A/N: Guessss whoooo? ;D

That's right, we're back! This here, ladies and gentlemen, is the sequel to I Left the Ninety-Nine. If you haven't read it, please read it before reading this! I can assure you this fic will make no sense unless you've read Ninety-Nine first. I'm very excited to be showing it to you guys here, and I hope you're all excited too!

A quick note: I'm actually not done with the story yet. It's actually only about halfway done, but already it's looking like it's going to be quite a bit longer than Ninety-Nine was. As such, I'm going to be updating with one chapter a week (every Saturday) until the story is fully written, at which point updates will be every other day, the way they were for Ninety-Nine.

Also, warnings: this is going to be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster of a read. There will be lots of angst interspersed with servings of fluff so keep that in mind. The majority of this story will be T-rated, but there is heavy language, some violence, and some sex. If for any reason a chapter needs to be M-rated, it will be clearly marked at the top of the chapter.

Anyways, here it is! As always, comments and critiques are welcomed. I now present to you: As Far as the Universe Reaches. :)

Chapter One

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on." -Robert Frost

In the morning, the lights in Spock's quarters turned on slowly, gradually, like the rising of the sun through a window. The lights dappled in Jim's vision and coaxed him from his sleep in spite of the fact that the alarm had not yet gone off, meaning that it had to be sometime between 0630, when the lights were programmed to start turning on, and 0700, when the alarm was programmed to go off.

His mind was hazy and unfocused for a moment until the sound of deep, calm breathing next to him pulled him fully into consciousness and slowly he sat up, blinking groggily until his vision was clear.

Spock lay a careful distance from him, on his back with his hands clasped over his chest, eyes closed and expression untroubled in slumber. For a moment Jim gazed down at him from where he sat with his back against a pillow – gazed down at the beautiful Vulcan sleeping next to him and lamented the fact that although he could look (for now, at least), he definitely could not touch.

He was not waking up next to Spock because he was sleeping with him. Well, he was sleeping with him – but just sleeping and nothing else. It was silly, really – Jim could not even remember the last time he had woken up next to someone, and now that he was it was for all the wrong reasons. His lips curved in a faint, ironic smile at the thought.

One week ago, Spock had returned to the Enterprise after a seven-month absence. In that one week, Spock had woken five times in the middle of the night screaming as though he were being murdered – and that was why Jim was now waking up next to him.

The first time it had happened, the day after Spock's return, Jim had woken to the sound of the Vulcan shouting in the adjoining room and had stumbled through the connecting bathroom in a bleary, half-awake panic. Spock had been writhing in his sheets and it took a hard slap in the face for Jim to wake him. When he was jolted awake he immediately had stumbled to his feet and to the corner of his quarters, gasping for breath and fighting against tears and Jim had watched him silently in spite of the many questions tumbling through his mind – because Spock had been screaming his name (and definitely not in a good way). Certainly that alone was enough to pique anyone's curiosity, but Jim was both curious and very, very worried as Spock had stood across the room from him, his back facing the captain but his shoulders heaving visibly. When it became apparent Spock was not going to talk about what Jim had assumed was a nightmare, he began to head back to his quarters to go back to bed – only to be stopped by a whispered plea from the Vulcan.

"Please stay."

And that was how he ended up sleeping with Spock.

Once more he had woken up crying out for Jim. Twice he screamed and begged for his mother in a mixture of Standard and Vulcan, and once he had been sobbing entirely in Vulcan and Jim couldn't tell what or who it was about, but Spock had been weeping openly when Jim finally managed to shake him awake.

It wasn't so bad for Jim, not really. Mostly it was just disconcerting to see Spock so vulnerable, so at the mercy of his emotions in his sleep, the only time his Vulcan walls were not in place. It was unsettling when it happened, but that was all. The episodes only took up maybe half an hour of his sleeping time and he took some small pleasure in falling asleep next to Spock. But he wanted more – more that Spock would not (or maybe could not) give him.

The evening of the day Spock had returned to the Enterprise, Jim had hesitantly asked him what "this" meant for them. Spock had simply raised an eyebrow and replied,

"It means you are once again my Captain and I am once again your First Officer."

"That's all?" Jim had replied, feeling decidedly let down.

"I believe so, sir." An uncomfortable silence settled over them until Jim managed to blurt,

"Spock, I love you." Another incredulous eyebrow lift, and without even an awkward pause, Spock replied succinctly,

"I do not believe you."

