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Chapter Text

Little does Spock know, he's met James Tiberius Kirk before this. It had been raining. Ambassador Sarek had taken himself, Spock, and Dr. Grayson to Earth for a meeting and Spock was forced to attend the nearby Earth school for two weeks.

He was only six years old and he was miserable.

Like any other vulcan, Spock wore thick, heavy robes. Back home, these robes would serve him: the tightly-woven cloth did wonders to shield his skin from the radiation of the sun. Here, all the robes did was garner rain water.

Spock, shivering, huddled under what little cover the side of the school provided, and pretended he was back on Vulcan. His lunch sat uneaten beside him, the smell unable to summon an appetite that surpassed his overwhelming discomfort.

This was when he met James Tiberius Kirk.

Jim was five years old. He had on big rubber boots, dark blue shorts, and a t-shirt with a geometric pattern on it, and he stood in the middle of the pouring rain like the water did not bother him at all.

"You're going to get sick," Spock called out. He sneezed.

"Me?" Jim grinned and spun around, stomping his feet down into the puddles. "I never get sick!" 

"That seems implausible," Spock observed. He sneezed again, then coughed pitifully. Jim--Spock only knew him as 'the golden boy' at this point, mostly because of the color of his dripping hair--laughed and then bounced closer. Water splashed onto Spock's clothes.

"Why're you wearin' a dress?"

"It is not a dress. It is a robe." 

Jim became bored of the conversation almost immediately. "What's your name?" I'm Jim." 

"Spock," said Spock.

"That's a weird name," said Jim.

"It is not." Affronted, Spock crossed his arms. "Jim is a weird name."

"No it isn't! Do you wanna play?" 

Spock was quite unsure of how to act around this golden boy--this 'Jim.' He pulled his robes together around himself. "I do not want to get sick," he said. His parents' words of warning wouldn't stop echoing in his mind.

"You're already sick, silly." 

Jim grabbed Spock's hand and pulled him up, farther into the rain.

"You should not touch my hands," Spock informed him.

"Why not?" Jim had still yet to let go of Spock's hand.

"Touching hands indicates the initiation of a kiss." 

Jim blinked, then grinned again. He was very fond of grinning, Spock was beginning to understand. "Really?"

"Yes. Vulcans do not lie." 

"Yeah, but." 

He stopped so abruptly that Spock found himself leaning forward, waiting for him to continue.

"But?" he prompted when no continuation came.

"But it doesn't really count," said Jim. "I'm human." 

"But I am vulcan." In his eagerness to win the arguent, Spock forgot to use complete sentences. "Whether or not you are human, you gave me a vulcan kiss." 

"Fine." The golden boy leaned forward and pressed his lips to Spocks. He tasted like strawberries. "There. Now we're even."

Spock touched his mouth. "What was that?" 

"A human kiss." Jim smiled big. His cheeks were a strange pink color. "Now we can go play!" 

Spock sneezed. "We have school."

"Who cares? School's boring." 

Spock had, indeed, found many of his classes quite dull. He looked down at his and Jim's still-joined hands, then back into the other boy's extraordinarily-bright eyes. He did not understand Terrans at all, but he was certainly fascinated by this turn of events.

"Let's play, Spock," said Jim, pulling at his fingers.

"I do not know how to play," said Spock. Rainwater dripped from his pointed ears.

"Whaddaya mean you don't know how to play?" 

"Vulcans do not 'play.'"

"That's ridiculous." Jim was dragging him into the forest adjacent to the schoolyard, and Spock found an unwonted desire to resist, well, resistance. "I'll show you." 

"You will show me?" 

"Yeah. It'll be fun." 

Spock did not know what 'fun' was, but he was a vulcan. By nature, he was curious. Whatever 'fun' was, he was willing to try.

Chapter Text

He stands, now, in front of the main building of the Academy. Students in red uniforms swarm around him, all absorbed in their own conversations and lives. Spock, at the Sciences Academy, had T’Pring and Stonn. Here, he has no one.

This is to be expected. He did not accept the invitation to Starfleet to make or keep any companions. What companions he did have remained on Vulcan, dedicated to their pursuit of knowledge, and Spock moved on without them, fully aware that the relationships that he formed with them would not be easily replicated in Terrans, much less the staggering 67.54% of the student body that were humans. Humans, Spock knows, are illogical creatures. Amanda is an illogical creature. Sometimes Spock, too, is an illogical creature, but he does not want to pursue a relationship with somebody who will bring out those illogical tendencies.

A cadet duo parts for a moment to pass Spock, and their shoulders brush his before they continue onward, re-connecting hands as they merge to the center of the pathway. There are many duos, Spock observes, and they seem almost entirely attentive to each other as a rule, but there seems to be a larger group at the fountain in the center of the courtyard, loud and uproarious, that pulls at attention more than most.

Spock’s PADD buzzes. He ignores the incoming messages in favor of further examining this group: from the far left, there is a curly-haired young man with a bright smile, a slightly older but still young man with dark hair and a narrow face, an even older man with a bottle (Spock doubts that alcohol is permitted on campus) dangling from his fingers, a slender woman with long hair pulled back from her face, and a man who seems to be battling himself over whether he is having a good time. Then, at the very end, there is a tall cadet who is standing posed, one foot braced on the fountain, his hands and arms providing animation to his words. Whenever he pauses, the aforementioned people erupt into laughter. The conflicted man says, “You’re a piece of shit,” and the posed cadet shoves him lightly, still laughing.

Spock tilts his head. To his understanding, ‘piece of shit’ is an insult, and ‘shit’ is feces. Why would the cadet find this amusing?

He shakes his head and moves toward the main hall again, tugging the PADD out of his pocket so he can appraise the new messages. There are five: two from Amanda that wish him luck and apparently ‘send lots of love’; one from Sybok that says ‘knock em dead, kiddo’; one from Michael that says ‘don’t do anything I would do’ accompanied with a colon and an asterisk; and one from Sarek that reasonably reminds Spock to remain dutiful to his studies.

Spock closes all the messages and puts the PADD back into its rightful place. Sarek was not pleased when Spock accepted his admission into Starfleet Academy and never wastes a chance to remind Spock of this. It is petty, Spock thinks with a very human twist of irritation, and therefore largely illogical.

He would never say this to Sarek’s face, however. He values the relationship he has maintained with his father, and he does not want all that work to crumble because he felt irritated. He also does not want to harm the relationship he has with Amanda; he always finds it difficult to confide in her if he has a disagreement with Sarek, as he does not want to force her to choose sides. It would be cruel of Spock to do so.

It is for these reasons that, whenever Spock visits home, there is tension. It is unavoidable.

He steps into the hall and approaches the receptionist’s desk. She smiles at him.

“Hi! You must be Spock.”

“Yes. I was instructed to visit this hall to—”

“Yep! Here’s all the papers you need!” Here she shoves a large stack of colorful brochures into Spock’s hands. “Would you like a tour? I understand you went on a tour while considering this location, but I can arrange a tour, if you like.”

“That will not be necessary.” Spock lifts a ta’al. “I thank you for your assistance.”

“Oh, totally. Hope you like it here!”

He exits the hall, tucking the brochure under his arm, and takes his PADD out again. To Amanda and Michael, he sends a simple thanks. To Sarek, he sends a deliberately-worded assurance that he is, indeed, taking his studies very seriously. At the end, he cannot resist adding that, as classes have not yet started, his dedication is irrelevant.

Spock does not reply to Sybok. He allows himself to revel for a moment in the humanness of this refusal to interact, and revels more in the fact that Sybok knows that Spock read the message and still did not reply.

Find happiness in the little things, Amanda once said. Spock never ignores his mother’s advice.

He stacks the PADD on top of the brochures and continues moving, following the little map with which the college provided in his acceptance letter. He is in the courtyard now, and he can certainly appreciate its beauty: there is a fountain, obviously, in the center (abandoned sometime between when Spock entered the main hall and when he left), and red maple trees lining the perimeter. It is beautiful, but it is not home.

He pushes this thought away and continues walking, hopefully toward his dorm room. Amanda also told him that it is not wise to dwell on the irrelevant. His longing to be home—that is irrelevant.

For a few hours, Spock explores the campus. He makes notes on his map and in his PADD, just in case of emergencies. He knows that he will likely not use them, but he also knows that making plans is grounded in logic, even if they will never be used. His attention to detail, however, pays off: by the time Earth has rotated enough to mask the sun’s rays behind a mountain range in the west, Spock has memorized the campus and no longer needs the map.

He tucks the brochures and map and PADD into his bag and starts moving back toward his dorm. It’s small and temporary; as he is a transfer, the college needs a little more time before it assigns him a new room and roommate. For now, he is alone in what is essentially a single-bed closet, confined to the few square meters of room that the contractors were likely required to include. It is cramped, and Spock is not looking forward to revisiting that space, much less sleeping within it.

It is, unfortunately, his current situation, and he will have to endure until he is transferred. That may take up to several weeks, according to the second brochure the receptionist handed him, and Spock can’t help but hope that the wait isn’t nearly that long.

He hears a sound, then—a sort of moaning, or perhaps groaning. Spock does not particularly know the difference (vulcans do not do either) but he does know that such a sound is concerning, and someone might be in danger.

He follows the sound for a minute or two, cocking his head carefully so as not to make a wrong turn and miss the verbalizer entirely. At last he finds them: it is a cadet, slumped between dorm buildings A and B, chin dropped onto a red-clad chest.

“Pardon me,” says Spock. When no answer comes, he repeats himself: “Pardon me.”

Now the cadet makes the sound again, rolling over to a prone position. He is rather pitiful, Spock observes, taking a cautious step forward. He reaches forward and, trembling, tilts the cadet’s chin upward.

It is the cadet from the courtyard—the animated one. Spock barely recognizes him; his face, once smooth and boyish, is swollen with bruises and cuts. He is mumbling incoherently, and when a jolt of pain and overwhelming loneliness flashes through Spock’s body, he realizes that he has held skin-to-skin contact for too long, and jerks away.

He has to do something to help this cadet. Something terrible happened to him, and now Spock needs to help him. He lightly tucks a hand under the pit of the cadet’s arm. “Cadet,” he says, “Can you speak?”

The cadet mumbles, again incoherently. Spock tries to lift him up but he resists, lulling toward the ground as if he finds the cobblestone somehow preferable to the alternative—a hospital, perhaps, Spock thinks sourly.

“What is your name?”

The cadet still replies with an utter refusal of lucidity.

“I shall take you to the hospital, then,” Spock decides out loud, and scoops the cadet up in his arms.

“Wait.” The cadet, suddenly lucid enough to speak (not a coincidence, likely), pulls at Spock’s arms. “Take me home.”

“I do not know your address.”

“I live in dorm B. Take me there and everybody will…” He drifts off for a moment, and Spock jostles him awake. “My friends will take care of me.”

Spock ponders this for a moment. He could certainly take the cadet to his dorm; they are right next to it now, so the endeavor would only take a few steps. The cadet, however, is not in good condition. His bruises are already turning a rather alarming color.

“I will take you to the hospital.”

“No. No! Shit, I can’t afford that.”

“Whatever bills to you they give, I will cover. There is no need to concern yourself.” Medical bills should be free anyway, Spock thinks after a moment. On Vulcan, they have always been free. Health should not be something on which one is forced to spend their livelihood.

“But—” The cadet protests again, and then stops. Spock is hit with a curious sensation of déjà vu: a phenomenon unique to humans, as vulcan brains do not have such lapses in judgment.

“Do you intend to finish your sentence?” Spock asks. “I believe you were going to provide another excuse as to why I should not take you to the hospital to receive necessary medical treatment.”

“Alright,” the cadet mumbles, “Whatever. Bones is gonna kill me whether or not the bruises are fresh.”

Spock does not know what this means, but he decides not to ask. He carries the cadet in silence, walking with far more assurance than he feels. He has never been this close to a human for this long, and it unnerves him. He has never before felt quite so…human, really. He has never before felt so close to emotion.

“Are you…”

Spock looks down at the cadet. His face is very close.

“How long have you been on Earth?”

This is a surprisingly collected question. “I arrived yesterday.”

“Have you ever…been on Earth before?”

“I have not.”

The cadet’s face falls a little and he slumps deeper into Spock’s arms.

“May I inquire as to why you were curious?”

“Oh, I…” His eyes flutter to a close now, and he presses his nose into the cloth of Spock’s sleeve. “I’m just looking for somebody, that’s all.”

Spock steps into the hospital soon after this; the waiting room is nearly empty, which Spock supposes is a good thing. He spots a woman at the front desk and carries the cadet toward her.

“Hello.”

She starts and looks upward, mouth dropping open. “Oh…Oh, dear.”

“I found him in an alleyway. He needs stitches.”

“Yes. One—one sec.” She picks up the phone at her desk. “Mccoy? He’s here again.”

There is some muffled cursing from the other end of the line.

“No, he isn’t conscious. He was brought in. You know he’d never come here voluntarily.” She looks up at Spock and gives him an embarrassed expression. “Okay. I’ll get him situated.” She hangs up now and comes around the desk. “Could you follow me please?”

She leads Spock through a pair of swinging double doors and down a hallway, where she indicates Spock lay the cadet on a bed. As he does this, a familiar young man in a dark blue uniform storms into the hallway, glowering. He does not say a word to Spock or the woman, instead pushing right past them both to grab the cadet’s face and turn it side to side.

“Ugh. Fight,” he says to no one in particular. “Why is he such a damned fool?”

“Mccoy,” says the woman tentatively, “This is the man who brought him in.”

Mccoy whirls toward Spock, his face an odd mixture of gratefulness, relief, and anger. Before he can speak (Spock has a suspicion he will not be an overly reasonable man), Spock asks, “How much will medical treatment cost?”

“It’s free. All medical treatment is.”

“He said he couldn’t afford it.”

“Yeah.” Mccoy smirks. “Probably meant he couldn’t afford to piss me off again. Listen, though.”

“I am listening.” He had, in fact, never stopped. The man steps closer and puts his hand onto Spock’s shoulder.

“Thank you for bringing him in. He could’ve gotten really hurt and would’ve never come for help. Especially not from me.”

Spock is all at once concerned. “Should I not leave him in your care?”

The man laughs. “No, it’s fine. He’s just a stubborn bastard who never likes to ask for help.” He sticks up his hand and parts his fingers in a ta’al. “Leonard Mccoy.”

“S’chn T’gai Spock,” Spock says, returning the salute.

“Pleasure, Spock. Can I take you out for a drink sometime and thank you?”

“Perhaps.” Spock offers a curt nod and turns to leave. “Dif-tor heh smusma, Doctor Mccoy.”

Mccoy’s mouth twists into a smile. “Peace and long life, Spock.”

[]

He remembers the wind on his face.

He remembers the corn.

He remembers his mother's soft smile, the way her fingers wrap around her chipped mug of herbal tea.

He remembers his father's hearty laugh.

He remembers his brother's voice--his arms when they hang around his shoulders.

He remembers the sun on his skin.

That's all.

Chapter Text

He does see Doctor Mccoy again. It is a week after they first met; Spock is walking across the courtyard, and the doctor slides into step beside him.

“Hey, Spock.”

“Hello, Doctor.”

“You know I’m not a doctor yet, right?”

Spock cocks his head.

“I’m only an intern,” he adds.

“You prefer I do not refer to you as ‘Doctor’?”

“I could get used to it.” Doctor Mccoy smiles. It is not a big smile, but it is a smile nonetheless. “You’re a transfer, right?”

“I am indeed.”

“Where from?”

“The Vulcan Sciences Academy.”

The doctor releases a low whistle. “That’s a tough school to get into.”

“It certainly is, especially for non-vulcans.”

Mccoy looks over at him. “You’re not vulcan?”

“I am, but only half.”

“What’s the other half?”

“My mother is human.”

“Oh. You two get along?”

Spock makes a sharp turn toward his dorm building and Mccoy scrambles after him. “We are quite close. Is the cadet I left with you in good health?”

“Who, Jim?”

“I never learned his name.”

“It’s James Tiberius Kirk. Alternative names being Jim, Cadet Kirk, or POS.”

“I do not understand.”

“Piece of Shit. I only call him that because I love him, though. And, uh. He’s fine.”

“He has healed?”

“Very well. Like I said, he’s a stubborn bastard. Refuses to ask for help but also refuses to stay hurt for long. He was cut to ribbons last year and you can’t even tell.” He pauses and Spock pulls the door open for him. “Do you want to meet him? He isn’t actually that terrible if he’s conscious.”

“That is not necessary, Doctor.”

“You sure?”

“I have no need to inconvenience him in such a way,” Spock tells him. “I have studies to which I need to attend, and I am sure he is in a similar situation. If it pleases you, you may give him my regards.”

“Seriously?”

“Certainly. I am never anything but.”

The doctor, for some reason, rolls his eyes. “Alright, whatever.”

“This troubles you?”

“Nah, just.” He appraises Spock for a moment, a curious look in his eyes. “I’m gonna have to get used to talking to you.”

Spock begins his ascent of the stairs. Mccoy follows him. “How so?”

“You’re so…logical. Matter-of-fact.”

“Yes. Vulcans do not dwell on unclear vernacular.”

Doctor Mccoy opens the door for Spock this time. “But you’re half human, aren’t you?”

“I was raised on Vulcan. I have, then, vulcan mannerisms.”

“Ever cause barriers?”

“My human side has caused more problems than has my vulcan side. Vulcans, despite their claims to higher intelligence and superior sophistication, are enormously xenophobic.”

“Including yourself?”

Spock sticks the key into his lock and jiggles it until he hears a click. “Including myself. Growing up in the environment that I did, I garnered a large amount of internalized xenophobia.” He opens the door. “Would you like to enter?” The question is mostly a courtesy, but he doubts the doctor would have remained outside regardless of whether he voiced the question.

“Sure.” He comes into the room and Spock closes the door after him. “You know, most people wouldn’t admit that. Their bigotry, I mean. Internalized or otherwise.”

“Whether or not I acknowledge my flaws, they exist.”

“See, most men would just pretend they had no flaws at all.” The doctor looks around Spock’s room. “Nice room, by the way.”

Spock does not know why the doctor says this; the room is not at all decorated. Spock barely had the time to put away his clothing. This must be a human custom. “Thank you.”

“What are you studying?”

“I am still pursuing the sciences. You are medical, I presume?”

“Yeah. I’m a transfer student, too—I learned all the basics back home, and now I’m learning how everything applies to Starfleet. Can I ask you a question?”

“You may.”

“Why’d you transfer?” Mccoy leans up against Spock’s wall and crosses his arms across his chest. “The Sciences Academy is elite. If you wanted to pursue the sciences, that’s your best option, at least in the Federation. So why transfer to Starfleet?”

Spock has often wondered this himself, and Sarek’s constant voicing of his doubts has done little to serve Spock’s unease. He moves to his desk and sets all of his papers down, lining them up flush with the corner.

“Spock?”

“I do not know.”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing?”

“No. There was a copious amount of thought that went into my decision. I think, however, that my reasons were superficial.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“I still do not know why I am here.”

Doctor Mccoy shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. “Sometimes we make decisions based on how we feel. That’s part of being human. Not everything has to be about logic, you know.”

“I know.” Spock turns, now, and faces Doctor Mccoy with both eyebrows raised. “If I may be so bold, why are you here with me, Doctor?”

Doctor Mccoy rubs the back of his neck. “Jim’s busy. I saw you walking across the courtyard and thought I’d start up a conversation.”

“Do you not have other friends?”

“No, I do.” He rubs the back of his neck again, this time with the other hand. “Chekov and Uhura and Sulu and Scotty and them.”

Spock waits. Listing names was not exactly pertinent to the conversation, so there must be more the doctor has to say. As he predicted, the doctor speaks again after a minute.

“I don’t know. They aren’t the same as Jim.”

“It would be illogical to expect individuals to be similar to another individual.”

“Well, yeah.” The other man pushes off the wall and begins pacing Spock’s room, running his hands over Spock’s belongings. “I get that. I just…well, I don’t know. Jim’s different. Jim’s always been different. I love my other friends—don’t get me wrong—but Jim’s different.”

“Different,” Spock repeats.

“Yeah. When you meet him, you’ll understand.”

Spock thinks about that crumpled body in the alleyway and how it felt in his arms. He is not sure if he wants to meet Jim, if that’s what Jim is like. “I am sure I will,” he says, and leaves it at that.

For the next few weeks, Spock attempts to concentrate wholly on his studies. This is not an easy task; almost every day, Leonard Mccoy comes knocking at his door, and Spock, always against his better judgment, opens it for him, and Mccoy drops down onto Spock’s bed.

These few hours that they have together aren’t always accompanied with conversation, but occasionally the doctor will just start talking and Spock is forced to split his attention between his schoolwork and the vocal lamenting to his side.

Usually Mccoy just talks about Jim. He talks about how Jim is always getting himself into trouble, how he’s too reckless (“I know that’s not his fault, but I can’t help but—well, you know!”), how he cares too much for other people and too little for himself.

“It’s going to get him killed one day,” he tells Spock on the third week, dropping an arm over his eyes.

“He is in college, Doctor, and you consider him in danger?”

“You don’t know Jim. He’ll find a way.”

Spock is beginning to know Jim, however. Through Doctor Mccoy’s unabating ranting and the hushed gossip he hears around campus, Spock feels like he knows Jim quite well already. He is reckless and he is impulsive and he gets into fights almost daily, often to defend those who cannot find it within themselves to provide their own defense. He has a bad habit of putting off his schoolwork, but he always gets near-perfect scores when he submits assignments. He is, Spock has noticed, quite well-known around campus. Spock does not seek information about him, but he always gets it.

“Anyway,” says Mccoy, “Enough about me.”

“Your subject was never yourself,” Spock replies, flipping the page of his textbook.

“Yeah, well, enough about whatever I was talking about, then.”

“You were talking about Jim, as you usually do.”

The doctor lets out a long sigh. This is a battle they have had many times before: Spock embraces technicality. Mccoy tends to cling to undertones. “How’s school goin’ for you, Spock?”

“I am faring well in my academics. Thank you for asking.”

“You don’t have to be so formal, you know. We’ve known each other long enough.”

Spock arches an eyebrow. “I was not being formal.”

“Okay, whatever. God.”

Spock does not entirely know why Mccoy comes to visit him so often; he never seems happy around Spock, and he constantly complains about Spock’s speech patterns. “Your own academics?” he inquires politely, and smooths out his page a couple times before writing his name at the top.

“Oh, they’re fine. Medical shit’s always been easy for me. Comes naturally.”

“You have other classes, do you not?”

“No, I do. But because medical’s so easy, I never have to study for it. Which means I have, uh, ample time to study for my other classes.”

“You could study now.”

“We don’t have study sessions, Spock.”

Spock pauses for a moment with his pen still pressed hard against his paper. “What do we have, then, Doctor?”

“We hang out, I dunno. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I…” Now Spock pauses again, but for much too long. Something passes over the doctor’s face.

“Oh, I see. So I’ve just been annoying you, is that it?”

Spock finds himself, for the first time in a long time, struggling with his words. He does not know how to express that he does not know entirely what ‘friendship’ entails—that he had something likened to friendship with T’Pring and Stonn, but seems now more like acquaintanceships, since much of his correspondence with them was purely academic. He cannot find the words for any of this, but by the time he is ready to try, Mccoy is gone, and the door is swinging behind him.

[]

His therapist told him to take deep breaths when his chest seizes up.

It had been getting so bad recently--the attacks would send him into gasping, hacking, coughing, puking fits.

Deep breaths.

Deep breaths.

He sucks one in. Lets it out.

Does it again.

"The deep breaths will help you center yourself," his therapist had said. "You're out of alignment. Deep breaths can help with that." He said something about chakras, and then about karma, and then about reincarnation.

He ignores everythign but the part about the breaths.

Chapter Text

Another week passes without the presence of Doctor Mccoy. Spock, in the silence of his room, is surprised he quite misses the other man.

Maybe what they had was friendship.

He stops writing for a minute to ponder this strange new occurrence, but a buzz from his PADD interrupts this line of thought.

It is Sarek, reminding him once again to be diligent in his studies.

Spock sighs. Sarek is correct, of course. Spock is not here to make friends, nor is he here to lose them, either. He is here to learn, and he is here to observe, and he is here to make a life of himself—all things he cannot do at the Vulcan Sciences Academy, apparently.

Spock sighs and rises from his desk, grabbing his dark gray coat from where it hangs by the door before stepping out of his dorm. He needs to get out and do some errands. He needs to get his mind off distracting things like friends.

The air bites at his cheeks and ears as he trudges out the building and across the courtyard, and turning up his collar does little to help. The absence of weight at his side informs him that he left his PADD behind, and he stifles a complaint. His attention has been so scattered recently. Meditation should fix this, but he does not have the time. He does not have the patience.

Meditation used to be so relaxing to him, too.

He sighs again, pulling open the doors to the main hall. The secretary from before is still here, and she smiles brightly.

“Hi! How can I help you?”

“I need to talk to administration,” Spock says.

“Sure! Just go through those doors there and sit in one of those chairs! I think there’s one other person waiting, so it might be a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” Spock pushes through the double doors she indicated and follows the hallway until it reaches a set of chairs. There’s one other person there—a cadet in a standard-issue uniform, face obscured by the cover tilted over his eyes. Spock sits down next to him and twists at his fingers.

“What are you in here for?”

The voice that comes from the cadet is clear and strong, but the cadet does not at all move when he speaks.

“I am here to speak with administration to determine whether my research will be funded,” Spock answers. “I have been delaying the inevitable.”

“Delaying the inevitable?”

“I am…worried, I suppose, that they will not find my research significant enough to warrant funding. Today, my meeting should determine the answer.”

Now the cadet laughs, and he leans forward, hat slipping down. He is, to Spock’s alarm, the cadet from all those nights ago: Jim. “Man,” he says, voice far better than when slurred with bruises, “I’m in here for breaking three people’s noses.”

Spock considers this for a moment. Then he says, rather archly: “We lead quite different lives.”

“We do, indeed,” says Jim, laughing again. “Hey, you’re Spock, right?”

“Yes.”

“Bones told me about you.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow. “Bones,” he repeats.

“Oh, uh. Leonard Mccoy? I call him Bones.”

“I see.”

“Thanks for, uh. Rescuing me. Even though I asked not to be. Bones said you offered to pay for everything.”

“I did not pay for anything.”

“No, I know. But you offered, so…thanks.”

“You are welcome.”

Jim grins at him. “Hey, what’d you say to make Bones so mad?”

“I was under the impression that he was always disgruntled.”

More laughter. “Madder than usual, then.”

Spock looks down at his hands. “I…misinterpreted our relationship.”

There is a moment of shocked silence. Spock looks up to see Jim’s mouth hanging open. “Holy shit. Are you guys together?”

“In what manner?”

“Like. Are you guys dating?”

“No. We are not.”

“Oh.” Jim lets out his breath.

“Is that relieving?”

“I mean.” Jim rubs at the back of his neck and shrugs a few times. One could argue he shrugs too many times. “No. Yes? No.”

“You don’t seem to agree with yourself.”

Jim snorts. “Yeah, well. Not many people do.”

The door down the hall opens and the Dean peeks his head out. “Cadet Kirk?”

“That’s me.” Jim stands and parts his fingers. “Sochya eh dif, Spock.”

Spock jerks back in surprise. Jim’s pronunciation is nearly perfect. He lifts his hand as well. “Dif-tor heh smusma, Jim.”

