AN: So my finals are finally over! To celebrate I decided to indulge in something sweet and brief, but don't worry, I'm halfway through writing the next chapter for '100 Words', I'm not giving the story up! I just had to get this out of my system first...
This is a songfic, with a lot more fic and a lot less song than it should have, but, well... The song is 'Say my name' by 'Whitin Temptation', and I so recommend it! (And any other Whitin Temptation song, honestly, they're divine!)
Please enjoy some Space Husbands getting back together!
Say my name
Say my name
So I will know you're back
You're here again for a while
"Jim. Your name… is Jim." He said it softly, tentatively, as if aware of how charged the moment was, how his every word was the very breath in the human's lungs; and that familiar air of deep, considerate concentration was present on his face -a miracle, Spock was a miracle.
Kirk smiled, for the first time since the worst tragedy of his life he smiled again, a smile full of wonder and love, because he was a miracle, so perfect and whole, standing there before him -so close, he'd never dreamed they would ever share the same space again- staring still. Those eyes -so intent, so hesitant yet unashamed of their searching- had always been open to him, and how could he turn away now that he had the chance to learn their secrets once more? He was enraptured.
Spock.
The Vulcan blinked -a slow fanning of dark lashes the human had kissed so many times, and wished to kiss anew- and cocked his head to the side just so, like a cat, a gesture the Admiral treasured in his heart and memory like the precious, fragile thing it was, escaped from death itself to meet him again. You are a miracle.
He had called him Jim.
And Jim hoped.
Oh, let us share
The memories that only we can share
Together
In his mother's garden, Spock bent to smell a flower and Jim watched silently, standing by his side -so close but not close enough, not anymore, and it was painful. The human shivered as he contemplated the scene unfolding before him (torn right from a dream, a long-lost memory, something he'd never thought he'd witness again). And he fell in love, he fell in love and there was no hope, because he could only watch in silence with an aching heart as those beloved hands slid tenderly -caringly, because re-born or not, his Vulcan would always be respectful of life- under the delicate petals, cradling the white corolla as if it were an infant's fragile head.
The tender flower unfolded to reveal its golden depths, yielding to that gentle grasp, and Kirk had seen so many creatures melt under Spock's disarming kindness -it would never change, would it, the way he threaded through the world, walking on tiptoes, making no sound, unobtrusive and observant and curious.
How many times had Jim swept behind him, wrapping both arms around his thin waist, just to feel the Vulcan relax against him, the graceful arc of his spine moulding itself to his chest, to see him tilt his head back, discreetly asking for kisses, his gaze softening as he let the barriers keeping their minds in place dissolve so they could meet each other across the bond…
They'd spent their last vacation before Khan in a garden on a far-away planet. It had been, perhaps, one of the happiest they had ever shared -secluded behind a curtain of colourful blossoms, nearly drowning in a sea of perfumes that mingled perfectly, they lived outside under a clear sky, and it seemed that, at last, they had found Eden. It was a sanctuary of peace. They made love among the flowers, and Spock looked so beautiful, so beautiful, laying into the wild grass, an otherworldly creature, an elf or a forest spirit, ethereal and unique and so precious.
Jim had promised they would return. They never had the chance to, and that broken promise had haunted him, tortured him with what could have been, with what he should have done… Even now, drinking in the miraculous sight of his revived bondmate, he felt the urge to apologise, to beg forgiveness.
But he was so different, and it would make no sense to apologise for something the Vulcan did not remember.
He loved him so much. He wanted to hold him -needed to make sure he was there, truly there, needed to touch his silken hair and the points of his ears and feel the beating of his green heart under his palm.
But he was so distant.
"Admiral," Spock said, collecting himself; he straightened his back and the moment was gone abruptly, dissolved in a flash, as if it never was. "I apologise for my distraction. Please, let us proceed."
Please, say my name, Jim begged in his mind.
But he kept quiet.
He was a miracle, but he wasn't his miracle anymore.
Tell me about
The days before I was born,
How we were as children
In 1986 Earth, they boarded a train and Spock flattened himself to Kirk's side, needlessly squeezing their shoulders together, his cool weight a welcome presence for the human, even though it brought an aching sense of familiarity to the surface. He did not blame the Vulcan for seeking the comfort of a friendly touch -those were harsh times, and more than once had a stranger accidentally and unknowingly forced his thoughts and feelings upon the telepath by bumping into him, grabbing his elbow, tapping his arm.
