

“For the most part,” the captain says cryptically, “but the important thing is the engineers can get to work immediately. Everything else can be worked out later.”

“I better go tell Podav and Adreena the good news,” Jim states as he goes to put his communicator away. “They’ll want to start first thing in the morning.”

“Sounds like you’ve got everything under control,” Captain Pike says with a wide grin. “Don’t stay out too late. Tomorrow’s going to be busy.”

“Every day from here on out is going to be busy.”

Despite the promise of seemingly endless work, Jim’s smile is the brightest Spock has ever seen. A sunrise over Fir’Creeta, winning a chess match, discussing Vulcan artworks, even promises of learning to play the lyre. All other smiles pale in comparison to a Jim Kirk who is on a mission. 

“We’ll meet you on board,” the captain begins before Spock argues. 

“Perhaps I will join you another time, Captain,” Spock says, turning to Jim. “I am interested in seeing the plans for the development if you are going to the professor now.” 

“Well then,” the captain eyes Spock curiously. “Have fun boys.”

“Come on,” Jim says, clapping Spock on the shoulder and leading him down the meandering corridors to the offices set aside for the Vulcan science team. “I was starting to think you hated this whole place.”

“Hate is an illogical sentiment,” Spock begins, falling into step alongside Jim. “Time is better spent constructively.”

“And in this case, it’s literal construction,” Jim teases.

“You appear to be in a good mood,” Spock comments, watching Jim wave to a passing Vulcan that Spock does not recognize. Despite the odd and entirely human gesture, the man bows his head in respect while walking by. “I take it you are pleased with your assignment.”

“Hard not to be. I’m at the nexus point between four species. And nothing happens here that I don’t know about.”

Spock has never before considered Jim to be so obsessed with maintaining control. Of not just himself, but everything around him.

When they arrive at the office, the professor is not there. Something Spock finds himself immeasurably grateful for as Jim leads him to the schematic table.

“I guess she called it a night,” Jim shrugs as he goes to turn it on. “But check this out.”

With the official plans of the settlement pulled up, Spock noticed Jim’s fixation on the building immediately beside the transport hub. Even as he went on explaining the landing pads and backup transport ships, wide eyes kept glancing down to a large blacked-out area in the center of the complex. 

“This area,” Spock finally points out, “what could be so important it utilizes the entire center promenade?” Surely the emergency systems were priority.

“A meditation garden,” Jim explains after a beat of hesitation. “Just like the one at the academy.”

“For what purpose?”

“A gesture of good faith,” Jim goes on, but Spock does not see any of the usual meticulous planning put into the rest of the project. It is, effectively, a black square in the center of the small town. “To welcome visiting Vulcans.”

“You see immediately in front of a transport hub as a suitable place for a garden.” It is not a question. Spock is certain Jim has considered every aspect of this decision.

“It’s not just a transport hub,” Jim says, his lips pursing as though eating something sour. “If it’s for emergency evac, this will be the first thing people see when they land. They might need to meditate.”

How typical of Jim to consider not only the practical but emotional needs of a people who claim to feel nothing.

“That will take longer, I only sent the proposal to your mom today.”

“My mother?” Spock asks, taking a sharp breath in through the nose as he meets Jim’s eyes. “You are in contact with my mother.”

“She’s a board member of the Federation Interspecies Relations Administration.”

“I am aware,” Spock states.

“And she was in charge of the garden project at the Academy,” When Spock makes no comment, Jim rolls his eyes before going on. “She said she loved the idea and that she’d put me in contact with all the right people.” 

“I see.”

“Don’t give me that,” Jim scoffs, going to hit Spock on the arm. But before he can make contact, Spock grabs him by the wrist.

“This is a good idea!” Jim insists, not seeming to care in the slightest that Spock is holding onto him. 

There is no guilt. No terror. 

Whatever had been tearing his friend apart prior to his finals, now seems lost within the sea of purpose and resolve. His mind, even through mere surface level contact, is peaceful.

“We even sent an official request to the Ecological Commission to get real Vulcan sand, rocks, and everything.”

“You are quite efficacious,” Spock begins but a surge of heat makes him drop Jim’s wrist as though the man is on fire.

“Well you’re the one who said I can do anything.” Jim cuts back with a wide grin as he shuts off the schematic table.
“A convenient misinterpretation of my sentiment,” though…apparently not incorrect. “Regardless, I will supply you with any assistance you may require.”

“I’m glad you say that, because I’m gonna need signatures from a Starfleet scientist on a lot of this paperwork.” 

Chapter Text

The Farragut leaves Jim behind, entrusting Himol and the Vulcan scientists in his care. Spock, meanwhile, returns to San Francisco expecting an influx of paperwork and official requests. All of which, have Jim’s digital signature attached. Despite Starfleet’s never ending supply of great minds, Spock seems to be the only one Jim sends these requests to. 

Jim’s winning streak in chess also seems to translate to digital well. But Spock is putting up a decent fight with each victory of his own, their scoreboard steadily evening out as they play during the time while Jim is gone.

Time ticks on, weeks into months as Spock finalizes all the ship assignments and Chris prepares for Enterprise’s launch in May.

Which is why Spock is all too surprised to see a familiar head of blonde hair through the hallway windows of the long-range sensor labs. Jim, for all that Spock thought he would be alerted of his arrival, seems to have miraculously reappeared. As if seven months came and went in the blink of an eye. 

Spock straightens his uniform top with a single tug of the hem. He pulls his shoulder back and rights his posture before pinning his hands behind his back.

Cadet Uhura is only several terminals away, listening intently to something playing in her earpiece. Professional and collected, the woman looks calm despite her focus. 

In contrast, Jim's hair is a messy tumbleweed, there are bags under his eyes, and his uniform is unkempt. Even from the corridor, he can see Jim’s hands tremble. If it is with fear or exhaustion, or perhaps both, he can only speculate. Captain Pike has often mentioned a caffeine problem as well.

"Kirk. You speak Klingon. Come listen to this." Spock hears through the open door.

Immediately and without question, Jim is at Uhura's side and taking the offered earpiece as she explains. "A Klingon prison planet was attacked. During a... lightning storm in space."

"Advanced weapons. Forty-seven ships destroyed." Jim says aloud as he listens intently. "No survivors. The attacking ship is gone. Into the Neutral Zone." 

"What could destroy forty seven ships?" Uhura asks, and Spock can see the metaphorical wheels turning in Jim's head.

"Broaden your range into the Neutral Zone. If the attack was only a few hours ago then even with an advanced ship they would still be in range."

"But the only thing in that direction is Vulcan."

"Yeah," Jim says gravely before adding on, “and Romulus.”

"Why would Romulans attack the Klingons?" Uhura asks as her fingers glide across the sensor terminal with practiced ease. "Wait. I got something. But it's a Romulan mining ship. A mining ship can't do that much damage." 

"One can." Jim says cryptically.

"What?"

"Can you make out anything?"

"Of course I can." Uhura says with a roll of her eyes. "The Romulans are trying to hail the ship but it's not responding... An internal communication saying to block all incoming transmissions." 

"A rogue ship."

"Ensign Kirk," Spock says as he rounds the corner. Jim's eyes are wide as he pivots on his heels. A deer in the headlights, Spock’s mother might say. 

Jim’s hands are visibly shaking as he clenches them tightly, his knuckles a shocking white. "Need I remind you it is not the job of students to conduct investigations?" After a pause he turns, nodding in greeting. “Cadet Uhura.”

"Sorry, sir," Uhura says immediately, her hands lifting from the computer.

"An entire Klingon fleet was taken out," Jim says, voice shaking as much as his hands. "Someone should know." 

"If you will transfer me the data, I will look it over." Uhura begins doing so immediately, and Jim braces himself. For what, Spock doesn’t know. "Jim, do you need medical attention?" 

At the use of his first name, Uhura turns slightly and looks between the two of them. Jim merely shakes his head.

"It can wait."

"I fail to see what a Klingon prison has to do with-"

"This is more important." Jim snaps slightly before retreating as Uhura hands over a small data chip.

"This is everything, Commander."

"Show it to Pike," Jim says, his tone cold and assertive in a way Spock has never heard from him before. 

Perhaps something distressing happened in his time away that was left out of their small talk over infrequent chess matches. 

"You believe he knows something about the attack that took place." Spock surmises as Jim goes back to his own work station and begins to gather his belongings. His body is trembling, hands uncoordinated as he shovels things into his bag.

"He’ll know when he looks at it."

Jim leaves without another word, seemingly thinking that Spock can handle the rest.

"Is Jim going to be okay?" Uhura asks, voice soft as the room settles.

"Yes," Spock says before he can think not to. "I must go. Thank you for your assistance."

"Happy to help."

Spock clutches the data chip in his hand as he exits the sensor labs. Once outside, he sees Jim sitting on a bench nearby. Hunched over with his head in his hands, Spock is merely thankful his hand is not in need of medical attention as it was the last time they met like this so many months prior.

"Jim," The sound startles enough to make him jump, eyes wide and immediately alert. "It is evident that you are not well. You need not do this alone."

Spock is not sure what ‘this’ is, but it does not matter.

"You need to get that to Pike," he does not meet Spock’s eyes, instead he stares at the concrete beneath his feet. "That'd be helpful."

"I will do so immediately. After I make sure you are safe." The cackle Jim lets out shocks Spock enough that he takes a minor step backwards. 

"Oh I'm safe. On Earth and not out on a ship where I could actually be doing something to help people. Yup, perfectly safe." 

"Jim, you are aware Vulcans are touch telepaths." He sees Jim’s shoulders deflate. "Are you perhaps feeling the same anxiety and stress as before you received your mission on Himol?”

A long and unsteady breath escapes Jim.

"Please, just get that to Pike. If Romulans are about to start another war then the admiralty should know as soon as possible." 

"Will you go rest?"

"Yes." 

"You are lying." 

"Yeah."

"Jim."

"Spock." Jim still does not look his way. As he stands on knees that look like they're about to buckle, he reaches out a hand and closes Spock’s fist around the data chip protectively.