Jim’s grin is cheeky. “See you around, Spock.”

[]

"What was my childhood like?"

"Not now, Jimbo."

"You always say that." 

"Well, you always ask me when I'm busy." 

"Mom, you--" 

"I said not now." 

"Where did Sam go?"

"What did I just say?"

"It won't even take very long. Just tell me." 

"Jim, please." 

"Don't cry. I'm sorry." 

"I'm busy, Jim."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll go."

Chapter Text

Spock is beginning to find it hard to concentrate.

Typically—before arriving on Earth, that is—a silent or near-silent room would be the ideal conditions in which Spock could work. For some reason, however, this seems to have changed: Spock almost misses the doctor’s incessant rambling. The lack of noise feels less like a break from something terrible and more like a misplaced void.

Spock leans back in his chair, tapping his pen against his lips.

He could always set boundaries. He could always tell the doctor when to show up and when not to show up, but to do so would be counterproductive. Mccoy’s presence promised disorder, and it was said disorder that allowed Spock to focus.

He sighs and drops the legs of his chair back onto the ground.

Perhaps it isn’t Mccoy that helps him. Perhaps he just needs to be around people more; as an empath, he draws feelings and emotions from others. Being around T’Pring and Stonn only occasionally was enough, as their emotions ran deep and strong, but the same is not true for humans. No, Spock needs a more constant presence.

He stands, dropping the pen onto the notebook he has on his desk. His work is complicated, certainly, but he will never be able to get anything done if he is this distracted. Slinging on his coat, he pulls the door open and walks out.

He does not entirely know where he is going. On Vulcan, he always knew where to go. He moved with purpose. Here…

Wait.

Spock stops and digs one hand into his pocket. He left his PADD behind again, but he still does have the brochure in his jacket pocket. He pulls it out, unfolds it, and tries to smooth it as best he can while he walks. There’s a library northward, and the information center is in the main hall just past the fountain. Both would probably have something to point him in the right direction.

He heads toward the library first. He has visited only a few times. The main hall, on the other hand, he has visited quite frequently.

When he pushes open the library doors, he takes a few minutes to roam the rows of shelves. He’d almost forgotten how much he loves literature; after entering the Vulcan Science’s Academy, he neglected fiction for some time. He concentrated wholly on nonfiction—on research. Fiction took, for lack of a better phrase, the back burner.

He wanders over to the nonfiction center, then, and lingers on the ‘G’s. He traces the spines of his mother’s books, traces the letters of her name.

“Looking for anything?”

Spock’s hand drops to his side and he turns, facing the library assistant behind him. It’s the curly-haired young man from the fountain all those weeks ago. He has a heavy Russian accent and a bright smile. He is, Spock realizes with a rising amount of alarm, still a teenager.

“Nothing in particular.”

The man grins and gestures to Amanda’s books. “Dr. Grayson is one of my heroes. Have you read any of her books?”

“I have read a few of them.” They are all dedicated to Spock.

“I’m Chekov,” says the man. He does a little bow. “Pavel Chekov.”

“S’chn T’gai Spock.”

“S—wait.” Chekov’s eyes widen and he lunges toward Amanda’s books, pulling one from the shelf and opening it. “Spock, you said? Spock?”

Spock can’t hold back the smile that twitches at his lips. “Yes.”

“The same Spock?” Chekov twists the book around, displaying Spock’s name. Spock forces his smile to disappear.

“Yes. The same Spock.”

“Amanda Grayson is your mom.”

“Yes.”

Chekov’s eyes are as big as physically possible. “Wow. Holy shit. You’re a celebrity.”

“No.” Gently, Spock takes the book from Chekov’s hands and places it back onto the shelf. “No, I am just the child of one.”

Chekov looks at him for a moment. He cocks his head. “What are you looking for really? I can’t imagine you’re just in here to look at your mom’s books.”

“You are correct in your assumption.” Spock touches his mother’s name one last time. He pretends it isn’t for luck. “I am here to get information about a roommate.”

“A roommate,” Chekov repeats, thoughtful.

“I thought the library might have a bulletin board of some sort.”

“Well, yes. We do. But I have something better.” Chekov smiles again, and Spock decides he doesn’t like the look in that man’s eyes at all.

[]

He looks for Sam.

Sam's smart. He doesn't leave any traces of where he's gone. But Jim's smarter. Jim sees stuff that Sam doesn't even consider.

Everything leaves a trace.

Sam's footprints take Jim to the west coast.

He finds a number and an address.

He reaches for the phone. His hand trembles. He puts the phone back down.

He deletes Sam's contact and cries.

Chapter Text

“Is this all of it?”

Spock bends his knees so Chekov can put another box on top of the stack Spock is already holding. “Yes. I think so.”

Chekov whistles. “That is very impressive. Five boxes.”

“Vulcans are stronger than humans,” Spock says. “May you please get the door?”

Chekov, who is only carrying Spock’s laptop under his arm, bounds forward to pull open Spock’s door. “I got in contact with your new roommate. You two are going to get along just fine, I think.”

“I still do not know why I am trusting you with the selection of my roommate,” Spock says around his boxes. He takes the steps carefully, waving away Chekov when he offers to take one of the boxes.

“It’s because I have such a trustful face. You know, Russia invented—”

“Cardboard boxes, yes. You have mentioned this before now.”

“It was a brilliant invention! Really, you should look it up. They invented PADDs, too. I think I might do my final research project on Russia’s role in navigation systems.”

“I wish you all the best on that. The door?”

Chekov opens the door that takes them out of the stairwell and they both begin their trek toward Spock’s new dorm.

“You know this…roommate very well?”

“Oh, yes. We’ve been friends for a very long time. We have a group.”

Spock glances at the fountain as they pass it. “Who all is in your group?”

“Me, Uhura, Sulu, Scotty, Jim obviously, Bones, Chapel sometimes if she can stand us, uh…”

“Jim obviously,” Spock repeats.

“Yeah. He’s like the leader of our group. You should meet him sometime. He’s very nice.”

Nice. Yes, that is one word that applies to James Tiberius Kirk. The words ‘disaster,’ ‘overwhelmingly lonely,’ and ‘reckless’ also come to mind. Spock waits for Chekov to open the next door before he steps in.

“It’s on the first floor,” says Chekov. “Corner room. It is better than what I have.”

“Where do you live?”

“Same dorm, but three floors up.” Chekov rolls his eyes. “These buildings—they are old. They have not installed elevators. It’s a conspiracy, I’m telling you. Here it is.” Chekov knocks on the door and beams at Spock. “You’ll really enjoy this.”

“If you say so.”

The door opens. There’s a woman standing in the doorway, curly hair a halo around her head, uniform crisp and neat. She tilts her head at Spock and Chekov and smiles slowly. “Pavel. And you must be S’chn T’gai Spock.” Her pronunciation is also near-perfect. If Spock hadn’t been able to see her ears, he might have thought her vulcan.

“Hello,” says Spock politely, and lifts his boxes higher. “Where should I put my things?”

“Right this way.” She turns around and starts leading them through the apartment. “I’m Nyota Uhura, in case Pavel didn’t tell you.”

“He did.” Spock examines his surroundings as they walk; the apartment is modestly and cleanly decorated, with a simple color palette that eludes a sort of calm that reminds Spock of Amanda.

“I don’t have a lot of rules for roommates,” Uhura says. “I don’t care how your room looks as long as you keep the living room and kitchen clean. If you use food, make sure to replace it. Don’t be an asshole. And…that’s pretty much it.” They stop at the end of the hallway and Uhura pushes open a door. “This is you.”

Spock peers in. It’s bigger than his last room—twice as big, at least. There’s another door in the corner that’s cracked slightly open.

“That’s the bathroom in the back,” says Uhura. “I gave you the master since I’ve already gotten myself situated in the other room. That bathroom’s just for you, and the other bathroom—I’ll show you where it is—is for me and guests.”

Spock puts his things down onto the floor.

“You have any rules for me?”

“No,” says Spock. “You seem like a reasonable-enough person.”

Uhura beams. “You’re damn right. Pavel, honey.” She helps Chekov free from the doorway, where he seems to have gotten his uniform caught. “And,” she says to Spock, “I don’t know if Pavel told you, but I have guests pretty often. I don’t always know when they’re coming over, and sometimes they cause a ruckus, but they always clean up after themselves.”

Spock suddenly remembers what Doctor Mccoy said all that time ago: ‘Chekov and Uhura and Sulu and Scotty and them.’ He hadn’t made the connection before, but it can’t be a coincidence. Does this mean he’ll see Jim and Doctor Mccoy again? “That is fine,” he says. “I am used to working amongst disorder.”

“Okay. Cool.” Uhura takes Chekov’s hand. “I’ll leave you to get yourself situated, then.” She pulls Chekov out of the room and Spock is left to himself.

He sits on his bed and puts his head in his hands.

Everything is so different here. So much has changed. He had such order on Vulcan, but here everything was chaos, and he was actually enjoying it.

His PADD buzzes. Spock digs it out of his pocket and glances at the screen—T’Pring is calling. He swipes it open.

“Hello, Spock.” T’Pring is as beautiful as always, her features bordering on regal. “How fares thee?”

“As well as always, ashayam.” Spock’s lips twitch as he answers, unable to resist teasing his betrothed. “And yourself?”

“The Terrans have a bad influence on you,” she sniffs.

“Surely you jest. I called you ashayam long before I came to Earth.”

“I admit it had its humor,” she says, her lips pressing into a thin line, “But when you did the same to Stonn—”

“Any ashayam of my ashayam is an ashayam of mine own,” Spock quips, and T’Pring sighs and shakes her head.

“I truly believe this is the most humanity I could ever bear in you.”

“Exaggeration does not suit you.”

T’Pring’s mouth twists. “Nor smugness, you.”

“Did you have a reason to contact me, T’Pring?”

On the screen, T’Pring begins moving in her environment. It seems she is walking in the gardens. “Stonn and I will visit Earth in two month’s time. I suggest you prepare for our arrival.”

This gives Spock pause. His pulse quickens. “You’re coming to Earth?”

“That is what I said.”

“Why?”

“We have free time,” she says, “And Stonn, against my wishes, insisted we visit you.”

Spock fights a smile. “Very well. I cannot imagine my roommate would be pleased if I brought in two more people, so I suggest you find a place at which you will stay.”

“Roommate?” Her eyes flash. Contrary to what she so often claims, T’Pring is immensely expressive; one just has to know where to look. “You have a roommate?”

“Yes. I was having side effects from lack of contact. Terran emotions do not run as deep as vulcan emotions. I need more constant contact to be my best self.”

“You’re losing your touch.”

“You have Stonn. I have no one.”

T’Pring’s face softens, just for a moment. “You will find someone, Spock. I am sure of it.”

“You have far more confidence in my ability to form relationships than is realistic.”

“You have your roommate,” she points out.

“We have barely spoken to each other.”

“Tell me about them.”

Spock lets out his breath and swipes the PADD’s projection onto the wall so he can see T’Pring’s face as he unpacks. “Her name is Nyota Uhura. From what Chekov told me, she is studying communications.”

“Who is Chekov?”

“I met him at the library. I do not know much about him, either.”

T’Pring glows with disapproval. She certainly does enjoy pointing out Spock’s failings. “And who do you know, Spock?”

Who does he know? “I spoke with my professors,” he begins, and T’Pring cuts him off with a wave of her slender hand.

“No. You know exactly what I meant.”

“I had someone with whom I spoke, but that relationship has since ended.”

“So? Restart it.”

“It is not that simple. Humans are…complicated.”

T’Pring scoffs. “They are not that complicated. Apologize for whatever you did and you can rebuild the relationship.”

It wasn’t any use arguing with T’Pring. She was stubborn—not as stubborn as Spock, but when they did disagree, the arguments would last for hours.

There’s a knock at the door. Spock holds a finger up to T’Pring and pulls it open. “Hello. Is there something you need?”

Uhura flashes a blindingly bright smile. “Just wanted to see if you wanted to go out with us.”

“Us?” Spock glances at the wall that still projects his PADD call, on which T’Pring looks far too amused for her own good.

“Me and the crew,” Uhura says.

“What are your plans?”

“We were just going to hang out. I wanted to introduce you to some of the group.”

Spock looks at T’Pring again. She tilts her head at him and raises one eyebrow. He wants to scowl at her. “Very well,” he says, “I will accompany you and your friends.”

[]

He remembers begging and pleading as his brother walks away, but his brother keeps shaking him off.

Why are you going? Why are you leaving?

I'll come back for you. But I can't stay here. Not now. I can't even begin to forgive them for what they did.

But what did they do?

No one will tell him anything. He asks and asks and asks and asks and no one ever tells him anything, and searching the databases won't give him anything.

He searches his name: in middle school, he got an award. Born in Iowa. He doesn't know if he grew up there.

He remembers corn. The memory brushes the corner of his mind, just out of reach.

Why are you going? Why are you leaving?

He remembers the rain.

Chapter Text

For the first half hour, it’s just Spock and Uhura and Chekov. They walk together across campus during this time, and Spock is surprised to find both cadets are completely relaxed around him. Doctor Mccoy had been the same way (as had Jim, Spock thinks in the back of his mind), but Spock had assumed those were special circumstances; in any other encounter with terrans, Spock had found himself in the midst of uncomfortable glances and awkward silences.

He was vulcan, and so terrans assumed he knew nothing about being human.

Uhura and Chekov, however, do not assume such things. Though Spock barely knows either of them, they treat him like an old friend.

It is extraordinary.

After this half hour, Spock meets Scott and Sulu, both of whom immediately pull Spock into their conversation. They talk about which ships fly best. As Spock isn’t a pilot or an engineer and does not intimately understand the inner workings of a ship, he can only offer his physics expertise on the subject, but they embrace his contributions nonetheless.

After Scott and Sulu, Chapel slips in. Spock’s seen her at the hospital around Doctor Mccoy. She’s sweet, but each word has a fiery bite to it, like she’s ready to quarrel with anyone at any given moment.

They reach the coffee shop after forty-five minutes and take turns ordering drinks from the person at the counter. Spock gets tea, too unfamiliar to try any of the different coffees. Everyone else gets an elaborate “regular.”

“Tell us about you, Spock,” Uhura says. “I did a little research on you when Chapel started gushing, but that’s only what the paparazzi knows.”

Spock sips at his drink. It’s very strong, just like how he likes it. “What did you learn through your research?” He knows he’s deflecting, but he doubts any of these people will be bold enough to call him out on it.

“You’re deflecting,” says Uhura, and Spock almost chokes on his second sip, “But I’ll answer anyway. You’re S’chn T’gai Spock. You’re the half-vulcan, half-human son of Dr. Amanda Grayson and Ambassador Sarek. I think there was some conflict about your birth, but the articles were shifty on that.”

“There was much conflict,” Spock says. “It was more of a problem when I was younger. It doesn’t come up as much now. The drama seems to have died down.” He shrugs. “It isn’t really something I share with people.”

“But you shared it with us.” Uhura nods approvingly and tips her cup toward Spock—a blended drink that’s a strange green color. “Want a sip?”

Spock takes a sip. “It’s tea,” he says with some surprise.

“Yep. Matcha. It’s delicious.” She points at Sulu. “Try his.”

It takes the next few minutes for everyone to pass their drink to Spock. He tries them all. He still likes Uhura’s drink best, but Chekov’s vanilla espresso comes in as a close second, and Scott’s hot coffee has a strange aftertaste of scotch. He mentions this with some alarm to Uhura, who laughs and says, “Hey! Spock noticed the scotch!” and everyone cheers.

“Anyway,” she says after all that’s done, “Tell us more. We want to hear more about you than your birth drama.”

Spock’s a bit disappointed with his choice of tea now, but he sips at it still to delay answering. “I attended the Vulcan Sciences Academy before transferring here.”

“Oh?” Sulu leans forward. He passes over his drink again and Spock, grateful, takes it. “What were your friends like there?”

“Not as cool as us,” says Chekov, “Obviously.”

What is strangest about this is that most people just assume that Spock doesn’t have friends. He assumes that he doesn’t have friends. “I had two acquaintances,” he says. “My fiancee, T’Pring, and her fiance, Stonn.”

Everyone stares at him.

“So,” says Uhura, dragging the word out, “Obviously you don’t have to answer this, but is it, like, a poly relationship? Because that sounds really cool.”

The corners of Spock’s mouth twitch. “No. She became my betrothed shortly after I was born, and we decided not to pursue a relationship when she developed feelings for Stonn. I tease her too much.”

“Do you miss them?” asks Chekov. “Do you miss home?”

“Yes. Concentrating on my studies helps, though.” He gives Sulu his drink, which only has about an inch of whipped cream left, back to him. “Sorry.”

Sulu laughs and waves a hand. “No big. I know it’s good. How’s your tea?”

“Delicious and a little disappointing. Do you want some?”

This makes Sulu laugh more. “Sure.”

Spock slides the teacup over. “If I may ask you all a question.”

“Shoot,” says Chapel, who hasn’t said much but had a very admirable drink that she’s been taking pictures of throughout the conversation. “We have a very diverse knowledge pool in this group.”

“Are you…friends?”

This is met with some confusion. Then Uhura says, a little smile on her face, “Yeah, Spock.”

“How did you know?”

“It’s a feeling,” says Uhura. “Sometimes it’s just a label you put on a relationship until you feel better.”

“Friends are people you can depend on,” says Chapel. “No matter what. Speaking of which.” She slides out of her seat and points at Spock. “I’m going to the hospital. Are you coming with me?”

Spock’s eyebrows raise. “Why would I—”

“To talk to Mccoy. That’s why you asked, right?”

Spock glances at Uhura, who gives him an encouraging smile.

“Yes,” he says, and stands. “I’ll come with you. Thank you all for your company.”

“We should do this again,” says Sulu. “You’re fun and you’re hot, so you fit right in with the rest of us.”

“Oh,” says Spock. He blinks a few times. “Thank you.” He leaves with Chapel before he can make any more of a fool of himself.

[]

He knows something is wrong because his brain feels too cold.

It's never been particularly warm before. Mostly it's just been empty. But now he feels the cold sliding in, easing open his mind's door so slowly he almost doesn't notice.

Then the cold moves through his mind, putting its hands on all of his memories, picking some stuff up and leaving other things on the shelves.

"Wait," he says, but his voice is so far away that he almost can't hear it, and the cold just keeps pressing through without pause--without mercy. "Please, wait."

The cold moves in front of him. It has no shape, no color, no real image, but he can sense it as surely as if it was visible, and he reaches out a hand as if to catch its arm.

The cold stops at last. He can feel its eyes on him, studying him, scrutinizing him.

"Please," he says.

The cold moves closer. It presses an orb into Jim's hand. It feels warm and smooth in his palm.

A word comes to his mind in an icy flash: t'hy'la.

And, just like that, the cold is gone.

Chapter Text

Spock stands in front of the hospital for some time after Chapel already entered. Does he want to go in? Is this worth the trouble—the distraction?

He thinks about how he felt when the doctor left. He thinks about that horrid little pit in his stomach.

Which is more distracting: Mccoy, or his absence?

He could always set boundaries. He could always tell the doctor when to show up and when not to show up, but to do so would be counterproductive. Mccoy’s presence promised disorder, and it was said disorder that allowed Spock to focus.

Spock shakes his head and pushes through the hospital doors.

“Here to visit Jim?” asks the woman at the front desk.

“No. I wish to speak to Doctor Mccoy.”

“Oh!” She smiles, flustered for some reason. “He’s in the same area as before.”

Spock blinks. “Why does my answer surprise you so?”

“It’s nothing.” She types a few things into her computer. “It’s just…well, Jim tends to have that sort of impact on people.”

“What impact is that?”

She looks up at Spock then, and Spock sees something wholly profound in her eyes. “He’s likable. People want to…know him.”

Spock moves to go to Mccoy but the woman calls after him.

“Hey, wait.”

Spock pauses.

“Jim loves fast and hard. Everyone comes to know that when they’re around Jim.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

She lifts her hands. “To be friends with Mccoy is to eventually be friends with Jim, too. The closer you get to Mccoy, the more Jim will want to meet you and know you. He tends to take over peoples’ lives. Just…be careful.”

“Very well. Thank you for the warning.”

Spock continues walking. He makes his way to where he last saw Mccoy in the hospital and finds a couple other people instead: Jim and Chapel. He knocks lightly on the door.

“Oh, hey!” Jim tries to jump off the bed on which he is sitting, but Chapel smacks the side of his head. “Ow.”

“Stay still.”

“Geez, Chrissie. Fine.” He winks at Spock. “Fancy seeing you here. You come to visit me?”

“No.” Why does everyone think Spock is so interested in Jim? “I am here to speak to Mccoy.”

“He’s in a bad mood,” says Chapel. She dabs ointment onto one of the many bruises on Jim’s face. “First something or someone pisses him off, then Jim gets into another fight.”

“Are these the same people whose noses you broke?”

Jim laughs. The nurse swats him again. “Nope! Different people this time. What can you do?”

“Not get into fights,” says Chapel.

“Eh.”

Spock walks a little further into the room so he is no longer blocking the doorway. “Who did you fight?”

“Which time? The three people whose noses I broke were beating up a freshman. This time, this dude was being a total asshole to his boyfriend. Well.” He smirks. “Ex-boyfriend, now.”

“I swear,” says Mccoy, suddenly sweeping into the room, “You go looking for trouble. Nobody else on this campus gets into as much trouble as you do.” He nods at Chapel. “Thanks, Christine.”

“It’s not a problem.” Chapel pats Jim’s shoulder, nods at Spock, and leaves to attend to other duties.

“I can’t help it,” says Jim. He smiles bashfully at Mccoy as the doctor rips open a package of bandages.

“Well, your ‘not being able to help it’ broke your nose, so maybe try a little harder.” He turns his head, looking at Spock from the corner of his eye. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to speak to you.”

“Not Jim?”

“Why would I want to speak to Jim?”

“Ouch,” says Jim, but Mccoy hasn’t touched him yet and is still working on squeezing ointment onto the bandages. “I don’t know. He’s more interesting than I am.”

“I would not know. You very rarely talk about yourself.”

Mccoy’s hands stop moving for a moment. He glares at Spock. “Fine. Talk.”

“Very well. Doctor Mccoy, your question caught me off-guard. This is not an excuse, nor is it a dismissal of your…emotions. I only mean to properly communicate why there was a delay in my reply. The answer is not no. I just do not know what a ‘yes’ would entail.”

There’s a long beat of silence. Mccoy snorts, and then he laughs. Jim stares at both him and Spock.

“Did you…Did you just make Bones laugh? Jesus. I can barely do that.”

“Spock,” says Mccoy, “Are you telling me you don’t know what friends are?”

“I have companions on Vulcan,” says Spock. “I do consider you a companion, but I do not know if I consider you a friend.”

Jim, unsurprisingly, is grinning. “This is the most excitement I’ve had for weeks.”

“You have two black eyes,” says Mccoy, dry.

“So? I can get that any day.”

“I’m tempted to give you a third.”

“Oh, Bones. If I had a third eye, it would already be bruised.” Jim winks at Spock again, which Spock knows couldn’t possibly be comfortable with how spectacularly purple his skin is. “So? You two all made up?”

“That is ultimately Mccoy’s decision,” Spock replies, “As I believe that I was in the wrong.”

“Nah. Bones just got his feelings hurt and doesn’t know how to handle it.” Jim hooks one arm around Mccoy’s neck and pulls him closer so he can plant a theatrically-loud kiss on the doctor’s cheek. “If he hadn’t forgiven you already, you wouldn’t still be in this hospital.”

“Oh?” Spock tilts his head. “Where would I be, then?”

“On the damn curb,” Mccoy snaps. He pulls off his gloves and tosses them into the trash bin behind him without looking. “Jim, get out of here. You, too, Spock.”

“Awesome!” Jim drops from the table and takes Spock’s sleeve, pulling him toward the door. “Let’s go, Spock.”

Spock has to do an awkward jog to keep up with him. “Where are we going?”

“For a walk.”

“I have studies.” He’d already delayed his homework enough with accompanying Uhura and Chekov to the cafe.

“Then we can do that after our walk. We have lots of time.”

Spock could easily resist—he is much stronger than any human—but, like with Mccoy, he allows himself to be pulled along anyway. Jim takes him all the way to a nearby park before he finally slows down to a more reasonable walking pace and Spock can fall into step beside him.

“Tell me about yourself,” Jim says.

“What would you like to know?”

“Anything. Tell me anything. Tell me…about your childhood.”

Spock tilts his head back as they walk. The sky is a pretty blue, sprinkled with fluffy clouds that drift lazily through the air. “I was born on Vulcan,” he says, “And I grew up on Vulcan. For the first few years of my life, my heritage was a well-kept secret. Even proposing a mixed-race child was controversial at best and dangerous at worst. My parents did not try to hide their relationship, but they did hide the fact that I was my mother’s child, and not born of a vulcan surrogate. They—my parents, that is—intended to keep that secret, but I had health problems upon birth, and they, in their pursuit to get me help, were forced to reveal my heritage to authorities and medical professionals. I spent much of growing up in and out of hospitals.”

Jim shoves his hands deep into his pockets. He’s wearing a black leather jacket over his cadet’s uniform, and it’s speckled with blood. “Was that hard for you?”

“No. I did not know any better. It was hard on my parents, and now it is just a minor inconvenience.”

“You still have to get checkups?”

“Yes. I have not recently had problems with my health, but it is logical to monitor my health anyway.”

Jim’s eyes are full of sympathy, even when Spock just explained that the hospital stays don’t bother him. “If you don’t mind me asking, what keeps happening that’s bad enough to warrant so many checkups?”

“Overwhelming fatigue remains to be the most common of my ailments. We have also observed irregularities in my heartbeat and I often have fainting spells that keep me from properly going about my day for, often, hours at a time. Beyond this, I become sick very easily and stay sick for a long time.”

“Oh, man.” Jim lets out his breath. “And there’s no way to fix it?”

“Not thus far. You must understand, Jim, that I am the first of my kind. I am my own baseline. Doctors do not understand my biological structure, much less how to stabilize it.” Spock lifts one shoulder. “I’ve proven all at once that cross-breeding between humans and vulcans is possible, but also that it is unreasonable.”

“Life is always reasonable,” says Jim with a sharp bite to his voice.

“Don’t you think it cruel to subject a child to a life of fear?”

The hostility fades from behind Jim’s eyes, but not entirely. “I thought you said it didn’t bother you.”

“The checkups themselves do not bother me. Keeping secret my connection to my own mother did not bother me. I understood the logic behind both, but I did not understand, as a child, my own mortality, and I did not understand why my parents would have a child when not only was there a myriad of children available for adoption, but also when my parents were well-experienced in adoption.”

Jim says something too softly for Spock to catch it and so he pauses, turning to face his fellow cadet for more efficient communication. “Pardon me?”

“I said that maybe it was love,” says Jim, louder. “Everyone always says vulcans aren’t capable of love, but I don’t believe that.”

“Ah.” Spock began walking again. “You would be correct. Vulcans do indeed feel love, and they feel it deeply and powerfully. The misconception that vulcans have the inability to feel emotion—particularly love—stems from the fact that they do not express said emotion as freely as do humans. In any case, your explanation is far more comforting than my own.”

“And what’s that?”

They’re reaching the location of the park at which they had first begun walking. How long had they been doing this?

“You don’t have to tell me,” says Jim, apparently taking Spock’s silence as hesitation.

