Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” says the little James T. Kirk as he leans against the hot arm to his right.

It’s midsummer,  midday to make it worse, and the two blazing suns burn everyone below as it. Jim pants, tries to hide it, but the heavy blush and sweat give him away. And Jim smiles, that he can help as much as he can help not wanting to ever move away.

“That is, indeed, the stardate indicated,” echos a little older S'chn T'gai Spock by his side.

Jim pretends to frown and overeagerly knits his eyebrows together. “Aren’t you going to miss me?” He places his palm on the grass and shifts his pose, this way he sees Spock’s face when he looks up.

“Illogical.”

Jim huffs and narrows his eyes. Not an emotion, nothing passes Spock’s eyes, and by now Jim knows better than to judge by his face as a whole. He knows that Spock laughs when he does, or smiles, or–

But now nothing!

“Will you?” insists Jim.

“No.”

On that Jim almost chokes and opens his mouth, and yet Spock continues quicker.

“Missing you would be illogical,” he says. “It would suggest I doubt we are meeting again soon. I do not.”

Oh. And Jim settles back onto the grass, all words gone, slipped from the tip of his tongue and never voiced.

“You are my t'hy'la,” Spock goes on in the same calm tone, “we are meant to be together.”

Jim grins. “Soulmates, huh?” He moves his hand and covers the back of Spock’s palm.

Spock trembles at the contact and relaxes into the touch. “If you want to call it so.”

And Jim grins even wider and slowly pushes his every finger in between Spock’s. He knows, right, Spock’s explained it many times that the standard soulmates doesn’t come near the depth of the Vulcan term. Yet, it’s the closest translation there is, and Jim likes enough to stick with it. In fact, he likes it a lot. Their tips press right in the middle of Spock’s palm, and grass tickles Jim’s.

“Well, I’m gonna miss you,” says Jim and grips tighter. “Because you won’t be there, and because I want you to be there with me. It’s logical.”

Spock doesn’t comment. Jim knows that he wants to.

The blazing sun, the familiar, warm touch in his mind and the hot touch against his body, and Jim starts to doze off. He keeps shaking himself awake, this is their last day together, after all, he doesn’t want to waste any minutes of it napping… Spock stays silent, and Jim settles with watching the bright butterflies.

“You are fully human, are you not?”

Jim blinks, he has no idea where it goes, so he just nods.

“You know that my mother is human too,” explains Spock. “She is partial of things. When we travel, she brings father small gifts so that they would remind him of her when she is away.” Spock turns to Jim, and his eyes are more serious than before. ”Would you… perhaps, like something of mine to remind you–”

“Yeah!” Jim cries out before Spock can finish. He grins, wraps his free arm around Spock’s shoulders and tackles his to the grass.

Spock flushes to the tips of his pointed ears, and Jim laughs. He likes that light-green blush almost as much as he likes Spock. Though he likes Spock better than anything else anyway.

“Yes,” Jim repeats and plumps himself on top, then rolls of Spock and just lies idly by his side and holds his hand.

Spock, on the other hand, becomes restless. Jim can’t see much, only that he searches through his Vulcan robes, do they have inside pockets?, then sits up and reaches for his bag. Looks through the things inside, checks the pockets and fumbles, Jim doesn’t let go of his hand still, with the zippers.

Jim sits up as well. “I have a chain.” He pulls on the said chain around his neck and yanks it out from under his T-shirt. “Found it. And it’s empty, I thought I could find something cool to go with it.”

Spock stops and eyes the chain, and Jim feels him thinking through the bond they share.

Finally, Spock nods. Jim knows he’s realised something, and Spock slips his hand out of Jim’s to work on something at his belt. Guess he needs both to unfasten a… small thing? Garment? Decoration? Jim has no idea what the small thing is but it kinda reminds him of a beaded keychain. But way better because Spock takes his hand, places the thing on his palm and closes Jim’s fingers around it.

Jim beams and even Spock smiles if only with the corners of his lips. Jim feels him smile, the warm, fuzzy feeling overwhelms the bond and Jim’s mind.

“Never be parted,” they whisper at the same time. Jim repeats after Spock, and Spock, well, Jim guesses he translates it into standard because he hears faint Vulcan echoes of what the words could be.

**** ****

The first thing Spock feels is the sharpest pain he had ever experienced. He jerks awake and sits up in his bed, gasps for breath and hugs himself–

Illogical, he thinks and forces himself to look around. His room. The light curtains, the wardrobe, the bed, everything stays still and silent in the night’s darkness.

Yet the pulsating pain lashes again.

“Argh!” Spock bends in half and clutches his side, his heart– Jim. “Jim…” he breathes out and it scares him to his very soul. Something’s happened to Jim in that summer camp on Tarsus IV.

Spock suppresses the pain on his own body and holds his fingers to his meld points. He closes his eyes and listens, concentrates, his hands shake, but he has to– he has to! For Jim.

And that is when he feels it again, the warm, soothing presence of his t’hy’la fills his mind up over the bond. Spock breathes deeper.

The bond is still there.

Weakened by the distance, quite weak because Spock was the one to bond them together, and yet still there. They were only seven. Seven when Spock announced to his father he would not require for his parents to find him a bond mate, and seven when Spock brought Jim to his household the same week. His father did not take it well at first, the other members of the Vulcan embassy doubted Spock could form a link by himself in the first place and with a psi-null human for the second. However, there was no arguing he and Jim were t’hy’la, the first healer to examine them saw the warm, golden light tying them together.

Spock knew it. Spock was confident in his choice. Spock felt it the moment the odd, ruffled boy with dirty blond hair, a missing front tooth and a scratched knee tumbled over the fence into the Vulcan Embassy’s grounds. Even though the security was alerted too soon for Spock to speak with the boy that day, Spock knew he would be back. And Jim was.

Spock breathes calmer and sends all he has to Jim. The bond is still there, logically, he has nothing to feel as his father would not do anything to a t’hy’la bond. They are sacred. Spock knows it well, and yet the first thought that stroke him was that something were to snap their bond.

“Jim…” mouths Spock into the dark silence of his room. “Jim.”

He feels the pain and sees red, sharp voices and flashes he cannot identify. The pain comes from Jim, and Spock forces himself not to think.

“I am here,” he says as calm as he can manage. “I am forever with you.”

Their bond hums back, and Spock knows that Jim is still alive.

****

Spock feels the pain every day for two weeks. Sometimes it strikes for a moment and lets go at random, sometimes it creeps into his body and stays lurking up his spine for hours.

What frightens Spock the most, is that the pain comes from Jim. His Jim, someone was hurting his Jim.

They try calling, his mother notices something was wrong with Spock the first. Days later, the whole Vulcan Embassy attempts to establish contact with Tarsus IV. They request a communication channel on the highest level, and no reply comes from Kodos himself as well. In this bubble when he cannot tell anything for sure anymore, Spock feels like he loses his mind.

He doesn’t. He needs to be there for Jim, for his Jim.

Then the first news arrives and makes the headlines of every tabloid across the Federation. Millions killed. Slaughtered. Spock runs and hides in his room, squishes into the corner and hugs his knees to his chest. He digs his fingers into his meld points till it must hurt but does, or he doesn’t feel it, or–

And there it is. Spock gasps at the warm, golden presence streaming into his mind and realises he was forgetting to breathe.

The bond is still there. Jim is alive.

****

His choices from then on, Spock regards as logical. Even with this father’s influence, they fail to locate Jim. The survivors are transported off Tarsus VI in chaos, and Spock finds some resolve left to agree with the soundness of that decision. From what he sees on the news every day, images one more horrid than the ones yesterday… They need medical help first.

Yet they fail to locate Jim after the commotion settles as well. Two boys roughly meeting the given description are indicated on Earth, in Beijing and Dallas, and when Spock and his father reach the States the second boy is reported missing. Escaped through the window by tying up a few bed sheets. Any further search proves to be fruitless. Spock tries reaching through the bond a countless number of times, yet he never sees or hears Jim. Only the warm presence of the other’s mind, it proves Jim is still there, and Spock learns to sleep without medical assistance once again.

The bond, their link is still there, and Spock knows Jim is alive. For him, it is enough for the time being. Spock also knows they are t’hy’la and that they are meant to meet no matter what. Thus, he considers entering the Vulcan Science Academy, clearly, his father would want him to… Spock remembers Jim mentioned he wanted to be with the Starfleet, enrolling at the Starfleet academy presents itself as a logical choice as well.

Chance, Jim, or rather Spock decides it. Many fellow students tried to make him feel inferior because of his human half. The board repeats their mistake, and Spock could never be more content when he turns them down and walks away. He feels the golden light of the bond flow in his mind. Human or Vulcan, Jim believed it and made him feel special. Not better, that Spock would have argued because of how illogical such a statement would be. Simply different, and Jim claimed that is what the human definition of special was all about.

Spock chose to believe Jim. He might want to believe in anything that connects him to Jim.

Spock enters the Starfleet Academy. He waits for Jim, he knows Jim will be there one day, and comes to see the new cadets welcoming ceremony every year. One year. Two. Three. Jim does not appear, and Spock finds himself accepting the position on the faculty simply to stay at the Academy. He takes away missions, sure, yet refuses every mission if it starts with the new semester and leaves only when he is sure Jim is not among the new cadets.

Their link, with years and distance weaker than before, still fills his mind. The familiar, soothing presence of the other is still there, and Spock knows they are bound to meet, they are bound to be together.

