Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What the hell just happened, Saavik report!” Pike called from the Captain’s chair. 

The Enterprise heaved as an engine stalled out causing the bridge to grip the nearest railing. The klaxon of yellow alert still held over the bridge, Uhura relaying hull fractures from the photons of the Romulan ship.

Spock strode to the screen, eyeing Saavik’s PADD as she attempted to recall their navigation. She frowned.

“Starbase 9 has disappeared from our sensors, Captain.” She said. Spock checked his station. 

“So has the Romulan ship…and the black star.” The Romulan ship had appeared out of thin air behind a black star they had been attempting to chart. Cloaked, it had pursued the Enterprise into its gravity. 

They had barely avoided it by diverting life systems towards the warp core for a few seconds. An unprecedented maneuver which risked overloading the core entirely, and had somehow flung them through space. 

“Lt. Mitchell, where the devil are we?” Lt. Gary Mitchell spoke from beside Saavik.

“...Earth, sir.” The bridge fell silent, staring at the unfamiliar planet. Spock squinted at his PADD.

“Lt. Mitchell is correct, Captain, Earth as it was in 1965 based on the atmospheric analysis.” Spock could pick out the rigid line of his shoulders and the white-knuckled grip on the console, but to the bridge Pike was the picture of calm. He brought a hand to his jaw.

“Someone get Number One up here.” An ensign near the door hurried out. She was likely still down in engineering. “I’m assuming this has something to do with the kickback from that star?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any theories how to--”

“Sir, the Romulan ship--” A hit rocked the ship. A number of alarms let them know without words the Enterprise could likely not stand another hit of that caliber.

“Where is it!” Pike called from the chair, hands gripped on the arms.

“It’s cloaked, sir!” Mitchell called from his seat. 

“Track that last shot, fire when ready! Saavik, evasive maneuvers!"

“Sir, we’re too low in the atmosphere!” Mitchell interrupted, hands white knuckled over the controls. “We can’t hold orbit…” The room watched the viewscreen with growing dread. “...and we’ve got no cloud cover.”

“Give her some altitude, Mitchell, we can’t risk--”

Uhura spun in her chair. They’d been spotted, sure enough. 

“I’m picking up a signal, sir.” Spock was already leaning over his science station to confirm it.

“Small craft, one occupant. It is gaining on us from below.”

“Uhura, can you pick out the transmission?” She nodded. spinning in her seat. A distorted voice came over the comm.

“...4, this is Blackjack, we have you and the UFO on radar.” The bridge went entirely still. Spock frowned. Indeed they were right to fear. 

The Prime Directive applied to the past as much as the present, if not more. All recent theories on the time continuum framed it as fragile, prone to tear or collapse on itself when faced with the hypothetical that had suddenly become their reality. Pike looked to Spock.

“UFO?”

“Unidentified Flying Object, Captain.” He supplied automatically. Pike swore under his breath. 

“Red Alert. Mitchell, evasive action. Scotty give as much power to those boosters as you can.” Scotty shouted through the comm but Pike ignored him, waving Spock over, impatiently. 

“What consequences are we looking at here?”

“I need more information, Captain, but I would advise we proceed as if any effect on the present Earth could be disastrous.” Pike nodded. He pressed the comm again. “Number One, I need you on the bridge.” Her voice came through tersely.

“Negative, Captain. I’m needed down here.” 

On any other bridge it would’ve been insubordination, but they seemed to have a style all their own when it came to command. If anyone could help Scotty give them enough power to escape atmosphere, it was her. Still, Spock, like the Captain, wished illogically for her presence on the bridge. 

This was perhaps the greatest anomaly they had encountered on their five year mission thus far. Another voice crackled over the comm Uhura patched through. 

“This is Bluejay, craft is in my sights.” 

Spock’s fingers sped over his PADD. Spock brought up the plane schematics in the ship’s computer, casting the images to the Captain.

“Faster, Mr. Mitchell.” Desperation was beginning to bleed into Pike’s voice. Mitchell tightened his grip on the throttle.

“I’m trying, Captain.” Pike turned back to Spock, eyes on the screen where Spock was now projecting the aircraft following them alongside its schematics. The red glowing lines reflected back in their eyes. It was still gaining. 

“Weapons capabilities?”

“Confirmed. Missiles. In our present state, the damage could be enough to force us to land.” A delicate way to say crash.

“Blackjack, I have visual contact!” There was an air of triumph and awe to the voice. “God, she’s gorgeous, can you see this?” The response was crowded with static. “UFO is picking up speed and climbing. Do I pursue?”

Spock suppressed a twinge of irritation at the excitement in the pilot’s voice. The bridge held their breath as Ground Control came through. 

“Bluejay, this is Blackjack, orders to pursue. Disable or ground if possible.” Uhura turned from her seat.

“Captain, Ground Control just radioed for more planes.” Mitchell shook his head, a steady hand on the controls.

“They won’t catch us.”

“Can you shake the one on our tail?”

“I’ll do my best, Captain.”

If Spock were human, he might’ve been insulted. The Enterprise was the finest ship in the fleet, it would not be outpaced by an F-104 from 1965.

“Any sign of the Romulans?” 

“None, Captain.” Pike pressed his comm.

“Mr. Scott, Number One, any ideas?”

“We could use the tractor beam to stall them,” Scotty said. Spock tensed. Before he could speak, Number One piped up on the comms.

“I wouldn’t advise it. This type of craft may not survive the sudden G-force.” Pike glanced between the comms and the viewscreen. 

Mitchell no longer needed to report the F-104’s progress, the plane had appeared as a growing dot behind them. Soon close enough for cameras, close enough to aim, to fire. If they were forced to land, then what? 

Pike glanced at Spock. Perhaps nothing, perhaps the collapse of their entire timeline.

“Do it, Mr. Scott.”

“Aye, sir.” Uhura tuned back into the pilot’s frequency. Seconds later the pilot’s frantic voice came on. Mitchell flinched back, eyes wide as the plane on his screen caught fire. 

“Blackjack, come in Blackjack! I’ve been hit! Engine’s overheating--” The pilot was choking. Nearly a sob of terror. At Pike’s gesture, Saavik zoomed in on the now flaming F-104, spinning rapidly toward the ground. 

“He’s not ejecting.” Mitchell said, eyes wide. Uhura pressed her earpiece in alarm.

“He’s stuck!”

“I can’t--my--my trigger is jammed. I can’t eject.” There was a tremulous tone Spock identified as panic.

“Captain--”

“Transporter Room, can you get a lock on the pilot?”

“Scanning now, sir.” Mitchell went rigid at his post.

“Sir! We’ve spotted at least three more incoming!” Pike swore.

“Can you get us out of atmosphere?”

“Yes, sir, but--”

“Do it! Get us as far as you can.” Pike rose from his chair. Spock didn’t miss the covert switch of his phaser from off to stun. “Spock, with me. Mitchell you have the conn.”

They hurried to the Transporter Room in terse silence. 

Everywhere there was evidence of the strain on the ship caused by the black star, the acrid smell of burnt metal and coolant filled the hallways. The lights were still at half brightness, flickering as the warp core drew on their energy reserves. 

Mitchell’s voice came through his comm.

“The plane crashed, no sign of the pilot!” Pike met Spock’s eyes and then took off at a run. Spock followed, a fraction more sedately. The Enterprise gave a groan under their feet as she broached Earth’s atmosphere. 

Spock and Pike arrived to the hum of the transporter, the pilot materializing in front of them. Spock held himself back, aware that his decidedly alien appearance would likely only hinder Pike’s diplomacy. Perhaps Mitchell would’ve been a better choice.

The man stumbled, spinning to take in his surroundings. When he tore off his helmet, his hair was slick with sweat and his breath was coming fast. He was younger than Spock had expected, his orange uniform consistent with the era. He was terrified.

Pike spoke quietly to the ensign manning the control, his eyes never leaving the strange pilot. Spock caught Dr. McCoy’s name, frowning in slight disapproval. While the man was no doubt in need of medical treatment, the inclusion of the loud doctor was unlikely to improve matters.

The pilot seemed to take them in for the first time, eyes wide. He was pale and gaunt under a layer of sweat and smoke, blonde hair still cropped military style. Adrenaline set his body on edge, set back on his heels ready to bolt. 

Spock watched his eyes go to the door behind Spock, glancing over him hidden in the shadows behind the transporter controls. 

Pike approached, hands up placating.

“Careful, first time on a transporter might leave you a bit dizzy.” The pilot stiffened, looking to Pike with wild eyes. “Welcome aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise.” He merely stared at Pike. Spock couldn’t see the Captain's expression from this angle.

“You speak English.” An obvious fact but an adequate place to start. Pike seemed to share the sentiment, he lowered his arms.

“You’ll find that true for the rest of my crew as well… James T. Kirk.” Kirk startled, hand reaching absentmindedly for the name embroidered on his uniform.

“My name is Captain Pike, this is Ensign Matthews.” Kirk’s eyes flickered to the woman behind the control panel. She gave a tense smile.

“You’re not aliens.” Pike’s dry amusement was evident in his voice.

“No, we’re human as you are, Mr. Kirk.” Spock shifted uncomfortably behind the ensign.

“Captain Kirk.” He corrected. Pike raised his eyebrows. Kirk seemed to relax, taking in his surroundings. “If you’re not aliens then what the hell do you call this then?” He gestured vaguely. 

“What are you, Soviets? CIA? You can’t be Navy, even they aren’t stupid enough to flaunt their newest toys like this.” Kirk’s eyes dropped. “What kind of uniform is that?” Pike raised his hands placating at the barrage of questions.

“All your questions will be answered, for now--” 

Kirk’s face contorted in sudden rage. 

“You shot down my plane!”  Spock could hear Pike wince. He crept forward, carefully out of view of the pilot.

“I apologize…Captain. We were unaware that our tractor beam would damage your sh-plane. It was not an attack. We beamed you aboard to save your life.” Spock narrowed his eyes. The lie was regrettably logical. They needed Captain Kirk’s compliance efficiently. 

Kirk scowled but drew closer to the edge of the transporter.

“ Beamed? ” Pike hesitated.

“...Yes.” Kirk scoffed, pacing slightly. Spock could see his adrenaline start to fade into tremors in his hands and shoulders. 

“You’re not aliens.” Pike hesitated.

“Not all of us.”

They had nearly killed this man, it occurred to Spock. He could be the father of the next President, he could save the life of the doctor who began World War 3. They could’ve destroyed their timeline as naively as crushing an ant under a boot heel. 

“Am I your prisoner?” Kirk asked.

“You are our guest. We will answer all your questions if you just come with me.” A diplomatic answer if there ever was one.

“Captain, we’ve cleared orbit. Uhura is keeping an eye on the transmissions.” Pike turned to the control board, pressing his comm.

“Excellent work, Mr. Mitchell. We have the pilot onboard.” Kirk’s eyes dropped to the phaser at Pike’s waist. 

Spock caught the twitch a second too late. 

Kirk tackled Pike just as he ended the call. He pulled the phaser from Pike’s belt, wrapping his arm around the man’s throat. Pike stilled as the phaser came to rest against his temple. Spock froze, two feet away, in plain view for the first time.

“Guest, my ass. I know a gun when I see one. Can’t be too hard to find the trigger.” 

He had not yet noticed Spock’s presence, focus entirely on Pike and Ensign Matthews. “Whatever you did before, do it again--the transporter. Put me back on Earth.” Matthews panicked.

“I can’t, we’re out of range--”

“You don’t want to do this, son,” Pike said. Kirk turned the phaser on Matthews.

“Just tell me how to get back!” He fired, hitting the transporter controls, jerking back in surprise. Matthews screamed, ducking behind the panel.

“Careful!”

“I’m sorry I--”

“Don’t do something you’ll regret, I promise we will answer all your questions--” 

“Bullshit! You destroyed my plane, kidnapped me, and now you’re telling me I can’t leave?” Kirk’s face clouded. 

Spock grit his teeth against the waves of panic radiating off him. He muted it to a weak grating against his mind. Ensign Matthews caught sight of him as he took a cautious step forward.

“The Captain’s logic is sound.” Kirk swung the gun wildly to Spock, drawing back against the transporter. Pike shot Spock an exasperated look. 

Kirk’s face went slack as he rounded on Spock, gun shaking slightly. His gaze traveled up and down Spock in hysteria. Spock berated himself for forgetting his earlier pronouncement.

The First Contact between Vulcans and humans had come in 2063, over radio. A declaration of war, followed by a declaration of peace, a hundred treaties made, broken and renewed.

Spock had just fast tracked that contact by a hundred years. Kirk’s eyes traveled over his ears, his face, his hand where he’d cut it in his fall. 

“So you are aliens.” Spock frowned.

“I am not an alien. I am Vulcan.” Kirk blinked, the phaser falling a scarce inch. It was all he needed. 

Spock knocked the phaser from his grip easily. 

Kirk jerked back but Spock gripped the wrist pressed against Pike’s throat. 

Suppressing his dislike of contact with the human, Spock yanked him forward, his other hand finding the pressure point in his neck. Kirk dropped with a cry, nearly taking Pike with him. 

The captain righted with a weak cough, looking vaguely disgruntled. Spock identified it as embarrassment.

“Mr. Kirk is younger with 13% more muscle mass.” Spock said as he helped him to his feet. “It is not a personal failing that he overpowered you, merely inevitable.” Pike stared at him, the flush slowly fading from his face.

“Thank you, Spock.” His skills at reading and responding to human emotion were improving. They turned their attention to Kirk who now lay splayed across the ground, his face twisted in pain. 

Had they any doubt of their assessment of the time they now found themselves he had certainly erased it. 

His uniform was covered in embroidered patches and symbols neither of them could identify beyond that of the United States of America.

Pike crouched beside Kirk to check his pulse. Spock suppressed a twinge of irritation. He was well aware of his own strength in comparison to a human’s. He opened his communicator.

“Spock to McCoy--” Pike raised his hand, cutting Spock off. He searched the pilot’s closed eyelids silently before crossing to the doors, locking them.

“Captain?”

“Mr. Spock…can you search his mind, try and discover how much his government has gleaned about us?Whether we’re really in Earth’s past, our past?” Spock let his communicator fall shut. His unease grew.

“You are proposing a meld.” Pike looked troubled as well but determined. It was not the first time he had melded in the line of duty, but for the first time since they had emerged in 1965, Spock allowed himself to acknowledge that his shielding was weak, his mind erratic. 

Without touch Spock could feel the Captain’s mind, and Kirk’s slumbering one pressing at the walls of his skull, all it would take was the slightest lapse in control to push the connection further. He swallowed and nodded.

If he wanted to prove himself equal to the task of First Officer, this may be the way to set himself apart. He knelt beside Kirk. 

A light touch, surface level no more should be enough to witness only the memories at the forefront of his mind, the most recent. Spock laid his fingers across Kirk’s temple and cheek. 

He bit back a gasp at the ferocity with which his mind seized Kirk’s, instantly he was deeper than he meant to be, clawing his way to the surface. Spock attempted to soothe his sleep, the pain and confusion had settled after the nerve pinch. Somewhat quieted, Spock was able to parse through Kirk’s mind. 

The surface of his mind was a tangle of emotional memories, Spock hesitated to approach it, instead scanning those surrounding it. Kirk climbing into his plane. A man across the hangar. Sunlight on the ocean. Spock frowned in concentration. There was no way around it, he decided, suppressing his frustration. He fortified his mental shields as much as possible and pushed at the memories. 

“This is your last chance, Kirk. Proximity, Immediacy, expectancy. They need you back out there.” A man spoke, dressed in cleaner military garb than Kirk, weighed down by medals. His hands trembled, He fisted them behind his back. It was just a plane. 

“Yes, sir.” He saluted before crawling back into the cockpit. 

He was flying suddenly, an engine under his feet, he felt Kirk’s trepidation, his guilt, his joy, so closely tied they were practically indistinguishable. 

The radio tower alerted him to the UFO, then Spock could see the Enterprise in the distance. Blackjack are you seeing this? Kirk’s excited voice broke. Then the memory changed suddenly, warping. 

The UFO emerged from behind the clouds. She was beautiful, he was weightless. He was choking on fumes, flames licking his uniform. His lungs felt squeezed, Kirk’s memory grew hotter, blurrier. 

All joy and guilt fell into an open pit of panic. Spock forced his heart to slow as the panic mounted, smoke filling the plane. He’s going to crash, Spock realized. Spock turned his head as Kirk, staring at the reflection in the glass of the cockpit. 

It was a different wreck, in the rain over tropical trees. Spock could feel a mirrored panic, fear, but this hand found the ejection handle. He watched a fellow plane explode in front of him.

Outside the plane, an expanse of thick green trees gave way to a burning city. Spock flinched, confused. The exterior flickered, wavering between the ocean and the forest.

 It’s two memories, Spock realized, tied together by Kirk’s fear. Spock was caught in the tide, his shields failing, he had no fortress to retreat to. 

Smoke filled the cockpit, he was choking, the heat burning his skin. Spock grounded himself in his physical body and forced his fingers away from Kirk’s meld points. He collapsed, trembling, onto his hands. 

“Spock!” He felt the heat of Pike’s hands approach his shoulder and flinched violently. When Spock met his eyes, he watched the Captain pale. “Spock…” Spock reached up and found his cheeks wet. 

He stood swiftly, turning from the Captain as he fixed his face. He had not cried since he was a child, his concern was growing as the pain in his head refused to abate. His shields were even worse now, he was in need of urgent meditation, it felt as though his mind had been ravaged with Kirk’s emotions without a stopgap to prevent emotional transference. 

Even now he could feel the tremors of adrenaline in his body, the heat of the fire. Vomit rose in his throat, his vision swimming. He could not afford this.

“Ground control was capable of visual contact with the ship, Captain, however it is unclear whether it has been retained and stored or went down with Kirk’s plane.” 

“Spock--”

They turned their heads at the sounds of footsteps. McCoy appeared in the doorway. Pike crossed his arms, voice slightly hoarse.

“About damn time.” 

“Comms are down I had to find out we were beaming up an injured pilot from Mitchell!” Pike waved off McCoy as his face flushed, mouth open to rant angrily no doubt. 

“Just get this man to the infirmary. No restraints but…don’t leave anything sharp lying about.” 

McCoy narrowed his eyes, grumbling under his breath as he approached the unconscious pilot. Pike refixed his attention on Spock, no doubt about to advise Spock join Kirk in the infirmary. 

“I am functioning adequately Captain, I was only unprepared for the emotional transference.” Pike pursed his lips but nodded. 

McCoy scanned Kirk and stuck a hypo in his neck. His expression eased. Pike moved to stand beside Spock as the doctor did his work.

His comm chirped. Pike opened it.

“Sir! You’re gonna want to get to the bridge.” Mitchell’s voice came through uneasy. Pike traded a glance with Spock. 

“Back to the bridge, Mr. Spock.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Chapter Text

Pike joined Spock at his station an hour later while he ran through the data on the wormhole. The shift change had sent most of the exhausted Alpha shift off to sleep, leaving only the stragglers. Spock had dismissed his replacement back to the science labs; he did not intend to stop until he had at least a rudimentary understanding of their situation.

“Have an update?”

“It concerns the pilot, James Kirk.” 

“Captain,” Pike muttered, watching Spock’s recent calculations. Number One joined him, crossing her arms as she took in the temporal displacement. The Einstein-Rosen bridge had closed but sat like an abscess on Earth’s orbit.  Pike stared at the dense mass on the screen, graph lines charting its contractions. “What about him?”

“I’ve searched the history archives for instances of a similar nature and found a single precedent.” He swiped. “ The U.S.S. Expedition, operative in 3025 Standard Years disappeared at the edge of charted space. It then reappeared in the same spot 45 years later. The crew claimed to have experienced the first instance of an Einstein-Rosen Bridge. The ship’s data corroborated their claims.”

“What happened to them?” Spock pulled up the Captain’s official statement on their return and passed it to Pike. He read it while Spock summarized. 

“The Captain’s statement details multiple instances of interaction with iterations of themselves and directly participating events in history.” Pike relaxed.

“So we’re ok on that end then.” Spock hesitated.

“It in fact means the opposite, Captain. Their account supports the theory of the multiverse, the bridge transporting them into an indirect past, not their own.” Pike frowned as he hit Captain Abrams' account of the dissolution of Starfleet and the Vulcan Wars. Spock pulled up videos, articles, accounts, forming a hastily built timeline over the viewscreen. 

“Lieutenant Uhura has assisted me in accessing Earth’s records. With 68.7% certainty, we have landed in our direct past, Captain.” Pike leaned back against his chair. 

“So, if we participate in history…our future will cease to exist.”

“With 68.7% certainty, Captain.” Pike sat silently, staring at his shoes for a moment. Spock was still at loss how to be of use to his Captain when he grew melancholy as he called it. 

“Have I already destroyed it by taking Kirk aboard?” Spock wished he could say no, but without precedent, he was at a loss. 

“I have done the accorded research. He has no notable contributions in history which his absence would disrupt, within 88% certainty.” Pike raised his eyebrows.

“Ouch. Maybe don’t tell the kid that.” Spock waited for Pike to address the conclusion he had so tactfully brought them to the edge of. If Kirk’s absence didn’t have any effect, his return from an apparent alien abduction and smoking wreckage of a plane… 

Would that be enough? Would it change history? They wouldn’t know, not until it was too late.

“What do you make of him, Spock?” Number One asked. She had yet to meet him as he remained unconscious in the med bay under the watchful eye of Mitchell. 

“Impulsive, volatile, uncooperative.” Pike’s lips twitched ruefully. Spock frowned, unable to identify the emotion Pike’s obvious fondness summoned in him.

“Dangerous?” Pike’s voice was soft. Spock considered, eyeing his background calculations.

“Inconclusive.” Pike snorted, drawing Spock’s gaze sharply. 

“We can’t take him back to Earth.”

“No sir.” Pike rubbed his jaw. His eyes were beginning to show signs of exhaustion. 

“If it meant bringing him home without endangering the crew,” Pike hesitated. “Could you wipe his memories?” Spock stared at Pike. “Would you?”

Spock gripped the edge of his station, sitting abruptly. His mind had not still not recovered from the earlier meld, shielding took a wasteful amount of effort. He had ignored it as he worked but he now had to admit it did not seem to be improving. 

“I could not manipulate his memories without his consent, Captain. It would be breaking the Accords.” As well as his own personal morals. 

“The Prime Directive outlaws any mental or bodily invasion of a pre-warp species unless it is life-saving.” 

Spock could count the number of Vulcans in Starfleet in two digits. The majority pursued research and science positions. Only a few found a comfortable place in command--when approached, they had warned him that he would reach a point of choosing between following Surak and following Starfleet. He had ignored them. 