“No,” says Spock, “It is fine. I know that my parents love each other, and I know that they love me, but I also know they have always pursued the unknown, and that their unique relationship, in turn, provided them with a unique opportunity. I thought that, ultimately, I was a result of their curiosity.”

“You think you were an experiment?”

“I was a child on Vulcan, Jim.” They’ve passed the exit to the park and are still walking; Spock isn’t sure if he wants to stop. “Whether or not my parents loved me, I lived surrounded by a culture that held logic above all else. Who was I to believe my parents would defy that?”

“That’s a lonely way to think,” says Jim softly. “That’s a lonely way to live.”

“But I am alive, and I try not to let such things bother me because of this fact.” He stops again now and turns to Jim. “I should be returning to my studies.”

Jim’s smile is quick to arrive. “Mind if I join you?”

“Surely you need to heal,” Spock says, “And, from what Doctor Mccoy told me, studying is not exactly your…area of expertise.”

Jim laughs and waves a hand dismissively. “I heal fast. This doesn’t bother me. Also? Bones can suck it.”

Spock studies him. Both of Jim’s eyes are dark with bruises (one of them is almost swollen shut), his lips are both split and bleeding, and his cheeks are yellowed with past wounds. “If you become bored,” he reasons at last, “You could always spend more time with Uhura.”

“Yeah, totally! Also an option if you get bored with me.”

‘Boring’ is certainly not a word Spock would ever choose for the cadet in front of him. If anything, Jim might be too exciting.

“Do you have everything you need to study?”

“It’s all in my PADD.” Jim lifts it up for Spock to see. The smile has yet to disappear from his face. “To your place, then?”

“Lead the way.”

[]

"You erased everything? It's all gone?"

"...As you requested."

"Did you...did you leave something in there? Even the smallest thing could trigger a return."

"I left one memory. Just a glimpse."

"We told you--"

"I understand your concerns, Winona. Are you familiar with the concept of t'hy'la?"

"What? What does that mean?"

"I'll send you some information on it."

"And it's relevant how?"

"James met his t'hy'la. For a vulcan, this is extremely rare. For a human, it's...unheard of."

"And it's...it's a good thing?"

"Winona, finding one's t'hy'la is the most divine experience any creature can have. When you read the information, you'll understand. James has found the other side of his coin."

"...Okay. Fine. But if this triggers his memory, I'm coming back to you."

"Very well."

"..."

"Aren't you going to ask who it was that James found?"

"..."

"Winona?"

"I already know. With luck, he'll never find him again."

Chapter Text

Jim, for all Mccoy built him up to be a troublemaker, is a spectacularly good study partner and, Spock realizes, is actually a genius. He dives into his academics as soon as Spock makes room for him on his desk, and speaks only to discuss their assignments. Spock expected chaos; instead, he’s found a surprising amount of order.

“What branch are you pursuing?” Spock asks when at last they take a break to grab some snacks from the kitchen. Uhura isn’t home, according to the note on the fridge, which means Jim can’t escape to her—a fact that makes Spock, for some reason, pleased.

“Command,” Jim answers. He finds a small package of peanuts, grimaces, and throws them back into the cupboard.

“It suits you.”

Jim twists around with a funny look on his face. “Not a lot of people say that. Especially if they don’t know me.”

“You are a natural leader,” says Spock. “I could tell when I first saw you.”

Now Jim laughs, long and loud. “You could tell when you found me unconscious in an alleyway?”

“No.” Spock watches Jim find another bag of peanuts and make another face, just as dramatic as before. “I saw you before that. You were in the courtyard talking to your friends. They were all enraptured.”

Jim finds a package of bear-shaped gelatin candies and smiles at it. “Just because I tell good stories doesn’t mean that I’m gonna be a good leader.”

“Don’t shortchange yourself.” Spock closes the cupboard and looks down at Jim seriously. “Don’t crush your dreams before you even start to pursue them.”

“Very wise,” says Jim. “What are your dreams?”

“I don’t know yet,” Spock says. He grabs an orange from the counter, turning it over in his hands.

“What were your dreams when you were a kid?”

“I didn’t have dreams. I assumed I wasn’t going to live to adulthood.”

“Shit,” says Jim. “Goddamn.” He shakes his head a couple of times. “Fuck shit.”

“Your expressions are very colorful.”

“Thanks. But really, Spock? That’s so depressing.”

“It is what it is. I’m still trying to adjust to the fact that I’m still alive.”

This makes Jim laugh, too, for some reason. “Yeah, I get that. Are you passionate about anything?”

“Science, I suppose. I want to explore.”

Jim pops one of the gelatin bears into his mouth and chews a few times before pointing a sticky finger at Spock. “That can be a passion.”

“Yes.”

“Also, just…” Jim suddenly collapses onto the kitchen floor and spreads his arms out. “I don’t know. Just picture it: being in space, going wherever you like, exploring until you can’t tell the difference between your eyes and the stars.” He closes his eyes. “I want to be in love with life.”

“You deserve it.”

Jim’s lips spread into a smile again—softer this time. He sits up and Spock helps him to his feet, trying to ignore the little tingle he feels when Jim’s hand connects with his. “Let’s go study,” he says. “I hate saying those words, but I don’t think it’s so bad with you.” Before Spock can answer, Jim brushes past him and calls over his shoulder: “Don’t you dare quote me on that.”

[]

He doesn't remember a name.

He doesn't remember a face.

What he remembers is a kiss, better not for feeling but for taste. He remembers deep brown eyes. He remembers the way his shorts dripped with rain water.

He remembers a tinge of green, a hidden sneeze.

The same word keeps coming to his mind: t'hy'la. He looks it up, tries to grasp the meaning. He can't quite comprehend what it means to be loved like that--without abandon. Unconditionally.

He knows the kiss was with a vulcan.

Without a name or a face or a gender or a period, his search is aimless. Any database forums are ultimately fruitless: vulcans don't like sharing their cultural data, much less their personal data. The search folds and collapses into just questions:

Have you ever been to Earth?

When?

Do you remember me?

Sometimes he just gets yeses; sometimes he gets nos. None of them are right. None of them quite fit.

Chapter Text

Spock doesn’t seek out Jim, but that doesn’t stop their relationship from progressing at the kind of pace Amanda would raise her eyebrow at if she saw it in fiction—the kind of pace a reader might find unrealistic, a little fantastical, a little romanticized. Friendship, Spock thought, was supposed to arrive slow and steady: a ship slowly sliding into its place at a harbor, not like a boat speeding its way too quickly onto shore. But this is how Jim approaches their friendship—fast and unreliable and unexpected and even a little dangerous—and Spock allows himself to be pulled along.

Some nights, just as Spock finishes one assignment and reaches for another, there’s a great clamor at his window, and then there’s Jim sliding the glass up and pushing his way in. He has a sense, somehow, for the precise moment of Spock’s transitions between assignments; Spock once suspected Jim merely sat outside Spock’s window and waited until he finished, but stopping in the middle of his work to investigate the area outside his window yielded no confirmation of this hypothesis. Eventually Spock just accepted that Jim knew these things—accepted that there were things in the universe that Spock, even with science at his side, could never understand.

He finishes assignments, waits for the clamor, opens the window, and allows Jim to lead him away. Certainly, nights in which Jim never arrives prove far more productive, but nights with Jim are rich in their experience: once they hike up a nearby hill together and stargaze as they lie on the grass, heads so close they’re nearly touching; once Jim somehow convinces Spock to steal a Starfleet transport vehicle and they drive along the beach until the sun comes up and Jim’s asleep on Spock’s shoulder; once they explore the forest with only two water bottles and half a crushed bag of chips Jim claims are only about a day old but taste like they’ve been at the bottom of someone’s bag for half a century.

And Spock feels alive.

He tries to get more out of Jim every time they’re together. He talks freely of the few years leading to Starfleet but nothing else before that. In a few conversations, he mentions his brother.

“Is he in Starfleet, too?” Spock asks, and Jim shakes his head.

“No. He left a long time ago. He said my parents did something he could never forgive them for.”

This seems so especially ominous that Spock asks, “What did they do?” and Jim answers,

“I don’t know. I think it had something to do with me, but no one tells me anything.”

This exchange, along with Jim’s offhand comment about wanting a tree house in his youth but never getting one, are the closest glimpses Spock gets into Jim’s childhood. All else is a mystery. Sometimes Spock wonders if it’s a mystery to Jim as well.

Tonight, Spock has a feeling Jim will arrive. They’ve just had their mid-terms, and Jim is a firm believer in letting off steam.

Sure enough, Jim slides open Spock’s window at four minutes past the twenty-second hour. He climbs in just as Spock puts the final touches on his paper.

“You should lock your window.” Jim’s voice is quiet. Grim. Spock turns and is surprised to see his friend is in all black clothing, and his sunny face doesn’t spout its usual smile.

“I knew it was you,” says Spock.

“But it might not have been.” Jim takes a seat on Spock’s pristinely-made bed, crossing his legs like a child. “Could you have defended yourself if it wasn’t?”

Spock considers this. “I suppose it depends. Did something happen, Jim?”

Jim looks so somber Spock almost doesn’t recognize him. Spock rolls his chair toward him and Jim reaches over, touching Spock’s palm with the tips of his fingers. “Did you hear about what happened?”

Whatever it was, it must have been bad. Spock confesses that, no, he did not—that he’d been pretty isolated all day to get his work done, and he hadn’t checked the news. Jim’s face becomes more drawn.

“Someone on campus was murdered this morning.”

Spock readily covers his shock and allows Jim to finish, though he knows it doesn’t make any difference. Jim won’t meet his eyes.

“They’re trying to keep it quiet so we don’t all get scared, but we all heard about it anyway.”

Spock struggles to respond. When he speaks, he does so carefully: “Did you know the victim?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Jim’s voice, on the other hand, is frustrated. “His name sounds so familiar, but I can’t place it. Maybe I knew him as a kid?” He repeats this last part again, somehow with both more assuredness but also more confusion. “Maybe I knew him…as a kid.”

“We can look him up, if you like,” Spock suggests. “Perhaps you lived in the same town.”

“I don’t know where I lived, Spock.”

Spock blinks several times, baffled. “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t know where I lived. I only remember moving away. Everything before that…everything from my childhood. It’s all…hazy. Sometimes I get glimpses, but that’s always all it is.”

“We could…” Spock’s eyes dart about his room as if he’ll find an answer from the posters on his walls. “We could ask your parents.”

“No. They won’t tell me. I’ve asked about stuff before—really innocent stuff—and they didn’t tell me shit, so I can’t imagine a murder victim would change their minds.”

Spock, who knows nothing about Jim’s parents, says, “They might,” and Jim gives him a look so poisonous that Spock can almost feel symptoms. “Do you want to search his name anyway?”

“I already did. They don’t have a lot on the school database.”

Spock sits forward, suddenly eager. “That was just what was open to the public, though, right?”

Jim’s looking at him very strangely. “Yeah.”

“The school has more information than that. They have information on all of us. I’m sure if we asked Nyota—”

“Wait.” Jim wraps his entire hand around Spock’s and Spock freezes. “Don’t. Don’t. I don’t want them knowing about this.”

“You…what? Why not?”

Jim seems deeply embarrassed. “I don’t know. I don’t want them to know. They think I’m…I don’t know. Put together.”

Spock finds this very, very difficult to believe.

“Well,” says Jim, “More put together than I am. I just told them some lies about growing up and they believed them.” He shrugs, dismissing the rest of that tangent of the conversation, and then says, “Can’t you look him up yourself? You hacked into that transporter just fine.”

“I suppose I could.” Spock scoots back to his desk and Jim stands to follow him. “What’s his name?” He closes the window he has open (a document examining the intricacies of human relationships with other races), replacing it with the Starfleet database.

“Riley. Kevin Riley.” Jim puts one arm around the back of Spock’s chair. He’s so close that Spock can feel the heat radiating from his skin. “He’s a third-year student.”

Spock types the name in. There are two results; Jim indicates Spock pick the first.

Kevin Riley.

Age: 26

Focus: Engineering

This information accompanies a crisp image of a young man with a bright smile. Spock ignores the feeling he gets when he realizes he’s looking at a dead man, and it takes him a few minutes of typing to bypass the security with a bogus staff identification.

“Who’d you pretend to be?” Jim whispers, his lips brushing Spock’s ear.

“Jim.”

“Sorry. You’re doing great. Keep going.”

He finds the actual list of information Starfleet has on Kevin Riley: where he was born, who is family is, et cetera. “Any of this look familiar?”

“Isn’t ringing any bells.” Jim lets out his breath. “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t know him from the past. Maybe I saw him on campus or something, and I just don’t remember.”

Spock can hear the lie in his words. He knows it isn’t true, but he’s doubting himself anyway.

“I already made up my mind, anyway,” says Jim. “I’m going to sneak in to his room.”

“Jim!” Spock shoots upward and Jim scrambles backward with an odd smile on his face. “You can’t go into his room! He’s a murder victim!”

“I know. And I think I can find clues as to who he was if I go in there.”

“What if you ruin evidence? What if they can’t find his killer because of you going in there?”

Jim rights himself. He straightens his shirt. “They’ll find the killer even if we go in there. They’ll find the killer because we went in there. I know it.”

“How do you know, Jim?”

“I just do. I know the same way I knew that you and I were going to be best friends. I know the same way that I know when your assignments are going to be done. I just do, okay?”

Spock can’t argue with that. He would most definitely like to, but he can’t.

“So you’re coming with me.” This isn’t really a question—it’s more like a command. And Spock, for some reason, can never say no to Jim.

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Great!” Jim crawls across Spock’s bed and pushes open the window. “Come outside when you’re done changing.”

“Changing? Why am I changing?”

One of Jim’s legs is already out the door, and as he speaks, he pushes himself the rest of the way into the night air. “Spock, be reasonable. You need to wear black or we’ll get caught. You know this.”

[]

Have you ever been to Earth?

No. 

But Spock is so perfect that Jim almost wants to give up his search.

How can his t'hy'la possibly be better than Spock?

He tells himself: if I find my t'hy'la, I'm taking Spock with me.

He tells himself: if my t'hy'la is better than Spock, I might just die of happiness.

He tells himself: I may be in love with Spock.

He tells himself: Why can't I have both?

Chapter Text

“Did you see where he lived?” Spock lopes after Jim, who is running from bush to tree to fence, probably trying to stay out of sight of the cameras but in all likelihood failing miserably.

“Yeah! Didn’t you?”

Spock hadn’t exactly scrutinized the file. Mostly he’d depended on Jim to look through it and see if he recognized anything. Sighing, he crouches next to Jim behind a bush and raises one eyebrow. “And how do you propose we get into the room, Jim?”

“We can crawl through the window.”

“You don’t think it’ll be locked?”

Jim gives him a look. “You don’t think I don’t know how to pick a lock?”

“Did you have a criminal childhood?”

Now Jim laughs. “You know I don’t know the answer to that question. God, I hope so, though. Wouldn’t that be sick? Maybe my parents erased my memory to make me shape up.” He laughs again, but Spock doesn’t really see how such a hypothesis could be humorous in any way. “Wouldn’t that be a bitch?”

“Yes, Jim, it would.”

Jim’s smile seems wild in the dim light provided by the lamp posts twenty paces away. “I missed you, Spock.”

“We’ve only been apart for a single day.”

“I meant to visit you last night,” says Jim, as if Spock had never spoken, and hurries to the next hedge to crouch behind it. Spock goes after him. “But, you know, I was held up. Bones showed up in my room. And he slept there. I think he broke up with his boyfriend, but he refused to talk about it. Wouldn’t it have been funny if he showed up to visit you, too?” Jim stops talking, and Spock suspects it’s only because a couple cadets are hurrying past the hedge, and if he had continued that train of thought, they might have been caught.

“Are we nearly to the room?” Spock hisses.

“Yes. Nearly there.” Jim grabs Spock’s hand and pulls him further toward one of the dorm buildings—E, if Spock remembers. “He’s in room 248. That’s on the second floor, right?”

“Third,” says Spock. “The first floor would be numbers 1 through 99, and then the second floor would have 100 through 199, and the—”

“So third floor, yeah. Cool. I’ve climbed worse.” Jim sprints off again, and Spock curses.

“Jim! I haven’t climbed worse!”

“But you’ll have climbed exactly the same, and that’s almost as good!”

“Jim, your logic is—”

Jim puts a hand over Spock’s mouth, stopping him from continuing. “There’s security over there,” he murmurs into Spock’s ear. “We’ll wait for them to pass, and then we’ll climb up.”

“I don’t know how to climb, Jim.” Though irritation would have consumed Spock by now if he was with anyone else, all he feels is mild exasperation. He takes Jim’s wrist and pulls it away from his mouth. “You expect me to be able to climb three stories with no experience?”

Jim smiles at him. “It’s okay, Spock. I believe in you.”

“Jim.”

“And if you need help, I’m here for you.” He flashes another smile—a smile that makes Spock’s stomach do a curious little flip. “I’m an expert climber of walls, you know.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

The security guard’s moved on; Jim leads Spock around the corner and jumps upward, taking ahold of the windowsill and using it to pull himself to a stand on the ledge. “Just follow my lead.”

Spock repeats this action with little effort.

“You liar. You said you’ve never done this before.”

“I haven’t,” Spock whispers. “I am just copying your technique, just as you told me to do.” He points to the next ledge some feet above them. “Do we do the same thing here?”

Jim’s eyes narrow. “Yes.”

There’s something in his voice, but Spock pays no mind to it. He looks up, bends his knees, and then leaps; though he falls short, he’s able to kick off the wall to give himself the extra height he needs. When he’s safely secured, he looks back down at Jim, who’s staring at Spock with his jaw nearly touching his chest.

“I was joking!”

Spock can’t resist the urge to give him a triumphant smile. “Go on, Jim. Impress me.”

Jim’s mouth curves into a not-so-serious scowl. His eyebrows draw together in concentration. And then he’s moving, scuttling up the wall not unlike a spider, using misplaced bricks and thorny vines to haul himself closer to his destination. He’s standing next to Spock only moments later, lightly panting, his eyes bright with the thrill of it all.

Spock has the sudden idea to take Jim in his arms then, to hold him, to—what? Kiss him? The thought alone is ridiculous; carrying it out would be nothing short of embarrassing.

“Shall we continue?” he asks instead, taking hold of the wall to steady himself. Jim  grabs his shoulder to try to help, but it just makes Spock feel shakier.

“Of course. You want to go first again?”

This time, Spock employs a mixture of his and Jim’s techniques. He leaps up again, grabs hold of a jagged brick sticking out of the wall, and uses it to propel himself further. Jim gets onto the window sill at about the same time and they grin at each other, breathless.

“You’ll be an expert yet,” says Jim. He bends downward and pulls on some gloves before he grabs at the window, sliding it open.

“You’re sure this is the right room?”

“Sneaking into everyone’s rooms has given me an intricate knowledge of these buildings’ layouts.”

“But you’re not sure which floor is which.”

“Hey. I was close.”

“We could have found ourselves in some poor unsuspecting student’s bedroom!”

“Oh, nonsense. And, if we had, we could have just apologized and moved on. It’s happened before.” With the ease only one with practice could emulate, Jim slides through the open window and into the room. Spock has to take a moment to question every choice he’s made in his life that’s led him to this before he follows.

The room is dark. Slowly Spock’s eyes adjust, and he makes out a pair of empty beds, an old desk, a busy wall littered with documents connected with strings. Jim fumbles with his PADD just inside the window, trying to find a sort of flashlight, so Spock moves past him to the desk and its wall of papers.

“You’re right.” He keeps his voice low. “This room is Kevin Riley’s. It’s cleaner than I thought it would be.”

“Cleaner?” Jim’s finally found the flashlight feature on his PADD, and he uses it to illuminate the room. “He wasn’t murdered here, if that’s what you thought. I think it was in the courtyard.”

Spock wets his lips. “How did he die?”

“Stabbed. The reports say that it looks personal.” Jim spots the desk and comes over to inspect it and the wall. “What is all of this?”

“I’m not sure. It seems like he was trying to find something.” Spock’s gaze travels along the strings and the papers they connect. Some are newspaper clippings, some journal articles, some photographs, some handwritten notes. “Or…someone,” Spock adds. He feels uneasy. The quiet pleasure he’d felt standing next to Jim on that second-story windowsill has completely dissipated, replaced with a slow, haunting feeling that reminds Spock of the ghost stories with which Amanda tried to scare him.

“Who are these people?” Jim’s light moves with his eyes. His mouth moves too, forming the names silently, but it seems no epiphany is coming.

Then.

Then Jim says, “These…faces,” in an oddly faint voice. “Spock, I think—”

He crashes down without warning. Spock dives after him, taking Jim into his arms, lifting him off the floor. Jim’s entire body is convulsing. His eyes dart back and forth underneath his eyelids. His hands grasp for something that isn’t there. A few times he utters a moan of a name—something with hard syllables, but a name Spock doesn’t recognize.

“Jim.” Spock touches Jim’s face. “Jim, Jim.”

Jim’s gone, at least for now; he’s unreachable. Spock closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I hope, one day, you can forgive me.” His fingers land on Jim’s qui’lari and Jim’s mind submits immediately to him. It catches Spock off guard; when he’s done this before, the other participants opened their doors slow, unsure, but Jim yields without any such qualms: if his mind has doors, he kicks them open at Spock’s request, and a jumble of images pours into Spock’s consciousness.

He knows immediately that this was a mistake.

A full-blooded vulcan might have had no problems helping Jim—would have had no problems interpreting the images that came so readily from Jim’s mind. But Spock is only half vulcan, and his mind is so much weaker for it, and everything Jim gives to him threatens to overwhelm.

He gets a schoolyard. A field of wheat. A chaste kiss. The shock of fear. Adrenaline. Elation. Hunger. Excitement. Terror. Hatred. He sees a group of children, huddled together, cheeks stained with dirt and blood and tears. He sees a man and a woman arguing—screaming. He sees a sun setting over a long stretch of rows and rows of corn. He feels despair in his chest, swallowing him up. He wakes in a hospital and blinks at a nurse. He falls asleep in a humid cave, curled into another boy’s side not for warmth but for comfort. He—

No. He is not Jim. He is not Jim. He is Spock. He is Spock, and he is vulcan, and he grew up on Vulcan, in and out of hospitals, knowing death intimately but never once fearing it. He is Spock, and he never felt the horror that seemed to have rooted itself in Jim’s mind when Jim was only a child. He is Spock. He is Spock. He is Spock.

It is this assurance that saves him—and his mind—in the end. He holds onto it—clings to it—and uses it to pull himself and Jim out of the rush of memories.

“Jim.” They’re back in Kevin Riley’s room, and Jim’s name is the first thing to fall from Spock’s lips. He looks down, looks at Jim’s face, presses their foreheads together. “Jim, please wake up.”

Jim’s eyes flutter. “Spock,” he mumbles. Spock helps him up and he shields Jim’s eyes from the wall. “Where are we? What’s—” He swallows a few times and blinks hard.

“We can talk about that later,” Spock says. “For now, let’s get you out of here.”

[]

He's cold.

He's cold.

He's cold.

He's cold.

He's cold.

He's cold.

He's cold.

Oh, god, he's so cold.

Chapter Text

Doctor Mccoy opens the door already angry. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night!” He stops when he sees Jim cradled in Spock’s arms and his face falls from angry to worried. “Shit. What happened?”

“He remembered,” says Spock. “He remembered everything.”

Doctor Mccoy’s face flickers with confusion but he moves aside anyway, allowing Spock to enter and lay Jim on the couch. “Why isn’t he in the hospital?”

“I don’t know if a hospital will help him.” Jim’s breathing is fast and shallow, but it hasn’t wavered once. Spock wonders if that is a good thing. “He collapsed because his memories, which had been erased, returned all at once.”

“His what? What memories were erased?”

Had Jim not told him either? Was Spock the only one privy to this information? Was he supposed to reveal this to Doctor Mccoy now, or was he supposed to keep Jim’s secret just as it is: a secret? Spock’s hesitation seems to be explanation enough for Doctor Mccoy, who turns to Jim and begins to examine him in lieu of waiting for an answer.

“How long has he been like this?”

“About five minutes.”

“And it’s been this bad the entire time?”

“It was worse for about two minutes before that. I fixed it.”

Doctor Mccoy squints at Spock. “How?”

“I melded with him and brought him out of the memories as best I could. I could have done better if I was full-blooded vulcan but—” Spock stops speaking abruptly. He swoons.

“Spock?”

“Sorry.” Spock takes hold of the sofa’s arm, leaning on it so he won’t fall over. “I just got dizzy.”

“What’s going on?”

“I just said I got dizzy.”

Doctor Mccoy stands and puts his arm under Spock’s for extra support. “Did melding with Jim hurt you?”

“No.” Spock squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Just…just pay attention to Jim for now. Make sure he’s safe.”

“If you need medical attention—”

“Jim needs medical attention.” Spock’s words are firm. He steps away from Doctor Mccoy and shakes his head again. “Make sure he’s okay. I’ll be back soon.”

“What?”

Spock moves toward the door and Doctor Mccoy follows him there.

“What do you mean you’ll be back? Where are you going?”

“Back to the place that triggered this,” says Spock. “I need to find answers for Jim. I…need to find answers for me.”

“Okay, well. Don’t be gone long.” Doctor Mccoy opens the door for him and closes and locks it when he’s gone.

Spock walks.

He walks, and then he runs. He scales the building to Kevin Riley’s room with twice the speed he had with Jim. Once inside the room, he pulls out his PADD and takes pictures of the wall, getting in close to each of the documents to make sure the words would come out clear. Whatever all of this is, it somehow connects to the images Spock saw in Jim’s mind, and be it a small connection or a large one, Spock will figure it out.

He stops taking pictures for a moment to examine a note scrawled on a piece of paper torn from a yellow memo pad. It’s a list of names. He doesn’t recognize any of them, but beneath it, Riley scrawled: He’s picking us off. Who’s next?

This sends a chill up Spock’s spine. These are the words of a dead man. Who’s next? Kevin Riley was next. Did he know? Could he have guessed? How did he know any of this in the first place?

And, if Jim is connected to all of them, could Jim be next?

What would Spock do if they went after Jim next?

Spock leaves just as silently as he came and heads back to his room. There, he prints out all of the pictures he took and hangs them on his own wall, using the pictures he has of the entire wall to map it out just as Kevin Riley did.

He studies it.

He adds notes of his own—memories that he got from Jim. They’re scattered, but they have information in them. All he needs to do is interpret them.

He surveys the evidence in front of him. The answers come to him slowly: everything surrounds the Tarsus IV massacre that had headlined years ago. Spock had heard about it while still in the hospital, and Amanda had provided what details she could when Spock demanded more information. It had given him nightmares for weeks.

The list of people Kevin Riley had acquired was a list of the massacre’s survivors. A quick search reveals that they—like Kevin Riley—have been murdered. But the names were never released, at least not to the public. As far as Spock can tell, this group of names was never listed together anywhere. It was for the survivors’ protection. It’s what kept Kevin Riley alive for so long. It’s what kept Jim alive. And yet, someone who knows all of these names is picking off the survivors.

Spock rubs at his head. He is getting dizzier—it’s almost bad enough to go to the hospital, but he can’t afford that now. Jim might be in danger.

Jim.

Spock shoots upward, scrambling to find his PADD. There are five new messages, all from Doctor Mccoy.

<Spock where did you go??>

<Spock come on where are you>

<dont make me text you again>

<Spock! !!!>

<Jims awake & asking where you are>

Spock sends a quick message back to Mccoy (<On the way.>) and then he’s off again. Uhura stops him in the hallway.