And Spock waits.

*** ***

Occasionally, Jim makes some sensible decisions, as McCoy soon finds out. He meets the reckless, carefree cadet in the transporter when McCoy himself is freaking out and doubting his sound mind over joining the Starfleet. Jim distracts him with, well, as it will turn out soon too, with being himself, and when they land and reach the dorms, McCoy is content to discover they were assigned to the same room. Which also makes him question the soundness of his mind some time later, but that is another story.

Jim T. Kirk is a… Something. McCoy can’t think of the word to fit Jim better and settles with what he has. Rash. Stupid. Spontaneous. Airy. Animated. When Jim does make a sound decision, Jim jokes that the voice at the back of his head told him so. McCoy thinks that he should’ve checked Jim’s mental health before moving into the dorms, yet it’s probably too late to change roommates by that time.

In the end, McCoy decides it’s better when Jim listens to the voice at the back of his head and never pushes the topic. If the voice is real, sometimes McCoy even pities him.

McCoy isn’t surprised when Jim, and damn it himself, get lost in the crowd after their welcoming ceremony, push through several times in different directions and end up in the square alone.

Mostly alone.

“I’ll just ask that guy,” grins Jim and strides off towards the black figure approaching them.

Black regulation uniform, McCoy realises he must be faculty so maybe the stiff-standing man can help them after all. McCoy can’t see his face from where his stands, only hears Jim’s loud voice and guesses that the professor might be answering. Or he’s silent as yet, assaulted by Jim’s invasion of his personal space and loud rambling.

Jim glances over his shoulder, winks and shows McCoy thumbs up, then turns back–

“Sorry, but have we met before?”

McCoy thinks the sane voice from the back of Jim’s head chooses very bad timing to take a vacation. Because on a closer look, the professor is definitely Vulcan. He was standing quite stiff, his hands clasped behind his back, and uncomfortable over Jim standing too close to him before, and now. Dammit, Jim, the said professor abruptly turns around on his heels and runs, Vulcans don’t run though, then marches off.

Apparently, leaving them with no directions whatsoever.

*** ***

“Sorry, but have we met before?” Over and over again. Spock feels like he hears the words repeat themselves in slow-motion inside his mind. Though he knows, that only a second has passed since the words have left Jim’s lips. His Jim’s.

No longer his Jim.

That does it for Spock. The link weakened with every year, them apart from each other, the unfinished bond… The warm, familiar presence of the second mind brushing against his own. So close, he only has to reach out his hand. And so distant. Jim smiles and so easily flirts with Spock as well as another man behind him… Jim doesn’t recognise him. Jim does not even feel anything!

And the link snaps.

*** ***

Jim claims it’s a stomach bug, but McCoy knows better. Jim complains his head hurts and runs for the dorms, then spends the rest of the day in the bathroom. That day as he pats the back of his unfortunate roommate and occasionally brings him water and reminds to drink it, McCoy realises that something is seriously wrong with that kid.

Chapter Text

*** ***

“Whatcha think you’re doing!?” exclaims McCoy and runs across the room. He doesn’t have the time, he slaps his damn roommate’s hand, and Jim drops the three pills.

They clatter to the floor and scatter around, one rolls under the bed, and two knock into the nightstand.

Jim growls and glares back, he leans down to pick the pills up, and yet McCoy grips his shoulders and forces Jim to stay sitting on the bed. They watch each other: Jim, angry but too tired to do anything about it, McCoy concerned and fuming.

“I need those!” Jim snaps.

McCoy glances him over, Jim’s been looking worse to wear the past three months, yet he assumed that’s what the accelerated command track does to people. Jim hasn’t been complaining over the lack of sleep, Jim’s been eating relatively fine… Perhaps, he shouldn’t have just believed Jim’s word on that. McCoy grips one shoulder tighter and fishes out his tricorder from his pocket.

“Bones–“

“Don’t Bones me.”

Dark circles under his eyes. Pale. The vitals tot up to a norm if hardly passing the baseline.

Jim jerks, a weak attempt to shake McCoy’s hand off his shoulder.

“You reading are–“ McCoy doesn’t get to finish.

Jim shoves him away and dives for the two pills by the nightstand. Grabs them and tosses into his mouth, McCoy pounces on him and slaps his back, they topple to the floor, roll around and struggle, Jim chokes and spits out the pills, McCoy pins both his hands…

McCoy stops. He wasn’t able to do that before, they had physical training since the start of the academic year, and Jim would usually win over his sparring opponent.

“Why?” he grits out and glares at Jim.

His roommate and friend looks away and shrugs. “I have problems, alright?” he wheezes and closes his eyes. Jim lets his head fall back and relaxes his whole body. “Mental issues, have trouble sleeping occasionally,” Jim says as a matter of fact and tries to pass it off as something completely unimportant.

“Three–“ hisses McCoy and doesn’t move from pinning Jim to the floor.

“Yes!” Jim snaps. “Three pills, or I’m not sleeping tonight. At. All.”

*** ***

Jim doesn’t get what the fuss is about. Bones glares at him, and says something Jim doesn’t listen to anymore, and definitely lectures him about the sleeping pills, and…

Jim shoves him off when Bones loses focus on holding Jim down and takes to chiding instead. And Jim gets up and crawls back onto the bed, slumps back onto the covers and covers his eyes. His throat now hurts, but he couldn’t care more. Blood. Jim moves his hand to his chest and places his palm over the weird pendant under his shirt.

The warm… is just not there. He has no idea what’s happened to it, or where is was coming from in the first place. All Jim knows, is that whatever happened to him before eight was horrible and that he’s been having nightmares of people screaming for the past three months.

It’s been three months since he’s enrolled into the Starfleet academy. And exactly three months since he’s felt the warm touch to the back of his head. It kept him sane. Whatever it was, it was his constant, and now it’s just… well, just gone.

“… geez, Jim, I’m a doctor,” Jim hears Bones mutter and opens his eyes. Bones's looming over him. “And your friend, you tell me stuff like that.”

Jim’s too tired to deal with it. He feels sick and shuts his eyes till he sees colours.

Bones goes on to rampage through his nightstand, Jim doesn’t care. Of course, he finds more pill bottles, and, of course, he finds the fake prescription–

Jim clutches the weird pendant through his shirt, and the comfort it would always give before – is now gone.

“…” Whatever Bones decides, Jim hears him walk away.

Then the footsteps return, and–

“Hey!” Jim jerks up and rubs his neck, her hates injects ever since that forsaken hospital, they thought he was crazy, a cracked, shattered mind– Jim shakes his head violently and shoves the thoughts away. That’s what he’s always done. He doesn’t want to remember.

“I hate injections,” Jim says instead and grips the hurting muscle.

“Doctors orders,” cuts off Bones and pushes him to lie back. “This stuff is better than the overdose you’re doing.” Bones almost leaves but stops and, much quieter adds, “Just this time.” And then taps the wall pad and dims the lights in their room.

Jim smiles weakly, settles properly on the bed and kicks the covers to the floor. He turns his head left so that he can watch the door before sleep claims him. Jims listens to Bones muttering and stirring his drink, the spoon tinkles against the cup. And when he’s sure Bones’s gone, Jim pulls out the weird pendant from under his shirt and holds onto it. Beads and carved metal, perhaps some rock, and the intricate pattern runs up to the larger loop.

Sometimes, it reminds him of a keychain. Sometimes it doesn’t, Jim never cared much before because of the comfort the weird stuff gave him. Only now the warm feeling is gone. Sleep gobbles him up, and Tarsus IV crashes on Jim once more.

*** ***

What Jim doesn’t know, however, is that McCoy makes the noise on purpose. He watches the clock and counts till the medicine takes effect, then downs his coffee and creeps back into the room. McCoy knows the dose was enough for Jim not to wake up in the next 8 hours.

He walks closer and leans over Jim, his eyes catch the odd metal object clutched in Jim’s hand. McCoy leans even closer and squint to make out the carved pattern in the dim light. He doesn’t pick much, Jim’s fingers cover most of the object, so McCoy takes out his PADD and, with the flash on, snaps a picture. 

*** ***

That day Jim cheats the Kobayashi Maru. And days after, at the academic hearing and only for a moment, Jim feels the familiar warmth wash over him. He locks eyes with the infuriating Vulcan professor, not even a professor in one of Jim’s classes, just some arrogant guy with a stick up his ass who– who looks him down in return.

Disdain. Disgust.

Who said Vulcans don’t have emotions anyway? Jim doubts that dude ever met a Vulcan before because Jim reads them too clearly from the eyes of that particular one, and smirks back.

Suspended for two weeks, reads the decision, and Jim shrugs and waves at Bones who pushes towards him through the leaving crowd. If Jim is watching the rigid back in tight black regulation uniform make way up to the doors, then he’s never admitting that. Ever.

Bones catches him looking anyway.

“What have I ever done to him?” blurts out Jim and leans closer to his friend so that no one would eavesdrop.

Other cadets, and even more so the faculty, take no interest in them.

Bones sighs and pats him on the back. They turn to leave as well. “Remember the welcoming ceremony?” he asks and nods at the black figure for some reason lingering in the doorway. “Maybe you did know him, Vulcans remember everything.”

Jim notices the said Vulcan talking to a cadet, over the crowd he only sees the red female uniform with short sleeves and a dark top of the head. Oh, wait, Uhura. Never mind.

