Archive of Our Own ^beta

At Some Future Date

Jim Kirk sat on the front porch with his mom and dad, letting the lingering scent of an earlier rainstorm wash over them in a post-dinner haze. The silence was not a familial, comfortable one. Dinner had just ended with Jim's mother snapping at his father, "Well, maybe if Sam ever comes back from the academy, you can ask him about his plans." Now his mom sat on the top step with a cigarette smouldering between her fingers, a sure sign of her anger. His dad creaked away on the porch swing, checking his messages on a padd. Jim balanced himself on the railing that ran around the perimeter of the porch, legs swinging, waiting for the stars to come out. He'd followed his dad out here for moral support, but the idea of breaking the brittle silence between his parents made him feel jittery, like it was a test he hadn't studied for. So they sat and said nothing.

Sam's departure had not been easy for any of them. It surprised Jim, how much he missed his older brother. They'd never been close, never shared those bonding moments seen in holovids, where the older brother takes the younger under his wing, protects him from bullies, gives him advice and condoms before his first date. Sam was always apart somehow, and now he was gone for at least four years for school, then another three overseas for drone pilot training, and then who knew where. Following in their father's footsteps, kind of. Mom seemed to think he was running away from them; Jim didn't see why she had to take that so personally. Even at twelve years old, Jim Kirk understood: people leave sometimes. His dad would leave for months at a stretch, but that was okay because his work demanded it. You can't be jealous of the stars, his mom always used to say. Well, now it looked like she could be—at least when it came to Sam.

Jim was just about to suggest a game of cards when the aliens came.

They arrived unannounced in a shower of sparks about two yards away from the porch steps. Jim's dad was on his feet in an instant, his hand gripping Jim's elbow tight. For some reason, Jim's first thought was that this was some kind of dust storm, maybe a lightning strike. Lightning worked in funny ways, he knew. But no, the light died away and left three shapes standing there in long dark robes. It wasn't a trick of the light.

Winona Kirk's cigarette sputtered in the grass, where it was dropped from her nerveless fingers. Jim watched it for a moment before shifting his attention back to the three figures standing on their lawn.

The tallest stepped forward. His hair was a shiny black helmet and his face looked like cold marble and his ears were an elves', all pointed at the high tips. "I greet you—" he said, or tried to.

"George, get Jim inside. Go, now," Jim's mom said quickly.

The stranger continued, heedless. "There is no need to be frightened."

"Too late," Jim's dad rumbled, his voice an earthquake against Jim's back. "What are you?"

"I am Sarek of Vulcan, ambassador to your planet." He bowed his regal head. "We have been preparing for this moment for quite some time, Mr. and Mrs. Kirk. This is the day we reveal ourselves to you."

Jim waited for his parents to say something, but they didn't seem to be able to.

"I told you the transporter was a bad idea, husband," a woman's voice said from behind him. She stepped forward into the weak circle cast by the porchlight, her hand on the shoulder of a young boy with pointed ears. The woman, whose ears looked pretty normal, smiled warmly. "You must excuse us. It isn't every day first contact is made. They thought the direct approach was best. Impatience is a universal trait, I think, given enough time."

Winona squinted at her. "Huh?"

The tall man inclined his head in her direction. "I present she-who-is-my-wife, Amanda Grayson of Earth, and our son, Spock." He curled an eyebrow skyward. "It was hoped that approaching you in this manner—as a family—would demonstrate our peaceful intentions."

For a long moment, nobody moved or spoke. Jim could feel his father still clutching him, his huge heart thumping through Jim's jacket. Jim's gaze settled on the boy Spock as he catalogued the ears and the strange clothes. The alien wouldn't meet his eyes, though, just kept looking at the ground or the sky or anywhere that wasn't a person.

Finally George Kirk, with his trademark chuckle, lifted Jim off the railing and set him on his feet. "Well, ambassador," he said, "if this is some kind of elaborate joke the boys at the lab put you up to—"

"I assure you that is not the case. Vulcans do not joke," Sarek said.

A beat. "Then you better come in for some coffee." Jim watched his dad head back inside with a casual 'come on' wave of his hand, then looked to his mom for confirmation. She locked eyes with him and shrugged.

It was a strange scene at the kitchen table. Sarek seated himself in a chair and examined the flower-patterned tablecloth with undisguised interest. Amanda gestured for her son to take a seat beside her. The strangers presented a united front on one side of the table. Jim fetched more chairs from the dining room while his mom brewed a pot of coffee.

"Are you hungry?" she asked their guests. "We had a pot roast. I can heat up the leftovers."

"No thank you," Amanda said. "We don't eat meat."

"Oh." Jim's mom busied herself getting mugs down from the cabinet. "Do you, um, do you take milk?"

"Winona." Jim's dad was shaking his head. "I think there're more important things to worry about right now."

"Not when I have guests in my house, there aren't," she snapped. A little pitcher of milk, along with the tin of sugar, were deposited on the table with a thunk.

"I do take milk," Amanda said pleasantly, skimming over the tension like a canoe over waves. "Or, I used to. It's been so long since I had coffee. Oh, uh—" She indicated her husband with a graceful sweep of her palm. "Sarek has never had it, but of course he will try some. Black, I think, to start." She raised her eyebrows at him meaningfully.

"My wife has said this beverage is very important to her people. I am honored to sample it," he said.

"I'll have a cup too," Jim piped up.

His mom placed a glass of milk in front of him. "Yeah right, and you'll be bouncing off the walls all night." She paused at the counter. "And for Spock?"

The boy finally spoke, his eyes still fastened on the painting of the ocean above the sink. "Water, please." He got it in a juice glass with birds stenciled on it.

George accepted his mug from Winona with a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring. Then he turned to the strangers. "So. Vulcan. Where is that, just past Mars on the left?"

Sarek looked vaguely concerned until his wife patted his hand and said, "Humor, dear."

"Ah. I see." He took a sip of his coffee, but Jim couldn't detect any reaction on his face.

"Well, do you like it?" he asked.

"Jimmy—" his mother warned.

"Not particularly. It is very bitter." Sarek paused at his wife's glare. "My apologies. She-who-is-my-wife has repeatedly told me of her people's custom of telling socially acceptable lies, but Vulcans are unable to dissemble to even a small degree."

"You always tell the truth?" George asked a touch incredulously.

Sarek nodded. "Vulcans value facts and logic over emotion, so you must forgive me if I do not lie to spare your feelings. However, I will be completely honest with you during the course of our discussions. That is why Vulcans were chosen to represent the United Federation of Planets on this mission instead of some other race."

"Wait, I'm sorry." Winona set down her cup and crossed her arms over her chest. "Are you saying there are more aliens out there? Not just Vulcans?"

"The Federation currently has one hundred twenty-six members, all different races spread across various planets. It is our policy, now that your race is approaching warp capability, to offer membership to Earth as well. And so, we come to you, Mr. and Mrs. Kirk."

Jim looked up at his dad, his mouth hanging open, his eyes shining.

"Why us?" George croaked. "I'm just a drone pilot."

"And a strong voice in the struggle to urge your governments to pursue advancements in interstellar space exploration. This appealed to the counsel, as we have been monitoring Earth for some time and know that your race could have been warp drive capable centuries ago, had the politics and funding aligned in your favor." Sarek nodded at Winona. "And Mrs. Kirk is one of the foremost warp drive engineers on this world, so you can see how convenient it was to choose you."

Amanda smiled gently. "First contact can be very dangerous and disruptive, not just for you, but for us as well. We find that approaching scientists and intellectuals is better than approaching politicians. You're more likely to accept the possibility of life on other worlds and react rationally."

Winona blinked. "But you're human. He said you were of Earth. So how can this be first contact?"

"Maybe it's like, second contact," Jim offered, and was resoundingly shushed by his parents.

Amanda's laugh was soft and quiet, hidden behind her hands. "It's all right, Jim's quite correct. I was not part of the original plan." She gazed at her husband and brushed two fingers along the back of his wrist. "Sarek was sent to earth years ago to gather more information about our culture so that this meeting we're having right now could go as smoothly as possible. In the process, he got into a little trouble with...well…."

"I ingested a substance that my instruments registered as completely benign," Sarek said with the long-suffering look of someone who's had to sit through this story many times. "There was no reason to think cocoa would affect my nervous system so adversely."

His wife hid her smile behind her mug. "Anyway. I tried to help him and in the process removed his silly cap and saw these." She gestured to his ears. "Well, he couldn't lie to save his life so I learned pretty quickly what he was and where he was from. It wasn't yet time for the Federation to extend a formal invitation to Earth, and I wasn't supposed to know about Vulcans or starships or transporters or any of that. But I didn't care." She smiled. "I was asked to keep their secret, and I told them I would. If they let me go with them."

"You left your family, everything, behind?" Winona asked. Her voice had an edge to it. Jim glanced at her, willing her to forget about Sam for the moment.

Amanda's eyes went soft. "I did." She watched the emotions flicker over Winona's face, her head tilting slightly. "You mustn't think me a traitor, Mrs. Kirk. I was just a music teacher living in a tiny apartment. How could I possibly go back to my ordinary life when I knew there was so much more out there?" She ducked her head. Jim detected a faint flush across her cheeks. "There was also Sarek, of course. I was rather fond of him from the beginning."

Jim saw Sarek and his son exchange a glance that bordered on mortified. "Mother," Spock whispered.

"I don't mean to embarrass you, darling. Our hosts want to know why I left my planet. It is only logical that I explain it to them."

George Kirk cleared his throat in a way that gently transferred the direction of the conversation back to him. "Yes, well. Now that you're here, not to be rude, but I'm no diplomat so: what exactly do you want?"

Sarek straightened to an even more impressive stiffness. "That is entirely up to you, Mr. Kirk. This is, we hope, the first of many meetings between our people. Should you confer with your leaders and decide you do not wish to communicate further with us, we will leave and never return."

Jim bit down on a gasp. The Vulcans, leave forever? They'd just gotten there!

Sarek continued, "Should you decide to pursue a membership in the Federation, we will help you achieve that end."

George shook his head. "I'm not even sure where to begin. Our leaders…? We have so many. National, global, religious—"

"Oh, Jesus," Winona whispered. "What a mess."

Sarek raised a regal brow. "Is it your opinion that the majority of your population is not ready to accept the fact of life on other planets?"

"Well, there's sure to be some blowback—"

"And once they hear you've been monitoring Earth for over a decade— I mean, I understand; you need data before you can stick your neck out. But some people might not—"

"Certainly there are ways to mitigate—"

Jim sort of tuned out after that. He didn't see why they had to hash out all these boring details now; they should be celebrating. Aliens. Here, in Riverside. At the Kirk's kitchen table. Everything else was just background noise.

His gaze wandered from the adults debating over their coffee cups, settling on the Vulcan boy across from him. Spock was following the discussion like it was a tennis ball, eyes darting from one speaker to the next. At first Jim wondered why he wasn't staring at the walls or the floor like before, but then he realized: because everyone else was so wrapped up in the talking, none of them spared Spock any notice. Must be a shy kid, Jim thought with a touch of sympathy.

Well, that would not do. Jim wasn't going to sit there bored out of his skull when there were—again—aliens sitting in the kitchen. "Hey," he whispered to Spock. "Psssssst."

Spock almost glanced toward him at the sibilant hiss before returning his attention to their parents.

Jim tried again. "Pssssst! It's Spock, right? I'm not saying it wrong, am I?"

Spock finally looked at him and shook his head in a negative. Jim pointed at the floor with a leading look, which Spock returned with knitted brows. Jim decided to show instead of tell, and he carefully slid down in his chair until he was under the dark wooden slats of the kitchen table. The voices of the adults were muffled, their feet clustered together in a little forest. It took a few long minutes, but Spock finally followed suit, ducking under the table as well.

"Want to go see the barn?" Jim asked quietly.

Spock glanced at his parents' feet in their soft, strange-looking boots. He didn't answer.

"It's fine, they won't miss us. They've got all this other junk to talk about. Come on, I'll show you the barn," Jim said.

"What is a barn?" Spock asked in a whisper.

"I said I'll show you."

No one noticed them slipping out of the kitchen on hands and knees and out the mud room's back door.

"So how old are you?" Jim asked as they made their way across the lawn.

"I was born fifteen years ago, according to your calendar," Spock said.