Under Pike he had found a semblance of belonging, he had made tentative friendships, he had never been asked to do what was now demanded. It seemed his initial surface level meld with the pilot was just the beginning. The sheer memory of it left a bad taste in his mouth, and yet his weakened mind cried out for mental contact. Pike rose. 

Dread pooled in his stomach. He nodded. Pike hesitated next to the lift. 

“If I determine the mind-wipe to be life-saving, I might make it an order, Spock.” Spock and Number One shared a look as Pike turned his back. 

“Understood, Captain.” Pike returned to the Captain’s chair, slumping into it. He seemed older, exhausted in a way he hadn’t weeks, even days ago. He seemed small in the chair, lost in its stark shadows. 

“In the meantime, Spock, would you mind relieving Mitchell from his post in sickbay? He’s been down there for hours.” Spock felt dread curl in the back of his mind. Mitchell had been assigned to watch Kirk. Pike raised his eyebrows. “Something wrong?”

“Given Kirk’s reaction to me in the transporter room, I believe he would find waking up to my presence in the room…alarming.” Pike gave a world weary smile.

“Perhaps. But if he does prove erratic or dangerous, I feel better about having you there.” Spock nodded.

He was both surprised and pleased, it seemed the sort of task Pike would assign to Number One. At the very least it was one he had assigned to Mitchell. With her promotion to Captain of the Franklin rapidly approaching, he couldn’t help but conclude that it was a possible test of their capabilities as First Officer.

His work could just as easily be conducted from the infirmary as the bridge, as long as the doctor proved absent or occupied. 

“Very well, Captain.” Pike nodded his thanks.

“Comm me when he wakes up, Commander.” 

Kirk came awake to a faint ache in his neck. He ignored it, eyes closed, floating in his strangely silent mind. The ache grew worse, like insistent fingers digging into the muscle between his neck and shoulder. 

He winced, his eyes immediately watering. The lights were blessedly low. Kirk stared at the smooth white ceiling, uncomprehending. 

He had crashed hadn’t he? Was he in the hospital? For a moment, fear woke and yawned inside him. He was back in a medical tent, the air hot and sticky with the buzz of bombs and the screaming of bugs, everything hurt and they kept telling him that Jonathan was dead. 

A figure shifted in the chair next to him. It was the figure who snapped the fear closed again. That and the smell, antiseptic, like a real hospital. Wherever he was, it wasn’t there. The man wore a sleek blue uniform with an insignia on the lapel. His eyes stuck on it. 

He had crashed. 

He could feel it, everything in his body ached. Like he had been halfway to burnt alive again.  His right foot ached when he tried to move it. It had gotten stuck in the cockpit, jammed beneath his chair where he couldn’t reach the eject. 

He remembered the sensation of being atomized, sucked onto the transporter. It was the man from the transporter room, the one dressed in blue who had...punched him? 

The alien.

Kirk rubbed at the sore spot of his neck. His eyes fixed on the strange point to the man’s ears. The alien from the transporter room.

Trust him to get abducted by aliens his first mission back in the air. God, they’d never let him back up now, not when they heard about this. He fought the relief that broke softly in the back of his mind. He still wanted to fly. And it didn’t matter anyway because he had to fly. 

“Am I dead?” His voice was hoarse. He winced. The alien cocked an eyebrow.

“Negative.”

“What are you?” It narrowed its eyes--he? It looked…man-shaped. His eyebrows tipped up just like his ears but beyond that he had all the essential elements in what appeared to be the right places. 

“I am Vulcan.”

“Are you mutated or something?” He bristled. Kirk waved his hands. “You look…human, almost. More human than I was expecting.” 

The self-proclaimed Vulcan sat rigid. Kirk couldn’t tell if he was angry or if Kirk had broken him somehow. It was like staring at those painted mannequins in shop windows. 

Without answering, he moved to the wall next to the door, pressing the call button.

“Vulcan is not a mutation, it is a planet populated by Vulcans.” The Vulcan fixed him with a look that seemed to beg now do you understand? 

“Are you shapeshifters?” Spock narrowed his eyes. 

“That is not a trait Vulcans possess, no.” 

“Your Captain…he’s human?” He nodded, glancing toward the door. “Are they your slaves? Humans? Is that why you’re here?” He blinked at Kirk.

“Negative.”

“Then why…” Kirk stared at him. He was mercifully saved Kirk’s inane questions by the door. Kirk clutched the railing of the bed as Captain Pike entered, followed by a woman in matching yellow and another man in blue. Human at least. 

The Vulcan nodded to the Captain, and the woman, who Kirk could only assume was his second in command, before stepping back to fiddle with a pane of glass. The Captain stepped forward, introducing the new man as Dr. McCoy and his second, simply as Number One. She regarded him with a critical eye that made him uneasy.

“Glad to see you awake, Mr. Kirk.” He swallowed the instinctual correction.

“Where am I?” Pike traded an uneasy glance with Number One. The Doctor approached him, holding a strange beeping instrument. Kirk kept a wary eye on it.

“You’re aboard our ship, the Enterprise. How much do you remember?”

“Send me back to Earth.” He ignored Pike’s question. “They’ll notice I’m missing.” 

Pike held up a placating hand. He had the smile lines about the eyes and the fatherly demeanor that the Air Force had taught him a long time ago not to trust.

“Jim…Can I call you Jim?” They were trying to be friendly. It set his teeth on edge. 

“Who are you?” The Captain scowled.

“My name is Pike, remember? Captain Pike.” He turned to glare at the alien. “How hard did you Vulcan the kid.” He stiffened, looking almost offended.

“I assure you, a nerve pinch should have no adverse--” Kirk remembered the faint burning fingerprints in his neck.

“A what? ” He batted the device away from his face, which was apparently the last straw. The doctor’s voice rose over the din. 

“Everyone out!” Pike stayed where he was. McCoy stared him down, pointing to the door.

“Whatever else he is out there, in here, this man is my patient. His care comes first, and in this room, I’m Captain.” Pike took the Doctor’s puffed up threats with a surprising weary grace. 

McCoy glowered at the Vulcan who had waited behind the Captain. 

“That included you, you pointy-eared bastard, interrogate him when he’s strong enough to stand.” 

“Stand down, Captain McCoy, we concede,” Number One said dryly, following the Captain out. The Vulcan gave little sign of having heard him outside of his compliance. Last one out, the door slid shut behind him. Kirk raised his eyebrows.

“What’s the story there?” McCoy snorted, scanning his own glass device. Looking at it too long made Kirk’s eyes hurt.

“Nice try, kid.” Kid. Son. What was it with these people? He caught Dr. McCoy’s hand as he tried to set the device to his temple.

“I’m not a kid.” He hadn’t sat in a boiling cockpit listening to screams over the radio and distorted wails at night just to sit here and be condescended to. 

Everyone here was washed, fed, uniforms pressed, teeth brushed, boots polished. He didn’t know where they came from, but it sure as hell looked like heaven compared to where he’d been. 

McCoy stilled, appraising him. Kirk refused to be cowed.

“You’re someone’s kid, ain’t you?”

“If I asked you if I’m going to go home at the end of this, would you tell me the truth?” McCoy gave him a long look. He tugged until Kirk loosened his grip. He tapped the insignia on his uniform. The strange arch with a single star.

“See this? It means Starfleet. It’s not my business to tell you all the details, it’s the Captains.” The doctor met his eyes as he set down the tools. He looked tired, wane, and haunted. He side-eyed him as he removed his gloves. “But I can tell you that this is an exploratory vessel. We don’t have half the weaponry on our ship that you did on your little paper plane.” 

Kirk clenched his fists. An F-104, new enough he hadn’t even cracked the vinyl seats yet. The second plane he’d seen go down in flames in the last six months. The first he’d flown with since he was fresh out of flight school and deemed ‘reckless and irresponsible.’ 

Losing this plane felt like losing her all over again.

McCoy held his stare. 

“We don’t kill, Captain Kirk.”

McCoy directed him to a bathroom in his hospital room, complete with toilet and shower. He showed him the controls and told him he’d set a change of clothes on his bed. 

When Kirk asked him the time limit on the showers he gave him a strange look and told him to take as long as he wanted.

Kirk’s exhaustion went to war with his suspicion and won. He turned the shower on and stepped beneath the spray, sagging against the cold tile. He could feel the crash in his body now. He hadn’t ejected this time but his muscles were still strained where he had clawed at the jammed ejection handle and struggled against his seatbelt.

Whatever McCoy had done while he was asleep had erased any physical marks of the fire and his subsequent struggle, only the deeper aches and the blood caked under his nails remained. He stared at them a long moment before he started scrubbing vigorously. 

He started with his hair, his face. By the time he got to his hands he was crouched on the floor, every limb exhausted. 

He’d been back on U.S. soil for less than a month and it felt less real every day. He expected to wake up still back there, Jonathan scrambling into a hot chrome jet beside him as their Sergeant barked new orders. 

But Jonathan was dead. His plane was scrap. And Rolling Thunder rolled on, every number on the radio larger than the last. He spent every day in front of the air conditioner, the TV, the shower, and the war went on and on without him. 

This just felt like a dream within a dream, spiralling farther from his acrid reality. He couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t even cling to his present long enough to focus on it before his mind dragged him kicking and screaming back there. 

He had no idea how long he was under the water, it never ran cold. 

When he emerged his flight suit had been replaced with a clean set of gray civvies. Kirk felt a stab of irritation and reminded himself to ask the Captain where it had gone. He had no intention of staying any longer than he needed to. 

His curiosity had been tempered by the strange bristled ship which had pursued the Enterprise. He had a bad feeling these intergalactic guests had brought their own fight to their doorstep.

McCoy turned up with a strange syringe he promised would wake him up which Kirk refused. Kirk didn’t miss the absence of locks or restraints. A blatant show of trust. Or they had advanced beyond such petty physical limitations. 

It was miraculous to the point of unbelievable. He had held their Captain at gunpoint after all. Kirk winced. It had been a desperate bid. He sat up slowly, resting his feet on the floor.

A knock sounded on the door. It opened to Captain Pike. Kirk gave him a wary nod. Pike smiled, his posture relaxed.

“Care for a walk?” Kirk followed him out, leaning slightly on the wall for support. Pike adjusted his pace without a word. They left the sickbay behind in favor of slow curving hallways, the same gleaming porcelain of the infirmary. The lights were dim, occasionally flickering. Everyone they passed wore some version of the same uniform. Starfleet. Most were human but not all. Kirk did his best not to stare. Pike nodded to them but never stopped.

“I wanted to apologize, on behalf of Spock,” Pike started. 

“Who?”

“He was in the room when you woke up.” Oh. Kirk snorted.

“He didn’t look very apologetic.” Pike smiled. 

“Occupational habit.”

“I’d return your apology but you did destroy my plane, nearly kill, and then kidnap me.” Pike nodded. “Still waiting on an explanation for that one by the way.”

The hallway they walked down opened to a window on one side, black space pressed against the glass.

“Well…it’s partially because of…well, that.” He motioned to the window as they drew closer. Kirk tried not to stare. It was a view of Earth from orbit, Kirk could see the barest curve of the atmosphere, the gleam where the sun hit the surface of the ocean. 

“We left Earth’s atmosphere in order to escape your fellow planes but the last push put our warp core over the edge. In our current state the Enterprise would burn up the atmosphere.” Great. Pike seemed remorseful but he was a well-seasoned Captain, obviously, he was no doubt holding some cards close to his chest. 

“I told you the truth when I said we didn’t mean to destroy your plane. We only beamed you aboard to save your life.”

“It was an accident.” Kirk said. It seemed almost too ridiculous to be true. Not only abducted by aliens but abducted by accident. He would be offended if he wasn’t so frustrated. 

All he’d wanted was to fly again without feeling every corpse he once knew and all the ones he didn’t breathing down his neck. Now, he’d be lucky if he made it back home in time to see the war end.

“McCoy said you were…Starfleet.”

“That’s correct.” His eyes were drawn again to the dark outside the glass. Pike came to stop beside one, hands clasped behind his back. Together they gazed out. Kirk had to fight the urge to clutch the floor beneath his feet. The expanse made him tremble.

“You’re from the future, aren’t you?” Pike sighed next to him.

“Well that certainly makes things easier. What gave it away?” Kirk glanced around him. Nothing on Earth could’ve made the ship he was sitting in. And yet the crew spoke English, even the Doctor had an unmistakable Southern twang. If these were alien imposters they were certainly nailing the details. English but not. Human but not.

“It’s obvious to anyone who’s looking hard enough.” A couple of ensigns hurried past them dressed in what Pike told him were science blues when he asked.

“Is this--the time travel--is it normal wherever you're from?” 

“It was an accident involving our warp core and a black star. Something like this has never happened before…in our timeline at least.”

They turned a corner and he caught the scent of smoke and acid, stiffening. Across the white hallway was a jagged burnt scar. It looked as though the wiring had exploded, burning the wall from the inside. Pike winced.

“I wish I could show you the Enterprise in her prime but as you can see we ran into a bit of trouble after that black star.”

“How long will repairs take?” Pike smiled, the picture of surety.

“Scotty, our chief engineer is the best in the business.” A non-answer if he’d ever heard one.

Pike took him on a tour of the ship, everywhere they went, people stared. Kirk was grateful for the civvies, the gray was better than  his glaring orange flight suit in a sea of muted primary colors. Which brought him to the subject of his flight suit.

“Where is it?” He interrupted Pike in the midst of an explanation of the glass screens he called PADDs. Pike recovered admirably.

“It was taken to your quarters.”

Pike proved willing to answer his questions concerning what things were if not how or why or when. The replicators in the massive mess hall seemed straight out of Jules Verne. Kirk stared at the menu, dragging his finger awkwardly over the cold screen. 

“And anything I pick it’ll just… make?” Pike didn’t even bother to pretend he wasn’t amused. 

“It’s almost Beta shift, I was hoping to pull my science officer aside for a chat with you. Until then we could eat here or…”

Kirk bit back a groan. Steak. He hadn’t had anything to eat besides IV since before his flight. His brain finally caught up with Pike.

“...Or?” Pike’s eyes gleamed.

“Or I could show you the bridge.” Kirk flushed. 

“Yes, God, lead the way.”

The door to the labs slid open. Spock didn’t look up from his screens. He was attempting to chart a stable path through the Einstein-Rosen Bridge. It’s proximity to Earth meant they would have to accelerate at warp six at least directly at the planet. Its instability meant that were the bridge to close, they would crash into the planet’s surface without time to stop. 

None of these calculations required his immediate attention, but if he took his eyes off the screen, Saavik would speak to him. 

“We must speak Spock, you cannot hide behind your calculations.” He straightened, still avoiding eye contact, instead moving to shuffle his assembled notes.

“What do you--”

“I can no longer contact Sarek nor Amanda. In fact I can no longer access any of my bonds except Uhura.” Spock normally appreciated her bluntness but not today. He glanced around the empty lab as if he expected the Captain himself to emerge from behind the data processors calling for his immediate hospitalization.

“Nor I.” Her eyes narrowed.

“It is the temporal shift.”

“Affirmative.” The bonds were still present, he could feel where they were rooted in his brain but they had been reduced to whisps of air. The tethers which had tied him to his parents, to T’Pring, to more broadly, his people, were paralyzed.

“Have you informed Dr. McCoy?” Spock’s stomach sank.

“Have you?” He asked.

“Not yet.”

“It is not a matter in need of his attention.” 

She reached for his meld points and he jerked back with a glare. She was never this forward, and certainly not in public. Her late childhood with his parents had softened her brashness, her anger somewhat, but Starfleet and Number One, her mentor, had let her instincts run wild. 

Her Romulan heritage had lessened her psychic ability to a greater extent than his human heritage had. She could only skim the surface of his mind, but even that would be enough in this case to ascertain the damage the temporal shift had done to his mind.

“You are in need of meditation.” She said. He bristled.

“We have more pressing issues.” He had not meditated since before they set course for Starbase 9, he had not slept in nearing 48 hours. Since their arrival in Earth’s atmosphere it was as if his mental shields had betrayed him, opening the floodgates. 

Every presence, touch, emotion felt spotlit and seared into his brain. To maintain his shields now took active concentration, precious thought and care which couldn’t be spared as he attempted to calculate the potential catastrophe of their presence in the past.

Saavik would not be cowed.

“Even I feel the instability, Spock, and I have the added security of a bond on the ship. The temporal shift left it unaffected. You are more vulnerable, you must go to Dr. McCoy.” 

Spock avoided her eyes in favor of his PADD where he was running separate calculations, attempting to determine whether they had landed in their direct past or somehow ended up in the past of an alternate timeline. It did not require his attention either.

She had not said it to be unkind, though the reminder of the risk he took being unbonded still stung. The risk she avoided with her bond to Uhura. Saavik spoke as if reading his mind.

“A bond alone would not have helped, Spock, unless they were aboard the Enterprise. But you cannot allow this to go untreated, and I am no Vulcan healer.” She was correct. Their telepathic connections were often their Achilles heel, to steal one of Pike’s phrases, sensitive to change, a vulnerability in either party. If not properly maintained, they could fester and rot like an infected limb, or else tangle the other psychic connections in his brain like razor wire until every neural pathway in his brain had been disrupted. Brain dead, he’d heard McCoy call it. 

Were he more adept, he could form a temporary bond with Saavik, but he lacked the proper control of a full Vulcan. He could incapacitate her entirely in the attempt. They stared at each other in miserable understanding. 

Though their heritage differed, they were measured the same by Vulcan, the planet and people they had chosen for themselves, irrational, emotional, dangerous, a word Spock could still hear in his father’s whisper. 

“I will inform him once I have finished here,” Spock promised. 

Saavik relaxed after that. Despite her blunt warnings he was grateful for her presence. Even now he could feel his brain on high alert, straining against his mental shields. Regret was illogical, but he felt it now.

“Your mind has wandered. Where?” His mouth curved, and he gestured for them both to sit, lit only by the glow of computers. 

“I cannot help but conclude that had I pursued Kolinahr when my father suggested, I would not be in this situation.” 

“Had you pursued Kolinahr, you would’ve left the ship as we passed Starbase Eight. As we were pulled into the black star’s gravity, you saved our lives, even if it created an undocumented phenomenon both proving the existence of timelines while endangering our own. In short, we all would’ve died, the entire ship.” It was a perspective Spock had not considered. “ It is illogical to regret a decision you would make again.”

“I have duties outside the Enterprise,” He reminded her. If anything it goaded her further.

“Sarek wishes you to abandon Starfleet, your chosen profession, to express your devotion to Vulcan on the heels of his political bid.”

“His position in the government could be instrumental. He could make peace--”

“--with the Romulans. As could Starfleet. As could you.” Spock had stood in anger, he now felt foolish, spoken to like this from a woman ten years his junior. “You wish to be First Officer.”

“Affirmative.”  It was the first time Spock had expressed the wish out loud. But he did. For all the reasons she had said. 

As both Science Officer and First Officer, he would combine science and diplomacy, honor his Vulcan ancestry by bringing logic into Starfleet, honoring his people and their ways with each discovery. And perhaps also proving to those who had considered him inferior that he was as capable, as Vulcan as any Vulcan scientist. 

She looked satisfied. No more be said. 

She didn’t need to convince him as he had already convinced himself, when he submitted his application for the position of First Officer. 

Spock had been seventeen, Saavik, eleven, when she was granted refugee status on Vulcan. She had been a child with the oldest eyes Spock had ever seen. He’d hated it at first. His eyes felt incredibly human beside hers, no better at hiding his emotions than glass planes. 

She knew him as easily as ever, for that reason he had dreaded her assignment to the Enterprise. She had sensed it of course. This was perhaps the first conversation they’d had alone in weeks. 

The door slid open. 

They stood as Number One entered. She looked exhausted, wearing only the black undershirt and clean streaks among the steam and blood on her skin implied a trip to sickbay. Saavik stood as he did, taking several steps toward her as she came through the door. She waved off Saavik’s concern.

“I’m quite alright, Faring better than the warpcore at least.” She gave a grim smile. 

“I came to speak to Spock.” Saavik straightened, and left with a final glance at Spock and a goodnight to Number One.

“I wanted to let you know, Pike’s not keeping the man, Captain Kirk, under guard. He’s put him in officer’s quarters, the one’s next to yours.” For bridge officers. Spock smothered the seed of resentment. Number One fixed him with an intense glare. “Keep an eye on him. We both know, unlike Pike, that he could kill an entire timeline if he so much as tells Kirk tomorrow’s breakfast menu.” 

“Pike expressed the intention that Kirk would be easier to tame if under the belief that we meant him no harm.” 

“Pike is an idealist, he’s enamored with Kirk, a living piece of Starfleet history, he called him. Now is the time to prove you can be a good First Officer. Contain this situation.” 

Spock stared at her. Her expression softened and she laid her hand beside his on the desk, not quite touching. 

“I sent in my recommendation with your application for First Officer. I want you to be my relief.” He didn’t remember speaking after that, if he had it was automatic responses of the usual farewells. 

Her words remained with him long after she’d left, buoying him against the dark turn his thoughts had taken. 

Saavik was of course correct, given the choice between Kolinahr and service in Starfleet, he would choose Starfleet again without hesitation. 

The lift at least was familiar to Kirk, albeit faster and no doubt safer. When the doors opened, Pike was the first one out. Kirk stared. A massive window looked out over Earth, catching the glint of the sun off the surface. Crew ringed the room, all within reach of a command board. A chair sat in the center, held apart. His eyes lingered on the chair, empty, as he followed Pike out. 

“I never believed in any of this.” He muttered, amazed, watching the consoles. Pike smirked.

“What? Other galaxies? Aliens?” Kirk grinned. 

“No I always believed in aliens, it’s too egotistical to believe we’re alone in infinite space. But this…faster than lightspeed travel, galactic exploration…you’d have an easier time convincing me to bet on the Red Sox this year.” Pike pursed his lips, amused. 

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” His gaze shifted over Kirk’s shoulder and instantly sobered. “Kirk, you met my First Officer, Number One.” 

Kirk turned to find the same severe woman from sickbay. He nodded, unsure whether to salute. She eyed him with obvious disapproval. When she spoke, it was to Pike.

“Are you sure this is wise?” Pike tensed. 

“I understand the risks,” He said evenly. She looked skeptical but dropped the issue, leaving them to discuss something with the navigator. The navigator had the same pointed ears and upturned eyebrows as the alien from before, Spock. 

“It’s impolite to stare.” A man smiled at him from the seat beside her, a conspiratorial smile, it was so familiar it seemed out of place on this ship. “But I can’t blame you.” 

He pressed a button on the screen, dimming it slightly. He stood, offering his hand. 

“My name’s Gary, Mitchell.” Kirk took it. 

