enterprise fan art

In “Home” (S4E03) the Enterprise crew takes some time for R&R after the events of the Xindi arc and the finale of the Temporal Cold War. Trip and T’Pol take advantage of that time to visit T’Pol’s family on Vulcan. So take some time and plan a vacation to visit Vulcan yourself!

You know what I love? I love Vulcan robes and sweet protective Jim! This is an illustration for a fic I’m writing, it’s called ‘100 Words’ and it’s obviously Spirk, duh.

It’s on FanFiction.net for anyone interested!

 https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12174343/1/100-Words

Here’s the extract from the scene:

“Hey.” Jim’s fingers swept over his cheekbone, caressing rhythmically, and his voice was barely above a whisper when it reached him, drawing him up and away from the unbecoming swirl of his fears. “I’m still here.” The careful reminder had him swallow and shiver, and the Vulcan leaned into the human’s touch for a brief second, drawing his strength from him. Their eyes met, gazes held for several minutes -he was not certain how many, but found the notion irrelevant anyway- and finally Spock shook his head slowly.

Kirk frowned. “Don’t be like that,” he said gently, no hint of anger or irritation in his tone; his palm never left his skin, the contact offering an endless source of comfort and affection which the telepath soaked up greedily, a trembling breath leaving his lips as he felt his tension ease in spite of everything. “You must tell me if I wanna help. And you know I always do, don’t you, Spock?”

The Vulcan nodded immediately. “I am aware.” He pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead: “But my issue is nothing that can be dealt with in a matter of… twelve point fifty-nine minutes.”

Jim embraced him for a moment, then let go as he went to retrieve the silvery IDIC pin that meant so much to him before placing it on his chest. “Later, then. After the mission.”

Spock watched his Captain in silence, the rosy hue of his cheeks, the golden tan of his skin, the rich green of his command shirt, the mercurial brightness of his irises. It was absurd how important he was to him, how irreplaceable -he wanted to tell him, to call him t’hy’la, to say the word to his face and explain it in all its fullness, to paint the picture of a soulmate and a haven, an oasis and a refuge, safe and unchanging. Instead he leaned forward minutely, subtly requesting to be held again, and his k’diwa did so without hesitation, drawing him within the protective circle of his arms.

“Foreigner, where is your home?”

Perhaps I have found it in you.

He closed his eyes.