Yours

by Cate Adams

After a grueling run under the threat of war, Jim prepares for a mission sure to go wrong. What happens when, instead, everything goes absolutely right? (K/S)

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at works/2635730.

For nml, who endures my angst, and angelocustode, whose poetic reviews I shamelessly court. Enjoy!

Jim Kirk sighed and pulled at the collar of his dress uniform, staring at the small flashing green light at the top of his computer screen. Message sent. He was officially married. He made a face and shifted his shoulders, feeling twinges along his back, knowing that the sleek lines of his uniform hid marks and bruises and the faint lines of a surgical incision. He could lightly feel his new husband through their bond, sensing the half-Vulcan's focused concentration, knowing that the first officer was still, even at this last minute, overseeing desperately needed repairs to the main sensor array. They had taken a terrible pounding, and his lady, like himself, still bore the scars.

His comm beeped and he flipped the key, "Kirk here."

"Uhura, sir. Message incoming from Admiral Lee on the Patuxent."

"Put her through, Lieutenant."

"Aye."

Jim hear the faint snap of the channel switching, "Kirk here, Admiral."

"Captain, I just received my copy of your paperwork. Congratulations." The admiral's voice was oddly flat, and not surprisingly. The latest posturing between the Federation and the Klingon Empire along the neutral zone had dragged on for over three weeks, punctuated by sporadic reports of engagements between supposed rogue parties and isolated Fleet ships. The Enterprise herself had encountered a squadron of unmarked ships while en route to Starbase Two on routine patrol, with near-catastrophic consequences. The Klingons were blaming the Orions for that particular action and the diplomats were still holding onto hope that a solution could be found. So far, both sides seemed to be shying away from outright war. So far.

Jim shrugged, even though he knew the woman couldn't see him, "Thank you, ma'am."

He heard her exhale, "I know that it seems somewhat ridiculous, but we need that treaty to break the stalemate and I'm willing to try anything at this point."

"Yes, ma'am. We're due to enter Nixlahri space in less than one hour."

"Good. Do your best and get out. We need you out here as soon as possible now that your ship is operational."

Barely. "Acknowledged, Admiral." Jim scowled as the channel closed, knowing that the actual chances of a successful treaty were next to nothing. The Federation had been attempting to negotiate with the five dilithium-rich and strategically placed systems in the Nixlahri dominion for fifteen years, sending team after team: captains and diplomats alike, only to be politely declined every time.

This latest strategy was a long shot, and most likely futile, playing on the Nixlahri obsession with morality and societal structure, and the recently bonded members of the command team of Starfleet's flagship were the best possible emissaries.

Lee's gambit was that the Nixlahri would negotiate with a married couple, and Command had green-lit the endeavor, knowing there was really nothing left to try. And all that stood between Jim and Spock's recently reported t'hy'la bonding and their full and open status as spouses under clear and obvious Federation law was their signatures on a marriage license.

Done and done. Jim's scowl deepened as he heard his door chime, "Come."

Leonard McCoy stepped into the cabin, stopping short as the door slid shut behind him and he caught sight of his friend's expression. "He didn't divorce you already, did he?"

Jim snorted, his scowl fading, and he leaned forward, rubbing his hands over his eyes tiredly, "Not yet. Probably not as important as 'fix the ship' on his to-do list."

Bones grunted and crossed his arms over his chest, "Probably not." He sighed, "You two have been through a lot these past two weeks. I imagine this isn't helping."

Jim grimaced, "Has it been two weeks? Want to listen to some good old-fashioned griping?"

The doctor shrugged and moved to sit on Jim's couch, "It's what they pay me for."

Jim leaned back, shifting against the stiff material of his uniform, "He saved my life with that bond and probably saved us two more years of dancing around each other."

"Yeah." Bones winced and Jim watched him, knowing that his friend was remembering a desperate emergency surgery performed standing next to a Vulcan who was mentally fighting for Jim's life. The doctor had told the captain later that he was certain that if Jim had died, Spock would have gone, too.

"I almost feel like that was cheating somehow, though. We know what we are to each other; hell, we probably knew it before, but when the bond formed during that meld there was no room to hide or to pretend to misunderstand anything anymore. Kaiidth."

Bones looked amused, "You know I don't speak Vulcan." He furrowed his brow, "How is it cheating?"