“Jim Kirk.” When he glanced behind him, Pike had been absorbed into conversation with Number One and the alien navigator. 

She looked just as severe as Spock, hands held behind her back. He’d seen only two other aliens on Pike’s tour, a blue, almost insect-like alien with protruding antennae, and a reptilian with orange scales. Both were humanoid in shape. Similar enough to humans that he found them unsettling. 

The Vulcans most of all. The least physically different, he could pass one on the street on Earth and not notice if they hid their ears. It was their stillness and fluid movements which gave away their inhumanity, it made the hackles on the back of his neck rise but he couldn’t look away.

“Exactly how many aliens work on this ship?” Gary strolled around the panelled deck, Kirk following behind, eyeing the many buttons and screens with interest. 

“About 70 of our 400 person crew are nonhuman across 20 different Federation species.” Gary stopped and introduced him to the bridge crew as he spoke. Uhura worked in communications alongside Janice Rand. They came to a stop at the science station, Spock’s work station, he explained. The lieutenant manning the station frowned as Kirk watched the screens. 

Spock and the navigator were the only aliens on the bridge he noticed and expressed as much to Gary who shrugged.

“Starfleet’s a tad old fashioned, that’s all.”

“I thought you said the Federation had hundreds of species?” Kirk asked, interrupting Gary’s explanation of the scanners. Pike spoke up from behind them.

“Starfleet, just like any government, adapts slower than its people.” Kirk thought of that vague tactful comment the rest of their short tour. He only spoke again when they boarded the lift back to sickbay.

“How far? Into the future.” Kirk clarified. Pike hesitated as the lift doors opened onto the same injured hallway as before.

“We are unsure how our presence here affects your time, and ours for that matter. Mr. Spock poses the possibility that any change we make to this old Earth could erase our future completely. In order to return to Earth you should learn as little as possible while aboard.” The disappointment surprised him.

“What, seriously? Can you at least…” His smile dimmed as he turned from the windows. He cleared his throat. “...Will you tell me if I live to see this at least?” His gaze is back on the window when Pike sends him a strange look.

“Space? You just put a man in orbit didn't you?” They stared at the haunting gas giant that seemed to glow as the Sun hit it from behind the ship. Kirk shook his head.

“You know what I meant.” He reached out to run his fingers over the white metal walls. “McCoy called my fighter a paper plane. ” He shook his head, voice growing somber. They watched the crest of Earth turn.

“I won’t see ships like this in my lifetime, will I?” Pike's gaze was kind but without pity.

“No, you won’t.”

When they rounded the corner, Pike stuck his arm out in front of Kirk, barred. It was Spock. He acknowledged the Captain without a glance at Kirk who was openly staring.

“Lt. Commander Spock, Captain Kirk, I believe you met before, if you could call it that.” His shoulder still ached. Spock inclined his head.

“Mr. Kirk.” Kirk bit his tongue, forcing a smile. Pike addressed Spock again.

“I was hoping you’d turn up, would you mind escorting Kirk the rest of the way?”

“Of course, Captain.” He did not like that, Kirk could tell. Pike bid them both a goodnight before departing. 

Kirk and Spock walked in silence, the latter fiddling with his handheld screen. Crew in passing, nodded to Spock but there was an air of formality that wasn’t there with Pike. Kirk glanced at him covertly, If Spock noticed he didn’t comment. 

When they reached his quarters, Spock followed him in. Kirk raised his eyebrows.

“So why did Pike ask you to escort me to my quarters?” 

“Efficiency. My quarters are next door.” Kirk tried to keep his face neutral. 

Pike was obviously trying to keep an eye on him. He couldn’t decide if the Captain was just being cautious or if there was something else going on on this ship Kirk didn’t know about. 

Pike had all but promised he could go home. But he hadn’t, not quite.

Spock took him on a quick tour of the quarters, explaining the replicator, the sonic showers, the ship’s computer. Kirk eyed the latter greedily.

Spock crossed his room back to the replicator Kirk had only briefly explored with Pike. When he pressed a few buttons, it slid open to reveal a mechanism similar to the one Pike had shown him in the mess. Spock continued to program the machine. Kirk watched him surreptitiously. 

When he turned there was a set of simple civvies neatly folded in the metal alcove. Kirk frowned then scanned his quarters, finding only muted colors. The hackles on the back of his neck rose.

“Where’s my flight suit?” At Spock’s silence he glared at him. “Pike said it would be here.” Spock’s face was blank. 

“It was damaged in your plane fire and taken for assessment. These will do for now.” Kirk narrowed his eyes. Bullshit. But he wasn’t likely to get anything out of him. He’d get it back. Spock couldn’t watch him all the time. 

Spock stepped aside as he grew near. Kirk frowned when he touched the fabric. Plain cotton. He felt slightly foolish, he didn’t know quite what he’d been expecting, foil? 

“Any other questions, Mr. Kirk?”

“Captain.” Spock did not respond. “Captain not Mr.” Kirk felt heat rise in his face, forcing himself to calm down. Proving himself hostile hadn’t done him any favors so far. Spock dropped the screen to his side.

“Captain Pike extended that title to you as an illogical courtesy. I have no such tendencies. On this ship, there is only one Captain.”

The door slid shut behind him. Kirk sat down on the bed, drained. 

The door chimes to Spock’s quarters.

“Enter.” It was Saavik, without Uhura, which meant she was likely to be distinctly rude. Spock stood, greeting her with exactly as much enthusiasm as he felt.

“You have not spoken to McCoy.” He dropped into the nearest chair.

“Sickbay is inundated with injuries from the temporal displacement and the Romulan attack.” She had not moved from just within the doorway. “I will go tomorrow after my shift.” This at least, convinced her to sit.

“Have you meditated yet?” He decided he did not have enough energy to skirt the truth. His mental shields were even worse than that morning, it felt as though his mind were tearing them apart from the inside. His lack of sleep was not helping. 

“No.” She gestured to his mat. He laid out a second for her and lit the incense. They settled across from one another without a word. 

The familiarity struck him, he almost expected to hear his father’s sharp chiding anytime either of them broke focus. Again, the yearning for his parents buffeted his mind. He grit his teeth against it as pain traveled the length of his frail familial bonds. 

It took 45.8 minutes to achieve a successful meditative state. By then, he was sweating heavily and his shields were shredded. Each time he could feel himself reaching the requisite state of calm, an errant emotion cast him off course.

“You are aloft in the sinking sands of the Forge. You breathe in and out, hot sand. As you sink, you shed the weighted worries of the world. You grow lighter, and yet sink deeper.”

 It was an old Vulcan meditation mantra meant for children struggling to reach the deep meditative state which calmed and ordered the mind. Spock’s pride should’ve protested but he could only slump in relief, following the melodic monotone of Saavik’s voice down into the sands. 

He emerged some time later, his shields repaired and his emotions sorted and cleared from his mind. Saavik was hiding her smugness rather admirably. He inclined his head. She stood and made for the door.

“Get some sleep.” 

He tried. 

And yet early into the morning, he awoke in a sweaty panic to Kirk’s muffled screams. They cut off just as he sat up. He could hear Kirk breathing hard on the other side of the wall. 

Spock could only stare at the wall opposite, waiting for the adrenaline to dissipate. He realized it was not his own panic, but rather one he had picked up and amplified…from Kirk. 

Whatever his dreams, he had felt them so strongly, Spock’s subconscious mind had seized on it through the wall. He leaned away from the wall, rearranging himself, head to foot of  the bed. The thought was terrifying. 

His shields once more weak and overrun with emotions he forwent sleep, instead opting to dress and make for the science labs where he would at least find quiet if not peace.

Chapter Text

The next morning Spock rings Kirk’s door and finds no answer. He frowns, rings it again, debating whether or not to force the door. Pike had been adamant on their treatment of Kirk as a guest. Given their delicate position in the past they could not afford to make an enemy of him, especially as their very real enemies were lurking cloaked ready to strike. 

“Computer, is the room occupied?”

“Negative.” He frowned before reaching for his communicator. Bones picked up on the first ring.

“Is Mr. Kirk in sickbay?”

“I’m looking at him right now.” Spock relaxed imperceptibly. 

“Good, he’s not--”

“I’ve already heard it from the Captain thanks, and I’ll thank you to remind him that I am a doctor not a--”

“I am sure the Captain is fully aware of your credentials.” He slapped the communicator closed and made for the bridge. He was more than happy to dump the care and keeping of the irritating pilot onto the doctor. They deserved each other.

He found the bridge in a similar condition. Each officer was tense, buried in individual impossible and infuriating tasks. Uhura, normally cheerful, had fallen completely silent, her anger expressed in the violence with which she struck the keys and buttons of her station. Mr. Scott had provided the Captain with a list of only essential repairs. It was nearly ten pages long on a PADD single-spaced. Number One seemed to be the only one holding it together. She split her time that day between engineering and the bridge, assisting him occasionally with his calculations. 

Saavik and Mitchell sat brimming with hostility, occasionally boiling over in pointed bracing questions as they attempted to collaborate on tracking the cloaked vessel. 

Between her and Saavik, his suboptimal state did not go unnoticed. Given their exchanged glances no doubt he would hear about it at the end of shift in the mess hall. He briefly considered hiding away in his quarters to avoid the conversation but knew the attempt would prove useless. 

The only thing that seemed to cheer the crew was unfortunately the presence of Lt. Mitchell. The mood dropped considerably when Alpha shift gave way to Beta and Mitchell was relieved by a somewhat untested Lt. Sulu who had only recently been promoted. 

As such he worshipped the metal flooring on which Mitchell walked. Mitchell vacated the seat but Sulu stopped him from heading for the lift.

“So what’s the scoop on the old Air Force pilot? Everyone’s talking about him.” Spock glanced up. The Captain had left with Number One to discuss their current situation, leaving no one to curtail the conversation through silent authority alone. 

Mitchell smirked, leaning against the console. 

“He’s certainly not old. Tan, blonde, blue-eyed and curious as all be.” He straightened his uniform. Sulu snorted, shaking his head.

“Careful, he might be your great-great-great-grandfather.” Mitchell ran a hand through his hair.

“I knew I got my looks from somewhere.” Mitchell said his goodbyes, then as a parting shot, “You know Spock was there when he came aboard.” The lift doors closed behind him. Spock glared at them, feeling the full force of Sulu’s curiosity turn on him like a spotlight.

“Well Sp--Lt. Commander, what did you think of him?” 

“He threatened the Captain and accidentally shot the transporter array,” Spock said, still watching his calculations on the wormhole. Sulu wilted in his peripheral vision. Saavik shot him an exasperated look he ignored. 

He would no doubt be hearing from her at the end of their shift. She admittedly understood ship social politics better than he did. Her flouting of social convention then was an act of defiance rather than ignorance as Spock’s was. She would make a fine Captain if she had such ambitions but he had little tolerance for idle ship gossip.

“What the hell happened?” Pike shouted over the blare of a red alert. Spock was furiously working through the main systems, finding no initial trigger. 

“All clear.” He narrowed his eyes. “It was accessed manually on Deck 4, engineering, 2 minutes 47 seconds ago.” Pike swore under his breath. Spock looked up as the bridge doors opened on an out of breath Doctor McCoy. His fingers clenched around the PADD. Given McCoy’s appearance alone, the situation was clearer. Unfortunately no less disastrous. Pike seemed to infer the same, catching sight of McCoy in the doorway.

“You lost him.” Spock had never known McCoy to lack justification. And yet he hesitated. Pike stood, passing the conn to Sulu. McCoy followed him into the lift. At a look from Pike, Spock joined them as well. The doors closed. 

“Can we at least terminate the alarm?” Pike snapped. Spock had been attempting that since the alarm went off. He forced his mind to calm, focused on the shipsystems laid out before him. 

“Negative.” Whatever hack or virus Kirk had unleashed, it was efficient, and tricky, requiring time and finesse they did not currently possess. Pike turned to McCoy, expression fierce.

“ Spill. ” 

“He said he was taking a nap, I figured I could track him on the scanners. We’ve still got 10 in the infirmary recovering from Bovarian Pox! I’m a doctor not--”

“ Don’t say it, McCoy. Spock--”

“Kirk’s lifesigns are reading in his quarters, Captain.” On a suspicion he checked Kirk’s log. “He’s been reading the ship’s schematics, sir.” Pike’s eyes widened.

“He hacked the systems.”

“Sir, in the event of a red alert, the transporter console reverts to manual control.” Pike pressed his comm.

“This is Captain Pike, to security. I need all personnel to divert to Deck 4 and 5 looking for Captain Kirk, recently brought aboard, heading in the direction of the transporter. Do not, I repeat, Do not let him beam out. Phasers to stun.” He turned back to McCoy. “You better pray they find him.” 

The lift doors opened on Deck 4 and Pike jerked his head for Spock to follow. 

He tugged on the uniform, discomfited. It was light and thin. He felt overexposed, wishing for the heavy comfort of his pilot gear. But he stood out like a sore thumb, and no doubt after that alarm, they’d be shooting first, asking questions after. 

A weapon was among the only things the replicator in his quarters wouldn’t give him. He was still unarmed unless he wanted to relieve someone of their weapon. The idea didn’t sit well with him. 

He peered around the corner one last time before slipping into the hallway. The red alert was still blaring, crew members moving towards Deck 17 in confused mutters. They must have figured him out by now. He could only hope he’d stalled them long enough. 

When he glanced casually over his shoulder he caught a flurry of red shirts. Using the crowd as a cover, he ducked into the transporter room. Per regulations the ensign had left with the crowd.

Door first. He broke the lock cover, aware of the encroaching security no doubt combing for him. Ignore it. He evaluated the mess of circuitry he’d been studying for the past four hours and for a single moment understood. He could drop one circuit in his pocket, return to Earth and erase anyone they’d ever known. He got to work. 

He wouldn’t do that, whatever they believed. He just wanted to go home.

The two wires pinched between his fingers grew hot. He frowned, thumbing a circuit. 

It zapped him, he jerked back as the door opened. Shit. 

He stumbled back, veering towards the transporter console. Spock stepped forward, phaser aimed at him.

“Step away from the console, Mr. Kirk.” Kirk stilled, he couldn’t guarantee his way around the console even after reviewing the manuals. And after last time he didn't want to risk disarming the Vulcan. Pike’s voice filtered in from the door just before he entered. Kirk returned Spock’s glare passively. 

“How’d you unhack my door?” Spock opened his mouth but Pike stepped past him, expression stormy.

“I shot it. And it’s my door.” The lights returned to normal, the dull thrum of emergency protocol going silent. Kirk’s last hope drained away. 

“Scotty here, I managed to fix whatever that doughboy did to my ship, but you better tell him if he ever--”

“Thank you Mr. Scott.” Pike muted his comm, glaring again at Kirk. He was too tired to care. 

“Drop your phaser, Spock, Kirk’s not going anywhere.” He leaned back out the door. Four redshirts followed him back in. He swallowed his resentment. “Take Captain Kirk to the brig. Remain outside. Don’t. ” Kirk closed his mouth. “Spock, I need to talk to you and McCoy.” 

The last thing Kirk saw as he was rudely shoved from the room was the terse exchange between them.

It only took 24 hours, if that, to get thrown in the brig during what had been an altogether peaceful and friendly abduction so far. For an exploratory vessel, their brig spoke volumes of what they thought they would encounter. He ended up in a bright white room with a discrete bed and sink and toilet. One wall was entirely glass making him feel like one of those ill looking lizards at a pet store. 

Movement caught his eye from the corner. The alien--Spock--stood fluidly, lacing his hands behind his back. His expression was unnerving. Kirk swallowed, attempting to quell his dread. He clenched his fingers, realizing they had once again forgone restraints. 

The guard dog in the corner made them irrelevant. Kirk could still feel the bruises from his fingers in his neck.

“So…Pike thought I needed a watchdog?” Spock regarded Kirk with all the concern owed to a wrinkled uniform. 

“It is more a test of my abilities than yours.” Interesting. He approached the glass.

“What did you do to get stuck with babysitting?” 

“The decision was not a punishment, merely a logical reaction to the increased danger you pose since you now possess knowledge of future technology and refuse the mind wipe.”

“That’s practically a compliment from you.” Now Kirk could see irritation bleed into Spock’s features, his brows folding inward to match his frown. 

“I apologize, the nuances of the English language still allude me on occasion.” 

“Why, Mr. Spock--”

The door to the main room slid open. Pike stormed in followed by a strangely silent Dr. McCoy. His glare killed any clever thought in Kirk’s head. It was a pity, he liked talking to Spock, but he had the sneaking suspicion the alien would sleep sounder with him dead.

“You’re really starting to get on my nerves kid.” Pike moved erratically, his voice barely controlled. When Kirk opened his mouth Pike held up his hand with a glare. 

“Our position here hasn’t been fully explained to you, I’ll give you that, but Christ, you nearly ended our existence on day one.” Kirk’s mouth went dry. Spock stepped forward.

“The Captain informed you that giving you certain information could prove disastrous for us as we are from the future. Did you understand his meaning?” Kirk flushed. 

Any idiot in Riverside had seen Beyond the Time Barrier or any number of those silly sci-fi flicks they played in small town theaters when the AC broke. 

“Yes. I get it. If I change anything, even the smallest thing, then you can’t go home.” Pike looked sour, leaning against the wall. Bones had elected to leave them to their fighting, running his scans through the glass. Kirk could hardly blame him. 

“I have confirmed us to be in our direct past, which, according to the current dominant theory, means our future could collapse if we make any changes to the past.” Pike walked up to the glass.

“If the existence of the Enterprise is revealed in 1965, our future would cease to exist.” Pike let those facts speak for themselves. It wasn’t that they couldn’t go home, there would no longer be a home to go to. 

“With 68.7% certainty, Captain.” Kirk looked up to speak only to find Spock and Pike caught in silent conversation behind the glass. Spock’s eyebrows were drawn, almost confused. Kirk's eyes dropped to Spock’s hands white-knuckled over his PADD. Not confused-- frustrated, angry. Pike, on the other hand, looked resigned. He turned back to Kirk.

“Now you see why we couldn’t simply alert Earth. Anyone finding out about us could be deadly.” And now Kirk saw the sticker, because of course…

“I already know.”

“Indeed.” Kirk glanced between Pike and Spock.

“When are you sending me home?” Spock straightened. It occurred to Kirk later that perhaps it was always Spock who was forced to deliver the hard news, as surely he was unaffected by the emotional display that followed but Pike stayed him with a hand. That should’ve been Kirk’s clue that it was bad. Pike was the type of Captain to fall on any available sword if it meant his crew didn’t have to.

“With 68.7% certainty, we cannot send you home, Mr. Kirk.”  The steadfast attention of the two officers were making him restless. He’d expected anger, shouting, not a moral dilemma laid at his feet, with him playing martyr. Pike’s discomfort made him tense.

“What happened to Starfleet doesn’t kill.” Spock shot his Captain an incredulous look which incensed Kirk further. Addressing the Captain as if addressing Kirk was beneath him. He turned entirely from the glass. He could still feel their eyes on their back, their faint shadows on his walls. 

“We have no intention of killing you.” 

“So what? You’re just gonna keep me here?” Their silence confirmed it. “For how long? You can’t just abduct me!” It was Spock who answered him but it was Pike he was looking at. He should’ve known with all that fake soft paternal charm Pike had been turning his way.

“I have done the accorded research. Your absence will have no immediate complications. Lieutenant Uhura has already confirmed that the Air Force declared James T. Kirk missing in action, presumed dead, as of this morning.” Kirk’s heart clenched. Presumed Dead. Already. 

They must’ve found the glowing wreckage of his beloved plane name with no body inside but no sign of ejection. As if he had merely burnt to ash in his cockpit.

He thought numbly of his mother, answering yet another military knock on the door. How long had he even been missing? 

He tried not to think of life in terms of legacy but the fear that he could slip from Earth so easily was sudden and overwhelming. To hear it laid out in clinical logic was salt in the wound. 

“There is another option.” Kirk looked up, locking eyes with Pike. “If you were to submit to a memory wipe we could safely return you to Earth.” Cold sweat trickled down his neck, he glanced warily between Pike and Spock, aware that last time Spock had knocked him with barely a touch to the neck. He was no longer sure if this was a choice at all.

“A memory wipe ? Is that safe?” Pike’s eyes went to Spock who hesitated. It was all Kirk needed to know. He shook his head. Absolutely not. 

“The machine would wipe only those memories pertaining to evidence of the Enterprise. You would be returned to the location of your crashed vessel…or as close as possible.” Kirk fought the surge of anger. He made it sound so easy.

“Yeah, with two days of missing time and a mysteriously damaged plane.” He hissed. “I’d either be brought up on charges of obstruction or reckless flying, either way I’d be discharged.” He’d never fly again. He’d become the alien ex-military nut in the tinfoil hat. Or perhaps he’d blame the military for his loss of time. That was the kind of story nowadays that got scooped up and somehow turned into a war debate in the papers.

Pike’s mouth twisted, clearly they had not thought this through.

“For spacemen you’re not very smart.”

“Is there nothing we could do to ensure they don’t ground you?” Spock eyed Pike sharply. No doubt, Kirk’s future did not rank high on his list of priorities. Kirk shook his head. 

“Not if you wipe my memory. I won’t even be able to lie.” Spock spoke up again.

“Your career as a pilot has no bearing on--” Pike cut him off with a raised hand. 

“I’m sorry, Kirk, but these are the options. We just can’t risk it.” Kirk swallowed.

“So the tour before, the big production, just to keep me from trying anything, yeah?” Pike shot him a reproachful look. “What’re you gonna ship me off to some planet, confine me to my quarters for a century?” 

His behavior seemed to perplex Spock. If he was capable of confusion. Pike cut him off with a raised hand. 

“ No. Spock barely talked me out of forcibly wiping your mind and I’m still considering it.” Kirk resisted the urge to glance at Spock. He could see Spock’s eyes drop to his shoes, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Pike was pacing again, face red. “Do you have any idea how long it took to override your hack of the emergency systems?” Kirk figured that was rhetorical. “ Too damn long. ” 

Bones reemerged behind Spock. Apparently he wasn’t smart enough to stay away. 

“Now you have until my First Officer figures out exactly how to get us back to the future before I consider the mind wipe to be life-saving.” These last words were semi-directed at Spock.

“Captain--”

“Please, I promise--”

“No!” Spock and Kirk went silent. Pike looked exhausted. “Do you know how close you came to killing everyone on this ship? Everyone in my universe, galaxy gone. Spock’s mother, McCoy’s kid.” The two stiffened behind Pike.

 Kirk felt his stomach turn, the unmistakable flush of shame already high on his cheeks. It was not the first time he’d heard it but perhaps it was the first time he listened. He suddenly found it very hard to look at any of them. 

