Chapter Text
Spock stood in front of the door to his new apartment, keycard in hand.
The holographic delta pattern caught the light as he turned it over, examining the needlessly intricate design. He appreciated the attention to detail, even if it served no practical purpose.
With a steady breath, he pressed the card against the scanner. The lock disengaged with a soft click, and the door slid open.
The apartment was dark, the curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. Spock hesitated at the threshold, his hand still on the doorframe. Something felt... off. Not wrong, exactly, but unexpected. A strange sense of familiarity washed over him, though he had never set foot in this place before.
Illogical.
He stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. The layout was standard for academy housing: a shared living space with a kitchenette, two bedrooms branching off to either side, and what he assumed was a bathroom at the far end. The furniture was generic and institutional, a couch, a coffee table, a few shelves. Pre-furnished, as promised.
Spock set his bag down by the entrance and moved further into the apartment. His belongings had already been delivered, stacked neatly against the wall. He had Starfleet efficiency to thank for that, at least.
The apartment had been vacant for weeks, according to the housing office. He only knew that there had been two roommates who had moved out, though Spock had not been given details. The timing was unusual. Midway through the semester. Most cadets tried to maintain their housing arrangements, even in difficult circumstances.
He wondered briefly if there had been a conflict between the roommates. Either way, it was fortunate for Spock. Finding housing at this point in the term would have been nearly impossible.
He moved to the window and drew back the curtains. San Francisco stretched out before him, bathed in golden afternoon light. The city was beautiful in its own way, though utterly different from Vulcan's stark deserts and ancient cities. Everything here was green and growing, soft where Vulcan was hard, humid where Vulcan was dry.
Earth.
He still wasn't certain he'd made the right choice.
The thought came unbidden, and he pushed it aside. He had made his decision. He had chosen Starfleet over the Vulcan Science Academy, chosen to forge his own path rather than follow in his father's footsteps. The decision was logical. It aligned with his goals, his interests, his desire to explore and understand the wider universe.
And yet.
The memory of his last conversation with Sarek surfaced despite his efforts to suppress it. His father's disappointment had been evident, though carefully controlled. You are capable of great things, Spock. The Science Academy would allow you to achieve them. But what Sarek had really meant was clear: You are turning your back on your people. On your heritage. On me.
Spock closed his eyes and took a slow breath. He would meditate later. For now, he needed to settle in.
He turned from the window and noticed a package on the kitchen counter. Small, carefully wrapped, with his name written in elegant script. He didn't need to check the return address to know who had sent it.
His mother.
Despite himself, Spock felt something warm and uncomfortable shift in his chest. Amanda had been supportive of his choice, had even seemed pleased when he told her he'd been accepted to Starfleet Academy. But he knew she worried about him. About how he would adjust to Earth, to living among humans, to being so far from home.
He opened the package carefully, preserving the wrapping. Inside was a small tin of Vulcan tea, his favorite blend, the one his mother made for him when he was young. The scent hit him immediately when he opened the lid: warm, spicy, complex. A reminder of home.
The tightness in his chest intensified. He set the tin down and moved to the small kitchenette, searching through the cabinets until he found a kettle and a mug. The apartment had been left with basic supplies, at least. He filled the kettle with water and set it to heat, then measured out the tea leaves with precise movements.
As he waited for the water to boil, Spock surveyed his new living space more carefully. The furniture was bland but functional. The walls were bare except for a few generic art prints. One of the bedroom doors was closed; the other stood slightly ajar. He would take that one, he decided.
His gaze drifted to the shelves near the window. A few books, textbooks mostly, and what looked like an old-fashioned chess set. Spock moved closer to examine it. The pieces were wooden, hand-carved, showing signs of age and use. Someone had cared for this set, once. He wondered why it had been left behind.
The kettle chimed softly. Spock returned to the kitchen and poured the hot water over the tea leaves, watching them unfurl and darken the water. The scent intensified, and for a moment, he allowed himself to simply breathe it in.
He thought of his mother, probably sitting in the garden at this very moment, tending to her roses. He thought of his father in his study, reviewing reports or composing correspondence. He thought of the house where he'd grown up, with its high ceilings and stone floors, the heat of the desert beyond its walls.
