Title: Shrimp Flavored Pringles
Warning: Slash!
Note: Bold italics is Spock Prime/Original Kirk; italics is past events
Note 2: I wrote the story while I was in Japan, and while thinking about how I was going to tell this story, I saw a can of - can you guess it? Yep, shrimp flavored Pringles!
-X-
You close your eyes, open your hand palm up, and wait.
-x-
That's where I'm from, Jim, the future.
You know that you're only supposed to be seeing Nero, seeing how his tragedies played out.
"Spock!"
It was your voice, older. It was a voice that was calling out the half-Vulcan's name in a way that was disturbing and exhilarating all at the same time.
The first time had been frantic and messy and violent - the aftermath of one of your more dangerous adventures planet-side.
And then it was gone, as if Spock Prime had just realized what it was that had leaked through.
The memory burned at the forefront of your mind, playing over and over. Its sudden absence left you cold and strangely bitter.
-x-
You close your eyes, open your hand palm up, and wait.
-x-
"You never loved her!"
The force of Spock's fist against your already bruised face almost made you second-guess your decision. You defended yourself as best as you could, but who would've thought that this guy would be so ridiculously strong?
And just as quickly as it had begun, you found yourself bent backwards, Spock's hand locked on your throat and hot breath in your face.
Spock Prime's memory surfaced again and you tried desperately to hide the emotions it elicited. All your Spock had to do was open that mental link and he would see what could've been.
"Spock!" the Ambassador immediately reigned in his son, you made a mental note to send him flowers or whatever it was older Vulcans were in to.
-x-
You close your eyes, open your hand palm up, and wait.
-x-
The night after the battle with Nero, you dream of the memory Spock Prime gave to you (there was no way he would be that careless, you know that now; it had to have been intentional).
All the details disgustingly vivid and all the sensations horrifically wonderful.
You wake up with a hard-on, your body and sheets drenched with sticky sweat.
-x-
You close your eyes, open your hand palm up, and wait.
-x-
You tried to tell him not to do it, but your words were stuck, drowning in the blood in your mouth.
You tried to watch Spock's face during the meld, but the warm waters of Spock's mind drew you in, encompassing you, as you opened the gate to your memories.
It was strange how the moment Spock's fingers touched your face, the pain of being shot by the antique pistol had slowly dissolved away – leaving in its wake a soothing calm. Then, just as you thought that you could do this forever, the pain was back full force and you were still choking on your own blood.
You opened your eyes, dismayed when Spock was nowhere to be seen.
"Jim!" McCoy's voice was muffled and distant.
You kept opening your mouth, trying to tell McCoy that you were done, to just leave. And where the hell did Spock go? Did he find what he was looking for with the meld?
McCoy's hand flurried around your body, tearing your shirt, treating for shock, a hypo for the pain, cleaning your wound.
There was something that you were supposed to be telling him, something important about this planet's atmosphere.
"Get us out of here, Enterprise," McCoy shouted into his communicator once he had done what he could with your wound.
"Spock?" you still felt like you were choking even though it looked like every drop of blood in your body was soaking into the ground around you.
"He's with Sulu, Jim, they're looking for that signal," McCoy fiddled with the dressing.
"We're beaming you aboard now," Scotty's thickly accented voice came over the communicator.
You feel the familiar pull on your gut as the Enterprise's transporter beam locked onto you and McCoy.
-x-
You close your eyes, open your hand palm up, and wait.
-x-
When you wake up in the infirmary, the first face you see is Spock's.
He tells you that the mission was somewhat of a success, if one didn't count the whole Captain-getting-shot-at-by-a-Reaver thing.
"And one more thing, Captain," Spock took a step forward. "Why did you not tell me about the relationship between our alternate selves?"
Oh, shit… you shift your eyes, looking at everything except the Vulcan in front of you. You decide to go on the offensive.
"How is it fair that you can look into my mind but I can't look into yours?"
"You're avoiding the question."
You cursed Spock and his unparalleled powers of observation.
"How do you start a conversation like that?" you tried indignation instead. "'Oh hey, Spock, you'll never guess what happened after you marooned me: I did a mind-meld with the 140-year-old you and a memory of our other selves getting it on slipped right through the cracks. Pretty funny, huh?'"
You roll your eyes and continued to mutter to yourself.
Spock says nothing; his face stays a blank slate that you can't read. Slowly, he turns and quietly leaves medical bay.
"That was a little harsh, don't you think?" McCoy enters the room, brandishing a hypo.
Before you can even ask, McCoy puts a hand up to stop you.
"Let me tell you what happened after you passed out."
-x-
You close your eyes, open your hand palm up, and wait.
-x-
You walk slowly through the halls, barely able to acknowledge the greetings from your crew.
That goblin was a wreck, Jim.
You stop at the mess hall and go through the motions of eating.
He never left your side. He told me about what he saw. And, you know I wouldn't believe this unless I saw it with my own eyes. Hope, Jim. What does that tell you?
Could it work?
I don't give a damn what regulations say, I've been watching this memory – that doesn't belong to either of you – haunt you day in, day out. I see the way you look at him when no one else is looking.
You stop outside Spock's cabin.
And I see the way he looks at you when no one else is looking.
You raise your hand and knock.
"Enter."
Forget regulations; like you've ever paid much attention to them in the first place – so don't start now just because you're scared.
"Captain? How can-"
The kiss is slow, gentle – almost to the point of agony.
Don't even think about arguing with me, Jim. I'm the doctor.
"Jim?"
You close your eyes, open your hand palm up, and wait.
Just go for it.
You feel one hand grasp yours tightly as the other was brought up to rest on your face.
You laugh softly as Spock's mind brushes against your own, silently asking.
He won't say no.
-X-