“I want you to go home just as much as you do. I just don’t want to lose ours in the process.” Pike seemed to be waiting for him to concede. Still he could not make his mouth say the words. Pike sighed.

“For what it's worth, I’m sorry.” Kirk said, vaguely to the room. The door slid open and like that Pike was gone. 

The room was oppressively silent. Spock was for once at a loss for words it seemed. Doctor Mccoy scowled, breaking the silence as he examined the screen on the wall of Kirk’s cell.

“Where’s my apology, Captain Kirk? My ears are still ringing from Pike’s lecture after you went missing.”

“You failed in your duties by letting him out of your sight, Doctor.” McCoy seethed, turning on Spock. 

“How was I supposed to know the meathead from the 1960s could hack the goddamn starship!” Spock’s eyes slid to Kirk. 

“A poorly phrased but apt question.”

“Don’t worry, Bones, I won’t do it again, on pain of alien probe.” He muttered the last bit but Spock’s eyes narrowed at him. McCoy looked up from his screen, his gaze accusatory.

“Bones? You forgot my name didn’t you, you little shit--”

“Doctor.” Spock spoke rather sharply. His eyes moved briefly to the door. Bones rolled his eyes returning the screen to the end of his cell. 

“It’s Leonard McCoy.”

“Always a pleasure, Bones.” The door slid shut, and then they were alone, each openly watching the other. Beyond looked at, Kirk felt studied. He shifted, pulling his feet over the edge of the bed.

“So are these my new quarters?”

“Your access to the ship’s computers has been revoked entirely and the Captain has assigned a new 24 hour guard to your person as Dr. McCoy has proved incapable of the task.” He almost felt guilty for the Doctor. But he had little sympathy when he was still orbiting his planet under indefinite exile. Spock input code to the screen, the glass wall fell away. “...But you are not confined to the brig.” 

Kirk stepped cautiously over the gap.

“Bet you weren’t happy about that.” He caught the barest stiffening of Spock’s shoulders before he relaxed. He’d almost believe it, if it weren’t for the careful way he held his hands behind his back. “And if I escape again?” 

His resentment colored his words. An air of distaste passed over the Vulcan’s features.

“The word again implies you managed to escape the first time.” Smart ass. “Your tactics are obvious and predictable, I wonder why you continue to attempt it.” 

God. Bones, Pike, even Uhura, but especially Spock. They all spoke to him with that arrogant futureman attitude.

“I won’t just accept this. There’s a way out, you just haven’t looked hard enough.” Rather than be put off at Kirk’s tone, Spock took on a pondering expression. He was really starting to piss him off.

Spock dropped him at his quarters where a man in a red shirt stood outside his door. Great. He barely glanced at him as the door slid shut behind him. He stared at the anklet he wore now. Spock had said his access to the computers had been revoked entirely. No doubt it had something to do with the new jewelry. Well, time to get to work.

Chapter Text

The first week was a mad fit of exhaustion. Fixing the ship was going painfully slow, Scotty was all but cannibalizing the ship to keep it going. There had been no sign of the Romulans since they dropped out of the wormhole, the wormhole which Spock could understand no better than his lab techs. 

He often woke up, head splitting as his subconscious mind pulled at the bonds warped through space time until they were merely raw nerves in his brain. 

The bridge had become particularly hostile as Saavik had been reassigned off bridge. 

It had been barely a few days after Kirk’s attempted escape. When he exited the lift he found Uhura looking rather troubled and a new face at the helm instead of Saavik. He frowned. Mitchell looked unperturbed, although he and Saavik had never gotten along. Spock thought he viewed Saavik as a threat, the agile and intelligent robot by which his human intellect was measured. He waited near the Captain's chair for Pike to look up from his PADD.

“Captain, might I have a word?” He glanced between the man in Saavik’s seat and Spock and gave him a sympathetic smile. 

“Of course, Spock.” He led him to the ready room. Spock felt he did not have to voice his question and instead merely waited for the door to slide shut and the Captain to gather himself. 

“I thought it best for Lt. Saavik to lay low until the Romulan situation has been resolved.” 

“Do you doubt her loyalties?”

“Of course not. But the situation has made the crew restless, throw in this mess with the wormhole and they’re afraid, looking to direct all that hostile energy somewhere.” Spock’s lips thinned. He did not speak. He found humanity’s capacity for cruelty astounding continually. 

“Have you considered that your removal of Lt. Saavik from the bridge will only embolden these crew members.”

“I have. I’ve drawn both parties aside to address the situation, but I need a functioning bridge, I cannot remove everyone from active duty.” His words implied a much greater spread of hostility than a single crewmember. “And my priority here is Saavik’s safety. Number One is putting her to work in engineering.” Spock nodded, he would get the full idea from Saavik that night. Together they returned to the bridge, their absence unnoted by all except Uhura and Lt. Mitchell.

With Saavik off the bridge and almost self-confined to quarters Spock felt exposed, without an anchor in the sandstorm his mind had become. 

His mother had helped him, as a child, put a name to the emotions that plagued him. Vulcan helped him scrub them clean, dissolving them into so many fine grains, over the years he found some more persistent. They now sat heavy in the back of his mind. His doubt, his fear, his sadness. 

His lack of control was only added to by Kirk’s apparent nightmares. At one point during the night Spock had been forced to remove to the labs. The lack of meditation wore at his mind and Kirk’s mental anguish grated at him despite the walls of separation. 

For the first time in his life Spock found himself oddly grateful for his lowered psi ability; he could hardly imagine the effect of the sudden temporal displacement on a full Vulcan. 

Every accidental touch from his coworkers threatened to snap his fragile control. Kirk had appeared as though he had fared no better, appearing at his door with dark circles under his eyes and an irritable attitude. He responded badly to his placement in sickbay, Spock took pleasure in handing him off to McCoy.

Pike called him to report as soon as he appeared on the bridge. He had made frustratingly little progress on charting the wormhole.

“Any ideas on how to get back, Spock?” 

“All involve access to a larger power reserve than we have available and an understanding of the wormhole’s pattern, Captain. Without it, we would be throwing the ship into a highly unstable temporal shift whose gravity could crush the ship.” Pike drew his fingers over his chin. Number One stood beside him, leaning against the back wall and scrutinizing Spock’s current chart of the wormhole.

“Is it influenced by Earth’s gravity at all?”

“Negative. Nor does it appear to be influencing the planet at all.” Pike frowned.

“Put all of your available lab techs on it, Spock. And ask Scotty if he has any free hands as well. The ship repairs are important but they’re useless if we don’t have a way out of here.” He stood, approaching Spock’s station.

“Any update on the pilot?”

“I believe Mitchell would be more qualified to report on that, Captain.”

He had not seen much of the pilot since his release from the brig. He was escorted by a security guard who, Spock heard through the Captain, was requesting reassignment. 

And he wore an anklet of Spock’s own design. It ran on a complex algorithm accessible only to Spock which pinged any nearby computer and locked out any access. He was allowed only use of the replicator.

On the other side of the wall at night Spock could hear the pilot, tapping codes on the replicator, pacing or maddeningly, bouncing a ball repetitively against his wall. Spock took it as a passive aggressive slow torture and refused to stoop to Kirk’s level. 

Mitchell on the other hand, had made a point of befriending him, eating with him in the mess hall while Spock now often ate in his rooms, visiting him after his shift. 

Spock didn’t trust it, he resented the way the crew fawned over Mitchell. Particularly the ensigns. He seemed to create a cult of worshippers. Preaching a brand of human exceptionalism and glorious exploration that made Spock’s hackles rise. 

Pike turned to Mitchell, brows raised.

“He’s resentful but contained. Not a threat.” Spock pursed his lips, he disagreed wholeheartedly. 

“And the Romulans?” Mitchell shook his head.

“No sign of them. Lt. Uhura has been projecting modern Starfleet radio signals, scrambling all other outgoing signals. She believes they may not yet be aware they are in the past. From what I could see, it appears to be a Romulan mining vessel, crude, without the capabilities of carbon dating the planet, however… it can fire while cloaked.” 

“Any record of the ship in the system?”

“None, sir.” 

“If they believe that Earth bears the might of Starfleet’s defense it might be enough to deter them from attacking us.” Pike looked thoughtful. “Good work, Lieutenant, keep me updated.” 

Mitchell couldn’t help glancing at Spock as soon as he turned his back, smirking. Any day now, each felt ripe with the potential of some daring idiotic maneuver with which Mitchell would win over Captain Pike. He had plenty of support among the bridge. 

All this led to tense days of work stiff, exhausted, limiting his close contact with everyone. He retreated from the bridge to the labs nearly every shift. Number One and Pike were beginning to look at him oddly. 

Pike received a message from Scotty midway through their shift. Uhura relayed to him that Scotty was requesting he take the call in the ready room. Pike frowned but nodded, waving Number One to follow him. 

Mitchell stood from where he’d watched the Captain.

“Anything I can assist with, Captain?” Pike didn't even slow, merely glanced at Mitchell over his shoulder. 

“No…thank you.” 

Spock and Mitchell returned restlessly to their duties. Spock disliked vying like vipers for the Captain’s regard, but this did not prevent him from straightening as Pike returned almost half an hour later. Mitchell barely restrains himself from leaping up.

“Does Mr. Scott have an update regarding the timeline of repairs, Captain?” Spock asked innocently. Number One cast him a dry glance from her post at the Captain's left. 

Pike cast his eyes to the ceiling, slouching the slightest inch in his chair. 

“Nothing relevant to your work, Mr. Spock.” Spock and Mitchell ignored each other, privately nursing their own curiosity the rest of their shift.

“It’s Kirk.” Uhura told him during their lunch. She leaned over the table, fork in hand.

“Scotty wants him to work on repairs.” Spock straightened, appetite lost. Scotty had demonstrated nothing but distaste toward the pilot thus far. Even then, Spock could not see Pike agreeing after their briefing on the consequences of the slightest misstep. He voiced as much to Uhura, who shook her head, slightly concerned at the vehemence of his response. 

“The Captain agreed. He’s still got the anklet and the guard but Pike’s allowing him access to the rest of the ship.” 

“Excuse me.” Spock pushed his tray aside and made for the lift.

Spock entered the infirmary to find it empty except for McCoy, listening to old Earth music and reorganizing his shelves. 

“Where is Mr. Kirk?” McCoy startled at the sound of his voice, sending a tray of instruments to the ground. Spock made no move to help him as McCoy glared at him.

“Jesus H. Christ, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Why don’t you just comm like everybody else? I was about to go to lunch.”

“Your communicator has proven unreliable.” McCoy straightened, tray of instruments in hand. He set them aside to be resterilized. At least Spock hoped that was his intention. McCoy spoke as if he hadn’t heard him.

“You can’t expect a pilot from the past to be content in sickbay on a giant starship.” Spock’s eyes narrowed. The Doctor, like the Captain, seemed to misunderstand the danger currently posed by their misappropriated passenger. 

“Something else?” Spock considered making good on his promise to Saavik but he could not bring himself to subject himself to McCoy’s scrutiny at that moment.

Spock glared at McCoy who threw up his hands.

“He’s down in the engine room, wanted to see if he could help with our power dilemma. I didn’t see any harm in it.” That was precisely a problem. 

Spock offered the Doctor a curt nod, making his way to the engine room. He made a mental note to speak to the Captain about which areas of the ship should be off-limits.

Spock had not sought out the pilot in the two weeks since they had been stranded in 1965. In fact he had not spoken to him since a rather stilted interaction the week before during which Kirk had asked whether Vulcans had any Superman style powers to which Spock had stupidly responded, ending up in a debate between the fictional planet Krypton and Vulcan. 

Kirk followed that with a rather impressive understanding of time and wormhole physics, despite using them to rather nonsensical conclusions regarding his ability to go home. It would be charming if it wasn’t so distracting. 

“Where did you find this information?” Kirk had clammed up and proceeded to evade the question. No doubt Kirk had found a way around his firewall to access the computer somehow. Just another task on his plate. 

Spock had not had the time to pursue the matter at the time. Unlike Mitchell, who was only tracking the seemingly antisocial Romulans, Spock was attempting to form theory of safely traversing a before highly doubted space phenomena caused by a power source they no longer had access to.  

As well as, apparently, manage the current greatest threat to their return home.

He recognized Mitchell’s sharp laughter as soon as the doors opened into the engineering bay. The bay seemed largely unoccupied except for Scotty who noted Spock’s appearance with trepidation. He pointed him in the direction of Kirk, a deck above them. 

Spock had little cause to visit engineering often. The wounds from their battles with the mysterious Romulan ship and their trip through time were laid bare here. The cosmetic details had been taken care of on upper decks but here the inner workings of the ship were in shambles and the air tasted acrid. He followed the echo of conversation up to the second floor.

  He found Kirk covered in soot, legs sticking out from beneath a command table. The soles of his shoes had been notably melted. Gary leaned against the console. His smile dropped slightly when he caught sight of Spock, his eyes cold and calculating. 

Scotty had pointed him in the direction with a glowing review, describing the pilot as one would a new favorite pet. His growing foothold with the crew was surprisingly irritating. He found Lt. Mitchell to be unpleasant in his arrogance but ultimately predictable. This recent attachment to Kirk had caught him off guard.

When he approached Mitchell said nothing, only took his leave with a hasty goodbye to Kirk. Spock cleared his throat, prompting a loud clang and a curse from under the console. Kirk emerged rubbing a red mark on his forehead,

“What is it Scotty?” His question trailed off as he took in Spock, standing at crisp attention. His face brightened when he saw him. The reaction confused him. “Spock.”

“You were told to remain in sickbay.” Kirk shrugged, reaching for a smaller tool from his toolbox. He kneeled in front of the console again, the sleeves of his gray civilians rolled up over his shoulders.

“Hello to you too. How goes the bridge? Gary says its a nightmare.” Spock’s jaw clenched. 

“On who’s authority do you have free access to engineering?” A rather redundant question but he wanted to hear it from Kirk. He still couldn’t believe Pike would allow it. Kirk stood, wiping his hands on a cloth dirtier than they wear, shooting Spock a curious look like he was expecting a punchline. 

“Pike said you guys needed help with repairs.”

“And you took that as encouragement to insert yourself in ship affairs?” Kirk dropped the cloth to gape at him. 

“Wait a minute, back up, are you yelling at me?” Spock’s silence was answer enough. He gestured wildly to the console and then to the engine room as a whole. “I’m fixing your ship!” 

“What qualifies you to repair a starship, Mr. Kirk?” He scoffed, reaching for his toolkit again. Spock snatched the wrench before he could. Kirk glared at him.

“Scotty didn’t ask for my resume, he just handed me a …wrench.” He waved the wrench in question when Spock finally loosened his grip. 

“Mr. Scott has been known to fail in his assessment of people’s character.”

 “Spock!” As if he had summoned him by name alone. Spock ignored Kirk’s angry cursing behind him. 

Mr. Scott looked a little defensive, but Spock could tell with immediate dread that he had lost an ally in the fight to contain Kirk.

“I hope you’re not trying to poach my new officer to the bridge.” Mr. Scott spoke up in front of him, leaning against the railing.

“Mr. Kirk is not a Starfleet Officer; he should not be in engineering.” Spock said swiftly, “Something I thought you understood when you threatened him with bodily harm for accidentally shooting the transporter.” ...harshly. 

He felt Kirk scowl behind him. Scotty bristled. Spock immediately regretted his snappish response.

“Well, you scurry back up to the bridge and tell the Captain that he overrode my recommendations for replacement officers in order to appease the Academy. Now all I’ve got are greenies who can barely tell a winch from a windle, and if he expects this silver lady to fly again, I’ll damn well take the extra hands where I can find them!” Mr. Scott drew closer to him. “And if he’s got a problem with that he’s welcome to take it up with me himself.” Spock could feel his face flushing. 

A glance told him Kirk stood smugly to the side alongside a handful of engineers agape at the display. No doubt word of it would be all over the ship by midday.

Spock excused himself, heading for the lift.

That night Spock received a summons to the ready room from the Captain to discuss the issue of Kirk. On arrival, Spock could hear angry voices from inside before he entered the ready room. It appeared all bridge relationships were fraying under the current circumstances. He waited for 2.3 minutes but decided the risk of interruption outweighed the risk of being late. 

When he entered he found Number One glaring at Pike who sat defeated in his chair. Pike sits in the nearest chair, the meeting room lights dimmed beyond normal levels. He looked exhausted. They both cooled as he acknowledged them. 

He carried Kirk’s flight suit and personal effects in one hand, his PADD in the other. Pike rose. 

“Well Commander, let’s hear it.” Spock dutifully laid out the orange flight suit and accompanying belongings. He tried to pass his PADD but Pike instead reached for the metal necklace that had been removed following Kirk’s first attempt in his period of unconsciousness. 

“What’s this?” They had in fact been most helpful when Spock first confirmed Kirk’s identity.

“A labelling system used by the U.S. military of the time period. The alloy oxidation confirms Earth to be 1965.” Pike glanced at him.

“You only got the year? You’re slipping,” Number One chided. Spock straightened, folding his hands behind his back.

“It is a crisp morning of 55 degrees, the coldest 10th of March, this region has experienced in the last five consecutive years. Sporadic rain is expected until approximately 2300 hours. All of which,” He added pointedly, “ Lieutenant Uhura’s radio patch could have informed you.” She smiled. 

The Captain seemed to be poorly attempting to conceal his amusement, lip caught between his teeth. He was not yet used to the Captain’s humor in the same way he was used to Number One’s. He would miss her. Pike rolled the metal labels through his fingers.

“Anything else?” His eyes remained on the necklace.

“The radio host advised wrapping up warm.” Pike was no longer paying attention.

“Dog tags,” he murmured, “real dog tags from 20th century Earth.” Spock had seen many examples of human amazement three years into the Enterprise’s mission, yet sometimes the object of fascination escaped his. Pike shook his head. 

“If that Captain wasn’t endangering every one of my crew just by breathing, I might’ve bought him a drink.” Spock frowned, but did not disagree. Kirk had proven surprisingly stubborn. “Think about it Spock, we’re staring Starfleet’s origins in the face.”

“A rather romantic notion, Captain. Kirk has no connection to the founders of--”

“T,” Pike muttered, squinting at the dog tags. He was frowning at the labels again, nail biting into the middle initial stamped into the tin. “What did you say his middle name was, Thomas?”

“Tiberius.” Pike’s drumming fingers stilled. He repeated the name under his breath, trading a leaden look with Number One. She shook her head, pursing her lips, refocusing on Spock.

“What else do we know about him?” She asked.

Spock slid his PADD across the table. He had only managed the preliminary research before Kirk’s hack of the systems, confirming that removing Kirk from Earth would not have immediate catastrophic effects on their timeline.

“Born in 1945 in Riverside, Iowa. Enlisted in the Air Force at 18, served in Vietnam until he was sent home to recuperate after a…an accident.” Spock’s voice faltered as he remembered the harrowing double memory in Kirk’s mind. 

“Ella Charles.” Pike read aloud. The name of Kirk’s mother. “There’s hardly anything on her before Kirk’s birth certificate.” He leaned forward as he read. “Nothing in fact.”

“That caught my interest as well, Captain. While not unusual for the time period, it does pose a few issues. I have not had the opportunity to delve further.”

“No father’s name on the birth certificate.” Pike murmured to himself. 

“In my research I found this to mean they were most likely not married at the time of his birth.” Pike handed the PADD back to him.

“And there’s nothing in his future? No meeting with a president, no life saved…?” Spock shook his head. “Keep me informed on your progress.”

“Of course, Captain.” Spock remained despite the Captain’s obvious dismissal, drawing his attention. 

“Yes?” He hesitated.

“I wanted to…express concern over your decision to allow Kirk to work under Mr. Scott in engineering.” Pike traded a weary look with Number One that said he’d expected it.

“Yes I got a complaint from Scotty earlier.” Spock suppressed a flare of irritation. He held a great respect for the engineer, but often found their personalities to clash. Pike continued, “Your concern is noted, Spock. But right now I think that the best way to deal with that kid is to keep him occupied. He is well aware of his position, and with that anklet of his, I doubt he’ll be getting into anything he shouldn’t be.” 

Spock’s throat went tight. Ah, yes. He hadn’t quite brought the Captain up to speed on his suspicions that Kirk may be overriding the anklet somehow. For some reason he shied away from it.

“I also wanted to request an announcement be made to the crew regarding our situation. It is important they understand the risks we run by allowing Kirk close insight into the future.” By the look on Number One’s face, this was not the first time he was hearing this. 

“Why don’t you make an announcement?” He shifted, uncomfortable. 

“I have, sir. It seems to have gone unheeded. I think I lack the proper authority.” Pike glanced at Number One and cocked his head toward the door. She squeezed his shoulder as she headed for the door.

“This conversation isn’t over,” She warned as she left.

“Spock…you’re a great scientist, an excellent officer…but authority doesn’t come from rank, it comes from respect, trust.” He stood, nearing Spock. “I sympathize with the crews…fascination with Kirk, hell I’m fascinated, they’re not simply going to avoid him because they’re told to.”

“But that is their duty.” His answer seemed to frustrate Pike.

“Duty is not all that drives humans, Spock. The crew doesn’t follow me because someone told them too. They do it because they trust me with their lives, it is a sacred trust, one I have built from the ground up.” He crossed his arms. “I’ve gotten your application for First Officer, Spock, but to be honest I’m just not sure command is the track for you.” 

It felt as if he was once again before the council, his character dissected and found wanting. “I know Number One wants you as her relief, but you can’t come crying to me every time you have an issue with the crew. They won’t respect you.”

“I believe the crew respects me on the basis of my aptitude.” He said stiffly. Pike cast him a sympathetic glance. 

“But do they trust you? Put plainly, you don’t have many close friends among the crew.”

“Are you rejecting my application, Captain?” Pike assessed him. He had been passed over in favor of Gary Mitchell no doubt. Still a Lieutenant but up for promotion. He had charmed the bridge in a way Spock had failed to, they never questioned his leadership on the bridge, even when it was based in little more than self-aggrandizement. 

“Not yet. Prove to me you can handle Kirk, handle the crew. Then we’ll talk.”

He left the ready room in a frustrated fever, headed for the gym. His nights had taken on a similar mold since the Enterprise’s trip through time. Cold showers followed by hours of lackluster meditation. 

Saavik had visited twice more in the past week since her reassignment to engineering, but meditation grew harder and harder to achieve. Most nights he gave it up in frustration. He could not sleep. He could not work. He could not calm his mind. 

The night after she was removed from the bridge he had retreated below decks to the ship wide gym. In the lull between blank and Alpha shift the room was empty. There he ran for hours at full speed until even the adrenaline would not carry him another step. His body ached the next day but it was the first full nights sleep he’d had since they had gone through the temporal shift. It quickly became a nightly routine.