"Really? You don't look much bigger than me." Three years was a lot of difference, Jim thought. If Spock were human and lived in Riverside, he'd be attending high school instead of Jim's middle school. Did Spock think Jim was a silly baby, begging him to come look at some stupid barn? This kid was from outer space. What could Jim show him that would be impressive as that? "I thought we were the same age," Jim muttered in disappointment.

"Vulcan bodies mature more slowly than human ones," was all the answer he received. A few paces later, Spock stumbled in a little dip of the lawn, his feet slipping on the rain-slick grass. Jim's arm shot out to steady him by the hand, but Spock jerked away almost wildly. His eyes were wide as they stared at Jim.

"Sorry. Hey, sorry." Jim held up his palms in surrender. "Just trying to help."

Spock swallowed. "Where I come from, only close family members touch each other," he said. "I did not— I am not accustomed to—"

"That's okay, that's fine, I get it." Jim stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and resumed his trek across the lawn. Spock followed. "How come you can't touch people?" Jim asked after a moment.

Spock's hands bundled themselves in the long sleeves of his robe. "Vulcan skin is very sensitive. We possess a degree of telepathy that is heightened by touch. Because of this, it is considered impolite to touch a stranger."

"Sorry," Jim repeated.

Spock shook his sleek head. "You did not know."

They were nearly to the barn. Jim's steps faltered. "We don't have to go inside if you don't want to. You probably don't care," he said.

Spock stopped and stared at him. Not knowing what else to do, Jim stopped too. "Incorrect," Spock said after a moment. "I care very much."

Jim dug the toe of his sneaker into the soft, rain-soaked dirt, making an arc in the black. "Well, you don't seem like it. You're so cagey, not looking at people, keeping your head down. It's like you don't even want to be here." Jim twisted his mouth to the side in thought. "Don't you like Earth?"

"It would be illogical to find this planet less pleasing than any other Class-M world," Spock said. "That is not the cause of my distress."

"Class what?" Jim wrinkled his nose. "Whatever. So what is the cause of your distress?"

Spock knitted those sharp, high brows again as if struggling to find the right words. Finally, he said, "My parents asked me to make an effort at befriending you, as they must befriend your parents."

"Oh." Jim blinked. Hard. "So you don't like me?" He set his mouth in a firm little line. "That's not fair. You just met me."

"No, James Kirk, you do not understand," Spock said softly. His gaze fell to the ground again. "I have never...befriended a person before."

Jim stared at him. "You don't have any friends? Not one?"

Spock shook his head.

Jim thought for a moment. "Because you're flying around all the time with your dad, right? It's hard to make friends when you move around a lot. That's why my mom decided to—"

"The time I spend traveling with my father is minimal. That is not the reason I am friendless." His big, dark eyes blinked slowly at the ground.

Jim opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came. Behind them, in the distance, the light went on above the back door of the house. "Jim!" he heard his mother call out. "Are you boys out here?"

"I'm just showing Spock the barn!" he hollered back.

"Well, don't turn on anything but the lights in there, you hear me?"

"Sure thing, mom!"

"And don't wander off into the fields!"

"Okay, mom! God."

The light flicked out and Jim turned back to Spock. The Vulcan boy looked a little discomfited at having witnessed a shouted conversation, and Jim wondered if Vulcans ever raised their voices. He couldn't picture it.

"Sorry," he said. "Come on." He reached out again, but this time he snagged his fingers in the soft, flowing fabric of Spock's sleeve. Spock eyed Jim's grasping fingers like he was witnessing magic. Jim flexed his hand. "Is this okay? I won't touch any skin, I promise."

"That is acceptable," Spock said. Jim tugged him along by his sleeve with a grin.

The barn doors were locked but Jim keyed in the security code without a problem. He had a good memory for numbers, among other things. He led Spock inside and flicked on the lights. The gleaming metal bodies of a half-dozen projects lay spread on the barn floor before them. Jim glanced at Spock's face, now thrown into stark angles by the fluorescents. The Vulcan didn't seem surprised at all. Not even a smidgen impressed.

"It's probably not as cool as the stuff you've seen, you know. Up there." Jim looked at the ceiling for a second. "Mom's been tinkering with these. Sometimes she lets me hand her tools. They're—"

"Prototype replicators," Spock said.

Jim shrugged. "She calls them 3D printers. They were outlawed for a long time, so she's been trying to fix them up from old plans she found."

Spock slowly moved away, his sleeve slipping from Jim's hand. Jim watched him circle the nearest machine.

"And this is an anti-gravity lift." Spock touched its curving exterior with a long white hand. "I have never seen this configuration before. It is approximately twelve percent more compact than the model currently in use on most Federation vessels. Your mother made this without the aid of her research team?"

"Just a hobby," Jim said. "They won't let her take antimatter off base or else she'd be working on her coil designs in here every day." He laughed, remembering how she looked with her hair up in a messy bun and grease streaked on her forehead.

Spock looked up from his examination of a worn zero-G boot and caught Jim's gaze. "I see why my father suggested your family to be the point of first contact," he said. "You represent your race well."

Jim felt a flush of pride creep up his cheeks. "Oh, hey, you're doing a pretty good job too, I guess."

Jim figured Vulcans didn't smile much, but Spock looked like he was thinking about it. Which was progress. An idea flickered suddenly in Jim's mind.

"Come on, let me show you something else." He gestured for Spock to follow as he headed for the old ladder that led to the loft. Up there, where the roof slanted low overhead and the air still smelled like warm hay from the past season, Jim always felt a measure of something—not security, not anything so motionless as that. He swung open the small door meant for tossing bales to the ground far below. The stars were out now, blinking in the sky like gems.

Sweet restlessness, that was what he felt. A delicious knowledge that someday he would go somewhere and do something, though he didn't yet know what. He sat on the lip of the opening and swung his legs over the edge, peering out at the sky. Spock took a seat next to him but kept his legs inside, folded into a pretzel like a yogi.

"You can't see the stars in the city," Jim said quietly. "Too much light, too much smog. When I go to Houston or San Fran with my parents—" He glanced at Spock. "Those are big cities."

"I am familiar with your geography. I studied it before our arrival," Spock said.

That made sense. "Anyway, it bothers me that I can't see the stars there. Mom says they're working on fixing it. There's a lot of pollution." He stared up at the moon, a sliver in the clouds. "We made mistakes, you know? Humans, I mean."

"Yes. It is one of the reasons my father was unable to initiate first contact before now. Your limited resources would not allow you to concentrate on space travel."

Jim regarded him silently for a moment. In profile, he looked a little younger than he'd originally thought. Hard to believe Spock was almost as old as Sam. "What about your planet? What's it like?" he asked.

Spock cocked his head and began to recite, "The average temperature is 35% higher than Earth's, with an annual rainfall of—"

"Whoa, um." Jim held up a hand. Spock stopped speaking. "I meant, what's it like in a less...encyclopedia way," Jim said.

"I do not understand."

"Like, where do you live? What do you do for fun? What do you like to eat? That kind of thing."

"You are interested in what life on my planet is like for me specifically? Not merely the average Vulcan?" Spock asked. "That is not very sensible. One Vulcan's observations are not sufficient data for your purposes."

"My purpose is to get to know you, not the average Vulcan," Jim teased. "How else are we supposed to be friends?"

Spock blinked. The moon ducked behind a cloud, shading his face even further. "You wish to be...my friend?"

"Yeah." Jim withheld the 'duh' with some effort.

Spock folded his hands up in his long sleeves again. His gaze dropped. "My parents will approve," he said faintly. "I have managed to carry out their instructions."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Look, if you don't want to be friends—"

Wide dark eyes flew to his face. "I do, James Kirk. Yet I…." He laid his hands in his lap and stared down at them. "I do not know how."

Jim grinned, slow and wide. "You can start by calling me Jim like all my other friends do."

"Jim," Spock pronounced solemnly. He glanced up and asked, "Is that a sufficient basis for friendship?"

"It's a start." Jim turned back to the stars. "Go ahead. Tell me about living on Vulcan."

Spock started slowly with a stilted description of the red sand, the weather, the mountain ranges near his home. When Jim gave a restless thump of his foot against the side of the barn, Spock moved on to talking about his schoolwork, what he was studying, the scientific career path he'd chosen at age seven and the prerequisites he'd have to complete.

"Whoa, they made you decide all that when you were seven?" Jim gaped.

"Vulcans are considered adults once they complete the kahs-wan, the traditional test of bravery and fortitude in the wilderness."

"Oh." Jim furrowed his brow in thought. "Some of my friends at school are going to have their bar mitzvahs soon. Is it like that? A religious thing with a lot of chanting?"

"Not quite." Spock seemed to hesitate for a moment, then began rolling up his right sleeve. A thin arm was revealed inch by inch until the bunched fabric reached Spock's shoulder. He twisted his arm so Jim could see the flesh of his inner bicep. A dark coil like a two-headed snake was etched into the smooth, white skin.

"I received this mark at that time. It designates me as an adult in many aspects," Spock said.

"Cool," Jim breathed, instantly jealous. He leaned closer, careful not to touch the tattoo or the skin it decorated. "All Vulcans have this?"

"Not this exact one. This is the sigil of my house. Only my family members bear this mark." He rolled his sleeve back into place.

Jim propped himself up with his arms, leaning back. "At school, they ask us what we want to be when we grow up, but everyone always says, like, a movie star or a singer, something boring."

Spock tilted his head. "What do you say when asked?"

Jim smirked. "Astronaut. The teachers get mad because there haven't been any astronauts for, geez, about two hundred years. The only things we send into space anymore are robots. Drones, like my dad is in charge of."

"Would you like to travel to space?" Spock asked.

Jim snorted a laugh. "Are you serious? It's only, like, my biggest frigging dream."

"You are not...scared? My mother informed me that many of her people may find the idea distasteful and that fear would be their emotional response."

"Other people. But not me," Jim said. He injected all the seriousness he could muster into the words. "Look, a few hours ago, I didn't know aliens were real. I didn't know warp drive could actually work. I didn't know anything. But the reason I'm not hiding under my bed right now is because—I know this sounds weird but I believed this would happen, and now it has and I—" Jim flopped on his back, arms above his head in the barn dust, legs dangling free. He smiled up at the rafters. "I can't wait to get up there."

Jim could feel Spock's gaze on him, heavy and thoughtful. Then the alien said, "Would you like to go now?"

"Why? You have a spaceship handy?" Jim chuckled. At Spock's silence, he turned his head to squint at the Vulcan. "Wait, do you?"

From the depths of his robes, Spock produced a small device, no bigger than a personal cell. "Yes, I do."

Jim scrambled upright again. "And you'd—you could take me to it?" His eyes were big as dinner plates.

"You desire it," Spock said simply, "and you are my friend. If it is within my power, why should I not?"

It was a near thing, but Jim was able to stop himself from pitching forward into Spock's arms for a rapturous hug. Instead, he smiled so wide it made his cheeks ache. "This is— Oh my god, oh my god, are you serious?"

"Always," Spock said with a confused furrow of his brow.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Jim asked. "How does it work? Is it like those sparks you appeared in before? Does it hurt?"

"I assure you, the process is safe and painless. You need only sit close to me for it to take effect." Jim wriggled into place right beside him. Spock pressed a button on his device. It beeped to life in his palm. "Spock to transporter room. Two to beam up," he said with infinite calm.

Jim watched his vision get swallowed up by a shower of gold. He felt weightless, the way fast elevators sometimes made him feel deep in his gut. Then the golden light faded away and the barn was gone. He was sitting somewhere else, on a hard stage of some kind, Spock folded placidly at his side.

"Wow," he whispered as he looked around. Everything was bright white and logical angles. "So cool."

"That is not the Lady Amanda," a rather alarmed voice said, and Jim paused in his perusal of the sleek alien room long enough to register the creature standing behind a podium along the far wall. The man—being?—was blue with long thin tendrils poking through his platinum hair. His eyes narrowed on Jim in a menacing fashion.

"No, it is not," Spock agreed, rising to his feet with fluid grace. "This is a guest of mine."

"He was not granted clearance! I assumed the Human biosignature was your mother," the other alien cried. "Child, I could be court-martialed for this. We have to send him back right away before—"

Jim was on his feet without a second thought. He grabbed Spock by the sleeve, tugging him behind at a breakneck pace. They made it past the blue man to the sliding door, which opened with a hiss. The corridor was empty, so Jim trusted his instincts and dodged right. They ran to the sound of shouts and alien, official-sounding announcements booming through the ship's loudspeakers.