"You don't – what?" Jim exclaimed, flabbergasted. "What, you think that when I kissed you, it was some kind of – some kind of trick to get you to come back?"

"I do not know what that kiss meant," Spock replied evenly, steadily meeting Jim's flustered gaze. "However, to so suddenly enter a romantic relationship as you appear to desire – I am... uncomfortable with the idea." Jim stared at him incredulously until finally he managed to work up the brainpower to reply,

"Well. I guess that means I'll just have to make you want it, too, then."

And so that was why Jim was sleeping with Spock, but not sleeping with him. Quite a tragic story, if he did say so himself.

Suddenly the alarm began beeping, bringing Jim back to reality and causing the warm Vulcan body lying next to him to breathe in deeply and stir. Slowly Spock sat up next to Jim, blinked away a moment of disorientation, then muttered,

"Alarm, off."

"Good morning," Jim murmured faintly, grinning at Spock's tousled hair and still-sleepy gaze. "Sleep okay?"

"I am sufficiently rested," Spock replied, nodding once and looking back at Jim. "I trust you are as well?"

"Yeah," Jim replied, grin widening. "I'll shower first. Wanna grab breakfast together?"

"I cannot. I have an appointment with Dr. McCoy to review the results of my physical last week."

"Oh. Okay, then. How about a game of chess tonight?"

"I am available this evening."

"Awesome. All right, then, I'll see you on the bridge."

With that, Jim got out of Spock's bed, walked into the bathroom, and turned on the sonic shower.

It had not been an easy first week back for Spock.

Even before that, it had been stressful enough arranging his sudden (and, according to the Admiralty who had no qualms about informing him of their opinions, controversial) return to Starfleet and the Enterprise. When he had first set foot back on the ship, Jim had been there to greet him and their hour together was pleasant – very pleasant, much to his surprise.

But as soon as Jim had gone back to the bridge, Spock had to report to Sickbay for a standard physical, and that was where things had become sour.

The moment Dr. McCoy had stepped into the examination room, Spock knew that whatever dislike the doctor had harbored for him in their time together, it had only increased tenfold in his absence. McCoy had entered the room silently and looking pointedly away from the Vulcan, speaking curtly only when necessary in clipped tones. At the end of the physical, Spock asked slowly, hesitantly,

"Is something wrong, Doctor?"

"How am I supposed to know? Maybe you've forgotten, but these results aren't exactly instantaneous," the doctor had snapped in reply. Spock pursed his lips, retaining his dignified stature, and clarified,

"I meant if there was something wrong with you." Anger flashed on McCoy's face and for the first time that day he met Spock's eyes, glaring fiercely.

"You know what? Yeah, there's something wrong. It's not me, it's you," McCoy snarled. "You're what's wrong. Jim may be a saint for even acknowledging you exist, much less letting you back on the ship, but guess what? I'm no saint. I know what you did to Jim – you nearly killed him in every sense of the word and I was the one who had to clean up the mess you left behind in his heart. I saw how you destroyed him and I couldn't do anything to make it better. And I've spent the past seven months despising you for it and just because Jim's given you a clean slate doesn't mean I will, because I won't. So you listen to me – if you ever, ever hurt Jim again, I'll make sure something nasty gets slipped into your next round of scheduled vaccines. Or maybe Starfleet would like to know why you really resigned. But it'll be something unpleasant, and that's a promise."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Spock managed to reply,

"I see." His voice was faint and he cleared his throat. "I trust you are done, so I will take my leave. Goodbye, Doctor."

He had hurried with as much dignity as he could muster out of Sickbay, thoughts reeling. He supposed he could understand why McCoy was not fond of him, but it did nothing to ease the sting of the doctor's vicious speech.

And then that conversation with Jim had occurred, leaving him with a slew of questions and jumbled feelings that he had since been meditating on. What Jim was asking for was not undesirable, but the ever-logical part of his mind could find no reason for Jim's request and so he was hesitant to pursue it. He had always been fascinated by the young captain – captivated, even, if he were so poetically inclined – but as far as he was concerned Jim should, logically, thoroughly despise him. While Jim had already proven him wrong on that account, there was a decided difference between "tolerance" and "romantic affection", and so Spock still had his trepidations.