Occasionally he retreated to the labs instead of his quarters after his runs, attempting to chart a safe way home. But most often, he laid awake restless until Kirk’s nightmares woke him. Even the runs were becoming less effective. He felt he could see the timer running down on his sanity, his coherence. If he could not route a way home, all was lost. If he allowed Kirk, or anyone else to change the past, all was lost. He was fighting a losing war against his own body.

Now, with Pike’s evaluation of him still ringing in his ears, Spock found himself heading for the gym again. His muscles still ached from the night before, but it was the only thing that bore any form of exhaustion. A few fitful hours of sleep were better than none. 

He still had not spoken with McCoy, but he didn’t need him to confirm that his adrenaline levels were too high. Leaving the lift, his heart thundered in his ears, reliving every excruciating second of Pike’s rejection. He needed to run, to fight, to push his body to the point of exhaustion. 

The lights were already on as he entered. Kirk worked the punching bag in the corner, each hit landing loud in Spock’s ears. 

They ignored each other. Spock stripped down to the black undershirt, his back to Kirk as he ran. Kirk’s presence no longer surprised Spock. It seemed he’d found a similar means of stress relief for his insomnia.

He’d first seen Kirk at the gym the second night he went. The lights were on and Spock had heard the shower running in the locker room. 

He followed the sound and found Kirk in the farthest stall, eyes closed, back against the wall under the spray. He had one hand on the door, his knuckles busted. He looked…unwell.

He didn’t react as Spock left, electing to skip the locker room.  If there was any other option Spock would have conceded but childishly, it was his last solace first. 

That had set the tone for their interactions. They left each other alone with their thoughts.

When Spock moved from the treadmill to the mats he watched Kirk leave, hair wet, without acknowledgement.

Still his mind was unfocused, no stronger or disciplined enough for restoration of his shields. He left the gym unsatisfied but with his body exhausted enough to force a shallow three hours of sleep before his shift.

Even these were interrupted by strangled shouts from the other side of the wall. After the first night he grew increasingly frustrated. But it felt hypocritical to alert McCoy to Kirk’s nightmares while he bit his tongue on the mental and physical torment the time travel had inflicted on his mind. 

Spock’s opinion of Kirk had not changed since their interaction in engineering, if anything time had soured it further. In the week since he had seen Kirk everywhere. Like salt in the wound Uhura brought up how charming he was, how funny, how he had apologized to the engineers for the transporter incident by sharing a replicator recipe for something called a twinkie. 

That seemed to be the dominant heartwarming tale of Kirk’s do-gooding around the ship, but it was by no means the only one. 

In the rec room when Spock gave Uhura lyre lessons Kirk was there, with Mitchell. In the mess hall Kirk was there, with just about every officer on the bridge and a dozen or so more Spock didn’t recognize who drifted in and out of his periphery. 

Spock would glare at them hatefully from his rickety table. Uhura and Saavik had staunchly joined him when their schedules lined up but more recently Uhura’d been pulling double shifts creating enough believable audio to keep the Romulans believing that they were still in fact, in modern day Earth’s orbit. 

More often than not she used the shift in between her two to sleep, replicating food in her room. Meanwhile, Saavik, practically shunned from the bridge, was pulling overtime in engineering and communications to fill in where personnel had taken the most direct hit. He couldn’t resent their absence, only stew in it. 

As such he ate his meals in the mess alone, or in his quarters, and this too, he added to Kirk’s list of faults.

Chapter Text

Pike found Kirk drunk, legs dangling from the catwalk overlooking the warp core. 

“Scotty called me.” He sat down beside him. “Means he likes you. If he didn’t he would’ve called security.” 

Kirk said nothing, only drank from a dark bottle, wincing slightly.

“Your replicator doesn’t do beer.” 

“‘Fraid not.” He was entirely sober, though the bleak red-lined expression said otherwise. Pike waited him out. Being captain had taught him patience, especially with cases like Kirk. The headstrong who, for the first time, were coming up against a wall they couldn’t simply break themselves trying to bust down. 

“10 more years.” Kirk said under his breath, spinning the bottle in his hand. Pike doesn’t know what he means at first. His early Earth history is admittedly rusty, and the thick briefing Spock had compiled still lay untouched on his nightstand. “They just keep going, again and again. The same war over and over. World War One, Two, Korea, Vietnam. I got shot down and when I came back,” He laughed, “When I came back, they were waging war on the people we were fighting for. They told us we were going to be heroes, that we were going to die for something. And instead they fucking hate us. He died scared and alone…and they fucking hated him for it.” Kirk let the bottle drop over the railing. It shattered on the concrete floor. 

Kirk let Pike slip the other from his hand.

“Ignoring the fact that you shouldn’t know any of that,” Kirk scoffed, leaning over the railing. “Not every American war is on your back, Kirk.” Kirk glanced at him from where he’d leaned forward to rest his forehead on the railing. Pike’s words had not even registered. “You wanna tell me what this is about?” 

Kirk smiled wryly down at the warp core. After days in the belly of the ship he found its hum oddly comforting in its foreign body. 

“It’s April 30th down there. Ten more years to the day.” Christ. Pike really needed to start reading those files Spock sent across his desk. “I wanted to be an astronaut, did you know that? Was it in my file?”

“I haven’t read your file. I have people to do that for me.” Kirk smiled down at his knees. For not drinking real beer, Kirk was a convincing fake drunk. Pike frowned, sniffing the bottle. Well, shit. 

It smelled like an electrical fire waiting to happen. He really needed to talk to Scotty about that still. 

Pike got Kirk safely back to his quarters and cancelled his training with Scotty the next day. He didn't know what to know what to do with that boy sometimes. He had to hold himself back, not get too close. Number One was already up his ass about his decision to let him assist Scotty in engineering, but she hadn't seen him. He needed it. 

Kirk woke up in a sour mood, the cold dread that lingered after a nightmare drowned out by nausea and a headache. When he commed Scotty he was told firmly to stay in bed. It was the worst thing he could’ve said. Kirk burrowed his head into the pillow, staunchly refusing to admit he was wide awake. At least in engineering Kirk could find a distraction, something to make him think, make him sweat, maybe collapse into bed tired enough to sleep if he was lucky.

He’d fallen into a cycle aboard the Enterprise, staying awake as long as he could last, a few days maybe, then scream himself awake before he even felt his eyes close. Repeat. If he’d made any improvement in the year since he’d been stateside, his first flight turned alien abduction had certainly crushed it. The pure panic when the ejection jammed tainted his nightmares now. Every image of Jonathan’s burning plane branded on his eyelids. Is that how I would’ve died? If not for the Enterprise?

Part of him reveled in the mindless work, the lack of control, a guilty relief. Kidnapped and presumed dead, at least he had a soft bed, warm meals, and as much quiet as he could take. 

Another part of him felt like he was wasting away. How long had it been--two weeks?--since he’d been in the cockpit. He had obligations, he had a life down there. And the longer he remained in orbit, the harder it would be to come back to Earth.

Bones rang his door around 1200 hours. He had an uncomfortable sympathy around him that told him Pike had sent him. He blessedly said nothing on the topic of how Kirk spent his yesterday, instead steered him in the direction of the mess hall while he complained about his various ills.

“...All I’ll say is good riddance, I don’t know where Pike got off sticking you in sickbay, you’re crazier than a sprayed cockroach.” Kirk winced as McCoy slammed his dinner tray down across from him. Kirk raised an eyebrow. 

He’d admittedly pestered McCoy with questions all afternoon his few days in sick bay, mostly about aliens until the man finally stuck a PADD in his hand and locked him in his office.

“You still have cockroaches?” McCoy glared at him.

“I’m a doctor! Not a damn babysitter.” He’d learned not to take McCoy’s diminutization of him too seriously, or rather, he’d done it so often in the past week he’d stopped hearing it. He’d occasionally missed Bone’s horrified silences and Southern drawl but he ultimately found the switch to engineering a blessing, he felt less…observed.

He stabbed at his food. Unless of course a certain Vulcan deigned to tell him how to do his job.

“Technically, I’m older than you by at least a couple hundred years.” He looked askance at the doctor, who did not refute his arbitrary number. Hundreds of years then. At least. “If anyone’s the baby it’s you, spaceman.” McCoy snorted and made a pointed glance at Kirk’s tray which he had filled with burgers, fish sticks, and jello. Kirk drew it towards himself defensively. 

“Sure you are.”

He caught sight of Gary leaving the replicators and waved. He looked pleased, adjusting course for them. 

“Mind if I join you?” McCoy’s expression soured but Kirk offered him a tight lipped grin around a mouthful of burger, kicking out the chair next to him. Gary sat, letting his arm rest on the back of Kirk’s chair. 

“Well, aren't you a pair.” McCoy’s tone was disapproving. Gary shot him a particularly goading smile.

“Don’t be like that McCoy, you’re fascinated too, admit it.” Gary laid it on thick. 

He was a bit insufferable as it turned out, but he knew more about what was going on on the bridge than McCoy did. 

Kirk hadn’t decided how he felt about him yet. He’d certainly been friendlier than some other bridge officers Kirk had encountered. But his friendliness had a manufactured ease to it. He wanted something. Kirk wanted to know what it was. 

“What’re you doing today, Kirk?” 

“Scotty said they’ve been having trouble with the cooling system, he wanted me to take a look at it.” Gary snorted.

“I’m sure Spock had something to say about that.” That was one way to put it.

Across the mess hall, Spock sat facing him, engrossed in a conversation with a woman, her back to him, dark hair swept up in a bun between her pointed ears. 

When she shifted Kirk recognized her as the navigator from his tour of the bridge. That must be the only other Vulcan onboard. From the looks of them, they were rather closely involved, twin severe expressions bent over the table. Spock’s posture radiated tension, Kirk could see his hands clenched under the table from where they sat. They were arguing about something.

“Earth to Jim,” Bones waved a hand in his face. “What is it with you and those pointy-eared bastards anyway?”

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, planet-eating amoebas, robots, lizards, definitely not Vulcans. His computer access was frustratingly limited, no doubt thanks to Spock. He was still working on that one. 

What little information he’d found about Vulcans was fascinating. Superior strength, healing, and resistance to temperature. The first alien race encountered by humanity. The idea that he had stepped in front of whoever in the future had made first contact charmed and humored him to no end. 

The logic had been what caught his attention most, a race of pure logic, no emotion. It seemed impossible. Spock had been cold no doubt, but unfeeling? Could any sentient race truly lack emotion?

However, his fascination had been dampened by his interactions with them so far. Saavik had been merely aloof but Spock had proven to be an uptight asshole. Any attempt to be friendly had been met with casual dismissal. 

Of course, if Spock had doused any belief in their charm, it had only inflamed his curiosity. 

“I don’t know,” Kirk shrugged, still watching the alien, the Vulcan, from across the mess. “I guess I just didn’t expect aliens to look so…human.” Bones snorted, across the table from him. 

“Well y’know--”

“Mitchell, don’t.” McCoy regarded him with a very mature disgust that Kirk was impressed Gary had the ego to withstand. He turned to Kirk like it was nothing, crooking his arm over Kirk’s chair.

“Spock’s half human, on his mother’s side, if you believe it.” Gary had the tact not to point, and no more. “And she, she’s half Romulan, it's why the captain had the decency to remove her from the bridge.”

McCoy’s expression had gotten increasingly stormy as Gary spoke. 

“That is not right and you know it, Lieutenant.” Gary shrugged, popping a grape in his mouth and leaning back to prop his legs up in the free chair. 

“I thought you were at war with the Romulans.” Gary beat Bones to it.

“Word is Spock’s parents adopted her when she was little. War orphan. She transferred from the Farragut for the five year mission but she hasn’t really let anyone get too close except Uhura and Spock.”

“She has taste,” Bones said pointedly. 

“So they’re like siblings?” That certainly explained the arguing. 

“Oh yeah. When she first came aboard everyone thought she was Spock’s girlfriend.” Gary said. McCoy straightened.

“Not me. She’s way too good for him.” Now McCoy and Mitchell were staring with him too. As if he felt it, Spock’s eyes slid to his across the mess.

McCoy and Mitchell were suddenly very interested in their salads. Caught, Kirk couldn’t look away from the guarded expression on his face. 

“Guess his ears were burning.” McCoy muttered. 

Gary shifted next to Kirk. Saavik followed Spock’s gaze to Kirk as well, but he couldn’t bring himself to break his stare. She scowled, her eyebrows drawing together as she said something to Spock. Together they left the mess hall.

“I still don’t see what's so human about them besides four limbs, two for walking and two for opening doors.” Gary spoke into his purple feathery vegetable. 

“It’s the eyes.” Kirk said, chewing another fish stick.  McCoy leaned back in his chair, addressing Gary in a rare moment of camaraderie fueled entirely by the need of a partner in the act of teasing Kirk. 

“You should’ve heard him in sickbay. It was all ‘how long do Vulcans live’ and ‘what do you mean they bleed green’ and ‘what do their ships look like.” McCoy chuckled until Kirk kicked him under the table. Gary forced a laugh, withdrawing his arm from Kirk’s chair. 

“I’ll have to tell Spock he’s got a fan.” Spock had already left, thank god. Kirk shrugged, crossing his arms, echoing Gary’s words from before. 

“Don’t be like that, Gary. You’re fascinated too, admit it.” Gary’s eyes narrowed. McCoy muffled his smile in his salad. 

Spock had the displeasure of riding the lift back up to the bridge with Lt. Mitchell who seemed to take perverse glee in his obvious distaste. Spock debated speaking until the silence wore him down.

“It is unwise to foster a relationship with Mr. Kirk, Lt. Commander.” Gary chuckled.

“Who says I’m fostering a relationship with him?” Uhura had described Mitchell’s conversation with Kirk on the bridge to Spock. Not to mention the way he had glued himself to the man’s side, and his displays in the mess hall.

When prompted for her opinion, Saavik had insisted she did not pay attention to such trivial facts before adding that Gary took his meals in engineering when Kirk was working down there, which she knew because she had calculated how long it took him to come back.

“So you are misleading him romantically?” Gary snorted, eyeing him.

“No, I think we understand each other perfectly.” His expression was crude. He shrugged. “Come on Spock, we both know this mission could determine who he picks as First Officer. I’m just playing the game.” His expression was entirely at ease. Spock clenched his jaw. Kirk had become more of a key element in their dilemma than Spock had naively expected. If Gary neutralized the threat, somehow convinced Kirk to go through with the mind wipe…his promotion was a surety. It would also mean Spock had failed Pike’s test of command.

Gary held his eyes, suddenly squinting at him. He grinned slowly. 

“He’s right, it is in the eyes.” Spock bristled. The lift doors slid open on the bridge. Gary strode out first. 

They spent the majority of their shift without incident until the lift doors opened on Mr. Scott and his new ingénue. Kirk waved hesitantly until he caught sight of Spock’s expression. Mitchell, on the other hand, grinned at the interruption. Days without Romulan incident had begun to drive him to boredom. 

“We’re here to run some bridge repairs, Cap’n.” Spock’s stomach dropped. One of those repairs was his station, it was no longer synced to receive updates from the labs. It was too delicate a repair to be left in the hands of Kirk.

“Go ahead, Mr. Scott.” Spock panicked, looking from the Captain, who having given his permission was now deeply immersed in an engineering proposition Number One was providing to the team of engineers. Kirk caught his eye and smiled, making toward him.

Spock avoided him in favor of Mr. Scott, ducking around his console.

“Sir, you have elected to employ Kirk further within the engineering bay?” Scotty had set down his tool box beside the center console. 

“You’ve already voiced your complaints, Mr. Spock, I’ve taken it up with the Captain, he said it’s quite alright.” Spock resisted the urge to spin around and glare at Pike. 

“I do not believe a few days qualifies Mr. Kirk to tamper with delicate machinery on the bridge. You run the risk of exposing him to sensitive information about the future.”  “Machinery like this hasn’t changed much between you and me, it’s all just circuits and wires.” Kirk spoke up from behind him, leaning against the console where Spock spent the majority of his shifts. 

He could understand the pull of the Captain’s chair but to him, the position of his console, his instruments, it felt like the helm of an old Vulcan sandship. He had held great respect for the station both metaphorical and physical. And Kirk was currently getting his greasy hands all over it.

“At least in the stuff Scotty lets me work on.” He added. Scotty nodded at Pike in confirmation. 

“I think you're overestimating him, Spock. A few days ago he struggled to open the doors,” Gary said. Pike spoke up.

“I think Kirk is well aware of his position aboard the Enterprise.” His tone was final. Everyone on the bridge was suddenly very busy at their stations. “And besides…” Spock followed the Captain’s eyeline to Kirk’s anklet. Right. Spock hadn’t told the Captain yet about his suspicions that Kirk had somehow found a way around it. 

Kirk watched his face as he formulated an answer. 

What else was there to say? Were he to speak further it would feel too close to throwing a tantrum on the bridge. Or defying the Captain in front of the crew. Gary sidled up to the science station, distracting Kirk. 

He would get no work done on the bridge.

“Very well.” He left for the labs.

It was something he had come to realize haunted him about Kirk. The crew of the Enterprise had accepted him with open arms, lax and careless when faced with a familiar smiling face. Here, Starfleet moral and ethical law came face to face with its moral conflicts. 

Had they been spat out in orbit of an unknown planet, and picked up an insectoid alien in a similar manner to Kirk there would’ve been no question of returning them to their species. Not when the translator only did so much for insect languages. Pike would have elected to flee with the poor creature, no doubt injured, whose anatomy would be misunderstood and mishandled in some way.

Dead or kidnapped from their home and likely dumped in the future for ease of Starfleet operations.

Captain Pike empathized with Kirk; had taken on that paternal manner Spock had witnessed infrequently. Even Number One spoke of him with begrudging admiration. At first Spock had taken it for granted that Kirk could not talk his way into letting the Captain endanger their future, now he was not so sure.

Spock could admit to a degree of envy. What little respect or warmth he had endeared from the crew had been hard won on the basis of merit rather than personal involvement. How long would it be before Captain Pike had him in a red uniform and ordering Spock to take the anklet off. 

Kirk stood so close to Starfleet itself, as Pike had said, he was their past, just a few hundred years between them like the width of one of Iowa’s creeks. 

A distance he understood because his mind had taken to wandering at night. Without touch, like a radio tower Spock drew Kirk’s emotions into his mind and his subconscious added the images Spock had  seen in Kirk’s head. Over and over again he watched Kirk’s plane catch fire. 

Sometimes the ejection would jam, more often than not it would go off, releasing Kirk into a hot night in a burning forest. Storm weather. It was always the last thing before he woke up. 

Spock wondered if Kirk noticed that they had started waking from their nightmares together. 

That night, Kirk entered the gym while Spock ran. He only became aware of him again when he was finished. Drenched in sweat, he pivoted to face the locker room where Kirk leaned against the doorframe watching him. He was pale and angry.

“Do you spar?” 

Spock shook his head, bid him goodnight and left. 

Despite Spock’s warning that Kirk should find a different place to occupy his time, he couldn’t help the draw to engineering. 

Scotty had taken him under his wing that first day, shown him the ropes. He learned quickly, and when Pike heard through the grapevine, Scotty requested special decompensation for Kirk to help with repairs. 

It helped to feel useful, he thought. To be good at something that wasn’t killing people. So far he hadn’t done much more beyond patching pipes and rerouting wiring in the engineering bay but it was enough that he didn’t duck his head when he saw an ensign coming down the hallway anymore.

Gary invited Kirk to the rec room after his first day in engineering. It had become rather a routine. Kirk had gotten a handle largely on the technology of the future. It was rather exhilarating to see the applications proposed as hypotheticals in his classrooms now surpassed and rendered obsolete. 

Gary escorted him to the rec room, talking the whole way. He was attentive, avid, asking witty, interesting questions but he was aggressive in his style. Expressive movements and interrupting, keeping up with him left him winded before the doors even slid open. 

Kirk wasn’t sure how he felt about him. Or rather he did, Gary was a mold Kirk had met often in flight school, it did no good to cross him casually. Besides, he was Kirk’s best insight into the bridge. Spock had proved rather evasive when he wasn’t chewing Kirk out for lending a hand.

The rec room was wide and tapered, a crescent laid against the curved outer hull of the ship, allowing for bay upon bay of windows. Just now, Earth turned outside the window.

“Starstruck if I ever saw it!” Scotty called from across the room. Kirk grinned. What could he say? The view never got old. 

Beside Scotty sat Chekov and Sulu. When Sulu caught sight of Mitchell, he eagerly squished Chekov to make room. 

Scotty began to narrate their rather bracing encounter with Spock on the bridge. Kirk instinctively looked to Saavik but when Scotty compared Spock’s actions to those of a donkey half fried off Romulan ale with a degree in Klingon theater, she looked more amused than angry. Kirk forced himself not to stare at her small, polite smile like some creep. Did Spock's smile look like that?

Had Spock ever smiled and Kirk had simply never seen it? Or rather did he take it as a personal point of pride to never smile? Either felt as likely. 

Saavik bent to Uhura, whispering in her ear. Uhura frowned but nodded, extending her fingers to touch Saavik's briefly in a rather ritualistic manner. 

Kirk averted his eyes as she left, somehow feeling he had intruded.

It had only taken a few glimpses of them together to figure out they were involved. None of the crew seemed to treat either of them ill for it, if anything, the hostility aimed at Saavik revolved entirely around her Romulan ancestry. It felt surreal. 

“I hope she didn’t leave because of me.” After all, he knew she and Spock were close. Perhaps she was protesting his presence. She almost looked like she was laughing at him. 

“Oh no, Saavik left because of Gary. They don’t…get along very well.” She said the last bit carefully as if expecting Kirk to leap to his defense. And yet that seemed the common opinion of Gary among the xenos aboard the ship he had met aboard the ship thus far.

Uhura sat alone now, her Vulcan lyre beside her. Spock usually gave her lessons on Thursdays. Spock had applied his gym approach to their interactions in the rec room as well, ignoring him thoroughly. He was late it seemed. Kirk took his spot on the couch next to her, trading sly smiles.

Uhura was certainly the bridge officer Kirk understood the best, apart from Gary. He liked her, though she’d recently become bogged down with disguising their temporal slip. This was the first time he’d seen her still in four days.

They chatted companionably about ship operations as Kirk eyed the games scattered about the tables.

Detailed tiered glass boards that seemed reminiscent of his own. He had seen them on his handful of visits to the rec room, but he had never felt restless enough to retreat from the warm company of the crew.

“Is that…chess?” He asked Uhura. She followed his gaze.

“Tridemensional.” Hmm. Kirk had been no slouch at chess. Jonathan would never play with him, he always won. 

“Do you play?” 