“Everything okay?” She looks like she’s just returned from a night out; Chapel hangs nearly unconscious off her arm and Uhura’s currently toeing off a pair of five-inch heels. Spock hesitates for too long. “Is everyone safe?”

“I think so,” Spock says, “For now.”

She eyes him. She has a wonderfully scrutinizing gaze; in another situation, Spock might have been pleased to be placed under it, but for now it just makes him uneasy. “If you need anything,” she says at last, “I’m here for you, Spock.”

Chapel mumbles something.

“Right,” says Uhura, “We are here for you.”

“Thank you,” Spock replies with barely disguised urgency. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Okay.” Uhura moves aside and pulls Chapel with her. “Run along. Say hi to Jim for me.”

He arrives at Doctor Mccoy’s residence in the next five minutes, and Mccoy opens the door before he can even knock.

“He’s awake?”

“Couch.”

Spock goes to the couch. Jim’s sitting up. He’s bleary, and dabs feebly at his eyes with the hem of his shirt.

“Jim,” says Spock, ever so softly. Jim looks up. “How do you feel?”

“I feel…” Jim dabs at his eyes again and then drops his shirt. Behind Spock, Mccoy leaves to busy himself in the kitchen. “Confused, I guess.”

“Before you continue.” Spock takes a seat next to Jim a careful distance away. “I have a confession to make, Jim. You were seizing, and I did not know how to help you, and so I melded with your mind without your consent.”

Jim’s eyes widen.

“This is a violation of not only vulcan customs, but also of your mind.” Spock’s heart is thumping faster. He puts a hand over it and tries to catch his breath. “If you decide to press charges, the term you would need is kae-at k’lasa. I can help you find a lawyer, and—”

“Spock!” Jim’s hand shoots out and covers Spock’s. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I let you in.”

“You…what?”

Now Jim’s eyebrows draw together. “I distinctly remember opening my doors for you. Isn’t that… Isn’t that what you did?”

Many humans can’t even comprehend what a mind meld is, let alone gather something meaningful from participating in one. Jim, however, can apparently remember both consenting and imagery with which vulcans have always related to consenting. It is the sort of knowledge that comes only with experience or vulcan blood.

Have you ever been to earth?

The implications of the question give Spock chills.

“Yes. That is what I did.”

“So I consented. So you’re fine.”

Spock is too puzzled to press the matter any further. “Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

Though the sudden subject change seems to momentarily perplex Jim, he recovers in an instant with an answer he says too quickly for it to be completely true: “No. I’m fine.”

Spock tilts his head.

“Really, Spock.”

“Do you…remember everything now?”

“It’s coming in pieces. There’s enough to know why it’s gone.” Jim meets Spock’s eyes and Spock can see the unending pain behind his gaze, a thousand times worse than it had been before. “I think my parents erased it to protect me.”

Neither of them are saying it. Jim must know that Spock found out, because he keeps starting to say something and then shutting down, shame flickering its way through his hesitation.

Spock speaks fast: “There’s someone coming after you.”

And Jim replies: “I know. I saw the names.”

And Spock says: “We need to get you some protection.”

Jim’s mouth gets an angry twist. “I don’t need protection.”

“Kevin Riley knew what was coming, and he still lost his life.”

“I don’t need protection.”

Spock presses his lips together. Jim looks upset with himself.

“If you want to report this to the authorities, fine. But I’m not going to let myself be followed around by an armed officer that I don’t even know.”

Jim’s distrust of authority. His dislike of weapons. It’s all like this terrible puzzle is falling into place.

“Okay,” says Spock, “Can you promise, then, to at least always be near someone? To not sneak around alone at night anymore, or have your window unlocked?”

Jim struggles with this for a good minute or two. “If it makes you happy,” he says at last.

“It will.”

Mccoy raps his knuckles at the door frame. “I brought snacks.”

Jim waves him in. Mccoy puts the tray of “snacks” (sliced cheese and wheat crackers) on the coffee table and then sits next to it, steepling his fingers together.

“So. Is anyone gonna tell me what happened or is it still none of my business?”

Jim and Spock exchange a glance.

“It’s okay if it’s the latter.”

Jim and Spock exchange another glance. Something passes over Jim’s face. He turns to Mccoy and says, “What do you know about Tarsus IV?”

Mccoy shrugs. “We talked about it in class a few times. It was an experimental colony that went wrong. A disease consumed a good majority of the food and some asshole decided it would be the perfect excuse for a massacre. Half the colony was wiped out like that.” Mccoy snaps his fingers. “And it was all unnecessary, because help arrived just after that. I think the guy who ordered all those deaths died, so he never went to trial for his crimes.”

“It wasn’t fast.”

Mccoy stops talking to look at Jim. “What?”

“The massacre. It wasn’t fast. It was slow and meticulous. The news said that they were all eliminated at once, but Kodos chose survivors carefully. He kept everyone in camps so he could know what was happening at all times. He said he was choosing who got to survive based on who was most likely to survive, but that wasn’t true. He chose based on loyalty. If you defied him, he would come up with some reason as to why you weren’t a survivor anyway, and they’d kill you too.”

Mccoy looks horrified. “Jim—”

“There were nine people who saw his face and survived. They never went on the news. They were told to go home and try to pick up what shambles of their lives were left. But some of us.” Jim’s voice broke. “Some of us couldn’t.”

“Oh, Jesus, Jim.”

“I had nightmares for a while. Every night, they’d wake me up. I remember that much. My parents got it all erased so I wouldn’t have to keep having those nightmares. I thought maybe I’d lost my memory in an accident, but…” Spock touches Jim’s wrist and Jim clings to Spock’s hand.

Leonard takes a few seconds to process this. Spock can tell he’s shoving the horror he feels as far down as he can so he can focus on the matter at hand. “And you just remembered all of this tonight?”

Jim nods. “The student that was murdered—Kevin Riley. He was one of the survivors.”

“He had a lot of other names,” Spock adds. “I assumed they were also survivors. When I looked them up, they were dead, as well.”

“So someone’s picking you off.” The stress lines on Mccoy’s face, impossibly, get deeper. “Who’s next?”

“It might be Jim,” says Spock, “But there’s still another survivor out there that wasn’t on the list. Thomas Leighton.” The name comes to him easily—a remnant of the memories Jim had left in Spock’s mind. “He wasn’t in Riley’s research, but I’m sure that was because Riley didn’t want anyone going after him.”

Mccoy narrows his eyes. “Do we know where Leighton is now?”

“Not yet,” says Spock, “But we can look.”

“And how does Jim plan on protecting himself?” Though the question is worded in a way that seems to direct it toward Spock, Mccoy delivers it with a flat gaze at Jim: a mixture of exhaustion and overwhelming concern.

Jim sighs. “I already promised Spock to never be alone.”

“And you think that’ll be enough?”

“It’s as much as I’ll agree to for now.”

Mccoy chews on his lower lip for a long moment. “We need to report this.”

“We don’t know who will be listening or who to trust,” Jim says. “What if we drop Leighton’s name and they go after him?”

“I think, whoever it is, they already know his name,” Spock points out. “They’ve already taken down seven. It would be logical to assume they know the eighth and ninth names, as well.”

Jim sets his jaw. “They’ll lock me up.”

“If they will,” says Spock, “We’ll protest it.”

“I don’t want to go into witpro.”

“You don’t have to.” This stubbornness is definitely coming from somewhere else-no one is trying to force Jim to do anything, but he is insisting in such a way that implies they are; his fear likely stems from his past, and Spock knows when. “This isn’t an ultimatum,” he says gently. “We aren’t going to make you go into witness protection, and we aren’t going to take away your memories. Not if you don’t want us to.”

Jim relaxes, but only slightly.

“Let’s get some rest.” Spock stands and looks at Doctor Mccoy, who’s been watching them with one eyebrow arched.

“Do you mind if he stays here tonight? I don’t think either of us are in any shape to walk back home, even if we were together.”

Mccoy stands, too. “Yeah, of course. I’ll get blankets for the both of you. Couch okay?”

Jim and Spock both mumble that, yes, the couch is fine, and Mccoy disappears to get them some bedding. Spock fetches Jim water; Jim accepts it and takes a couple swallows before inquiring, “You okay?”

Spock is almost baffled that Jim, who just remembered the entirety of his traumatic childhood, would ask such a thing—but this is Jim, and Jim has always considered others before himself. “I’m fine.”

Jim flashes at Spock a weak smile. “That’s what I told you. And I’m pretty sure I believe you about as much as you believed me.”

“Don’t worry about me, Jim. Concentrate on yourself for now.” Spock’s hands are trembling; he hides them behind his back.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“Who needs to go to the hospital?” Mccoy returns with an armful of blankets and pillows.

“No one,” says Spock with a pointed look at Jim. “Absolutely no one. Thank you for the bedding, Doctor.”

Mccoy glances between them, sighs, and then shrugs. “Okay. Goodnight, you two.”

There’s some silence while Spock and Jim spread the blankets out: Jim on the couch, Spock on the floor. As Spock fluffs up the pillows, Jim clears his throat and says, “Hey, Spock.”

“Yes, Jim?”

Jim rubs his arms a few times and sinks onto the couch again. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“Jim, I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor.”

Jim rubs his arms a little faster. “I wasn’t saying that I was going to take your place. I was suggesting…well, you could always just share the couch with me.”

Spock raises an eyebrow at him.

“You don’t have to. Obviously.” Jim seems almost to shrink in on himself, embarrassed by Spock’s apparent rejection.

“I’m not opposed to it,” Spock says quickly. “I understand that humans require closeness with their friends, and you must know by now that I’m not against closeness with you. I was only wondering if there was enough room for the both of us.”

Jim’s face lights up. “Oh! Yeah, there’s totally enough room. I crammed onto couches like this with Uhura and Bones all the time when we were younger. No big. You okay with being on the inside?”

The results of Spock’s terrible sense of balance (due to both natural unluckiness and his state of health) flash behind his eyes, and he nods at Jim. “Yes, that’s fine.” Jim moves so Spock can slide onto the couch, pressing his body as much as he can to the back cushions. “Jim.”

Jim lies down next to Spock. His back presses against Spock’s chest. “Yeah?”

“If you’re not okay, will you tell me?”

“Spock, you just absorbed, like, the entirety of my head. Don’t you know what I’m thinking?”

Spock chuckles. “No. I can’t maintain the connection if I’m not touching you.”

“Then here.” Jim reaches back and grabs Spock’s arm, bringing it over so that it’s wrapped around Jim’s body in an embrace. His fingers interlace with Spock’s, making Spock shiver against his will. “Can you tell now?”

Jim’s emotions rush into Spock’s mind: affection, calm, a hint of terror that Spock can feel Jim trying to actively bury.

“I’m fine,” Jim says.

“But if you weren’t—”

“If I wasn’t, you’ll be the first to know.” Jim doesn’t let go of Spock’s hand. Rather, he holds it between his own hands and presses it against his mouth. “Thank you, Spock.”

“Why are you thanking me?” Spock’s voice is, for some reason, so soft it’s barely audible.

“Because you’ve always been there for me. And you’re still here for me, even now.” Jim lets out a sigh and Spock can feel the rush of air against his knuckles. “Good night, Spock.”

Spock can barely breathe. Jim’s strongest emotion is hitting Spock with the intensity of a storm, over and over. It’s strange and abstract and, if Spock didn’t know the feeling as well as he knew himself, he might not have recognized it.

Jim feels unworthy of love. He feels it so powerfully that he’s tempted to push everyone away at literally every second.

“Good night, Jim,” he whispers into Jim’s ear, and buries his nose into the mess of blond hair.

[]

The first time he gets warm, he's wrapped up in Tom's arms.

"It'll be okay," he whispers into Tom's ear. "It'll be okay."

"I'm fucking scared."

Tom always swears when he wants to act tougher. Jim hugs him closer.

"I know. But it'll be okay."

"How do you know?"

"Because we're survivors."

Tom's shoulders shake with sobs. "I want to go home. I want to fucking go home."

"I know. But we'll be okay."

There's a noise somewhere behind them. Jim jerks up, pulling Tom with him. "What's going on?"

"We have to go," Jim hisses. "Come on, we have to go."

They run, hand in hand, as fast as they can.

Chapter Text

Doctor Mccoy wakes Spock up by slapping a towel onto Spock’s face. “Hey. I made breakfast.”

Jim groans. He’s still wrapped up in Spock’s arms but has somehow also, in the middle of the night, wrapped them both up in one of the doctor’s oddly thick comforters. “Bones,” he mumbles, “Go away. Sleeping.”

“It’s morning and y’all need to get up and go to class.” He leans over the couch and gives Spock a look that Spock can’t quite decipher. “I’m going to say what I said before again, but slowly this time. I. Made. Breakfast.”

Jim throws a pillow at him.

“You’re both so ungrateful. You’re never allowed in my house again.”

Jim rolls over so his head is tucked under Spock’s chin, his nose buried in Spock’s shirt. “Yeah, whatever, Bones.”

“Lock up when you leave,” says Doctor Mccoy. “You have your key, Jim?”

Jim grunts.

“Okay. I’ll see you both later.” He puts his hand on Spock’s head and ruffles his hair, and then he’s leaving.

“Are you really going to go to class?” Jim asks Spock, his voice muffled from his speaking directly into Spock’s shoulder.

“I have not yet decided.”

Jim leans back so he can look into Spock’s eyes. “Really? You haven’t decided if you’re going to class?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“I told you that you don’t need to be worried about me.”

“I still am.”

Jim grins. “You’re a sucker.”

“Yes. Are you feeling up to going to class?”

Jim considers this. Then he sits up, very slowly. “Actually, Spock.”

Spock’s immediately concerned. He sits up, too, and puts his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I’m going to be ready to go back to school for a while.” Under Spock’s touch, Jim’s muscles are tense, and the gaze that connects with Spock’s is just as tense. “Someone is taking out all of the survivors. I can’t…” He rubs his face and then puts his hand over Spock’s, holding it to his shoulder.

“If you don’t feel safe—”

“No, it isn’t that. It’s Tom. They’re going to go after Tom and I can’t just sit by while that’s happening.”

They’re going to go after you, too.”

“I know. Which is why I’m going to go after Tom. If I’m not here, they can’t go after me, and if I’ve already warned Tom, they can’t get Tom, either.”

“Jim—”

“Don’t try to convince me not to go. I decided last night pretty much as soon as I woke up from, uh. Passing out on you and having vivid flashbacks of the traumatic events that shaped me as a person without me ever knowing it.” He’s derailing the conversation he’s having basically with himself: his breath is getting faster, his skin is getting hotter, his words come out in a jumbled rush. “I’m going and there’s nothing you can say that can convince me to—”

“Jim.” Spock puts his other hand on Jim’s arm and gives him a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not going to try to convince you to stay. I’m going to go with you.”

Jim blinks. “What?”

“I’m going to go with you. Your impulse control is hugely concerning and it alarms me on a daily basis. I’m fairly certain that, if I did not go with you, you will somehow get yourself killed through a sequence of events entirely unrelated to Tarsus IV.”

“But what about…what about school? What about your friends? Aren’t they visiting soon?”

This is somehow easier than Spock thought it would be. He expected a lump in his throat, a hard pit in his stomach—at the very least, he thought he would be feeling nervous. But he feels none of this. The decision came to him as soon as Jim told him that he was leaving, and there’s nothing within him that battles with it, even though Spock knows that the decision was from his human side. “We don’t need to worry about that,” he says smoothly. “I can contact my instructors and tell them there’s been an emergency, and that I can complete my assignments online. Most record their lectures, and most if not all homework is digital. And my friends,” he says with a light shrug, “Can see me afterward. They are vulcan, and do not hold grudges. A simple explanation will placate them. If they decide to stay on earth in my absence, I’m sure they will find plenty to entertain them.”

Jim’s eyes seem shinier than usual. “Spock…”

“I’m here for you, Jim. As long as you need me, I’m here for you.”

Jim folds himself into Spock’s arms and holds him tight. “Thank you, Spock. Thank you.”

[]

"Where's Spock?"

Winona peers over the desk as she works. "Who is Spock?"

"He's vulcan. He was at the school last week."

"Oh, the Ambassador's boy? He's gone back home, sweetheart."

Jim kicks a few times at the desk leg. Winona frowns at him.

"Don't do that."

"Can he come over sometime? I told him we could have a sleepover."

"He's on Vulcan now, baby."

Jim kicks at the desk leg again. Winona scoldsh im again. "Well can we go to Vulcan?"

"I'll think about it."

"I want to go visit Spock."

"I said I'll think about it."

Jim climbs onto the desk. "I want to go to space."

"You've been to space, honey. Can you please get off? I'm trying to work."

"I wanna explore space. I'm gonna be the captain of a ship and I'm going to explore space."

"You'll need to join Starfleet, then. Get off the desk."

"I wanna go do it now, though."

"Then we can look at other programs for you."

"I wanna go to space and I wanna visit Spock."

"Do you want to look at programs? Jim. Off the desk."

"What kinda programs?"

"There are lots of options. I heard there was a colony looking for cute little monsters who won't get off their mothers' desks."

"Ooh, where?"

"It's called Tarsus IV. We can look into it together if you get off my desk."

Chapter Text

They leave without telling Doctor Mccoy.

This was Jim’s idea; he figured that Mccoy would “kick up a storm” if Jim even tried to mention leaving now, and they would “never get out alive.”

“I am quite certain that I am stronger than the doctor,” Spock tries to point out, but Jim waves a hand at him and says something about Spock not fully knowing the entire power of Mccoy when he’s angry. Spock decides not to argue with this, as he’s fairly certain that he’s not actually seen Doctor Mccoy angry yet.

They go to Spock’s place first, pack up his things, and then go to Jim’s. They aren’t ever bothered. Everyone else is in class.

“You sure you want to come with me?” Jim asks as they load everything into the car. “Because you don’t have to.”

“Do you not want me to?” Spock shuts the trunk door and arches an eyebrow in Jim’s direction. “Because, if you don’t, I hope that you understand I am going immediately to the Doctor so that he’ll go with you. I’m not letting you go alone.”

Jim laughs. “No, I want you to come. I just wanted to make sure you wanted to come.”

“If I didn’t want to come,” Spock says, “Then I wouldn’t have offered. Do you want to drive or should I?”

Jim slips into the front passenger seat without answering. “Are we stopping for snacks?”

“If you would like to, we can.” Spock gets into the driver’s seat and presses the button to the right of the wheel, starting up the car. “Jim.”

“I’m going.” Jim’s voice is firm.

“I won’t try to convince you not to. Just please… Please don’t run off on me.”

Jim gives him a look. “You think I’ll run off?”

“I know you have impulses you sometimes can’t control, and I worry that one of those impulses might convince you to go off on your own—that you’ll be putting me in danger.”

Jim flutters his eyelashes at him.

“Vulcans are stronger than humans,” Spock continues, “Which means that I am not only capable of taking care of myself, but also of you.”

“You’re only half vulcan,” Jim points out, and Spock glowers at him. “Also,” he says, oblivious to Spock’s sharp drop in mood, “You’re sickly.”

“I haven’t been sickly in a while.” Spock jerks the car into gear a little too harshly and Jim’s head slams into the headrest. He rubs it a few times.

“Okay,” Jim says, “Fair enough. Let’s have an agreement. I won’t run off on you, and you won’t hold back on going to the hospital if you need to.” He puts up his hand, sticking his fourth finger into Spock’s face. “Pinky promise?”

Spock would really, really like to know why humans adore touching hands so much. He sticks his hand up anyway, because if he’s going to touch a human hand, he’d really rather it be Jim’s, and he links fingers with Jim. “Pinky promise,” he echoes, and Jim laughs. “To where am I driving us?”

“Chicago.”

Spock tells the computer. It tells him that it should take them thirty-one hours. “Did you try calling him?”

“I couldn’t find a number. Apparently he’s paranoid.” Jim presses his lips together. “Can’t imagine why.”

“We’ll find him, Jim.”

“I know, I know. I’m just…” Jim’s voice trails off.

“What? What’s wrong?”

A nervous laugh escapes Jim’s lips. “Uh…Bones is calling me.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” He slides the call to the car, answering it.

“Where the hell are you?”

Spock glances over at Jim. Perhaps they shouldn’t have answered the phone. Jim gives Spock an exaggerated shrug.

“Jim—”

“Just out and about,” Jim says easily, interrupting what was probably about to be a good five-minute shouting session.

“Don’t bullshit me. You didn’t show up to class and neither did Spock. What are you—” He stops as some sort of realization seems to dawn on him. “No. You didn’t. Not in my house. Jim, tell me you didn’t.”

Jim turns bright red. “No, Bones, Jesus. No.”

“So where are you, then?” Another pause, another sudden realization. “You went after the other survivor.”

The red fades, replaced with a set look of determination. “Don’t tell anyone, Bones.”

Mccoy sighs for a long time.

“Leonard. You can’t tell anyone.”

It’s likely Jim’s use of Mccoy’s actual name that makes Mccoy finally answer: “I won’t. Is Spock with you?”

“Yeah. He’s coming with me.”

“Can he hear me?”

Spock’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “I can hear you, Doctor.”

“Take care of him. If he gets hurt—”

“You’ll kill me, yes. And I would probably let you. I’m not letting him out of my sight.”

Doctor Mccoy releases another sigh. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“For now,” says Jim, “Just don’t let anyone know where we are or what we’re doing.”

“And if anyone asks? Because they will ask. You know Nyota’s going to give me shit if I don’t give her a straight answer. Are you sure you don’t want to just tell them? You know they are all ride-or-die for you, right?”

“Bones, you promised you wouldn’t tell. I don’t want to get anyone else involved.”

“Okay, fine. I won’t. But what am I supposed to tell them?”

“Say that Spock and I went on an impromptu road trip. You know how I am. I got an itch and dragged Spock with me. If you act irritated enough, they’ll believe you.”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem. Anything else I can do?”

Spock decides to speak up again. “I’m not sure yet how long we’re going to be gone. My fiancee and her fiance should be arriving in a few days, and I don’t know if I will be there to greet them.”

“So you want me to stall your vulcan girlfriend and her vulcan boyfriend. Got it.”

“Just point them in the direction of somewhere you think they’ll find entertaining and they should be able to take care of themselves.”

“Are they as annoying as you?”

“If it’s my vulcan mannerisms that bother you, they would be arguably worse.”

“Of course they are. Let me know if you think of anything else.”

“Will do. Thank you, Doctor.” Spock clicks the button on his steering wheel to end the call. “So,” he says, “Leighton.”

“Leighton,” Jim replies.

“You told me to go to Chicago. Do you want to narrow that down at all? Where did you get that?”

“He always told me he wanted to go to Chicago.” Jim leans his head on the window. “Also, the Starfleet database said that’s where he was transferred.”

“Do you have an address?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out. I can’t find a specific address.” Jim shrugs. “I’ll figure it out before we get to Chicago.”

“Did you check Chicago’s employee database?”

Jim raises an eyebrow. “Chicago’s what?”

“Every city has a comprehensive database of all its employees.” The GPS tells Spock to make a turn; he takes it. “It’s a non-public list for data-gathering purposes, but I’m sure you could find your way into it.”

Jim’s already furiously tapping away at his PADD’s screen. “Hm…we have a problem.”

“Do you want me to do it?”

“Shut up.” Jim lightly swats Spock’s arm. “I’m just as capable as you are.”

“I would say more so.”

“Thanks. But that isn’t really the issue. They have a really amazing security system. Like, really amazing. I’d love to—”

Spock shoots him a look. “Jim.”

“Sorry. My point is, I can’t do it here.”

“Do you need a computer?”

“Not in the way you think.” Jim lifts his PADD, as if Spock can see and read what’s on the screen while he’s driving. “If I’m reading this right, I’m going to need to be connected directly to a government system to sneak in. Otherwise, it’s going to keep pushing me out.”

“Do we need to connect to Chicago’s database?”

Jim taps a few more things on his PADD. “We shouldn’t have to. If we connect to any database, it should work. There’s one in Salt Lake City, which is right on the way. We should be there in uh…maybe about eight tonight?”

Spock glances at the clock. “Okay. We’ll stay there tonight and hack in tomorrow morning.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yes, Jim.” Spock reaches over the console, wrapping his hand around Jim’s arm. “I’m here because I want to be.”

[]

Jim wakes up in his bed.

He knows his name. He knows his family's names. He knows...

He sits up. "Mom? Dad?" He pauses. "Sam?"

Someone comes in. It's a boy--a teenager. He looks supremely uncomfortable. "Hey, Jimmy."

Jim blinks a few times. "Sam?"

"Yeah."

"But you look..."

Sam's lower lip trembles. "Jim, I'm really sorry."

"Why do you look so old? What's going on?" Jim's mind is racing. "Was I in a coma?"

Sam doesn't answer. He just sits next to Jim on the bed and takes him into his arms. Jim feels bigger than he should be.

"How old are you, Sam? How old am I?"

"Jim." Sam's entire body is trembling, now. "I'm so, so sorry. I tried to stop them, but they wouldn't listen."

"I don't understand. What's going on?'

Sam can't answer because he's crying too hard.

Chapter Text

They get a room with two beds. Jim takes the one closest to the door.

Spock dreams.

First he sees himself as a child, being led by the arm through the simply decorated halls of an ancient vulcan building.

“Where are we going?” he hears himself ask.

“To the elders,” his mother’s voice says, lyrical above his head, but when he looks up to meet her eyes, he sees a stranger in a surgeon’s mask.

He takes a step backward.

“Mother?” His voice trembles.

“This won’t hurt too much, Spock,” says the doctor who used to be his mother, and moves toward him with a syringe in one hand. Spock screams.

“No. No, please. I don’t want to forget him. He’s my t’hy’la, please—”

His father’s hand falls onto Spock’s head. “Calm yourself, child. This is for your t’hy’la’s wellbeing. Don’t you want your t’hy’la to be healthy?”

“My t’hy’la—”

“Will be fine without you.”

Then, even though Spock knows his father would never say such a thing, the next words echo between Spock’s ears, bouncing around the inside of his skull like a particle in a heated space.

Everyone is.

“T’nash-veh,” Spock whispers, and Sarek’s face warps and then he collapses into a puddle of robes at Spock’s feet. He falls to his knees. “T’nash-veh.”

A million voices wash over him at once: You’re not a real vulcan. You’ll never be one of us. You’re just a human with pointed ears. You’re only masquerading as vulcan. You’re fake. You’re weak, just like your mother. Where are all of those emotions? Cry for us, Spock. Cry for us.

You’ll never fit in.

You’ll never fit in.

There’s a hand in his brain, tearing out his t’hy’la’s face, ripping out every shard of every memory. Spock can’t catch those memories before he leaves, not even a glimpse—

Something warm touches Spock’s hand and he jerks up, gasping for breath. Owlishly, Jim blinks at him.

The hotel room is dark. Jim’s sitting on the bed next to Spock and he’s holding Spock’s hand. “Jim?” Spock’s voice is hoarse.

“Are you okay? You were…”

Spock puts his arms around Jim. He pulls him down so they’re both lying, pressed together, on that tiny bed.

“I was having a nightmare, too,” Jim says softly. “I was on Tarsus IV again, but I…but I didn’t get away. I was getting everyone killed.”

Spock can’t tell if it’s him that’s trembling or if it’s Jim or if it’s the both of them. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. I guess eventually I will be.” Jim swallows. He puts his hand, still so wonderfully warm, on Spock’s neck. “Can you…can you do the head thing?”