He was on Earth now. This was his choice. This was his home, at least for the next several years.
The tea had steeped long enough. Spock removed the leaves and carried the mug to the couch, settling in front of the large window. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The city lights were starting to come on, glittering like stars.
It was beautiful. Different, but beautiful.
He took a sip of tea and felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. The flavor was exactly as he remembered, slightly bitter, warming, with layers of spice that unfolded on his tongue. It tasted like home.
Spock leaned back against the couch, cradling the warm mug in his hands. The apartment was quiet except for the distant sounds of the city filtering through the windows. After the intensity of the past few weeks, the arguments with his father, the rushed preparations for departure, the jarring transition from Vulcan's red skies to Earth's blue ones, the silence felt almost foreign.
He had not realized how much noise there was on Earth until he'd arrived. On Vulcan, sound carried differently through the thin atmosphere. Cities were quieter, more controlled. Here, there was always something, vehicles passing, voices calling, the rustle of wind through leaves.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to simply exist in the moment. No expectations, no judgments, no lingering echoes of his father's disapproval. Just the warmth of the tea, the softness of the couch beneath him, the quiet of-
A door clicked shut somewhere in the apartment.
Spock's eyes opened immediately. He set the mug down and rose, his senses alert. Both bedroom doors were as they had been, one closed, one ajar. The bathroom door was open. The main entrance was sealed.
Perhaps the building was settling. Old structures often made unexpected sounds as they contracted and expanded with temperature changes. Though this building was not particularly old by human standards...
He moved through the apartment carefully, checking each room. Nothing was disturbed. Nothing had changed.
Spock returned to the living area, slightly unsettled but unwilling to acknowledge it as such. He had been on edge since arriving on Earth. The sound was likely nothing more than his own hypervigilance manifesting as false perception.
He would unpack his belongings. That would give his mind something concrete to focus on.
But as he reached for his bag by the entrance, something made him pause. That sense again, of being watched, of not being alone. It was illogical. He had checked every room. The apartment was secure. And yet...
Spock straightened and surveyed the living space once more. "Is someone present?" he asked, his voice steady.
No response. Only the ambient sounds of the city and the building's environmental systems.
Of course no one was present. He was allowing stress and fatigue to compromise his rational thinking.
He picked up his bag and moved toward the bedroom, determined to dismiss these illogical concerns. He had taken only a few steps when he heard it.
A sigh.
Soft, distinctly human, tinged with what sounded like frustration or resignation. It came from somewhere near the couch, but when Spock turned to look, there was nothing there.
"Identify yourself," Spock commanded, his voice sharp.
Silence.
"I know someone spoke," Spock said, keeping his tone level despite the illogic of addressing an empty room. "I heard you clearly. Show yourself."
More silence. Then, hesitantly: "You... you actually heard that?"
"Yes."
"Like, you're not just talking to yourself? You're responding to me?"
"That is generally how conversation functions, yes."
There was a sound that might have been a choked laugh. "Oh my God. Oh my God, you can actually hear me."
He remained still, his scientific curiosity overriding any instinct toward alarm, as a vague shimmer infront of him grew more defined. A faint glow, pale blue, like bioluminescence in water. It coalesced slowly, forming a vaguely humanoid shape. A torso, arms, a head. Features began to emerge from the formless light, a face, young and human. Hair, eyes, the suggestion of a Starfleet uniform.
The figure remained translucent. Spock could see the couch through its form, could see the window beyond. It was there and not there simultaneously, existing in a state that defied conventional physics.
An apparition.
The figure, the young man, seemed just as startled by his own visibility as Spock was. He stared down at his hands, his translucent fingers, his see-through arms, with an expression of shock and wonder. "Wait. Can you-" He looked up sharply, his blue eyes wide. "Can you see me now?"
"Yes," Spock said carefully. "I can see you."
The apparition's face transformed, shock, then disbelief, then something that looked almost like joy. "You can see me. You can actually see me." He laughed, the sound tinged with something close to desperation. "Do you have any idea how long it's been?”