“He’s pissed off I didn’t recognise him?” Jim huffs a laugh and nudges Bones to walk faster. Past the Vulcan and whatever Uhura has to do with him. “Are Vulcans even supposed to get pissed off?”

Bones shrugs and glances over his shoulder. Pretty fishy, Jim himself doesn’t care if the Vulcan hears them or not, but Bones seems to mind it.

“That one,” Bones leans closer and whispers, “is half-human.”

*** ***

“That one is half-human.”

Same as on Vulcan. Half-human, a half less, a half inferior, the things that Jim led him to believe were not true about him.

Spock is mildly irritated and contemplates the intelligence of the human race as a whole and one particular individual named Dr Leonard McCoy. Cadet Kirk’s as well for choosing the specified person in question as his, what? Partner, friend? Spock has no inclination to dwell on the topic and, thus, has even less reason to grip his hands tighter behind his back or feel his shoulders tense more.

“Commander Spock?” Lieutenant Uhura calls his name.

Spock understands that he has to answer but only watches the two leave till he can see the blonde back of cadet Kirk’s head no more.

Spock is in control. Yet, what does Dr Leonard McCoy know about him? Nothing. Spock sighs inside, on the outside his face and body betray no change of mind, and perhaps blinks a little longer than should usually take.

Spock is most definitely in control.

“I have to return to the experiment,” he says, “if you would excuse me, Lieutenant, it requires my immediate attention.”

Spock knows Nyota will not try to stop him and strides off in the direction of the science buildings and the lab.

Their bond is broken, Spock reminds himself over and over again, and it is how it shall be. Weakened and hardly there, the shock on his part was all it took to snap the link he and his Jim had, and his Jim didn’t fight back. He didn’t hold onto the link.

Cadet Kirk is not his Jim, and it is the simplest and most compelling explanation Spock could think of. Spock tries to purge every memory he kept holding onto so that he would never again react when he sees cadet Kirk. Avoiding the said cadet altogether does not present a sustainable option, Jim didn’t change much speaking of his general character attributes… Still reckless and yet clever, because how can a seven-year-old break into the Vulcan Embassy and leave without getting caught? Spock lingers but one step behind and contemplates the fashion of cadet Kirk beating the Kobayashi Maru, cheating, indeed, but he cannot help the faintest fascination at the boldness of the attempt and the craftsmanship of the offender.

Spock reaches out to enter his clearance code for the lab.

“Commander Spock?”

Spock stops and turns around, his hands still locked tightly behind his back. He is not surprised but he was not expecting Lieutenant Uhura to follow him.

“Pardon me, sir,” she says and looks up at him, “you seem… distressed.”

“I shall neither admit nor deny it,” echos Spock and turns back to the clearance pad. He enters the code and hears Nyota step closer.

“I happen to be of an opinion that I’m the only person in your acquaintance that you might call a friend.”

Spock fills it the last digit, and the doors slide open with a loud ping.

“Affirmative.” He walks inside and puts on his lab coat. “You are the only person at the Academy who I would call my friend.”

Nyota puts on a coat as well and walks over to his side as Spock checks on the experiment.

“Then, as your friend, I’m concerned about you, Spock.”

Perhaps, he might admit to her the last piece of his tale as well. He has told Nyota of why exactly he searches among the new cadets every year, yet never mentioned the name of the second party involved.

“Remember… who I told you about?” Spock does not dare voice it. T’hy’la, it… it hurts too much to… “It was cadet Kirk,” he says instead.

“What? Kirk’s a jerk!” Nyota snaps, then catches herself and, “I didn’t mean–“

“It is alright.” Spock puts the beaker down and chooses to ignore why his hand is shaking, merely acknowledges that it does and decides working in the said condition puts safety procedures at hazard. “It is your opinion on the person,” he says calmly, “which you are entitled to have based on your own experience of communication with the person in question.”

Spock doesn’t say anything else.

Regardless, their bond has been broken for three months.

*** ***

They pass each other in the corridors once, and Jim stops and watches the stern back until the Vulcan turns around the corner. The said Vulcan acknowledged his presence with a nod as he passed. Jim doesn’t know him.

Right?

But Jim does breathe deeper, and perhaps, for a fleeting moment feels better than the past four months. He pushes his hand under his unbuttoned red cadet coat, reaches for the pendant and holds it through the shirt. The warm melts away, and the soothing, familiar feeling of the pendant is still gone.

*** ***

McCoy still thinks it was the damn best idea he’s ever had. Jim wholeheartedly disagrees and tries to decide which is the most painful way to kill him. Christine Chapel catches the burning glare and moves her chair to sit a little more away from Jim, after all, Jim’s thoughts are always written on his face. The rest of the cadets walk past theirs and to the free tables with their food trays and don’t seem to notice them at all.

“You’ve told her,” grits out Jim and nods at Christine.

McCoy also wants to be somewhere else.

“Yes–“ he starts.

“You’ve told her about me,” hisses Jim, jumps to his feet and slams his hand onto the table, and leans across to McCoy, “now, the reason I don’t go around shouting about it, is that the last thing I want is people thinking I’m crazy!”

McCoy definitely considers running for the hills.

“Actually, it is about your pendant, Jim,” Christine says gently and pats Jim’s tense arm to calm him down. “My thesis is in psychiatry,” at this Jim groans, but Christine goes on, “and I’ve been exploring cases–“

“I’m not your thesis guinea pig!” snaps Jim and pushes her hand away.

Great job proving you’re fine, Jim. McCoy rarely sees him that angry, but at least in the canteen buzzing only the nearest tables turn to glance their way.

“It’s not– Oh, here she is.” Christine notices someone over Jim’s shoulder and waves them over. “Nyota!”

McCoy takes it as his cue, grabs Jim’s wrist and yanks him to sit down. He has to make it quick. “Jim, Christine believes rediscovering the connection you have to the pendant will help your emotional state. So we want to find out what it is or how you came by it.”

“My pendant? How do you know about my–“

As McCoy realises in a second, he breathes out too soon. Jim never falls silent for no reason, and the reason this time looks not much happier to see him than Jim her.

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura.

“Her?” Jim glares at McCoy but quickly turns around and pulls out a chair, as Christine gestures to the spot between her and Jim. “Um, hey, Uhura–“

Uhura briefly smiles at Christine and looks down both McCoy and Jim. She doesn’t sit down and holds her tray rather than put it on the table.

Christine shifts in her seat uneasily. “Now, the pattern is clearly not human, thus, it would be native to some other species,” she explains.

Uhura sighs and takes the other seat near Christine.

“… in that case, my friend Nyota here is doing the communication’s track and also is familiar with many alien cultures. We should first identify what planet or community is comes from…”

Well, so far Jim’s listening, and McCoy lets himself relax a bit.

Dammit, Jim.

Jim kicks his legs under the table and whispers, “What’s that about?”

“Your thing.” McCoy winces because he already sees what Jim might do. “The pendant?”

“Wha– It’s personal! I can’t believe you–“

“Jim, Christine thinks–“

“Like I fucking care what she thinks!”

Jim jumps to his feet, glares at Christine and Uhura, the later looks at the PADD as Christine passes it to her, then glares at McCoy himself and notices the nearest table curiously watching them all… Jim swears under his breath, slams his chair into the table, their drinks shake but don’t spill, and Jim grabs his bag, and turns–

“You…” Now, Uhura looks like she’s seen a ghost, and it could be her rasping voice that stops Jim in the first place. “Do you wear it every day, Kirk?” Her eyes are wide open, and eyebrows creep so far up they might leave her face.

*** ***

Jim’s had enough of this. Sharply, he turns around and strides off.

“Every,” he hears McCoy say and betray his trust once more. “He can’t sleep unless he holds it.”

Jim pretends not to hear, he doesn’t want to hear but wants to be anywhere else until–

“I know what that is,” says Uhura.

*** ***

Nyota catches Kirk trip over nothing and freeze as he was, in the middle of the canteen. He looks back over his shoulder and stares right at her. Even to herself, Nyota can’t explain why she’s said it in the first place.

***

Nyota Uhura regrets every decision she’s ever made that day. Agreeing to meet Christine to help some guys identify an alien pendant, coming to the academy’s canteen, being late and hurrying over, not seeing, or rather not caring to notice the two other cadets sitting with Christine, saying the thing…

Nyota Uhura regrets everything.

Jim Kirk has been following her around for a week.

*** ***

“Uhura! Uhura, wait up!” calls out Jim once again, though he’s sure she won’t stop and wait for him. She never did before, and it’s been a week since he’s been particularly mindful of her person.

He didn’t want to know at first, or rather he didn’t want others to know and get involved, but Uhura knew now anyway, and she knew what the thing was so– so, she might just tell him!

Jim is furious, and Uhura snaps an insult when he grabs her arm to stop her from leaving. Jim doesn’t hear which one, Uhura can call him whatever she wishes.

“Look, I don’t fucking know!” Jim yells.

They’re outside on campus grounds, perhaps Uhura’s been on the run and hide from him because nobody goes in that part of the garden. Especially in winter when there’s absolutely nothing to see but bare trees.

“I don’t know who I am, or who I was!” Jim’s losing it and clutches his pendant through all the clothes he has on for any support. His anchor, the thing that kept him sane for years, and now so coldly silent…

“My life starts at eight,” Jim spits, “I’m in a forsaken hospital in Dallas, and the old nurse who just couldn’t be bothered tells me the rescue party dug me out from under a heap of bleeding corpses! And that, that thing– I was holding onto that thing like my whole life depended on it! As if I’d die if I let go, and not because I was caught up in the slaughter. And I still have no fucking idea what it is…”

Jim gasps for breath. The memories, crumpled and distorted memories, he doesn’t have much but the weird, blooded images leaking into his dreams… Jim sees them now, awake for the first time.

