Jim Kirk was busy picking on a slice of pizza when
the idea first came to him. As he grabbed a piece of straying salami and
stuffed it into his mouth, it hit him. He had tried everything since their
arrival: nothing like a trip into the past to light the spark of passion in an
old romantic like Spock right? Wrong. Of course, they had been concentrating on
their mission for the larger part of their stay in the 20th century,
but still. Nothing had stirred Spock’s cautiously restrained Vulcan emotions.
Not even a long stroll by the water near Golden Gate Bridge; and that used to
work perfectly well in the 23rd century. Poetry was obviously not
going to do its job either. And he still hadn’t managed to convince Spock to
stop addressing him as ‘Admiral’. Things weren’t exactly going the way he
wanted them to. Well, taking the meat off his pizza isn’t exactly working
either. Spock was grateful, he even graced him with the occasional “Thank
you, Admiral” when he received his share of pizza from the Italian place Gillian
showed them, but that was just about as intimate as they’d get. It was
infuriating. He married the man! How could he be expected to just forget?
“It’s not his fault,” Jim muttered to himself,
grunting as he stood up from where he was sitting, a pizza box in his hands.
Of course it wasn’t his fault, but that wasn’t
really the point. Something had to be done or Jim was fairly certain he’d go
insane. What could he possibly try that he hadn’t tried yet? He didn’t want to
make his bondmate uncomfortable, so there were limited options… which he
contemplated as he walked through the Klingon Bird-of-Prey’s hallways. He could
actually take him to the Italian restaurant instead of bringing the food all
the way back to the ship, for a change. Oh, but that would put them face to
face with the imminent danger of Spock slipping up in front of a 20th
century human and Jim not being able to catch him before it was too late. A
present then, maybe? He had caught his husband staring longingly at an outfit
displayed in a shop’s vitrine the other day –that is, he had managed to read
Spock’s impenetrable gaze and stern features and figure out that the
indifference in his eyes wasn’t indifference but, indeed, longing. Years of
marriage to a Vulcan do that to you. But Spock would probably turn down the
present or call it ‘illogical’. In either case, it wouldn’t be very romantic.
No, he had to do something else, something that would pique Spock’s curiosity…
He reached the engine room where Scotty and
Spock were working on repairing the warp core. He handed them the pizza box
without a word.
“Thank you, sir,” Scotty smiled at him.
He nodded in acknowledgment. As Spock reached
for his own, meat-free slice of pizza, James Kirk had an epiphany. He couldn’t
help the grin that crept onto his face.
“Is everything alright, Admiral?” Spock asked,
raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
“It will be,” Jim answered absent-mindedly.
The worst part had been finding out how much
money he had to give to the impatient young woman at the counter. The more
impatiently she chewed her gum, the more distressed Jim became. He eventually
got it right –without anyone’s help, mind you- and walked back to the ship
holding his head up proudly. The next challenge had been getting into the
outfit; a tale better left untold, in Jim’s opinion. A lot of swearing and
cursing and sweating later, he was finally ready –and not displeased with his
reflection in the giant sized mirror he had found in the Klingon captain’s
quarters (probably to fit his equally sized ego, Jim thought bitterly). After
that, all he had to do was wait. So he waited, rather impatiently, picking
books at random on a PADD he had found lying around and doing his best at
unscrambling the Klingon letters on the screen, pacing across the room all the
When Spock walked into the captain’s quarters
at the end of the day, he was greeted by the sight of Jim Kirk sitting on the
bed in a wine-red jacket with an elbow placed on his knee. His tan chest was
peeking out of an open white shirt, the collar curling around the base of his
neck. Jim slowly lifted his head and slid a hand in his hair, looking up at
Spock with languid fascination. The Vulcan paused at the entrance, hesitating
for a small, almost imperceptible moment, before stepping into the room and
letting the doors swoosh closed.
“Admiral?” he asked uncertainly.