Jim basked in the stolen closeness, subtly leaning against his friend's solid form as the train made its way slowly through the busy city. His eyes fell on the fuzzy white robe Spock was wearing and he unconsciously smiled -he was just too cute, especially when contrasted with his severe surroundings. In another life, Kirk would have told him, and the half-blood would have blushed lightly, looking down and shaking his head minutely, before straightening his expression and proclaiming, with his signature deadpan tone, that Vulcans are not cute, Jim, please cease referring to me as such, it is undignified. And then Kirk would laugh, and an air of mischief would pass very briefly across his husband's handsome face, and of course, that was cute as hell.
These were extraordinary circumstances, however, and Spock would not understand the compliment, which would result most certainly in Jim having to explain -something he could not do, for he had been warned against disclosing the full details of their connection. It was too risky, and too unfair to the Vulcan, who would undoubtedly feel obliged to carry on with a relationship he did not really want for the sake of a past he did not truly remember.
He raised his eyes to the Vulcan's, and saw a hint of discomfort there. Kirk turned towards the obvious cause of that discomfort and politely asked: "Excuse me -excuse me. Would you mind stopping that noise?"
A supremely indifferent look filled the punk's pierced face as he turned the volume of his obnoxious music (surely they had better devices to play it on? Ones that did not butcher the notes beyond recognition?) up another notch, loud enough to cause a Vulcan pain, Jim knew.
"Excuse me! Would you mind stopping that damn noise?" Kirk demanded then, more than a little annoyed at the disrespectful youth; he naturally had no idea how sensitive Spock's hearing was, but the train was a public space, for crying out loud!
The boy raised his middle finger at him, snarling angrily. The former starship Captain blinked; he had dealt with many a stubborn alien, but it was when faced with this particular brand of humanity that he found his patience wearing thinner and thinner. He exchanged a charged glance with his Vulcan companion, and for a moment it was as if the years between them had dissolved, and they were on the Enterprise, engaged in some sort of ridiculous diplomatic dance. And, proving once again his diplomatic skills, Spock raised gracefully from his seat and nerve-pinched the offending young man, effectively shutting the music off. When he sat back down, he was even closer than before.
Jim clapped, and so did many others, though the Vulcan seemed to ignore them all, unaccustomed as he was to being praised. He looked up at Kirk for guidance, just like he had always done. Too familiar.
"Admiral, may I ask you a question?"
The human's heart sank fast. "Spock, don't call me Admiral. You used to call me Jim. Don't you remember, Jim?"
The blank stare he received from Spock hurt more than the knife an Orion spy had once planted in his lung, and Jim sighed, full of longing made bitter by burning guilt, for he had already gotten his beloved back from the dead, what more could he ask for? He had his miracle sitting there by his side, how could he want another? Please, please, say my name.
"What's your question?"
You touch my hand
These colours come alive
In your heart and in your mind
I cross the borders of time
Leaving today behind to be with you again
The water was pleasantly chilled as it enveloped him, and Kirk laughed, relieved and elated, for the mission was over, Earth was saved, the whales were singing, all was well. He held Spock firmly even though his weight threatened to plunge them beneath the surface every other moment; it was the first time the Vulcan had allowed so much physical contact between them, the re-training he'd undergone on his own planet too strict for him to fully relax into the more human and lenient environment of their crew -their family.
If there was something Spock most definitely did not excel at, it was swimming, and now he clutched at Jim's ruined shirt as if it was the only thing keeping him alive, but he was smiling nonetheless, a true, unadulterated smile that made his eyes crinkle and shone brightly on his gaunt face.
Kirk treasured that smile, because it was his and his alone -he did not care if it was the product of the emotional transference so much contact brought; the only thing that mattered was that it was there, and, oh, did Spock know how much he was loved? Did he feel it? Did he understand it?
"It is cold," the Vulcan muttered into his ear, shifting closer, seeking warmth. "It is cold as hell."
"You'll be colder if you get out, it's too windy," Jim told him, sneaking an arm around the small of his back to still him somewhat. "Let's wait for the rescue team. And this is the twenty-third Century now. No more colourful metaphors for you, Mister."