“The head thing?”

Jim takes Spock’s fingers and puts them on his qui’lari. “The head thing. Kash-nohv, right?” His eyes are so serious they make a shiver race up Spock’s back. “It made me feel better when I first remembered everything. Can you do it again?”

“Are you sure?”

Jim closes his eyes. “Please. I think it’ll…I think it’ll help both of us.”

Again, Jim submits almost immediately. The first time, he kicked open his mind’s door but, this time, Jim opens the door slowly, carefully. He takes Spock by the hand and gently leads him in.

The inside of Jim’s mind is chaotic, but it also has a strange sense of organization: they’re surrounded by shelves and shelves of colorful glowing books, but the books are also strewn about them, sliding still across the floor as if they’ve just been thrown.

“Looks different than before, right?” Jim’s mental version of himself is healthy and bright-eyed. He grins at Spock as he uses one arm to gesture around them. “I’m trying to piece everything together. The most recent memories came back the most clear but the early ones…” His voice fades and a slight frown creases his glabella. “I can’t quite get a hold of them yet. They’re just coming back in segments.” He finds a tattered book, lifts it, and laughs a little. “Missing a few pages. I’ll find them.”

Spock comes a little closer. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“I don’t know.” Jim flips through the pages of that book. “I keep getting the sense that I’m missing something. What does the inside of your head look like?”

Spock’s begun to walk among the shelves. He trails his fingers along the books. “I’m not sure. A library, maybe, or some other version of an archive. We could go over there, if you like.”

Jim takes a seat in the middle of the room, in a big cushioned chair that Spock is fairly certain was not there twenty seconds ago. “You mean we can just go back and forth?”

“I think so. I’ve never tried before. The last few times I made a kash-naf with someone, it was just for practice, and they certainly weren’t going to let me root around in their mind.”

“Kash-naf,” Jim echoes. “I know what that is. How do I know?”

“Because you’re connected with me.” Spock sits on the arm of Jim’s chair. “I know it, so you do as well.”

“And what’s going on in the real world?”

“We’re unconscious. We probably look like we’re asleep to the outside observer.”

Jim reaches over and takes Spock’s hand. He traces each of Spock’s fingers, which makes him shiver at the implication, but doesn’t affect him physically, as he’s not in his physical body. “Will we get energy back like if we’re sleeping?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“So, theoretically, we could just do this every night instead of sleeping.”

Spock laughs. “Theoretically.” He decides not to point out Jim’s use of the words ‘every night,’ which makes Spock hope for things he knows he will likely not get.

“You make me feel better, Spock,” Jim says. “You make me feel safe.” He puts his head on Spock’s chest, wrapping his arms around Spock’s waist. “I wish we could stay in here forever.”

[]

"Hey. You just get here?"

"Yeah! That transport over there."

"Oh, cool! What's your name?"

"James Tiberius Kirk. But you can call me Jim."

"I'm Riley. Kevin Riley."

"Oh, well, then I'm Kirk."

"Yeah, okay, Jimmy. Come on. Come meet the gang. Only the coolest people are allowed."

"I'm cool?"

"Yeah, man, you were listening to the Beastie Boys. That's vintage. That's cool."

Chapter Text

They’re on the road earlier than the day before. Spock drives until Jim tells him to stop in front of the Starfleet station.

“You or me?” Jim asks. “Either of us could do it.”

“You have more experience breaking into places,” Spock says, “And you can hack. And I’m driving. I feel like you’re the obvious choice.”

Jim’s smile is bright enough to outshine the sun. “You know just how to make me happy, don’t you?”

“I do make some effort, yes.”

Jim is in and out of the station in five minutes. There’s no one chasing after him, but Jim dives through the open window anyway and tells Spock to, “Go! Go! Go!”

Spock goes. “I’m very impressed with your efficiency.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you have an address?”

“Of course I do.” Jim laughs a little and leans across the console to punch the address in. “Chicago, here we come.”

Turn left, says the GPS. Spock spins the wheel.

“We stopping for snacks?”

“There are some in the back. Chips. I think there might be some fruit.”

Jim bends behind Spock’s seat and starts rooting through their luggage.

“Jim,” Spock begins, and then pauses, because he isn’t quite sure how to phrase the question.

Jim comes back to the front seat with a mouthful of potato chips. “What’s up?”

“If Kodos is dead, who’s killing all of the survivors? Who could know who the survivors are?”

Jim’s shoulders tense, but he keeps putting chips into his mouth anyway. Spock worries he’ll choke at some point. “I don’t know. It has to be someone who was on Tarsus IV. Probably someone close to Kodos. Otherwise, they wouldn’t know who we were.”

Spock asks, very carefully, “What if it’s Leighton?”

And Jim replies, “Guess you’ll have to protect me.”

At a stop sign, Spock stares at Jim.

“If it is Tom,” Jim says, “Then we’ll deal with it. But I don’t think it is him.” He pulls out his PADD and sighs. “Bones is calling again.”

“Go ahead and connect it to the car.”

Jim swipes it to the car’s system and Doctor Mccoy’s voice blares through the speakers, low and serious: “Hey. They released some news yesterday about Riley.”

“What kind of news?” Jim puts more chips into his mouth.

“A couple lawyers came poking around your apartment. They say that you’re on Riley’s will.”

Jim’s breathing gets faster. He inhales his next chip and starts hacking desperately. His hand pounds the dash board.

“We’ll call you back, Doctor,” Spock says, and pulls over to the side of the road. “Jim. Jim, breathe.”

Jim’s eyes are wet. Spock can’t tell if it’s because of choking on his chips or because of Doctor Mccoy’s announcement. “Fuck, Spock.”

Spock rubs at Jim’s back. He’s rocking back and forth in his seat. His breathing is labored and shaking audibly.

Spock turns the car off. “Jim—”

“He remembered me,” Jim whispers. “He remembered me and I didn’t even recognize his name.”

Spock wishes he was better at comforting people. “That wasn’t your fault. Your parents erased your memories. You didn’t have a choice.”

Jim apparently can’t hear him—that, or Spock’s words didn’t affect him at all. “If I hadn’t been an asshole and investigated, I wouldn’t have ever known who he was. I would have shown up in his will and would have had no fucking idea.”

For some terrible reason, now is the time Spock’s stomach lets loose a horrendously loud growl.

Jim snaps out of it. He pounces on the growl. “Have you not eaten, Spock? When was the last time you ate?”

Spock can only blink at Jim in alarm.

“I haven’t seen you eat at all.”

Spock busies himself with starting the car and pulling it back onto the road.

“Spock, you have to eat.”

“There aren’t very many options,” Spock tries. “I’m a vegetarian—”

“So get vegetarian food! We have to stop somewhere.”

“I don’t want to lose any time.”

“Fine. Then I’ll order takeout, and as we’re driving, I’ll feed it to you. Okay?”

Spock’s pretty sure he doesn’t have a choice. In any case, he doesn’t want to refuse; he’s come to understand by now that sometimes the only thing that can help Jim is to allow him to help other people. “Okay,” he says, “We can do that.”

[]

Hey, honey. You're awake. No, shh, it's okay. Calm down. You're alright. You're fine. We'll take care of you, sweetheart. I know everything is pretty confusing right now, but we'll all figure it out together. It'll be okay. Yes, I promise. Here, drink this. It's tea. You'll like it.

Chapter Text

He finds a hotel a little past midnight. The cashier smiles tiredly as he walks in.

“Hey. How are you doing?”

A wave of dizziness washes over Spock. He closes his eyes for the seconds it takes to pass. “I’m doing fine, thank you. Can I get a room tonight?”

“Sure. How many beds do you need?”

Spock looks over his shoulder to the car parked crookedly in front of the lobby where Jim’s slumped in the front seat, fast asleep. “Just one,” he says.

With the room key tucked in his pocket, he begins carrying everything to the room: first Jim, who he tucks soundly into the side of the bed closest to the door, and then the luggage, which he leans against the wall. As he’s pulling off his shirt to change into his sleepwear, another wave of dizziness and fatigue hits him, this time so overwhelmingly powerful that he loses his ability to stand, and collapses onto the bed next to Jim.

Breathe, Spock. Amanda’s voice floats to him while he waits in the darkness of the spots in his vision. Just breathe. It’ll be okay.

The dizziness fades. Slowly the room comes back into focus-the nightstand by his bed, the luggage against the wall, the bedspread that seems to be approaching the antithesis of a pleasing aesthetic, and Jim. His beautiful Jim, still snoring slightly.

That promise he’d made in the car with Jim keeps snaking its way through his mind. Should he go to the hospital? It would delay the trip, and Spock didn’t know if Leighton could afford that. If Spock went to the hospital, it might cost Leighton his life.

Jim mumbles something. He rolls over and snuggles into Spock’s side. He presses his lips to Spock’s cheek, then, releasing a soft sigh of content against Spock’s skin.

The episodes will pass. Spock can hold on long enough to get to Leighton.

[]

There's something wrong with the food.

They aren't telling us anything, but they won't give us any food. They said there's an issue.

I think there's something wrong with the food.

Chapter Text

Another early morning. Jim gets breakfast while they’re packing up the car and, as he’s climbing into the passenger’s seat with half a waffle hanging from his lips like a cigarette, gives Spock a dirty look.

“What’s that for?”

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“They had vegetarian options.”

Spock huffs out a laugh. “The only vegetarian options were different varieties of bread.”

“You need to eat.” Jim takes the waffle out of his mouth and shakes it at Spock, like he’s wagging a finger. “Promise me that we’ll stop in the next few hours to get you food.”

“Okay.”

“Promise, Spock.”

“I promise to stop within the next few hours to get myself food.”

“Good.” Satisfied, Jim tucks the rest of the waffle into his mouth. Spock pulls onto the road. “Let’s play a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“We take turns telling each other things we’ve not yet told anyone else before.”

“Very well.”

“I’ll go first.” Jim props his feet onto the desk. “I can’t whistle.”

“I can’t cross my eyes.”

“I’m in constant fear of abandonment.”

“I cannot stomach my mother’s eggplant lasagna.”

It goes on like this for some time. They both keep their tones easy, even as their confessions get more personal. As they approach the next city, Spock says: “T’Pring and I announced the termination of our agreement with the accompanying explanation that T’Pring had fallen in love with Stonn. This is true, but there was another reason, and though I never shared it with her, she understood.”

Jim’s gaze is so soft it almost makes Spock want to cry. “What was the reason?”

“My heart belongs to someone else. Someone I can’t quite remember.”

Jim meets this statement with a solemn silence. Then he says, “I’ve kissed all of my friends. It isn’t a big deal to me, I don’t think. But I haven’t kissed the one I want to kiss the most.”

All thoughts disappear from Spock’s head all at once. He opens his mouth, but his words are gone. Only a soft sigh escapes him—a tentative breath.

“Anyway,” says Jim, “It’s been two hours. You promised to stop.”

It’s miraculous that Spock has the capacity to pull over into the nearest rest station. Jim hops out of the car with the excuse that he needs to run to the bathroom and Spock slides out after him.

He sees it coming. He always sees the big ones coming. When he was younger, he’d call out to his mother before he collapsed, or he would call out to a nurse or the doctor.

He sees it coming, but he doesn’t call out this time, because there’s no one to hear him, and there’s no one to help.

His legs buckle.

As the asphalt rushes up to meet him, he thinks exactly two things.

The first: I messed up. Oh, I messed up.

The second, more foolish than the last: I never got to kiss Jim.

[]

"We survived."

Tom sniffles. "I didn't think we would."

"But we did. And we're going to."

There are other survivors around them. Jim doesn't recognize them all. He sees Kevin in the corner, but he won't catch Jim's eye. He's just crying, crying, crying.

"Do you really believe that?" Tom clutches onto Jim's hand like it's a lifeline. "Do you really believe that we can get better? That we can move past this?

The screams.

The blood.

Jim, running for his life.

"Yeah,"  says Jim, "I do."

Chapter Text

The next scene is as familiar as breathing.

Spock wakes up in pain. He’s surrounded by white. To his left, a monitor beeps with his heartbeat: too fast to be human, too slow to be vulcan. A nurse hovers above him, looking at his charts on a thin glass screen.

When he tries to speak, once again he only releases a sigh.

“Oh! You’re awake.” The nurse comes toward him, hanging his chart at the end of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

It doesn’t matter how Spock feels. He ignores the question. “What day is it?”

“Wednesday. You’ve been unconscious for about twenty hours.”

Twenty? Spock hasn’t had an episode this bad since he was eight years old. Is he getting worse?

“Your friend left a note for you on the table. If you want help reading—”

Spock’s already diving across the bed to grab the note, despite the nurse’s protests. Scrawled in Jim’s messy handwriting: You broke your promise. So I’m breaking mine and then, lower than that, more hastily written: I’m sorry.

Spock doesn’t remember leaving the hospital.

He doesn’t remember getting another car.

He doesn’t remember punching in Leighton’s address to the GPS.

He doesn’t remember driving for hours and hours and hours.

He doesn’t remember pulling into Leighton’s driveway.

He doesn’t remember sprinting into Leighton’s apartment, ripping the door off its hinges in his frenzy.

All he remembers from the entirety of the journey is Jim’s face, empty and yet horrified as he cradled Thomas Leighton’s corpse in his arms. All he remembers is the blood that pooled under Leighton’s body, that was spattered and smeared on the walls, the floor, Jim’s skin.

They were too late.

[]

Starfleet? Are you sure?

Don't try to convince me not to, Mom.

I just don't think--

How about this? You tell me what you've been hiding all these years, and I stay.

Jim.

Don't give me that look. That's the deal. We both know you won't take it, so I'm gone.

Chapter Text

T’Pring’s outside when Spock finally exits with Jim in his arms. Stonn’s in the sleek car behind her.

“Get in.”

Spock gets in.

For some time, they drive in silence. Spock holds onto Jim’s hand and Jim’s rocking back and forth again, his eyes wide and his breathing fast. Eventually, Spock asks, “What are you doing here?” of T’Pring, and his betrothed gives him a wary glance.

“The hospital called your parents when you came under their care, and they called us. We landed early to check on you, but you had just left the hospital.”

Spock knows what’s coming before she says it; he can feel the weight of the bracelet around his wrist. He’d forgotten completely to remove it.

“The hospital’s professionals have trackers in the identity bands they give their patients. It was easy to find you.” She waits a moment, then says, very quietly, “Who was that man, Spock?”

“Thomas Leighton.”

“In what are you involved? Are you in danger?”

Jim’s hand is sweating. “I don’t know.”

“It involves Jim Kirk?”

Spock doesn’t answer this.

“We’ll take you to our hotel and Stonn can go back to Leighton’s apartment to fetch your belongings and call the authorities.”

Spock doesn’t answer this, either.

“Does anyone else know about this?”

“Leonard Mccoy.”

“You trust this Leonard Mccoy?”

Spock closes his eyes. “Yes.”

“Whatever you need, Spock, just ask. Stonn and I can help you.”

Friends.

T’Pring and Stonn are Spock’s friends.

[]

When they connect, Jim feels at home.

It's the only time he's ever felt at home.

With Spock, he almost feels worthy of being alive.

He doesn't need his t'hy'la. Not if he has Spock.

He doesn't need anyone if he has Spock.

Chapter Text

Back at the hotel, with Jim’s numb permission, Spock explains the situation to T’Pring. True to his vulcan nature, she takes it all in without blinking an eye, and when Spock is done, her voice is cool and controlled.

“Do you have a theory as to who is doing this?”

Jim’s curled up on the bed next to where Spock is sitting. “All of the survivors but Jim are dead. I don’t know who else is left.”

She looks at Jim. “Does he know?”

“Not yet. He’s still recovering his memories.”

“Can you help him with that?”

“I’m not sure.” There’s a thin sheen of sweat over Jim’s skin, but he’s shivering. Spock pulls the blankets over his shoulders. “I’ve entered his mind before, and it worked. I’m just not sure if I could interfere that much without seriously injuring him.”

T’Pring raises an eyebrow. “You’ve entered his mind before?”

“I did when his memories first returned, and again two nights ago, but I didn’t make any changes. I was just there to comfort him.”

“But you can try.”

“I could, as long as he agrees.”

Jim’s hand shoots out from under the blanket, grasping for Spock, and Spock interlaces their fingers. “Do it.” His voice is strangled and weak. “Do it, Spock. Figure it out.”

“Mind-melding is very dangerous, Jim. Even the most experiencedfw vulcans mess up, and messing up can have dire consequences. I’m not experienced, and I’m not entirely vulcan. If I—”

“I trust you, Spock. Please.”

Spock’s gaze shoots to T’Pring.

“Stonn is speaking with the authorities now,” she says. “They’ll want to speak with you, but I can stall them.”

“If you need to stop me—”

“I’ll do it safely.” She reaches out with one hand, hesitates, and pulls back. “Be careful.”

“Yes. I will.”

She leaves Spock with Jim, and Spock traces one finger along Jim’s jawline.

“Are you sure?”

“You keep asking me, Spock. I already said yes.”

Spock connects to Jim’s qui’lari like he belongs there.

Jim opens the door.

Spock goes in.

[]

He drives recklessly.

In the six hours it takes him to get to Tom's house, he's not stopped by the authorities even once. Maybe they know that he needs to keep going. Maybe they know that there's no way he can be stopped.

(without Spock next to him, even driving recklessly is so agonizingly slow)

He arrives in front of Tom's apartment. It's nice. Tom did really well for himself, given how young he still is.

(the most optomistic part of Jim's brain can only muster: and you're still in Starfleet Academy, Jimbo)

He knocks on the door once. Knocks on it twice.

"Tom? Tom, it's Jim. Come on. You remember me, right?"

He imagines Tom opening the door. He imagines Tom being handsome--same face, just a little older. Maybe his hair is longer. Maybe he's forgotten to shave. He isn't answering his phone because he's been holed up in his house binge-watching the latest TV show. He'll see Jim and his whole face will light up. He'll wrap Jim in his arms, press a dry kiss to Jim's cheek. They'll talk about lighter things first, and then they'll laugh about what few good memories they had together, and then Spock will show up and be kind of a subtly-funny addition to the party and also kind of a hard-ass because he'll get them right to business in figuring all of this out.

And Jim's smiling a little to himself because he's picturing all of this in his head now, but the door still isn't opening.

"Tom. Tom, please."

He bangs on the door harder. "Tom! Tom, open the door! Please, it's Jim. From Tarsus. Please, Tom. You gotta open the door."

Finally he tries the handle.

The door creaks open.

Every vein in Jim's body is made of ice.

He steps in.

He walks, slowly, through the house.

There's nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

He sees the body.

He runs toward it.

Tom's just like Jim pictured: handsome. Older. Longer hair. Scruffy face.

He's still warm.

Jim touches his hands.

He's still warm.

"Tom."

There's blood.

"Tom."

There's blood everywhere.

"Tom. Tommy. Tom, come on."

Tom's lower lip is shaking as he struggles to take in breaths.

Jim tries to cover the wounds with his hoodie but there's so many.

There's so many.

Blood keeps bubbling up through the cloth and seeping through Jim's fingers and it's so warm and slippery and Jim's sobbing, sobbing, sobbing.

"Jimmy." Tom grabs Jim's hands. "Jimmy, it's okay." His voice is gargling, like he's speaking under water. "It's okay."

"Tom--"

"It's okay. It's."

"Tom."

It's okay.

"Tommy."

It's okay.

"Tommy, wake up. Please wake up."

It's okay.

"Tommy, please. I can't be the last one."

It's okay.

"I can't be the last one. It can't be me."

It's okay.

Chapter Text

“You saw.” Jim’s sitting in the chair in the center of his library. He looks more haggard now.

“Yes.” Spock walks toward him carefully. “I’m sorry, Jim.”

“How do I look out there?” Jim jerks a thumb toward the library exit, which is glowing with a faint light. “Pretty terrible, right?”

“Is that not you out there?”

“I…” Jim’s eyes are a little distant. He stands and comes to Spock and touches Spock’s jaw. “I don’t think so. I can’t handle being there right now. It’s too much.”

Spock can barely breathe. Jim is so, so close to his face.

“Spock, I know you aren’t full vulcan, and I know you aren’t experienced, but you’re the only person I’ll ever let in my brain.”

Spock lets out a strangled laugh. “You didn’t want my fiance rooting around in here?”

Jim doesn’t return the smile. “No. Not particularly.”

“And if Doctor Mccoy was vulcan—”

“Even if he was, which he isn’t, I wouldn’t let him in my head.” Jim steps even closer. His nose is touching Spock’s. “Spock, you’re the only one.”

“Jim—”

“I don’t even care about having a soulmate if it isn’t you.”

“Jim, I—”

Jim leans forward. His lips brush against Spock’s when he speaks. “You told me you were in love with someone else. Do you think you could ever fall in love with me?”

“Jim, you aren’t well—”

Jim kisses him. He really kisses him, in true Jim style: all passion and hunger, his mouth pressed as tightly as possible against Spock’s mouth, his hands on either one of Spock’s arms and holding him as if he’s afraid Spock will leave. He kisses Spock like he has nothing else to lose. He kisses Spock like Spock is all he has.

“Jim, please.” Spock gently pushes him away. “You need to heal.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“You’re not…”

“Disappointed?” Jim gives him a tiny smile. “Of course I am. A little. But I also know that you’ve got the hots for me.”

Spock lets out a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “Maybe I do. In any case, we aren’t here to do…this.”

“This,” Jim echoes. His smile’s a little wider. “You do know how to stir a man’s loins, Spock.”

“I should hope so.” Spock steps away from Jim and goes toward the bookcases. “One of the required courses at the Vulcan Sciences Academy is Loin Stirring 101.”

“You’re a funny man.”

“Thank you.” There are many books, and while some of them have names (Applying to College or Getting Beat Up: The 67th Edition), an alarming portion have empty spines. Spock points at them. “What are these?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to figure them out.” Jim comes up behind Spock, wrapping his arms around Spock’s waist, and Spock lets him. “You can open them, if you want.”

Spock takes one from the shelf and pulls it open. The pages are blank, too. “Well, there had to be something here at one point, right? Otherwise the book wouldn’t be here.”

“Hm.” Jim plants his mouth in the curve where Spock’s neck meets his shoulder. “Or maybe it’s a memory waiting to be written.”

“Then why would there be a limited amount of books?”

“Maybe I have a limited amount of time to live.”

The book drops to the ground. Spock turns around. “You don’t know how long your life is going to be, Jim.”

“Maybe if I count the books, I will.”

“Don’t joke about that.”

Jim laughs under his breath and takes a step back, kicking absently at the ground. “I don’t know how to get my memories back faster. Sometimes they just show up. Just mundane shit, you know? We were in the car and I saw myself in a road trip when I was, I don’t know. Seven, maybe?” He picks a book from the shelves and flips it open, displaying it to Spock. The words are too blurry to read. Perhaps it’s a language just for Jim. “We were… Dad was driving. He had the radio turned up high. It was the Beastie Boys. My favorite. And I—and I was in the back seat next to Sam, and Sam was rocking along as he does, and he gives me this bag of corn chips because we lived in Iowa and that’s all that’s in Iowa and…” His voice trails off now, his face wistful. “Shit like that. Just…little stuff.” He closes the book and tucks it back into its place. “But it means everything to me. It means everything.”

“They just come back to you randomly?”

“Yeah. I think that’s just how it is. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. Do you want to try something?”

Jim’s grin borders on devilish. “Do you want to mind f—”

“Jim. No.”

His smile fades into something more impish. “What, do you want to do another meld inside of this one?”

“No. I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Have you tried?”

“Jim. No.”

“You tell me ‘no’ too much.”

“Trust me, I would say it much less if I could. The point is, Jim, I think we can try. We can try to fill those books in. You and me.”

Jim’s eyelashes flutter. He takes another staggering step backward. “Fill them in?”

“We can try. You shouldn’t have to wait. A vulcan erased these memories from you. You shouldn’t have to wait for them to come back to you.”

“What if…what if they’re gone?”

“They aren’t. Vulcans never remove memories. They hide them. If we look hard enough, we can find them.”

“You can do that?”

“I’m not fully vulcan, but I know where we can look.”

Jim rubs at his nose. “Being half vulcan doesn’t mean you only half-matter.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“I do, Jim.”

“And I also wanted you to know that you’re an asshole for not going to the hospital.”

Spock swallows. “I know.”

“But like…I guess I get it. I would’ve done the same.”

“If I wasn’t ill—”

“Don’t blame yourself.”

Spock allows himself a small smile. “You can’t hog all the blame, Jim. I’m entitled to at least some of it. At least half.”

Jim tries to return the smile, albeit unsuccessfully. “Absolutely not. You get five percent.”

“Forty.”

“Fifteen.”

“Thirty.”

“Twenty’s my final offer.”

Spock narrows his eyes. “Twenty-five.”

“Fine.” Jim, once again, speaks a little easier. He spreads his arm out to all the blank books in front of Spock. “This is where most of them are. The other ones I’ve found are really early childhood or memories I lost from being drunk. Or from being knocked out. Or from—”

“I get the picture, Jim, thank you.”

“But this section is right before and after Tarsus.” He points to a few books in the middle of the blank section, which all have glittering gold titles. “And that’s Tarsus.”

Spock is almost afraid to look at those books. He’s afraid of what they mean—what they represent.

“Where do you want to start?”

“Are there any books from Tarsus that you haven’t recovered yet?”

“A few.” Jim pulls them out. “This is right about when everything was going down. What’s the plan? What’s your unique vulcan insight?”

Spock strokes the spine of the book Jim hands him. “I think the memories are still in here,” he says.

“In the library?”

“In the books. I think you just can’t read the words.” He opens up to the second page and shows it to Jim. Though they seemed blank upon first glance, the paper has very faint words, as if they’d been written in pencil and then erased afterward. “See that? The words are there. They’re just faint. But, Jim, you need to be… You need to be careful, okay? You can’t recover all of these at once. Even getting glimpses of Tarsus back was too much for you. Do you understand?”

“You don’t want me to get everything back at once. Yeah, I get it.”

“Once a week. Okay? Don’t push it.”

Jim chews on his lips and nods a few times. “Okay. Alright. So how do we get it back?”

Spock studied melds extensively as he grew up; it wasn’t uncommon for vulcans to hide traumatic memories until they were in a place where they could revisit them and process them logically without being in danger, so erasing memories and then recovering them wasn’t really anything new. The problem is, memory recovery is so different for everyone that knowing exactly how to do it is next to impossible. It all depends on the person, and how well does Spock really know Jim as a person?

“I think…” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I think you should try writing them yourself. Take some time to try and fill in the words yourself. Can you do that?”

Jim looks doubtful. “I can try.”

“I can stay, if you need me to.”

“I’d like that. But do they need you out there?”

“They’ll let me know if they need me.” Spock touches Jim’s wrist and gives him a small smile. “You’re the priority in my life, Jim.”

Jim lifts his hand. A pen appears between his fingers. “If I fuck this up,” he says, and then doesn’t finish.

“You won’t.”

“But if I do.”

“I’ll take the blame.”

Jim shakes his head a few times. “No. That’s not what I’m saying. If I mess this up and things go wrong and I can’t get myself out—”

“I’ve got you, Jim,” Spock says. “I’ll make sure you get out.”

“Maybe we don’t need my memories.” Jim turns the pen over in his hands. “We could figure it out without me remembering.”

“If that’s what you want to do, we can do that.”