"When you affirm something like that with someone you don't want a crisis to be the reason it happens. And now this," he waved his hand at the still-blinking screen, "A marriage requested by the admiralty for strategic value, and two signatures later it's done. And we weren't even in the same room when we each signed it." Jim heaved a sigh, "I mean, aside from being on the bridge together, usually on alert status, we've barely been in the same room since the bond happened. Between the ship being blown apart and put back together and all the other shit we've had to deal with, I've put more romance into one-night stands."

McCoy rolled his eyes, "You'd be surprised how many declarations of love happen in the middle of crises. Besides, the supposedly unemotional Vulcan risked his life and formed an irrevocable mental bond with you. And I've had to watch the two of you stare at each other sappily since this five-year mission started. It all seems pretty damn romantic to me." He sniffed, "Or at least as good as you're gonna get in this service."

"You know what I mean."

"So what? He's a Vulcan and you've always done everything you could do avoid that kind of stuff anyway."

Jim shook his head, "This is different; this is us."

McCoy chuckled darkly and looked up, gesturing broadly, "This is you; both of you: duty and responsibility and putting this ship and her crew above yourselves. That's probably why it took you both so long in the first place."

"We just haven't had any time." Jim ran a hand over his eyes again, "Fuck. I don't know why I'm even thinking about this now. I've got a fucking diplomatic clusterfuck to fuck up."

"Well, as long as we're being optimistic," Bones replied dryly. "Jim, the ship is still in one piece, no one has died, and no one's declared war yet. You're doing okay."

"I guess."

Jim's tone was flat and the intercom beeped, drawing their attention, "Spock here, Captain. We are approaching the Nixlahri outer markers. Preparing to drop out of warp."

Jim sensed unrelenting concentration from his bondmate and, more subtly, growing fatigue. "Very good, Mr. Spock. On my way." He stood and straightened his tunic, watching Bones stand up as well.

"Wish me luck?"

His friend offered him a half-smile, "Good luck, kid. Go get'em."

The Nixlahri Central Command had sent a mainline cruiser to the outer markers, no doubt in response to a message from the Federation regarding an urgent need to commence a diplomatic dialogue in light of the escalating situation along the neutral zone. Previously, such attempts had resulted in lengthy communication with the involved parties remaining on their respective ships, and a polite but firm refusal to be any more than nonaggressive neighbors. This time, however, the Nixlahri captain requested the command team beam over at their convenience, which set the security chief murmuring under his breath about a trap, but meant that Jim and Spock were almost immediately on their way to the transporter room.

The doors to the turbolift slid shut, and Jim looked at his new husband. Spock looked tired, which was shocking in and of itself, and made the human step closer, reaching a still-tentative hand to brush against Spock's. "Uh, congratulations?"

He smiled sheepishly; a smile that widened in surprise as Spock unreservedly clasped their hands together and leaned forward, bringing his other hand gently around the back of Jim's neck and letting their foreheads touch.

The weak perception of the bond expanded in Jim's mind, and he felt his husband's longing for closeness and deep, awe-inspiring love: exactly what he had sensed in their meld as he hovered on the edge of death; exactly what had ultimately brought him back.

"I wanted to… ." Jim's voice trailed off and he closed his eyes, feeling Spock's fingers move subtly, tracing delicate, tiny circles over his skin. "I'm… ." He searched for an expression of gratitude to an officer who had saved Jim's ship and his life after the remaining enemy vessel's final, suicidal run and the captain's life-threatening injury. For an apology to his dearest friend for everything Jim had not yet had a chance to say or do as they had both rushed to keep their crew safe and their ship whole. For a promise to a partner to honor the commitment he had made, despite the circumstances. He wanted to say all those things, yet couldn't find the words, and he tensed as he heard the antigravs hum as the lift slowed, pulling back as Spock did the same, the doors sweeping open to the hallway leading to the transporter room, duty beckoning again.

Jim kept a confident smile on his face as he materialized next to his first officer, meeting the shining golden eyes of three Nixlahri representatives. He lifted his chin, relying on the universal translator attached to his belt, "Greetings on behalf of the United Federation of Planets. I am James T. Kirk, in command of the flagship Enterprise." He paused just slightly, "And this," he raised his left hand, two fingers extended, "is my first officer and spouse, Commander Spock." Spock did not hesitate to extend his own two fingers and touch them to Jim's, and Jim couldn't help a flush of contentment run through his body, his smile softening as their fingers brushed, and then separated. Jim continued, "We are here, as you know, to personally extend our invitation and sincerest hopes for a full relationship with your government, including diplomatic and trade considerations."