"If that is your wish," Spock answered easily, as if he knew he'd said those words times and times again since the day they had married, perhaps even before that.
Do you know what a miracle you are?
They were retrieved soon enough; after thanking the Captain of the rescue ship, the Admiral went to sit cross-legged next to the shivering Vulcan, smiling as he found him huddled up in a pair of thick blankets, kindly provided by the one frightened nurse who'd had to suffer the wrath of a certain Doctor McCoy. Kirk raised a hand very slowly, so that Spock could refuse the imminent contact if he so chose: when no objection came his way, the human pressed his palm between his shoulder blades and began rubbing soothing circles on his back, hoping to warm him up with a little friction.
"Thank you," the Vulcan said, "I appreciate your concern, though I do not understand the motives behind it."
Jim huffed softly, and patiently reminded him: "You're my friend. Of course I would care."
"I am not as I was before," Spock stated matter-of-factly. "I am… defective."
"No you're not!" Kirk grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him so they were face to face. "You're a miracle," he hissed, "A damn miracle, Spock. I couldn't be more grateful to have you back."
The Vulcan did not reply.
"Come on, you'll feel better once we're home."
"Home?"
"Yes, home. The trial's been postponed, we have… two weeks, more or less. You can stay at my place."
Our place. But you wouldn't remember that, would you?
"Most kind, Admiral."
We breathe the air
Do you remember how you used to touch my hair?
You're not aware
Your hands keep still
You just don't know that I am here
"Spock, it's late. You should sleep." Jim walked barefoot into the living room, eyes trailed on his former husband's unmoving form. He was hunched in front of their chessboard, staring pensively at the pieces strewn all over the table, fingers twined together and mouth set in a grim line. "I do not wish to. I do not require sleep."
"Well at least drink something. You've been at it for hours." Carefully, he hovered a cup of scorching hot tea inches from the Vulcan's nose, and stayed still until he took it.
"Thank you, sir," he murmured, though he kept looking down, white teeth worrying his lower lip. "And I have been at it, as you say, for thirty-four hours and sixteen minutes."
"Of course you have," Kirk said gently, sitting on the armrest of the small couch, and absent-mindedly set about rearranging the chess pieces in their proper spots upon the three-dimensional board. Each of them tapped against the polished surface with a clean, crystalline sound that reverberated inside the dimly-lit room; moonbeams poured from the wall of transparent aluminium that offered a perfect view of the bay, bathing the Vulcan in silver. "Penny for your thoughts?"
Finally, Spock's eyes left the chess pieces to meet his, and they were dark, troubled; Jim privately wished he could kiss his worries away, pressing hands and mouths together, wished he could cradle him to his chest till he fell asleep. "You do not possess a penny," the Vulcan observed, frowning, "Are you speaking in jest?"
Kirk couldn't help himself and smiled wide, gracing him with a tender gaze that brought a faint sheen of green to his cheeks and made him shift slightly. "Something's bothering you," the Admiral stated, "I just wondered if you'd tell me what that is."
Spock blinked; then, seemingly to busy himself, sipped the tea slowly. His gaze, which had fled Jim's in the face of his clear emotion, fell back into the human's: "The taste is… most pleasant," he whispered, "Did this use to be my favourite?"
"Yes," Kirk answered immediately, "You like your tea without a grain of sugar, with cinnamon but only in the mornings; this one you prefer at night, because it's softer, and you like it with lemon or with kaasa."
"Oh," the Vulcan breathed, taking another sip. "I do not know myself."
"Don't worry. It'll come back eventually," Jim hastened to reassure him, squeezing his forearm briefly.
"Do you believe so?"
"I do."
Silence issued between them; Spock gathered his hands in his lap, twining his fingers again, and kept staring pensively at the human as if sizing him up. Finally, he asked: "Have you been reading?"
"Ah, yes…" Kirk took off his glasses quickly, setting them on the table by the board, and showed him the book he had taken the habit of carrying around wherever he went. "It's a present you gave me for my last birthday."