Jim smirked in response. Spock’s initial
surprise faded away as he watched his bondmate run his fingers through his hair
then let his palm rest on the back of his neck, exposing more skin to the
Vulcan’s entranced eyes. Spock took a step forward and Jim slowly pushed
himself to his feet. They were face to face, bodies brushing, and Jim’s hand
slid up his husband’s arm to cup his jaw. Then their eyes met and the moment
shattered like glass, splashing Jim with cold water and hitting him with a
violent pang of realization. Spock’s gaze was unfocused, distracted… he was
somewhere else. Far away. Jim was certain there had never been this kind of
distance between them, the kind of uncomfortable stillness that made the person
he loved most feel like a stranger in his arms. It was unbearable to think of
Spock that way. And what was even more maddening was the quietness with which
the Vulcan surrendered; he didn’t ask him to stop, he didn’t push him away, he
just stood there like a statue. The perfect image of pure Vulcan composure.
Jim turned away before their lips met. “I can’t
do this,” he muttered.
Sighing, he let himself fall back down on the
“You don’t remember, do you?” he asked an
exasperatingly quiet Spock; “The way you feel about me? The way you used to
His voice trailed off and the rest of his words
got stuck in his throat, but he caught himself before crumbling to pieces. He
buried his head in his hands and waited for Spock to leave; it would be easier
for both of them that way. But a few moments later he felt the weight of his
bondmate sitting on the bed beside him and he looked up. Of course, Spock had never
been one for the easy way out.
“I remember you wearing something similar to
this on Milika III,” Spock said matter-of-factly, nodding towards Jim’s outfit.
For a moment the Human was utterly taken aback.
He had been expecting to hear many things… but that was certainly not one of
them. He frowned, trying to grasp what Spock was telling him. And then it came
back to him: a blur of faces and places and a burgundy red outfit.
“Yes,” he gasped, probing his memory for more
details; “Yes. The undercover mission on Milika III.”
Shaking his head, he stared at his partner with
renewed awe. Spock wore his usual mask of sternness but beneath it, he looked
lost and confused. There was something heartbreaking about the way he
soundlessly stared back at Jim, weak and vulnerable underneath his cloak of
“Spock, that was twenty years ago,” Jim said as
he shook his head disbelievingly.
The Vulcan remained still, brown eyes locked on
hazel ones, and Jim Kirk knew in that moment exactly what he had to do. He was
going to wait. He realized Spock hadn’t forgotten his feelings for him: they
were simply trapped inside the web of contradictions he carried inside him. He
was stuck twenty years ago, back when his most profound beliefs constantly
challenged his feelings. But he remembered: and that was all that mattered. Jim
would wait as long as it took. Unlike the first time -when he had allowed
himself to drown in self-pity and let go of everything he held dear- he would
stand by Spock’s side and wait. And when you’re ready, I’ll be here; I’ll
help you through it all. This time, he wouldn’t give up on him. And if they
never recovered from this one, so be it. It had been Spock and him for two
decades; it would be Spock and him from now on and until forever, even if the
Vulcan never came to terms with his emotions. I won’t give up on you. Not
this time. The silence lingered between them for a moment too long. Jim
cleared his throat.
“Well, I suppose the sight must’ve been a lot
prettier back then,” he said, looking down at his outfit in a pitiful attempt
“I had not noticed,” Spock replied, raising an
Is he…? Could he be flirting? Jim’s eyebrows
raised and he tilted his head to the side.
“Oh really?” he grinned, already feeling much
more comfortable; “How do you I look then?”
“Damn good,” Spock said, in his most perfectly
controlled utterly impassive voice.
~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~
A birthday present for our dearest Captain, plaidshirtjimkirk. You’re the best, tumblr best friend for life! <33
I teamed up with the one and only spockshair, and guess what happened? THIS WONDERFUL PIECE OF ART (click)
+ AO3 link