He had taken a breath to continue, when the nearest golden-eyed representative raised a long, three-fingered hand. The soft, hissing speech became a calm, feminine monotone through the translator, "I am Point Representative Fhyeld, and these are my assistants. Captain Kirk, I wish to be plain. Our dominion, as you know, has eschewed Federation and Klingon interference thus far. However, we are now willing to reconsider our position."

It was pure willpower that kept Jim's surprise from registering on his face, and even Spock tensed as they took in the representative's words. He inclined his head, "May I inquire… ?"

Fhyeld interrupted him, "I will also be brief, as I am aware of the escalating situation along your neutral zone. My government will sign a treaty with the Federation and will lend our support to your effort to prevent interstellar war."

Jim blinked, "Your Excellency, that is welcome news."

He hesitated, and Fhyeld cocked her head at him, "You do not understand our abrupt change of mind."

Jim knew he had to be careful, "Respectfully, I am satisfied with the friendship that will exist between… ."

Fhyeld let out a rough, chortling sound and waved her arm again, "You are a fine diplomat, Kirk, but time is of the essence and I wish us to understand each other." She peered at Jim, and then at Spock, "Our culture is a proud one. We hold ourselves to high standards and prize our independence." She paused, "The Federation has sent many emissaries to us, and while we agree with the spirit of your laws, we wished for a more, demonstrable display of goodwill and understanding. You have given us that."

Jim glanced at Spock and Fhyeld sniffed loudly, "Your heroism and successes with your spouse are well-known to us. You have saved your own government, both from external threats and from internal corruption. You are devoted to your duty, and, through your union, demonstrate that you value commitment and responsibility and self-sacrifice. Our culture believes that a revered union between two beings is necessary for maturity, and you both represent the best of your Starfleet. We are honored."

Jim furrowed his brow, but the representative continued, "We understand, of course, that our culture is our culture, and will be joining a diverse array of others. But to send you shows that the Federation is sensitive to our concerns. It is a small thing, perhaps, but was a necessary token to certain influential members of our government."

Jim inwardly thought that Admiral Lee was a fucking genius. Outwardly, he nodded and said something appropriately diplomatic, and watched as Spock requested permission for a yeoman to beam over with necessary documents. He clasped his hands behind his back, and, safe from prying eyes, pinched his palm to confirm that this was indeed actually happening. He saw his husband raise an eyebrow at him and he shrugged slightly, recovering his smile as Fhyeld gestured them towards a large table against the far wall.

Fifteen hours. Fifteen hours twenty-two minutes and an odd number of seconds, and Jim, Spock, and Yeoman Ben-Alev materialized on the transporter pad on the Enterprise to raucous cheers and clapping from crewmembers spilling out into the corridor. News of the treaty signing had been leaked to the Empire, and, with the threat of a new, powerful ally joining the fight the Klingons had decided to back down. Lee had ordered the Enterprise to the starbase nearest the neutral zone, partially to undertake needed repairs, and partially to be close in case the Klingons changed their minds.

Jim raised his hands and the din slowly faded, "Thanks, everyone. I know we've been through a lot, and this is welcome news, but we're not out yet. Rogue fighters might not have gotten the message, so we're heading out to Starbase Four under yellow alert and with defensive posture."

His firm voice and serious expression failed to remove the grins from the assembled crew, and Jim found he was finally unable to suppress his own answering smile as he stepped down from the platform with Spock close behind him. The command team stepped out into the corridor and towards the turbolift, and, as the doors closed behind them and Jim pressed the key for the bridge, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, fatigue and stress catching up with him.

"Jim." Spock's voice was gentle, and the captain opened his eyes as the lift slowed and paused, seeing the Vulcan's hand on the control panel.

Jim could feel concern overlaying his husband's own tiredness and shook his head, straightening, "I'll be alright. Six hours to Four and then I can stand down."

"I will take the bridge, Jim."

"No."

Spock didn't answer, merely pressing the button for the medbay, and Jim made a face as the lift began to move, "Fuck. Fine. But I want you off-duty as soon as we're secure at the base; you look like shit and that's saying something." Spock raised an eyebrow and silently changed the command to deck five. Jim reached out and brushed his husband's fingers as they dropped from the panel, feeling that surge of longing and love distantly through the contact. He sighed and shook his head, "I'm still skeptical of this whole treaty, you know. It wasn't just so simple as procuring a marriage contract, was it? Because, if so, that would make me feel pretty stupid on behalf of the Federation."