It was with great reverence that the Vulcan took the volume between his hands, sliding his fingers over the smooth cover. "A tale of two cities…" he read slowly, eyes suddenly brightening with recollection; Jim leaned towards him, resting his elbows on his knees, then he froze when he heard his companion's next words: "A… message." Spock's voice sounded as if it came straight from the past, and the human bit his lip to stop himself from doing something truly foolish, like jumping him then and there. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
"Yes," Kirk cried softly, and it was almost a prayer, "Yes. Through the good and the bad, we've been together, Spock. Do you remember?"
"You valued our friendship," the Vulcan offered, and though it might appear as a non-sequitur, it was true, it was right.
"I valued you," Jim corrected gently.
Spock's lips parted and his eyelids flickered down; the human did not need a bond to know what his companion wanted to ask -why. It had been the constant question of his life, before, why would you care for me? This time, though, it seemed as if he restrained himself, or maybe he changed his mind, choosing to voice a different query instead: "And… now? In truth, I do not believe your effort was worth the price you had to pay."
He reached for the white King, pulling it away from its kin, and turned it around between his thumb and forefinger, studying the fine glass sculpture with traces of regret written on his face: "It was not logical to risk all the pieces to save only one of them. You could have died and you did not even know you would find me alive; you jeopardised your future for the sake of a ghost."
Jim gave in to his urges, then, and slid down onto the couch, as close to the Vulcan as he dared. "But you're here now," he simply said. After a moment of consideration, Spock inched closer still, close enough their arms barely brushed, soft black robe against bare golden skin. The Admiral reclaimed his King, placing it back on the board where it belonged. "You're here, it's all that matters."
"I remember… you used to touch me all the time. Is that correct?"
Kirk noticed that the Vulcan was staring at his fingers, and he swallowed over the knot of tension and hope alike that so frequently lodged itself inside his throat those days. "Yes, it is."
"Yet you have rarely done so now, except during the mission." Spock lifted an eyebrow, then hesitantly asked: "Why?"
The human smiled -a smile that was both bitter and kind. "Back then, I knew my touch was welcome."
"I… understand. But I do not even know how our friendship came to be." He looked, and sounded, like someone desperate for forgiveness, and his eyes were wide and piercing, begging for knowledge. "You are… extremely familiar to me, yet you are also a stranger."
Jim tried his best to mask the stab of fierce pain that confession brought, but he must not have been entirely successful, for the Vulcan's gaze went from ashamed to alarmed in the fraction of a second. "Please, I…" he rushed to say, "I did not wish to hurt. I apologise…"
"No," Kirk pressed the palm of his hand into his companion's shoulder, willing him to relax, "You don't have to." He gestured towards the board, making a conscious effort to lighten his tone: "That's how we became friends -by playing chess, sharing thoughts and ideas. What had you so preoccupied before? Do you want to play a game?"
"Not precisely. I was… attempting to understand the emotional value chess seems to have -it is clearer now. Thank you."
He nodded, then pushed himself up and off the sofa, hiding a yawn into the crook of his shoulder. "I'm going to bed," he announced, "It's far too late -you should sleep."
Spock shook his head. "May I… Could you lend me the book? I would like to read the story."
Jim's tone warmed considerably, and he let the book fall into his Vulcan's lap. "Of course. What's mine's yours, I told you that."
"Indeed you have."
"Well… wake me if you need anything, alright?"
"I thank thee."
Before he left, the human glanced one last time at his companion, and found he was once again observing the chessboard.
It hurts too much
I pray now that soon you'll release
To where you belong
The apartment was shrouded in darkness, but Jim was used to it and did not mind the dimness of the lights nor the absence of noise -it was what he had long learned to consider home. After he finished clearing the table (for it was his turn, as it had been established) he made his way to the living room, where he was certain the Vulcan would be, still busy with the task of understanding chess as they'd shared it since the Enterprise.
"Oh, Spock…" he breathed, stopping abruptly as soon as he took a step into the room. Spock had apparently exhausted himself enough that he'd fallen asleep on the small couch, and not even the thud of the book dropped from his hands to the floor had woken him.
Kirk paced slowly, silently, afraid to disturb his beloved's much needed rest and plunge him back into that state of feverish concentration that had been his reality for the whole duration of the week; he had been so preoccupied with reviving his memories that he had driven himself into some sort of unhealthy trance -he had even forgone his meditation for days.
