Chapter Text
All was quiet on the USS Enterprise.
At first, it had been a hurricane of activity. They obviously hadn’t beamed aboard with any prior notice, and it seemed that in seconds, the entire senior staff and anyone in a quarter-mile radius was frantically pinging their communicators. Spock did not appreciate the onslaught of attention, but given that the shuttle containing Captain Kirk and Commander Spock had been crushed in the vacuum of space twelve seconds ago … Spock could forgive their urgency.
Spock had been separated from Jim in the ensuing tumult of regulations and obligations. While he did not enjoy it, he felt no great loss. On the USS Enterprise, there were certain obligations that both a Captain and a First Officer had to complete. Those obligations could not be done while holding hands or sitting arm-in-arm (for the most part). And, once Jim managed to get out that they’d been trapped in 2251 for the better part of a week … well. Some questions had been raised. Understanadbly.
Sick bay, science laboratories, calls with Starfleet Admiralty. They had all started to blur together. There were very few people aboard the USS Enterprise, so nearly everything was done through their communicators.
Jim had inquired why nobody had thought to beam back aboard. After all, he was reluctant to allow anyone other than Bones attend to his medical care. The officer mentioned shyly that the same astral storm that their shuttle had gotten caught up in also prevented the transporter from being used in a safe manner.
Jim had grunted like he’d forgotten there’d been an astral storm at all. Spock could understand the sensation. Being in that shuttle had felt like a lifetime ago. Unfortunately, the ongoing astral storm also meant that they would be unable to leave the Enterprise until the storm subsided.
After all that had happened, spending a night alone with his bondmate on a nearly-empty starship sounded like the best thing Spock could have conceived of.
They were in their quarters, lounging on the sofa that overlooked the observation window. Jim’s back was resting against the arm of it, and Spock had lain back on Jim’s chest. One of Jim’s arms was over Spock’s collarbone, loosely holding him in place. Spock took advantage of the opportunity to slowly stroke Jim’s forearm, from his elbow to his wrist and back again. The sensation wasn’t enough to be distracting, but felt instead soothing.
Spock highly enjoyed laying like this. They were both in their underwear, and the excessive skin-to-skin contact allowed emotions to flow between their bond freely. It smoothed over any jagged, raw exhaustion or anxiety or worry that either had been feeling. Instead, Spock was cuddling against Jim in loving bliss.
He had tried to beam thoughts across the bond, even meaningless ones, but he felt nothing on that end. Spock could only chalk it up to … well. It had been a very intense, emotional moment, one unlikely to be experienced again. He hoped not, anyway. He’d rather not worry like Jim again, and yet, he knew that he would, someday.
“Man,” Jim scoffed. “You get to go on a nice road-trip in a sweet ride. Meanwhile, I get arrested by your dad. How’s that any sort of fair?”
“Given your usual behavior, the only surprising part is that it went as smoothly as it did. I conducted myself maturely. Professionally.” Spock cracked his eyes open to look out the window. How beautiful space was. Certainly, there were some stars in San Francisco and more stars in Iowa, but all the stars were shining here in front of him. He felt like the warmth in his heart outmatched every single one of them, particularly when Jim leaned down to kiss the top of his head.
Sappy. Being with Jim had certainly softened him, had it not?
“Especially considering that your first act was to tell a younger version of myself that you were his bondmate from the future and needed his help to commit a very serious crime,” he continued. Amusement snaked its way lazily through the bond. “Only you could have managed something like that, ashayam. Truly. The only wonder is how you were not killed.”
“Hey, you’re as surprised as I am. What are the chances of something like that working out?”
Spock was quick. “One in a million, four-hundred-and-thirty-five thousand –”
There was a hand suddenly placed over his mouth, preventing any further speech. Spock tilted his chin up to glare at Jim upside-down, causing Jim’s shoulders to shake with laughter. “You know I know you’re talking out your ass when you do that, right?”
He used his free hand to pry Jim’s fingers away from his lips. “Only 43.7% of the time,” he answered in a tone so serious that Jim would be unable to tell if he was joking.
A kiss was pressed to Jim’s hand before he took it back, folding the arm behind his head casually. “So. That sure was some stuff you were going through, back then, huh. With the hair, and the -- Eugh! – I just felt your cringe, that was weird. When did you stop, uh – you know, acting like that?”
Of course Jim would want to know. Spock considered for a moment, idly staring out the window, before answering. “I don’t believe the answer will be what you hope for, Jim. There was no moment where I sat down and immediately came to terms with my identity.” He ran his thumb over one of Jim’s old scars on his forearm, almost perfectly blending into his arm hair. Jim usually dermally renegerated most of his skin after scarring, but some were so old that he hadn’t had the chance. “In truth? As I continued with the Academy, and as I started to spend more time aboard a starship with different regulations and expectations – it simply became easier to follow a more Vulcan standard.”
“Neatness, efficiency, and logic, right?”
“Precisely what is needed on a starship. So, while my exterior behavior and appearance changed into something more traditionally Vulcan, my inner insecurities about my identity remained.”
“Until?”
Spock did not know how to answer that. In many ways, the struggle for his identity was as much a part of him as his identity itself – and although he had found a peace and comfort in who he was and what his life had become, he could not claim to have a solution to the problem of his birth. Other than, perhaps, his birth had not been a problem at all.