Jim scowls at him. “You aren’t supposed to be so supportive. We need to do this, Jim. We need to avenge tom, Jim.”

“If you aren’t comfortable with retrieving your memories, I’m not going to coerce you into doing so.”

The scowl softens. Jim moves toward Spock and drops his head onto Spock’s chest. “You’re too good to me.”

“You don’t have to do this, Jim.”

“I know. But I should.”

“You don’t owe the world anything.”

“I owe Tom. I owe Kevin Riley.”

“For what?” Gently, Spock tilts Jim’s chin up so they’re looking each other in the eyes. “None of this was your fault. From what I garnered from your memories, you were responsible for their safety. You gave them their lives, Jim.”

Jim’s gaze flickers away.

“It isn’t your fault that you’re the only one left. You didn’t choose that.”

“I still can’t help but feel—” Jim’s voice broke. “They remembered me. I didn’t remember them.”

“That isn’t your fault, either.” Spock traces a line onto Jim’s jaw. Jim’s entire body is trembling and his eyes are shining with grief. Even in the safety of his mind, he cannot escape the sorrow that’s consumed his life. “We can leave right now if you want to. We can go back to the school. They’ve likely upped the security enough that no one can get to you. Or we can go to vulcan and stay there until this is all over. You don’t have to remember anything. Not if you aren’t ready.”

Jim releases a shaky laugh. “Yeah, Spock, that’s the thing, though. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever get better.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“But if I don’t do it now…I don’t know if I’ll ever do it.”

“That’s okay, too. Whatever you decide, Jim, I’ll support you.”

Jim flips the pen over again. And then again. He sets his jaw. “I’m going to do it.”

“Okay.”

“And I want you to stay here with me.”

“Okay.”

“And I want another kiss.”

Spock stifles a laugh. “No, Jim.”

“Spock.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“I’ll kiss you when we both come out of your headspace.”

Jim’s entire face lights up. “Really?”

“Vulcans don’t lie.”

“I don’t believe that you’ve never lied.”

“I may,” Spock acknowledges, “Have stretched the truth once or twice. But never with you. Not once with you.” He takes Jim in his arms and presses his mouth to Jim’s forehead. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.” Jim draws in a shuddering breath. He looks down at the book in his hands and lifts the pen up. “Let’s do this.”

[]

What, exactly, occurred here?

I'm sure you don't need to ask that question, officer. It's fairly obvious. The man was murdered. 

You know who this is?

Thomas Leighton.

You knew him?

No. But he did.

Sir?

Jim Kirk.

Jim?

James Tiberius Kirk. But, yeah, Jim Kirk.

You found the body?

Yeah.

Can you describe what happened? Was he still alive? Did he say anything?

...You don't suspect me?

No, sir. We saw someone enter the house before you did. Before either of you did. They left out the back window. Now, did Mr. Leighton say anything?

Just that it would be okay.

Do you have any idea who might have done this?

I don't know. I'm trying to figure it out.

What does that mean? If you have any information, Mr. Kirk--

He'll let you know if he remembers anything.

And you are?

S'chn T'gai Spock, officers. Mr. Kirk needs rest.

Yes, of course. You have our contact information.

Chapter Text

“So.” T’Pring sits across Jim and Spock. Jim’s still toweling off his hair from the shower he took to wash off all of Thomas Leighton’s blood, and Spock is attempting to salvage the sandwich T’Pring found for him in the hotel’s abysmal cafe. “Did you remember anything useful?”

Jim gives her a pained smile. “Working on it. So far I’ve just gotten a couple more glimpses of Tarsus. I think I know what he looks like. That’s what all of this shit was about, and I’m just now remembering it.” He laughs at this, but the sound is bitter and slow. “It’s nice to meet you, though, T’Pring.”

“You as well, James. I do wish the circumstances could have been better.”

Jim looks about as pleased with this as one can after holding the corpse of their friend in their arms. “I should’ve known Spock’s fiance is just as cool as he is.”

T’Pring shoots Spock a look which, to an outsider, would look like a simple glance, but to Spock, it’s withering. “Nonsense,” she says. “I am much cooler than is Spock.”

Jim snorts, and then he laughs. “Yeah, you totally are.”

“Jim.” Spock tries not to feel wounded.

“Hush, ashayam. You know he does not mean it.” T’Pring stands and glides to the other side of the room so she can turn on the sink and put her hands underneath the stream of water that bursts from the faucet. “We need to examine this situation. Stonn is handling the authorities. You remember his face?”

“Yeah.” Jim shivers. “I do.”

“If I recall correctly,” T’Pring says, and Spock knows that she’s just saying this for the drama, as she would never say something she couldn’t recall, “Kodos died before the authorities could take him into custody.”

“That’s what the news says.”

“And you know this for sure?”

Jim frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Do you know for sure that Kodos is dead.”

“I don’t know. I guess so. I thought they found the body.”

“They did.” T’Pring’s eyes are sharp and intelligent. Spock feels a nervous pit in his stomach.

“Are you implying he might still be alive?”

“It’s a possibility we must consider. To my understanding, no one knew exactly who Kodos was. Why should we trust Starfleet reports that he is dead?”

Jim looks pale. Spock puts his hand on Jim’s arm.

“Let us get some rest,” he says, keeping his voice firm. “We all need it. Jim, do you mind if I talk with T’Pring a while?”

“Sure.” Jim tries to smile again, but the prospect of Kodos being alive is too much for him to bear, and the gesture looks more like a grimace than anything. “I’ll get ready for bed.”

Spock walks out with his fiance and closes the door after them. T’Pring’s still drying her hands on the soft hotel towel.

“Thank you for getting another room for Jim and me,” he says.

“It was not an issue.”

“Did you update my parents?”

She nods. “They are understandably worried. You have not had an episode of this severity in quite some time.”

“I know.” Spock sighs, suddenly exhausted. “The stress must have brought it on.”

“Have you been taking your medication?”

The last time Spock had taken his medication, it had made him so nauseated he couldn’t stand. “No.”

“You should.”

“The side effects are not worth it, T’Pring.”

She examines him. “I do not know if I am comfortable with allowing you to do this, Spock, with your health.”

Spock’s mood sours further. He steps back from her. “That isn’t your decision to make.”

Stonn’s climbing up the stairs behind T’Pring. He notices Spock’s expression and approaches more cautiously than he was moving before, his head tilting. “What is wrong?”

“I do not think Spock should continue with this investigation,” T’Pring says. “He is of poor health. He has always been of poor health.”

“I am not a child anymore,” Spock snaps. “I can take care of myself.”

“You very clearly cannot, Spock. You were unconscious for twenty hours. The hospital said that your nutrition levels were alarmingly low and—”

“The hospitals don’t understand my physiology.”

If T’Pring were human, she would be outwardly angry right now. If she were a human with anger problems, she might even raise her voice. But, as she is vulcan, T’Pring just tilts her chin up and gives Spock a gaze that could shatter ice. “You are being purposefully difficult.”

“I am not leaving him to do this by himself.”

“I am not asking you to do any such thing. Stonn and I are both willing to help James, and we will use all of our resources to do so. You need to rest, Spock.”

“And if I do not?” Spock was somehow both more vulcan and more human around T’Pring; his language patterns echoed hers, but her steady logic brought out from within him a fire that could only be human. “What will you do then?”

“I would have to consult your parents.”

Spock pictures, first, his father’s reaction: Sarek would promptly demand Spock return to the hospital and stay there, under constant supervision. He would not hear a word about Jim, and he would not listen to whatever reason Spock had. Sarek valued logic, but he valued life, too, and when it came to Spock and Spock’s health, that always took precedent. Amanda, on the other hand, would demand to know everything about Jim at once. After Spock explained (and after Sarek finished listing his demands), she would take Spock aside and whisper something about following his heart.

“I am not a child,” Spock says again. “Whatever my parents decide, they no longer have control over my life. Neither, I should say, do you, but you never have.”

“You understand that we are only worried,” says Stonn.

“That’s very human of you,” Spock shoots back, and Stonn frowns at him.

“We are not here to insult you.”

“It certainly feels as if I’m being insulted.”

T’Pring seems as if she wants to sigh but knows she’ll be called human if she does so.

“Listen.” Spock rubs his forehead and sighs for her. “If I continue to get medical checkups, will you get off my back?”

“What do you mean by ‘continuous medical checkups’?” True to her vulcan nature, T’Pring is both suspicious and curious.

“I mean that I’ll have a trained medical professional checking on me every day. Or would you rather confine me to a hospital so that I can waste time instead of bringing a murderer to justice?” He knows he’s using fallacies in his argument—he knows that there are more options than what he’s presenting to them, and that the black-and-white presentation is a sleazy way to argue, but he also knows they’ll both fall for it.

And fall for it they do.

“If you have access to a professional who is willing to spend the time to do that,” T’Pring says, “And if you feel as if you can trust this professional, then so be it. I will not contact your parents.”

“Thank you.” Spock grabs the door behind him and pushes it open. “I’ll speak to both of you in the morning.”

“And the medical professional?”

Spock hides his grimace. “I’ll contact him in the morning.”

[]

Spock goes to sleep before Jim does.

With Spock curled into his side, Jim pulls out his PADD and starts sifting through the news articles. Kodos is dead. Kodos is dead. Kodos is dead.

All of the articles say the same thing, but Jim can't shake the uneasy feeling deep in his stomach. What if what T'Pring said was right? What if Kodos had survived?

There were other options, obviously. One of the little gremlins that were evil enough to help him might be picking off the survivors. But how would they know it was the nine of them? And why would they start picking them all off now?

Jim starts searching all of the names. They've died in the last six months. Kevin Riley and Thomas Leighton were the closest together, and Jim figures that, if he hadn't left campus to go after Tom, the deaths would have been closer.

How convenient would it have been for the murderer that Jim and Kevin were on the same campus?

Was it Jim's fault that Thomas was dead?

If he hadn't left when he did--if he'd been killed without ever investigating Kevin Riley's death--would Tom have noticed? Would he have taken precautions to protect himself? Would he have changed his name or at least gotten himself off the database?

Even more chilling: what if Jim had led the murderer right to Tom? What if the murderer never knew where Tom was, and all they had to do was follow Jim right to him.

Spock lets out a soft moan in his sleep and curls tighter against Jim

No, Jim decides with the burst of logic that came with this movement, it wouldn't do any good to put the blame on himself. The important thing here was to figure out who was picking off the survivors before Jim was picked off, too. For conce, he was ready to be alive, and he wasn't going to let some asshole take that away from him.

Jim reaches down and brushes his fingers across Spock's forehead. He never did give Jim that kiss he promised him, though Jim knows that's likely because they've been around his fiance the entire time. And her fiance. All Spock did that was even close to showing that romantic interest he'd so clearly displayed inside Jim's head was tracing his index and middle fingers along Jim's while they'd sat next to each other on the bed. WIth the look T'Pring gave them, it might as well have been a kiss.

Kodos is dead.

Jim closes the article and then closes his eyes.

Kodos is dead.

Jim saw Kodos's death, right? No one could have explained that explosion. And they'd found bodies, too--lots of them. Not just the ones from the massacre, but also from the ones who'd been doing the massacring, and they said that one of them was Kodos.

They didn't ask any of the nine. At least, they didn't ask Jim, and Tom didn't say anything about it on the trip back home.

Kodos is dead.

He had to be.

Kodos is dead.

Jim puts his arms around Spock and holds him as tightly as he can.

Kodos isn't dead, is he?

Chapter Text

“Explain it to me again, but slower.”

Spock shoots a glance at Jim, who, in all of his endless genius, can only offer Spock a wry smile. “My mixed blood gives me health problems that include nausea, fainting, and general weakness. I can provide you all of my medical history, but Jim and I would be pleased if you would act as my medical supervisor.”

Doctor Mccoy’s face, on the projection from Spock’s PADD, flickers with unease. “Where are you?”

“We’re in Chicago still.”

“And you expect me to go to Chicago?”

Spock gives Jim another glance. “We’re coming back, I think. San Francisco has a much more comprehensive database than does any other Starfleet base.”

“You think it’s worth it? Coming back here, I mean?”

“I have two and a half vulcans protecting me,” says Jim. “I’ll be fine.”

“Low blow, Jim,” says Mccoy. “Low blow. And I take it Spock’s girlfriend and her boyfriend arrived?”

“Yes. They found us here. They agreed to work with us in finding the murderer.”

“Are you also going to bring the rest of the gang in on this or are we still leaving them in the dark?”

“We, uh…” Jim seeks out Spock’s hand and Spock lets their fingers interlace. “We’re discussing that.”

“They all bring something to the table, Jim. As soon as they met you, they knew they wanted to serve under you. You know that.”

Through Jim’s skin, Spock can feel a shock of sadness and guilt. Spock squeezes Jim’s fingers. “I don’t want to put them in danger,” Jim says quietly.

“They’re your crew, Jim. Even if it isn’t official yet, they’ve already accepted that as their job. They serve under you. Whatever you say goes.” Doctor Mccoy pauses, exhaustion flickering behind his eyes. “They’re all trustworthy, Jim, and they’ll all help you.”

“If they help me, they might lose their position in school.”

“And you aren’t worried about that for me or Spock?”

Jim struggles with this. “I am. I just…don’t want to involve more people than necessary.”

“They care about you more than they care about school.”

“But they might not be able to join Starfleet.”

“Then we’ll move to the beach together. It’ll be a blast.”

Jim’s still battling with himself. He looks at Spock, his face earnest, and Spock mutes the microphone.

“You can trust them, Jim.”

“I know. But I don’t want to be responsible for ruining their careers.”

“Once you tell them the situation, it is ultimately their decision as to whether they participate. Your responsibility as their captain is only to give them orders once they’ve already decided to participate.”

“So…you think I should involve them, then.”

“I am of the opinion that you should involve them, yes. I believe you have the tendency to shut people out, Jim, and I think that this is an opportunity to finally let people in. They have skills we do not have. They have expertise we do not possess.”

“Okay.” Jim nods for Spock to turn the microphone back on, which he does. “Bones? We’ll bring the rest of the group in.”

“Do you want me to catch them up? I don’t know much, but I can give them the gist.”

“Yeah. And if they don’t want to take part, don’t force them.”

“There won’t be any forcing. They’ll jump at the opportunity to help you.” Doctor Mccoy points at the camera. “You’ve spent your entire goddamn life giving up everything you have for other people. They aren’t going to pass on the opportunity to finally give back.”

Jim’s eyes are wet.

“Keep me updated,” Mccoy says, not waiting for an answer. “I’ll gather the group. I’m assuming you’ll be back in a few days?”

“We’re flying with T’Pring and Stonn,” Spock tells him. “We should be back today.” They hadn’t wanted to fly to Chicago so they could stay off the flight records, but there really wasn’t any point now. If the murderer was going to come after them, let them come. It would make things easier.

“Okay. I’ll get everybody to Uhura’s, then.” Mccoy clicks off and Spock lets out his breath. He untangles his fingers from Jim’s, no longer able to handle the rush of emotions that comes with contact with Jim’s skin, and stands.

“Have you remembered anything?”

Jim’s staring down at the hand Spock just released. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think…” Jim’s voice trails off. He can’t seem to find the words for what he wants—needs?—to say.

“Jim—”

“I was thinking last night. Looking at articles. I think maybe…I think Kodos might be alive.”

Spock feels a chill. “Are you sure?”

“No. But how would they know he’s dead? It was only the nine of us who would be able to identify him. They never asked me if the body was his. I don’t think they asked anyone else, either.” Jim chews on his lower lip for a moment. “I looked at those pictures you took of Kevin Riley’s research.” He stops again, but Spock doesn’t interrupt this silence. Whatever Jim is trying to say, it will take time. “I think that Riley was doing more than just trying to find the killer. I think he believed Kodos was alive, and I think he was trying to get revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“Kodos chose Riley’s parents for elimination. I think Riley wanted to get back at him for that. But it doesn’t make sense.”

Spock frowns. “The revenge doesn’t make sense?”

“No. That makes sense. More than anything, that makes sense. But Kodos…the way he killed people. He put them in the anti-matter chamber. He didn’t do anything to cause pain. What he did was definitely murder, but he wasn’t doing it to cause pain. He was doing it because he was a sick fuck who believed in eugenics.”

“It’s the stabbing that doesn’t make sense, then.”

“Yeah. It seems sloppy. It doesn’t feel like something he’d do.”

“Then what would he do?”

“I don’t know. A phaser, maybe? I think those are painless.” Jim looks sick to his stomach. Even though Spock had seen some of Jim’s memories while their minds were connected, he still cannot even begin to imagine the experience of watching all of those people die. He still cannot imagine the emotions one would feel while watching those people be led to their deaths.

[]

Jim spots Kevin Riley across the field. He grabs Tom's hand.

"I think that's Kevin!"

Tom looks uneasy. "I don't know, Jimmy. What if he's working for Kodos?"

Jim doesn't know the answer to that question. He'd made a few friends while on Tarsus IV; Tom had definitely been the best friend he'd made, but Kevin was a close second, and he--unlike so many of the others Jim had come to know and love--was still alive.

"But what if he isn't?" Jim asks. As always, his faith in people and the optimism he holds that people can, above all else, be good, wins him over. "We might be able to help him."

"If he turns us in--"

"Okay," says Jim, "I'll go get him. You hide. If I don't come back--"

"Jim, don't."

"I have to know if he needs help."

"But if he doesn't, he'll take you!"

"And if he does, then that means one more person stays alive. And that's worth the risk. It's always worth the risk." Jim starts running without waiting for an answer. He lifts up one arm. "Kevin! Kev!"

Kevin turns. His face twists into an expression that Jim doesn't recognize. He puts his hand to his neck, moving it back and forth, motioning for Jim to cut it out, cut it out.

Jim falters. Kevin pushes out with his hands. Go back.

Jim shakes his head. He motions for Kevin to follow him. Kevin shakes his head back. Jim nods, motioning more intensely. Kevin shakes his head again.

"Come on!" Jim mouths, and then he sees them--guards, five of them, coming up the hill. Kevin Riley turns toward them and says something. He gestures, pointing away from Jim. They run in that direction. Kevin looks toward Jim, just for a minute, and pushes out with his hands again. 

Jim runs back to Tom.

Chapter Text

When they get back to the Academy, it doesn’t take long for Jim to explain everything to everyone. They all hide their expressions, just as Bones did, but afterward they huddle around Jim in a protective circle, giving him what’s probably the longest hug in his life. Jim grins at Spock from between all of the arms.

“I guess it wasn’t a mistake?”

“Humans,” says T’Pring quietly to Stonn and Spock, “Are so affectionate.”

Spock echoes Stonn’s agreement, but secretly he wonders: what would it be like to be the recipient of that much affection? What would it be like to feel that much love at once? Certainly, he’d experienced his mother’s love—basked in it—but he couldn’t fathom experiencing that level from so many people.

When finally Jim untangles himself from everyone, he straightens his shirt and smiles at everyone again, but mostly—and Spock may be imagining this—at Spock. “We should get to work,” he says.

“Tell us what we can do to help.” Uhura takes a seat on the arm of the sofa as everyone else fills its cushions. “We’re at your disposal, Jim.”

“We need to research everyone who left Tarsus.” In some environments, Jim may be timid and shy, but right now, in front of his friends, being the commander he was always meant to be, he’s shining blindingly bright. “T’Pring and Stonn, do you have access to Tarsus records?”

T’Pring examines her nails. “I can get them.”

“Okay. Let’s get those and we can all look through them—”

“Not Spock.”

Jim blinks, momentarily pulled from the commanding attitude. “What?”

“Not Spock. He needs to be checked first.” She crosses her arms. “That’s my deal. He goes through examinations, and I get you your information. Stonn and I will examine it with someone else.”

“Fine. Look through it with Uhura and Chekov, then. Spock, you go with Bones and Chapel.”

Spock makes a small noise of protest; Jim and T’Pring look at him with the same amount of warning and he falls silent.

“Sulu and Scotty, you’re with me. We’re going to get into Starfleet headquarters to see if we can find the investigative reports on Kevin Riley and—and Thomas Leighton’s deaths.”

“Can’t you hack in for that?” Mccoy asks.

“No.” T’Pring’s finally moved her sharp gaze away from Spock. “James is correct in assuming he’ll have to break into the base. They won’t have their reports online until they’re further into the case. It’s a precaution against people like us.”

“I’m down for it, Captain,” says Scott. “It’s been a hot minute since I’ve broken in someplace. It’ll be fun.”

“I’m down, too,” says Sulu.

“You’re sure? You can both get kicked out for this.”

“It’d be an honor,” says Sulu, “To be kicked out with you.” He says this so seriously that Spock isn’t sure whether he’s joking.

“Jim.” Spock moves forward, but his steps falter when T’Pring flashes her eyes at him again. “Can’t I do anything else but get examined?”

“Sorry, Spock, but no.”

“Did something happen?” Uhura’s words are anxious. She leans toward Spock and tilts her head. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Spock tells her. “Everyone’s concerned about me, but they really shouldn’t be. I am perfectly fine.”

T’Pring gives him a flat stare. Spock stares back at her.

“We should get started,” Jim says. He grabs Spock’s arm. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

There’s a tightness in Spock’s chest. He isn’t sure if it’s because that’s just the way his physiology is or if it’s his reaction to the look in Jim’s eyes. “Be careful.” His voice is soft. Jim smiles at him, gentle.

“I haven’t been careful in a long time, but I’ll try for you. I won’t get caught.”

“I know.”

“I promise.” Jim pulls Spock a little closer and puts his dry lips to Spock’s cheek. “Let me know how it goes with Bones.”

“I assure you, it will be entirely uneventful.”

Jim flashes him another smile. “It’s going to be you and Bones in the same room. I don’t think it’s possible for it to be uneventful.”

With these words, they all part their ways: T’Pring and Stonn with Uhura and Chekov; Jim with Sulu and Scott, and Spock with Doctor Mccoy and Nurse Chapel. Chapel leads the way, with Doctor Mccoy following Spock closely behind. He’s regarding Spock with what seems like great concern.

“Did you lose something, Doctor?” It’s a rhetorical question, but Spock cannot resist prodding at the Doctor’s temper. “Perhaps I can assist you in finding it.”

“I looked over your medical records,” says Doctor Mccoy.

“Oh? And was it interesting reading?”

“It’s much worse than you made it out to be, Spock. You made it out to be like…I don’t know, an inconvenience. But you were in and out of hospitals. You almost died.”

“I am out of danger, Doctor.”

“Are you? Because the most recent hospital visit—which was yesterday, I should point out—was just as life-threatening. The doctors in their reports were mega pissed off that you left without being checked out. I think about half of them are convinced you immediately keeled over after you left.”

Spock absorbs this. He hadn’t thought his last visit was so severe; was he worsening? Was it the stress that was making him worse? “It is nothing,” he says at last, “About which you need to concern yourself.”

“I’m your medical practitioner, actually, so it is exactly what I need to concern myself about.”

Chapel pulls open the doors to the hospital and Spock steps in with Mccoy.

“I’m gonna run some basic tests,” Mccoy says. “We’ll get your blood work done, we’ll do a couple scans, no big. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Spock sulks some. He’d spent so long in the hospital growing up, and it had prevented him from experiencing what most vulcan children experienced as just a part of their childhood. Now he was in a hospital again, and now he was going through tests again, and now he was missing out again. Why couldn’t he be analyzing the data with T’Pring and Stonn and Uhura and Chekov? Or—even better, arguably—why couldn’t he be breaking into Starfleet headquarters with Jim and Sulu and Scott?

“I know you’d rather be anywhere else,” says Doctor Mccoy, as if reading Spock’s mind, “But this is important. You know that, right?”

Spock has to resist with every fiber of his being not to make a face at Mccoy. “Wouldn’t we all rather be somewhere else?”

“Actually.” Mccoy pushed open his usual door and indicated Spock go in before him. “I’d rather be here. Believe it or not, I find making sure one of my best friends is in good health more appealing than breaking into places or digging through a million documents.”

“I’m one of your best friends?”

Mccoy glares at him. “Didn’t you already know that?”

“I had come to the conclusion that we were friends. I did not know we were best friends.”

“Well, don’t get all excited about it.” Mccoy snaps on a pair of gloves and Chapel does the same. “I’ll be right back. You’ve got this, Chapel?”

She blinks at him.

“Yeah, of course you’ve got this. What am I saying?”

Mccoy disappears and Chapel conjures up a needle and the long tube attached to it. “I’m going to take some of your blood.” Her voice is much more gentle than it is in everyday conversation; Spock suspects she doesn’t let the fiery part of her out unless she’s dealing with a difficult patient, which Spock is not. He is aware, however, that he still has the time to change this. “Do you have an arm you usually give blood from?”

Spock holds up his right arm. “No one can ever find the vein in the left.”

“Okay. And you’re good with needles?”

“I don’t exactly have a choice.”

Chapel smiles a little. “I would have tried to distract you, if you had issues.”

“Thank you, Christine, but it really isn’t necessary. I’ve been stabbed enough to be used to it.” This is an attempt at humor, and somehow it works: Chapel chuckles as she ties something around Spock’s upper arm.

“You know, Len is really worried about you. He was…really upset when he was reading through your medical reports.”

Spock just watches her, unsure of what to say.

“He’s really upset that you didn’t tell him anything. His saying you’re best friends…that isn’t something you’ll get often. He’s feeling really vulnerable right now. Even a little betrayed.”

“Betrayed?”

“This is the kind of thing you tell your friends, Spock.”

“I didn’t want to unnecessarily concern him.”

“He’s always concerned, Spock.” Chapel slides the needle into his vein with precision that can only come with years of practice. “Telling him earlier would have given him at least a direction to go. But now he feels concerned and betrayed at the same time.”

“I don’t,” Spock says, “Like to divulge my medical history to people just to spare them of their feelings.”

“Fair enough.” Chapel pulls the needle from Spock’s arm, now, and presses a bit of cotton to his skin. “Just…think about it, okay? You have friends here, and, believe it or not, we give a shit about you.”

Before Spock can reply, Mccoy’s coming back into the room. He changes his gloves. “You’ll get those tested as soon as possible?”

Chapel leaves without answering and Mccoy shrugs.

“I think, at this point, all the questions I ask her are just rhetorical.”

“She seems capable,” says Spock carefully.

“She is. Are you ready for scans?”

“Yes.”

They move to another room. It takes a few hours for Spock to go through all of the scans, a process that would have been much slower if Spock wasn’t used to all of the machines Mccoy was using. Mccoy even comments on how easily Spock navigates through the equipment.

“You know,” he says, tapping something onto a handheld machine, “You would have been a great candidate for the medical field.”

Spock tries for humor again: “I thought it might be wiser to pursue science, as my suddenly passing out is less likely to hurt a plant specimen than it is to hurt a patient.”

Mccoy, unfortunately, is not in as good of humor as Chapel, and only growls at Spock in response. He tosses the scanner a little too hard onto the counter behind him.

“Are we done with the tests?”

“Yeah. I’ll show you the waiting room and it’ll be an hour or two before the results all come back.”

“I’ll just go back to the apartment.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I have homework,” Spock tries.

“You can access all of it on your PADD. You think Jim hasn’t used these excuses before? You aren’t leaving until the tests come back.”

Spock begins to sulk again.

“Don’t make that face.”

“I am not making any face, Doctor.” Spock had long since learned to sulk without moving any facial muscles.

“You’re making a face. I can tell. You aren’t as good at hiding your emotions as you think, Spock.”

“I hid my emotions from Vulcans. I would say I’m quite good.”