“Me?” Uhura shrugged. “Rarely. Saavik taught me but she’s far too good at it for me to keep up. She and Spock played when they were young.” 

“Spock plays?” Gary snorted, wandering over to them. His warm weight leaned against the couch arm behind Kirk.

“Certainly not with plebians like us.” Kirk suppressed a sigh and cast Gary a disarming smile.

“Teach me.” 

Gary took a macho pleasure in teaching him future things, no doubt thinking he was one ‘let me show you’ away from Kirk swooning into his cramped bunk. 

But if the Air Force had taught him anything it was don’t sleep with a man who has less to lose than you do. And Kirk had everything to lose out here.

Gary beat him the first two games but Kirk was learning. Gary wasn’t adaptable, he pushed the same flat strategies he had no doubt pulled from a book at twelve.

Kirk didn’t notice Spock’s entrance until Uhura stood, calling him over. He carried the same lyre and eyed Kirk suspiciously as he approached her. 

They spoke for a moment before Spock excused himself, approaching them. Kirk suppressed a sigh. Great. First engineering, now chess, it was as though Spock knew just when Kirk was beginning to forget the ever-present weight of the anklet. 

Spock addressed Gary, effectively ignoring Kirk.

“Do you think this wise?” 

“Shouldn’t you be calculating in a corner somewhere?” Kirk asked, pretending to be intensely focused on a game he had already won. Now, Spock’s gaze slid to him.

“Vulcans possess the ability to multitask.”

“Oh come now Spock. What’s the harm?” Gary’s voice was deceptively light. They had a strange nonverbal battle before Spock turned to Kirk.

“Mr. Kirk I request you go back to your quarters and remain there for the evening.”

“Request denied.” Gary interrupted, moving his bishop violently. Kirk shot him an irritated look.

“Are you still mad about the conversation we had on the bridge yesterday?” Spock stiffened.

“This has nothing to do with that. Although I find your involvement in the inner workings of this ship…unwise.” Kirk cocked his head, eyeing the Vulcan. He was still in his uniform but it was wrinkled, dark circles under his eyes. He held his hands behind his back. Uhura glanced between them, anxiously wringing her lyre around the neck. The room had gone quiet, watching them. 

“I’ll tell you what,” He moved his rook to checkmate. Gary’s mouth fell open, staring stunned at the board as though expecting some mistake. “I’ll play you for it.” 

Spock closed his eyes briefly, reigning in his irritation. That sight alone was enough to buoy his mood.

“I am not quite so easily fooled as Lt. Mitchell.” Kirk had no doubt. The adrenaline of a real challenge already set his fingers drumming the table edge. Kirk fought to keep his easy smile in place.

“You win, I’ll stop working in engineering, cross my heart.” Scotty choked on his drink in the background. Gary’s mouth had gone sour across the table. “If I win, you don’t say anything more about me staying in engineering and go get some sleep instead.” Uhura abandoned her lyre to take up a spectating position. Kirk winked at her.

Spock eyed the current chess game. Kirk could see his arrogance as he regarded the game. This was going to be brilliant. 

Spock stared pointedly at Gary’s seat. He scowled, but stood and offered it to him with mock politeness. He sat in one of the nearby chairs with Uhura, arms crossed, watching. Kirk who glowed with anticipation. 

Spock spun the turntable on which the board sat so that Kirk was playing white. Kirk raised his eyebrows but did not object. A gentleman. He would regret that later. 

“So Vulcans play chess?”

Kirk chose a strong but predictable opening. Spock responded quickly with an unconventional defense which lacked the material gain. Kirk wondered if he was showing off, thinking he had room to maneuver. It didn’t seem Spock’s style to underestimate his opponents, exhibit A: the anklet. 

Kirk could admit to a secondary motive to challenging Spock. He was by far the most compelling person aboard the ship. Kirk had so many questions, and yet Spock had deemed Kirk unworthy of his time unless it was to argue. This seemed as good a way as any to hold his attention, maybe make him eat his words if he played his pieces right.

“The last five Intergalactic Tridimensional champions have been Vulcans.”

“Yikes, leave some for the rest of us.” His hand hovering over his knight before ultimately moving a pawn. “Who taught you?”

Spock attacked his pawn with a knight. 

“The last two Intergalactic Tridimensional champions.” Kirk moves his knight to c3 without looking at the board. Contrarily, all Spock would look at was the board. He seemed to be taking this deal rather seriously. Kirk didn’t quite mind the idea of losing to Spock, but he wasn’t sure if he’d renege on his promise to quit engineering. 

“You really don’t like me tinkering around in the ship, huh?” Spock responded in a kingside fianchetto of his bishop. His lips curved as Kirk stared at it, annoyed. 

“You have certainly committed the majority of your time to learning the Enterprise’s systems.” 

Kirk waved him off, angrily squinting at the board as if the correct angle would rectify his early mistakes. He didn’t mind the idea of losing, but if he was conducting some strange intellectual seduction going down too easy seemed bad form.

He only spoke once he had moved another pawn.

“Scotty exaggerates my contribution truly, I’m practically a plumber.”

“Indeed.” He moved another pawn, creeping up the sides. “Scotty reported you singlehandedly repaired the fundamental field replicator.” Kirk shrugged, meeting Spock’s eyes in an affectation of modesty. 

“It was all just following the manual.”

“And yet your solutions weren’t guided by any manual at all.” Kirk paused at that. “I read Scotty’s report.” Spock was studying him, he could feel it. Whatever he was looking for, he wouldn’t find it.

“And what did you think of my solution?” 

“Risky.” Kirk’s smile fell. 

He may have played at humility but he was doing rather brilliant work if he said so himself. But he didn’t have to, Scotty said it loud enough for everybody. His bishop hit the board loudly.

“You don’t like me, do you?” He asked, leaning back. Spock gestured to the board.

“Would you prefer I limit myself in order to increase your odds?” Kirk cocked his head, eyes bright.

“You know what I mean.” He was funny, bracingly so. Kirk found himself more awake than he had been in days. He ignored Gary’s glare from the sidelines.

“My personal opinion of you is irrelevant.” He said, ignoring Kirk’s intense gaze in favor of the board again.

“Irrelevant except for the fact that I’m on your side,” Kirk moved, gaining traction on the left flank of the board. “...And you have worse things to worry about than me.”

“The Romulan threat is not my responsibility, you are. Compared to the Romulans you are catastrophic.”

“Flatterer.” Spock ignored his remark. By now, Sulu had stolen Mitchell away to the pool table. Uhura had left, alongside Chekov and Scotty. They had lost their audience. 

Kirk made sure to aim an apologetic wince at Uhura as she left. He had technically stolen her lying tutor. She took it with an exasperated look skyward. When the door slid shut behind them, their corner was largely ignored. 

“I have a proposition.” Spock said. 

“Oh?” 

“Instead of vacating your position in engineering, if I win, I wish to know how exactly you gained access to the computer systems.”

Kirk laughed, made his move and leaned back in the seat. He was rather hung up on that in a way that made him nervous. Sulu and Mitchell remained, Mitchell's eyes locked on their game from across the room. 

“And how do you propose I’m doing that? I thought we were a Pre-warp species.” Spock took the jab without complaint.

“Precisely my question. You have no degree, no practical engineering experience beyond that as a pilot hundreds of years behind our technology.” Kirk clenched his jaw. Where Spock’s cold manner had amused before it was now beginning to piss him off.

“You read my file?” 

“It was necessary.” Spock would not apologize. Of course not.

“I audited a lot of experimental astrophysics classes in college. Was going to major in it but then the draft hit, I enlisted. Haven’t had the chance to return.” The abrupt annoyance on Spock’s face made the admission worth it. Kirk smiled.

“You thought I was a grunt, didn’t you?”

“I don’t--”

“Yeah you did. Don’t worry,” He waved him off, making another move. He noted, pleased, that Spock did not even glance at the board when making his response. “...Scotty was the same when I offered to help with repairs.” 

They had brought their bishops and queens out onto the playing field as they spoke. Playing the long game was always exhilarating, watching your opponent, waiting to see it in their eyes. Do you get it yet?

Kirk castled and Spock followed suit. He wondered if Spock danced like he played.

“Yet you seem to have convinced him to let you explore the engineering bay at your leisure.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“You are certainly helping yourself, as I suspect you have been all along.” Kirk absorbed the hit but went silent, his eyes now hard as he examines the board.

Perhaps it was his anger which lost him the game. Kirk took his remaining rook to the third tier, offering it up again to be cut down, forcing Spock to move his king. The countdown to checkmate began. 

“You’re insinuating I’ve been gorging myself on the computer banks except…” He stuck out his leg, pulling up his pant leg enough to reveal the anklet Spock himself had designed.

Spock’s expression was a hardened mask of neutrality. He didn’t respond, instead refocusing on the board. Kirk saw the precise moment his eyes caught, backtracking over his bishop, his pawns.

“Problem, Spock?” 

“You claimed to be an amateur.” Kirk shrugged.

“When one is playing an objectively superior player, one must seize every available advantage.” It seemed they had one thing in common at least, they didn’t like to lose.

The rest of the middlegame drained away in increasingly desperate moves. Kirk’s nonsensical moves in the beginning now seemed to draw around Spock’s helplessly caught pieces like a noose around a neck. Spock’s only advantage was material, pieces on the board which he was quickly losing in order to maintain position. 

Kirk’s moves were now aggressive, tactical. He played fast with little room for thought, and yet no piece was wasted. 

“It's funny to find a silly old Terran game at the other end of the galaxy, a hundred years later.” He mused, playing with an executed pawn. “Are you going to wipe my mind once repairs are finished?” 

Spock’s head rose abruptly, the question surprised them both.

“Have you changed your decision regarding the operation?”

“No.” His mind was his own if nothing else. He wouldn’t let them turn him into a drooling mess to be dumped on the side of a highway before they took off back to the stars. 

“The Prime Directive outlaws any mental or bodily invasion of a pre-warp species unless it is lifesaving.” Kirk chuckled. He bet that was word for word. He didn’t know if there was any point in arguing with Spock, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

He’d been aboard the Enterprise for weeks now, and yet, to him, his hair still smelled like airplane oil, his mouth still tasted like Benny’s beer. And here was an alien discussing his whole world like they hadn’t yet learned to walk. 

He met Sulu’s eyes over the pool table. The man spoke to Gary quietly, ushering him out. Good man, Sulu. 

“You can’t just keep me here. I have a right to my life, my memories.” The chess game between them now seemed laughably unimportant. Spock laced his fingers where they rested on the table. 

“Is that your justification for hacking the systems? Are our lives your right too?” Kirk glared at him. 

“Say I had hacked the systems…do you have any idea what I’d go for first? What I might know already?” Spock stilled. It was a bluff. He hadn’t peeked at anything too important. Anything he felt like sending express to the Pentagon anyway. 

He wouldn’t tell Spock how he hacked the systems, not even if he won the game. Not unless he had something to gain. It was his one and only bargaining chip on this ship.

“I’ll tell you if you let me go. I’ll show you how I did it.” Spock’s eyes narrowed. Whatever ground he’d gained fell away.

“I resign.” Spock said, pushing his chair out as he stood. Kirk scrambled after him. Spock bowed his head, gripping his hands behind his back.

“God, have a feeling for once!” Spock stiffened. “You can’t be all machine.”

His words landed wrong in the silence. He regretted them almost as immediately. Spock spun around, returning to the board. He glared at Kirk as he moved his rook, checkmating him.

“Goodnight, Mr. Kirk.”

Kirk registers the hiss of the door a moment too late. He’s already at the lift when Kirk sticks his head out the door. 

“Spock!” But Spock does not break his stride, punching in his destination. 

Shit.

Chapter Text

“Did you beat him?” Mitchell was hanging over the railing of his station, uncanny smile in place. 

“Pardon?” Mitchell ducked under the railing, sitting on the edge of Spock’s desk.

“Kirk. He’s been mopey all day.” Spock stared at Mitchell’s ass edging closer and closer to his PADD. He snatched it away and discretely kicked out Mitchell’s leg, sending him stumbling to stand. 

Number One sighs and mumbles something to the effect of ‘children’ under her breath. 

Spock returned to typing. 

“He won.” That at least got Mitchell to leave him alone though Uhura wouldn’t stop sending him looks. She knew better than to approach him on the bridge these days, as all she was likely to get were terse, one-word replies, but she found other times to strike. 

But now that Mitchell had brought it up, Spock couldn’t stop thinking about the chess game. Hadn’t stopped, really. He replayed Kirk’s moves over in his head, dissecting his responses, mistakes he’d never seen in his strategies on full display. It was maddening. 

He’d forgone the gym that night. The chance of seeing Kirk spoiled it. Instead he’d  done push ups in his room, imagining the board on the floor in front of him. 

Kirk was remarkable for a beginner but his moves had been crude in the beginning, lacking polish. That much was obvious in his match with Mitchell. He never missed an opening but he took too many risks, shedding pieces which left him undefended in the final checkmate. It was only Mitchell’s idiocy which had allowed Kirk to win the match. 

Spock had been arrogant in his certainty that he would not make the same mistakes. 

Now, the bridge was too quiet, his work too frustrating to hold his attention. He had hit a brick wall in terms of the power needed. With the warp core as it was, they didn’t have the capacity to make it home. 

When shift broke for lunch Spock left for his quarters rather than the mess. Uhura’s eyes lingered on him out of concern but he couldn’t see Kirk. Not when his words were still running through Spock’s mind.

Scotty exaggerates my contribution truly, I’m practically a plumber. Oh how Spock would like to believe it. How easy it would make everything.

He had called Kirk’s solution to the fundamental field regulator risky. It was one of many words that came to mind. Inspired. Impressive. Suspicious.

He could not settle on an opinion of the man. At times Spock could not believe that a man so clever could be so selfish in the face of such a delicate balancing act. In others, all he saw when Kirk smiled was Mitchell. 

The more acidic Spock had been in conversation the more aggressive Kirk’s moves had grown. A sensitive ego, one of many features he and Mitchell had bonded over no doubt. 

They both fought with their looks when it came to conversation. Their eyebrows went up in the middle like hands clasped and begging a favor. The way their expressions changed according to the authority of the person they spoke to. 

Spock wondered if this was the real reason for the crew’s unease around him. His face changed very little from when he was asking a professional favor to when he was informing the bridge that there was an epidemic of ringworm. 

Compared to them he was woefully unarmed. Perhaps that was what he hated about both of them. The way they shone a spotlight on his inadequacies. He diverted to the gym rather than his quarters. Alpha shift was at lunch, which meant however crowded the gym might be, Spock knew at least one person who wouldn’t be there.

He should’ve known she’d find him eventually. Saavik crossed her arms, standing beside the treadmill as Spock slowed. 

“I heard what happened.” Of course she had. Whatever Uhura knew, Saavik knew, and vice versa. There was no point in keeping secrets around them. He only wished they’d leave him to manage his emotions somewhere dark and quiet. 

“You think he’s hacking the systems.” No one was in earshot but he still sent her a censuring look. She drew closer to the treadmill. “Uhura told me what you asked him for in your ‘bet’.” Her tone told him exactly what she’d thought of that idea. 

He stepped down. She followed him out. He spoke once the lift doors closed around them. 

“I can’t prove anything.” Spock swallowed. That was the problem. He had no issue admitting to himself that he was fallible but admitting it to the crew…he couldn’t indict Kirk on a hunch. His own technology tied his hands in this case, the readouts were normal, he had no evidence. 

And Kirk knew it. 

Say I had hacked the systems…do you have any idea what I’d go for first? What I might know already? He had tried to organize the types of access the data banks allowed, the genres of knowledge they held, it was too much…there was no way to tell.

He wouldn’t tell Spock how he hacked the systems, not even if he won the game. Not unless he had something to gain. He’d have to figure it out himself. But to do so required allowing him to continue to hack the systems. 

Spock had been trying to take Pike’s words to heart but he doubted even the Captain could handle Kirk. 

Saavik said much the same.

“Tell Number One,” She’d advised. And, what was quickly becoming their farewell: “Have you spoken to McCoy yet?”

No he had not, and he had no intention of doing so, although he told Saavik differently. He shed his clothes between the door and his bed, leaving them where they fell. He sighed into the mattress, grateful for the gravity that seemed to ease off his spine. He felt sleep toy at his consciousness and could only hope that he would not see Kirk’s dreams tonight.

When he visits the gym again, Kirk is waiting for him. Kirk sat on the bench along the wall, glaring at him as Spock arrived, intent on running until his legs mutinied. Kirk had wrapped his hands but the punching bag looked untouched. Spock had a sinking suspicion approaching him.  

Kirk moved to meet Spock in the middle of the mats. Spock’s hand clenched in the strap of his bag. 

“I won’t spar you.” 

“But you want to, I can see it in your eyes.” Spock scoffed, sidestepping him to drop his bag. “Your codes for the doors and ship systems were top notch, but the replicator work was a little sloppier.” 

Spock stilled, peering at him over his shoulder. Kirk shrugged at the look on his face, entirely unapologetic. 

“You can’t just give me a magic box, tell me it can make anything and not expect me to test that.” There was no one in the room and yet to hear Kirk admit it out loud felt like a triumph, but the ease of his admittance made him wary.

“So you expect us to treat you as one would a child?”

Spock dropped the bag and strode to one of the taped out squares at the end of the room. He heard Kirk’s exasperated sigh from behind him. 

He didn’t need wraps or padding. Kirk wouldn’t land a single blow. And he had learned carefully how to pull his punches. 

“Any other endeavors from the last 24 hours?” Kirk thought for a moment.

“I did sidestep your firewall a tad to finish Hogan’s Heroes. Can’t believe they got six seasons.” Spock stopped. His main firewall. 

The one that protected all future historical events. And Kirk had used it to watch TV. He had tricked Spock’s anklet so effectively he hadn’t even left a trace. Either that or Spock’s efficiency had dropped to an embarrassing level. 

He didn’t understand how no one, not even Saavik saw the danger he posed. He forced his hands to relax at his side, he couldn’t fit stiff and angry. Kirk’s frustration was catching, proceeding would be ill advised…and yet Spock made no move to leave.

Kirk joined him in the box, both dropping into defensive stances. Spock could see his military training in his stance, stiff and trigger happy. Spock would see him on the mat in two moves. It felt strangely similar to their chess game, but with the added bonus of being able to mute Kirk when he felt necessary. 

 “...and I’ve been reading your work.” That caught him off guard. 

“Pardon?” 

“Neutralizing Ion Storms through Replication. It’s brilliant, a bit unimaginative, but brilliant.” 

For a moment Spock was stunned. He doubted there was another being alive who had read the paper he’d submitted besides Number One whom he’d asked repeatedly to proofread it. Not even the Captain.

Kirk’s words caught up to him as Kirk swung for his stomach. Spock blocked easily, reversing Kirk’s momentum. He narrowed his eyes.

“--And how exactly did you sidestep my code?”

Kirk shrugged and wiggled his fingers, smiling all while they circled each other.

“What can I say? I think your girl likes me.” He patted the wall affectionately as he passed it. Spock suppressed a comment about the implied taste of the non sentient ship and struck. 

Kirk’s face went slack as he swerved to the side, Spock’s arm clipping his shirt. 

Spock dove away just as fast, one hand hovering next to his face. Kirk adopted a boxer’s stance, eyes peeking through his fists. 

“That code is in place for both your safety and the safety of the crew. I would advise you against further investigation but I know you would only ignore it.” Spock had been admittedly exhausted when he had written that code but it was highly improbable a pilot from hundreds of years in the past could have deciphered and hacked it in less than 48 hours.

He’d have to take a look at it again that night. As if he wasn’t already swamped with work.

“You can’t blame me for being curious.” 

“So everyone keeps telling me.” He said, blocking Kirk’s quick flurry of blows with his forearm. Twisting, he catches Kirk’s wrists in his hands. Kirk glared at him, sweat trickling down his temple.

“You know what happens to me, what my life is supposed to look like. If you take me back and wipe my mind, best case scenario is an honorable discharge, do you understand that?” He made contact with Spock who absorbed the hit, grabbing Kirk around the waist and tossing him across the box. 

The line of questioning discomposed him. While Kirk stubbornly refused to accept his situation, Spock always thought he understood it. 

“I have taken this into consideration.”

“You said that. You said my removal would not have any serious effect on future events.” Spock grit his teeth. “But let me ask you this--”

Spock beat him back but Kirk continued unfazed. 

“--You’re just as likely to destroy your future by putting a clueless me back on Earth as you are by returning me as I am, you--” Spock caught his wrist, twisting it behind him. Kirk cut off with a pained grunt. 

“I see what you’re implying. No.” Kirk drove his head back into Spock’s face, breaking his grip. Spock grunted, feeling the heat of blood start filling his nose. Kirk dared him to end it, to leave the box. 

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can, come on.” Kirk raised his fists again. Kirk catches Spock in the ear with his fist. Spock grunted, staggering back. 

Kirk could barely block his blows, keeping enough distance to think but not to be caged. Spock knew he had picked this fight with the intent of getting punched, but now that he was in it, he was fighting to win.

It was not as though he had not considered what Kirk was proposing but he knew Kirk’s future better than he did. As if reading his thoughts:

“Go on. Tell me. You said you read my file.” Spock avoided him less gracefully than before, forced backwards along the mat. “I won’t believe you until you tell me. You can’t just keep me here, and you can’t just wipe my memories, it won’t be the same. I’ll break my leg, miss assignment, cash the wrong check--” Spock swiped Kirk’s legs out from under him, and pinned him with his arm behind his back.

“You have not said a thing I have not accounted for.” Kirk flushed. 

“Tell me my future. Let me go with my memories. I promise I’ll follow it to a T.” 

Spock couldn’t help it. Kirk felt his laugh before he heard it. Kirk destabilized Spock, rolling him over and pressing him to the matt. 

Spock could hear his thoughts filter in where his shirt had ridden up around his waist. Oh God, he thought, I’ve broken him. Spock let his head fall back against the mat, trying to choke off the amusement that bubbled up. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his hair like this.

That’s enough of that. Spock slammed his head back into Kirk’s shoulder, breaking his hold. They both rolled to their knees.

“I don’t understand how you can be so smart and yet so stupid.” Kirk smiled tightly. 

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever--”

“Fuck’s sake, Kirk, be serious!” Spock grabbed Kirk by his shirt and slammed him against the wall of the gym. Kirk tore away.

“I am! I won’t change a thing.” 

“You can’t promise that.” 

Kirk swallowed.

“Yes I can.” Spock wanted to scream. He grabbed Kirk’s loose punch and hauled him over his shoulder. Kirk became a scrabbling mess of elbows and knees. Spock slammed him to the ground hard enough to make the air leave him.