Spock tilted his head, allowing their fingers to entwine loosely, his large dark eyes soft, "I believe that circumstances conspired such that the contract was the proverbial 'straw', t'hy'la. My father often said that diplomatic success rests on the random path of a single grain of sand."

"Not logical, then."

"It is logical to accept such randomness as inherent. Accept your success. War was prevented."

"And we got married." The corner of Jim's mouth quirked playfully.

Spock lowered his eyes momentarily, releasing Jim's hand as the turbolift slowed again, "I am yours, Jim. I have been… ."

"…And ever shall be." Jim finished in a whisper, the words slipping into his mind as if from a long-forgotten memory. They stared at each other and Jim could feel his husband's presence suddenly so clearly: the devotion, the wonder, and if he just moved closer… .

The doors slid open and Jim started and blinked, seeing Spock deliberately step back, his hands at his sides.

"Six hours." Jim heard his own voice shake.

Spock inclined his head, "Yes, Captain."

The door to the captain's cabin opened smoothly and Jim rolled his eyes as he saw Bones already there, leaning against his desk. He waved his hand, "I was on my way to the bridge when I was thwarted by my stubborn first officer."

McCoy grunted and stepped aside as Jim made directly for his bunk, "Good; the hobgoblin's got much better sense than you. He's got the bridge?"

"Yeah. Through to docking, at least." Jim flung himself facedown onto his bed without bothering with his boots. He turned his head slightly, "You might want to intimidate him a little when we get there; he's pretty tired."

"Don't tell me my damn job." McCoy snorted, "He's on my list, believe me." He paused, his tone gentling, "You did good, kid."

"I didn't do anything. Lee's crazy plan worked and the rest was timing."

There was an extended silence and Jim pushed his head up, "What?"

"Nothing." McCoy response was too quick, "Just thinking. You need a hypo to sleep?"

"I'm halfway there already," Jim mumbled, closing his eyes. "Hell of a wedding night."

The doctor chuckled, "Well I'll leave you to it, then." Jim dimly heard the door open and shut, and then pleasant, inevitable darkness swallowed him.

Jim groaned and turned over, his body stiff and his mouth painfully dry. He licked his lips and blinked, raising his head just enough to peer at the chrono.

"Fuck!" He sat up and groaned again, running a hand through his hair and wincing as his head erupted in a dull ache.

"Jim." The gentle, even tones surprised him, even as he felt the brush of sensation through the bond, and he stared at his husband, sitting cross-legged on the floor against the far bulkhead.

"It's been over eight hours! How… ?"

Spock tilted his head, "Mr. Scott's rapid repairs allowed warp six speed to the starbase, which improved our arrival by two point one hours. After sleeping, per medical orders, for three hours, I took the liberty of attempting meditation here."

Jim blinked, "Attempting?" He could not sense his husband's fatigue anymore through the bond, but didn't know if that was due to his own meager abilities or a true perception.

"I have not had sufficient time to proceed. I apologize if my presence disturbed you."

"No." Jim quickly held up a hand, "No, you didn't." He made a face, "Three hours?"

Spock raised his chin, "As a Vulcan, I am… ."

Jim snorted delicately, shaking his head and interrupting, "Good luck spinning that to McCoy." He smirked, "He doesn't know you're in here, does he?"

When Spock merely looked at him, Jim grinned, "Well, I won't tell if you don't. Who's in command? I assume we made dock in one piece."

"Lieutenant Commander Harlan has command, presently. There were no altercations or incidents en route, and Admiral Lee has sent a communiqué confirming Klingon withdrawal amidst the appearance of three mainliners sent by the Nixlahri government."

"Damn. So we're… ."

"By medical order, we are both off-duty for the next eighteen hours. Assuming there is no red level emergency, of course."

"Of course." Jim cocked an eyebrow in a caricature of his husband, "This feels weird."

Spock exhaled in what might well pass for a sigh amongst Vulcans, "I beg your pardon?"

"This," Jim waved a hand, "Downtime. I've… ." He paused, feeling a slight blush color his cheeks as he remembered love and heat and what might be, now that they had a chance to face it, "I'm glad we're here."

Spock blinked at him and Jim took a breath, pushing himself up and stretching his back, "I'm going to hit the head and take a shower." He laughed nervously, "We can talk when I get out."