Jim’s thoughts, while filled with every inch of guilt and fear Spock felt so many months ago, are oddly serene. A swift calm that sends a chill down his spine. 

"Just...trust me."

Chapter Text

It’s only the next day when the announcement rings out across campus. Hours before Jim recalls.

"We've received a distress call from Vulcan," the speakers blare. “All cadets report to Hangar One immediately."

Even with everyone rushing, Jim is among the first to arrive. But there is no way to speed things up. No matter his meddling, the simple act of deployment and so many people in motion always takes time. Especially with most of the officers being cadets. 

"Any idea what's going on?" Bones asks as they wait for their chance to board the nearest shuttle onto Enterprise. He isn’t sure how, but Bones has managed to get himself into the CMO position without any meddling on Jim’s part. 

"It's not gonna be good,” Jim says as an officer  scans them and clears them to enter. With how distracted he is, he can’t even remember if this is the same shuttle as before.

As soon as they are on board, Jim's stomach turns as he looks at the cadets. For most, this is their first mission. If he’s done things right, maybe it won’t be their last.

“Ready?” Bones asks, pushing Jim forward towards the nearest open row and trying to get him to take the window seat.

“As I'll ever be." Jim goes to take a seat near the front, but before he can, a firm hand lands on his shoulder.

"Sorry, Doctor, I’m gonna need to borrow him,” is all Chris says. 

“Takes him off my hands,” Bones replies and Jim smacks him on the arm before Chris guides him to the back of the shuttle.

"Spock brought something to my attention last night," Chris continues as he pushes Jim to take the seat by the window, effectively trapping him. "If Romulans are responsible for this, you understand what this means."

"There's no guarantee it's the same ship." Jim says cooly, but he knows the truth. And he has a sneaking suspicion that so does Chris. "Either way, it doesn't matter." 

"We could be going into a fire fight. I need to know you're gonna be good." Chris replies, watching Jim carefully.

"Sir," Jim begins as he meets Chris’s eye. He feels the engines begin to hum with life. "Are you gonna be good?"

Chris doesn’t say anything but offers a small nod as he pats Jim on the knee in a show of support. They very well might be the only two people who know exactly what they’re getting in to. 

The shuttle docks quickly and there's a flurry of activity as everyone rushes to change into appropriate uniforms. Jim can feel the adrenaline rushing through the flooded corridors like the blood in his veins. Making his way towards the bridge, he steps into a miraculously empty turbolift.

Pressing a hand against the paneled wall, Jim lets out a breath.

I'm back , he thinks. You don't know me yet, Enterprise, but we're gonna be great friends.

As the doors threaten to close, they stutter momentarily and a long, blue silhouette is suddenly at Jim’s side. 

“Mr. Spock,” he greets, receiving a nod.

“Jim,” a beat of silence before Spock goes on. “I am pleased to see you doing well.”

“I-” Jim starts before the lift doors open again, the bridge appearing before them. 

The captain is already in his chair waiting for the rest of them to catch up. Uhura’s taking her seat and it takes Jim a moment too long to remember he should be sitting somewhere other than center stage.

"Mister Spock," Pike greets from the chair as Spock steps off the lift.

"Captain, Engineering reports ready for launch." Spock says easily, and Jim's heart aches as he takes his post at the tactical console. 

At the academy, Jim had changed enough that every day felt new, more of an echo than a memory. Now the tight structures of command are settling in and sending his every nerve ablaze.

"Thank you," Pike nods to Jim as he takes a seat and Spock crosses to the science station. "Crew, the maiden voyage of our newest flagship deserves more pomp and circumstance than we can afford today. A christening will just have to be our reward for a safe return. Carry on."

Jim's hands glide over the screen of the security panel.

A safe return.  

This can't go any worse than it did the first time.

"All decks, this is Captain Pike, prepare for immediate departure." Chris states easily before turning to Sulu and Chekov, "Helm, thrusters."

"Moorings retracted, Captain. Dock control reports ready. Thrusters, fired. Separating from Spacedock." As the rest of the fleet leave dock with them, Jim thinks briefly that there's no going back. "The fleet's cleared spacedock, Captain. All ships ready for warp." Sulu's voice is steady, and Jim almost hears the echo of his own voice repeating the unquantifiable number of times he reminded Sulu of the inertial dampener. 

"Set course for Vulcan." 

"Aye, Captain. Course laid in." Sulu parrots back.

"Maximum warp. Punch it." Pike gives the order and Jim watches with baited breath as Sulu takes the ship out. The ship enters warp, and Jim's heart skips a beat. It's only a few moments. But every second counts.

"Engines at maximum warp, Captain." Sulu says easily, confidently, and Jim almost wants to go over and give him a pat on the back and maybe a drink.

When they get back

"Chekov, is it?"

Jim can't help the sweet smile that paints his face as Chris remembers the young man’s name. Chris is easily in command right now, in his element. He’s meant for this job.

A job Jim knows he will take.

"Yes, Sir." 

"Ensign Chekov, begin shipwide mission broadcast."

"Yes, sir, happy to." Chekov says, and Jim is watching the scanners. He's already broadened the search range. The very second that he picks up the Romulan ship, he knows what to say.

"May I have your attention, please." Chekov begins. "At twenty-two hundred hours, telemetry detected an anomaly in the neutral zone. What appeared to be a lightning storm in space. Soon after, Starfleet received a distress signal from a nearby outpost on the edge of Vulcan space that informed them of a Romulan ship approaching the planet. Our mission is to assess the condition of Vulcan, and to assist in the evacuations if necessary."

Jim's scanner beeps, and immediately he has a positive ID on a Romulan mining vessel. 

"We should be arriving at Vulcan within five minutes. Thank you for your time." Chekov finishes, the communication ends shipwide.

"Captain, we have a Romulan vessel circling the Vulcan atmosphere," Jim begins, grabbing everyone's immediate attention. "We're still too far out to get a visual, but the model registers as identical to only one on record."

"On screen," Pike commands.

Jim sends the readings to the main viewscreen, the exact warp signature and model of ship that appeared before the Kelvin was attacked.

"It's not a natural disaster." Sulu says from the helm. "They're being attacked by the Romulans?"

"Not just any Romulans." Pike says, meeting Jim's eyes across the bridge.

"Scan Vulcan space, check for any transmissions in Romulan." Pike continues. “And get me the Truman.”

"Yes, Sir,” Uhura says from the communications station. "USS Truman responding."

"Captain Ilario, we have reason to believe Vulcan is under attack. I’d like you to begin leading evacuation efforts." 

"Acknowledged, Enterprise." The transmission ends as soon as it begins. 

"Send a transmission to all other ships. Drop out of warp just outside of Vulcan. Put as much space between them and the Romulan ship as possible and assist the Truman as needed. All shields at max."

"Sir, I pick up no Romulan transmissions in the area.” Uhura announces from the communications station.

"Shields up. Red alert." Pike says, knowing that no transmissions could mean they are cloaked. Jim knows it means they're a solo ship with no connection to the Romulans they’re somewhat familiar with.

“Sir, we have an incoming transmission from Himol,” Uhura announces again, getting Jim and Chris’s attention. “A Vulcan scientist requesting permission to speak with you directly.”

“Put her through,” Chris says, Jim’s heart seizes in his chest as Professor Podav’s tall hair and cutting gaze appear on screen.

“Captain Pike,” she greets cooly, her eyes find Jim’s and she offers a quick nod. “Our emergency evacuation protocols have been activated to full capacity with no explanation.”

“I’m afraid this isn’t a test run, Professor. We have reason to believe Romulans are attacking.” Chris announces. “I hope your system is ready for trial by fire.”

“I will see it done,” she says with the cool confidence of a Vulcan in full control. “I merely request you aid passenger shuttles in leaving Vulcan unscathed. They are designed for evasion, not battle.”

“We’ll do all we can, you can count on that,” Chris says with a cutting edge to his voice. “Just keep us updated on what’s going on down there.”

“Indeed,” she agrees as the transmission cuts out moments before Sulu begins his countdown. 

"Arrival to Vulcan in five seconds… four… three… two….”

Wreckage from broken satellites, beacons, and space docks litter the upper atmosphere. Already, Jim can see escape shuttles trying to get through the debris. Thankfully, nothing large enough to be a ship floats among them. Their reinforcements are ready and waiting. 

"Emergency evasive." Pike instructs.

"Running, sir," an officer says to Jim's right.

"Damage report!" Pike orders again.

"Deflector shields are holding."

As the Narada comes into view, Jim forces himself to look. 

"Captain, the Romulan ship has lowered some kind of high energy pulse device into the Vulcan atmosphere. It does not yet appear to be active." Spock reports.

"Captain , we're being hailed." Uhura says just before the viewscreen is taken over by Nero's face.

“Hello." Jim wishes he could punch Nero through the transmission. Make him feel the pain of billions of Vulcans dying in one hit.

Though… that exact scenario on Romulus is where this all began.

"I'm Captain Christopher Pike. To whom am I speaking."

"Hello Christopher, I'm Nero." He says with a wry smirk.

"You've declared war against the Federation. Withdraw. I'll agree to arrange a conference with Romulan leadership at a neutral location." Pike says, and Jim wants to stop him. But not yet.

Jim can't let Nero know he's here. Not after he recognized Jim the first time around from all those supposed history books.

"I do not speak for the Empire. We stand apart, as does your Vulcan crewmember, isn't that right, Spock?" 

He says Spock's name with such hatred that Jim thinks it pains him to say. 

Everyone's attention is on Spock. Except Jim.

"Pardon me, I do not believe that you and I are acquainted." Spock, ever polite when being threatened, stands to address him. 

"No, we're not. Not yet." Nero says, too confident. "Spock, there's something I would like you to see." The viewscreen went black and Jim immediately stands to approach Chris.

There is supposed to be more to the speech. And it must not be coming if the drill isn’t activated yet. Without the transporters or communications being blocked, they have no reason to demand Pike come aboard for negotiations yet. 

Jim's thought process stutters for a moment. No matter how much he doesn’t want this to be the case, he doesn’t know of any other way. 