The next day Uhura had approached him as Alpha shift was going on their lunch break.

"Can I talk to you?" she had asked fervently, and after a brief moment of hesitation he had responded in the affirmative. They had then stepped into an empty briefing room on the way to the officer's mess hall and Uhura had turned to him and murmured,

"Why?"

"I do not understand your question," Spock replied, honestly perplexed.

"You... You left so suddenly, everyone knows something must have happened but no one knew what. I guess I just wished you had at least told me where you had gone, I was so worried about you, Spock..." She looked away as if in shame and Spock was uncertain how to reply.

"Please understand," he began slowly, choosing his words carefully, "At the time of my departure I was not myself. In my absence I... I could not..." He trailed off uncertainly, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the subject matter and with Uhura's pleading gaze. "Even now I cannot give an explanation. It is not mine to tell. I was not the only one involved."

"So it was something with the Captain?" she pressed, digging for clues. Spock closed his eyes. He wished to be honest with her – but he could not.

"Yes," he replied simply. She peered at him for a long moment, then slowly reached out to touch his shoulder – his discomfort was, to her, almost palpable.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I won't ask anymore. I should just be grateful you're back. I thought I would never hear from you again, Spock." He was silent – how could he tell her that her fear had been impossibly close to being reality? "I really am glad you're back. It wasn't the same without you."

"So I have been told," he replied evenly, and she smiled.

This brought his number of allies aboard the Enterprise to a grand total of two: Jim and Nyota. While no one had been as openly hostile as the doctor had been, wherever he went he was met with curious, prying, and even accusing glances from the crew. From what he had been able to glean from Uhura, the captain had apparently not been himself in Spock's absence, either, and the crew seemed to have come to a consensus that the blame for Jim's distress lay at Spock's feet, which he could not argue against.

And then there were the nightmares. They were not disruptive, per say, but they were somewhat distressing, particularly because he was helpless to stop them in spite of his many attempts to do so. He lamented briefly having ever used the sleeping aides that he was quite sure were now causing his unpleasant dreams (or rather, his withdrawal from them was the culprit). But Vulcans were not prone to dwelling on that which could not be helped, so he did what he could to deal with the situation at hand.

All these reflections ran through Spock's mind as he readied himself for the day and began to head to Sickbay to review the results of his physical. It would be the first time he encountered the doctor since their unpleasant reunion, and he was not hopeful that Jim's kindness had softened McCoy's harsh perception of him.

It had been a full week since his return to the Enterprise. A small part of him illogically hoped that this week would be better than the last. But unless Dr. McCoy suddenly stopped hating him, the crew suddenly stopped glaring at him, and his nightmares stopped plaguing him, he seriously doubted it would be so.

Spock stepped into Sickbay at 0642, exactly three minutes early for his scheduled appointment. Nurse Chapel caught sight of him as the doors swished shut behind him and she called out,

"Over here, Mr. Spock." She did not look directly at him as she ushered him into a private examination room. "Dr. McCoy will be here in just a moment."

"Thank you," Spock replied stiffly as she hurried out of the room, leaving him alone to wait. He sat silently and motionlessly for six minutes and forty-one seconds until finally the door swished open and Dr. McCoy stepped inside, PADD in hand.

"Spock," he said dryly in acknowledgment, sitting down across from the Vulcan.

"Good morning, Doctor," he replied evenly – even if McCoy could not treat him civilly, Spock would not reciprocate his hostility.

"The results are all back from your physical," McCoy said without preamble, "They've all been matched up to your medical file from your last physical, about thirteen months ago. There are only a few discrepancies worth mentioning, but overall you've got a clean bill of health and are clear for all duty." Spock ignored the obvious bitterness in that comment and inquired,

"What are the discrepancies?"

"The major one is that you are sixteen pounds and three ounces lighter than your last physical," McCoy said. "You're getting close to unsafely underweight levels. I take it you didn't eat much while you were away. Guilt got to your stomach?" Spock met his gaze unflinchingly and did not respond. He was above the petty squabbles the doctor was attempting to instigate, he told himself. It was not McCoy's approval he desired.

"Guess so," McCoy continued after their brief, unsettling silence. "I also saw that there were noticeable traces of benzodiazepine in your blood. A sleeping aid particularly effective in Vulcans, if I recall correctly. I don't blame you – I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I were you, either." Spock clamped down on his festering irritation and resentment, forcing his features to remain coolly indifferent.