Carefully, Jim kneeled in front of the sleeping Vulcan, retrieved the book, laid it on the table. Then he stilled, hazel eyes lifting to caress his closed eyelids, the arc of his forehead, the relaxed line of his brows, the soft curve of his lips. I missed you, he thought, as if the other could hear him somehow, I missed you so much. But the bond had been destroyed, and all that remained was a phantom, ever-present ache etched inside the human's mind, an open wound bleeding constantly into nothingness.
Spock's breathing was slow and regular, his bangs slightly askew because he'd curled up on his side, hugging his chest as if cold; he was always cold, no matter that Kirk had already raised the temperature well past the point of comfort, he was cold. Gently, the Admiral pressed the palm of his hand to one cool cheek, the contact like a sip of water after a walk through the desert, and kept it there, the moment suspended in time, frozen, eternal.
Dark lashes fluttered and fanned open, the Vulcan's sleepy eyes barely focusing upon the human, distantly registering the expression of mingled awe and love painted across his features; as if acting on instinct alone, Spock stretched both arms towards Jim, encircling his neck, humming low down his throat, and Kirk, more than a little bewildered, got up on his feet, pulling his friend with him.
"Hey," the Admiral murmured, holding most of his companion's weight as he latched more firmly to him; a wonderful feeling of delight washed over him, and his heart raced faster and faster still even as Spock bent his legs enough to jump -Jim grabbed him immediately by the thighs, lifting him up with the ease that came from practice so he could carry him to what had once been their shared bedroom. The Vulcan's scent surrounded him completely, and the way he held on to him… it was a gift he would have never asked for.
He laid Spock on the bed with gentle motions, then withdrew, though he couldn't resist the urge to thread his fingertips through his hair, a quick, passing brush over messy, dark strands.
The half-blood blinked, apparently just waking up, and embarrassment took over his face as he snapped into a sitting position, eyes widened and cheeks turned bright green.
"It's alright," Jim immediately said, weariness falling again upon his shoulders as he regarded his husband's evident discomfort, "It's alright."
For long minutes, Spock was silent. "You… have done this before, have you not?" he finally asked, voice shaking almost imperceptibly.
"I have."
The Vulcan glanced at the bed, at the extra blankets he had added because it was too empty and too cold. "You used to sleep here as well, did you not?"
"I did. Spock…"
"It was… more than simple friendship between us, was it not?"
Kirk nodded, sat beside him. A thousand words chased themselves into his mind, tender and charged and heavy -ashayam, adun, husband, ashaya, love, beautiful, k'diwa, gorgeous, baby, illogical, sweetheart, honey… t'hy'la. "We were friends," he murmured, "But we were also brothers. And lovers." Before Spock could reply, before he could even begin to voice the thoughts that were most certainly crowding his brain, Jim raised both hands, placed them gently on his shoulders. "Listen -listen. You came back from the dead less than four months ago -I don't expect you to… I don't want you to force yourself into anything; whatever you can give, whatever you're willing and comfortable giving, is more than enough: it's everything. We're just… going to have to readjust, fall back into place- I mean, it's only for another week. After the trial…"
"I wouldn't leave your side," the Vulcan hurried to interrupt. His eyes were beseeching, fingers twisting the hem of his long sleeve in a rare display of nervousness, body curved so that he was leaning towards the human without actually making contact with him. "I couldn't. But…"
Kirk showed him the best reassuring smile he could manage. "Don't worry. You'll be good."
Spock's mouth curled downwards, a hint of concern seeping through his control as he found the courage to finally object to the human's selflessness: "But you are in pain."
"Yes." Jim did not bother to deny it, but he waved off the other's worry, more preoccupied with how hollowed his cheeks were, how tired he clearly was. "Look, Spock, can you do something for me? Go easy on yourself." At the Vulcan's evident confusion, the Admiral patiently elaborated, speaking in a soft, lulling tone: "You're trying too hard, you'll drive yourself crazy like that. I want you to sleep in this morning, and meditate when you wake up. Will you do that?"
"If you insist."
"Good. Sweet dreams, then… ashalik."
Spock's stricken stare followed him out of the bedroom.
You touch my hand
These colours come alive
In your heart and in your mind
I cross the borders of time
Leaving today behind to be with you again
"May I join you?"