“We have to take the first shot,” he states immediately, all crew turning to him in an instant. 

“Excuse me?” Chris asks, turning with sharpened eyes. 

“It’s obviously a threat. We can’t risk that device activating and effecting the evacuation,” Jim explains.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Spock states and Jim is just as surprised as Chris is, both their eyes widening to look at the First Officer.

“If Romulans and Vulcans diverge from the same history, they will be ruthless in their endeavor to attack. We cannot allow them that chance,” Spock explains, meeting Jim’s eyes with certainty. “We must make a strategic preemptive strike.”

“We can’t let them see us making it,” Chris shakes his head. “A ship like that will take us out in no time. And the civilians with us.”

“So we go down there ourselves,” Jim says. “We transport onto the drill and take it out hands on.”

Chris seems to consider for a moment before nodding. “What happens when that thing turns on? You could get torn to bits.”

“As they are a mining vessel, the ‘drill,’ as Ensign Kirk described it,” Spock begins, meeting Jim’s eye with a suspicious squint, “is likely going to cause devastation to the planet’s surface. Such sudden change could be a catalyst for far worse than our ship or crew taking damage. Especially while evacuation is underway.”

“Those signal boosters you told me about,” Chris begins, turning to Jim. “They’re installed in all exosuits?”

“Only the new ones. Older styles haven’t been retrofitted.”

“Suit up, I need officers who have been trained in advanced hand-to-hand combat. Kirk, you’re one of them.” Pike states and Spock goes to speak when Jim’s eyes start sliding over to the helm expectantly.

"I volunteer, sir. I have training and experience working with Ensign Kirk." Sulu says easily, sharing a knowing nod with Jim. 

They've got this.

"Come with me. Spock, you have the chair." Pike instructs, everyone falling into line.

"Yes, Captain." Jim hears, and he has to look back a moment as Spock hesitantly takes a seat. 

-

“Make this quick, there’s only so long you can go unnoticed,” Pike explains as they walk into the transporter room. Jim has no idea where Olson is or if he’s even on board. But Chris doesn’t seem to think he’s needed. Instead, Cupcake is at their side, suited up and ready to go. At the transporter controls, Scotty seems barely able to contain his excitement as he gets prepared.

"We’ll keep assisting the evacuation from here. You three, get down to the drill and lay the charges. As soon as you’re confident it’s taken out you get the hell out of there. Any means necessary."

This is the easy part, Jim reminds himself. 

This he can do.

“Spock will be in contact with the Vulcan High Council to ensure they get out safely.” Captain Pike explains as the three men take their places on the transporter pad. Cupcake greets Jim with a strong clap to the back. 

"We got this." Sulu says more to himself, and Jim puts a hand on his shoulder.

"We got this." Jim repeats. It's the cool, easy confidence that can only come with the sure knowledge that they can and have. Jim trusts this crew with everything he has and then some. 

“Good luck,” Captain Pike says as he stands beside Scotty. “Energize.”

“We don't need luck,” Jim thinks as the familiar sensation of beaming takes over. “ Easy part, ” he reminds himself.

"Kirk to Enterprise," he comms the bridge as they rematerialize on the drill’s surface. But almost immediately, the Romulans are crawling out of a hatch and ready to fight. They’ve either tripped an alarm or the Romulans picked up their beaming signature. 

This is...different. Jim hasn’t planned for this.

"Take care of the charges, we got this." Cupcake yells over the wind and Sulu’s sword unfolds.

Jim's quick to get to work, laying charges against the core of the drill, near the ventilation shafts in hopes of exposing the inner mechanisms to the harsh conditions outside. Below them, the drill begins to vibrate heavily, engines trying to turn on.

As the charges go off, Sulu's at Jim’s back and he can see a Romulan get kicked over the edge of the platform. 

Before he can comm the bridge to tell them the job is done, another Romulan emerges from a hatch in the drill. Soot dusts his features and his clothes look charred from the explosive. Immediately, Jim’s phaser is in hand and firing at the first Romulan, then another emerges and a third as the phaser starts to lose charge.

Surrounded on all sides, the trio manage to hold them off. Until one of the Romulans latches onto Jim’s arm and twists it violently, wrenching it from the socket. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jim knows he’s screaming. But the sounds of the wind and burning drill overwhelm his senses as the platform stutters to a halt beneath their feet.

Through blurry and unfocused eyes, he sees the one still holding his arm get run through by Sulu’s sword, slumping over dead in front of them.

“Sulu to Enterprise, drill is disabled,” he begins as Cupcake helps Jim to his feet. “We need medical standing by.”

Jim’s earpiece crackles to life and Spock’s voice is loud and clear.

“Captain Pike has been transported away and onto the Romulan vessel. We cannot get a lock on his position.” Jim’s thoughts start spiraling. This is all too different but still too much of the same.

The drill hasn't been activated. They haven’t had enough time, but Jim knows that won’t stop Nero. It’ll slow down the deterioration of the planet, but it won’t stop it completely. He can see countless shuttles and evacuation vehicles trying to leave.

Whizzing past, Jim sees the red matter capsule get launched.

“They just launched a device toward the planet. Enterprise, do you copy?” 

“Yes, sir,” A voice rings back to them as Jim feels himself start to dematerialize.

In the transporter room, Jim can see Scotty, Chekov sitting next to him with wide shocked eyes. Sulu and Cupcake help to guide him off the platform, but he’s too busy trying to pry the Beam Signal Amplifier from his exo-suit. The task all the more difficult with only one hand.

The door to the transporter room opens with a violent hiss as Spock enters. His eyes go to Jim’s arm, unnaturally hanging at his side. But Jim is taking the amplifier off of Sulu’s suit next, then Cupcake’s.

“Go,” Jim says, violently pushing the small devices into Spock’s chest, forcing him to turn towards the transporter.

“You are to beam me to these coordinates,” Spock says after a beat and taking the amplifiers in hand, passing off his PADD to Scotty as he makes his way onto the transporter pad.

Just as quickly as he arrived, Spock is gone.

“Keep a lock on him, you’re to get any life signs out of there immediately.”

“You have to go to sickbay,” Cupcake says, trying to hold Jim steady.

“You go,” Jim orders before turning to Sulu. “Once you’re clear, get to the helm.”

Jim goes to look over Scotty’s shoulder. Cradling his arm to his stomach, Jim ignores the watchful eyes of the others.

They wait an agonizing three minutes before Scotty, intently watching the console, says he’s locked onto over a dozen signatures. Between him and Chekov, the next few seconds are a jumble of chaotic equations and console manipulation. 

Adrenaline wearing off, Jim starts to feel pain bloom from his shoulder and travel down his spine. His arm is numb and he’s breathing heavily. His lungs won't fill fast enough as the transporter roars.

He waits.

And waits .

Until the figures begin to materialize. A woman, reaching out to Spock.

One more life. 

Just one is enough.

Jim stumbles backwards, back connecting with a bulkhead. Slowly, the few crew around the room guide the Vulcan elders away from the transporter. Another round of people get beamed aboard. The light of their materialization forces Jim to look away as he blinks away tears.

She's okay.

Spock will be okay.

Chapter Text

“Don’t move.”

“Bones?” Jim asks, eyes shutting in protest as he tries to fight off the too-bright lights of Sickbay. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

“Severe internal hemorrhaging, shoulder dislocated, arm broken in three places. Kid, you’re gonna be the end of me someday.” Around them, the other medical officers are looking over the Vulcan elders.

Jim can see Amanda among them, but quickly averts his eyes.

“I’ll live," he says flippantly, a smile on his face as he looks up at Bones. “Especially with you around.”

“Just consider yourself lucky. If Spock hadn’t rushed you here, the damage would have been a lot worse.” Bones explains as he does another scan.

“Spock did what?” 

“Something about the elders all being safe so it was logic blah blah blah.”

“You two are gonna be great friends, I can already tell,” Jim teases, moving to get off the biobed. “How long have I been out? I have to get back to the bridge.”

“About an hour. You’re lucky it’s not up to me, otherwise I’d lock you to the bed until we get home.” Bones grimaces as he watches Jim hop down to the floor.

“Yeah, but Earth’s next if we don’t do something soon and that bastard has Pike.” Jim says, but is interrupted by a familiar voice that sends a chill down his spine.

“You are able to discern Nero’s next location without seeing his trajectory map.” Spock says more than asks, eyebrow raised. “I believe we have much to discuss.”

“Shit,” Jim says softly under his breath.

“Good luck,” Bones teases as Jim follows Spock. “You’re gonna need it.”

As they walk away, he can hear Bones muttering under his breath about annoying Vulcans and Jim’s lack of self-preservation. 

“I’m a doctor, not a counselor.” Jim rolls his eyes as Bones yells after him. “And watch that arm! I won’t fix it twice in one day!”

Jim scoffs, rolling the joint and testing the pain. He has no idea what miracles of medical science Bones is pulling off, but the pain is at least manageable. 

He can deal with it for one day.

“How is it, Cadet, that you appear to know the events of today before they occur?” Spock asks, taking Jim from his thoughts as they move through the ship. Around them, there are more Vulcans than Jim expects.

“God, slow down,” Jim says, trying to keep up with Spock’s slightly longer strides. “At least pretend like you’re letting me keep pace.”

“You are avoiding the question,” Spock says, voice firm and laced with obvious irritation.

Jim takes a steadying breath. He promised himself he wasn't going to make Spock lash out at him this time. 

There is no need to. They’re friends. 

He’ll listen. He has to. 

“I know, but I don’t know what you want me to say, Spock…um, Captain,” Jim corrects as he follows into a turbolift. With Chris effectively kidnapped, Spock is captain once again.

“I’m sure you understand the situation you’re in,” Spock begins as Jim stands beside him in the lift. “Someone with as much foresight into today’s events as yourself could reasonably be believed to have been working with the Romulans.”

“What? That’s ridiculous.” Jim begins, but Spock turns sharply. Suddenly Jim’s very aware that his escape route is blocked and that the turbolift isn’t moving. If Spock chokes him in here, there’s no one to stop him before it goes too far.