Mccoy snorts. He takes Spock’s shoulder and pushes him out the door. “You hid your emotions from people who never see emotions. But I spend most my time around Jim. The bastard had given me every emotion anyone could possibly feel. I’ve become adept at recognizing them.”

Spock’s hand twitches toward his PADD and Mccoy raises his eyebrow at him.

“He’s fine.”

“He’s breaking into a heavily-guarded building.”

“He’s with Sulu and Scotty. Sulu is probably the most agile person we know, and Jim trusts Scotty so much he’s promised him third in command.”

Third? Who would be second? Spock tries not to let this bother him.

“Besides,” Doctor Mccoy continues, “Jim’s an expert at breaking into things. I think, of all the buildings he’s entered, he’s broken into ninety percent of them and gone through the front door maybe three percent.”

“And the other seven percent?”

“I don’t know. Windows? Jim’s unconventional. You know that.” Mccoy pushes Spock again, this time toward a collection of chairs. “Do you need anything?”

“Ah…I’m a little cold.” Vulcans didn’t often get cold. This might be the result of Spock’s blood loss, his medical condition, or his anxiety over Jim, but Mccoy doesn’t ask. He just comes back with a soft red sweatshirt that he says Jim forgot a few weeks ago.

“If it has blood on it,” Mccoy says, “It isn’t my fault.”

Spock sniffs it.

“Don’t get weird. I should be back in a bit, so just…wait here.”

Spock, obedient for the first time in a long time, waits. He pulls the sweatshirt over his head and then puts the hood around his ears, hiding the points, and then he closes his eyes, and he waits.

He waits for hours.

Doctor Mccoy comes back to him with his PADD in one hand and his heart in the other, face so ashen it almost looks gray. He just says, “Spock,” and then nothing else.

“Yes, Doctor Mccoy,” Spock says. “The results?”

“You…I think your condition is getting worse. The tests that they took even in the last hospital visit show significantly better results than the ones I just took. It’s almost like your body is falling apart faster and faster.” He puts a hand to his head and lets out his breath. “I don’t know, Spock. I don’t know how to fix it. I could contact some people and see if they—”

“No.” Spock stands and reaches out, taking Mccoy’s wrist before his hand can reach for his PADD. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Spock, you’re literally dying.”

“I know. I have been for a while. Don’t put your energy into finding a cure.”

Mccoy sputters. “What, you want to die?”

“It doesn’t matter. When I was younger, my family was continuously searching for a cure. We’ve already consulted the best the Federation has to offer, and they had no answers for us. Don’t put your energy into finding a cure. There is none.”

“There has to be one.” For the first time since Spock met him, Doctor Mccoy sounds close to tears.

“There isn’t. I am the first of my kind.” Spock releases Mccoy’s wrist but the doctor just leaves his hand trembling in the air. “Leonard, a cure returns one to the state at which they should be. I have no such state. This is how I have always been. This is how I am supposed to be.”

“I can’t accept that. And—and Jim won’t accept that, either.”

Spock feels a jolt of something—guilt? He shakes his head. “Don’t tell Jim.”

“I’m not going to keep this from him.”

“If you must tell him, please at least wait until all this with Kodos is over. His life is in danger. I don’t want him to be distracted.”

“He isn’t going to give a shit about being distracted.”

“And that’s why I don’t want you to tell him. He has always prioritized others over himself, and this would be no exception. I am already going to die, Doctor. Don’t give Jim the opportunity to lose his life, as well.”

Chapter Text

Here's what Jim said happened:

Jim worked on disarming the security system and Sulu slid in, with Scotty helping boost Sulu up to the window. Scotty went in next. Jim went in last.

They all went their separate ways to search, knowing that it would be harder to get them all caught, and also knowing that, if one of them got caught, the other two still had a chance to find the information they needed. It was strategic.

Jim was almost caught twice. Scott was almost caught about twelve times. Sulu was nowhere to be seen the entire time (and Jim suspects it's because Sulu is secretly Spiderman).

It was, of course, Sulu who found where they needed to be, and hep and get there, and Jim arrived to hack in. He somehow avoided looking at the five thousand different angles of Kevin Riley's corpse and concentrated instead on the details.

Name: Kevin Thomas Riley

Age: 21

Height: 178 cm

Weight: 74 kg

Body found in Academy courtyard at 0300. Cause of death was twelve (12) stabs to the abdomen and the subsequent injuries and loss of blood. Time of death was between 0030-0100. Victim had defensive wounds on hands, but no DNA could be extracted from beneath fingernails. Stab wounds were 30 mm wide. Made by a serrated knife of an unknown length. Height of perpetrator is 165 cm.

(Shorter than Riley?)

Kodos was 180 cm, at least.

(So Kodos isn't the killer.)

Unless Kodos shrank fifteen centimeters, there was no way he was the killer.

On the way out, Jim's almost caught one more time. Scotty almost gets caught twice, and then actually gets caught, but somehow talks his way out of it. When they get outside, Sulu's already in the car.

Jim asks how Sulu did it. Sulu says it's because he's Asian. Jim asks him to be serious. Sulu says all Asians have a stealth mode.

Chapter Text

Here's what Uhura said happened:

They all went together to T'Pring and Stonn's hotel room. There were two beds, but only one was used. Uhura noted this to tell the others later, because that was a juicy piece of information. Who knew vulcans were that racy? Not Uhura.

T'Pring and Stonn got the information in about ten seconds and swipe it over to Uhura. Uhura pretends that T'Pring's technical prowess isn't perhaps the hottest thing she's ever seen, aside from maybe the face Chapel makes when she snaps on gloves.

(Uhura can we move on from talking about how hot Spock's girlfriend is?)

Stonn was also attractive. He was slender and tall and moved with grace similar to the way Spock moved, but he had more muscle to him. Uhura suspected it had something to do with the whole medical problems thing that everyone was talking about earlier

(Uhura.)

They got to work without pause. Uhura only took a couple minutes to situate herself with the Vulcan terminology in the reports, and Chekov took a few minutes more than that.

And then! And you'll never guess what happened--

(Uhura, please.)

There was a girl on one of the transports, and a man who said he was her father. The name that the man used belonged to a family who said their relative never returned home.

They also said he didn't have a daughter.

Here's what they knew about the man: clean-shaven. Unkown hair color, as it was hidden by a thick hat. About thirty or forty. Definitely not the man he claimed to be.

Here's what they knew about the girl: about five. Redheaded. She seemed natural and relaxed with the man. Definitely not the daughter of the man her "father" claimed to be.

(So what does this mean?)

(I think it means Kodos is alive. And that he has a kid.)

Chapter Text

Here's what Spock said happened:

They went to the hospital. Doctor Mccoy was being surprisingly civil, and Chapel was being surprisingly gentle. Chapel took the blood. Doctor Mccoy did all of the scans.

(Anything exciting?)

Nothing exciting.

(Bones?)

(Nothing exciting.)

Chapter Text

He thinks maybe Spock is lying.

Should he confront him about it? Why would he be lying? What would he be lying about? But these thoughts are competing with:

A. The information he and Sulu and Scott found in the Starfleet databases

B. The information that Uhura and Chekov and T'Pring and Stonn found in the Vulcan Federation databases, and

C. The fact that he hasn't eat in about thirteen hours and that's really starting to play a mean trick on his stomach.

The thoughts about Kodos win him over. He can ask Spock about it later.

Chapter Text

With everyone back and nothing else to do, Jim starts getting restless. Despite all of his friends immediately crashing upon their return from their respective adventures, he continues his own consciousness—wrestles with it, even, pacing through Spock and Uhura’s living room like he has a step count to reach. Spock can hear him even through the several thick walls that separate them.

He goes to join him in the living room and watches him move for a long minute before calling out Jim’s name, and Jim finally pauses.

“What are we supposed to do now? There’s nowhere to go. There’s nothing else for us to do.”

Spock leans against the wall and crosses his arms. “We have been neck-deep in all of this for a while, now. It might serve us to take a break—to step back.”

“And do what?” asks Jim. “I’m not going to be able to sleep for a while.”

“That’s fine,” says Spock. “It’s only 1900. Why don’t we see what’s available to do in town? It might clear our heads.”

Jim chews on his lip.

“Anything’s better than just…this.” Spock gestures vaguely to the living room, to Jim, to the rug. “You’ll drive yourself crazy if you keep doing this.”

“Fine. But we’re coming right back if anything happens.

“I wouldn’t dare suggest any different.”

They go together into town, opting for Spock’s car instead of public transport—Jim insists it’s too excessive, but Spock isn’t going to take any chances. It would be far too easy to for someone to hurt Jim before Spock could stop it—it would even be possible, Spock knows, to hurt Jim without Spock even noticing it.

“You worry too much,” Jim growls.

“Get an armed escort, and I might worry less.”

“Not gonna happen,” Jim says, and smiles over at Spock. “Where are we heading off to?”

“There’s supposed to be some sort of show at the auditorium. I saw some information about it before we left.” Spock stumbles over his words when Jim’s fingers chord through his. At what point should he tell him, Spock wonders, that what they’re doing counts as kissing? “Does that—ah—interest you?”

“I mean, not exactly, but in your defense, I don’t think much will. It’s worth a try.”

“Afterward,” says Spock, “Let’s get some sleep.”

There’s a glint in Jim’s eye. “We can meld?”

Spock snorts. “If that’s what you want.”

“You know…” Jim traces a finger across Spock’s knuckles. “You did promise me a kiss when we came out of the last one.”

In Spock’s defense, he had kissed Jim, but fair is fair.

He pulls over the car.

“Spock?” Jim’s eyes are wide. Spock turns to the man in the seat beside him. He reaches over and cradles Jim’s jaw in one hand. Jim’s eyelashes flutter. He says, “Spock,” so softly it’s almost inaudible.

And Spock kisses him.

He kisses him gently, not because either of them are fragile but because Jim is too good to be true, and Spock still isn’t quite sure if he’s real, and he’s afraid that, if he goes too fast, the illusion will shatter, and Spock will be alone.

And Jim kisses him back, just as gently, his mouth opening in a silent gasp against Spock’s lips, his free hand snaking up to curl around the nape of Spock’s neck.

Spock leans back again, cutting himself off before he goes too far. Jim’s lips are red.

“There,” says Spock. “I kissed you.”

Jim seems speechless.

“Happy now?”

He still doesn’t have any words. He’s just staring at Spock.

“Splendid.” Spock pulls onto the road again. It’s another several minutes before Jim finally finds his voice.

“You…are an asshole.”

Spock laughs.

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not. But still.”

Spock finds the auditorium and pulls into the parking lot. “Are you ready to be distracted?”

“Are you kidding me? I can think of something that would be way more distracting.

“Jim,” says Spock, very patiently, “We aren’t going to just sit in the car and make out.”

“We could go back to Uhura’s and yours.”

“Where everyone else is? We’re seeing the play, Jim.”

More emphatically than before: “You’re an asshole.”

“Yes, I know.” Spock turns off the car. “Let’s go buy our tickets.”

In line, Jim begins a conversation with mostly himself that Spock isn’t entirely sure he’s listening to. A few times, Spock tries to cut him off, but Jim just talks over him, even if Spock had been trying to respond to something Jim said. Spock decides it’s a lost cause and gives up.

Then Jim stops talking on his own.

“Taking a breath?” Spock tries to joke, but Jim’s grabbing his arm then hard enough to bruise.

“Spock, that’s her.”

“What? Who?”

“There. Look.” Jim points, very subtly, toward a woman walking briskly toward the auditorium. She’s young, with blond hair and delicate features. “That’s her.”

“What are you talking about? Who is she?”

“That’s Kodos’s daughter.”

Spock takes another look. “How do you know?”

“She has the same features.”

“Jim—”

“I know it’s her.”

Spock studies Jim’s face for only a split second. He says, “Well, I suppose we better follow then, shouldn’t we?”

“Oh, thank you, Spock.” Jim, still gripping Spock’s arm, pulls him out of line. They move together after the woman as inconspicuously as possible; Spock is new at this but Jim, of course, is a natural, and melts right into the crowd as if he is, in any context of the word, ordinary.

The woman slips backstage and Spock and Jim have to slow their pursuit.

“If she got backstage,” Spock murmurs into Jim’s ear, “She must be in the play, right? Or somehow otherwise involved.”

“Is that information available?”

“We should be able to find it on our PADDs.” Spock pulls his out and finds the play’s information. “We should be able to find her somewhere in…” There are only a few pages of faces, and none of them are the woman. “Okay, never mind.”

“Let me see.”

Spock passes the PADD over. Jim’s face goes white.

“Kodos.”

“Is he in the play?”

Jim turns the PADD around and points at a picture of a balding man. “He’s the lead.”

Kodos is alive. He’s been alive this entire time, only a half hour drive from the Academy. “Let’s call Starfleet and go in. We can hold them together until the proper authorities arrive.”

“Okay, yeah. Good idea.”

“You think we can get us backstage?”

“Probably.” Jim moves forward with a surge of confidence, the initial reaction of fear melting away to make room for his determination. The man at the door stops him and switches a withering glare between Jim and Spock.

“Passes?”

Out of nowhere, Jim procures a badge. “We’re from Federation Starfleet. We heard there was a wanted criminal here.”

The doorman’s eyes widen. “What? Really? Who?”

“That’s classified, unfortunately.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“We’ve called for backup,” Spock says. He finishes sending the report through his PADD and flicks off the screen. “When those officers arrive, please do not impede their investigation.”

“Yeah. Yeah, no problem!”

And so Spock and Jim get backstage without incident. They both scan the crowd. “You see either of them?” Spock asks. Jim catches the attention of the stagehand passing by them.

“Hey. Where’s the lead?”

“Hell if I know. If he doesn’t show up in the next five minutes, it’s going to his backup.” She shakes her head and grumbles something about irresponsibility. “Listen, I have to be somewhere—”

“What about his daughter?” Spock interrupts.

She blinks. “Who?”

“The woman who’s always visiting him,” Jim says. “She’s blond, kinda pretty?”

“Oh! They always just said they were friends. I thought I saw her earlier, but I don’t know where she is now.”

Jim and Spock exchange a glance.

“Thanks,” says Spock. “You’ve been a big help. As she walks away, he turns to Jim. “She noticed us.”

“I know. And she must have told Kodos. There’s no way they’ll stick around.”

“I’ll contact Starfleet again and update the situation.”

“Great. Meet me at the loading docs in an hour.”

Spock blinks. “What?”

“Loading dock. One hour.” Jim pulls him into a kiss, fast but sweet. “I’ll see you then.”

[]

He isn't really shocked, nor is he horrified. Of course Kodos has been alive this entire time. Of course he has. The only really good things that have ever happened to Jim are his friends, Starfleet, and Spock.

Of course the worst person he'd ever met was still alive. Fate was a person and she had a grudge against Jim.

But oh, wasn't that kiss amazing?

Don't think about that, Jim. Not now. Concentrate.

Be confident, but be subtle. Make them like you enough to suppress suspicion, but not enough to remember your face.

Breathe. In, out.

You're in. Good. Smile. Take the codes like they belong to y ou. Don't rush out, but don't dawdle.

She saw you. Make a joke about work. You see the play yet? Don't laugh too boisterously. Keep walking.

You're out. You're free.

Back to Spock.

Chapter Text

Spock isn’t the only one at the loading dock. As the minutes tick past, all of Jim’s friends join him, and then T’Pring and Stonn arrive, too.

“Jim told you to come?” Spock’s arms are crossed and he’s shivering. Stonn gives him his jacket.

“Any ashayam of my ashayam is an ashayam of mine own,” he says solemnly.

“I didn’t know you knew what a joke was.”

Stonn’s expression could almost be considered a smile. “Perhaps you do not know me as well as you thought you did.”

“Stonn, stop flirting with my betrothed.” T’Pring pulls her partner back and nods at Spock. “James told us to come here as soon as possible. Do you know the circumstances that led to this impromptu meeting?”

“It’s Kodos,” Uhura says before Spock can answer. “He’s here, right?”

“Yes. Jim identified his daughter, but they both fled before we could coax either of them into custody. We have already notified the Federation.”

“And?” asks Sulu. “What did they say?”

“Probably told them they were imagining things,” Mccoy grumbles. “I’ve been trying to tell them to look further into Tarsus IV ever since Jim told me about it, and they basically told me to piss off.”

“I got much the same response,” Spock says. “They don’t believe Kodos could possibly be alive. Even with the evidence, they wrote it off as a conspiracy.”

“Bullshit,” says Mccoy.

“It is far from the Federation’s finest moment.”

“When is James supposed to arrive?”

“Any minute now.”

“Do you know what he wants?” asks Uhura. “Jim’s asked us all out to go on adventures, but this is weird. Even for him.”

“I’m as much in the dark when it comes to his plans as all of you. This was all Jim.”

Jim appears behind all of them now, materializing out of the dark like he’d been made of shadows. “Are you all ready for the greatest adventure of your lives?”

“Are you assuming our careers will be immensely boring in Starfleet, or that we’ll be fired?”

“Optimism, Mr. Scott,” Jim says, and beams. “Excellent.”

“That wasn’t—”

“Mostly I was hoping it’d be the best because it’s going to be probably the most illegal thing you’ve ever done in your life. If anyone wants to back out…” He lets his voice trail off, but no one speaks up. “Okay. So here’s what we’re going to do: we’re going to steal the Enterprise.”

Spock’s so surprised a laugh bursts from his lips. T’Pring and Stonn stare at him. “Jim, we aren’t stealing the Enterprise.”

“It’s my favorite ship, and we need a ship to go after Kodos.”

“We aren’t taking the Enterprise. There are hundreds of other options—ones that don’t require a crew of over a thousand people to function smoothly.”

“Spock,” Jim whines.

“Jim.”

“Fine. Have your logic. Only because you’re cute.”

Dr. Mccoy groans out loud and Uhura says, “Did I miss something?”

“You didn’t miss anything,” Mccoy snaps. “Let’s just get going.”

They all move toward the bay. Mccoy hangs back with Spock.

“Hey. Can we talk?”

Spock twists up the corner of his mouth. “Doctor, I do hope you don’t want me to elaborate on Jim’s statement.”

“No. Gross, no. I wanted to check up on you. You know. Medically.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’ve seen your medical records, and I know for a fact that you’re pretty far from fine. You haven’t had any more episodes?”

“Since we saw each other last five hours ago? No.”

“Don’t joke around, Spock.”

Spock widens his eyes, innocent. “I would never.”

“I’m not fucking kidding.”

“Doctor, worrying yourself over my health will only result in two unhealthy people. I’ve said this before, and I stand by it. Despite my vulcan blood, I do find humor to be a comfort in my situation, so I hope you understand my use of it when we broach the topic.”

“When you die,” says Mccoy, “Which is going to be soon, Jim’s going to bring you back to life just to kill you again. And then he’ll kill me, too.”

Spock’s quiet for a moment. They’re approaching a more reasonably-sized ship than the Enterprise (certainly not a difficult thing to exist), and Jim’s already working on the access codes. Under his breath, Spock asks, “How long?”

“What?”

“How long do I have?”

Mccoy lets out his breath. He rubs his face a few times, and then looks to Spock, ashen. “Best guess? Months.”

“Half a year?”

“Less than that. A third of that.”

“Two months.”

“Spock that’s…that’s me being generous. I honestly don’t know how you’re walking around right now.”

“The doctors of my childhood said much the same thing, and my answer remains the same as well: I am used to it. When you’re in pain every day of your life, you get used to it.”

Doctor Mccoy’s eyes cloud. “You’re in pain?”

“It is nothing I cannot handle.”

“Spock—”

Spock puts his hand on Mccoy’s shoulder. “We can discuss this later. Let’s just concentrate on catching Kodos.”

Mccoy shakes his head at him. “You better tell Jim as soon as all of this is over.”

“I will.”

“You have to.”

“I will, Leonard.”

They get on the ship.

[]

He's looking out the window when the building explodes.

He sees the explosion.

They all see the explosion.

Kevin Riley says something about being glad "the bastard" is dead. Jim, clinging to Tom's hand as the rescue ship groans around them, doesn't say anything, but he's thinking the same thing.

Kodos is dead.

He's glad Kodos is dead. He never thought he would feel that way about anyone, but he feels it about Kodos, and he feels it passionately, savagely. He wants to spit on that monster's corpse.

He's angry, and he's scared, and he's angry that he's still scared.

Kodos is dead. It's over.

But Jim knows dying doesn't get rid of people. In Jim's memories--in all of their memories--Kodos will live on.

Chapter Text

“How exactly do you plan on figuring out where we’re supposed to be going?” Mccoy’s voice, as per usual, has a low, gravelly tone indicating his unending displeasure.

“Starfleet keeps a record of all air traffic in Federation airspace,” Uhura says. She’s already working on the ship’s controls at her station. “If I can get ahold of those records, we should be able to figure out at least a direction.”

“Should also determine where they’re going, right?” Chekov asks. “My nav class spent, like, a month combing through records and transcripts of ship travel records.”

“Good,” says Jim. “Chekov, help Uhura. Sulu?”

“On steering, Captain. Scotty said to tell you he’s checking out the ship’s core.”

Despite the situation and the news he just received, Jim’s beaming in his captain’s chair. He’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Excellent. T’Pring and Stonn, if you’d please maintain communication with Starfleet.”

T’Pring raises an eyebrow.

“Let them know,” Jim says, “That we aren’t catching him for the thrill of it. Use all your wonderful, beautiful logic to make sure they understand that we didn’t have a choice, and that, without us, a genocidal fugitive would be getting away.”

“In a sense,” says T’Pring, “You want them to beg you for forgiveness.”

“That would be idea.”

“Very well. We can handle that.”

“Jim, what would you like me to do?” Spock steps anxiously forward and his captain turns that dazzling smile toward him. Spock knows his career choice isn’t at all helpful here—they won’t be studying anything—but he still wants to play his part.

“You’re my first officer,” Jim says. “Make sure I don’ mess this all up or embarrass myself.”

Spock lets out his breath. “You underestimate yourself, Captain.”

“Can never be too careful.” Jim beckons. “Come stand by me.” Spock does, and Jim smiles again, and Spock feels lighter. “Mr. Chekov? Any updates?”

“Almost, Captain. We’re narrowing it down.”

“Keep the ship small. It’s a two-person crew.”

The ship lights up around them. From deeper within the ship, Montgomery Scott hollers a celebration. The next few moments are a blur: Uhura’s shouting coordinates; Chekov’s diving toward the navigation system; Sulu’s pushing them into warp drive; the ship’s lurching forward.

They’re off.

Spock clings to the back of Jim’s chair. He hasn’t experienced warp speed in some time, and the sensation is making him dizzy.

He sways. Before he can fall, Doctor Mccoy is there, lifting him up again. Jim twists around.

“Spock?”

Spock can’t answer. He can barely think properly; in front of him, Jim’s face twists and blurs.

“Just doing a quick checkup.” Dr. Mccoy’s voice floats through the air. Spock closes his eyes.

“Is he okay?”

“He should be fine, Jim. He’ll be back to normal in no time.” Dr. Mccoy pulls gently at Spock and Spock stumbles after him. He’s never before felt so uncoordinated—so weak. “I told you you shouldn’t have come,” Mccoy growls. “And so did, may I add, your fiancee.”

“I’m sorry,” Spock whispers. His cheeks feel strangely wet, but he can’t open his eyes to check what the moisture is, and Mccoy is partially carrying him at this point.

“Aw, Spock. Don’t cry. Here, take a seat.”

Spock slumps into the chair.

“Did going into warp bring this on?”

Spock tries to nod. He feels the cold metal of the scanner pass over his skin and shivers.

“Even if you survive the next few months…Spock, this’ll be the end of your career. They’ll never let you on a starship.”

Spock tears his lips apart. When he speaks, his voice is weak and breathy enough that he isn’t entirely sure it even counts as speaking. “They won’t kick me out,” he rasps, “If they don’t know I’m sick.”

Mccoy snorts. “That’s not funny.”

The pain in Spock’s chest is so powerful he can feel himself blacking out. “Made you laugh. Not easy.”

“Incomplete sentences? You must be really bad.”

Spock doesn’t bother to answer this, or perhaps he can no longer summon the strength; at this point, he does not know the difference.

“And,” says Mccoy, “You are bad. You’re getting exponentially worse.” He puts his hand on Spock’s arm, excruciatingly gentle. “I’m going to lay you down and you’re going to rest and you’re not going to say a goddamn word. You know why?”

Spock says, “Tell me,” but he never hears the words come out.

“Because, if you push yourself, you won’t get to even say goodbye to Jim. Got that?”

Won’t get to say goodbye to Jim? Won’t get to hold him one more time, to kiss him, to smile with him?

Spock doesn’t want to die. He wants to live. If he believed in God, he would pray desperately. If he believed in the power of stars, he would wish on one—would beg it to even give him one more year with Jim.

He thinks all of this, and then he slips away.

[]

Spock is gone, but Jim is the appointed captain of this ship. That means he isn't allowed to go after him, right?

Right?

Right?

Right?

We won't be there for another five minutes," Chekov says, and Uhura says,

"Go."

Jim runs.

He runs.

Spock, across the cold table. Bones, watching from the corner.

Tears blur Jim's vision.

He can't feel his legs.

Bones catches him.

"Go back to the bridge."

"Spock," Jim says faintly. "Spock, he--"

"Go back to the bridge," Bones says.

"He wouldn't want you to worry," Bones says.

"Go get Kodos," Bones says.

He pushes Jim back out the door.

Spock, across the cold table.

Spock, across the cold table.

Chapter Text

The ship’s dark when Spock jerks awake.

There’s none of the sensation he had before—they’ve stopped, or at least slowed.

“Doctor Mccoy.” His voice comes out hoarse, like he’d spent the past few hours screaming. “Doctor.”

“Shut up for a minute.” Mccoy’s voice is either quiet or distant; in the echo of the room, Spock can’t tell what direction it’s coming from. He tries to get up, but a hand appears suddenly, holding him down. “Keep still.”

Spock’s heart is pounding against his ribs.

“We found Kodos’s ship,” Mccoy says, low and into Spock’s ear. “Jim and Uhura boarded, but the ship was empty. Jim thinks they somehow got onto ours.”

Spock tries to speak. Mccoy claps his hand over his mouth.

“Jim’s fine. He’s searching the ship with everyone else. No, you can’t help and, no, I can’t watch over him. I’m watching over you.”

Jim is out there with two people who probably want to kill him, and Spock can’t do a thing about it.

“Relax. He has all of his best friends there backing him up. Your orders—and my orders—are to stay in this room until someone relieves us.” Mccoy makes a sound that Spock could easily mistake for growling. “‘Course, not sure what I’m supposed to do if Kodos and his demon spawn come in here.”

Spock jerks his head away from Mccoy’s grip. “Let me up.”

“No.”

“Doctor, I am more than capable in aiding in our defense.”

“You couldn’t even stand up straight an hour ago.”

“We are no longer going at warp speed. I am fine.”

Mccoy seems to wrestle with this for some time. Then he says, “Fine. But if I see one symptom—”

“You’ll put me back on the table. Yes, Leonard, I understand.”

“Stop calling me Leonard. It makes me feel like we’re friends.” Mccoy steps away and Spock sits up. Though his eyes are still adjusting and Mccoy likely can’t see him at all, much less make out his finer features, Spock raises his eyebrow.

“I thought we were friends, Doctor.”

“We are. I just don’t like thinking about it.”