"I do not," Spock admitted. He studied the figure before him, noting the details visible despite its translucent nature. Male, approximately his own age, human. The Starfleet uniform suggested he was, or had been, a cadet. "Who are you?"
"Right. Yeah. Sorry." The apparition ran a hand through his hair, a remarkably normal gesture for something so clearly abnormal. "I'm James T. Kirk. Jim. I used to live here. Well, I mean, I guess I still do live here, technically, since I can't exactly leave, but-" He stopped himself. "Sorry. I'm rambling. It's been a while since I've had anyone to talk to."
"James Kirk," Spock repeated. The name meant nothing to him. "You are the previous tenant of this apartment?"
"One of them, yeah." Kirk's form flickered slightly, like a faulty hologram. "There were two of us. Me and Bones- Leonard McCoy. But he moved out after..." Kirk trailed off, his expression growing distant.
"After what?"
Kirk's gaze refocused on Spock. "After whatever happened to me that turned me into... this."
Spock considered this. Among his people, there were concepts of consciousness existing beyond the physical body, the katra, the essence of one's being. But such phenomena were rare and poorly understood, even in Vulcan culture. To encounter something similar in a human was unprecedented in his experience.
"What is your current state?" Spock asked directly. "Are you deceased?"
"Honestly? I don't know." Kirk drifted closer, the movement was smooth, lacking the normal mechanics of walking. "I remember studying late one night. I remember feeling dizzy, like I couldn't breathe. Everything went dark. And then I woke up like this." He gestured to his translucent form. "No one could see me. No one could hear me."
"Have you attempted to leave the apartment?"
"More times than I can count. But I can't get further than the lift. It's like there's a wall there that only exists for me." Kirk's frustration was evident in his voice. "I've been stuck here for... I don't even know how long anymore. Time gets weird when you're like this. A couple months, maybe?"
Spock processed this information, his mind already working through possible explanations. "You said others haven’t been able to perceive you?"
"Nobody. The housing office sent people to pack up Bones's stuff. They walked right through me. Cleaning crew came through, same thing. I tried everything. Shouting, throwing things, well, trying to throw things. I can barely interact with physical objects." Kirk's form flickered again, more pronounced this time. "You're the first person who's even heard me. The first person who's seen me."
There was something in Kirk's voice, loneliness, yes, but also hope. The desperate hope of someone who had resigned themselves to isolation suddenly finding they weren't alone after all.
Spock found himself affected by it in a way he couldn't quite rationalize.
"I am Spock," he said, offering his name formally. "I am a cadet at Starfleet Academy. I was assigned this apartment this afternoon."
"Spock," Kirk repeated, and a small smile crossed his face. "That's a Vulcan name."
"It is."
"I've never talked to a Vulcan before..." Kirk studied him with open curiosity. "Is that why you can see me? Some kind of Vulcan thing?"
It was a logical question. Vulcans possessed telepathic abilities that humans lacked, primarily touch telepathy, though some individuals demonstrated greater sensitivity. It was theoretically possible that such sensitivity could allow Spock to perceive something that others could not.
"It is possible," Spock said carefully. "Vulcans have certain telepathic capabilities. It may be that I am able to perceive you where others cannot due to this sensitivity."
"That would make sense, I guess." Kirk drifted closer, his expression thoughtful. "Though I don't know why I'd be projecting telepathically. I'm not exactly psychic. Or I wasn't, anyway. Who knows what I am now."
"Among my people," Spock began, choosing his words carefully, "there is a concept called the katra. It is the essence of a person's consciousness, their living spirit. Under extremely rare circumstances, the katra can exist separately from the physical body."
Kirk's eyes widened. "Like a soul?"
"The comparison is... adequate, if imprecise. The katra contains one's experiences, memories, and identity. It is not merely consciousness but the totality of one's being."
"And you think that's what I might be? My katra, separated from my body?"
"I do not have sufficient evidence to confirm such a hypothesis," Spock said. "However, it is one possible explanation for your current state. Though I must note that such occurrences are nearly unheard of, even among Vulcans. And you are human. The mechanics may operate differently."