Jim might be in the best shape of his last 2 lifetimes but he knows he can’t take a fully grown Vulcan martial arts master.

“Am I incorrect?” Spock asks. He doesn’t look mad. But that isn’t saying much.

“You know me, Spock,” Jim shakes his head. He just got an arm almost ripped off and Spock’s acting like he destroyed the planet. 

…Is the planet destroyed? 

“Why the hell would I be working with Romulans? With the people who killed my dad!”

“Then enlighten me, Ensign , how is it you’re able to predict today’s events with perfect accuracy.” Spock leans in towards him and Jim’s back is pressed against the turbolift. 

“I haven’t predicted anything.”

Spock’s eyes are scanning, searching for any clue as to what he might be up to. Jim’s about to keep going when Spock releases a heavy breath and takes a step back.

“You’re being removed from the ship.”

“What?” Jim’s voice comes out too loud in the confined glass and metal tube. 

“You are intent on throwing yourself into the path of danger. I cannot allow you to remain on the ship and further injure yourself.”

“You can’t be serious. It’s not like I even volunteered to go down there. Pike ordered me to.” 

“After you insisted this method was best, as though you knew his plan before he was done formulating it.” The deep crease is forming between Spock’s brows. “It is not possible for you to know everything, yet you are always steps ahead of everything and everyone around you.”

“That’s not a reason for you to kick me off my ship.”

“Yours?”

“Mine, yours, whatever! Spock this is getting ridiculous.” Jim tries to reach around to get to the control panel, but is intercepted by a single step to the side, Spock effectively blocking his path.

“You said you needed to be on board Enterprise . Was this why?”

“You’re talking in circles.” Jim tries, but Spock does not allow any deflections.

“Because you will not answer a simple question.” Spock’s voice refuses to get louder, to reveal the anger simmering under the surface. “Since I met you, I have suspected you have been hiding something from me. From everyone. You knew all along that today would transpire exactly as it has.”

“That’s impossible.”

The crooked smirk Spock gives scares Jim even more than the threat of getting kicked off the ship.

“If there is anyone who can do the impossible, it is you.”

“I-” Jim starts, but runs out of syllables, mouth hanging open.

“You’re being transferred to one of the shuttles going to Himol.”

“That’s not happening.”

“You are not the captain.”

Jim has to fight off a flinch that works its way up his recovering shoulder into his neck.

“You don’t throw away your gun before going into a fight,” Jim’s brow furrows more in frustration. “If you think I know something about all this then why get rid of me?”

“Then you do know something.” Spock stands straighter and Jim’s thoughts derail. “It is why you knew to give me this.”

Spock holds out one of the amplifiers, the same yellow as Jim’s disposed exo-suit. 

“No, I-”

“My mother,” Spock says softly, all traces of anger gone. Jim wonders if Spock’s gotten too good at playing these games. “She almost did not beam up with us due to the interference of the cave structure. Had I not been holding this, she would have been left behind.”

A pain in Jim’s chest, the same desperate ache he felt through a mind meld on Delta Vega. It’s settled deep in his chest, buried under days, months, years of memories. 

But always there.

“This is the signature stabilizer you were working on when you first presented your trans warp theory to me.”

It'd be insulting to Spock’s intelligence if Jim didn't see this coming. But so soon, and while still in the thick of it.

Right.

Jim still needs to divert the ship to Earth and fast.

"We have to go after Nero." It's the only thing he can think to say. "We have to change course and go after him." 

There's no point in hiding it anymore.

Not when Spock can so clearly see right through him.  

"Where do you think the ship is going?" Spock asks, a furrow in his brow as he retreats, allowing Jim more room to breathe.

"The Laurentian System..."

"Is that what we are supposed to do?" Spock asks and Jim isn’t entirely sure what to say at first. 

What are they supposed to do?

He wasn’t on the bridge when Chris was taken. For all he knows, they were ordered to self-destruct.

"Accuse me of mutiny when I try to convince you to go to Earth."

"Fortunate then, that we are on course for Earth as we speak."

“Why?” Even when he knows everything, he still can't predict Spock.

"It...is what you would have done."

A beat, then Jim lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. His shoulder aches as he shutters.

"How many-" his voice is small, even in the claustrophobic turbolift. Jim swallows, hand clenching the railing secured to the wall he’s leaning on. "How many Vulcans do you think survived? The planet is gone? Nothing left?"

"In the time you were unconscious, the Romulan ship managed to ignite the red matter with their weapons. They seemingly could not repair the drill. The planet deteriorated entirely over a long period. We were able to take samples. It will take time to determine final numbers, but Professor Podav estimated 53% of the population was able to escape."

A shuttered breath then Jim is on the ground. 

His knees buckle under him, and Spock is immediately at his side.

Fifty percent.

He can't breathe. There's not enough air in the lift. Spock is speaking, but Jim can't hear him. Not through the blood rushing in his ears and the racing beat of his heart.

Billions.

Not thousands.

Not even millions. 

Billions of lives. 

Families. Maybe pets, artifacts, and heirlooms with them. 

So much more than a mere ten thousand.

Chapter Text

Jim’s body and mind crumble to the floor. Back pressed against the wall of the turbolift, he cannot seem to get enough air.

“Jim,” Spock’s voice is small as he kneels at Jim’s side. “You must focus on breathing.”

Jim’s eyes do not meet his, and Spock is unsure if he’s even able to be heard. He has felt Jim’s fear and panic before. And he was floored by the raw emotion all while Jim ran across campus to put his classmates' efforts to shame.

How strong must these emotions be to cripple even James T Kirk?

“Can you hear me?” Still no response.

Reaching a hand up to Jim’s psi-points, Spock takes a deep breath and prepares himself for devastation. Still, he is all too aware of his excitement, welling up at the idea of getting a look into Jim’s mind. And under that, guilt.

Spock takes a steadying breath as the tips of his fingers graze Jim’s face. 

Instantly, his chest constricts and he takes a gasping breath of air, fighting to stay focused. Spock’s mind is still aching from the devastation of his planet. The mental cries and severed connections of the lost Vulcans burn in his mind. His own bond with T’Pring is exposed as a raw nerve.

In its place, even in his panic, Jim’s mind reaches back. Asking to both comfort and be helped in turn. Spock cannot allow his own rising dread to overtake him. Otherwise, he will be useless to Jim.

Calming a panicked mind is not easy, but for Jim, there is an obvious source. His mind whirls like a tornado around a single thought. 

Ten thousand Vulcans.

Not only is this factually incorrect, as he had just explained, but connected to this thought is a dynamic web of neurons firing off in succession. 

The closest and most significant memory is the night before. Spock fights down a shutter as he realizes the true amount of anxiety Jim felt as the two spoke. Yet, all he asked was to deliver a message. 

Jim’s mind calms fractionally, he latches on to Spock as a stable foundation. Spock, in turn, moves through his thoughts and memories chronologically, skipping over that which does not appear directly connected to the root. 

When he approaches Jim’s first day at the Academy, however, the memories preceding it do not match what Spock expects. Much of Jim’s record was redacted. But there would be no reason for Jim, a supposed civilian at the time, to be inside of a warp core.

Searing pain. The word radiation repeats like a red alert. And before he can think to pull himself from the meld, Spock is looking at his own face through Jim’s eyes. 

Dying. 

Jim is dying.

The two had never met before their impromptu run-in. Spock is certain of it. But it is also impossible to lie while in a mind meld. The idea of Jim doing the impossible is not the problem. Instead, Spock is stuck trying to figure out what impossibility Jim has achieved. 

Moving farther back, Spock learns of missions, crewmembers, countless nights spent playing chess, meetings held over hurried meals. Hundreds of hours spent together of which Spock has no recollection.

Impossible.

Farther still, Spock watches himself attack Jim after Vulcan’s destruction. The death of billions. Including Spock’s own mother. And yet another, older version of himself, melding with Jim just as Spock does now. Only giving information rather than receiving. And not all of it is clear.

Spock dives deeper and his body quakes brushing against memories more walled off than others, behind stronger shields than a psi-null person should be able to muster. There is a pain behind them. Opening that door may only result in exacerbating Jim’s panic. Despite the intense selfish desire to untangle all of Jim’s impossibilities, Spock cannot risk it.

With each new memory, Spock feels the weight of Jim’s life pressing down. And with that pressure, he begins to see how his mind stretches and bends.

Except for now.

In this very turbolift, in Spock’s arms, Jim cannot stay together without him. At the root of his person, Jim is not a cosmic, divine entity. He is flesh and bone. Merely a person. A human. One who, beyond anything Spock’s failing logic can comprehend, will never stop trying to help whoever or whatever may call to him. 

Even at his own peril. 

Eventually Spock is so far back in Jim’s mind that he has possibly reached memories that Jim himself does not know he still holds. 

Jim, only 3 or 4 years old, is holding his mother’s hand. In her other, flowers as bright and blue as the endless sky above. There isn’t a cloud in sight. 

Jim watches as she hands the flowers to Sam. Spock does not know who Sam is, but Jim’s memories supply the name. By age and appearance, Spock can infer it is a brother or some other more distant family member. 

Sam walks away with the flowers, and Jim starts reaching out towards them. He doesn’t know what they are, just that he wants them. 

“Jimmy,” his mother’s voice, though gentle, is tired, “please settle down.”

“Want it,” he replies, still reaching across to try and touch the flowers as Sam goes to lay them on the ground in front of a tombstone. The words, too complicated for a 3-year-old to read or remember, appear to Spock as jumbled figures. 

He can assume their meaning. 

“You can’t touch the flowers, Jimmy. They hurt, remember? That big word we learned?” His mom tries again as tears well up in the little boy's eyes.

“-llergic,” Jimmy supplies, the first syllable disappearing as he sniffles. 

Spock takes a shuttered breath in as he pulls his hand away. The turbolift feels to him as though it is a deep tundra.

Not only did Jim know of today’s events, just as Spock suspected. But he somehow lived it all before and placed the weight of an entire civilization on his shoulders. And he is looking at Spock with…fear. 

Fear of what Spock may do to him now that he is aware of Jim’s well kept secrets and impossibilities. 