“And… and– and whatever it was, it’s gone…” Jim feels his fingers slip, he can’t hold on. “That life’s crashing on me.”

Uhura’s still there, and Jim pushes himself to finish.

“And if– if you really know about it–“

“I don’t.”

Cold. Or was it the sudden gush of winter wind that crashed over them?

“Then why didn’t you say so!?” Jim shouts, and glares, and throws his hands up, and knows he won’t do anything to Uhura any way, just… just. “Okay, I’m done with this,” he exclaims instead and turns on his heels. “I’m done with you, and I won’t ever talk to you again–“

“But I know who gave it to you, Kirk,” Uhura shouts after him.

At her last word, for Jim, the world stops.

*** ***

Nyota Uhura regrets her every decision. Looks like it’s gonna be a habit.

But the body of the said annoying Jim Kirk lies in front of her face inch deep in the snow.

“Kirk?” she calls out and leans over him. Pats the side of his face, then sighs and crouches next to Kirk to push him to lie on his stomach. Listens to his breath, no, looks like Kirk’s just passed out. But they’re still in the secluded parts of the grounds, and the chances are nobody wanders in the next few hours.

Nyota tries wrapping Kirk’s arm over her shoulders to pull him up.

No, too heavy.

Then takes both his arms and drags him through the snow. Four steps away from the spot and Nyota gives the idea up too. Guess she’ll hail for help and explain why she was there, alone, and with Kirk later.

Nyota’s pulling out her PADD from her coat when somebody walks in on them– Yet when Nyota looks up from the screen, the figure in a dark-blue knitted hat and the same colour huge scarf turns around and runs off.

“Hey, wait!” she shouts after them. “Help me!”

They don’t return.

*** ***

Spock has not the slightest idea of what he is doing.

*** ***

Jim wakes up in the med bay. His head rings and his whole body falls apart in several places at the same time. Jim listens to the monotonous beating of his heart on the screen and looks around the room. His heartbeat picks up, he hates hospitals, he’s not ill–

“So what happened to you?” asks Bones and walk over to him.

“You tell me,” retorts Jim. The last thing he remembers is following Uhura outside and– right.

Uhura.

Jim gasps for breath and clutches the sleeping shirt, yes, the pendant he still has. It calms Jim down if a little, and he settles back into the pillow.

Uhura knows the person who gave it to Jim.

He grins and by Bones’ distorted face, Jim can tell he’s just freaked the hell out of his friend.

“You collapsed, Uhura brought you in,” grumbles Bones. “Dammit, Jim, I’m a doctor, not your babysitter.”

Jim smiles, holds the pendant tighter and closes his eyes. Uhura knows the person who gave it to Jim.

“What happened to you that got your head all messed up?”

Your head, Jim muses it over. Not you, just his head. He hates how the nurses treated him in Dallas like there was something horribly wrong, horribly broken about Jim himself. That’s why he ran off in the first place. Maybe he can trust Bones on this one too, he’s the reason Jim now knows about Uhura after all. Not even a step closer to finding out about the pendant, this feels like the whole road up till the finishing line. One step left, and Jim will know the truth.

So he whispers, “Tarsus IV.”

“It’s nowhere on your records.”

Jim opens one eye and sees that Bones scans his medical history on the PADD.

“And my documents are fake,” throws Jim, he doesn’t care. “I’ve asked Pike, he felt he owed my parents, and I played it. I chose to give it up. This Jim Kirk lived with his stepdad in Iowa all his life when admiral Pike recruited him. End of story.”

*** ***

Nyota’s already asleep in her dorm room when he PADD vibrates. She gets one message.

“Tarsus IV.”

*** ***

S'chn T'gai Spock has no idea what he is doing. He notes a productivity drop of 34 per cent and 18 cases of attention lapse. Spock pursues the experiment still.

“Spock?” Nyota volunteered to help him, though it is not her sphere of expertise and she’s been mostly up to handing him things. Or, more correctly, watching him not to upset a few things himself by accident. “May I ask a personal question, as your friend?”

Spock nods and prompts her to continue. Her question, however, unsettles him greatly.

“Can Vulcan bonds get corrupted? If something horrible was to happen with the mind of one party.”

Spock lays the instruments in his hands on the lab table. He forces himself to breath in the same rhythm and masks every emotion the question stirs. Reacting is illogical. He only needs to answer the question.

“You are implying it is possible cadet Kirk did not recognise me due to a traumatic experience?” Spock notes how calm his voice sounds. He is in control.

Nyota steps from one foot to the other. Uncomfortable. “Not you and him. Hypothetically.”

Spock thinks. They are, were, are…? He knows no longer. T’hy’la were meant to be, his Jim would have felt something, anything, even provided the events on Tarsus IV have corrupted his memories of him beyond repair…

Cadet Kirk is not his Jim. That Spock has been telling himself for four months. The wind howls, and Spock looks through the window to see it has started to snow, the snow quickly turning into a blizzard. He watches.

And, in the end, Spock decides.

“It would be… however grammatically incorrect, rather not impossible than possible.”

Outside, the storm rages.

*** ***

Nyota makes up her mind that evening.

***

So when Kirk’s dismissed from the med bay the next morning, Nyota loiters by the male dorms and waits for him to walk out. She waves Kirk over.

“Spock!?” sputters Kirk, and Uhura nods. “As in Professor-Commander Spock!?”

*** ***

James T. Kirk comes to the building of Commander S'chn T'gai Spock’s dwelling four times. In one day. Well, not dwelling, it’s only a building on the Academy’s campus where all the faculty lives.

“And that changes what, exactly?” Jim mutters to himself and looks up at the windows again.

Third flow, fifth window right, flat 89. He’s calculated that, the curtained window is Spock’s.

“Third flow, flat 89,” reads Uhura’s message on his PADD.

Jim sighs, rubs his neck, then turns away from the door for the fifth time, because now he knows, sure, but Spock? Of all the people in the Federation, or at the Academy, or– or… Well.

Jim stops pacing and glares at Uhura and Bones not so subtly hiding behind the tree nearby. At least, they’ve just got there and haven’t seen him leave four times before.

Jim sighs, strides across the porch and types the flat number into the pad.

Chapter Text

James T. Kirk waits.

And waits.

And waits a little more, like, perhaps the Vulcan’s not home or something, but then he glances over his shoulder and spots Bones and Uhura still doing a pretty bad job at hiding behind a bare tree–

The pad tings and its screen lights up.

“Cadet Kirk,” greets a composed and always so prim voice.

Jim tries not to freak out and clutches his pendant through his clothes. He doesn’t even feel its shape over the warm coat, but, damn, remembers that it is the pendant that brought him here in the first place, and– and…

“Hello, Spock,” says Jim and flashes one of his smiles at the pad. He knows Spock sees him, and yet can’t see Spock.

“Commander Spock,” corrects the voice on the other side on the com. “That would be the correct way of address, cadet.”

“Right, right.” Jim winces slightly but doesn’t let his grin falter. “I’ve come to talk to you, commander Spock.”

“My office hours are posted on the official Academy’s register,” points out the same expressionless voice. “I would suggest you make yourself acquainted and come to my office at the appointed hour. I am not in the habit of letting cadets into my personal quarters, which brings up the question of how–”

“It’s a personal matter,” blurts out Jim and breathes out sharply.

He’s so not answering who he got Spock’s address from, or Uhura’s going to butcher him. Probably. Jim glances back but has no idea what that gesture was supposed to mean.

There’s a convenient pause on the other side, and Jim collects his thoughts.

“I want to discuss, er, something with you. In private. It’s a personal matter, so here I am, please, let me in, commander Spock?” Jim emphasises the rank, and yet so informally grins at the camera.

Another pause.

“No.”

“N-no?!” sputters Jim, but before he gets to add anything, the pad tings and goes black. “What? Don’t hang up on me!” shouts Jim at the pad, though he damn well knows nobody hears him now. He then turns around and waves at the duo. “He hang up on me!”

Uhura gestures him something once again. Is it sign language? Jim doesn’t know that. Bones seems to be waving him to either push on or get lost.

Jim rubs the bridge of his nose and calls again.

This time there’s no answer. Jim doesn’t hang up till the pad goes silent on its own, then enters the number again and waits. And again.

“I know you’re still there,” mutters Jim and paces on the spot. “Now I’m getting in, or you aren’t getting out of the building.”

Suddenly, the door slides open, and an old woman walks out. “Cadet?” she inclines her head and prompts him to explain himself.

Jim doesn’t remember her name, he wasn’t in one of her classes, just seen the short woman in her round glasses around the academy a few times. Jim hesitates and steps from one foot to the other, but if she’s a chance… then he’d take it.

“Cadet Kirk, ma’am,” he supplies, salutes her and smiles. “I came by to see commander Spock,” Jim steps closer, the doors don’t close because she’s standing in the doorway, and if he could slip inside–

“My, I’ve never seen commander Spock invite anyone around before,” says the lady and pushes her glances up her nose to get a better look at Jim.

“Well, it’s about a project,” blurts out Jim, “just an idea I have, and you see, I get very paranoid with my brilliant ideas, so I’d rather my roommate or classmates didn’t hear it first.”

