Hello everyone! I've been ruminating a lot about the new movies lately. I'm still very disappointed with how the third movie turned out. It's like they climaxed at the stunning t'hy'la moment in the second movie, and then they just ignored it in the third. It's killing me! Throughout the whole third movie Spock does nothing but hurt Jim. It makes me so sad, I had to write about it. And fix it. So this is not really third movie canon. Its only first and second movie canon. Hope that's okay with you. Oh, also very pro-Spirk, very not pro-Uhura. Sorry folks. I gots to make Jim and Spock be Jim and Spock!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything regarding Star Trek in any way shape or form.


"Whatever our lives might have been… if the time continuum was disrupted, our destinies have changed." - Spock


Jim Kirk had never thought too hard about his destiny before. He had never really let himself ponder what it meant to have a home before either. Not, at least, until he'd met that man in the cave.

Old Spock. Ambassador Spock. Cave Spock. Whatever he wished to be called — meeting the elder Vulcan from an alternate universe had single-handedly changed Jim's life. Just thinking of the encounter sent giddy shivers down Jim's spine and triggered warm butterflies in his stomach. That mind meld was something he never ever wanted to forget. It was the first time — the only time — Jim had ever felt truly whole.

He still remembered the way those soft human eyes were able to so easily steady his emotions with a simple look. And the gentle way he'd called himself his friend, making Jim feel like he had been awarded the highest honor, like he held the dearest place in the Vulcan's heart. He remembered how Old Spock seemed to silently reach out with his heart rather than with his body — how he stood just close enough so Jim could feel his warmth, but not so close to be touching. His steady gait always stayed a perfect step behind Jim's stride. Even the consistent sound of his breathing was like a comforting reminder that Jim was not alone and never would be.

This memory, Jim knew, was not entirely his own. The vivid emotions had come from the mind meld, in which he'd experienced a short glimpse of the life of his alternate self. It had been accompanied by a steady pulse of pure, unadulterated love emanating from the old Vulcan himself, and Jim had known in that moment that he had discovered his destiny. He had found his home.

Jim had thought this knowledge was a good thing. He'd returned to the Enterprise with vigor, determined to make his destiny a reality. He had finally found his purpose, his reason to live, his place in the universe. Jim began showering the Spock of his universe with a silent love of his own. Every angry glare and bitter disagreement from the Vulcan was met with compassionate gazes and knowing smiles. Every touch and every word exchanged became precious. They settled into a tentative rhythm that turned their hostile rivalry into a slow and fragile friendship. Spock's steady, logical voice in Jim's ear grew indistinguishable from the voice in his own head. He was instinctively aware that any threat to Spock's life was as dangerous, if not more dangerous, than a threat to his own life. And Jim found that the long hours spent sitting across from Spock as he studied the chess board were the best part of each day, and brought him a kind of peace and happiness that he was certain did not exist anywhere else in the universe.

The feeling was not requited — at least, not yet. But every once in a while there would be a flicker of something in Spock's eyes that gave Jim hope that his destiny was not far away.

And then for one fleeting moment, as Jim took his last breaths, he watched pained, uncontrolled tears flow down Spock's cheeks. He'd wanted to tell Spock that the feeling was mutual; that there was a reason they could not live without each other. "Because you are my friend," Spock had murmured. The word carried an emotional weight that filled Jim with warmth and happiness. And for that one moment, Jim thought he'd finally made it home.


Unfortunately, nothing is that simple. Things began to go downhill soon after Jim's recovery. Or resurrection. Or whatever people were calling it.

The Enterprise had resumed its five-year journey, and everything aboard the starship was flowing as swiftly and easily as clockwork. Nothing perilous had occurred in several weeks, and work was finally returning to normal.

All except for one measly little thing that was driving Jim nuts.

Spock seemed distant. Well, not anymore than usual, per se. His Vulcan shields kept his emotions strictly guarded, which for the rest of the crew, was nothing out of the ordinary. But for Jim, it felt… off, somehow. Like he was missing something.

The thing is, Jim couldn't really pin point what it was that was different. He hadn't lost anything. Nothing had changed. The first officer still performed his duties exceptionally, and was still highly attentive to the needs of his captain and his crew. Jim still had weekly chess games with Spock that were perfectly pleasant. They would even occasionally share drinks with Bones in the evening, with hardly a bicker between them. And yet, Jim knew in his gut that something was wrong. Every time he looked at Spock, he was searching for something that simply wasn't there. It was like he was waiting for a silent acknowledgment in his eyes that never came. Jim didn't understand why he felt that way. He was with Spock most of the time, and yet it felt as though he was getting no time with him at all.

They were doing everything right. They took care of one another, they respected one another, they enjoyed one another's company. That's what friendship was. Why would Jim expect anything more than that? Jim wasn't even sure what more he wanted. There was no physical attraction — its not like he was trying to sleep with the guy. But he was certain there was supposed to be more to it than this. There was an intimacy, a closeness that Jim craved. He wanted — he needed — more than what he was getting.

Or maybe it was all in his head. Maybe there was nothing wrong at all.

Jim decided he must be overthinking it. He kept his own emotions at bay, and did not push. Things continued as usual aboard the Enterprise, he and Spock working in tandem as they always had.

But something was different. It showed up in little ways. They would encounter a predicament on one of their adventures, and Jim would instinctively glance at Spock to get a sense of what he was thinking. It was a subconscious habit that would often ease the captain's anxiety and keep his thought process on track. But these days, Spock's gaze would not be there when he needed it. No, the Vulcan would often be looking to his right, some sort of silent conversation going on between the science officer and the communication's officer, Uhura.

Jim would look away and try to shrug it off. She was his girlfriend, after all, and Jim couldn't blame Spock for looking at her more often than anyone else. He still didn't really understand how that relationship worked, but whatever. There was no reason for it to bother Jim in any way.

There were other things too though. Jim would be taking a landing party down to the transporter room, expecting his first officer to follow him into the turbo lift. But then Spock would pull Uhura aside to talk to her for a minute, so Jim would end up taking the lift down without him. Once again, it should not bother Jim — especially not the way she placed a gentle hand on his arm.

And it also did not bother Jim at all when Spock postponed their chess game, only to see him leaving Uhura's quarters long after most of the crew was asleep.

Nope. No reason for it to bother Jim. No reason. At all. He was perfectly fine. Perfectly fine that Uhura was slowly creeping her way into Jim's self-determined place in the universe.

It wasn't jealousy. Jim didn't care who Spock slept with — it's not like he was looking to be romantically involved with the Vulcan. Jim just wanted to be the one easing Spock's emotions with a simple touch, having private talks that didn't involve anyone else, and being the one Spock spent most of his time thinking about.

That wasn't a romance, was it?

Jim's mind reeled in confusion. He didn't know what he wanted. He didn't understand why he was so unhappy, and why things had suddenly changed. All he knew was that as much as Jim cared for the crew of the Enterprise, this ship was not his home. Whatever his destiny might have been in another universe, his life was different in this one. He needed to find a new destiny.


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