“Jim…”

Chapter Text

Jim snaps back into the moment to see Spock's hand retreating.

What did he see?

"I-" Jim’s pulse is still racing as their eyes meet.

"I... relinquish captaincy of the Enterprise to you."

As Jim is still trying to stand, grabbing the handrail to hoist himself up, Spock turns towards the control panel. It's only a few seconds before the door opens to face a corridor. Spock leaves without another word, and the lift keeps moving towards the bridge without him.

When he finally arrives, Jim can tell everyone is surprised to see him. And that Spock is not at his side. Even more so when he walks across to the center chair and takes his seat.

"Due to the tragedy that's just unfolded, Commander Spock has chosen to forfeit the captaincy to me while he oversees the care of the Vulcans on board. As of right now I want everyone on this bridge to begin working on a way for us to approach Earth without being seen by Nero's ship."

"You have to be kidding me," Uhura rolls her eyes, turning to look back at the console in front of her. Though this time, Jim thinks he sees the barest hint of affection in her eyes and the tease of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Uhura,” Jim says, getting her attention, “Establish contact with the Starfleet base on Delta Vega. Any Vulcan refugees sent off course are to be located and transferred to this vessel as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Chapter Text

Ten thousand.

That was the number in Jim's thoughts… memories. 

Spock has no idea how or why, but Jim has arrived from the future. A future that now no longer exists or perhaps as a universe parallel to this one. He cannot be sure.

At the moment, he is not sure of anything.

If it were anyone else, Spock might be convinced that Jim is mentally unwell. It is not possible to lie in a mind meld. And given how accurate Jim’s insights have been, it's not possible that he is merely hallucinating or delusional. 

If not for Jim, Spock’s own mother would be gone.

Jim's emotions still burn within as Spock looks out from an otherwise empty observation deck. It’s not until a short while later that he gains an audience. Without turning, he expects his mother. 

"Speak your mind, Spock," his father says as he appears near the deck's entryway. 

"That would be unwise."

"What is necessary is never unwise," his father recites as he approaches, standing just a few paces behind.

"I'm as conflicted as I once was as a child." Spock begins, but he's unsure how to continue. He does not entirely understand the magnitude of today's events. Or in regards to Jim, any of the last few years.

While Jim has fought every day to protect that which Spock holds dear, the man has also worked his way into every thought. And still, Spock feels as though he barely understands the enigma of James T. Kirk.

"You will always be a child of two worlds. I am grateful for this. And for you." His father concedes, and Spock thinks that the sudden loss of their planet, the possibility of losing his wife, has left his father reconsidering many of his past decisions.

"I cannot control my emotions. Especially not for the one who has saved mother's life." Spock is grateful for his father's easy acceptance of this as fact. There is no explanation he can otherwise provide.

"I believe your mother would say, “Do not try to.” She is rather intrigued by your...friend."

"Jim.” The name is almost too much to say aloud. “His insight and strategy has made it possible to save as many as we have. Our entire people are greatly indebted to him. As is our family."

Even that cannot explain his grandeur.

The impossibility of it.

"You asked me once why I married your mother." At Spock's silence Sarek continues, "When one loves something, it is only logical to do what we must to keep it close.”

Chapter Text

"Whatever the case, we need to get on board undetected so we can steal the Red Matter," Jim says as the crew is bustling around the bridge. "As long as we stay in warp, they can't detect us. And without their drill being operational, it will buy us some time. But we need to get the Red Matter as far from them and Earth as possible.”

"And just go in there guns blazing? After you're already injured,” Bones tries insisting. And it's true.

His shoulder is an unaccounted-for variable. If he gets caught in another fight, he may not be able to defend himself.

"I'm telling you, the math doesn't support..." Sulu begins when the turbolift opens and Jim spins in the chair, expecting Spock. And it is, but not the commander. Instead, Ambassador Spock is looking back at him expectantly.

“Captain,” he begins with a nod. “I was informed you requested my presence.”

“Ambassador,” Jim replies, earning himself a slightly raised eyebrow at the recognition. Clapping Sulu on the back, Jim leaves the bridge to him. “I’ll be back in a bit. Keep working on it.” Leading into the ready room, he doesn’t say anything more until the doors close. 

“I already know you’re from the future,” he starts, turning to the Vulcan elder. “Because so am I.”

“That would explain how you knew of my whereabouts,” the ambassador states easily. “And how I was able to beam aboard while in warp.”

“Yeah, that one I kind of stole from you,” Jim shrugs, his shoulder protesting the motion. “But now that you’re here, you need to know not everyone is gone.”

“I saw the evacuation vehicles. As far as I am aware, they did not exist in my universe,” the elder Spock explains. “I had wondered if this was a different reality. And while that is certainly true, that was your doing was it not?”

“No,” Jim insists. “A brilliant professor from the VSA who I’m sure is very busy at the moment.” 

“Modesty does not suit you, old friend,” Spock says simply. And Jim has to remember that whatever advantage he had knowing the future, this Spock has ten times over. “I am unsure how you accomplished this. But thank you.”

“Spock, you don’t have to-” Jim starts but is cut off by a call coming through.

"Jim! Oh-” Chekov pauses for a moment, “Captain!"

"What have you got?" Jim asks as he rushes back onto the bridge, not even bothering to use the intercom.

"The magnetic distortion from Saturn's rings will make us invisible to Nero's sensors until the away team needs a distraction. If we can get one of your signal boosters onto the Red Matter device we should be able to beam it away to safety," he gets out, taking a long breath once he's done.

"Aye, that might work." Scotty agrees.

“And Sulu,” Jim says, turning to their pilot. “I need some creative flying. You think you can lead them farther out?”

“Of course,” Sulu says with a shrug like he’s done it a thousand times before. 

Jim claps his helmsmen on the back with a proud smile. Until he sees Spock step down from the turbolift platform. Not the ambassador, who is still in the ready room. 

This is his Spock.

"I can confirm his telemetry. There is no doubt that the transwarp formula is ready for use. I can beam aboard Nero's ship and steal back the black hole device. And save Captain Pike."

"Spock, welcome back," Jim begins as the other man walks over. "How soon do you think we can head out?”

"What makes you think you two lunatics are going?" Bones asks, eyeing Jim and Spock skeptically. 

"Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestry. Our cultural similarities will make it easier for me to move about their ship undetected as well as access the ship's computer.”

"I'm coming with you.”

"I believe that would be best," Spock remarks and Jim can't stop the smile that spreads across his face. 

“Unbelievable,” Bones gripes. “Like talking to two brick walls.”

-

In the transporter room, Jim takes a deep breath as he holsters a phaser.

"Warp factor three steady, approaching the target window," Sulu says over the comms.

"Fine job, Mister Sulu. Well done," Scotty says from his station at the console, and Jim can't help but be comforted by their easy confidence. It's almost enough to make him forget that this could all go wrong at any second.

Almost.

“Whatever happens, Mr. Sulu, if you have the tactical advantage, you fire on that ship. Even if we're still on board. That's an order."

"Understood, Captain."

"Otherwise, we'll contact Enterprise when we're ready to beam back. But keep the ship as far out as you can manage."

"Good luck," Sulu says before the transmission ends.

"Ready?" Jim asks, looking to Spock and trying to ignore the empty spot in front of him where Uhura should be. 

Where he first learned her name.

"I believe we are,” Spock confirms.

"Okey-dokey," Scotty cuts in. "If there's any common sense in the design of the enemy ship-"

"Scotty," Jim glares at him, "The coordinates I gave you."

"Aye, Captain," Scotty says with a dejected pout.

"Energize."

As they beam, Jim holds his breath. He was right, this time they're blessedly alone in the cargo hold and not besieged by Romulans.

Turning to Spock, Jim sees him already looking around carefully to ensure they’re truly alone.

It's not long before they track down a lone crew member and stun him. Jim has no way of knowing if the Jellyfish is in the same place as last time. And they can't waste time guessing.

"I'll cover you," Jim says, and much to his delight, Spock doesn’t second-guess. Jim only has to stun one more Romulan before Spock pulls out of the meld.

"You found it?"

"This way," Spock says easily as they sneak their way through the massive ship, stunning anyone they find in their way until they spot the gleaming white of the Vulcan vessel.

"I foresee a complication. The design of this ship is far more advanced than I anticipated. It is not from the year you came from?" Spock begins, and before Jim can explain that he knows Spock can fly it, the computer interjects.

"Voice print and face recognition analysis enabled. Welcome back, Ambassador Spock."

Spock looks at Jim with that raised brow.

"I’ll make introductions later.”

"Computer, what is your manufacturing origin?" Spock asks with an accusatory glance. Like he's wondering if Jim built it with his own two hands.

He decides to take it as a compliment.

"Stardate twenty-three eighty-seven. Commissioned by the Vulcan Science Academy." An academy that now no longer exists.

"You'll be able to fly."

"You suggest I already have."

"Be safe?” 

"Jim, the statistical likelihood that our plan will succeed is less than twelve point eight percent."

"Better odds than last time."

"In the event that I do not return," Spock begins and Jim shakes his head.

"Are you doubting me?" he asks with a scoff. “We’ll be okay.” He turns to leave so that Spock can launch, but a hand grabs his wrist, forcing him back toward Spock.

Lips press against Jim’s and he's frozen for a moment before his body reacts. Melting into the touch, Jim’s hand twists in Spock’s grip to press palms together. Fingers lace into a perfectly fitting stitch and Jim’s brain gets a bit fuzzy around the edges.

"Um," he mutters softly as they pull apart. Still so close that Jim can feel Spock's heartbeat at his side. His own threatens to beat out of his chest.

"We will talk once we return to Enterprise ," Spock says with just as much tenderness before letting him go.

"Right," Jim nods, trying to shake off the dreamy haze that’s overcome him. "Talking. Not kissing?”

“The presence of one does not indicate an absence of the other.”

On an enemy vessel in the middle of the worst day of an entire species’ history, Jim almost dares to laugh. Instead, he leans forward, burying his smile in another kiss.

“Be safe. I don't want to have to go around a third time."