"Where can we hide?" Jim panted as they rounded yet another corner. All the hallways looked identical; Jim worried he'd have them going in circles at this rate.

"Here." Spock curled his own fingers in the ragged sleeve of Jim's hoodie, locking them together as he led the way. The maze finally ended at a small, nondescript door with no sign marking it like the other ones had. "No one comes here. It is slated for repairs." Spock keyed open the access panel and the two boys slid inside.

The room was dark and bare of any furniture, but the three rectangular windows running from the ceiling to the floor made up for those deficiencies.

"Whoa." Jim took another step toward them, still clinging onto Spock. "I'm dreaming."

"I can testify to our wakefulness," Spock offered. Jim didn't answer. He was too caught up in the view of the stars.

The sky didn't look the same up here, so far from the planet's surface. The lights in the black were brighter, crisper. Near enough to grasp. Jim stood with his nose pressed against the cool glass, his breath painting a wet circle that grew the longer he looked. The planet Earth moved below him, looking like a beloved, fragile marble.

"This is the coolest thing," Jim said slowly, "in the entire world."

"Galaxy," Spock corrected. "We are no longer planetside." He paused, then added, "I was told you might use hyperbole as well as slang referring to inaccurate temperatures."

Jim shook his head, still rapt at the sights before him. "This is not hyperbole, I promise. This is the coolest."

The long, slim fingers tightened in Jim's sleeve, a pleasant pressure. "I come here sometimes to be alone with my thoughts. It is gratifying to note your appreciation, however illogically you choose to express it."

Jim smiled at their reflections in the glass. "You're a good friend, Spock." Spock didn't respond, but the tips of his pointed ears turned from alabaster white to a limey green. Jim chuckled. "You're blushing!"

"Blushing?" Spock lifted his free hand to his ears. "Ah. We have a different name for it. My blood rises the way my blood rises. I cannot help that."

"You're lucky, though. I get splotchy. At least the green looks cool."

They stood in silence at the window for a long, contented while. Jim wondered what was happening back on Earth. It was probably bedtime back on Earth. He yawned, eyes drooping, but refused to let them close completely. There was too much to see.

"Sleep if you are weary," Spock's voice said in a gentle whisper. "The stars will still be here when you wake."

"You sure?" Jim asked. He swayed on his feet before being guided to sit on the floor by a firm hand on his arm.

"You have my promise," was the last thing Jim heard before his eyes shut.

He woke up to his parents' voices, but they were talking at once and too fast. Jim became aware of where he was slowly: warm, curled up on the floor with Spock like they were a couple of puppies. He lifted his head from Spock's thin chest carefully, flexing his fingers in the soft material of Spock's robe. No skin touching, good.

"James Tiberius!" he heard his mother shout. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Wha—?" He rubbed his sleepy eyes.

Two huge hands—his father's—wrapped around him and lifted him to his feet, and suddenly Jim was staring up at four very unhappy adults: his mom and dad as well as Spock's.

"We've been looking for you for almost an hour," George Kirk said with a severe frown.

"I told you not to wander off!" his mom cried.

"You said no going into the fields," Jim pointed out in a groggy voice. "This isn't a field."

Winona clenched her jaw. "I swear, Jimmy, sometimes I just want to wring your little—"

"The fault is mine," Spock said, scrambling to stand beside Jim under the combined glares of their parents. "As the older and more learned being, I am responsible for what occurred. I did not intend for us to remain here so long." He bowed low, his hands tucked into his sleeves.

"Length of time is not the issue. You did not have permission to bring James Kirk aboard the T'Vran at all," Sarek intoned. "You have caused the Kirks undue emotional strain, and your actions reflect poorly on your parents as well as your people."

Jim watched that green flush climb up Spock's ears again; this time he hated the sight.

Amanda kneeled in front of her son, a hand on his shoulder. "Spock, why would you do such a thing?"

"There can be no excuse for this gross misconduct, wife," Sarek said, but Amanda merely held up a hand to silence him. To Jim's surprise, it worked. The Vulcan shut his mouth in a thin line.

"Spock?" Amanda prompted.

Spock stared at the ground as he spoke. "I wished to prove to Jim that I was worthy of his friendship," he said softly.

Jim took his chance and jumped into the fray. "Miss Amanda, I made him bring me! I told him he had to if he wanted to be friends, he was just trying to follow directions and—"

Winona gasped. "You twisted that poor boy's arm? Jimmy, shame on you!"

"Is this true, Spock? Did James Kirk force you to bring him to the T'Vran?" Sarek asked.

Jim stared at Spock, teeth gritted hard, willing him to just say yes. Spock returned his gaze with big, wet eyes. He shook his sleek head. "No, father. That is not what happened."

Winona whirled on her grimacing son. "Oh, so now you're a liar!" Her nostrils flared. Jim shrank back.

"You are in so much trouble, young man," his dad said.

Amanda straightened and put her curled fingers to her mouth. She seemed so upset, Jim had to say something. "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to see a spaceship." His hand groped for Spock's sleeve, now a comforting texture between his fingers. He felt Spock grip his sleeve in turn. "Next time I'll ask permission first. I promise."

His dad sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Oh, Jim-boy…"

"I swear, okay? The next time Spock and I want to come look at the stars, I'll make sure it's allowed before—"

"There isn't going to be a next time," his father interrupted.

Jim stared up at him with wide eyes. He felt ice inside his stomach. "But—! But I said I was sorry! You can't—"

"Your parents and I contacted a sizeable portion of your planet's leaders before we noted your absence," Sarek said. "It was agreed that the Federation's presence would complicate Earth's existing matters further. Therefore, any relationship between the Federation and Earth must be delayed yet again." He stated this all with perfect, emotionless calm. Jim didn't understand how that was possible, how any of it was possible.

"Our mission has failed?" Spock asked in a small voice, as if from far away.

Amanda sighed. "It didn't fail, Spock. We offered Earth a choice. They chose not to reveal the existence of other races to their people, at least for now. They have that right. It's their planet; it's their future."

"We will leave this place as asked," Sarek said. "There is nothing to be done."

"No," Spock said more firmly. His fingers dug into Jim's wrist through the thin cotton of his sleeve.

Jim clutched tighter in return. "That's stupid!" he told his parents. "We can't just ignore what's happening up here. We're going to get left behind!"

"I know, kiddo." His father reached down and gently pried his hand away from Spock's sleeve. "I wish it'd turned out differently too. But right now, we've got to head back home, okay?"

"But Spock—" Jim looked to him and each adult in turn, his eyes wild. "We can still talk to each other, right? I could send out a call or some radio waves or something, maybe? Something you could pick up? Or he could—?"

"Our offer of contact was refused," Sarek said. "Further communication is not permitted."

Jim could feel all the color leaching from his face in a cold trickle. "This isn't fair," he said.

"I know," his dad repeated.

Jim's gaze landed on Amanda Grayson, the human in the long Vulcan robes, trying to hide her reddening eyes with a lace-like handkerchief she'd produced from one deep pocket. "I want to stay," Jim said suddenly to her. "Don't send me back to Earth. Let me stay like you did. I'll do whatever you want, just let me stay up here."

"Jim! Stop it!" His mom, grabbing him and crushing him to her, the air forced out of his lungs in a whoosh. "Are you trying to kill me?" she hissed against his neck, hot and fierce. "Don't say those things. Don't you dare. We're bringing you home."

He wanted to tell her he wasn't her second chance at keeping Sam around. But he couldn't even speak, she was holding him so tight.

"Your mother is correct," Sarek said. He was a cool presence next to his mom's burning flame. "You are a child and cannot make such decisions at this time. You must go."

"Father, although I do not deserve it," Spock spoke up, "please allow me to accompany you to the transporter room. I wish to say farewell to Jim."

Jim looked over his mother's shaking shoulder at Spock, catching his eyes in a pleading gaze. Was everyone against him? How could Spock give up so easily?

Sarek gave an imperial nod. "You may do so."

The walk to the transporter room was short. Apparently the maze of hallways was not so large as it had seemed to Jim when he first arrived. Or maybe it was that each step was bringing him closer to leaving space forever, and there didn't seem to be enough time to get used to the idea.

The blue man was not at his podium when they entered. A green woman stood there instead. Jim wondered if he'd been fired because of his error, or worse. Maybe Sarek had shot him out into the black. The rational part of his brain told him the Vulcan wouldn't do that, but Jim didn't feel like thinking rationally.

Jim stood sullenly by the transporter's stage while his parents accepted strange salutes from Sarek and Amanda.

"Perhaps, in time, we will see you again," Amanda offered.

"I hope some day our people can meet officially," his dad said, attempting to return the salute. "Thank you for helping us find our son."

A sudden tug at Jim's sleeve made him turn his head to meet Spock's dark eyes. Wordlessly, those warm Vulcan fingers trailed down his arm, hesitating for just a moment before they curled around his hand. A jolt of heat and light seemed to race through Jim's brain at the touch. His mouth fell open in a soundless gasp.

I will find you, Spock said without saying anything. The words ricocheted around in Jim's head like whispered bullets. Look for me, my friend, and I will look for you.

Jim nodded, once, and Spock's hand fell away just before their parents turned to them.

"Come on. Let's go," his father said, ushering him onto the platform. His mother gripped him by the shoulder as if she was afraid he'd bolt. But Jim moved like a stringless puppet and stood where she placed him without any more fight. He cradled his hand—still burning—against his chest and stared down at Spock, a silent shadow next to the transporter podium.

A shower of sparks, and they were back home where it all began, a few yards from their front porch. Winona sighed and rubbed a hand over her sleep-bagged eyes.

"Jimmy," she said with a weary shake of her head, "don't tell anyone about this. No one would believe you anyway."

Jim didn't answer her. In fact, though he didn't know it at the time, he wouldn't speak to anyone for five whole days. He just walked back into the silent house, trudged up the stairs, and crawled into his bed without even bothering to take off his clothes or shoes. Outside, it was starting to rain again. The clouds covered what was left of the moon, so there was no need to shut the blinds. Jim lay in bed and didn't sleep a wink.

Jim Kirk crouched behind what was left of the shuttle's starboard bulkhead and checked the load in his phaser rifle. Three shots were left on maximum setting, five if he wanted to eke out a few more on stun. He took a moment to wipe a trickle of blood away from his brow, smearing it across the star map that was tattooed on his wrist. Another blast rocked the ground around him.

"Kill me and you won't get the dilithium!" he shouted.

The enemy fire stopped. "Hand over the dilithium now," a voice growled, "and perhaps we will not reduce you to ash."

Unseen by his enemies, Jim allowed a look of incredulous disgust to cross his face. "And bring our little dinner date to an end so soon? I'm hurt, Subcommander Tal." He reached for one of the four small studs that dotted the curve of his ear. Dropped into the phaser rifle's energy bank, it produced a satisfying hum. Jim checked the load again. Ten shots on maximum, not bad.

"Your shuttle is destroyed. Your vessel will not reach this sector for another two standard hours," Tal shouted. "So why not make the sensible decision, pirate, and hand over the goods?"

"Sensible pirates don't hand over dilithium for free," Kirk answered. Not that this dilithium was for sale at any price, but it wouldn't do to let Tal know that. Jim wriggled out of his black jacket; it was burning hot on this asteroid and he was sweating like crazy. Not the best place he'd ever been shot down, but at least the atmosphere was breathable.

The Romulan answered with an angry cry: "Would your life be considered suitable payment?"

"That worthless piece of junk? I don't think so," Kirk muttered to himself. He slapped his rifle into maximum and let loose a new volley over the bulkhead. He ducked back to safety and waited for the answering shots, but none were fired. He listened hard; the Romulans were scrambling. Yeah, they better run, he thought with a pang of triumph flooding his veins. Tal running with his tail between his legs? This he had to see.

Jim peered over the smoldering top of the debris to find a hand phaser pointed directly at his nose. Attached to the phaser was a slim green hand that led to a red Starfleet uniform sleeve and, in turn, was connected to a smirking Orion.

"Hands up," she said in Standard. Behind her, an entire squad of redcoats was rounding up the loose Romulans.

The rifle clattered to the ground. Jim placed his hands over his head. "Sure, now the cavalry comes."

Since they couldn't leave him marooned on an asteroid, Kirk supposed they had to bring him aboard their starship. The transporter left his stomach churning, and the stony face of the Bajoran crewman at the console didn't do anything to calm it.