Spock made a slow, deliberate nod, never losing eye contact, and Jim turned and walked stiffly into the bathroom. He felt profoundly awkward, for the first time in over two weeks not having to worry desperately and obsessively about his ship's very survival. His abrupt awakening was still sending adrenaline through his veins and he absently palmed the door shut, relieving his full bladder, and brushing his teeth. He downed two cups of water and eyed the communication unit on the wall. He almost reached for it, and then he remembered his husband in the next room. No. He turned deliberately away, stripping himself of his shirt and stepping over to the shower, pressing the controls for hot water.

Steam billowed almost immediately into the slight chill of the room and Jim felt overcome by the sheer realization that his ship was docked safely, that the crew was okay, that war had been pushed aside for another day. Another day. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cool door of the shower, closing his eyes. He didn't hear the outer door slide open, but he did sense the slight brightening of the bond in his head. He smiled, feeling the faintest touch of warm fingers across his shoulder, turning to see his husband standing in front of him, dark eyes wide and questioning, one hand still raised.

Yes. He lifted his own hand, entwining their fingers together, palms touching. Spock's intake of breath, the instinctive tightening of his fingers, was almost imperceptible, and Jim leaned forward, bringing his other hand around his husband's neck, bringing their foreheads together as Spock had done before. They stood like that for precious seconds, strong emotion swelling between them, rising. And Jim felt Spock press forward just enough to lean in himself, feeling his husband's breath ghost across his lips before their mouths met.

It was light, and heat, and delicious pressure, the steam surrounding them making everything hazy, the bond rendering everything inhumanly intense. And Jim forgot his remaining aches and worries in the ridiculous pleasure of lips and tongues. His hand slipped higher into silky, black hair, and he smiled into Spock's mouth, separating just enough to look into beloved brown eyes, "I told you we'd fit." Those eyes narrowed slightly as eidetic memory recalled Jim's triumphant pronouncement on Qo'noS, and Jim's smile widened. "Feel like a shower?"

The ghost of a smile curved his husband's lips and Spock stepped back, forcing Jim to release him, reaching down and pulling his own tunic over his head in a rakish move that sent a jolt of lust straight to the captain's groin. Hell fucking yeah.

Jim strode down the corridors of the Enterprise, desperately fighting an incredibly satisfied grin. Spock walked impassively at his side, appearing to ignore his captain's facial contortions. As the doors to the medbay loomed, Jim prodded his husband through their bond, "I'm going to give him shit for this; first he tells us to rest, and then he pulls us down for an exam."

Spock's well-hidden amusement rippled, "It is per regulations to require an exam prior to resuming active duty after a medical order."

Jim smirked, now intimately aware of how fascinated Spock was by his husband's very human and dynamic humor, and lowered his voice, "You just couldn't handle me."

Brown eyes darkened, and Jim was suddenly glad the corridors were empty, "I have handled you, t'hy'la. And will continue to do so."

Heat surged through the bond and Jim desperately thought of cold water and naked Tellarites, willing his burgeoning erection away. He sensed the shimmering gilt of Spock's mental laughter again and felt a wellspring of love and utter thankfulness for his mate, finally letting the stupid grin surface as the medbay doors slid open.

The sudden shouts of congratulations and applause made Jim gasp as he and Spock stepped in to face the senior bridge crew and a smug Doctor McCoy.

"What the… ," The captain began, seeing proud smiles and champagne, and Bones stepped forward, handing two glasses to the command team before raising his own.

"Here's to a proper reception for two beings obviously completely smitten with each other. Your devotion to each other is an inspiration and a joy. Even to me. Cheers." He winked and took a sip as a murmur of agreement echoed through the room and then peered at Jim, "Well? You wanted to have a chance at some good old-fashioned romance, kid. Now's the fucking time."

Jim shrugged and extended a chaste two fingers towards his husband, who raised an eyebrow and, heedless of Vulcan discretion and the assembled crowd, leaned in to press a soft kiss to the captain's lips. Renewed cheers rose, and, as they separated, Jim heard a quiet murmur, "Talukh nash-veh k'du."

"See, Jim?" McCoy grinned widely, "He cherishes you. Now drink up."

The captain eyed his friend, "I thought you didn't speak Vulcan."

McCoy's grin took on a mischievous air, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Jim shook his head, content to let the doctor finally have the last word.

THE END

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, and I do not make any money from this.