“And what if I tell you your mother dies in a car accident?” He raised his voice over Kirk’s wheezing. “Will you send her off keys in hand that day!” Kirk’s elbow hits his eye hard enough to black out his vision. 

Spock rolled to his knees, stumbling to his feet. When his vision cleared Kirk did the same, staring at him murderous from across the mat, tensing for his next blow.

“You never marry.” Kirk goes slack. 

When their eyes meet, Spock has the sudden spiteful urge to reach out and know what he is feeling as he feels it. 

“You never have children.” Kirk’s face is red, sweat already darkening his hair. When Kirk dives, Spock is ready. 

“You return to Vietnam.” Kirk’s feet skid against the mat as he blocked Spock’s forearm. He met his eyes, a terrible fear on his face. It is all too easy to break his defenses, to land an elbow on his shoulder, a punch to his side. Kirk kneed him, bruising his ribs. Spock’s jaw clenched. 

“You stay in the Air Force until a crash in 1983 makes you paraplegic.” Kirk’s punch falters and Spock shoves him aside. Each contact with Kirk, Spock can feel his anger, his fear, driving Spock’s own like two snakes, their jaws clamped round the others tail. 

“...After which you remain in the home you live in with your mother. You never move.” 

He swings a fist at Spock’s head. Spock dodges, catching Kirk’s wrist. Kirk has gone pale, his hand fisted. “She dies in 1990 of an aneurysm--”

Kirk screamed, driving Spock to the floor. Spock’s head hits hard enough to see stars. Kirk closes in around him, overwhelming his mind with rage. Spock feels Kirk’s knuckles crack over his jaw.

“--We have no further record of you until your obituary, do you want to know what it says?” 

“Shut up!” Spock catches the next one, flipping Kirk onto his back. 

“Beloved friend, son, and pilot. Died of a heart attack--” 

How dare he? Kirk raised his forearms to protect his face. Spock struck his ribs then his forehead when his hands jerked. 

“Nothing else! Two lines! Paid for by the U.S. Air Force.”

Kirk slammed his head up but Spock dodged, pulling one of Kirk’s hands behind his back. Spock heard a sick crunch louder than the muffled screaming. He gripped Kirk by the hair and slammed his head into the mat. 

The rage disappeared. The void where it once was, now expansive but silent. Beneath him Kirk is limp.

Kirk woke up on the bench to Spock rubbing at his face roughly with a wet cloth. He winced. The motion stopped, when he opened his eyes there was a glass of water hovering next to his face.

He sat up with a groan, taking it. Spock’s face betrayed none of the fury he’d had before. It was unnerving. 

“Can you stand?” Yes. He bit his tongue as pain lanced up his leg but Spock caught his flinch. Spock slung his arm over his shoulder.

Kirk’s dead leg kept catching on the floor with squeals. Spock glared at him, bringing an arm around his side, to take more of his weight, one arm already slung around his shoulders. Sickbay nearly always had one nurse on duty, however the overflow of patients from the Romulan attack had been diverted into the larger second bay of outpatient. Understaffed, sickbay went unmanned at night. 

When Kirk asked Spock if he had considered all the risks of exposing such a weakness. Spock answered very seriously, admitting he could see no value in the knowledge, and he would not envy the man McCoy found at fault for misallocation of medical resources.

“See? You are funny.” Kirk mumbled as the double bay doors slid open, the lights remained off. Spock guided Kirk to the nearest bed. Kirk sat down gingerly. 

Spock winced, taking stock of Kirk’s injuries. His wrist was sprained, his index finger broken. Face bloodied and already swelling, nose broken. Luckily all his teeth were intact and surprisingly he was suffering no concussion. Kirk tried to smile and grimaced instead.

“I have a hard head.” Spock cleaned Kirk’s wounds first with alcohol. When Kirk winced his movements slowed, softer as he cleaned sweat and dirt out of the cuts Spock’s knuckles had split over his face and hands. 

Spock strove for calm in the face of the contact. He had forgotten the gloves in the gym. Kirk’s emotions teased at his mind. Spock could not forget the rage he had felt that had so overwhelmed him. In Kirk’s mind Spock felt the echo of that.

He was no McCoy; it was slow going. He had taken a few extra medical courses, for which he was now grateful, if only to avoid having to submit to McCoy or his team of ferocious nurses and their lectures this late into the night. 

“I could do it.” Kirk is wearing the same expression he had on the mat before Spock had lost control. It had cooled somewhat, more pensive than furious. 

He still thought he could follow the path the future had scripted for him. His face had crumpled when Spock mentioned his mother. It had been low of him.

He opted for a gentler explanation this time.

“And if we try it and it doesn’t work? Our universe is destroyed. Though in either future you would logically return home, I guess that is irrelevant for you.” Gentler in tone if not content.

“Spock--” He left, finding a dermal regenerator in the farthest cabinet. When he returned, Kirk thwarted his hope that he had successfully circumvented this conversation. 

“I care about this ship. I care about the crew. I know that my presence is somewhat of a…complication for you but, no matter what your historical calculations say, my life is worth no less than yours.” 

Spock stared at him. He had not thought Kirk had understood the full meaning of his words in the brig. “I can’t just give up. I could do it. I could go back.”

His voice is falsely steady. 

“You could not.” Kirk set his stubborn jaw. Spock headed him off at the pass. “You would save your mother.” Kirk went slack. 

Spock could see his warped reflection in the surface of the regenerator. Spock was shocked with the surety of his statement, and yet if he knew one thing about the pilot, it was this. “You would not be able to help yourself.” 

He drew back, finger bone reset. He looked up at Kirk’s silence. He seemed to plead for Spock’s understanding but there was no more to be had. He understood perfectly. If Kirk could not be infallible, he must be.

“There must be a way.” Spock frowned, reminded of the trials of sobbing cadets, driven through humanity’s stages of anger, of grief. Those words repeated across students before they understood the point. 

The dilemma of Kirk, it was the same paradoxical thinking the Academy had been attempting to curb with the Kobayashi Maru program. If only he had six weeks for Starfleet cadet ethical conditioning, perhaps Kirk would understand his reasoning.

 He relayed the thought to Kirk, perhaps carelessly as he readied Kirk’s wrist.

Which meant of course that he had to explain it. 

“A flight simulation for command track cadets. It was the final test.” Now Kirk looked more confused. 

“You’ve only seen me fly once.”  

Spock held Kirk’s hand in his, steadying it while he applied the dermal regenerator to his finger first. It was interactions like these that made Spock want to give up the fight on bridging the communication gap between him and his human officers. 

“It was a strategy test, not a flight test. Meant to test a cadet’s approach to an unwinnable situation.”

“You made it unwinnable?” Kirk snorted. “How did your superiors feel about that?”

“...They were explicit in their instructions regarding the nature of the test.” Of course. Kirk’s good humor faded slightly in the silence. 

“And I…remind you of this test you designed that teaches your cadets to die?” Spock shook his head.

“You are familiar with strategy tests, Captain Kirk.” He said. Kirk straightened in a stubborn expression Spock had learned in their interactions preceded a rather dramatic declaration. 

“Dying is not a strategy. Giving up when there is still a chance is not strategy.” Spock stopped the regenerator. 

“Dignity is--”

“To hell with dignity!” They tensed as Kirk’s voice echoed in the room. Kirk rubbed his eyes, shoulders slumped. “Sorry,” He said quietly. Spock spoke softer.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” Spock rolled Kirk’s wrist, attempting to hold him by the fabric of his sleeve as much as possible. Kirk eyed him oddly. Spock ignored it. 

“Logically, as you said, your presence presents complications. Beyond that, you are in an ethical dilemma.”

“Why Spock, you’re making me blush.” 

Spock had broken his nose not even an hour prior and Kirk still managed to flirt with him. Perhaps there was some truth to all those Air Force stereotypes Mitchell and Sulu had been bandying about the bridge.

“...Letting you return to Earth with your memory intact renders neutral to negative results for you. For us, the result is at best neutral, at worst we lose an infinite number of lives in our future. It is incalculable.” 

Here Kirk stared at him, silent question in his face. 

Oh, Spock had tried. Those calculations were what he ran when he woke up from dreams of Kirk trapped in the pilot’s seat and he could hear Kirk on the other side of the wall. They never led anywhere anyone wanted to go. 

Spock could almost feel the rhythm of his thoughts in his emotions, like the shadows of fish in the water. Spock’s shields no longer held, he had to strictly focus and guide himself through them mechanically, rather than as the reflex he had come to depend on working with humans. 

He had to bring himself back to basics, center himself in the hot sands of Vulcan, the sun overhead. He sits in his own shade, his sweat turning the breeze cool on his body. Kirk relaxed as Spock worked. He guiltily attempted to tamp down the emotional transference. Kirk handed him his other hand as soon as Spock had finished with the first. Spock picked up where he’d left off.

“The only way to guarantee a neutral result on our end, in which we return to exact or similar circumstances is to guarantee your discharge, dishonorable, if it is as you claim it will be.” Kirk nodded firmly. 

“You lay it out in absolutes but you yourself admitted in this situation, nothing is absolute.” Kirk said, straightening to look Spock in the eye, dropping the courteous, harmless slouch he had adopted around the crew. The effect disconcerted him, as was no doubt intended.

“There is a way around this, Spock. I know there is.” Spock shook his head, tilting Kirk’s wrist as he knit the cartilage back into place.

“You would fail the test.” Kirk scoffed.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Indeed.”

“So you did read my file.” Spock wouldn’t apologize. It had been an entirely professional inquiry of course. 

“It was necessary.” 

“They told me it was an unwinnable situation then, too. And I still got my wings.” Kaidiith. They would not reach a compromise. Spock must accept that. Besides, there was the other matter. 

“I allowed my emotional compromise tonight to give way to violence.” He caught Kirk’s eye. “I apologize.” 

Kirk shrugged. To him, Spock’s egregious transgression was not even worth verbal acknowledgement. His father would’ve been ashamed. 

“I can’t say I wasn’t picking that fight.” He flexed his hand, meeting Spock’s eyes. “I’m sorry too.”

He knew Kirk was smart. Too smart perhaps and manipulative enough to know when to play dumb. He had the whole crew fooled. He gave every appearance of sincerity. Now, even, Spock looked into his eyes and could see nothing but earnest resolve. 

It was enough to make Spock question if everyone else was right and somehow he was the dog chasing its own tail, inventing shadows.

By the time they were finished Spock’s shift started in 3 hours. When he apologized to Kirk for the time, Kirk shrugged.

“I probably wouldn’t have fallen asleep until this hour anyway.”

“I had noticed that.” Kirk did not seem terribly surprised.

“Thin walls, huh.” If Spock wasn’t apologizing for the files, Kirk wasn’t apologizing for this.  “One thing I don’t miss about active duty.” Spock commiserated. 

They spent the rest of the walk back to their quarters in companionable silence. It was too late now to get much sleep. Instead Spock showered and changed into a fresh uniform, considering the out of place pilot before his shift.

Chapter Text

Spock was still in the labs when the ship rocked, groaning. Spock could feel the impacts vibrate through his feet. Romulans.

He was already running when Lt. Mitchell’s voice came over the ship wide comms. 

“All available security and engineers to the engineering bay immediately!” He repeated the message twice more. By the time he had finished Spock had piled into the lift beside several nervous looking engineers.

When he emerged onto the main floor of engineering it was unrecognizable. Smoke poured out of open vents, fires were combated in the corners while people ran shouting orders over each other. 

He abruptly had no idea why he came. His place was on the bridge. 

He spotted a yellow uniform through the haze and ran towards it. It was Gary, struggling to lift a beam where it had pinned Mr. Scott unconscious to the floor. 

Without a word Spock moved to seize the other side, displacing two members of security. Blood began to pool as they lifted it. Spock paused. 

“You! Get Dr. McCoy down here now!” 

“He’s already here!” Mitchell said.

“Then send him over immediately.” Spock turned back to Mitchell. “I believe the beam has punctured him, if we move it without immediate medical assistance he’ll bleed out.” Mitchell’s face was turning purple, his veins were popping.

“I don’t know how much longer I can--”

“Then let go!” Spock grit his teeth against the additional weight but he didn’t have to hold it for long. A woman in blue slid beside him, crouched next to Mr. Scott with a tricorder and medical device. 

“Move the beam.” She said. As soon as she could she slipped underneath. Spock could hear the whir of the device and smell the singe of cauterization, watching the blood pool towards his feet. When he turned back she was done.

“He’s got a concussion, several lacerations and a bad sprain but he’ll live.” She called the nearest blue shirt with a gurney to take him. Spock bowed his head.

“Thank you, Dr…?’ She smiled.

“Nurse Chapel.” Then disappeared back into the fray.

“What happened?” Spock asked. Mitchell was now pale and shaking.

“They had been repairing the dilithium in the warp core when the Romulans hit.” Spock moves them forcibly as a stretcher makes its way past. “The core is overheating, the ventilation shafts went offline, the heats even taking out other structural insecurities, the whole things two seconds from melted--” An engineer ran up to them coated in sweat.

“Lt! Fire broke out near the main console! Kirk and Lt. Saavik are trapped!” Spock took off behind Mitchell, weaving their way through the crowd to the base of the Jefferies Tube which accessed the main ventilation panel. The hatch had been crumpled inward as though made of paper by another support beam. 

“Jim!” Mitchell recoiled as his hand touched the surface. 

“I’m in here!” The voice came muffled. No doubt with the smoke pouring out of the room he would soon fall unconscious.

“Saavik?” Spock called. 

“Here!” The smoke cleared enough to show Kirk and Saavik halfway up a ladder, handling a manual override.

“We need heat gear stat!” Mitchell called. 

“There’s no time!” Spock said, ripping off his top layer to bind around his hands. It would have to do. He pushed past Mitchell.

“Saavik!” He could just see her through the fiery blockage, her fingers racing over the command keys. 

Spock raised his mental shields against his pain receptors before gripping the searing metal and flinging it aside. He clenched his jaw, peeling the crumpled metal of the hatch just enough for a body to slip through. Hot smoke hit him in the face, he jerked back, eyes screwed shit, waiting for it to disperse before shouting into the tube. 

“Saavik!” Spock saw Kirk tackle her to the ground seconds before another beam crashed to the floor, crushing the console next to them. 

Kirk half dragged her over to where Spock had created a dent in the crushed door. He carefully pulled Saavik through, gritting his teeth against a new wave of excruciating pain. The heat was now freezing, eating his flesh away at the edges. As soon as Spock had a hold of Saavik, Kirk vanished back inside. Her temple was swollen, bleeding. She was fighting to stay conscious. Two nurses took her from Spock.

Spock turned back to the door where Kirk had disappeared back inside. The structure gave a horrid groan. 

“Kirk! Crawl through, the way is clear!” He could see a form midway up the ladder posed at the control panel for the vents. “Kirk!”

“Just a second! I’ve almost got it!” His words were interrupted with violent coughs. Mitchell raised his hands in surrender when Spock looked to him. Fine. 

His teeth ground loudly as he climbed over the metal door. Once inside the hot smoke clung to his skin. Spock blundered half blind to where Kirk had resumed his spot halfway up the ladder, entering something into the manual override. 

Kirk wore heat gloves but nothing else, the soles of his shoes melted around the rungs. Kirk peered down at him, coated in sweat. 

“You must leave now! Ceiling collapse is imminent.” Kirk shook his head, one heat glove gripped in his mouth as he messed with the vent controls. 

“The control systems have reverted to manual. If I don’t reroute these vent systems the core is going to overheat entirely and the ship is going to explode.” He didn’t raise his voice, his eyes still on his task. Spock climbed up the ladder. Kirk made room for him.

“What can I do?” 

“List the junctions of the coolant tubes and the ventilation systems, starting five decks above us and ending here,” Kirk shoved a PADD at him with the ship schematics pulled up, Spock scanned it, identifying them as Kirk plugged them in.

“You’re diverting the coolant through the vents.” It was brilliant. 

While the systems were separate they ran parallel, forming several junctions, where Kirk opened these junctions coolant would follow the natural gravitational path ending in the warp core. 

The coolant system had been knocked offline in the Romulan attack, rerouting it so recklessly would leak coolant over six decks, but it could prevent the warp core from overheating entirely.

They were nearing the last set of junctions when phaser fire was heard outside. The Romulans had broken through the engineering bay. Spock felt Kirk’s panic first, so immediately it took him a moment to recognize it as foreign. 

“Kirk?” He was trembling, his eyes somewhere else. He lost grip on the PADD, Spock lunged for it. “Kirk--” He gripped his arm. It was the wrong thing to do, his mind was like a sinkhole.

They didn’t have time for this. Muttering a quick apology, Spock forced his fingers to Kirk’s meld points. 

He blanketed Kirk’s mind in calm, reciting the prayer as he had in sickbay the night before until he felt no more resistance. When he removed his fingers Kirk was breathing evenly despite the smoke. He stared at Spock, glanced at his hands.

“The ventilation for this area will be limited.” Spock interrupted. Kirk panted, shaking the effects of the meld as he overrode the security countermeasures.

“It’s already limited.” He hit the last button, they both heard a hum as coolant began to rush through the vents. 

Kirk slumped, closing the panel. He jerked back from the hot surface, losing his grip on the ladder. Spock caught him around the waist, pulling him tight, putting his body between Kirk and the hot rungs with a pained grunt. The pain was beginning to wear at his receptors. He helped Kirk down and through the gap. 

When he emerged it was to the deafening cheers of engineering. Mitchell was still standing at the entrance to the tube. There were no Romulans except one who lay dead at the entrance.

“Let engineering know there are immediate coolant leaks at Junctions 27A, 48B, 56C, and--” He stumbled and fell, exhaustion and pain numbing his brain and pinning his body to the ground.

 He felt cool hands against his face, his shoulders. He recognized the sour taste of Kirk’s panic. Spock recoiled as others replaced Kirk's hands, his mind abruptly shorting out.

Sickbay was overrun. Engineering ensigns filled most of the beds. Nurses ran back and forth between sickbay and the emergency second wing like a trail of insects. The automatic doors never managed to close. 

Scotty had been given one of the private rooms post-surgery to sew up the puncture in his gut. As soon as Spock was treated for the extensive burns on his back and hands, he was pulled into an impromptu bridge meeting in the private room. He flexed his fingers, the new layers of skin still tingled, the nerves oddly deadened. McCoy had assured him the effect was temporary.

“The Romulans fired on us cloaked. It was only Sulu’s dive into Earth’s atmosphere that prevented them from pursuing.” Pike said, arms crossed. “Remind me later to give that kid a commendation.” Number One stood next to him, obviously singed and exhausted from engineering. Even Kirk had been allowed to join, though he seemed wearily committed to being unobtrusive for once.

“Their mining ship could not survive reentry and their weapons do not have the range from space.” Scotty spoke up from his hospital bed, a bandage covering his forehead.

“Of course none of that would’ve mattered. They hit the coolant system, it was draining into the main bay, warp core would’ve exploded.” Eyes went to Kirk who stared resolutely at Pike. Spock felt caught between them in a silent conversation.

“That brings up a question of mine, if I may, sir?” Mitchell asked, stepping from the crowd. Pike nodded. Mitchell held Spock’s eyes.

“What was Lt. Saavik doing in engineering? I thought she was confined to quarters.” The picture of innocent concern.

Kirk cut in before Spock could.

“Take interviews, I’ll testify, her every minute is accounted for down there I’m sure of it. When the main bay went up in flames, she was the first to evacuate the engineers.” Kirk glared at Mitchell who kept a respectably blank expression. 

“That won’t be necessary, Kirk. Lt. Saavik’s character is unquestionable.” Pike said firmly. His expression of slight disgust surprised Spock. Perhaps Mitchell had not fooled the Captain alongside the crew as he had previously thought.

“She is out on sick leave for honorable reasons, she is not on trial, and as such she is not confined to quarters. I put her on sick leave, not house arrest.” Mitchell flushed, leaping quickly to her defense. Of course, that hadn’t been his meaning. 

“Goodnight, and good work everyone.” Mitchell left first. Scotty caught Spock’s eye on the way out and smiled somewhat awkwardly.

“Thanks for the beam and everything.” Spock nodded. Pike leaned into Spock as they neared the door.

“Well done.” 

Spock felt a glow of pride buoy him despite his exhaustion. Kirk filed out after Mitchell but stood, waiting as he exited. McCoy approached to tell them that although it was his personal recommendation they stay, both he and Kirk were free to go as long as they rested a full 12 hours. 

McCoy was called away to attend to a patient. Kirk’s eyes fell to the blood on his hands. He winced, grabbing one of them between his two. Spock’s mind sang in his skull. Kirk gasped when he saw it completely healed. 

“But--” 

“Dermal regenerator.” Spock withdrew his hand, clasping them behind his back. 

“Right.” Kirk looked away, leaning back against the wall. “And your back?”

Spock shifted, feeling the bandages pull taut on his back. It was unpleasant but bearable.

“Some things must heal the long way.” This soothed him for some reason. They stood in silence a moment. If they left sickbay Spock knew he would lose the courage.

“I wanted to commend you on your solution. Both simple and elegant, given the circumstances.” Kirk met his eyes, surprised, before he smiled. Spock had never seen him so subdued. He wondered if Kirk was also remembering their last trip to sickbay.

“You can just say thank you, no need for flattery.” 

“Thanks are illogical.” It was almost an automatic response. Now he hesitated. All he could think to do was thank him. The Captain had never intended on investigating Saavik, but Kirk’s defense of her had been fierce, brooking no arguments. He was not used to having an ally in his defense of her. He was not used to having many allies at all. 

He had only skimmed Kirk’s files before, admittedly. He was busy. But after that night in sickbay he had found himself reading through testimonials from Kirk's first run through flight school. This man who barely existed on paper before he enlisted.

He had assumed him too similar to Mitchell, he realized. Had seen their similar faults and projected their similar strengths, but where Mitchell seemed to pave his way with manipulative compassion, Kirk seemed to throw himself into proving himself with vitriol. Why wouldn’t they flock to him?

Kirk’s smile grew as he stared at him. It was unnerving, like he could hear what Spock was thinking. 

“Thank you, Captain Kirk.” Kirk scoffed.

“You just saved my life, I think you can call me Jim.” Spock fidgeted, suddenly unsure where to look. Kirk squeezed Spock’s shoulder, careful of his burns.

“Thank you, Spock.” Spock looked away, foolishly embarrassed when Kirk grinned at him, it felt too intimate for the public eye. He did not understand how Kirk could have screamed at him, red in the face while they both bled over the mat and still smile at him like that.

They left together. The walk back to their quarters was silent as usual but comfortable which was a novelty for them.

They arrived at Spock’s door first. By mutual unspoken understanding Kirk followed Spock into his quarters. He had seen the question in Kirk’s eyes as they were being herded to sickbay. He’d half expected him to broach the issue before they left.