"Welcome aboard the USS Ar'tu," he said. Jim didn't try to hide how unimpressed he was.

The Orion led him to the turbolift, phaser on him all the way. "Deck five," she told the machine. As they stood in the moving cubicle, Jim saw her gaze lingering on his bare forearms, the lines of black ink swirling up from the backs of his hands into constellations that disappeared into his shirt's sleeves. He stared at her until she met his eyes and knew she'd been caught looking.

Kirk gave her a practiced grin. "Look, sweetie, not that I don't appreciate you hauling me out of a firefight," he said, "but if you would just drop me off at the nearest starbase as soon as you can—"

"You can call me Lieutenant," she said, "and we are not dropping you anywhere. My CO wants The Sheg to be questioned and processed."

He winced at the mention of his nickname. It was embarrassing, but once you had a brand, you had to stick with it, right? And those Romulan nicknames sure as hell stuck. There were worse things to be known for than a head of glossy gold hair, at least. "Ah, you know who I am? Hey, that's—that's great. Word's getting out."

"It is difficult not to know about the slippery little Human who can steal anything for a price. Did you know the Cardassians have a song about you? It's very popular." A door opened to the right and she gestured him through it. The room was the usual interrogation setup: table, a couple chairs. Starfleet sure liked the classics.

"Can you hum a few bars for me?" That earned him nothing but a raised eyebrow.

"Orion." She gestured to her uniformed body. "I'm immune to charm. And also very much looking forward to having your capture put on my record."

His smile fell. "Look, I was delivering some legitimate goods to a legitimate client when those Romulans shot me out of the sky and I'd appreciate it if you—"

"We scanned the shuttle's remains. It was reported stolen from Risa last month," the Lieutenant said. She indicated a chair with a wave of her hand, and since there was nothing else to do, Kirk sat. He laced his scarred fingers together on the metal tabletop and sighed through his nose.

"I can explain that. It's a funny story, actually." He fiddled with the third stud in his ear, working it loose while he talked.

"Tell it to someone else. Namely, the commander. He'll be here shortly to question you himself."

"Huh. I don't warrant a visit from the captain?" Kirk asked.

"You don't warrant the first officer, in my opinion, but it's not my call." She turned to exit.

"Hey Lieutenant?"

The Orion paused in the open doorway.

"Sorry about this." Jim threw the stud to the floor and covered his eyes. The Orion was not so lucky. She screamed at the bright flash and stumbled into the wall. Jim barely dodged the wild shot from her phaser as he ran from the room and down the hall.

Kirk looked right, then left, trying to decide his best course of action. "What the hell am I doing?" he growled to himself as he swung down a Jefferies tube. Evading arrest while aboard a Starfleet vessel was one (impossible) thing, but how was he supposed to escape? Pinch a shuttle from under 400 noses? Fat chance. But it wasn't in Jim Kirk to just sit quietly and wait for the axe to fall. If there was a shot at freedom, however slim, he'd take it.

That's exactly what he'd done five years ago, when Earth finally stumbled into the intergalactic community like the redheaded stepchild it was. Jim had been seventeen when the world finally caught on to the aliens, and it'd taken a Federation rescue mission saving a manned Mars cruiser from certain doom to do it. After the initial shock wore off and the population of Earth got used to the idea that they weren't the only ones bumbling around in the universe, Jim got himself into space—not altogether legally, sure, but little things like laws weren't going to stop him. He hadn't set foot Earthside since, ponging around the galaxy in one "borrowed" ship after another until he got one he really liked, running scams and deals to keep him in fuel, and sleeping in the stars like he always wanted.

Life wasn't perfect, but it was all he had, and Kirk was going to keep hanging onto it for as long as possible and damn the consequences.

Jim slid out of an overheated Jefferies tube, dropping to his feet with a dull thud in the middle of a deserted cargo bay. He was considering his next move when the door to the corridor slid open and a blueshirted Vulcan stepped in, aiming a phaser right at Jim's chest.

"Damn," Jim muttered, hands slowly rising in the air. It had to be a Vulcan, didn't it? He tried to avoid Vulcans on general principle these days.

"Illegal merchant known as The Sheg, you will cease your escape and come with me," the Vulcan ordered as he stepped closer.

"Will I?" Kirk raised an eyebrow. They just never learned.

His left hand shot out toward the Vulcan's face. The Vulcan instinctively jerked away from the foreign touch—the breed's only saving grace as far as Jim was concerned—and lowered his phaser for just a moment. In that moment, Jim struck again with a right chop to knock the phaser to the floor. He used the time that'd bought him to grab the blade he'd tucked into his boot. It was small and light, forged from undetectable Betazoid steel, and it was as sharp as sin.

"Now," he panted, sticking the knifepoint in the Vulcan's heart center on his lower side, "take me to a shuttle."

The Vulcan's dark eyes narrowed. "No."

"Your funeral." Jim slashed high, but the Vulcan dodged. The knife caught him at the collarbone, running down his shoulder as he turned away to protect his side. His shirt's blue material ripped and some green blood spattered, but it was just a superficial cut. The Vulcan struck Jim's knife arm with clinical precision. The blade clattered to the floor and they ended up there too, rolling and punching and kicking inelegantly like it was a barroom brawl.

The Vulcan was stronger. Jim found himself pinned on his back, his teeth slick red in his mouth, tasting of iron. He blinked up through the dizzy haze of sweat and saw the Vulcan's impassive, dead eyes staring down at him.

"Aw hell," Jim panted. "You can't blame a guy for—" His eyes drifted to where the blue shirt was torn, revealing the pale skin of the Vulcan's arm. From this angle, under that inhuman grip, Jim could see his inner bicep. Could see the black curl of the tattoo. A two-headed snake.

"This is the sigil of my house," Spock had said, his young face lit by the slivered moon.

"Oh my god," Jim breathed. He stared up at the Vulcan once more, eyes squinted in scrutiny. Most Vulcans all looked the same to him, but this one—was this one—?

The Vulcan's brows knitted together, suspicion over Jim's sudden stillness evident in his eyes. "Are you injured?" he asked.

Kirk didn't answer. He licked his swollen lip, tasting more blood.

"Do you require medical attention?" the Vulcan tried again.

"I—" A swallow, thick in his throat. "Spock? Is that you?"

The face remained blank for a long, long moment. Then, slowly: the dawn of recognition. Dry lips parted on an untaken breath.

"Jim?" he said. His voice was small, soft. Almost like it had been all those years ago.

Kirk lay there beneath that cold Vulcan bulk, limbs frozen into place. He didn't move even when the door whooshed open and a security team led by one pissed-off Orion swarmed into the cargo bay.

"Commander, are you all right?" she said.

Spock scrambled off Jim like he'd been caught doing something wrong. "I am unhurt, Lieutenant."

She gestured to her redcoats. "Escort the Sheg to a holding cell on level six."

"No. I will question him in my quarters," Spock interrupted. He stood at his full height and offered Jim a hand, which Jim ignored. If any of Spock's subordinates understood the weight of the gesture, none of them were stupid enough to mention it.

Jim allowed himself to be led to a spacious cabin in a silent daze. He glanced at the tapestries and artifacts that lined the walls, the little fire shrine in the corner, the woven grass mat on the floor. Spock's room. Spock's things. Spock—here, in the flesh.

Old anger bubbled in Kirk's chest, and he whirled on Spock with a snarl. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Jim. I—" Spock's hands came up slowly, gently, to cup his shoulders. The coolness of those Vulcan hands could be felt even through the thick cap sleeves of Jim's shirt. Spock's gaze traveled down his bare arms, tracing the tattoos all the way to scarred knuckles. Spock nearly touched a fingertip to the outline of Polaris on Jim's wrist, but Jim jerked away in time. Spock caught his eyes again. His mouth worked opened and closed, finally settling on, "What happened to you?"

"What do you think?" he snarled. "Do you even remember what you said when we were kids? That you'd find me, no matter what? And here you are on a goddamn Starfleet vessel." He laughed, dark and humorless. "Did you even try, Spock?"

"I made many attempts at locating you," Spock said. "I traveled to the Kirk farm the day Earth passed the open borders measure." His eyes softened. "Your mother said you had left weeks before. She did not know where you had gone."

Kirk licked his lips, tasting dried blood. "San Francisco," he said almost to himself. Of course Spock had waited for the law to pass; he hadn't bothered. He would have laughed if it wasn't so goddamn sad. "I went to the port. Hitched a ride out of the solar system. Well, stowed away on a ride." He looked up with renewed anger. "I contacted Vulcan once I got the chance. Your father's aid, secretary, whatever—he told me Sarek didn't have a son anymore." Jim swallowed. "They told me you were dead."

Spock inclined his head. "As far as my father is concerned, I am." No inflection, no anger. Didn't matter. Jim's grew enough for the both of them.

"The VSA wouldn't give me any information about what happened. I called," Jim bit out between clenched teeth. "They didn't want to talk to some nosy Human."

"I was not there. I attended Starfleet Academy instead." Spock gestured to his uniform as if that explained everything.

"So your science track lost its shine, huh?" Kirk sneered.

"I thought a career in exploration would increase my chances of finding you," Spock snapped. "What is your excuse for pursuing piracy?"

"What else was I supposed to do, since they won't let Humans into the goddamn Academy!?"

Silence. Kirk blinked, ashamed at the hot wetness he felt building at the corners of his eyes. It was so pointless, this anger over something that had happened so long ago. The fight seemed to drain from Spock as well, and he hung his sleek head in thought.

"It is illogical to argue about what cannot be changed," he said at last. "We have found each other. That is all that matters."

"Heh." Kirk scrubbed at his wet eyes. "You make it sound like— We were just kids, Spock. Kids think everything's important. What was I thinking, taking off like I did to find some alien I met for just a couple hours?"

"Those two-point-seven hours," Spock said, "were the only hours of my life I have spent in the presence of a friend. They were not meaningless."

Jim blinked up at him. "Still no friends? Really?"

Spock ducked his head. "Will you sit?" He motioned to the austere desk and chairs behind a privacy grill.

Jim looked from the desk to Spock's immaculately made bed in the other corner of the room, and sauntered over there instead. "So what happens now? You're going to lock up your only friend on some bogus interstellar theft charge?" he asked, sitting heavily on the edge of the mattress. His legs sprawled in a wide V, which Spock eyed with quiet disapproval.

"The charges are not without merit. According to the evidence, you did steal dilithium crystals from the mining colony on Theta II."

Jim snorted. "Theta II is lucky I didn't blow them to hell."

"Clarify." Spock crossed to a small built-in dresser and retrieved a fresh blue tunic and set of underblacks. He shrugged out of his torn uniform and tossed it into the recycler. His skin was still pale, but he was long and lean now, all coiled strength in his back and shoulders.

Jim's gaze swept up and down his body. "You filled out after all. Just took some time."

"Jim—" A warning in Spock's voice as he pulled on his blacks.

Jim held up his hands in faux surrender, then picked sullenly under a dirty fingernail. "Listen, those miners were stealing 'brides' off passing ships that were desperate to trade for fuel. I got hired by some worried parents to bring their daughters home. The dilithium was just icing on the cake."

"The miners had kidnapped young women?" The blue tunic was left forgotten on the dresser. Spock approached the bed, brow furrowed. "Why did you not report this criminal activity to Starfleet Headquarters? The situation could have been resolved peacefully."

"The girls were Human," Jim said. "You think the Feds would give two shits about what happened to them?"

Spock's mouth thinned into a line. "Earth may not be a member of the Federation, but its citizens are still afforded basic protections."

"Not in my experience," Jim retorted.

"Your experience…." Spock glanced once more at the tattoos swirling up Jim's forearms before his gaze traveled up to meet Jim's. "Your eyes. They were blue before."

"Hm. Surprised you remember that," Jim said, leaning back easily on his elbows.

"I have an eidetic memory. I can recall every detail of the time we spent together," Spock said. "They were blue. Now they are hazel. How did this happen?"

Jim scrubbed a hand through his unruly hair. "You know the floating ponds on Rigel XII?" Spock nodded. "Did you know that if Humans swim in them, their iris pigmentation is liable to change?" He laughed at the slow shake of Spock's head. "Me neither. Apparently it was something I discovered all on my own. Funny thing is, I ended up there because it was the furthest I could get from home at the time, and the whole time I was floating there, surrounded by these insanely weird, beautiful plants, and I couldn't stop thinking about—" He looked up sharply at Spock; he'd nearly forgotten who he was talking to. Where the hell was his brain?