Spock huffs out a quiet laugh. “You are an enigma, Doctor Mccoy.”

“I’d like to remain that way.”

There’s a noise, now—quiet, but still noticeable. Spock tenses.

Another noise, louder than the last. In the dark, Spock finds Mccoy’s arm and pulls him closer and Mccoy doesn’t resist.

The door bursts open.

In the doorway: a silhouette.

Spock holds onto Mccoy; Mccoy holds onto Spock.

A voice: “Bones! Are you and Spock still in here?”

The breath in their lungs joins the air in the room at once. Spock is weak with relief.

“We’re here,” Mccoy answers, and he steps around Spock, pulling them both toward the doorway. “Is everyone okay?”

“So far,” says Uhura. “Jim wanted me to make sure nobody had gotten to you.”

“Jim’s safe?” Spock asks. “He’s okay?”

At last the lights flicker on and Uhura comes into view. She’s significantly more ruffled than usual, and there looks to be a small cut on her cupid’s bow. “But if you follow me,” she says, and turns without waiting for them to gather their bearings.

Mccoy supports Spock as they begin to move after her. “I don’t need help,” Spock whispers.

“Shut up or I’m telling Jim how bad you really are.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

They reach the bridge. Sulu’s still at the helm and Chekov is still on navigation. Jim’s standing next to the captain’s chair and, in the captain’s chair: a girl. The woman from the play. Kodos’s daughter.

Spock barely looks at her. Instead, he’s fixated on Jim—particularly, Jim’s face. His nose seems to have been broken, and the resulting bruise has infected both his eyes. He almost looks as bad as the first night they met; at least, Spock thinks, he’s still conscious.

Spock sees Jim, and only a moment later Jim sees Spock, and neither of them smile but they do hold that eye contact for a moment, savoring the connection, savoring the fact that, out of all lifetimes they could have experienced—out of every moment they could have existed—they were here, and they were together, and they were alive, and they were both fine, at least in their own personal definitions of the word.

“Where’s Kodos?” Mccoy’s voice breaks them out of the trance their connection formed. Jim and Spock turn to the doctor and blink at him together.

“Leave my father alone.” These words come out of the woman forcefully and powerfully, and she punctuates this demand with a snarl and one tear that slides from the corner of her eye—an odd combination, but ultimately understandable.

“Leave him…alone,” Jim repeats slowly.

“Don’t punish him.” The hostility is gone, replaced with desperation that bursts from her tongue and cuts like glass. “He didn’t hurt anyone. It was all me.”

Jim’s face twists. “He murdered thousands of people.”

“That was all in the past!”

“It doesn’t matter. He never paid for what he did. He’s going to pay, now, and you’re going to be right next to him.”

Jim’s never looked more beautiful than he does in this moment, standing tall and confident in his dark clothes stained with more than just his own blood and sweat, eyes turning purple and smile turning feral. He looks regal. This is, without a doubt, in Jim’s very blood.

“Now. Tell me.” He takes a seat on the arm of the chair and folds his arms together. “Where is your father?”

“My father is a good man.”

“A good man who murdered four thousand people? A good man who let his daughter murder eight more?” There’s a slight inflection in his last question, and Spock knows it’s because he’s remembering Thomas Leighton’s death. “A good man doesn’t do those things, Lenore.”

“He didn’t condone me taking care of the survivors! I told you. He had nothing to do with that.” She lowered her chin and her bottom lip trembled—the first indication of vulnerability she’d shown thus far. “He didn’t want me to be a part of anything to do with Tarsus IV.”

“He didn’t want you to be a part of it? You were there, Lenore. You were already a part of it. You were in the middle of it.”

“He made sacrifices, too! My mother—” She stops, horrified, and slips back on her mask of defiance.

“He killed your mother.” Spock’s conclusion surprises him at its arrival; when Jim looks at him, for a moment, he can only look back. “He chose the people who would most likely survive, but you wouldn’t be in that group. You were still a child.”

Lenore tries to bury her face in her arms, but her bound hands won’t allow it, and so her tear-streaked cheeks are visible for all to see. Spock moves closer to her.

“He killed your mother, Lenore. Why are you still defending him? Why are you still protecting him? Why did you kill for him?”

“Because! Because he’s my father, and I love him. Because he saved me on Tarsus IV. Because he doesn’t deserve to die.”

“He didn’t save you,” says Spock gently. “He simply chose not to kill you. That is far from the same thing.”

“And we aren’t going to kill him,” says Jim. “Unlike some people, Starfleet doesn’t order peoples’ deaths. Where is your father, Lenore?”

“I won’t tell you.”

“Where is he?”

She seems to snap into defensive mode. “Your dear friend Kevin Riley thought for sure you were going to be next, and he never told you. He asked me why I hadn’t gone after you first with his last, dying breath.”

Jim didn’t blink; didn’t falter. “Where is he?”

“And your friend Tom? Handsome Thomas Leighton, screaming and crying and begging your name, but you were too late for him. Too late for poor Tom.”

Jim leans in close. “Where. Is. He.”

Her eyes glitter. “You’ll never find him. He’s going to live a long, happy life, and he’s going to die at a nice, old age on a planet too distant for even the Federation’s thorns to reach.”

Jim studies her. Then he straightens. “Check the medical bay,” he says. “I think you’ll find him there.”

Lenore’s face flickers with surprise. Sulu just says, “What?” very slowly.

“He’ll be in the medical bay. Their ship was damaged, probably from navigating without a proper pilot, and Kodos was likely injured from it. There isn’t any extensive medical equipment on that class of ship, so that’s likely why they snuck on in the first place. Otherwise, they would have just tried to escape again. Sulu, Uhura. The medical bay, if you will?”

Sulu and Uhura bark an affirmative and run off in that direction and Lenore, increasingly angry, hisses, “You’re just a child playing at being in command. Once your so-called crew gets a taste for real power, they’ll leave you in a heartbeat.”

Chekov whips around immediately. “You’re wrong, ma’am,” he says, and there’s an icy bite to his tone, reflecting a maturity Spock hasn’t ever seen in the boy before. “We would all follow Jim to the ends of the universe. He belongs in that chair more than anyone else ever could.”

“It’s the kind of loyalty you get when you aren’t a shitbag,” Mccoy adds. “People like your dad only get followers out of fear, and fear can be overcome. What we all feel about Jim—that’ll never go away.” He huffs and throws up a hand. “Try again. That shit won’t work on any of us.”

Distantly, Uhura yells that they found Kodos, and Sulu confirms they have him properly tied up.

“We’ll get us home,” says Sulu once he’s returned to the bridge, having left the very capable Uhura in charge of Kodos and, after they move her to a more private prison, Lenore. “You go get some rest.”

Jim rubs his face. “Okay,” he says, “Yeah.” He motions for Spock to follow and Spock, unable to resist his captain, does.

In the quiet of the hallway: “So…that was a lot.”

Jim seems almost too exhausted to smile. “Understatement of the century, Spock.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, since you asked so nicely.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“I’m about to faint. I’d very much appreciate it if you caught me.”

“Jim, what—”

Jim faints. Spock catches him. That’s how it goes.

[]

Jim remembers a knight and a burst of crushing loneliness that definitely wasn't his, but he doesn't remember a face.

Isn't that how it always is?

He asks Bones, because he loves Bones, and he knows that Bones loves him back.

He asks: "So who was he?"

He asks: "What did he look like?"

He asks: "What was his name?"

"He was a vulcan cadet. Tall, black hair, prim and professional. Name was S'chn T'gai Spock."

Jim wiggles his eyebrows. He asks: "Was he cute?"

And Bones rolls his eyes and says, "Yeah, sure, I guess."

He sees Spock fully conscious for the first time outside the Dean's office. And he's so beautiful he almost takes Jim's breath away.

And he's funny.

And he's nice.

For just a moment, Jim forgets about chasing his soulmate.

For just a moment, all that exists is Spock, there in front of him, tall and neatly dressed, his mouth twitching almost into a smile.

It's just Spock.

It's only Spock.

Chapter Text

They don’t make it back to San Francisco on their own. They don’t even make it back to Earth. A few Federation vehicles interrupt their journey back home. T’Pring and Stonn serve as both their diplomats and their representatives, and when they return from an hour-long communication session, they inform the makeshift crew that Starfleet will take them back, that they’ll take Kodos and Lenore into custody, and that everyone will get the medical attention they need.

“Are they taking us into custody?” asks Spock. He’s with Jim and Doctor Mccoy in their ship’s tiny medical bay, and Jim and Spock are clinging to each other’s hands like one of them is dangling off the edge of a cliff. “Are we under arrest?”

T’Pring’s gaze slides to their hands. “Not at this point, no. They are all discussing it.”

“So we aren’t fucked yet,” says Jim. He swats Mccoy away when he tries to move the scanner over Jim’s neck. “We aren’t under arrest.”

“Not yet.” She gestures to the exit. “They do, however, want you to board now. I would advise you follow their directions at least until they come to a conclusion on your incarceration status.”

So they all go on the starship, and Spock deftly avoids the eyes of the tough security gard watching his every move. He wants to ask where everyone else is—they were separated upon entry, and though Spock can feel Jim’s steady presence through the walls, he can’t see him. He doesn’t ask. He’s walking a dangerous line, and the wrong move may result in his—or worse: Jim’s—arrest. Spock doesn’t think he can survive that.

The ship pulls into the loading dock. The door opens. There’s a man standing there—perhaps mid-thirties, but with graying temples—looking at Spock, looking exhausted.

“You’re Spock?”

Spock pushes himself up. The man has stripes indicating his rank: captain. “Yes.”

“You’re a popular fellow. Everyone was asking about you. Three in particular were very concerned about your health.”

Spock swallows. Is this the end of his career in Starfleet? “Their worry is misplaced. I’m—”

“Fine, yeah, that’s what they said you’d say.” The captain scratches the back of his neck. “Problem is, Spock, one of those people was a medical cadet I’ve heard a bit too much about, and I think I trust his opinion. Another was a vulcan who almost broke character in her worry for you, so I think I believe her, too.”

Spock opens his mouth to defend himself. Nothing comes out.

The officer’s voice turns gentle: “I’m not going to get you kicked out of Starfleet, Spock. We don’t do that.”

But he doesn’t know how bad it is. He doesn’t understand.

“I looked into a bit of everyone on your crew. Backgrounds, records. Things like that. Cadet Kirk, who was your acting captain, from what I could tell, certainly had an interesting criminal record, but you, Spock…the first human-vulcan hybrid success story.”

“If you looked into my records,” Spock says, “You would know that I’m hardly a success story.”

“Because of your health anomalies?”

“They aren’t anomalies if they’re the norm.”

There’s a flicker of humor across the captain’s features. “I imagine you don’t want a big deal made out of this, Spock, but I hope you understand that the Federation and all of its parts will do everything possible to find a solution.”

Spock almost laughs. “Captain—”

“Pike.”

“Captain Pike, my parents are both diplomats. My father has worked with the Federation for longer than you have been alive, and my mother has done experiments for your science department since she was thirteen. The Federation has been trying to help me from the moment I was born, and the only thing they’ve managed to find is an array of pity across species. I cannot imagine your passion or your promise would affect the already-ongoing pursuit in any way.”

Pike blinks. “It’s always worth a try.”

“Trying without results doesn’t promise me an extended life, Captain. With all due respect.”

“Okay, Spock. I understand. For now, I can only promise to be honest and straightforward with you. Can you do the same?”

“Very well.”

“How are you feeling now?”

“I’m at less than my prime.”

“Do you need medical assistance?”

“Likely.”

“Okay. I’ll take you to the hospital, then.” Pike steps aside, making room in the doorway and Spock, uneasily, moves past him. “You should also know that your parents have arrived.”

Spock stops so quickly Pike runs into him. “My parents? Both of them?”

“Yes. Your friend T’Pring said she’d fill them in on the situation, and then, about five minutes later, your father was storming off to the council. He’s an…interesting man.”

“That is, indeed, one word for him.” Spock stumbles and Pike grabs onto his arm.

“Careful.”

“Thank you. You know my father?”

“I know of him. I was an admirer. I think I still am but…I may be afraid of him, as well.” Pike, still holding Spock up, smiles. He has a handsome face and a handsome smile, and the gaze that Spock feels is the most fatherly he’s felt before in his life. “Do you get along with him?”

“If I am logical and obedient, yes. Sometimes.”

“Your mom?”

Spock shrugs. “We get along well. Certainly better than I get along with my father. Did you know of her, as well?”

“I was a fan. I got her signature when I was younger. Lieutenant!” Pike gestures at a passing Starfleet officer. “Get a wheelchair.”

“I don’t—”

“I’m supporting about ninety percent of your weight, Spock, and I don’t know if you know this, but vulcans aren’t exactly light.”

The officer comes back with a wheelchair and Pike pushes Spock down. “I’ll let your parents know where you’re going so they can talk to you. I’m sure all of you have…a lot to say.”

“Captain Pike, sir.”

“You don’t have to be so formal with me, Spock. Speak your mind.”

Spock traces a finger along the wheelchair’s arm. “The rest of the people that came with me. Are they under arrest?”

“No.”

“Is that a temporary answer?”

“It’s what I know now, Spock. I’ll keep you updated if anything happens.”

“Thank you. If they place the blame on someone—”

“It won’t be on you.”

“But I—”

“It won’t be on you, Spock, no matter how much you argue for it. I know what you’re thinking: if you take all the blame, you’ll die soon anyway. But there’s no way you’ll be able to convince any jury that you forced all of those people to follow you. Not in your state.”

“I might be more convincing than they realize.”

“I don’t know about that. I think you might actually be more obvious than you realize.”

“No offense, sir, but you’re an asshole.”

Pike laughs loud. “You learn that language from Cadet Kirk?”

Spock sulks. “Perhaps.”

“Yeah. I thought that might be it.”

[]

"Where is he? Is he okay?"

The captain--half Jim's new hero and half his new arch-nemesis--leans on Jim's doorway and smiles.

"He's alive and kicking. Worried about you."

"He's worried about me?"

"Said you fainted."

"He's in the hospital now?"

"Yeah." 

"The floor above us?"

A strange look. "Yeah."

Jim feels a flutter in his stomach.

"He knew you were on the floor below him. You two have a way to communicate that I don't know about?"

"Just lucky, I guess," Jim says, and he puts a hand on his abdomen. The fluttering won't stop. He can almost feel Spock's hand on his,

Can almost feel Spock's lips brushing the nape of Jim's neck,

Can almost feel Spock telling him it'll all be okay,

Then drawing away in embarrassment,

Like he noticed Pike,

Like he felt Pike watching them,

And Pike just stares.

Chapter Text

“Jim.”

Jim looks up from the magazine in which he’s engrossed and grins at Spock. The purple bruises around his eyes, in the process of healing, have begun to turn sickly yellow. “Hey, Spock!”

“I spoke with my parents.”

“Yeah? How’d it go?”

Spock moves his wheelchair closer to Jim’s bed and then starts rolling himself back and forth, filling the silence with the slight whine of the wheels. “They spoke to Starfleet for us. Because we caught a war criminal, the worst we get is a couple week’s detention.”

A gleeful sound bursts from Jim’s lips. “That’s it?”

“Yes. I was surprised as well. Apparently I underestimated my father’s diplomatic skills. Of course, I’m sure T’Pring and Stonn’s interference helped as well, and Captain Pike may have played a part.”

“Shit, Spock, I thought we’d be expelled for sure.”

“I also,” says Spock, “Inquired on something else, Jim. I remember, in my childhood, the distinct feeling that an integral part of me had been stolen from me. You know what a t’hy’la is.”

Jim, because this was not a question, does not answer.

“I felt the word when I was in your mind. Initially it confused me, but I also began to suspect something…more was going on.”

“What are you saying, Spock?”

“I’ve been to Earth, Jim. I came here years ago, when I was a child. I met my t’hy’la and, like any other vulcan, immediately felt that connection. Upon my return to Vulcan, I insisted upon visitation rights. I demanded it. My parents were willing to set up a meeting after I’d had some time to formulate my identity. By that time, however…”

“I’d gone to Tarsus,” Jim whispers.

“Yes. To protect you, they erased all traces of me from your mind, and then asked my parents to do the same of me. If I’d remembered you and reached out to you, your memories would have returned much sooner, and you would have suffered more. To prevent that—and to prevent any further pain on my part—they erased you from me.”

Jim’s entire body is trembling.

“But,” Spock says, reaching out to catch Jim’s hands, “even though they scrubbed from our minds every trace we had of each other, we still knew to look. We still knew to wait.”

“How? How did we know?”

Spock’s mouth twitches into a smile. “That’s what t’hy’la means.”

[]

He's having a bad day at school, but he isn't going to let that fact crush his enthusiasm. 

He loves the rain.

Ignoring his teacher's protests, he bounces out of the classroom without putting on his rain coat, calling over his shoulder that he has his boots, and he'll be fine.

"You'll get a cold," his teacher bellows, and Jim just keeps running, stopping only when he's found a spot far enough away from everyone else that he won't be yelled at. He stands there. Lets the rain wash over him. Lets it cool the fire that burns within his chest.

He hears a sneeze behind him. Then: "You're going to get sick!"

And he meets Spock.

Chapter Text

A single day after everyone finds out their biggest punishment is going to be detention—one single day after Spock realizes that Jim is the one he’s been searching for his entire life, and that, likewise, he is the one thing that clung to Jim’s memories after everything else was stolen—Spock tells Jim about how his medical situation has been going, and Jim loses it.

Another day passes. Jim doesn’t visit Spock’s room. Spock is afraid to visit Jim’s room.

On the second day, Jim slips into Spock’s room. Spock wakes up with Jim stretching out across the mattress next to him. Jim puts his arms around Spock’s waist. He whispers, “I’m not mad at you. I’m just…I’m fucking scared, Spock. And I’m mad at myself. And I don’t want to lose you when I… When I…”

Spock turns around and hugs Jim to his chest. It feels like they had been that night on Doctor Mccoy’s couch, when everything was just starting and it was all still so beautifully simple. Spock’s symptoms were still controllable; Jim still hadn’t had to witness his friend’s death. “I’m so sorry, Jim.”

“There’s nothing we can do?”

“No. Not yet.” He adds this last part because it’s hopeful, but not because he believes in the hope. He believes in Jim, and Jim needs something to hold onto.

“I was holding back for so long because I thought I still hadn’t found my soulmate but you were here the entire time and I…”

“Oh, Jim.” Spock kisses him softly, and he can taste the salt of Jim’s tears, even if he can’t necessarily see them. “Just because we weren’t romantically together didn’t mean we weren’t together. Every moment I was with you, I felt more alive.”

“But not alive enough.” Jim shakes with sobs. “You weren’t alive enough.”

“It was enough for me.” This is a lie, and Spock chokes on it, and he covers the cry that blooms in his chest with another kiss, because words aren’t enough right now, and he needs to make the most of their time. “Jim, you were more than enough for me.”

“I don’t want to lose you, please.” Jim’s fists knot themselves into Spock’s hospital gown and they just cling to each other for the rest of the night, silently pleading with powers neither of them really believe in. They love each other and will always love each other, but even love born of stars and destinies isn’t enough to convince fate of another path.

Chapter Text

This can’t be all they get.
This can’t be all they get.

Chapter Text

A week after Starfleet gives them their detentions, the hospital informs Spock that, while everyone else has long since been released, they don’t feel comfortable letting him go, too. Spock doesn’t argue.

He can’t even get up from bed on his own.

He knows his body is falling apart, but it’s noticeable all the time now. Before, it came in powerful bursts that sent him reeling.

Now it’s hitting him, over and over, relentless. Not cruel, but indifferent—indifferent to Spock’s gasps of pain, his desperate weeping, his silent praying. Jim visits him every day with a painted smile—no, not visits: he only stops back at his place because everyone else forces him to; otherwise he stays at Spock’s side, trying to cheer him up with light jokes and lighter kisses (careful, sir, he might bruise—) and, when he thinks Spock won’t hear him, he curls up in the Spock’s wheelchair and cries until he can no longer catch his breath.

Some days, Jim helps Spock into his wheelchair, and they go outside together, and Jim talks about his homework and other things that Spock increasingly can’t understand the more he fades in and out of consciousness. On one of these days, he sees the rest of Jim’s crew, and he tries to smile but can’t.

Jim says something about how they can’t visit him—that only family can visit him, and that Sarek only allowed Jim to visit Spock because they’re t’hy’la.

Chekov collapses next to Spock’s chair and sobs without pause.

Scott is uncharacteristically stoic, and sheds a tear when he faces Spock, and Spock manages to whisper that it’s okay, that everything’s okay, and Scott presses both hands to his face.

Uhura tries to hold back her tears and she wraps herself in Chapel, who holds her when she fails.

Sulu goes to Spock slowly. He says something about Spock always being a part of the crew, and that they’ll always see him on the bridge with them, and Jim’s trying to smile this entire time, but he falters at this one and hugs Sulu for a long few minutes.

And then that’s it, and everyone’s trying to get rid of their tears so they won’t make Spock sad, and Spock has to force a word out:

“Bones.”

Jim looks at him. He grins one of those beautiful Jim grins. “You called him Bones.”

Spock can’t continue. There’s nothing left.

Jim says, “He, ah… He said he didn’t know if he’d be able to handle it.”

“I’m here.” Behind them, Mccoy’s voice is even rougher than usual. He comes around to Spock’s front and kneels in front of Spock’s chair. His cheeks are dry, but his eyes are red. He says, “Spock, I really wanted to hate you. You were just…everything that I wasn’t. You were perfect and put together and so logical all the time and I—” His voice breaks. He clears his throat a few times. “But I couldn’t. I never could. And I could never stay mad at you. And this piece of shit world gave you a piece of shit serving, and I’m never going to forgive it for that, but I wanted you to know that you’re my best friend, and I do mean on the same level as Jim, and I won’t ever forget you or all the things you’ve done for me. I…can’t even pretend to be mad at you right now. I can’t.”

He asks Jim if it’s okay to hug Spock. Jim says, “Gently.”

Mccoy hugs him. Gently. He tells Spock that he loves him, and also that he’s an asshole. Spock, in his head, tells him that he loves him too—that he loves all of them—but nothing comes out.

There’s only silence.

And Spock has to go back to his room.

Chapter Text

All wrong.

It's all wrong.

He was supposed to be his second officer.

He was supposed to be by his side.

They didn't even get to fucking start.

Chapter Text

His family visits him, too. First his parents, who come almost as often as Jim but also spend time still searching for solutions. Amanda stays cheerful and Sarek tells Spock, for the first time in Spock’s life, that he’s proud of him.

For what, Spock wants to ask. For what?

“For being my son,” Sarek says. “That’s all you ever needed to be.”

Amanda slides a kiss onto Spock’s fragile hands and sings him to sleep. Outside Spock’s room, he’s also seen her comfort Jim a few times—Amanda seeing a son in Jim, Jim seeing a mother.

Then Sybok, who tells Spock to “Keep strong, little brother,” and then collapses into hysterics immediately afterward.

Then Michael, who tries to keep Spock’s mind occupied with stories of her adventures, and Spock imagines a world where he and Jim could have lived amongst the stars together.

In the last days—the worst days—Spock thinks he meets Jim’s brother, and maybe Jim’s parents. He isn’t conscious enough for any of these visits.

He just wants to rest.

Part of him just wants it to end.

Chapter Text

What if we meld? Can he talk to me then?

It might be dangerous. Over-melding can—

We’ve melded before lots of times and there weren’t any side effects, I don’t think.

…Pardon me?

He melded with me to help with my nightmares. I looked up the symptoms, and we didn’t have any. Maybe because we’re t’hy’la—

Wait here.

What?

Wait here.

Chapter Text

Someone teaches Jim how to meld. Spock can feel Jim knocking on his mind’s doors. He opens them.

Jim is beautiful. Spock can’t quite clearly see him now, but in his mind, his ailments aren’t affecting him. His sight is clear. Jim is so, so beautiful.

“Hey.” Jim gives Spock a kiss and Spock kisses him back with all the forcefulness he can muster. “How are you doing up here in your headspace?”

Spock looks around. He’s in a library, like he imagined his headspace would be, but it’s falling apart: the books are off the shelves and are rotting on the ground, and the shelves have collapsed, and rot is creeping up the walls. “I can walk,” he says. “I can see.”

Jim gives him a sad smile.

“Not pretending to be happy anymore?” Spock asks.

“I can’t. I ran out of juice. I’m sorry.”

Spock kisses him again. “It’s okay. This is more than anyone can bear. You don’t have to stay.”

“No. I do.”

“I don’t want you to stay. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Jim shakes his head. “I already have seen you like this, and it’s not changing my mind. T’hy’la, remember? We’re supposed to be together.”

“Right.” Spock touches their fingers together. “You know, this is a kiss.”

Jim laughs. “Yeah. Your mom told me.”

“You two get along?”

“She said she wants me to live with her before I go on deployment, so I think that might be a yes.”

“What about Sarek?”

“He’s a tough old bastard, but I think I have him figured out.”

Spock pulls Jim closer. “I love you.”

“I love you, Spock. More than even I can understand. I wish we could stay in here forever.”

Another bookshelf rots, falls. Spock turns to look at it.

“And to imagine we thought my blank books were bad,” says Jim. He laughs again, probably trying to lighten the mood even as his eyes are filling with tears. Spock doesn’t say anything. He just holds onto Jim—holds him tight—because, out of all the things he can no longer do, it’s holding Jim that he’s missed the most.

Chapter Text

News?

We have something. It might work.

He's running out of time. He won't even wake up, now. 

I know. This has to work. This has to work.

Chapter Text

Jim’s banging on Spock’s doors this time. Spock opens them with a twinge of alarm.

“We found it! We found a solution!”

“You—what? That’s—” It’s impossible, is what it is, but Spock doesn’t want to break the spell, and, for the first time in a long time, he feels something almost like hope.

“I know what you’re thinking, but this is a—god, what did your dad say?—a ritual no one’s tried in a really, really long time. It’s only for t’hy’la. They didn’t even consider it an option for you because no one ever considers it. It’s pretty much a forgotten art.”

“Okay,” says Spock, slow. “What does it do?”

“It ties our life forces together. As long as I’m alive, you’ll be alive, too. That means you won’t have the lifespan of a vulcan, but—”

Laughter explodes from Spock’s chest. He picks Jim up and spins him around—joy, he thinks: he’s feeling joy. “That’s enough! That’s more than enough!”

Jim laughs with him, just as gleeful. “I know! We’re on our way now, and they’re going to help us, and we’re going to live a stupidly long life and it’s going to be fucking amazing, okay? You can be just as sassy as you want and just as stubborn with Bones as you want and just as much of a smartass as you want and you can tell me about everything you love every second of the day and I’ll listen to every syllable—I’ll drink it up. You’re going to live, Spock! You’re going to live!”

Chapter Text

Silence, first.

Spock’s body is emaciated and frail. He’s drowning in his hospital gown. His cheeks are sunken in. Jim’s next to him, holding his hand.

Feel the connection.

He feels the connection.

Take the threads of your minds. Pull them together.

Jim’s, golden; Spock’s, shining blue. Jim ties them together. He knots them a few times, just to be sure.

Open your mind’s doors.

They open. Spock opens his at Jim’s knock, unaware of his surroundings, unable to hear, just barely still alive.

Your mind’s doors are one and the same. You are one and the same. Two sides of one coin. The stardust of one star. You are t’hy’la.

Now.

Open your eyes.

Jim opens his eyes. He sits up.

Spock sits up, too.