Chapter Text

Exiting the Jellyfish, Jim makes his way across the ship from memory. As far as he's aware, the Romulans don't know they've boarded, so he still has the element of surprise.

Sneaking into the room where he knows Chris is being held captive, he can hear a commotion begin to stir outside. 

"Captain, the Vulcan ship has been taken!" One of the Romulans yells.

“Several crew were found stunned in the cargo hold!” Another shouts.

“ Well, there goes that, ” Jim thinks to himself as he approaches Chris, already working to undo the restraints.

“Kid?”

“Sh, hold onto this for me,” Jim says as he clips a signature stabilizer to Chris’s uniform belt. But as footsteps approach, he doesn’t have time to call for an evac. Instead, he hides behind the contraption locking Chris into place. Readying his phaser, he tries to quietly undo the restraints as Nero and a few of his goons storm in. 

“How does it feel, Captain? To know that your crew left you behind. Abandoned you,” Nero says too smugly for Jim’s liking. 

“Captain, there’s another ship,” one of the other crew says as the Narada is rocked by missile impact, sending the men swaying on unsteady feet. 

“Destroy them!” Nero yells.

Jim jumps up from his hiding spot, firing directly at Nero with a fully charged blast. Jim's quick, but Nero is quicker as it hits his shoulder instead of square in the chest. The smell of burning cloth fills the room and Jim can see a harsh wound forming on the shoulder.  As he doubles over, Jim fires again and hits the crewmen beside him. 

"You," Nero says as he steadies himself.  Without a weapon, he resolves to fight with his bare hands as Jim's phaser begins to power up again. "I know your face from Earth's history. Jim Kirk was considered to be a great hero. But that was another life. One I will deprive you of, even if I have to choke the life out of you myself."

"Better men than you have tried," Jim says as he manages to slip past a punch. He throws one of his own and manages to collide with Nero’s jaw, but it won't do much. Not with Jim’s injury and not against a fully grown Romulan.

But a single, point-blank shot of the phaser at Nero’s stomach is all it takes. The man collapses and Jim is back at Chris’s side. A stun won’t keep him down for long, but Jim just needs a moment.

Almost instantly the familiar feeling of beaming takes over, and the next second Jim's on the transporter pad, Spock beside him.

"Nice timing, Scotty," Jim manages to get out as a medical team comes to collect Chris. "I owe you a drink! Now get to engineering," he yells over his shoulder as they rush out the door.

"I think ya owe me two!" 

"I am relieved to see you well," Spock admits as he runs beside Jim down the corridor. 

"One of these days you’ll learn to trust me," Jim gets out as they burst onto the nearest turbolift, out of breath and haggard. “Where did you send the Red Matter?”

“Once they ignited my vessel I had no choice but to evacuate… I had Mr. Scott beam the entire ship directly into their warp core.”

“Their…” Jim stops for a moment, turning to look at Spock with wide eyes before nodding. “Good move.”

Before they can continue, the lift doors slide open to reveal a frantic bridge.

"Captain! The enemy ship is losing power and life support fast. Their shields are down, Sir," Chekov supplies, and bless his heart for knowing exactly what Jim wants to hear.

"Sulu, start taking us away from the anomaly as quickly as possible. Uhura, hail the enemy ship." Jim receives affirmatives as Nero's face appears on screen, his clothes still smoking as he hunches over in pain gasping for air. Behind the broken pixelation, Jim can see the Narada being pulled into the black hole as it steadily grows.

"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise . Your ship is too close to the singularity to survive without assistance, which we are willing to provide," Jim knows he won't accept, and that Spock will question him. 

But in any reality, he can never say he didn’t try.

"Captain," Spock begins, and Jim can hardly believe how right it is to hear again. "What are you doing?"

"Showing them compassion may be the only way to earn peace with Romulus. It's logic, Spock. Thought you'd like that," Jim says with a smirk, Spock’s next words already echoing in his mind. 

"No, not really. Not this time." Spock admits and Jim almost laughs before Nero interjects.

"I would rather suffer the end of Romulus a thousand times. I would rather die in agony than accept help from you." Nero says sharply, blatant disgust on his face even through the fracturing connection. 

"You got it," Jim agrees. "Arm phasers, fire everything we got," he instructs, turning to return to his chair.

"Yes, sir," Sulu confirms proudly.

"Scotty, we're too close to this black hole."

"Already on it, Captain! Engines entering Warp Factor Five at your mark."

"Sulu, take us home."

Chapter Text

With Enterprise en route to Earth, the entire crew seems relieved. For them, a miraculous feat has been accomplished. A dastardly villain vanquished. And even with the loss of many of his people, Spock cannot help but to agree.

Knowing what he does, how much worse things could have, or perhaps should have been… he is relieved.

As the bridge settles, Jim excuses himself to the ready room, requesting Spock follow him. He does so without protest. Though, upon entering, Jim does not turn to him and instead seems to be looking for something. 

“He was here before we left,” Jim supplies cryptically.

“Who is it you are referring to?” Spock asks, not sure who, if anyone, Jim would trust unsupervised in a captain’s ready room. 

“You,” he explains vaguely. “Your older self. Or, you from a different universe. There are a lot of universes apparently.”

“The elder from your memories,” Spock supplies. “I do not understand. I was under the impression he was on Delta Vega.” 

Jim scoffs as if the answer to Spock’s unspoken question is obvious.

“You hate the cold.” Like much of what Jim chooses to explain, Spock wonders how much more there is. And if Jim will permit him the full picture. 

“In your memories, there was another. The version of myself watching you in the core entry chamber…” he begins, unsure how to broach the subject other than to just say it. “He watched you die.”

Jim nods with a sigh. Without his usual urgency, he appears smaller. Somehow less grand, but also less troubled. 

“My First Officer,” Jim begins before meeting Spock’s eyes, “And a great friend.”

“But not a partner,” Spock declares and Jim curiously flushes.

“Well, you know, partner in crime, but uh-” as he stutters, Spock steps closer. “-and chess partner. Can’t forget that.”

“That is why you were so invested in Uhura and I’s relationship. It existed in your reality.”

“I really am sorry, Spock. I don’t know what I changed that made that not happen.” Jim’s arms gesture widely as he explains and Spock watches with rapt amusement. “I tried to fix it, I did. But you didn’t listen to me any more than your past self did about…just about anything.”

“Then I am thankful for this single failure,” Spock explains as he takes another step forward, taking Jim’s hand as he looks over the bruised, bloody knuckles. The damage is not severe, not as bad as when fighting a Klingon, that is for certain. “Perhaps my alternate self was too late to realize what I already have.”

“What’s that?” Jim asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

“You are my t’hy’la… perhaps the human equivalent is soulmate. Two minds who find one another to complete themselves and each other. Destined to meet. To join.”

“Mr. Spock, we are in uniform ,” Jim says through a dimpled smile. Where their hands are joined, he can feel the relief and every bit of joy that Jim does as he teases. 

“I believe it was you that requested a kiss while on an enemy vessel,” Spock feels a surge of delight. How easy it is to entertain him. 

Spock wonders if he will ever tire of it. 

“Before we get to that,” Jim says before walking around to a panel in the wall. Spock smothers a frown as their hands separate. Jim opens a compartment that Spock knows to be where an emergency medkit is stowed. But instead of removing it, Jim reaches back farther. His arm goes deeper than Spock knows that compartment should be. And when it retracts, a small parcel is revealed.

“I was unaware you practiced illusory tricks in your spare time,” Spock teases as Jim returns, box in hand.

“With my what time?” 

Instead of explaining what he has just done, Jim simply places the object in Spock’s hands, wrapped in fabric instead of the paper he knows is customary to humans.

“What is this?” Spock asks.

“A gift.”

“Jim, you have already-”

“I know, I know. Millions-”

“Billions.”

“-of lives. Just open it.”

Spock’s eyes narrow as he considers, but given all that has transpired, perhaps it is best he does not question Jim… for now.

Carefully untying the ribbon, Spock realizes it is also embroidered with Vulcan script. Like those sewn into clothing. Even in this small detail, Jim has managed to save a piece of his home. 

Once the fabric is undone, Spock immediately recognizes the style of the box. The kind traditional teaware is stored in. He opens the lid, and inside is an unglazed red sand teapot.

“How have you come by this?” Spock can only speculate.

“I bought it,” was Jim’s only explanation.

“From the Vulcans you met on Himol?” Had Jim really purchased this weeks, potentially months prior? 

“No, while we were on Vulcan.”

“Pardon?” The only time the two of them had been on Vulcan’s surface together was…

“The symposium…” Jim states. Almost two years ago.

“You… purchased this for me while on that trip?” The very same short journey where Spock had witnessed Jim make a name for himself among the Vulcan elite. When he supposedly climbed a mountain in higher gravity than a human should be able. 

When he presented Spock the very schematics for the devices that would save his mother on this very day. 

“I know it’s not much-”

“Jim. This may very well be one of the only surviving artifacts of my people.” It is remarkable.

“That was kind of why I got it for you. In case I failed at everything else. I still wanted to be able to give you something from home.”

“In case my mother didn’t make it…” Spock infers.

“Nothing could be enough to apologize if I failed at that,” Jim looks away, beginning to circle the captain’s desk on the side of the room.

“And the hiding location in the wall?”

“That’s where I used to keep my booze so Bones wouldn’t find it. I was able to sneak that in while working on the transporter project with Scotty.”

“You appear to have masterminded every detail.”

“You… kind of surprised me with one thing I couldn’t plan for on the Narada.”

Spock looks up from the teapot in his hands, Jim still moving about the room, but never straying more than a few paces away. With delicate precision, he places the gift box down.

In two long strides, he is beside Jim, their hands joined once more. 

“I am sorry my past self did not have the knowledge that I do,” Spock begins, feeling Jim’s amusement, but also confusion. He goes on. “I am sorry he waited too late to care so deeply for you. Know that I do not make the same mistake twice.”

“Of course not,” Jim agrees, allowing Spock to pull him back into his arms. “That would just be illogical.”

“Indeed.”