Spock tilted his head. "What were you thinking about?"

Impossible not to answer. Jim swallowed. "My dad. He would've loved it there. I kept thinking maybe—in some other world where things were different—we could've gone there, me and him. We could've lost our blue eyes...together." He shook his head in self-conscious embarrassment. "Stupid."

Suddenly Spock seemed to be standing much closer than before. He didn't loom, not exactly, but he stood almost within the V of Jim's knees, his eyes staring down dark and shadowed.

"The hazel is not unpleasing," Spock offered.

Jim shrugged. "I don't really have a choice now." He picked at the heavy blankets on top of the bed, but of course there wasn't a loose thread to be had. He needed something to keep his hands busy, so he reached into his shirt and rubbed his fingertips along the string of beads that hung around his neck. "But you're getting me off track again, Spock. If you're going to toss me in the brig, let's get it over with."

Spock eyed his movements carefully, hands still folded behind his back. "Are you attempting to dislodge another crude flash bomb like the one you used to escape Lieutenant Gaila?"

"What? Of course not." Jim pulled away, but Spock was faster. He reached in, quick as a cat, and pulled the strand of crystals from the safety of Jim's shirt. The necklace dug into the skin at the back of Jim's neck, which prickled warningly. The crystals shone blue and green in the harsh light of Spock's quarters.

"You're wearing the dilithium on your person? Jim, this is ill-advised." Those long, white Vulcan fingers crept up the chain of stones as if searching for Jim's face.

Jim jerked his head back another half-inch. "It's mine. I can do what I want with it."

"It is not yours," Spock said. "It was produced in a mine contracted by the Federation to provide the element for the purpose of powering starships in accordance with article—"

"I needed it. They had it. I took it. That makes it mine," Jim interrupted. Never mind why he needed it; some things even Spock didn't need to know. He tugged at the necklace, jerking it from Spock's hand.

Spock's jaw ticked ever so slightly as he straightened. "If you turn the crystals over as evidence, I will see that the mining colony is investigated thoroughly and any offending parties will be brought up on charges of kidnapping."

"Tempting. Those guys were assholes." Jim bit his lip. "But I have plans for these rocks." He wrapped the slack of the strand around his fist.

Spock leaned forward, bracketing Jim with his hands on either side of his hips. Jim felt a spark of fear that he quelled in his belly before it could rise further.

"I am much stronger than you. You know this," Spock said. "I could take them from you with little effort."

Another flutter replaced the stomach-deep fear. Jim grinned. "Like to see you try."

It was a line that'd worked on a dozen of species, but it didn't work on Spock, not the way he'd been hoping. Instead of breaking, Spock just reached out a hand and touched Jim's wrist, right above the tattoo of Polaris.

Another jolt, electric, like that first day he'd been to space.

Spock's fingers were warm and dry as they traced the Lodestar and down the tail of Ursa Minor. His eyes were fastened on Jim's. A torrent of whispers filtered through Jim's head.

Raise a hand to you?
My Jim, my shon'ha-lok,
you ask the impossible of me.
Parted from me for so very long,
now, never parted.
You know I cannot harm you.

"H-hey, wait." Jim's tongue turned large and unwieldy in his mouth. His brain slowed to a honey-crawl, all soft thoughts and comfortable warmth. The bed was soft, he realized as if in a dream. It smelled of Spock. Didn't they say that scent was the most potent trigger for human memories? Was it just his imagination, or did he also smell the sweet filth of the farm mixed in with Spock's clean, Vulcan spice?

"What—? What did you say? Shone...ha? I don't understand," Jim murmured. "Something's happening to me."

"I admit," Spock breathed, "I am affected similarly."

"Oh. Weird." Spock's voice is his head didn't matter. The impending trip to the brig didn't matter. The dilithium resting warm and hard against his sternum didn't matter. Spock's hand on his and his lips, so close, were the only things that mattered.

Jim kissed him. Pulled him closer with a yank to his underblacks. Threaded his free hand through his silky hair and made a soft noise for that spice-laced mouth to swallow. They moved together, kissing harder.

"Isn't this strange?" he asked, blinking lazily and biting back a moan as Spock's cool tongue traced over his Adam's apple. "What are the odds? After all this time…? I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

Spock hummed in agreement against his ear. "I understand your meaning," he said quietly, "but I never lost faith that our bond would bring us back together. This golden thread connects us. Forever."

"God, Spock." Jim's head lolled to the side to give Spock access to that little spot behind his ear that made his heart jump. Spock seemed to know just where to find it. "I thought Vulcans weren't given to—ah!—fanciful metaphors."

"Metaphors?" Spock nosed along Jim's temple, planting kisses at his jaw.

"Yeah, I mean, 'golden thread'? A lifelong bond? Come on, that's—" Jim stopped. Slowly backed away enough to look Spock in his dream-filled eyes. "That's just a figure of speech. Right?"

Spock blinked down at him, confusion clear even on his usually inscrutable features.

"Right?" Jim said more forcefully.

"I assumed you—" Spock took his bottom lip between his teeth and dropped his gaze. "Do you not understand this thing between us?"

"Uh, I understand that a minute ago you were ready to lock me up and suddenly I'm—" Jim gestured to his position, still trapped under Spock on the bed. "Why? What the hell are you playing at?"

"I play at nothing," Spock said, drawing himself up on his knees. His greenish flush traveled all the way past the neck of his underblacks. Jim imagined it spreading over his chest and his lean back in a diffused glow.

Jim shook his head to clear it. "Then what's happening here? I don't—" He lifted his still-tingling hand to his chest and rubbed the feeling out of it. "Oh my god. Did you put some kind of Vulcan whammy on me? Is this mind control?"

The green flush left, leaving colorless skin in its wake. "No," Spock said. Firm, a military order. "You cannot believe me capable of that."

"Then what the hell is going on!?"

"When I touched you all those years ago, did you not feel anything?" Spock asked, almost pleading.

"What, the tingle?" Jim narrowed his eyes. "Was that some kind of mental dibs or something? Because I did not sign up for that!"

"One does not 'sign up' for a spontaneous bonding," Spock grated out. "Before I touched you, I had no way of knowing it would occur. I only meant to say goodbye in the human fashion."

"I was twelve!" Jim threw his hands in the air. "How could I be bonded for life at twelve?"

"Most bonds on Vulcan are formed at seven years of age," Spock said, "but this is not most bonds. It is very rare, very powerful. It supplanted the childhood bond I had forged previously. What you would call 'love at first sight.' To me it means a...joining at first brush. Shon'ha-lok." He reached a tentative hand to Jim's face, cradling his cheek in one cool palm. Something crackled between them. "To be given something so precious and then to watch it go away from me—"

"It? I am sitting right here! I'm a person."

"I did not mean—"

"And I am not okay with this—" Jim turned his face away from Spock's touch, "—child bride thing you've got going on, in case you didn't know."

Spock's face flushed a familiar shade of puce. "You are deliberately misconstruing the situation."

"What's there to misconstrue? I didn't agree to this!"

"Agreement is not necessary," Spock said. If Jim didn't know any better, he'd say the Vulcan was panicking. But Vulcans didn't panic, so the clenched fists at his sides must've been something else. "A spontaneous bond merely is. You would not expect the sun to agree to warm you, or the sky to consent to be placed above you."

Jim sat up slowly, running his fingers through his wavy hair to settle it back into place. "Let's get something straight," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "Any connection we have? Is a mistake. We were just two kids who happened to run into each other. Where I'm from, people choose who we want to be with." He looked Spock up and down. "And I am not going to choose some cold, emotionally cut-off Vulcan."

If Jim saw a flash of hurt cross those marble features, he must have imagined it because it was gone in an eyeblink. "Do you think, if given the option, I would choose a rash, selfish, unthinking pirate?" Spock asked.

Jim swallowed. What did he care what this near-stranger thought of him? Still, it felt a little bit like he'd lost something when Spock uttered those words. Any residual warmth left, leaving him cold and clammy. They stared at each other across a silent, widening gulf.

The console on the desk whistled. Spock gave Jim one more hooded glance before moving to answer it. At the press of a button, the face of a humanoid female filled the vid screen.

"Captain," Spock said.

"Have you processed the man in custody?" she asked in clipped tones.

"No sir."

A look of disbelief passed over the captain's face. Jim could see it even from his seat on the bed. The woman—a Betazoid, probably—must have taken eyebrow lessons from the Vulcans.

"What's caused the delay, Commander?"

Spock stood at Academy-attention, hands folded behind his back. "In the course of my questioning, new details have arisen regarding the mining colony on Theta II. I request permission to investigate further."

"Permission denied. Sensors have detected two Romulan warships closing in on our location. Here to collect the scouts we captured, no doubt. I need you on the bridge."

"Yes sir." Spock's face betrayed no hint of emotion.

"Escort the prisoner to security on your way. Barrett out." The screen went black.

Kirk sighed and stood with a flourish of his hands. "Well, that's it," he said. "Nice seeing you again, Spock. We should really do this again in another fifteen or twenty years, if the Romulans don't kill us before then."

Spock said nothing, merely gave Jim a long, lingering look before he turned back to his dresser to pick up his clean science blues. Jim waited until his back was turned, then reached over as fast as he dared to scoop the hand phaser from the desk. "Don't bother with the uniform, I think," he said, clicking the phaser to maximum stun and aiming it at the Vulcan's flank. "No time for that."

Spock turned and regarded the phaser with a twitch of his eyebrow. "You will not harm me," he said.

"No?" Jim cocked his head. "Because you can't hurt me, is that it? I heard you in my head when you touched me. Well, maybe Humans don't take to these bonds the way you do, Spock." He raised the phaser an inch higher as he climbed off the bed. "Want to test my theory?"

Spock looked at him, and Jim tried to picture what he saw: some untrustworthy, grubby round-ear covered in ink, probably. Spock closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. "No. I do not." He sounded defeated.

Good. Jim hated being called on his bluffs. He gestured to the console with his phaser. "Open a channel."

Spock did so using his access codes. Still covering him, Jim tapped in a few key commands. "Kirk here," he said into the black. "Enterprise, come in. You better be on time for once."

The comm crackled. "Early even, captain," Uhura's welcome voice answered. "We've been sitting cloaked on the Ar'tu's port bow for almost twenty minutes."

Spock cast him a sharp glare. "You are in possession of a cloaking mechanism? Such devices are illegal in Federation space."

"Do I look like I care?" Jim turned back to the comm. "Uhura, tell Scotty I need a beam-up, please."

"No can do," the Scottish brogue interrupted on the same channel. "The Feds have their shields up. Nothing's getting through from our side. You'll have to use their transporter. Can you manage it?"

"No problem. I've hijacked better. Send the coordinates." Jim grabbed a spare data chip from the desk drawer; of course Spock would keep the thing spotless and organized. He jammed it into the receiver for the coordinates and then waved Spock towards the door with the phaser. "If you could lead the way to the nearest transporter room, Mr. Spock?"

The Vulcan stood motionless, hands clenched at his sides. "I will not allow you to escape."

"Don't make me shoot you."

"I am still unconvinced of your ability to do so."

"I'm not. Rash and unthinking, remember?" He jerked his head toward the door. "Now move."

The corridor was deserted, most likely due to the incoming Romulans. The crew would all be at their stations by now. Jim kept the phaser snug against Spock's side as they walked to the turbolift and rode it to deck three.

"Who's on transporter duty?" Jim asked as they stood in the lift. "And how much do they like you?"

Spock turned his head to look at Jim over his shoulder. "Ensign T'Lak. And I would say she does not hold any affection for me, nor does she dislike me. She is—"

"Vulcan. Yeah. Got it." Jim rolled his eyes as they exited the lift.

Spock sighed minutely; Jim could feel it in the way Spock's side pressed against the phaser. "I was going to say, as I have already informed you, I do not have any friends. Obviously the ensign cannot be that which does not exist," he said in a soft voice.

He would not feel bad for this sucker, he would not. The door to the transporter room opened for them, revealing a young Vulcan female at the console as promised. She looked as unsurprised about this turn of events as a fish experiencing water.

"Commander Spock," she said evenly.