Kirk was quiet for a moment, absorbing this. His form stabilized, becoming slightly more solid, as if focusing gave him greater presence. "If that's true, then my body must still be out there somewhere. Right?"
"That would be the logical conclusion."
"Then where?" Kirk's voice grew urgent. "Where am I? What happened to me? Bones would never have just left me somewhere. He'd make sure I was getting proper care. But I don't know where I am or what condition I'm in or-"
"Mr Kirk." Spock used the name instinctively, the familiarity feeling oddly natural. "I understand your concern. However, becoming agitated will not provide us with answers."
Kirk stopped, his form flickering wildly before stabilizing again. "You're right. Sorry. I just- I've been stuck here with these questions for so long, and now there's finally someone who can help me find answers." He took a breath, unnecessary for someone in his state, but the human habit persisted. "What do we do?"
"We investigate," Spock said.
The words came out before he'd fully considered them. He paused, somewhat surprised by his own certainty. By all logic, he should be more cautious. He had only just arrived, knew nothing of Kirk beyond what the apparition had told him, and had no obligation to involve himself in what could be a complicated situation.
And yet.
There was something about Kirk, about the loneliness in his voice, the desperate hope in his translucent features, that made refusal impossible. Perhaps it was the scientific curiosity that had drawn Spock to Starfleet in the first place. An unexplained phenomenon, a mystery to solve. That was reason enough, wasn't it?
Or perhaps it was something else. Something less logical. The strange sense of recognition he'd felt, the inexplicable pull toward helping this person he'd only just met. The way Kirk's presence didn't feel intrusive despite the bizarreness of the situation, but rather... right. As if Kirk belonged here. As if Spock belonged here with him.
Illogical.
But compelling nonetheless.
"You mentioned your roommate, Leonard McCoy," Spock continued, pushing past his own uncertainty.
"He would have been the one to find you, to call for medical assistance. There should be records, incident reports, medical files. If we can access those records, we may be able to determine what happened to you and where your physical body is currently located."
Hope lit Kirk's features. "You would do that for me?"
"I have standard database access as a cadet. Whether that will be sufficient for medical records, I am uncertain. Such information is typically restricted." Spock moved to his bag and retrieved his PADD. "However, I can attempt a search."
Kirk hovered nearby as Spock settled onto the couch and began navigating the Starfleet database.
He began with a basic personnel search. James Kirk, cadet, Starfleet Academy. The record appeared quickly: enrollment date, course assignments, housing allocation. But the status field simply read: "Medical leave."
No details. No explanation. No location.
"Medical leave," Kirk said quietly, reading over Spock's shoulder. "So I'm not dead. That's... that's good, right?"
"It suggests your physical body is alive and presumably receiving treatment," Spock confirmed. "Though the lack of detail is concerning."
He navigated to the medical records database, but immediately encountered access restrictions. The system would not even display a summary without proper clearance.
"Damn," Kirk muttered. "Of course it's locked down."
Spock continued searching, trying different approaches. He found mention of an incident report filed by Leonard McCoy approximately two months prior. The date matched Kirk's timeline. But the report itself was sealed, marked as sensitive medical information.
"There is an incident report," Spock said, "but I cannot access its contents. It was filed by your roommate and copied to several senior staff members."
"Who?"
"Dean Martinez, Medical Director Puri, and..." Spock paused. "Captain Christopher Pike."
"Pike?" Kirk leaned closer.
"You know him?"
"He's one of the best instructors at the Academy." Kirk's expression grew thoughtful. "If he was copied on the report, he must know something about what happened to me."
"Indeed." Spock glanced at his PADD, checking his schedule. "I have an induction meeting with Captain Pike tomorrow morning at 0800 hours."
Kirk's eyes widened. "You could ask him. About what happened to me."
"I could," Spock agreed slowly. "Though I am uncertain how to broach the subject without appearing unusual.
To his surprise, Kirk laughed, genuine and unguarded. "You could just say you're concerned about your new housing assignment. That you heard there was an incident and you want to make sure the apartment is safe. That's not weird."