Kirk lingered in the entrance to Spock’s quarters. His walls were largely bare, except where he had hung his lyre, and the shelf on which he displayed pictures of his parents and their home on Vulcan. He had always found his own quarters rather plain compared to Uhura’s or Saavik’s. The photos had in fact been a gift from Uhura because his empty shelf had been depressing her. 

Watching Kirk take it in made him realize how much of himself he’d let pile up in the corners of the room. He resisted the urge to shove Kirk back out again, moving to stand in front of his meditation mat where snapped incense sticks were stabbed into the wall. 

Kirk watched him, an amused tilt to his mouth. He approached him, enough to make Spock lean back, before shifting to examine his bookshelf. He eyed it with a thoughtful hum.

They were not standard. And in fact Spock had had to do some light bending of Starfleet regulation in order to justify the weight of the shelves and the books. As such his quarters were technically registered as a religious organization. 

Kirk’s smile widens as he reads the titles. Normally Spock takes pride in showing off his bookshelves, at least to his friends. But watching Kirk’s fingers trip over the spines only makes his heart beat faster. 

In sickbay Kirk had given him a look that erased any fleeting hope he had forgotten the calming meld Spock had forced on his mind. It was a look that promised an unpleasant conversation.

“Bones says you don’t kill. Starfleet, I mean.” Kirk said. It was not the opening Spock expected, it was not even a question, a statement, aimed at the books. 

“That is correct.”

Kirk seemed to take his time after that. Spock tensed, wary of how somehow this would turn into a conversation about the meld. He still had no explanation.

“Have you ever killed someone?” Kirk still wasn’t looking at him. Spock leaned back.

No, he had never killed anyone. Their five year mission of exploration had taught Spock that change was never peaceful, that violence must have its place. He’d like to think he’d grown wiser in the course of the mission, his morals more refined. He did no harm except that which protected the innocent. To kill was a decision Spock had thought about after their more harrowing missions, but not yet one Spock had had to make. However, unbidden, the memory of I ’Chaya rose to his mind. He told Kirk that instead. 

In measured sentences he told Kirk how he had run away into the desert to prove himself. He was too young to survive the trek through the mountains and when he was attacked, his loyal pet I ’Chaya who had dutifully followed, defended him. Defended him to the edge of death and no further.

Spock had taken the largest rock he could find and put his only friend out of his misery. How he had not been strong enough to do it in one stroke, and by the time I ’Chaya was dead his arm ached, and his throat raw.

“I’m sorry.” Kirk gripped his shoulder.

“There is no need.” Kirk scoffed. “My father told me--when it happened--loss of life is to be mourned only if it was wasted. I ’Chaya’s had not been.”

Kirk’s expression changed, evaluating. Viewed in profile it was harder to discern his emotions. Spock had come to rely on the cheat of close contact to understand him. A disturbing realization.

“That’s a good way to think of it. I only wish my stories were as virtuous.” His voice had fallen to a murmur over the ventilation. Kirk moved away from the bookshelves, settling on Spock’s sofa. Spock followed him. 

“My official body count’s bullshit. 24? 58? They just round up every Christmas like a summer bonus. But…I’ve shot down men I didn’t even see without ever looking back.” Kirk’s face doesn’t match his hands. He smiles at Spock, just at the corners like he’s joking but his hands are shaking. “You never think it’s gonna get to you until suddenly you can’t sleep anymore.” 

Spock stood to get him a glass of water. 

“I’m not just saying all this, what I mean is…Whatever you did in there, I actually…slept.” Kirk met his eyes. “Would you do it again?” 

“What?” Spock’s hands dropped. He didn’t know how Kirk would respond to the prospect of telepathy. Spock stared at him. He could feign ignorance, but it would be an insult to Kirk's intelligence. 

Kirk repeated the question. 

 “It was better than anything any doctor’s ever given me. Better than valium.” Kirk straightened. “Even better than sparring.”

Spock can feel Kirk’s eyes on him as he wastes time replicating a second glass for himself. 

“It’s a type of Vulcan…massage.” He winces at the lie, back to Kirk. “It’s only a calming of the mind. A light touch.” That much was true. He would only skim the surface of his mind, that was all. He did as much for her mother when she had headaches. Of course, he had never attempted it while quite so...mentally compromised. When he turned around Kirk was eyeing him suspiciously.

“But it’s dangerous.” Kirk said. Spock froze. Kirk clarified. “You’re so reluctant even just talking about it. You only did it when I was losing it in a fire.”

Kirk drew up his legs on the sofa, motioning for Spock to sit. 

“Will it hurt like the nerve pinch thing?” Spock shook his head.

“It is only…my control is not what it was before the temporal shift.” He hated admitting even this much. “I am concerned I may do damage--”

“I trust you.” Kirk looked at his hands, expectant. “A light touch, right?”

“A light touch.” He promised, fingers already reaching slowly over the sofa. Kirk eyed them.

“How does this work? Any touch?” Spock shifted on the sofa until they were sitting knee to knee. Kirk met his eyes. The most human man Spock had ever met.

In him Spock found the curiosity Vulcans must’ve felt on their first encounter with Earth. Something had been lost in humanity’s hundreds of years in galactic politics. They were sharper, worldly, cynical. Kirk had proven himself to be expressive to his detriment without shame. Idealistic despite all his cynical armor.

Though Spock would repeat it to no one but his ship’s log, he was one of the most brilliant thinkers Spock had ever encountered. It lacked any cunning or sense, but it was clever and shameless. Spock could see him years from now, wiser, steadier, improved upon in the weathering of time like a polished stone. 

Spock chastised himself. If Kirk made it off this ship alive, it would be with no memory of the Enterprise. He would certainly never see him again.

Now touching, Spock felt the pull of Kirk’s mind tenfold, for that is what it was, he realized with dread. Spock could not shut his mind to it another night, could not watch Kirk’s plane catch fire branded on his eyelids like sunspots whenever he dared to lay down. His hands burned. Not when he could help. 

 Spock set his fingers gently across his face, fingers on his temple and cheek. 

“Just this.” It took all his willpower not to dive into Kirk’s mind until Kirk nodded. Kirk felt a strange buzzing under Spock’s fingertips and fought the urge to rescind his agreement. Spock closed his eyes, so Kirk did the same, listening to Spock whisper under his breath. He touched the surface of his mind and there they were.

Not even ten minutes later Spock was retreating to his room, his head pounding. He dimmed the lights in his quarters and lit his incense, settling on the mat. 

If he closed his eyes the smell took his hand and led him back to Vulcan. More than ever, he wished for the guidance of his parents. 

With a promotion likely if not certain, he should be more proud, more focused. Instead, he felt untethered. The Captain’s pressure to use his telepathy to manipulate a mind troubled him, even if he could see the greater good. It came down to a question of his morals, or the possible saving of hundreds, if not uncountable lives. But it was the possibility that gave him pause. 

The 30% that despite all evidence observed thus far they were in an indirect past, that the pilot could return to Earth, intact. 

He unclenched his hands, forcing his breathing into a hypnotizing rhythm. Vulcan law was absolute with just cause. In the days before Surak, telepathy was taught as a weapon. His father warned him when he was a child that telepathy was dangerous. Especially to him. They had been unsure how that would develop in a hybrid. 

It was an open secret that had he not developed telepathy alongside his peers, he would have been shunned, possibly even exiled. Then when he grew up, if he made it into adolescence without the stabilizing family bonds, he would’ve gone into Pon Farr, and without the ability to bond, he would’ve died of fever. His progression thus far was a miracle as no one ceased to remind him. 

Spock noticed a fine tremor in his hands as he ran his fingers through his hand. There was no way to predict how the temporal shift would continue to wear on his body.

Chapter Text

When Spock woke in the morning it was to a pounding in his skull and on the door to his quarters.

“Enter.” His voice was hoarse. It was just after 0500. His shift did not start for another hour. McCoy stepped through the door armed with a tricorder and a murderous expression. Saavik had told him of their, or rather his predicament it seemed. 

“Good morning, Doctor.” McCoy wasted no time in booting up the tricorder, holding it to his temple.

“Care to tell me why your brain patterns look like eggs over easy?” Spock did not deign that with a response. “Maybe it’s because the wormhole damaged your bonds and fried your brain!” McCoy paced his quarters. 

Spock winced as his voice rose, attention drifting to the man next door. It was perhaps his first full night of sleep in over two weeks and McCoy was ruining it.

“I have it under control.” 

“Under control, my ass. Saavik filled me in. Your adrenaline levels were insane yesterday, we’re going to--” He cut off, squinting at the tricorder. Spock raised an eyebrow. 

“Something wrong, Doctor?”

“...Your levels are normal.” McCoy muttered under his breath, running the tricorder again. Spock hid his relief. He felt sharper, clearheaded. His bonds no longer ached, though felt no stronger. He had a suspicion as to the cause.

He stood, lowering his voice.

“You were mistaken, Doctor.” And then, perhaps as payback for the machine comment he’d heard parroted through Kirk: “Even Vulcans feel fear sometimes.” 

McCoy wavered on the edge of protesting, of demanding the screenings anyway. He flushed, seemingly unable to decide between anger and guilt. It was a satisfying revenge. 

“Sorry for wasting your time, Spock.” He bowed his head on the way out.

Spock went to his computer.

Sent to Lt. Saavik 

I have it under control. Call off McCoy.

“Pike and Spock to the bridge immediately. Please,” Uhura added as an afterthought. Kirk stilled. The urgency in her voice implied she’s discovered something relevant to their current situation. He called out to the nearest ensign, handing off the wiring to them and hurrying for the lift. 

He fidgeted on the way off, rubbing grease between his fingers when the doors opened on Deck 13. Spock stared him down. Kirk stared right back. It was unclear where they stood now after last night, after the last two nights, really. The first time he had quieted Kirk’s mind, it had been necessary, urgent, impulsive (not a word he ever thought he would apply to the Vulcan.) Now, looking at him, Kirk wondered if he regretted agreeing to a repeat performance.

Last night had been his first restful night in months, if not years. He’d forgotten what it felt like. He didn’t know how to put that into words, to…thank him.

Spock sighed through his nose upon seeing the course already set for the bridge. He really couldn’t be surprised.

“I do not recall Uhura including you in the call to the bridge, Mr. Kirk.” 

“Good morning to you too Spock.”

“It is afternoon.” Kirk gave up, riding out the lift in silence until it opened onto the bridge. 

Everyone sat stock still except Pike who bent over Uhura’s station. He caught sight of Spock first and motioned him over. Jim followed. As they drew closer the voice coming through Uhura’s radio became clear.

“...Commander this is Dagger One. I have visual contact with the wreckage of the F-104.” The blood drained from Jim’s face. 

“Shit,” Jim said. 

Spock spared him an accessing glance. 

“What?”

Jim swallowed.

“The black box. It probably survived. My F-104 was equipped with video recording, taped directly to the black box.” Chekov tried to speak but Pike held up a finger, expression stormy.

“You’re saying they have footage of the Enterprise?” 

Jim shrank slightly under Pike’s disapproval. In his defense, he hadn’t seen the wreckage of his plane, hadn’t even known its trajectory before he was beamed out. For all he was aware it was a steaming pile of scrap.

It had been just as likely to be a useless smoldering wreck as intact if unflyable. Still was. He tried to explain as much to Pike but he waved him off as new voices filtered through Uhura’s radio connection.

“Copy that, Dagger One, can you land?” They listened in tense silence as Dagger One landed, followed by an investigation crew. Jim bit his fingernails down to the quick.

“Dagger One, is the black box intact?” They sounded just as impatient as the rest of them. Dagger One’s voice came through the static triumphant.

“I have the black box, Commander!” Pike cut through the crowd to Jim.

“Where would they take it?”

“Back to base.”

Pike ushered Kirk into his ready room alongside Spock, Mitchell, and Uhura. 

“Spock, any movement on a way back?” Spock traded a glance with Sulu who whiteknuckled his PADD like a lifeline.

“Not yet, sir, at least none that I would feel confident putting into effect immediately. There are too many variables and extenuating circumstances.” Kirk felt eyes on him but ignored them. Pike sighed deeply. 

“What about the Romulans?” Mitchell shook his head.

“No sign since the attack on engineering yesterday.”

“Then we have to go down to the base and retrieve the evidence ourselves.” Everyone in the room ceased. Spock looked alarmed.

“Captain, is that necessary? Current Earth has experienced several incidents like this before and dismissed them as hoaxes.” Uhura, one hand pressed to her earpiece, glanced at Kirk.

“Do you want to tell them, or shall I?” Her tone was icy. He winced.

“In addition to the black box recordings of my radio…I was also able to activate my wing cameras when I had visual contact with the Enterprise.” Pike sighed. “If the black box survived, the footage probably did too.” Uhura confirmed it solemnly. Spock looked chagrined. 

“We’ll put together a landing party and proceed as soon as possible. I’ll take you, Spock, Sulu, and a member of the security team. In and out as discreetly as possible.” Spock and Kirk stepped forward to object at the same time. 

“Captain, is it wise to take both Captain and First Officer in the landing party?”

“--Captain, I know that base, I could be of use--” Pike cut him off, ignoring him.

“I am aware of the risk Spock but I need to assess the situation myself and Number One is our best bet if we run into trouble.” 

If anything, Pike’s words made him look more reluctant. Pike turned to Kirk. 

“There’s no way in hell--”

“Sir, I know that base like the back of my hand.” Kirk argued. 

“Enough, I know you’re a Captain down there but up here you’re a civilian. And a wily one at that,” He grumbled. He turned to Uhura and Chekov.

“See if you can go about getting schematics for the place, find the record section and the photo lab. I’ll forward disguise codes to your replicators, meet in the transporter room at 1600 hours.”

Spock answered the buzz at his door, letting Kirk in. The fatigues fit strangely, too tight and too loose all at once with what seemed like an exorbitant amount of pockets.

Kirk scrutinized him as he strolled in and flopped down on the bed. 

“You’re not going like that, are you?” Spock looked down. 

He had selected the Air Force lieutenant uniform, understated enough not to draw attention. Kirk made a mocking noise as he circled Spock. 

 “If we are spotted then we have already failed.” Spock replied coolly. Kirk snorted, reaching to correct where Spock had pinned his colors. He made a face at the tie and unknotted it, reslinging it around Spock’s neck. 

Spock stiffened on contact. Kirk only shot him an amused look then stepped back to scrutinize the overall effect. 

“Do you agree with Captain Pike? That I shouldn’t come with?” 

Spock understood Kirk’s need to accompany them, on the contrary he understood it too well.

“I respect you too much to believe you won’t bolt at the first opportunity.” Kirk smiled, readjusting the braids.

“Flatterer.”

His gaze ran appreciatively over the uniform. 

“Looks good on you.” Spock fought the pleased tilt of his shoulders. 

Kirk drew closer, fixing the pins and buttons Spock had been unsure how to handle. He turned back to the replicator and returned with a pair of glasses Spock eyed them reluctantly but Kirk insisted. 

They were an odd unwelcome intrusion on his field of vision.

“Keep them. They hide your eyebrows.” Spock looked in the mirror. They did indeed hide his eyebrows, making him look softer, more human. His ears were hidden under a stiff little hat. 

“You’ll get dress coded for wearing the hat indoors so do your best not to get caught, and if you do, look busy.” Spock took his advice into consideration. Kirk hovered in his peripheral vision. Spock hesitated. He didn’t wish to assume, however…

“Was there something--”

“Could you…” Kirk trailed off. Spock nodded, trying not to look too eager.

His shields were still weak, torn to shreds by the heat and the many hands of sickbay, even Kirk’s quick touches in engineering and sickbay had carried the acrid stench of fueled fire and fear, but he had seen his own relief mirrored in Kirk, had felt it last night as he pulled from his mind. If Spock had thought he could help the pilot once as an expression of gratitude and then never again, he had been a fool.

Kirk sat at the edge of the bed while Spock pulled up a chair, setting his fingers against his temple. He didn't even need to say the words anymore, entering his mind was as easy as passing through a transporter. 

Spock was having a rather productive morning when McCoy appeared murderous at the door. 

“Vulcan massage?” 

The blood drained from Spock’s face. He tactfully closed his near completed wormhole formula and stood from his desk. 

“What the hell is going on between you two?”

“I don’t--”

“I wouldn’t even know if Kirk hadn’t come to me about his nightmares! How long has this been going on?” Spock gripped the sheets. Kirk had gone to McCoy when Spock had failed. His guilt grew twofold. McCoy continued on his tirade.

“...Cause last I checked Kirk was fawning over you but you wouldn’t give him the time of day.” Spock flushed at that mischaracterization of his past interactions with Kirk.

“I do not appreciate the insinuations, Doctor, I was only attempting to alleviate--.”

“Bullshit.” Spock’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “He wouldn’t have even mentioned it if I hadn’t bothered him about the nightmares you told me about. You’re coming to sickbay with me, we need to run more tests.” 

So Kirk hadn’t run to McCoy after his failure of a meld. The relief that rose was irrelevant.

“The landing--”

“Now.”

Without access to his Vulcan healer, he admitted begrudgingly that McCoy with his semester abroad on Vulcan would have to do. McCoy told the Captain he was taking Spock for an emergency screening. 

The tests didn’t take long but with each one Spock’s dread mounted.

“Doctor, I must be among the away team today.”

He was running a fever. His organs were shutting down in favor of his brain functions. It was frying itself. He was--

“It’s not Ponn Farr.” Spock stared at him. He must be hallucinating now as well.

“Who told you that word?” McCoy guided him into his office, closing the door behind them.

“Your father, actually. He pulled me aside at a medical convention last Spring. I always assumed it was on account of you.” Spock was stunned silent. His head was pounding.

“If it is not Ponn Farr…”

“Not yet,” McCoy corrected, “Your body seems trapped in a low grade stasis, triggered by the apparent loss of your mental bonds. Your brain is in high alert, survival mode.”

“Are they lost?” 

McCoy looked at him with such human sympathy Spock couldn’t bear it. If he couldn’t get his bonds back…

“I don’t know, Can you feel them at all?” Spock described the sensation of grasping his bonds without reaching anyone on the other end, like he was stretching his bonds to fine strands. 

“Don’t touch them then.” Helpful. 

“Your body is in a heightened sense of alert, it is attempting to latch onto as many minds as possible.” McCoy reached into a drawer in his desk, pulling out a pair of stiff cotton gloves. Spock flushed.

“I am not a child.” 

“Spock, your brain is actively fighting whatever walls or safeguards you’ve built, all bets are off.” Spock eyed the gloves.

“As for the physical symptoms, a cocktail of sedative and Vulcan antibodies will soothe the fever.” Spock grimaced.

“Sedative?” 

“Your mind is pumping your body full of adrenaline, it is sidelining your survival functions in favor of those likely to produce a bond. Without rest, it will burn itself out in a matter of days.”

“I will take the medicine.” Not the gloves. McCoy glared at him.

“You cannot work like this, Spock. I’m confining you to quarters.” Spock jolted upright.

 “You can’t do that, I am the only one who knows the correct codes, I have to go on the away mission.”

“What do you mean by the correct codes? The access codes? Kirk lied?” As easily as he had countless times before. No doubt a ploy to get down to the surface of the planet and then slip away. Spock could not reconcile his respect for the man with his actions, his repeated attempts at escape after all they had--

“I know the base now, no need for schematics.” 

“When I went to your room to check your vitals that one time…they went down because of Kirk.” McCoy crossed his arms, drawing out the name with an implication Spock did not appreciate.

“Any mental contact, not specifically his.” Spock clarified hastily. McCoy stared hard at Spock. 

“I’ll give you a choice. You go, wearing the gloves. Or you stay here, sedated. Either way, you’re telling the Captain.” McCoy gathered a fistful of hypos. When he turned back Spock had picked up the pair of white military gloves, pinched disdainfully. Spock glared at them.

“And you have to try and get some rest, here are some lower grade sedatives, take them right before bed. If they don’t work, you’ll have to take the medicine.” McCoy handed him three smaller hypos alongside the larger one. 

Spock talked the Doctor into giving him 24 hours before alerting the Captain. Perhaps with the aid of the sedatives he would be able to meditate. It might calm his mind long enough to refortify his mental shields and return to the bridge before telling the Captain became necessary. 

He went straight from sickbay to the transporter.

Pike, Sulu, and Spock beamed down alongside the security guard into a blank hallway with unpleasant white lights. They were all armed with phasers but Pike instructed them to use them only as a last resort. 

“Sulu come with me, we’ll hunt down the photo lab. Spock, Anderson, find the records sections, steal anything related to the Enterprise incident.” They nodded, splitting up, a map of the facility pulled up on their tricorders.

The teleporter tech had beamed them as close to the records section as possible. At the end of a decorated hallway, the records section sat behind a protected door. Anderson set to work at it with his phaser. Spock examined the walls. 

They were covered in memorabilia, what Spock could only assume were awards, recognitions of service, memorials. He stopped in front of one enlarged photo. Even in black and white Kirk was clearly recognizable, grinning, arm slung over another pilot’s shoulder, his head thrown back in laughter. He looked happy, younger.

Spock stared at it until Anderson pulled the door open, pulse racing. This was the man who made no notable contributions to history? Who had died without even a mention, a family, or any friend enough to stop and notice?

The thought lingered, heavy in his mind as they crept into the records section. They turned on only the bare essential light to find rows and rows of file cabinets. Spock attempted to narrow down the list of possibilities; U for UFO, K for Kirk, or …

He turned to Anderson to start giving orders and found him half-dissolved in a teleporter beam.

“Sir--” Then he was gone, and in the same instant replaced by another, dressed in fatigues. Kirk materialized before his eyes. Spock rounded on him.

“What did you do?” He asked in a harsh whisper. Kirk shook out his limbs, raised his eyebrows.

“Do you really want to know?” Spock closed his mouth. They were on an unfortunate timer Spock could see drawing dangerously close in the back of his mind and Kirk had just beamed his assistant back aboard the Enterprise. It could wait. 

“Where would they file the evidence from the wreck?” 

Kirk set a hand to his chest.

“Ouch. Don’t talk about my baby like that.” He made his way to the back. K for Kirk, of course. It was a fat file. Kirk took the entire thing.

Spock took it from him. If Kirk noticed the gloves he didn’t comment. 

Spock’s communicator chirped. He opened it, ready to tell the Captain the good news when Sulu’s panicked voice came through. No sooner had he started talking than an alarm flared to life above them. Spock traded his communicator for his phaser.

“We must join the Captain.” He felt Kirk’s hand close on his arm, pulling him back.

“Wait, Spock--” Kirk’s hand found Spock’s face, his lips on his. Spock stiffened at the contact. He was kissing him. The human way.  

He was still frozen when he felt the bite of a hypo into his neck.