"Hands off the controls or I kill him," Jim ordered. She lifted her hands in the air mechanically. Jim jammed his data chip into the relay. "Okay, now you're going to beam me the hell out of here," he told her, "and you—" He turned to Spock. The chess pieces in his head were lining up. And not in his favor.

"You are pursuing a useless path, Jim. The moment you dematerialize, I will simply have your transporter beam rerouted to the brig," Spock pointed out needlessly.

Jim grabbed Spock by his bare upper arm and jerked him toward the transporter pad, ignoring the frisson of thoughts and feelings that erupted between their skin. "I know. That's why you're coming with me. And if you," he pointed the phaser at T'Lak for a moment, "try to dump us anywhere but those coordinates I just fed your console, I will shoot him between the eyes the moment we coalesce. Is that understood?"

T'Lak looked to her commander. Spock merely nodded. "Do as he directs, ensign."

Jim planted himself on a pad, realizing he'd have to share it with Spock if this was going to work. They stood almost chest-to-chest, their body heat radiating between them. Jim tried his best to ignore the feelings of warmth and familiarity being near the Vulcan engendered in him. He tried, but he couldn't ignore one of Spock's stray thoughts.

You will not leave me behind, Jim. Not this time.

Jim squinted into those blank, dark eyes. Whatever Spock's plan was, there would be time to dismantle it later. "Energize," he said. The world turned golden.

It reformed into the interior of the Enterprise. Jim had barely a moment before they were beset by his pack of thieves. All five of them seemed to gang up on him at once, throwing themselves at him and squeezing him like a sponge. Spock was lost somewhere in the scuffle, and Jim's hand slipped from his arm. The tingling sensation—the faint buzzing in his head—stopped.

"Knew you'd make it, captain," Scotty laughed. The man hugged like he fixed circuits: a pro.

"You gigantic pain," Bones growled while he mussed up Jim's hair. "You're lucky Tal left me some ass to kick."

"Please tell me you—" Uhura's hand stole into his shirt before her face broke out into a radiant grin. "Thank god!"

"Hey, my eyes are up here," Jim mock-grumbled.

"Good to have you home," Sulu said with a modicum of warmth.

"And with a friend!" Pav enthused.

The crew quieted as all eyes turned to the Vulcan. Spock stood apart from them, still clad in his underblacks, his eyebrows quirked in question.

"Everyone, Mr. Spock here is a captive. One of Starfleet's best, so treat him with all the respect that deserves. Mr. Spock?" Jim gave a mocking wave to the dim, cramped interior of the Enterprise. "Welcome to my ship."

"Your crew," Spock said slowly. "It is entirely Human?"

Bones gave a dry chuckle. "That's giving the pipsqueak a lot of credit. Chekov here is half mouse." He poked at the kid's chest, eliciting a series of denials and laughs.

Jim didn't crack so much as a smile, though. "Is it so hard to believe that we can handle ourselves out here? Yes, we are all from Earth. And damn proud of it." He turned to Sulu. "Get us out of here, warp three if Scotty can manage it. The Romulans are heading back this way."

"Aye, I'll get her going." And with that, Scotty and the rest of the crew scattered to their positions.

The ship was not a large one, and it was only a short jaunt down a narrow corridor and an access ladder to reach the bridge. Jim went there directly. Spock, seemingly at a loss, followed behind.

He bestowed his dilithium necklace on Uhura, slipping it over her shorn head for safe-keeping. After flicking through the ship's logs and making sure everything was in order, Jim took pity on the Vulcan. He was standing in half-shadow, watching the crew at their stations with something akin to trepidation on his face. At the moment, Spock was studying Sulu as he piloted their cloaked ship away from the Ar'tu and around a wayward moon.

"Hikaru can outfly anyone. I found him training with old dusters out in Bakersfield," Jim said, swinging into his mismatched captain's chair. He'd stolen it very literally out from under a Klingon war hero. Spock eyed the perch with a raised brow. Jim took that to mean he guessed its origins.

"And the others?" Spock asked. "Where did you find them?"

Jim pointed at each crewmember in turn, swiveling his chair as he went. "Uhura was running tactical for one of the big corporations out on Mars. Snatched her up in a hurry. Bones is our medic-slash-artist. Patched me up on Orion, worked on my sleeves—" He turned his forearms this way and that to show Spock the tattoos that covered them. "—then refused to go away." He gestured up the access ladder to where Scotty was fiddling with his circuitry. "Scotty helped me rebuild this old raider. He's a magician. And Pav snuck on board while we were at Risa and never left. Useful, though. Kid knows his weapons systems."

Spock eyed the easy, quiet efficiency of the Enterprise's crew—or maybe just their dyed hair and piercings, Jim wasn't sure. "It is unheard of. Humans are not known for their abilities to crew starships."

"Well, maybe they just never gave us a chance, Spock."

"Clearing the system," Sulu called from his console. "Where to now? Are we dropping off the Vulcan or are we holding out for a ransom?"

"Federation policy forbids negotiations with pirates," Spock said.

"So it does. Don't worry about it for now, Sulu. Plenty of class-M planets out there. We'll park him somewhere along the way." Jim toyed with a loose thread on his chair's padded armrest, thinking. Where could he dump Spock? Maybe on Sarek's doorstep; that would certainly be fitting.

Uhura piped up, "I sent a message to Terra Nova. They should be thrilled. There's enough dilithium here to power that generator for at least five years."

Jim made a vicious cutting motion across his throat, but she didn't see it, just kept working her dials and switches. He could feel the curious weight of Spock's gaze settling on him.

"Once they're safe and sound," Uhura continued, "we can head to the Vega colony. They need a hand finding a suitable water source." She toyed with her necklace.

"Terra Nova and Vega are Human colonies," Spock said slowly. "They are in the nascent stages of settlement and do not possess enough material wealth to buy even a fraction of your dilithium."

"Oh, so it's my dilithium now," Kirk drawled. "Glad we finally agree on something."

Spock ignored him. "What are they trading for your services if they cannot pay in credits?"

Somewhere underneath one of the nav banks, Chekov snorted. "Trade? Pay? As if Jim would accept such things. These are his—how does he put it?—Robin Hoods, yes?"

Jim cursed silently. Spock kneeled on the floor to address the kid as he worked. "You help these people free of charge?" he asked.

"Humans, yes. They are family. Everyone else pays for the bankrolling. That is how we stay in the sky, right Jim?" Chekov stuck his mussed head out to regard his captain with a smile.

A deep sigh just barely contained. "That's right, Pav. Let me know when you get those phasers back online. Hopefully we won't need them." He swiveled back around, the better to not look at Spock.

Spock stepped into his sightline anyway. "You misled me. You allowed me to think you had stolen the dilithium for profit."

Jim pretended there was something very irritating caught in his eyelashes to give himself something to do besides meet Spock's gaze. "It's not my fault if you jump to conclusions. Though, to be fair, piracy sort of lends itself to those kinds of conclusions."

"You deliberately attempted to convince me that you were unworthy of our eternal bond," Spock continued in a much-too-loud voice. Sound carried in a ship as small as the Enterprise. Even the unflappable Sulu turned around to stare at them. Spock just kept going. "In reality, you are not selfish or unthinking, as I accused you. Why did you not defend yourself? Is my regard that disgusting to you, that you would prefer my rancor?"

"We should probably have this conversation in private," Jim hissed.

"I want to hear more about this eternal bond," Bones said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against his console.

Scotty's head poked out of an access panel in the far corner of the ceiling to the surprise of exactly no one. "Did he mean eternal as in eternal? Or is it more like a metaphor?"

"Vulcans do not metaphor," Chekov said with a sage shake of his head.

Uhura turned to Sulu. "Where are we supposed to keep him? My bunk's not big enough."

Sulu made an intensely vague gesture with his hands.

"Maybe Vulcans don't sleep," Scotty offered.

"Of course they sleep," Jim muttered without thinking. A memory came to him unbidden: curled in front of the whole universe in an abandoned observation deck, dozing against a cool, silent Vulcan chest. Jim massaged the ache in his temples, but it was already building to a crescendo. "I'll handle it. I need to get some rest anyway. Getting shot down really takes it out of me. Scotty?"

"She'll be flying steady now, Jim. I've got her."

"Right. Goodnight, then. Spock?" Jim levered himself out of his chair and gestured for the Vulcan to follow. He did without complaint. Once they were up the access ladder and down the corridor—out of earshot of the crew—Jim spoke. "I know you wanted me to bring you here for some reason. If it's sabotage you're thinking of, I'll tell you right now you won't get away with it. My crew is the best; that's not Human bravado talking, it's the goddamn truth."

"Why would I wish to sabotage the Enterprise, Jim?" Spock asked, close behind him in the narrowing hallway.

"Because you're a Starfleet officer and you've been kidnapped?" Jim shot him an irritated glare over his shoulder. "It's the decent thing to do, isn't it?"

Spock was silent for a moment as they walked, then said, "Do you know the meaning of my ship's callsign?"

"Can't say I do." Jim swung down another ladder and Spock followed.

"Ar'tu is a Vulcan word. It means a carefully planned project or journey. An...enterprise, I think may be the best translation."

"So?"

"Jim." Spock's hand closed over Jim's. They stood in the dark well at the bottom of the ladder, close in the cramped space. "Do you not find it telling that our paths, however different, managed to bring us together in such strange ways?"

"I don't believe in Vulcan magic," Jim bit out.

"I am not asking you to," Spock said. "But you must acknowledge what is apparent between us." His fingers drew patterns through the constellations tattooed on Jim's forearm. The static of it buzzed through Jim's aching head, leaving behind soothed coolness.

It was impossible not to lean into that touch. With a groan, Jim rested his forehead against Spock's marble-hewn collarbone. "Damn you," he whispered. His eyes could drift closed right now if he let them.

Spock's other hand cupped the back of his head, playing with the locks there. "Come back to Starfleet with me, Jim. The Academy would give you a special dispensation if I requested it. We could journey together, side by side."

"Starfleet?" The idea was ludicrous enough to make Jim pull away with an angry shake of his head. "Is this some kind of mission? Get the pirate to turn himself in? Better yet, put him to work in the belly of some fleet carrier, mopping decks."

Spock reached for him again. "If you would only listen—"

Jim dodged out of the way and slammed a palm against a panel, opening the door to his quarters. "Shut up. Get inside."

Spock slunk through the doorway with his head bowed. Jim followed behind, watching his closely. The door slid shut, leaving them in almost total darkness.

Jim flicked on the reading lamp above his head. "Don't look down if you're afraid of heights," he said, then opened a built-in cabinet to rummage around for his security cuffs. They'd keep Spock contained until he figured out what to do with him.

Finding the cuffs at last, he turned around to see Spock staring down at the floor of the small room. The entire bottom panel of Jim's quarters was made of transparent viewing plastic. You could look down into the universe without even getting out of bed.

"Scotty fitted it for me," Jim said conversationally as he snapped a cuff around Spock's unresisting wrist. "What can I say? I still like stargazing."

"Most humans would experience crippling vertigo at this sight," Spock murmured. He lifted a foot to peer into a nebula far below.

"Most. Not me." Jim clasped the other cuff to a nearby strut in the wall. "I'm going to get some shut-eye. You are going to remain quiet here in your corner. Understood?"

Spock didn't answer, merely slid down the wall until he was seated on the glassy floor. The cuffs allowed him that much movement, at least. He gazed down at the streaked lights of the stars, then said, "I will not speak any further if you do not wish it."

"Fine. Good." Jim gave him one last distrustful glance, then yanked his folding bed down from its place against the other wall. He crawled into the nest of blankets fully clothed and with his boots still on—old habit, in case they were attacked while he slept. With one last calculating look at the motionless Vulcan on the other side of the room, he flicked off the light and closed his eyes.

He woke to the sinking feeling that something was wrong.

No alarms were blaring, though, and the ship was humming steadily all around him. So they weren't under fire. Which was good.

Jim sat up and blinked his eyes into focus. The only light was from the stars below the floor, an eerie glow. It was in this light that he saw Spock huddled in a ball against the bulkhead, shivering uncontrollably. The sound of his chattering teeth—that must've been what had woken Jim.

"Spock?"

No answer, just more shudders running through that frame. Spock's eyes were clenched shut, his face pressed into the metal of the wall.

Jim slipped out of bed and onto the floor, kneeling to examine him. "Come on, you're not allowed to die on my ship." He shook Spock by the shoulders, shocked at how cold the Vulcan's skin felt even under the layer of his underblacks.