It could work, right? Jim’s not that sure himself and so he smiles even more charmingly.

The woman muses it over.

“Apparently, commander Spock is not home, and it’s rather cold today.” Jim shivers and rubs his arms. “Didn’t pick the right coat,” he laughs sheepishly, “so if I could wait for him inside–“

“My, of course!” The other professor seems moved and agitated, she throws her hands up and waves Jim to hurry and get inside. “You can catch a cold out there. How strangely unthoughtful of commander Spock.”

“Well, don’t be hard on him, ma’am,” winks Jim and trots inside. He keeps rubbing his arms and shivering to drive his point. “I was freaking out not to be late, you know how he tolerates unpunctuality, so I’m actually half an hour early.”

“Half an hour!” exclaims the woman. “You’ll freeze for sure.” She shakes her head, pulls up the hood of her coat and steps out. “Go on,” she waves at Jim, “don’t stay in the doorway, the drought is horrid.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” smiles Jim and runs up the stairs.

She goes outside.

On the third floor, Jim breathes out sharply, he didn’t realise he’s been holding his breath. Or maybe it was the stairs?

“What am I doing now?” mutters Jim and walks down the corridor past the same doors.

“78, 79, 80…” read the neat neon numbers.

“Eighty-nine,” whispers Jim. “In the corner, of course.” The Vulcan in question is officially the least sociable person Jim’s ever met.

Jim looks around the door and notices a button, not a pad, an old-fashioned doorbell button.

Jim stares at the door.

Jim sighs.

“Come on.” He unzips his coat, hooks his finger under the chain and pulls the pendant out. Jim knows every carving, every twist and every bead by heart, he closes his fingers around the talisman and rings the doorbell.

*** ***

S'chn T'gai Spock has strongly decided against opening the door. He has convinced himself cadet Kirk has no required tenancy of character to persist his unexpected pursue of his person.

S'chn T'gai Spock finds himself somehow at a loss at never having been so wrong before. Apart from, perhaps, everything that has to do with Jim Kirk.

*** ***

Jim’s not leaving to make a point. An hour of ringing, and knocking, and kicking the door later Jim doesn’t care about talking to Spock anymore. He’ll camp outside the damn door if he has to. Just because he can.

“Aren’t you annoyed yet?” Jim shouts and presses his ear to the door. “Just let me in, and I promise not to make any more noise.”

“Diplomacy is not your forte, cadet Kirk,” comes the sharp reply, and Jim laughs.

“Oh, hey, you are there. And not dead or, dunno, deaf.” And, also, apparently, you can be funny, Jim keeps to himself.

Jim hears footsteps. Spock walks over to the door.

*** ***

Spock realises it was a dangerous idea too late. He is standing right in front of the door, if he reaches out he will touch the cool surface, he can even open the door and let Jim in…

The warm and too familiar presence of his t’hy’la washes over him already anyway. No. He must resist. Spock jerks his hand away before he gets to lay his palm flat against the door. Only his fingers graze it, and he feels Jim on the other side. Pressed to the other side of the door. Agitated. Annoyed. Elated…? Now, why would Jim, cadet Kirk, he corrects himself sternly. And he should have no interest in the said cadet’s emotional state. Why cadet Kirk is happy, Spock should not care.

*** ***

Jim freezes. Blinks. Looks down and hardly sees his hands shake… tears? Ha, never! But one betrays him and runs a wet trace down his cheek, Jim hasn’t felt it for months, and this clear, this clear– for years?! Jim gasps for breath and clutches the pendant in one hand, he throws his body at the door and presses as close as he can.

Whatever it is, Jim closes his eyes and enjoys the golden light seep to him. It engulfs him, and Jim feels… better? Whole.

His legs tremble, and Jim slips to sit on the floor.

“Let me in, Spock,” rasps Jim. He doesn’t recognise his own voice.

“Leave me alone,” says Spock. Calmly. “Provided you leave at once, I might not report you for harassment.”

Jim huffs a laugh. “And you wouldn’t walk up to the door for an hour and endure all that – why?”

Spock doesn’t answer. Jim smiles, and bashes in the soothing, golden light. He presses his palm flat to the door, keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t even see the horrid, broken images flash before his eyes.

*** ***

Spock is mildly concerned any of his neighbours might encounter Jim sitting outside his flat. Spock is also highly concerned about how he might behave if he lets Jim in. And Jim, this Jim is as stubborn as he remembers his Jim was, so it was a mistake to conclude Jim might leave and give up in the first place.

Spock looks back into the darkness of his flat, he’s dimmed all lights, however, that will not fool cadet Kirk into leaving. The bond, regardless that their link has been broken, feels more intense in the darkness. It hums, and beats, and lures Spock to open the wretched door and take. Claim what’s rightfully his, restore the link that should be–

Spock cuts himself off and tries not to analyse why cadet Kirk is outside his door.

*** ***

“Are you just going to leave me here?” grumbles Jim some time later. “Because I’m not going anywhere so unless you’d rather climb out through the window–“ Jim burst out laughing, the image pops into his mind, he can’t help it.

“That would be rather undignified,” remarks a voice on the other side of the door.

“Yeah… yeah.”

Jim rests his head against the door, his palm still presses flat against the door.

*** ***

Spock knows he should resist. He also might find himself unable to comply with the most logical course of action and choices to sit down and slide his palm over the door until it rests right over Jim’s.

*** ***

“You’re still there,” says Jim. No idea where that comes from, he just knows. “On the other side of the door. I feel you. I just… I just don’t remember you.”

Jim hears, or rather feels too?, a sharp intake of breath on the other side.

“I don’t remember anything before I was eight,” confesses Jim, and his voice breaks. He pushes on still, “I don’t remember much of… of that either, just that I… I was there. But before that– null. Void.”

Jim feels the warmth rise, not disappear entirely, only move to stream onto him. And the door clicks.

*** ***

Spock closes his eyes and counts to ten as he slowly pulls the door open. First for a few inches, to alert Jim to the fact that he is, in fact, opening the door and so that Jim will not tumble inside. Or perhaps it is an excuse for Spock to bind his time, to reconsider and shut himself back inside, safely. Not knowingly.

“Come in,” says Spock instead, holds the door open and steps aside to let Jim enter.

Jim jumps to his feet right away. Flexes one, clearly sore shoulder, and yet holds something in his other hand, what Spock cannot see because the object Jim clutches in his fist and holds close to his chest. “For real?”

Spock does not move and holds the door open.

“I’ll take it as a yes,” beams Jim and walks in.

“Lights on,” says Spock, and they click on, and Spock steps close to take Jim’s coat. For that, he might have ulterior motives, yet before Spock notices it, Jim has already tucked the object hanging on a chain around his neck under his shirt and shrugs his coat off.

“Would you like some tea?” offers Spock and gestures towards the living room.

“Actually, yeah.” Jim smiles wider and rubs his arms. “It’s freezing out there.” And Jim strolls away and plumps himself onto the sofa in the other room.

Spock would deny watching his back, or else. For his own mental integrity, he would also fail to acknowledge his fascination with the reddish blush highlighting Jim’s features. Spock breathes out calmly and makes his way to the kitchen. Even if the said blush appears to have spread farther when Jim looked up at him, however, it could be the effect of the cold outside and then entering into the warm room inside. Over the human-warm, actually, and still not Vulcan-comfortable.

Spock slightly tugs up the sleeves of his sweater and switches on some water to boil.

“You can adjust the temperature if you would prefer,” he raises his voice so that Jim hears him in the other room.

“Thanks, I’m good,” laughs Jim back. “I was joking that it’s freezing.”

“You should not have spent the last hour and thirteen minutes sitting on the floor outside my apartment then,” remarks Spock as he looks through the cupboard. The only confectionary products he has are of Vulcan origin, but perhaps Jim will find himself amenable to them.

Spock might as well deny that he is currently taking more time than it rationally should. However, it allows him to make sure that when he walks into the living room, which is also his bedroom, hopefully Jim does not realise that soon enough, and the other half is separated by a screen– Spock is composed and in control of any emotion he might feel.

When he places their tees and the small plate of snacks on the coffee table in front of Jim, and Jim grins at him just so… Spock looks away and, reluctantly, sits down on the same sofa but as far from Jim as possible. Still composed. Still in control. Might have taken a mental note to make provisions for more furniture so that he does not put his emotional state at risk by sitting next to Jim the next time.

Jim picks up one cup and twists it in his hands a little. Could be warming his fingers up, as they do look slightly redder than the rest of his hands.

The next time…? And watching Jim’s fingers tighten around the cup like that is also not a rational idea, indeed. Spock should say something, he understands it. Only he does not know where to begin.

Luckily Jim speaks up first, “So.. we’ve known each other, huh?” Jim grabs two pieces and shoves them into his mouth at the same time. Some crust flakes off and sticks to his fingers, and Jim just goes on to lick it off.

Sharply, too noticeable even as Spock realises too late, but he turns away and stares at the window. Outside, it starts to snow.

“O-ops, sorry,” Jim smiles sheepishly and gobbles up a few more, more careful this time. “It’s just this is very good,” he mumbles with his mouth full.

“Most humans find Vulcan food plain to their taste,” remarks Spock as a matter of fact and focuses his attention only on the snow outside. “Why are you here?”