Jim’s arm tightened around his chest in response to Spock’s silence. They didn’t talk for some time again, staring out the window. The astral storm was largely invisible on the visible spectrum. Strange to think that there were electromagnetic pulses strong enough to kill them on the other side of the window.
“You have changed, too,” Spock remarked.
“Psh. Have I? It doesn’t feel like it, some days. Except for the grays,” Jim responded with so much sorrow that it made Spock want to chuckle. “Well. I guess I’m not the kid running around with clouds in his head anymore, looking for the next big adventure.”
“You are still that, Jim.”
“Hah! Maybe.”
“You are less frightened, now. More confident. More trusting. Less … “ Spock trailed off wryly. “Presumptuous in your romantic intentions.”
He had, during the course of explaining it to Jim, mentioned his younger counterpart’s fierce crush. Just like he had when Spock had first told him, Jim groaned and embarrassment spiked across the bond. “Kill me,” he muttered, and then – “I fell in love with you twice. People are going to think there’s something going on between us, and we can’t have that, huh, Pointy?” It was punctuated with a soft pinch on Spock’s ear.
“What would remain of your reputation if they did think as much?”
Jim snorted and leaned down to kiss him. Spock’s head tilted backward to meet his lips, simply basking in the joy of being near him again. He was pleased that Jim was okay. He was beyond pleased that Jim was okay. The uncertainty of their situation had troubled him greatly, and Spock knew that he would spend a non-insignificant amount of time tomorrow pouring over data to determine how this could best be avoided again.
But for now, he could also bask in this. That the love of his life – the love of all of his lives – was alright. That he was with him again, and the complex giant machine that was the universe made sense once more.
Spock made himself comfortable against Jim’s front again. It was almost like he was absorbing Jim’s love through osmosis. Highly intoxicating feeling, one that he never really got used to. He could melt.
“What do you think those crazy kids are doing?” Jim asked, and then, amending: “Do you think they’ll be okay?”
“As nothing has changed in the future, we can presume their actions in the past will not affect us.” Not the question Jim asked, but one that Spock wanted to clarify. He had looked up their Starfleet records and found that nothing had changed. Spock continued: “Logically, Jim, I could not say for certain. You moved to San Francisco much earlier than anticipated. I was arrested and engaged in criminal activity. We have both become companions, and that is …” Spock pursed his lips. “Chaotic. To be certain.”
“Yeah? Well, I can’t imagine any scenario where me knowing you would make things worse. You’ve always made me a better man, Spock, always.”
“That is not …” … how it works, Spock finished internally, but found that he was unable to finish that thought. Instead, he echoed Jim’s own sentiment: “You have also made me a better man, t’hy’la.”
And he meant that. Not even a better Vulcan, nor a better human – though arguments could be made for both. Jim’s presence in his life made him better overall, because … well, with a man as caring, kind, and brave by his side, how could Spock not rise to emet that standard?
The arm around his chest tightened in a makeshift hug. “I think they’ll be just fine. Long as Jim doesn’t do anything stupid.”
“Nor Spock.”
“Smartest thing you can ask of an eighteen and twenty year old, huh?” Jim paused. “I’m going to be pissed if I don’t get an invite to the wedding.” The joke was met with a polite snort from Spock.
“Youth and their whims.” Spock’s eyes had mostly slid shut, then, relaxing entirely against Jim. Humans had so much body heat. It was like laying on a very soft, very warm pillow. That he could hear Jim’s heartbeat against the back of his skull or feel the reassuring weight of Jim’s arm against his chest was simply an additional advantage.
“You know, there’s one thing that I learned, though. Through everything.” Jim craned his head down so he was speaking closer to Spock’s ear. His breath ruffled the hair on the side of his head. “I am the luckiest guy in the galaxy.”
Oh. Spock flushed, but did not allow his emotions to reach his face. Instead, eyes closed, Spock added in a neutral tone: “But how can you be, when I have already claimed the title?”
He heard Jim’s head rustle against the arm of the sofa again. “Charmer,” he accused, and then, softer: “Love you, t’hy’la.”
“You’ve pronounced it correctly.” Spock did not mean to sound as surprised as he was. Jim had struggled with the hard – and, in his defense, t’hy’la had been complex and archaic.
“I’ve had lots of time practicing.”
“I see. Know that I love you, too. As I always will.”
Grogginess was starting to overcome him. Spock adjusted himself so that he was lying on his side, resting in between Jim’s legs and using Jim’s chest as a pillow. To be certain, he could get up and sleep in his own bed – but how would that compare to a view of the stars? To resting on his bondmate as he slowly drifted off to sleep? Jim’s arms encircled him and, from the slowing of his heart rate, too began to go under.
How strange to think that some part of him missed Jim’s younger counterpart still, and felt concern over his general well-being. He thought of that Jim, and his own younger self. How much easier it would have been to get through the great tragedies of his life with his most faithful support by his side – he had survived either way, clearly, but it would have been easier to have a brighter light at the end of the tunnel. Someone who – to use a Human term – had his back.
He very well could have doomed his younger self’s timeline into extinction – but he did not think it was so. As Jim had said, they had accomplished extraordinary things with one another, had been better people because of each other’s influence. Perhaps that was the gift he had given his and Jim’s younger selves: a chance for a past, and a future, brighter than his own.
Regardless of what the rest of their lives held – as Spock finally fell asleep, he wished them all the very best.