Spock's eyes slitted open, but he did not speak.

"We keep the temp at Human norms. It can't be that unlivable for you," Jim said.

Spock just sat there in miserable silence.

Jim sighed, recalled their last conversation. "Enough of the silent treatment. You can talk now."

Through the shudders, Spock managed to say, "I usually h-have a thermal layer built into my uniform tunic, b-but that was left behind on the Ar'tu."

"Oh, for the love of—" Jim ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "If this is some ploy to make me feel even worse for you—"

"V-vulcans do not lie," Spock said.

Jim couldn't help but remember that wide-eyed child, standing before his parents, unable to utter even the smallest untruth to save his own skin. "You're hopeless, you know that?"

Spock merely nodded jerkily. Jim waited one more stubborn moment before unlocking the cuffs and pulling Spock to his feet, using the cuffs as a sort of leash.

"I'm only doing this because if you freeze to death the Federation will lock me away for life," he grumbled.

"You have my thanks regardless."

"Just get in the bed."

The bunk was narrow and thin, definitely not meant for two full-grown people, but Spock made himself as small as possible, flattening himself against the bulkhead and pulling the blankets up to his neck. Jim crawled in after him and snapped the free cuff-end to the strut that anchored the bed to the wall.

"Hope you don't snore," he said as he moulded himself against Spock's shaking body.

"You are so very warm." Spock pressed his freezing nose to Jim's neck.

Jim yelped, not just from the cold but from the rushing sensation of yes, more that was currently thundering through Spock's mind. "Yeah, well. Don't get too used to it." Figuring that things couldn't get much more awkward, Jim rubbed his palm up and down Spock's bare arms, trying to create some friction to heat him up. "Go to sleep, Spock."

"I…." Spock's eyelids drooped, his lashes brushing against Jim's cheek. "I fear waking and finding this has all been some strange dream."

"Don't you mean nightmare?" Jim chuckled.

"Finding you at last, Jim? No. A dream." The shivers had subsided somewhat, leaving Spock limp and drained against Jim's chest.

Jim swallowed, patting awkwardly at Spock's cool arm. "It'll be all right. We're just victims of a cruel biological prank. Everything will make more sense in the morning."

"It will not," Spock insisted. "We are bonded, a pair of impossibilities, gifted something precious. And yet you will not allow my touch. It makes no sense at all." He pressed his face, now warm and warming further, into the crook of Jim's neck. "What can I do to prove my intentions when you will not hear my mind speak to yours?"

"Jesus, Spock," Jim breathed. "You talk like you're…in love with me."

"A Human phrase," Spock said with an almost-frustrated mental growl through Jim's thoughts. "To love is emotional. What I feel for you, Jim—it is more. It is imperative."

He stared up at the black of the ceiling. "You don't even know me."

"I would. I do. I remember. If you would only let me—" Spock's cuffed hand flexed above their heads. The tinkling music of metal on metal echoed through the small room. "But I cannot touch you," Spock said to the skin behind Jim's ear.

"We're touching now," Jim pointed out. His brain hummed with it.

"Not in the proper way, with our thoughts." Spock curled closer to him. "You would not allow my body to remain cold and alone, but you do not understand how much worse it is for my mind to be without its match."

"What do you want me to say?" Jim asked, soft in the dark. "I'm sorry?"

"What is, is," he whispered. "You refuse me; that is your right."

"Oh. Fine." It was exactly what Jim had wanted, Spock giving up on the idea of bonding. So why did it make his stomach turn? "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight." The silky head rested heavy on Jim's sternum and Spock's breaths evened out in a steady cadence.

Jim tugged the blankets to the tips of Spock's ears. This was going to be trouble, having Spock around like this. Tomorrow, he decided, he'd maroon Spock on the first breathable planet they passed.

That was definitely the plan. He just didn't get around to it.

The next day was devoted to repairs, and while three Class-M's floated by on the main viewer, Spock remained underneath one of Scotty's circuity plates, connecting and repairing pathways faster than the eye could follow. Scotty refused to let Jim yank him out of there. "At least wait until he's finished," he said.

The day after that, Pav stole Spock to help re-calibrate the main phaser array. "We are not marooning him today," the kid said with a cheery wave of his hand.

The day after that, McCoy shooed Jim away with his tattoo needle, which was clenched between latex-gloved fingers. "Can't you see we're busy?"

Jim caught a glimpse of an outline around Spock's kahs-wan tattoo: a perfect bell jar.

"What the hell is that?" Jim asked.

"It's my own design," Bones snapped. "And if you don't like it, I'll doodle a damn smiley face between your shoulder blades while you sleep." His knuckles spelled out curses beneath the latex; Jim knew not to push him.

"The doctor has also agreed to outfit my ear with a piece of decorative jewelry," Spock said. "I find the work he's done on yours and Mr. Sulu's to be aesthetically pleasing."

"Damn right they are." Bones glared up at Jim. "Don't you have a ship to run? Scram." Jim took his advice and vacated the little sickbay-slash-tattoo parlor. No marooning today, he thought ruefully.

The day after that, Spock's ear was healing from the silver industrial bar that was pierced through his eartip. It seemed cruel to maroon someone who needed to dab saltwater on their ear every few hours, so that day went by without booting Spock off the ship too.

The day after that they were in deep space, not a Class-M to be seen for lightyears. And also Spock was busy sparring with Sulu.

The day after that, Spock was occupied with teaching Uhura some obscure Romulan dialect.

The day after that, they arrived at Terra Nova to deliver the dilithium. Jim brought Spock along to the colony to keep an eye on him. Jim was in the central plaza, deep in conversation with the very thankful governor, when he heard the tinkling laughter of children. He turned to find Spock kneeling on the dusty ground, beset with colony kids, all grasping and pawing at the strange Vulcan.

"Hey, watch it. He doesn't like to be—" Jim caught sight of the black leather gloves on Spock's hands. They nearly matched the flying leathers Spock was wearing; Jim had lent the jacket to him to keep warm. Spock looked up from the child whose curls he was tousling.

"—touched," Jim finished slowly.

"They are curious. That is only natural," Spock said, setting a little girl who had tripped in all the excitement back on her feet. She ran off with the rest of the children at the sound of the school gong.

Jim narrowed his eyes at Spock. "If you're trying to get in my good graces by being friendly with the colonists—"

"You forget I am half-Human." Spock rose to his feet. "Though I was not raised as a Human, I am not ignorant of their struggles. I have the utmost respect for Human settlers." He paused, as if weighing whether he should say more. Finally: "Whenever a Human colony would request aid from the Federation, I would scan their rosters, looking for your name."

"I would have used an alias if I'd been on one," Jim said before he could think better of it.

"I know. Yet I always looked," Spock said, and walked back to the beam-up point. Jim followed since there wasn't anywhere else to go.

The day after that—

Well, there were lots of days after that. They just flew by until Jim realized Spock had been their captive for two and a half weeks. Jim had even quit cuffing Spock to his bed while they slept. No reason to chain someone to a place they obviously intended to be anyway.

"All right, all right, I'm coming," Jim muttered one night as he entered his quarters, fresh from a well-deserved shower. Spock was already under the covers and looking at him expectantly. "You know, you could always bunk with someone else." Jim toweled the last of the water from his hair. "I think Sulu would make some room if you asked nicely."

"Would you prefer that?" Spock asked.

Jim hung up his towel, frowning. He knew he should say he wanted his privacy, that sharing his narrow bed with another person was more than an inconvenience. And yet, all he managed to say in response was "Whatever" with a half-shrug. While he grabbed a clean shirt, he heard a sudden creak of the mattress springs.

Spock was sitting up in bed, staring intently at Jim's bare back. "I did not realize your tattoos extended so far," he whispered. "I never see you unclothed."

"Oh. Yeah." Jim usually changed in front of whoever was present without a second thought; came with living in tight spaces with the crew. But he had avoided it with Spock because he knew how cagey Vulcans could be about personal space. Still, these were his quarters after all, so he refused to show any embarrassment about his body. He extended his arms in a T to better showcase the complete picture. The star charts flowed down his shoulders, his spine, culminating at his lower back, less accurate than they were artistic. "Started running out of room. I guess it's thighs next. Maybe more on my neck."

"They are well-rendered. The doctor has done a fine job."

"You trusted him enough to do yours. What's up with the jar, anyway? Trying to keep that thing under wraps or something?" He gestured to Spock's arm, simultaneously discarding his shirt back in its drawer. He was still warm from the shower anyway.

Spock rubbed at the new tattoo through the layers of long-sleeved shirts he wore. "Something of that nature."

There was that Vulcan caginess. "Okay. Sharing moment over, then." Jim climbed into the bunk and flicked off the light, plunging the room into only-starlit dark.

For a long moment, Spock didn't speak and Jim assumed he'd fallen asleep. Jim was just starting to drift off as well—sprawled on his stomach, his head pillowed on his arms—when Spock laid a hand lightly on his bare shoulder. Cool fingers traced the dots of the Pleiades. A jolt went through Jim's spine, not quite as intense as that time in Spock's quarters aboard the Ar'tu, but enough to make his nerves sing. "Ah, god," he breathed.

Spock said into his ear, sleepover-soft, "Shall I stop?"

"Y-yeah," Jim muttered. Then, immediately, "No, I mean…." It was too confusing to think about anymore. The only factors that added up to anything were one very beautiful Vulcan in his bed, one massive attraction between them, and one surefire way to get it all out of their systems. Only— "No melds or thought-touching, okay? Just, like this." He rolled onto his side, clasping Spock's hand in his and cupping it to the front of his pants and the aching cock underneath.

Spock sucked in a breath through his nose. "I do not—" His unsure touch spoke of inexperience, of fear. But there was nothing to be afraid of; Jim didn't care if he wasn't an expert. He was Spock, and that was enough.

"No, this is fine, this is okay," Jim soothed. He massaged Spock's hand over himself, sighing at the hesitant pressure. The contact was overheating them, so Jim kicked the blankets off with a paddle of his feet. He dragged Spock closer by his hip, rubbing up against him in return. Spock was hard and wet, so wet that it was soaking into Jim's own pants. "You're liking this, huh?" He glanced up from where their bodies were crushed together to find Spock's eyes clenched tight. "Or...not?" Jim released his grip on Spock, trying to squirm back to give him space.

"I am enjoying this. That is obvious," Spock panted. His hand gripped Jim's arm to keep him from retreating. "I am only unsure— This is not the type of activity I imagined—"

"This is a Human activity," Jim said. He brought a hand up to cup that faintly green Vulcan cheek. "It feels good. Shouldn't we feel good?" His whole being was buzzing from head to toe, spurred on by Spock's touch and his scent.

"May I have your thoughts?" Spock pleaded, his voice a high sound against Jim's neck. "Only for a moment, only—" His fingertips brushed Jim's jaw, his cheek.

Jim captured that wandering hand and held it down between them. "No, no, just keep doing this." He kissed one heated eartip to make up for it, his lips slipping across the new metal rod there. "This is working, right?" He ground his hips back into Spock's, eliciting shivers in them both. "We don't need that mind stuff, do we? We could just do this."

Spock made a noise somewhere between a hiss and a moan. He pressed his forehead to Jim's shoulder. "I cannot."

"Yeah, you can." Jim threaded a hand through Spock's soft hair, stroking through it with a little pleased sigh. "Just let go."

"No. I cannot." Spock tore his hands from Jim's body, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering, exposed, on the bare bed.

Jim lay still for a moment, then sat up. "Hey…."

"I am sorry," Spock said. His eyes were closed tight again. "But if I cannot touch you the way I— How am I to know if you are acting out of affection or malice or pity or something else?"

Jim gaped for a moment, then sputtered, "Malice? What kind of person do you think I—?"

Spock held up a hand. "I cannot hear your thoughts, Jim. I do not know you when we are like this."

"Damn it, Spock, I wouldn't do something like that!"

"Your actions confuse me. How am I to know?"

Jim felt his face heat with something. Anger, maybe, or shame. "So I'm supposed to trust you with my brain but I can't be trusted with anything of yours. Is that how it is?" He shifted on the squeaking mattress and his bare foot brushed Spock's ankle for just a moment, just enough for an overwhelming sensation of grief to go charging through his system. The shame won out. Jim hung his head. "Sorry. You're allowed to refuse me too. That's your right." He laid a hand, tentative and healing, on Spock's shaking shoulder.