Jim stops munching. With their link gone, Spock still feels the echoes of his emotions in this close proximity. Jim tenses so hard, that Spock cannot help his own wish to glance Jim’s way. Which…

“Is it too hot for you in here after all?” Spock asks and shields every other notion that a hospitable concern from his voice. “I could adjust the temperature if–“

“Nah, I’m fine,” blurts out Jim, slams the teacup on the coffee table and waves off. “It’s fine, you’re– you’re great.”

Perhaps, leaving the lights on full capacity was not Spock’s safest choice. While completely dispersing any atmosphere close to intimacy, the lights also allow him to see Jim too clearly. Currently, the reddish blush is spreading, and Spock turns away and takes a deep breath to prevent the unfortunate case that his face might betray any emotion. Clearly, Jim did not mean what he has just said, it was but a slip of the tongue. Spock was almost sure Jim would hate him after the academic hearing, and yet… yet here Jim was, is, seated next to him.

Jim sighs and shuts his eyes. Then yanks the chain around his neck, takes the object in his hand, shifts closer to Spock and offers it to him on his open palm. “It’s this.”

Spock… does not feel anything. Or he might be feeling too much, too fast and at the same time, Jim’s anxiety, and fear, and also excitement, curiosity, and hope? And the all too familiar warm, soothing light of his t’hy’la too close to him, and it blends and sweeps him off–

“You’re okay?” Spock hears Jim call out. “Spock? Spock.” Jim taps his arm, luckily, his forearm and over the thick woollen sweater so Spock does not feel even more.

And Spock snaps out of it. “I…”

Jim quirks his head.

“You… confuse me greatly, asha–“ Spock breathes out sharply to stop himself. He’s never called Jim that to his face before, but did so in his head. Ever since Jim has left and before, well, before they have happened to run into each again.

It brings Spock back to his senses, cold and sharp. “If this…” he starts, and Jim clutches the pendant in his hand and jerks away, to the other side of the sofa. “If this is your idea of fun–“

Anger. Before it was his own apprehension, yet now Spock clearly feels anger flare of Jim. “You think I’m trying to get to you?!” he snaps. “Like what, a joke?! Spock, this is not a joke, this,” Jim waves his clutched fist and still does not put the pendant away, “whatever this is–“

Whatever…? Somehow, it confuses Spock even more. Wearing a whatever around one’s neck is too illogical even for Jim. Or is not it?

“Let me see,” says Spock and reaches for Jim before he thinks it over. He has to know, the only thing he is sure of now is that he has to know.

Jim jumps away before Spock’s fingers touch his head. Spock freezes. Jim slams his back into the arm of the sofa and nearly topples over to the floor.

“You do not trust me.”

Jim looks around. Too hectic. Scared, terrified even.

“Listen, it’s not you–“ he tries.

“You are lying.”

Spock lowers his hands and places them on his knees. He moves away, as far away as the sofa would allow him and looks outside through the window. Hope is illogical, he knew better than that. And yet Jim showing up at his apartment, so persistently demanding they would talk, the familiarity and the warmth of the golden presence touching his mind… It has made Spock hope.

“Forgive me, it was a mistake,” he says and finds unexpected pride in how calm and emotionless his voice sounds.

“I’m not!” cries out Jim. Angry. “I’m not lying!” He throws his hands up and lets out an exasperated noise. Shakes his head, holds onto the pendant tighter, now that Spock definitely does not want to acknowledge, then Jim sighs and presses his free palm to his forehead. Shielding, or…?

“Look, the last time they did that,” Jim winces as if in pain, “my mind got all fucked up, and– and…” His eyes find Spock’s, and Jim leans in. Too close, his fingers now close around Spock’s wrist. “Wow. And you’re warm.”

And Jim sits closer, closes his eyes and leans in. “Here.“

His hands shake, and yet Jim brings Spock’s hand to his temple by the wrist and places it flat against his skin.

“But I’ve warned you, it’s fucked up in there,” groans Jim.

The submissive and welcoming hum of his t’hy’la’s mind Spock cannot resist.

“My mind to your mind…”

***

“Well, this is weird,” says Jim by his side.

Spock looks around the bright mind space and cannot recognise it. He has been inside Jim’s mind all those years ago, and it had been light and airy, and happy. Bright white with the golden light of their bond streaming through it.

Now… Now Spock picks up a few things that are still the same. However, the white has been tarnished, and the light vastness somehow cut off. Cornered. Surely, the absence of their link unsettles Spock greatly although he understands he should not allow it. He cannot.

Jim’s still holding onto his wrist. He looks mostly about himself, either awing or freaking out that his body now lets through light and looks like a golden, shimmering ghost. And Spock reads every thought of him too clearly, Jim does not act, he clearly has never seen himself like that before. It perplexes Spock because of all the times they have been there together.

Before.

Finally, Jim shakes his head and steps ahead, he pulls on Spock’s wrist too.

“So?” Jim waves around. “Do I just show you about or what?”

“You can think of any scene from your past that you would like me to see, yes.”

“Oh. Cool.” Apprehension. Jim walks up to the wall and stops. “What did you want to see? When you’ve reached for me.”

“I would see anything you are comfortable with showing me.”

“But honestly?”

Why you do not seem to remember me, Spock does not say, and yet he is sure Jim knows now. Inside the mind meld, he is, all that he is, is as open a book as Jim is.

Jim sighs and yanks Spock through the wall. “I try not to think about it,” he explains. “And forget.”

The tarnished white around them shifts, and Spock finds himself standing next to Jim in the middle of a hospital room. Dallas, he remembers that one.

“How?!” Jim jumps at that but shakes his head. “Never mind. Let’s make it quick, I hate this place.”

Jim points ahead, and there Spock sees him, the other eight-year-old Jim. Bandaged all over, jerky and fidgeting at every sound, he feels nowhere near the always happy and reckless seven-year-old Jim who Spock remembers.

This hurt Jim sits on the edge of the hospital bed and wiggles his feet, not carelessly, anxiously and in a weak attempt to kick off whatever bothers him. In the same room with him, some man in a white coat hovers over another boy. Two more older boys lie still in their beds fast asleep.

Jim does not remember the man’s face when the man moves to treat him. Jim does not want to remember, and so Spock cannot name the race. Alien, but that is all.

“They were some telepathic race or so they told us,” explains Jim and points at the little himself. “Said they’d help us forget, I didn’t remember much, but they said we were dangerous like that.”

The man cradles Jim’s face in his large palms. Jim cries out in pain and thrashes about, the man shouts, Spock hears whatnot, and two nurses hold Jim down by his arms.

“He was crappy,” says the present Jim. “Made me forget not only that but everything. The first solid memory I have is this hospital.”

The scene shifts, and Spock stands by Jim’s side in front of another wall. Blackened and scratched all over, with metal wreckage poking out and bloodstains marring the tarnished white surface. And cracks, through the cracks Spocks hears the awful, horrid cries and gunshots.

“So it is a real wall, huh,” mutters Jim walks by the wall and even taps it in awe. “Somehow, I didn’t imagine like this.” His fingers dig into Spock’s wrist till it hurts.

Spock does not mind.

“I was never this close up,” adds Jim and knocks against the wall. He looks back, Spock knows Jim feels the horror of him and fears Jim places it differently.

“I was in there, yeah...”

I have failed you, thinks Spock. I have failed you as your bond mate. He cannot find any words to convey all he feels at that moment, all he can do is pull Jim flush against his chest and wrap his arms around him. Hold him as close as only possible.

“That’s… that’s Tarsus IV, by the way,” whispers Jim and nuzzles into Spock’s chest. He trembles, and Spock runs soothing circles round the upper half of Jim’s back.

“It wasn’t this bad before, the wall was okay.” Jim’s hands lock together behind Spock’s back. “Before– before there was something else here, dunno what happened, but four months ago the cracks appeared, and that started leaking through.”

Spock forgets to breathe. Too much. His whole body shakes.

“Did you say four months?” Spock forces himself to speak.

“Four, yeah, why?” Jim moves in his embrace and tilts his head to look up at Spock.

“It is all my fault, ashayam. I have failed you horribly.”

Jim does not understand it, Spock feels the confusion wash over him from every inch their bodies touch.

Crack! Jim jumps at the sound, and the wall crashes.

*** ***

“Jim!”

Jim screams and thrashes about, yet the arms around him hold him in place. It almost hurts, crap, it hurts like hell, but he arms holding him are so much stronger, and–

The yells, the cries of pain, the acrid smoke, burnt metal and wreckage. Burnt flesh. Gunshots and orders bellowed for them to move on to the slaughter. The wall cracks all over, and blood sweeps Jim off his feet.

Jim drowns. And suffocates. And chokes, and it hurts all over...

“Jim!” Frightened. And the fingers dig deeper into his shoulders. Hard. Forceful. “Jim, I am here, breathe. Jim, Jim,” repeats the voice over and over again. Frightened not of him but for him.

Ashayam, and so much lovelovelove...

“Warm,” mumbles Jim and nuzzles into it, the soothing, magnificent golden light. “I... remember this.”

Though he can’t believe it. The same light. The very same feeling that kept him sane. Jim laughs and presses into it, plunges into it.

“I’d cling onto this,” he whispers, and the fingers on his shoulders relax. They hurt no more and settle into a gentle embrace.

The screams stop. The voices and shots are gone. Jim only hears the familiar hum and this ashayam, and it calms him down.

“It was warm,” he adds. “Like I’m not alone, you know.”