"It is a reasonable approach," Spock conceded. He set the PADD aside and looked at Kirk directly. "I cannot promise I will obtain useful information. Captain Pike may not be willing to discuss a cadet's medical situation with someone he has only just met."
"I know. But it's worth trying, right?" Kirk's expression was hopeful, vulnerable in a way that made Spock's chest tighten inexplicably. "It's the first lead I've had in months. The first chance at figuring out what happened to me."
"Then I will make the attempt," Spock said. "Tomorrow, after my meeting, I will relay any information I am able to obtain."
"Thank you." Kirk's voice was sincere, weighted with gratitude. "Really. I know this isn't what you signed up for. You probably expected a normal apartment and instead you got... well, me."
"I will admit, this was not what I anticipated when I accepted the housing assignment," Spock said. "However, I find the situation... intriguing. You represent a unique phenomenon. Investigating your circumstances aligns with the spirit of scientific inquiry that brought me to Starfleet."
Kirk smiled, warm and genuine despite his translucent state. "Leave it to a Vulcan to find the scientific value in a haunting."
"I prefer to think of it as an unexplained manifestation of consciousness rather than a haunting. The latter term carries supernatural connotations that are not supported by empirical evidence."
"An unexplained manifestation of consciousness," Kirk repeated, his tone amused. "Much better. Very scientific."
They fell into a comfortable silence. Outside, the last light of day faded completely, leaving only the glow of the city lights. Spock glanced at the time display on his PADD and realized how late it had become.
"I should prepare for sleep," he said. "The meeting with Captain Pike is early, and I need to be adequately rested."
"Of course. Yeah." Kirk drifted backward slightly, giving Spock space. "I'll just... I don't really sleep anymore. Or I don't think I do. Sometimes I kind of fade out for a while, but I'm not sure if that counts as sleep or just... existing differently."
Spock stood, collecting his PADD and the now-cold tea. He paused, uncertain how to phrase his next question. "Will my presence in the apartment disturb you? I do not wish to intrude on your space."
Kirk looked surprised, then touched. "Spock, this is your apartment now. You're not intruding. If anything, I'm the one intruding on you. I'm just... I'm grateful you can see me."
There was something raw in Kirk's voice, a loneliness that resonated with Spock's own feelings of isolation. He thought of his last weeks on Vulcan, of feeling caught between worlds, of his father's disappointment and his own uncertainty. He thought of arriving on Earth, surrounded by humans but feeling fundamentally separate from them.
"You are not intruding," Spock said quietly. "This is your home. I am merely... a temporary roommate."
Kirk's expression softened. "Temporary roommate. I like that." He smiled. "Welcome home, Spock. Sorry about the weird circumstances."
"The circumstances are indeed unusual," Spock agreed. "However, I find I do not mind them as much as logic suggests I should."
"That's the spirit. Embrace the weirdness."
Spock gathered his belongings and moved toward the bedroom he'd chosen earlier. At the doorway, he paused and looked back. Kirk hovered near the window, his translucent form outlined against the city lights, looking both present and impossibly distant.
"Goodnight" Spock said.
Kirk turned, his smile visible even in the dim light. "Goodnight. And... thank you.”
Spock nodded and entered the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. He unpacked only what he needed for the night, then settled on the floor in a meditative position.
But meditation proved difficult. His mind circled back repeatedly to the mystery of James Kirk, to the apparition in his living room, to the sealed medical records, to the roommate who had moved out and the body that was somewhere unknown.
To the strange, immediate sense of connection he'd felt upon perceiving Kirk, as if some part of him recognized the other man despite never having met him before.
Vulcans did not believe in fate or destiny, such concepts were antithetical to logic. And yet, as Spock finally released his meditation and prepared for sleep, he couldn't shake the feeling that his assignment to this apartment, his ability to perceive Kirk when others could not, was significant in ways he had yet to comprehend.
Tomorrow, he would speak with Captain Pike. Tomorrow, he would begin searching for answers.
But tonight, for the first time since arriving on Earth, Spock didn't feel the crushing weight of isolation that had followed him from Vulcan.