Kirk whirled around in the kitchen to find his husband framed by the door, standing tall in that familiar position of his, almost on attention, with his legs slightly widened and his arms neatly folded behind his back. His black meditation robe cascaded beautifully around his unmoving figure, and he appeared better-rested, perhaps even healthier.
The human downed his mugful of black coffee and motioned for him to join him: "Sure. Come on in. Meditation gone alright?"
"It was refreshing." Spock glided over the pale tiles, walking gracefully in a straight line before he stopped by his side, wrinkling his nose a little from the smell surrounding the now-empty cup. He'd never had much patience for coffee -he and Bones had teamed up more than once to try and get him to quit the habit, failing spectacularly.
"Are you hungry? I was just about to make lunch." He smiled in welcome, ever-so-grateful for those tiny, precious moments of familiarity they could share again. "What would you like? I could make you Plomeek soup, or barkaya marak…"
"Plomeek soup would be most welcome, please." After a short pause, the Vulcan took a step closer and innocently offered: "I wish to help."
Jim blanched, thinking back at all the tremendous culinary incidents Spock had been the cause of, the most memorable of which resulting in second-degree burns, twelve broken china plates and a severe, quite frightening scolding by a truly enraged McCoy. "Uhm," he eloquently said. "Well…"
The Vulcan's face fell a little, and he raised his chin, setting his jaw. "Unless you'd rather I did not. In that case, I…"
Surrendering to his fate, Kirk waved a hand and gestured towards the cupboard: "I'd be glad to have your help, Spock. Just… try and be very careful, okay?"
Puzzled, he arched both eyebrows at him and simply said: "I always endeavour to be careful."
"Right," Jim muttered, taking out a pot to fill it with water. "Look, there's some Plomeek over there, why don't you start chopping? Small pieces, and cut the thing, not your fingers, please?"
"That is a given."
"How I wish it were…"
The vegetarian broth needed frequent stirring, and Kirk attended to it while keeping a firm eye on his husband, awaiting the next disaster; slowly, the human relaxed into his task, breathing in the pleasant scent gradually filling the kitchen, the soft, rhythmic bubbling of the soup lulling him into a false sense of security, along with the general quiet surrounding him… which instantly broke as soon as Spock thought it fit to turn towards him, looking away from the knife he was still using to fix a curious stare on him.
"No, don't!" Jim immediately snapped, letting go of the ladle so he could appropriate the knife (seriously, what had possessed him to agree?) but the Vulcan had already let it slip enough that it opened a deep gash on his left palm; with a barely audible gasp of pain, he dropped the blade on the floor and did not even bat an eyelid when Kirk grabbed his hand unceremoniously and pressed two fingers to the wound to keep it from bleeding too much. "You…" he was grumbling, "You… absolute… fool… What made you think it was a good idea to. Loose. Your. Focus?"
Completely ignoring Spock's attempts at apologising, the Admiral pushed him into a chair, still holding on to his hand, and stretched so he could pull open a drawer which he then proceeded to empty upon the counter. "Just because you can do it while working on an experiment or two doesn't mean you're allowed to… Where is the damn dermal regenerator?"
"I…"
"There it is!" Hazel eyes flashed as they directed all their fury on the Vulcan sitting stiffly by the table. "Now don't move, I'll be done in a blink." With a tenderness that did not match his rough words, Jim placed the device on his husband's injury and waited for the necessary minute and a half to pass before lifting it and inspecting the now smooth skin. "See? All better. Nothing to be worried about." Softly, he caressed his thumb over his palm, but retracted his finger as soon as he saw Spock shiver faintly, digits twitching as if he wanted to flee the contact but did not dare.
"I… was not worried," he whispered, cradling his hand to his chest in an unconscious gesture, then his agitated gaze landed on where the pieces of Plomeek lay speckled in splashes of green blood and he bowed his head as if ashamed. "Sir, I apologise for the inconvenience I caused."
"It's not the first time and hopefully it won't be the last," Kirk said without malice, leaning against the edge of the table with his arms crossed and a rueful smile painted on his face. "I can fix our lunch as fast as I fixed your cut. But tell me something, Spock… Why is it so impossible for you to call me by my first name? Why can't you…?"