Spock opened his eyes and, by degrees, his body calmed into stillness. "Thank you."

Jim reached down and pulled the blankets back over them. They settled in together, the space between them warming slowly. "It wasn't out of pity," Jim said quietly. "And it wasn't to punish you."

"Thank you," Spock repeated.

"You'll just have to believe me," Jim said. As soon as it left his mouth, he knew how awful it sounded. Spock knew he was a liar. And Vulcans just didn't think the way Humans did. Jim sighed. This was never going to work.

"We should sleep now." Spock's cool hand brushed his under the sheets.

"Yeah." Jim swallowed. His pants were damp and uncomfortable where Spock had been pressed against him, but he didn't want to make a big deal out of it, so he just closed his eyes and ignored it.

Jim woke up alone, confused and muzzy, wondering where Spock could be. But Spock was right there, sitting on the see-through floor, sipping at a steaming mug and watching the stars. He was dressed all in black, a natural result of sharing Jim's clothing. There wasn't much else to choose from.

"I never told you why," Spock said, not taking his eyes off the floor-window.

"Mmrf." Jim flopped onto his back and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Why what?"

"Why I was unable to foster friendships as a child."

Jim blinked his eyes open, turning his head to frown at the Vulcan. "Uh, kind of late to pick up that conversational thread, Spock. We dropped it years ago."

Spock didn't seem to think that point was worthy of a response. He just plowed ahead as if Jim hadn't spoken. "I was—and remain—the only Human-Vulcan hybrid in existence. This fact was treated with mistrust by Vulcans and other races. They detected small aberrations in my eye color, my mannerisms, the arrangement of my facial features, and they deemed me too Human." He looked up from the floor and caught Jim's gaze. "When we met as children, you were the first being I'd ever encountered to have no expectations of me. I simply was what I was. You accepted that, delighted in it." His eyes returned to the stars. "Now you think I am not Human enough."

It was too early for this. Jim sat up slowly, letting the blankets fall to his waist. "Spock, look, it's not— I'm not against this bond thing because of you." He scrubbed a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "You're pretty great. I mean, the crew and the ship, you're great with them. Just...great."

"Great," Spock repeated. His eyebrow made it a question.

"But I don't believe in destiny," Jim sighed. "I don't like the idea that all this was laid out for us since I was twelve. That's not the way life is. It's never that easy."

Spock stared at him. "You consider this…'easy'?"

Jim grimaced. "I meant—"

"I left behind my homeworld," Spock said, voice eerily steady, "I have not spoken to my mother for seven hundred and sixty-three stardates—"

"I get that, I do—"

"—and I have relinquished my claim to my ancestral lands, all because there existed a chance that I might find the one named Jim Kirk." Spock stood swiftly and set his mug on Jim's desk with a thunk. "You say you favor choice over destiny; these are the choices I made. There were other paths but I ignored them." He loomed over the bunk and placed his hands on the mattress, one on either side of Jim's hips, penning him in. "You must make a choice as well, Jim. Bond with me or be rid of me, but do not keep me prisoner in this in-between, where I am with you but cannot touch you."

And with that, Spock left, not quite slamming the door behind him. The small quarters seemed overly large with his absence. It didn't take more than a moment for Jim to climb out of bed and throw on the first clean clothes he could find.

"Spock, wait!" He ran down the narrow corridor toward the access ladder, which Spock was already climbing. "Come on, let's talk about this." Jim grasped him by the elbow and dragged him back to the bottom rung.

"I do not understand what else there is to speak of," Spock said. His eyes were fastened on the floor. "I have made my position perfectly clear."

"Bullshit," Jim hissed. "You haven't made it clear at all. Walk me through it, Spock. Suppose I say yes to you. We bond. Mind to mind, right? And then what? You get me into the Academy? We serve together in Starfleet?"

"Yes," Spock said firmly.

"How?" Jim begged to know. "What secret loophole would you use to wipe my record clean? In what possible universe would they let me on a starship in anything but manacles?"

"I—" Spock let his gaze drift up to meet Jim's. "Perhaps I could use what influence I have—"

"No one has that much influence," Jim said. His hand gentled on Spock's arm. "You're an officer of the fleet, Spock. You were born to wear those blues. I wish there was some other way, but maybe—" His chest felt tight, like a drum skin. "Maybe it's just not in the cards, you and me."

Spock's eyes widened, darkened. "No, it—"

An alarm interrupted with a loud ring, red lights flashing.

"Jim?" Uhura's voice echoed down the hallway, high and worried. "Federation vessel coming out of warp seven off the starboard side."

"Damn it." Jim squeezed Spock's arm one last time before letting go. "I need to get to the bridge."

"I will go with you," Spock said.

"No, you stay below."

"I will go with you." Spock gave Jim one final stubborn look, then swung up the ladder before Jim could protest. He could only follow with a muffled curse.

The bridge was strangely still, the only movement being the flashing alert lights. Everyone was frozen at their stations, staring at the main viewer.

"Tell me that's not the Ar'tu," Jim said, but he already knew the answer. That silver silhouette was unmistakable.

"I'm sorry," Sulu said. "She dropped out of warp right on top of us. Our sensors didn't have a chance to pick her up."

"Captain? I am also sorry," Pavel said from his own console, "but we are outgunned. They're powering up their phasers."

"Can we cloak?" Jim asked.

"I wouldn't try it," Scotty said. "She'll be able to triangulate our position in a heartbeat."

"Or just lay down a spread of torpedoes," Sulu muttered.

"They're hailing." Uhura lifted a hand to her earpiece, her studded eyebrow crinkling in distaste. "Should we answer?"

Jim spared a glance to Spock's profile. He was studying the ship on screen with an intense seriousness. Jim wanted to press that sight into his brain like a flower between a book's pages. Remember how he looks, he thought, because this is it.

"Put her on screen," Jim said.

The same severe-looking woman he'd seen weeks ago on Spock's monitor appeared before him. "This is Captain Barrett of the Federation vessel Ar'tu. You have—"

"Kidnapped your first officer, that's correct," Jim said, gesturing to Spock. "I'll return him completely intact and turn myself in. Just let my crew go. They're just hired hands, they had no knowledge of my business practices."

"Jim, no!" Spock cried and the same moment Barrett said, "If you think I will negotiate with a known criminal—"

"Captain, one moment. Uhura?" Jim sliced his thumb across his own throat, and the feed went dark. He turned to Spock, "Look, I know you're the worst liar in the universe, but can you just keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking here?"

"It is obvious I am here of my own free will," Spock bit out. He clutched at the old Klingon chair as if for balance. "Do not sacrifice yourself in some misguided attempt to save my career."

"That starship is going to blow us out of the water if I don't do something." Jim pointed an accusing finger at the black viewer. "This way, at least you don't get court-martialed for going on a pirate joyride." He dropped his hand with a sigh, allowing his fingers to brush over Spock's on the battered arm of his captain's chair. "It isn't logical to have everyone go down with me, Spock. You understand that, don't you?"

"You are correct," Spock said slowly. "Any desire to remain at your side through this is not logical."

Jim nodded. That settled that. "So everyone? Just follow my lead. You don't know anything about any dilithium or Theta II or any of it, right?" Heads bobbed around the bridge, though Bones let out more of a growl. "Right. When you're ready, Uhura."

Barrett appeared on screen once more. This time her eyes darted to the Vulcan standing at Jim's side. "Mister Spock, are you unharmed?"

"Yes, sir," he said. His hands folded obediently behind his back, his military posture at odds with his ragged clothes and the piercing through his ear.

"So about my proposal…." Jim smiled broadly.

Barrett glared at him. "Enough of this farce. Transporters, lock on. Prepare for beam-up, Commander."

"I decline transport." Spock lifted his chin. "I wish to remain on the Enterprise."

Jim groaned into his palms. "Oh my god."

"Commander?" Barrett barked.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" Jim squinted at Spock.

Spock ignored him and spoke only to the viewer. "I acknowledge that leaving my post in this manner is an act of treason. Should my recommendation count for anything, I advise you promote Lieutenant Gaila to First Officer in my absence."

"Mr. Spock, if this is some misguided attempt at humor—" Barrett said.

"It is not. My place is here. Viewer off, please, Uhura."

With a 'not this again' eyeroll, Uhura did as asked and the screen went blank once more. Jim whirled on Spock. "What the hell was that? Your place is in Starfleet!"

"No. It is here, by your side, if you will allow it," Spock said. "Let me join your crew."

Jim's mouth couldn't seem to close. He shook his head slowly. "There won't be a crew in a few minutes, Spock."

"Their phasers are locking on," Pavel called from his station.

"Jim, let me join you." Spock stood there patiently, his head cocked as he waited for an answer.

Jim swallowed. "You're not a pirate. You're an officer."

"For you, I will be many things," Spock said. "But only if you let me."

"Shields are up, but I don't know how long they'll hold!" Scotty cried.

Jim's hand found Spock's. It was like the first time, when they had been kids: that echoing tingle of thoughts and feelings. Another goodbye. God, how Jim hated these goodbyes.

All right, Jim thought across their skin. If this is what you want, all right. I want it too. I'm sorry I couldn't accept it before. I was so scared. I'm scared now. Help me not to be, Spock.

"My golden thread," Spock breathed, clutching Jim's hand in both of his. His eyes shut briefly, then sprang open. "Mr. Scott, please input the following prefix code: 9674218. That will disable the entirety of the Ar'tu's systems."

"What?" Jim said.

"Nine-six-seven-four-two-one-eight," Scotty said with undisguised glee. "And here I thought that prefix codes were just a Starfleet myth!"

"They are very real," Spock said, still clinging to Jim's hand, not breaking his gaze. "Mr. Chekov, I believe if you aim your phasers at the precise point where the starboard nacelle meets the stem of the engineering section, you will cripple their warp drive."

"Jim?" Pavel looked to his captain for confirmation.

"Do it," Jim said, a smile growing on his lips.

"Their shields are down. They're dead in the water," Uhura reported.

Pavel's phasers shot off with a whine. "Direct hit, sir."

"Think we could grab ourselves a couple of replicators while we're at it?" Bones asked.

"Let's not push our luck. Sulu, get us out of here, warp six," Jim ordered. The ship hummed to life under their feet and sped into the stars. He turned to Spock. "That was treason of the highest order."

Spock nodded. "It was."

"You could have told me you had an ace up your sleeve."

"I did not wish to force you into allowing me to stay onboard for the good of the crew," Spock said.

"I should be mad about that." Jim lifted their joined hands and pressed his lips to Spock's fingers. "But right now I just want more of that brain of yours wrapped around mine."

"Truly?" Spock's eyes widened. Jim smirked in return.

"Hey, unbreakable bond boys!" Bones jerked his head toward the access ladders. "We can handle flying in a straight line. Why don't you take your gooey eyes somewhere else and let us do our jobs?"

"An excellent idea, doctor," Spock said. He tugged Jim off the bridge, still not letting go of his hand.

"Uh, Sulu? Uhura? Whatever, you all have the conn. Just share it or something," Jim called over his shoulder as he was led away.

They didn't even wait to get back to Jim's quarters. It happened in the stairwell, in the dark, quiet and soft. Jim reached for Spock's face—to kiss him? To just touch him and feel him alive under his hands? Or maybe there was something to this bonding instinct after all, because Spock's hand cradled Jim's face in return, his fingertips arranging themselves like they were mapping out a constellation. And then, unity. A light that had been dormant, blinding bright again. Jim gasped at the sensation, the electricity of their skin and their thoughts.

I thought I would lose myself, Jim thought. But it's not like that at all. I'm giving. I'm getting.

My Jim. Spock's eyes shone.

Jim thought about the ugly parts, the ones he hadn't wanted Spock to see: the fear and the childish need to run away from every home he'd ever known. But it seemed so unnecessary to be concerned about them now, especially when he understood that Spock had already seen those things. Hadn't needed a meld for it. Didn't love him any less because of it.

Love. It's there. You're a big fat liar after all, Jim thought in delight.

Different words for the same thing, Spock pointed out. How was I to understand before I could know your thoughts?

Jim's mouth felt heavy as he tried to speak outside their minds. "'m going to kiss you now."

Yes.

They kissed, and Jim smiled against Spock's lips as he saw the picture in his bonded's mind: their two bodies, curled together, loving on a window of stars.