Spock. Right. Jim seemed to have forgotten where they were and who he was with. Now he peeks out and the blood and smoke are gone, he only sees the black wool of Spock’s thick sweater. Which isn’t even black any more, it’s the same half-transparent and golden colour both of their bodies have become in Jim’s mindscape.

“Hey,” Jim grips the sweater in the middle of Spock’s back, and Spock lays his palm open flat to the back of his head and runs his fingers in soothing circles, “it felt just like you.”

Fear. Guilt. Pain. And so much love, love, lovelove. Jim feels them not his own and can’t... just can’t...

Spock draws a shaky breath and settles his chin on top of Jim’s head.

“It is alright, ashayam,” he whispers. “It is going to be alright now. If you... if you would forgive me, if– if you would let me.”

“Anything.”

Jim doesn’t know what’s this about. He basks in the golden light growing stronger and can’t, doesn’t want to resist the familiar touch, as Spock slides his fingers from Jim’s hair to his temple. Then shifts their embrace, now it’s only Jim clinging onto him for dear life, and Spock moves his other hand to Jim’s other temple, and Jim loves the feeling.

It feels right.

It feels like coming home.

***

Jim wakes up lying flat on his back, on the sofa, with a concerned Spock leaning over him. He holds himself up on one hand, placed close enough to Jim’s face that he feels heat radiating from it. When he sees Jim open his eyes and blink, Spock gently helps him to sit up and holds a cup of cold tea to his lips.

“Drink.”

Jim gulps it down, a different tea from before. This one has more of a bitter, leafy palette.

“How are you feeling?” asks Spock.

Jim shrugs. He doesn’t feel like anything much. “I hardly feel my body,” he jokes, and Spoke shoves the empty cup on the coffee table behind him and scoops Jim’s face in his palms.

“Hey, I’m okay, okay.” Jim laughs, and feels Spock relax. Funny. Weird. Nothing changes about Spock’s neutral expression much, and yet Jim can swear they’re absolutely different. Perhaps, it’s the eyes. Or more.

Jim shifts closer to the back of the sofa to make more space, and Spock sits on the edge by his side. Their bodies touch, fit perfectly against each other. Spock, er, blushes? Jim squints into the semi-darkness, and perhaps, he’s imagining the pale greenish tint. It would be only fair, Jim’s own face is on fire.

And Spock touches him gently, so carefully as if Jim was made of glass. His hand tremble as Spock draws circles on the back of Jim’s palm, his fingertips barely touch the other’s skin.

For Jim, the warmth washes over him, and he closes his eyes. The familiar soothing feeling hums at the back of his head, Jim takes in the missing presence and doesn’t want to question it much. Whatever it is, it’s back. Where it belongs, Jim can’t say why or how, only that this funny feeling belongs with him as a matter of fact. Per say.

Times passes, when, finally, Jim speaks up. First again. “How did we meet?”

Spock smiles, and Jim knows it even without opening his eyes. Too exhausted. Too happy.

“You fell on me from the fence around the Vulcan Embassy.”

“Really?” Jim huffs a laugh. “Well, I could do that. Were you surprised?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, Spock.” Jim opens his eyes and nudges him lightly. “You can tell me more than that, you’ve been in my head and all. We were, er, friends?” Why does it feel wrong…? Jim groans. “You’ve seen my memories are gone, I want to know.” He fiddles with the chain around his neck and pulls up the pendant. “This thing, too. You gave it to me, didn’t you?” “And Jim realises, “Hey, show me yours!”

Spock moves to stand up, but Jim is faster– he wraps his arms around his waist and keeps Spock in place. Probably, because Jim’s sure that Spock gives in, rather than can’t stand up now. He’s much stronger, and Jim’s weak and tired.

“It… would be my memories,” explains Spock calmly, and yet his uneasiness leaks through, “not how it happened in the past, but how I remember what happened from my perspective. It might alter your impression of the things that occurred in my favour since that is how I would choose for you to see them.”

Jim sits up next to Spock and lowers his legs to the floor. He taps his temple and smiles at Spock. “That’s what I want to see.”

*** ***

“He’s been gone for a long time,” mutters McCoy and pokes his head out from behind the tree.

It snows and heavier with every minute.

The woman by his side rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. She’s pulled her coat’s hood over her head, and it’s all white by now. She doesn’t leave too, though he’s countlessly suggested it. And McCoy doesn’t want to admit, he’s forgotten her name. Didn’t quite catch it in the canteen to be honest, Jim’s made a fuss and left.

Now it gets more awkward to loiter outside the faculty’s building this close to a person whose name you don’t even know.

“Leonard McCoy, by the way,” he grumbles. “Doctor.”

“Figured that out.” She shrugs and keeps on watching the window. “You know Christine.”

Inside, the lights are on but dimmed.

“Uhura.”

McCoy nods and turns to watch the doors instead. So Uhura might be more interested in how it works out for… who, actually? Spock? Because McCoy would swear a bottle of Romulan ale she’s not fond of Jim at all.

“You’ll stop at that?”

McCoy doesn’t turn. Something tells him they’d attracted enough attention to get chased away any minute now. Two cadets behind the only tree in front of the building are too damn suspicious. One, himself, of course, might have passed, but then he’s happened to run into her. Hope there are no rules against loitering on campus grounds, he'd rather not have an academic hearing over this.

“And I should do what?” McCoy grumbles and wipes the snowflakes off his nose. “Dance for you? I’m a doctor, not a–“

Uhura snorts. “Some press on to know my name.”

McCoy glares at her and goes on with his task. “Well, you say Uhura, then I shout Uhura to get you attention, and we run for the hills before the professors catch us. I don’t need more.”

*** ***

Nyota is slightly impressed by the fact that Jim Kirk can make sensible friends. Perhaps it was an accident.

“Nyota,” she offers as she shakes the snow off her shoulders. “My name is Nyota.”

*** ***

Spock gives in, he could not say no when Jim smiles at him like that if he tried.

He has no desire to even try.

They sink into his mind together, a vast and bright plane, and Spock places his hand to the upper of Jim’s back and ushers him in.

The scene turns green and blooms, it is peculiar how many Vulcan Embassies across the Federation do not resemble Vulcan in the slightest. That one had a huge garden, and Spock would sit out there every day under the warm summer suns.

“Hey,” whispers a boyish voice from above, and the real Jim inclines his head. The little seven-year-old Jim pokes his head out above the fence, looks about, then throws his leg over, climbs, the second leg and jumps down. “Missed me?” He beams widely, and it reveals that one of his teeth’s missing.

The seven-year-old Spock does not move, he sits perfectly composed on the grass, his hands on his knees and his feet tucked under him. He wears brown and beige robes with Vulcan ornaments and patterns stream and twist over them.

“Missing a person you do not know is illogical,” points out the little Spock.

The real Jim laughs, and the real Spock quicks an eyebrow at that.

“Sorry, were you always this cute? Because you are cute. Ah, I mean–”

Both Spocks blush green at the same time. The little one – because Jim stops too close to him, and the older, while flushes a fainter tint, because the other Jim has really meant what he has just said.

Jim smiles sheepishly and laughs, perhaps to pass it off as a joke, yet both of them know better.

“I’m Jim,” beams the little Jim meanwhile and reaches out his hand to Spock. He holds his palm up for a high five.

“Oh, crap, sorry–“ the real Jim glances from the scene to the real Spock.

The little Spock now blushes the darkest green to the tips of his pointy ears.

“Hey, you’re okay?” asks the little Jim. “You look serious, I can greet you like an adult if you want to.” And with that, the little Jim plumps down onto the grass and grabs Spock hand in his. “There.” And he shakes their hands together.

The little Spock, and hence, the real one as well, feel the warmth wash over them. The golden light streams into his mindscape, and the bond hums in agreement.

The scene shifts, and the real Jim jumps at that. Makes him bump into Spock, so Spock catches him, puts back on his feet and quickly lets go.

Both Jim and Spock eat Vulcan treats. Spock slowly munches on one, while Jim keeps shoving them into his mouth and gobbling up like that. Then washes them down with the tea and starts over.

Next to them sits an older woman in Vulcan robes and laughs. An embroidered shawl covers her head.

“That is my mother,” explains the real Spock.

“Fascinating,” whispers the little one, his eyes glued to Jim.

Spock’s mother laughs.

“I meant how much Jim can eat during one meal, mother,” he adds quickly and blushes.

“I know, sweetie,” she smiles back with a wicked wink lighting up in her eyes. “I know.”

The scene shifts.

“Guess that’s why I like Vulcan food so much,” says the real Jim and looks around as the setting takes shape. “Bones, that is my friend Leonard McCoy, freaks out how many times I swing by that place west of campus instead of having normal take-aways.”

“Your friend is correct,” remarks Spock and bites back the smile. “That place, if we are referring to the same establishment claiming to sell Vulcan dishes, is atrocious.”

Jim laughs. “Maybe I’d swing by your place from now on then.”

That would be amenable. Spock thinks it and does not voice, yet what difference would it make inside his own mindscape?

Jim knows.

Jim sputters and flushes, clearly, he was joking or absentmindedly flirting, Spock’s picked up on this new habit of Jim’s since the start of the year. It perplexed Spock at first, agitated at second, and now…? Perhaps he might come to accept it as Jim’s way of talking to people. Provided mostly directed at himself.

It might not have been the best idea to show it to Jim, not the right time, surely. Yet, the scene forms into that day.

“You trust me,” says the little Spock and leans closer to the little Jim.

They sit on the grass across from each other, their knees barely touching, and holding both hands.