“So when they give me this ship, do you think you’d be interested in staying on as my First Officer?” Jim asks, hand tracing down Spock’s side to rest over his heart. 

“As long as you will have me.”

Spock leans in the rest of the way. Fingers lace and lips lock. For the second time today, he is reminded that the man in his arms is not cosmic. Jim is not a god or a creature of myth and legend. He is flesh and bone.

With eyes that shine and lips tasting of coffee. Scarred, rough, and bloody hands that Spock does not want to let go of. 

Even with Jim being given this miraculous second chance, Spock is certain of only one thing. 

He will not waste any more of their precious time. 

Chapter Text

"State your name and current occupation for the record.” 

"James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise," he says clearly, expression neutral as the prosecuting attorney leads him into testimony.

"What are your current duties?”

"As a captain, I’m responsible for the lives of my crew and the ship's safety on whatever mission we happen to be assigned. Before my service onboard Enterprise, I was briefly stationed as a resource management and interspecies diplomacy liaison on Himol.”

Jim’s explanation is brief, not detailing the ever-expanding list of his duties. A list that Spock is intimately familiar with. From his seat toward the back of the courtroom, he is in no position to argue or add context like he is now so used to when dealing with his captain’s ambiguities.

"Can you go into more detail about your responsibilities on Himol?" 

"At the time, Vulcan’s planetary evacuation system was under construction on Himol’s surface. Such a large-scale project required all aspects of management be done according to procedure without intruding on the rights or practices of the Himol people."

"What were some of your everyday duties?"

"Assisting with diplomatic issues, mediating disagreements between species and project teams. I also took care of ordering, receiving, and distributing Starfleet resources. I was dealing with transport vehicles and inventory checks daily." 

Spock is again dissatisfied with Jim’s downplaying of his work to prepare the colony's foundations. But he supposes the true extent of his involvement is impossible to share. Spock is still not entirely certain of the breadth of Jim’s impact.

"In regards to resource management, why is it important to have oversight?"

"There are a lot of things that can go missing. Something isn't allocated properly, or there are issues with the supply chain—even transport delays. As a captain, I can tell you firsthand there's no such thing as a straightforward trip. Issues are bound to happen along the way. And when tools, food, medical supplies, are being transported, it must be done properly and everything has to be accounted for."

"If it isn't, what could happen?"

“Objection, cause for speculation,” the defense team cuts in.

“Sustained,” the judge confirms.

“In your experience,” the prosecution says, and Spock can see the tension in Jim’s shoulders. “What have you witnessed in situations where shipments and equipment have been mistreated and delayed?”

"Just about any disaster you can think of. Faulty equipment that can't be replaced has led to electrocution, fires, and data getting erased. Labs without new safety gear are impossible to work in. Even late shipments of rare specimens mean that plants die in transit.” Jim hesitates and Spock wonders if he is the only one who notices. “Late food shipments have left people starved.”

"And when stationed on Himol, what did you find about existing and newly submitted resource requests?"

"Hundreds of invoices coming out of Admiral Marcus's office were being falsified in what appeared to be an organized and systemic fashion."

The courtroom begins to bustle with a small flurry of chatter before the sharp crack of a gavel silences the audience.

“Could you be more specific about what you found?” the attorney asks, prompting Jim to keep talking.

“In general there were massive discrepancies. Invoices that did not match the shipping manifest. High-quality materials were listed but the packages received were substituted for lesser-quality without explanation. Shipments were often marked as delivered when they never arrived and no replacements were issued.”

Jim goes on, recounting any number of circumstances. Each one leaves a more intense impact on the audience. Around him, Spock can see people taking copious notes or leaning into their neighbor's ear to remark.

“Jim wouldn’t lie about something like that,” he hears the young officer sitting in front of him whisper.

“He’d be crazy to even try,” the audience member to their left agrees.

Spock does not doubt that Jim is being honest. He would not risk being caught in a lie while Admiral Marcus’s status and freedom are on the line. Not when they both know what could be at stake.

Unfortunately for Admiral Marcus, finding reasons to be suspicious of him was not difficult.

“Why did you initially send these requests through Admiral Marcus’s office?” the attorney asks once Jim pauses.

“He is responsible for all construction oversight on new ship development and anything designated as a transport hub. Protocol states all paperwork is required to go through Admiral Marcus’s office.”

“Was it only your project facing these difficulties?” 

“I had found through speaking with various officers across the quadrant that almost every active construction project had these same issues.”

“Did you have access to other projects’ invoices and paperwork?”

“Only when they were shared with me by project leaders.”

“To your knowledge, were they allowed to share this information?”

Jim’s brows furrow for a moment. It is a relatively straightforward question, but perhaps not for one who has lived two very different lives.

“Yes, as far as I’m aware only classified projects have restrictions on what can be shared with active duty officers,” he finally answers.

“When you realized this was a larger issue that needed investigating, who did you report to?” 

“Admiral Christopher Pike.”

“Admiral Pike, was a captain at the time, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Why choose someone not of the same rank as or perhaps above Admiral Marcus?” the attorney asks and Spock witnesses the audience members turn to one another, asking themselves the same question.

“I have worked with and have a close personal relationship with Admiral Pike. I am very familiar with his reputation and work ethic. Aside from rank, I had full confidence he would treat the situation with the attention and level of severity it warranted.”

“Severity,” the prosecution repeats. “Simple transportation issues, some paperwork getting mixed up. Everyone has those things happen. Do those simple mistakes warrant a level of severity?”

Spock’s eyebrow raises as Jim takes a deep breath through the nose. 

“Well now they’ve done it,” Doctor McCoy states from beside Spock, his arms crossing as he watches Jim’s frustration grow.

“There is no such thing as a simple mistake,” Jim begins, his brows knit together and mouth turns into a near snarl. “Paperwork mix-ups aren’t an excuse when workers trust my equipment and my doctors with their lives.”

These words Spock has heard Jim repeat endlessly.

“When you’re responsible for countless lives, negligence is intolerable,” Jim finishes, seemingly barely able to hold himself back from going red in the face.

The attorney finishes their line of questioning and allows the defense to take over. The shift in Jim is apparent, though perhaps again only to Spock. The prosecutors are on Jim’s side. Admiral Marcus’s supposed zealous advocates, the opposite. 

“In regards to Admiral Pike. Can you tell me more about your relationship?” the defense attorney asks. “Do you have any familial connection with Admiral Pike?”

“Not by blood. He is my godfather.”

“Mr. Kirk,” the defense attorney continues, obviously annoyed. Spock does not appreciate the lack of title, but Jim does not react. “You were appointed as captain after Admiral Pike received his promotion, correct?”

“Incorrect.”

“Incorrect?” The attorney asks, looking down at his notes. “When did you receive your promotion?”

“Unofficially, I was made acting captain during a mission while Christopher Pike was not onboard. He was recovered after the fact,” Jim begins, “I was officially instated by Admiral Barnett two weeks later. Months before Pike’s promotion to Admiral.”

The attorney moves on to not call attention to his blunder, and Spock wonders how many in the audience stopped listening after discovering the nature of the two men’s relationship. How many wonder if Jim’s promotion was not based on merit?

“We will pick up after the morning recess with the next witness,” the judge says before turning to Jim. “Thank you for your time, Captain. You’re free to go.”

“My pleasure, your honor,” Jim says as he gets up. Instead of being led out with the rest of the crowd, he is pulled aside by someone Spock cannot see as the audience exits en mass.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dr. McCoy groans under his breath, urging Spock forward with a small shove. “Place is like a damn zoo.”

“That would explain why you are so comfortable behaving like an animal, Doctor,” Spock chides, pulling his hands behind his back as he swiftly maneuvers between people. Many of them move away of their own accord, some offering him a respectful nod as they do.

Doctor McCoy gets momentarily lost in the bodies.

“That Kirk,” Spock hears as he escapes from the crowd, standing off to the side of the entrance. The people speaking appear to all be high-ranking officers. “He’s the kind of kick in the ass Marcus has needed for a long time.”

“Youngest captain taking on the big guys,” another admiral nudges the first with a pointed elbow. “Better start watching for him over your shoulder, huh?”

“Only gotta be on the lookout if you’ve done something wrong,” Admiral Archer says, voice gruff but not entirely disapproving.

“Damn right,” the first agrees, “leave it to Marcus to try under-the-table dealings.”

“Allegedly,” the second offers, “there’s still a lot of trial to go.”

“With a paper trail like that, Marcus’ll be put away for a while,” Archer continues. “Just wish Kirk got to him sooner.”

“Yeah, the kid will probably make admiral fast the way he’s getting people’s attention.”

Spock’s fist clenches behind his back. Jim only attained the title of captain 6 months and 2 weeks ago. 

"Gee, thanks for waiting," Dr. McCoy says, brushing off his uniform top as he finally breaches the crowd. "Jim said to go on without him. Something about a new mission report and he'll meet us onboard."

"Very well," Spock concedes, though he is displeased. They were not anticipating a new mission and expected to stay throughout the trial. "I take it you will be returning on the shuttle?"

"You bet your ass I am," the doctor huffs as they begin walking to the hangar. "Any chance not to have my atoms scattered to the wind. But what's your excuse? You usually hate being locked in those things with a bunch of us logically challenged creatures."

"While that is typically the case," Spock begins, not missing the doctor's roll of the eyes. "We are expecting new transfers. The captain typically greets them personally, but it will fall to me in his absence."

"So he's been taking my advice. Good to know I haven't just been talking to myself this whole time."

"Your advice, Doctor?" Spock asks as they continue their way across campus.

“You’re his first officer. He should be putting you to work.”

Spock chooses not to engage further. 

Already, he can see crowds of friends and loved ones offering goodbyes to the new crew members before they go aboard. If Jim were here, he would meet all their parents, spouses, and children. 

He would even delay their own evening plans to do so.

Spock starts to slow his pace to match the doctor's casual stride. Making their way through the crowd, Spock does not expect to be stopped.

"Good day, Commander," a voice says, approaching through the crowd. "Science Officer Wallace, I've been assigned to the Enterprise. These are my transfer orders."