He left the question hanging, watching with some trepidation as the Vulcan grimaced ever-so-slightly, clearly weighing his answer cautiously. "I believe I do not think it would be fair," he finally murmured, "That I have not earned the right to."
Jim felt his heart constrict at that, and reached out to grasp his shoulders, a delicate hold, for it was still surreal, it was still a miracle… to be able to touch him like this. He knew his eyes were conveying much, if not all, of the twisted jumble of emotions warring inside -sadness, happiness, joy, elation, hurt, affection, weariness, fear, love- but he did not mind, he never had: Spock would understand. "I'm asking you to. I need you to. Isn't that reason enough?"
His Vulcan seemed to consider this for a second or two, then he nodded. "It is," he decided, before adding a tentative "…Jim."
Kirk breathed out a sigh of relief and returned to his cooking. "Why don't you sit there and keep me company? Maybe read me something from San Fran's Library databanks? We used to do that a lot," he invited brightly.
"That is agreeable. I shall read 'A midsummer's night dream'. After all, you have always favoured Shakespeare's plays, have you not?"
The way Spock said that, with his usual aplomb, as if that truly was just another day of many… it made Jim's chest burst with newfound hope. "Yes, I… I have."
Please, say my name
Remember who I am
You will find me in the world of yesterday
You drift away again
Too far from where I am
When you ask me who I am
It was the night before the trial, and the Admiral lay awake in bed, staring unseeingly at the unfamiliar ceiling of the guest room -it was too plain, too dark; in their room, years ago, they had painted so many stars in fluorescent ink, creating their own, private universe… he wondered what his husband made of them now.
When he heard a muffled, shuffling sound come from the corridor, he thought he might as well join the party and got up, wrapping himself in a burgundy robe with slow, half-dazed movements. Firmly chasing out of his mind thoughts of the future and the past alike, he walked out.
"Spock," he greeted, joining the Vulcan where he was frozen in place in front of an open wardrobe. "Can't sleep? What is it?"
Spock turned a blank stare upon him (one Kirk recognised all too easily, one that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end) and flatly said: "I was searching for blankets."
"You need more? Spock -we only own so many…"
"I have noticed." Swiftly, he turned towards the human, showing him the small, finely decorated silver frame he was holding. "What is this?" he demanded, though he seemed to be well aware of what exactly the thing did -he had already turned it on, and now it was displaying a slideshow of pictures.
Jim glanced at the frame and flopped back against the wall for much-needed support; his husband followed him, hovering. "That's… we got that for our last anniversary. May we, together, become greater than the sum of both of us." He swallowed hard, staring down at the bright photographs taken in various moments of their shared life, each of them a window to the past and a wound to his soul. "I took them all off after you… you know… died. They were all over the place and I couldn't…"
He trailed off.
Spock frowned, stepping closer, and very hesitantly raised his hand to brush a fingertip across his cheek. "You are crying," he breathed, sounding strongly upset, "You should not. It is my fault…"
Kirk slid away. "I used to blame myself for your death, now was that right?"
The Vulcan returned his hand to the frame, but did not lower his gaze: "No," he replied, "No. But it is different -I am the one causing you pain, when I vowed I never would have…" He stopped abruptly, eyes widening, apparently as shocked about what he'd said as Jim was. Then his face hardened, the mask of Vulcan indifference falling back into place as his fingers tightened around the fragile aluminium. "You lied," he hissed, "You said we were lovers, I assumed it was something fleeting, but…" He glanced down at the picture of the two of them playing with a litter of wild sehlats, then back up into the human's aghast expression. "But this is so much more. Jim. This is bondmates."
The infinite sadness Jim was projecting seemed to bring him to a stop. "I never lied to you," the Admiral murmured wearily, absentmindedly caressing his forehead as he felt a migraine approaching, "I told you something infinitely more important, you just weren't listening, Spock."
Again, the Vulcan moved to press a hand to the human's face, retracing steps taken countless times, answering the phantom need to perform a meld, to join them, because they were one, they were kin, they had done it so many times. "You said we were friends; brothers… and lovers." Realisation dawned, and Kirk had a passing thought about how it truly looked like dawn, like light shining upon his husband's face, his eyes melting, going from dark and focused to soft and charged with wonder, even disbelief. The digital frame fell to the floor with a crash but neither of them took notice, the slideshow of memories casting blueish shadows on the pale wall not necessary anymore.