"Is there anything else I need to know?" Spock asked. McCoy studied him for a moment, lips pressed together in a barely-restrained frown.

"No," he replied curtly. "Only that I'll be adjusting your diet card to help you regain the weight you've lost."

"Then seeing as you have cleared me for duty and you have nothing further of which to inform me, I will be leaving." Spock stood and McCoy stood as well, watching him with a near-predatory expression that Spock ignored. "Goodbye, Doctor," he said as he stepped towards the door. There was no response, but he could feel the doctor's gaze prickling on the back of his neck as he stepped out of the room.

Spock took a steady, calming breath as he paused outside the door, ignoring the glances and stares from the nurses in Sickbay, then he strode quickly and purposefully out into the hallway towards the turbolift.

In the turbolift he closed his eyes and leaned his head back slightly. He had not had a nightmare that night. He had chess with Jim in the evening to look forward to. He focused on these pleasing things in his life – he would not allow himself to dwell on the doctor's scathing remarks.

The turbolift deposited him on the bridge seconds later. As the doors swished closed behind him, Uhura smiled at him from her station, and as he strode past the command chair to take his seat at the science panel, Jim grinned his trademark smile and said brightly,

"Good morning, Mr. Spock."

"Captain," Spock acknowledged with a nod. He felt the younger man's gaze linger on him for a moment as he glanced over the data on the screens before him, and then Jim turned his attention elsewhere and things were in full swing for Alpha shift on the bridge.

After dinner they met in Jim's room, where the 3D chess board was already set up. Jim grinned at Spock over a bottle of beer as the Vulcan stepped into his quarters, and he asked him if he wanted a drink, which he politely declined, then they launched immediately into a game.

When Spock had first discovered Jim's affinity for chess three weeks and two days into their five-year mission, he had been nothing short of shocked – Jim was still a stubborn, loud-mouthed and disrespectful youth in Spock's eyes back then – and was even more flabbergasted when the young captain proceeded to win three games out of five the first time they had played together. They had found themselves to be of roughly equal caliber and so their evening chess games became nearly habitual. It was through those chess games that they had first really learned to enjoy each other's company and so Spock was quietly thankful that Jim was eager to reestablish their pastime almost immediately.

They played the first game silently and Spock won. Halfway through their second game – already Spock was winning – Jim asked,

"How did your appointment with Bones go this morning?"

"I am healthy and fit for duty," Spock replied simply, forcing down the memory of the anger and humiliation the doctor's snide comments had elicited in him. Jim glanced at him through the platforms of the board and smiled weakly.

"That's good," he said, then after a brief pause he added nervously, "He hasn't been talking to me much lately. I think he's mad."

"He does appear to be particularly troubled by my presence," Spock said carefully, seeing no need to inform Jim of the doctor's hostility. Jim sighed, staring first at the board, then apologetically at Spock.

"Well, he'll get over it," he murmured, more to himself than to the Vulcan sitting across from him.

Jim won that game. Spock stood to get a glass of water as Jim began to reset the board, but when he returned to his seat, the younger man was staring pensively at the half-empty board with a white rook and a white bishop clenched in his hand.

"Are you well?" Spock asked, unsure what was causing his apparent distraction. Jim blinked and gave a tiny jolt as if startled, then, without missing a beat, gazed intently at Spock and said vehemently,

"Will you go on a date with me?"

This took Spock by surprise and for a moment he stared stupidly at Jim, who was beginning to blush, taking his lack of a response as a bad sign, and he fumbled with the pieces in his hands in embarrassment.

"I just thought," he struggled lamely. "I thought, you know, a date would be the proper way to go about it, getting you to – to love me."

"I understand," Spock replied hesitantly, still unsure if he could formulate a coherent response. "However, I am uncertain how or when we will have the opportunity to go on a standard Human 'date'."

"In two weeks we're stopping at Wrigley's Pleasure Planet to load some cargo," Jim said earnestly – this was obviously premeditated. "It's just a delivery job but Starfleet's giving us two days there because apparently this planet isn't exactly known for their punctuality."