Spock immediately recognizes the woman from the memories he has seen of Jim's previous lifetime. He is unsure of her role in the grand scheme of things. And there is no purpose for another Science Officer. 

There are gaps in his knowledge. Aspects of Jim's story he has yet to be made aware of. 

A grievous oversight.

"Dr. Wallace," he reads off the PADD she presents him with. "Advanced weaponry. Quite impressive."

"Thank you," she starts, but Spock cuts her off.

"However, you are not on the pre-approved transfer manifest. And seeing as how the position of Science Officer is already filled, your services are not needed."

"Come on, Spock," the doctor rolls his eyes. "Most First Officers aren't also head of a department."

Spock's fist clenches around the device in his hand before he reminds himself to hand it back to her. 

"Unofficial transfer requests must go through the captain personally," he says instead of addressing McCoy's comment. "And seeing as he is not here, I suggest you go through the proper channels if you are seeking transfer."

"I see," the woman goes to take her leave. "Thank you for your time, gentlemen."

"No chivalry on Vulcan?" McCoy asks with a distinct tone of disapproval as he passes in front of Spock to board the shuttle. 

"An illogical code of honor to apply to my people. Who historically did not have a concept of knighthood."

"Yeah, no kidding," Bones scoffs as Spock follows him to their seats.

xXx

"Your testimony is still being discussed on the news," Spock says, turning down the volume on his kitchen viewscreen as Jim walks into his quarters. "It would seem people cannot get enough of you."

"Well I've had too much of them," Jim groans, rolling his shoulders. Joining Spock in the kitchen, he leans across the L-shaped island counter. "Is that lasagna?"

"A vegetarian recipe, yes," Spock says as he pulls the dish out of the oven.

"You big sap," a wide, beaming grin works its way across Jim's face. "You didn't have to make my favorite."

"Correct, I did not have to do anything," Spock agrees, watching as Jim's smirk shifts sideways. "And you did not have to become the center of an investigation into Admiral Marcus."

"Jealous of all the attention I’m getting?"

"Not in the least," Spock answers, pushing Jim back by the shoulder so he does not lean on the hot stovetop. 

"No? Even with all of my new admirers?"

"Do I appear so insecure?" Spock asks before considering his words and cuts Jim off as he goes to open his mouth. "A rhetorical question."

"Of course," Jim easily agrees before moving on. "My meeting was about our new mission. They want us to leave for Himol the day after tomorrow."

"Shall I schedule a briefing with the crew?" Spock asks as Jim circles the island.

"Just send a short mission summary," Jim shrugs with his right arm, the left not following. "Without Marcus messing with the records and diverting resources, these supply runs should hopefully start being a lot easier."

"What time would you prefer to ship out?" Spock asks but pauses as arms snake around his waist. 

"10 hundred hours should be fine, give Chekov and Sulu a bit of breathing room while the supplies are double-checked and prepared."

"Understood, Captain," Spock says, feeling Jim's forehead rest on his shoulder. "You are exhausted?"

Jim merely hums, grip tightening a bit on Spock's waist.

"Perhaps eating will help you relax," Spock suggests, and feels Jim let out a soft chuckle.

"Not like I could say no when it all smells so good," Jim says, voice slightly muffled in Spock's shoulder. 

"Are you referring to my person or the food?"

A sharp pinch at Spock's side makes him react, body jerking away from Jim slightly before he stills again.

"Smart ass," Jim says instead of explaining the gesture. Arms pull back as Jim turns around. Reaching up into the cabinets, he starts taking out dishes. 

"There is something I wish to discuss," As Jim passes him a plate, Spock serves a larger portion of dinner than perhaps is necessary. 

"Everything okay?" Jim asks as he brings their plates to the table, grabbing cutlery on the way.

"I do not believe it is anything to be concerned about, however, I am unsure of this event's significance." The partial explanation only serves to make a confused crease appear between Jim’s brows. "A woman attempted to board the shuttle today. I recognized her, but the name Carol Wallace was unknown to me. Was she a previous member of your crew?"

"I guess, technically?" Jim shrugs with his right shoulder again as they sit across from one another. "She’s Marcus’s daughter. She came onboard because of the torpedoes I told you about.”

"Shall I start investigating her?" Spock asks, as Jim helps himself to a large bite, his plate still steaming. 

Jim shakes his head as he swallows.

"Let's wait to see if she comes back with another transfer. We can’t have anyone realizing we know who she is while the trial is ongoing."

"Even though your testimony is done, it still weighs heavily on you?"

"It feels too easy," Jim shakes his head, eyes focusing on his meal rather than Spock. "I guess I'm waiting for it to all go sideways."

"And now his daughter appears."

"She wanted to investigate the torpedoes," Jim reasons. "But we don't have them. So why come here at all?"

"Could it be that she intends to uncover something to discredit you?" 

"She was just as suspicious of him as I was, but who knows if things are different now?" 

“Whether her motives have changed or not, it is a fact that circumstances have,” Spock says, Jim nodding minutely. “There are an infinite number of possibilities. But in this, I would suggest not taking chances and exercising caution. Especially when her service is not required and her knowledge as a weapons expert is unneeded.”

“Either way, if she comes back with a valid transfer, I won’t have any justifiable reason to refuse her. Especially with your department being short-staffed.”

“Given the diplomatic nature of our recent missions, there have been no ill effects of the understaffing. Though I am expecting more transfer requests in the coming weeks.”

“But still, we should take the help where we can get it,” he offers. “Especially if there’s nothing outwardly suspicious.”

“Only time will be able to reveal such matters.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

Finishing their meal, their conversation flows as Jim gathers their empty plates. Bringing them into the kitchenette, he rinses them in preparation for a more thorough cleaning later. 

“Doctor McCoy mentioned today that he had given you some advice,” Spock offers, watching Jim move about the small space with ease. They have only lived on board a short 6 months with various leaves on Earth, yet Jim still seems to maintain some sort of muscle memory from a time long gone.

“Advice?” Jim asks, rifling through the cabinets as if to locate something specific. “Yeah, he’s always trying to tell me what to do.”

“This seemed to be about your workload.”

“Ah, that. Something about delegating. Which I’m great at.”

“And humble about as well,” Spock teases.

As he laughs, Jim continues his pilfering. Spock joins him, looking over a shoulder to peek into the shelves. "Where'd you move your usual one?"

"Pardon?" Spock asks, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards as Jim grows frustrated.

"The chestnut-smelling one," Jim explains, unable to find the familiar figures on any of Spock's tea tins as he squints down at the one in hand. “Did you move it?”

"I used the last of it this morning," Spock explains, reaching over Jim's shoulder to grab another strain. "The supply on Earth has been low while the colony continues to build."

"We'll have to get some while we're on Himol," Jim says, taking the tea from Spock's hand and going to make himself a cup of coffee to match.

"Time permitting," Spock offers, "It is certainly not a necessity."

"To me it is," Jim says with a playful twist of the lips, pointing an accusing finger. "You hate replicated tea."

“Replicated food is molecularly exact to the original.”

“I know that. I have no problem with replicated anything,” Jim explains as he continues his work, hands moving with practiced ease. “It’s you who gets cranky.”

"Perhaps you are confusing me with another crew member," Spock insists.

"Is that what I'm doing?"

"I believe so. One who has a penchant for alcohol and insulting his fellow crew."

"You're gonna have to be more specific," Jim plays, knowing exactly who Spock is referring to. "That could be half of Engineering alone."

"The lack of professionalism on your ship is astounding, Captain."

"I'm having an illicit affair with my First Officer and you expected professionalism, Mr. Spock?" Jim teases as he pours their drinks. 

"From you, it is expected," Spock clarifies, bringing the teacup to his lips. He continues before taking the first sip. "It is everyone else that concerns me."

"It would save you a lot of time if you just say that I’m special and you like me," Jim teases.

"I would think that is obvious," Spock says, unsuccessfully hiding his smile behind a sip of tea.

"Oh, you would?" Jim says, a laugh jittering his words. "Hopefully not too obvious. Don't want anyone catching on."

“If they have, it is certainly not because of my behavior,” Spock insists and Jim tries to stifle a laugh. 

“And how do you know that?” 

“Nurse Chapel requested my company for a drink no less than three times during this shore leave alone,” Spock explains, and Jim’s coffee retreats from his lips before he can take a sip.

“Three times?”

“It is perhaps more,” Spock explains, “Lieutenant Uhura also asked me to join them as well. Given my history with the Lieutenant and her familiarity with my distaste for alcohol, I believe she was asking as a favor to Christine.”

“So now she’s Christine,” Jim says, making  Spock’s mouth drop open at the silent accusation.  “And here Bones was trying to get me all excited to ask you out.”

“Pardon?”

“He thinks you like me,” Jim explains.

“I see…” Spock pauses a moment before adding, “That would explain his comment last you were in Sickbay. I believe it was, ‘Vulcans don’t know a good thing when they got it,’ though his language was far more colorful.”

“Ya’know, Bones also told me you’ve been avoiding your physical for weeks,” Jim accuses, leaning back against the counter as he invades Spock’s personal space. “There a reason for that, Commander?”

“My physical has needed to be rescheduled several times since your recent injury,” Spock explains, eyes shifting away from Jim’s to focus on his left shoulder. “While you were recovering, more of your responsibilities fell to me.”

“I’ve been back in the chair for three weeks already,” Jim argues, putting down his cup of coffee. “What about since then?”

“An urgent experiment in the labs required my attention, leading to my rescheduling a second time.”

“And after that?” Jim asks, turning toward Spock fully.

“I-” Spock pauses, seemingly unable to answer. 

“You have to go eventually,” Jim explains, eyes filled with concern. “If Bones says you’re unfit for duty there’s nothing I can do about that, regardless of rank.”

“Of course,” Spock agrees without thought. “I will see it done.”

Chapter Text

As promised, The Matter of Time has had some big progress and chapter two is now published! This first work in the series has been updated and you can now read the first two chapters linked in the series. You can find it on my profile, by clicking "Next Work" above, or by going through the link below.

The Matter of Time

I hope you all enjoy! Your wonderful comments have kept me motivated through the entire process.