"T'hy'la," Spock whispered, and it was almost a prayer. "T'hy'la, forgive me…"
Jim cupped his face in the palms of his hands, cradling it with the utmost care and tenderness, because he was the most precious thing in the world, in his world… They kissed, slowly and deeply at first, but then it became frantic and desperate, and when they parted the human wrapped both arms around his husband, pressing his lips into his hair and neck and over the tips of his ears and his bony cheeks and the bridge of his nose, until he finally murmured: "My miracle."
Spock's eyes closed as he clutched to the liquid fabric of his burgundy robe, and the Vulcan smiled gently, shivering as he chanted: "Tu gla-tor nash-veh, I see you, t'hy'la, I have wondered… Jim."
"Yes, I'm here, I'm here."
"I know you. Forgive me, forgive me, my telsu, my adun…" Spock pulled away enough that he could look in his t'hy'la's eyes, and gently asked: "May we meld?"
"Yes."
Say my name
These colours come alive
In your heart and in your mind
I cross the borders of time
Leaving today behind to be with you again
"Jim…" Spock called his human's name as he lay in bed, eyes wide open and fixed on the beautiful, familiar face, on the hazel irises burning into his very soul… The Vulcan let himself be held and owned and cherished, back arching gracefully and hands searching, always searching, drinking in the kisses his adun bestowed on him and the love he radiated.
Kirk basked in the return of their bond -such valuable, rare connection- in the knowledge that he could finally touch, he could finally embrace; it was… wonderful, wonderful, to be able to feel his beloved so close, physically as well as emotionally, so real, so his. Wonderful to hear that soft, soft voice whisper Jim, my Jim, t'nash-veh Jim, elegant, powerful words in that ancient language he had long since learned: "Nemaiyo, adun – thank you – ni'droi'ik nar-to – I beg forgiveness – Nuh'mau-wak – it has been so long…" And his favourite, the phrase he said so seldom, for it was special, to be saved on important occasions, or whenever his lovely, shy Vulcan felt completely at ease and safe and his guard was down, his normal reserves erased, like in those rare mornings when Jim brought him breakfast because he'd slept in, and with a dazed look and hair in disarray he would smile delicately and offer an ozh'esta and tell him: "Taluhk nash-veh k'dular, t'hy'la…"
I cherish thee.
Kirk responded in kind, and as they learned each other once more he filled his lungs with the alien scent of his darling companion, which was life itself to him. "I love you, my beautiful, beautiful miracle."
Spock's heartbeat. It was fast and strong and rich, and Jim's fingers and mouth and cheeks and ears seemed to gravitate to the Vulcan's side just to feel it, again, and again, and again -it would never be enough, it would never be tiring.
The night seemed to be both splendidly long and unbearably brief. It was only when the stars began to fade out, one by one, giving way to the first rays of a pale, still-hidden sun that the two snuck into the kitchen for some coffee and tea. They returned to their shared room, going to curl up on the bed, and took some time to simply be together, huddled close beneath a heavy blanket.
"T'hy'la…" Spock murmured after several minutes of quiet sipping, "No matter the verdict, tomorrow, I shall stand with you. I shall be with you."
The human smiled brightly, reaching out to twine their fingers so he could bring the Vulcan's hand to his mouth and kiss it gently. "I never doubted that. But it's good to hear."
"I am aware. It is why I told you, Jim."
Jim laughed -it was truly liberating. "Honey, I'm so glad you remembered."
"How could I not?" said Spock, very seriously, "You are k'hat'n'dlawa; half of my heart and soul."
The weight of those words did not escape Kirk, but he also knew there was no real answer to be given to such a declaration, so he simply chose to hold his husband a little bit closer, burying his face into his silken hair. After collecting his drink so he could set both mugs on the bedside table, Jim gently pushed the Vulcan onto his chest, lulling him till they fell asleep, dreaming joint dreams that danced from one mind to its kin across the bond they would never dare shield…
The sun had just begun to rise.
Say my name
"T'hy'la."
AN: Well... Thank you all for following me up to the end! I hope you had a good time and enjoyed the happy ending! Please let me know what you think, I would love it if you left a comment!
LLAP