"And you suggest we 'go on a date' at some point during those two days," Spock said, easily catching on to Jim's plan. He nodded fervently with a faint grin and elaborated,

"We could get dinner and maybe see a holo movie, they've got some nice theaters. There's an old fashioned Terran opera house, too, or some stuff native to the planet, I've heard they've got beautiful outdoor gardens..." He trailed off at Spock's lack of response and concluded lamely, "Or, you know. We could just stick to the good old wine-and-dine if you'd prefer."

"Captain, you are perfectly aware that Vulcans do not partake in the consumption of alcoholic drinks, including wine," Spock quipped, and Jim frowned, looking absolutely crestfallen.

"If you don't want to then just say so..." he mumbled, looking away and blushing bright pink.

For a moment Spock studied him silently – studied his flustered expression and bright blue eyes darting about the room – and reflected that for all the reasons Jim should hate him, he didn't. On the contrary, he was one of the only individuals aboard the Enterprise who treated him like a decent living being anymore.

Maybe he really did love him after all. It was a hypothesis worth pursuing.

"I would find it acceptable to 'go on a date' with you," Spock finally replied, then added, "Jim."

Jim grinned broadly, joyfully at him, all traces of his disappointment and embarrassment gone, and Spock felt his heart flutter.

"I'll plan everything," Jim enthused, gesturing about wildly with his hands. "I'll figure something out, something awesome. Trust me, Spock, it'll be great."

"I trust you," Spock replied placidly in spite of the amusement bubbling in the back of his thoughts like a spring gushing forth from where there had once been only desert sands. He wondered how it was that Jim made him feel, so much more than anyone or anything else. He felt less Vulcan and more Human around Jim – but he felt no shame in the distinction the way he would have with anyone else. He did not know how Jim managed to do it, but he found it to be... pleasing.

They played two more games of chess – Spock won both games, as Jim seemed to be particularly distracted. It was seventeen minutes past midnight when Jim leaned back in his chair and groaned,

"Okay, I'm done. I'm tired."

"Then I will retire as well," Spock replied, beginning to stand. "I did not experience a nightmare last night, so I do not believe I will require your presence."

"Wait!" Jim said quickly, standing as well. "You could – sleep in here if you want." Spock raised an eyebrow and was about to say that that would be unnecessary, but Jim looked at him with such a pleading expression that there was a ninety-three percent chance that if he were to refuse, he would, in human vernacular, "hurt his feelings". He had no desire to do any such thing, so he inclined his head very slightly and replied,

"I will do so." Jim grinned and scrambled to his feet, hurrying over to his wardrobe as he said quickly,

"I'm sure I've got a set of pajamas that'll fit you, let me look, hold on."

He procured a pair of black sweatpants and a white long-sleeved shirt. Spock changed quickly into them as Jim donned his own sleepwear, feeling suddenly and inexplicably self-conscious in the younger man's presence. The pants and shirt were a bit baggy on him – whether it was because of the weight he had lost or because Jim had simply always been broader and bulkier than him, he did not know. He sat down uncertainly on the edge of Jim's bed until the younger man joined him by jumping onto the mattress with a broad, childlike smile, wearing only a pair of gray gym shorts.

"Bedtime," he said, rolling away to allow Spock more room. "Come on. I won't seduce you, promise. Unless you'd like me to, of course."

The thought of "Jim" and "sex" together caused Spock's stomach to roil, bringing with it a whole slew of unpleasant memories, but he would not remind Jim of that. Instead he pulled the blankets up around themselves and replied,

"I do not believe that I wish you to do so."

"Damn," Jim chuckled good-naturedly, then he suddenly looked startled and he asked, "Oh, hey – will you need another blanket? Is it too cold?"

"The temperature is acceptable. I will not require another blanket," he replied, closing his eyes.

"Lights to ten percent," Jim murmured next to him, and the lights dimmed as he shifted to get comfortable. His body curled toward Spock's and they were eye level with their heads on opposite ends of the same pillow, though Spock's eyes were closed.

"I really do love you, you know," Jim whispered. "I'll prove it to you. Just you watch." Spock opened his eyes to glance briefly at him – it was peculiar to look at him this close because Jim could see Spock's inner eyelid shift and follow just a bit behind his outer eyelid. It served as a reminder of how very different they were – how they were not the same at the most basic level. But it was not a turn off; rather, Jim found their differences to be exotic and maybe a little bit beautiful.

"I look forward to it," Spock replied simply, softly, and Jim smiled as they both began drifting off into sleep.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Chapter two will be up next Saturday :)