“Er, isn’t that like…?” prompts the real Jim, and Spock avoids meeting his blue eyes directly.

Watch on, echoes Spock’s thought around his mindscape.

“Yeah,” meanwhile grins the little Jim.

“That was not a question,” corrects the little Spock and looks only into Jim’s eyes. “You trust me, and I would trust you with my life.”

The little Jim frowns. “Isn’t that kinda grim?”

This Spock, his Spock, shakes his head and brushes his thumb over the back of Jim’s palm. “It’s an oath, a sacred bond of my people.”

The little Jim blushes and grins at that. “Oh. Okay then. I like you.” He leans in towards Spock too, now they are so close that their foreheads graze each other. “In fact,” whispers Jim, “I like you a lot, Spock.”

The little Spock flushes green and smiles back. His smile might look gentler, while Jim’s bolder and braze, and yet the intensity of the feelings streams in as a strong golden force. It swirls around them, cocoons and cradles, soothes and lulls in their personal bubble.

“My mind to your mind,” whispers the little Spock and presses his forehead against Jim’s.

The real Jim gasps, the golden light sweeps him off his feet, and the scene slowly melts away.

“Does it mean I’ll stay with you forever?” he hears the little Jim ask from somewhere far away.

“Yes, t’hy’la,” echos the little Spock. “We were meant to be together. Always.”

The real Jim forgets how to breathe. He jerks to face Spock, and yet the real one looks anywhere but at him. A deep green blush plays on his cheeks and grows up to his ears when he notices Jim looking.

The next memory is of a very smug little Jim. He strolls along the path hand in hand with a little green Spock. It’s probably the same park on the Embassy’s grounds, and Jim grins widely and chirps about nothing important, as Spock walks quietly by his side.

Another Vulcan comes across them and stops.

“Hi, I’m Jim,” the little Jim says and stretches out his hand.

“Cra-ap,” mutters the real Jim and slaps his hand over his eyes. “Did I–“ he glances at the real Spock, “did I do that with everyone?”

Watch, urges the echoing thought.

And, sure enough, the little Spock jerks forward and grabs Jim’s wrist with his free hand, then moves to hold his hand and laces their fingers together.

The older Vulcan does nothing in particular, nods and walks away, and yet now Jim knows better. He also feels Spock’s thoughts flow to him.

The little Jim blinks and looks from Spock to the leaving Vulcan and to their two hands. The little Spock blushes darker and lets go, he hurries down the pathway–

“Spock, wait up!” shouts the little Jim and runs after him.

The real Jim watches them leave and glances at Spock. “Isn’t… hand touching, er, like Vulcan kissing? It was in one of our classes–”

The real Spock turns away.

“Spock, what’s wrong?” shouts the little Jim when he catches up.

“Do not shake hands with others,” mutters the little Spock while looking anywhere but at Jim.

Clearly, the little Jim does not like it and grabs his face, turns Spock to look at him and leans in close.

“Why?”

“It’s improper.”

The little Jim blinks in confusion, and his eyes widen. “But I held your hand,” he points out.

“Only with me,” mumbles the little Spock and turns even greener including his pointy ears if that was even possible.

Spock remembers how he felt that day, and the feelings seep from him and into the real Jim standing by his side. Embarrassment. Jealousy. Fear?

“With me it is alright,” says the little Spock. “Do not hold other people’s hands. I don’t like it.”

“Ah.” The little Jim beams and grabs his hand in both of his. “Okay, then.”

Through their new bond, intensified by the mind meld, Spock fails to hold onto another piece.

“We were bonded?!” suddenly exclaims when it reaches him. “As in Vulcan married bonded?!”

The scene melts away, and they find themselves standing in the middle of the bright white plane.

Spock looks at his feet, his hands locked safely behind his back, and corrects, “Engaged.”

Jim chokes and gasps for air. He looks at Spock and around, throws his hands up and waves about– “We were seven!”

Spock closes his eyes and shields all he can. The pain has to be his own, he will not push Jim into a commitment for his… T’hy’la were meant to be, Spock knows that, and yet it is a Vulcan truth. Jim might be too human after all to understand.

“Vulcan marriages are arranged at the age of seven,” he says instead, his voice stripped of all emotions.

Disappointment. Fear. Jealousy…? Spock looks up and sharply turns to Jim. Those were not his own.

“Are you?” Jim asks. “Married now?”

“No.”

Relief. Happiness. Spock does not dare hope, hope is an illogical emotion to experience, and he would rather not dare to wager on it ever again. Yet Jim steps closer to him. And Jim is happy that he, Spock, has not married another.

“I had you,” breathes out Spock before he thinks it over.

Jim tenses. Guilt. Stirring happiness and desire. And Spock’s own love that he cannot shield and hold to himself enough.

“What is t’hy’la?” asks Jim.

Spock has to make it right. He steps away from Jim. “I expect nothing from you,” he says, “and I shall not pressure you into any relationship you do not desire.”

“What is t’hy’la, Spock?”

Jim reaches out and touches his arm. Brother, friend, lover, the answer leaks through Spock’s skin, he is truly fascinated, in awe of Jim to have attempted the exchange and succeeded this fast. Someone extremely important to a Vulcan, the other half of their soul.

Jim’s overwhelmed and steps back.

Spock fakes a cough. “You used to call us soulmates.”

It does not make the situation better, the gravity of it all, the depth of Spock’s emotions weighing on Jim. It only disperses the intensity for Spock himself, and perhaps that might ease the current washing over Jim.

*** ***

Out of the second mind meld they wake together. Jim still has his fingers on Spock’s temples, he now knows they are the correct psi-points, and Spock quickly removes his from Jim and tries to pull away.

“Hey, wait.” Jim catches his wrist and pulls back to him. “This is too much for her, yeah, guess you’ve felt that but, well, not married, sure, about that…” Jim feels his face flare and tries to pull it off. Cool. Smooth. It’s surprisingly much more difficult towards the person who really matters. “Would you go out with me?”

Spock’s breath hitches. Guilt, Jim feels it creep towards him.

“You do not–“ starts Spock.

Jim takes a deep breath and dives in. He takes both of Spock’s hands by the wrists and guides back to his face. “Let me show you something.”

Jim looks and drowns in the dark eyes across. His face burns, and a faint blush touches Spock’s cheeks as well.

“This is as embarrassing for me as it gets,” mutters Jim and remembers.

***

It’s the welcoming ceremony day. When Spock realises it, he flinches as if Jim’s just hit him. So Jim grabs his arms, turns Spock around and propels towards the scene.

The Jim inside the memory, in his new red cadet uniform, whirls his head around and notices the dark figure walking down the path in their general direction. So Jim runs off at them.

“Jim!” exclaims Bones after him, and Jim waves him off.

And Jim runs up to the figure in black, he notices, fully sees him only a step away. He might’ve overrun it and stopped too close, but Jim’s stubborn just enough not to back away.

This is when he catches his breath and looks up.

Shit, he’s hot, strikes the real Spock like a lightning, and the real Jim wants to fall through the spot. Well, he’s brought it upon himself. Hello there, gorgeous, look at him, hey, do you think he’s single? The tight black’s a great look, wait, isn’t black for the faculty? How old can his guy be, can I ask out a faculty? Will he? A-ah, calm down, eyes up, stop staring at his chest, yeah, it looks great in the uniform, aren’t is too tight for him? Argh, concentrate! Can I drop something around him to go there and check out his ass…?

Ashayam, the real Spock doesn’t say anything but goes from absolutely mortified to embarrassed and then elated in a single second.

“Hey,” winks the Jim from the memory and leans in. “I’ve got lost a little lost, can you show me around?”

Jim startles when he feels the familiar warmth wash over him, and the rest gets stuck in his throat. More intense than before, the soothing, homely presence gobbles him up.

Jim hears Bones curse behind his back and call him an idiot, so he looks over his shoulder and mouths that it’s okay.

The real Jim surfaces from the memory and pulls Spock along before he sees the rest. They open their eyes at the same time and look at each other. Jim’s sure he’s scarlet all over, and he sees Spock turning a similar dark shade of green.

“Ah… the fact that you find my appearance attractive is gratifying,” remarks Spock. How he manages to feel completely smitten and embarrassed to death, that Jim feels through the bond, and yet sound cool enough escapes Jim.

“Don’t mention that. Ever.” Jim rubs the back of his neck. “So… Would you go on a human date with me?”

For one long second, he’s scared Spock will turn him down.

“I am… amendable to that.”

Jim grins and reaches out two fingers, index and middle, who’d thought cultural studies would ever come this handy.

Spock quicks his eyebrow at him. “We were to take it slow. I am not kissing you before the first date.”

Jim pretends to pout and smirks soon enough. “Well, I kiss people on first dates,” a darker emotion chips off Spock, so Jim adds quickly, “and you’re already calling me Vulcan pet names anyway.”

“I do not–“

“Ashayam.”

Spock falls silent. He looks at Jim, and Jim grins happily and winks at him.

Spock sighs, closes his eyes and presses his two fingers to Jim’s.

The snowstorm outside quietens. Their bond hums.

*** ***

“What’s happened to you two?” asks Christine Chapel with her hands on her hips as she glares down at the two shivering blanket rolls. She takes their body temperatures with the tricorder and groans.

McCoy sneezes and nuzzles into his blanket. Uhura mutters nonsense, her fever is higher, and pulls hers over her head.

“How did you both get a cold at the same time, again?”

But nobody answers Christine.