"This assembly calls acting Captain James Tiberius Kirk."
Kirk stepped forward in a daze. Admiral Barnett was not smiling, but his expression was notably less stern than the last time. You know, when he had been called to an assembly to defend himself. He stood at attention.
The admiral continued, "Your inspirational valor and supreme dedication to your comrades is in keeping with the highest traditions of service. It reflects the utmost credit to yourself, your crew, and the Federation."
Kirk did his best to not react, emulating a certain Vulcan, but couldn't prevent a smile from blooming. Holy shit, he wasn't in trouble? He hadn't been keeping up with the investigation by Internal Affairs (or whatever hot gossip cycled through the news). This felt out of the left field for him.
"It is my honor to award you with this commendation." One of the professors held open a case. Inside, nestled amongst dark velvet, lay a shiny, brand-new medal. Admiral Barnett pinned it to Kirk's uniform. "By Starfleet Order 28455, you are hereby directed to report to Admiral Pike, U.S.S. Enterprise, for duty as his relief."
The blond man risked his luck and shook the admiral's hand. Then he turned to Chris, who was pushed in a wheelchair by another cadet.
"I relieve you, sir."
"I am relieved." His tone was pleased, and Kirk soaked it up like loamy soil in spring.
Kirk nodded. "Thank you, sir."
"Congratulations, Captain." Chris held out his hand and gave Kirk a firm handshake. "Your father would be proud."
Kirk blinked back at the strong surge of emotion. The auditorium burst into applause. He grinned, basking in the adulation. Kirk rode that euphoric wave of praise to Chris' office for a private toast. The Admiral ditched his assistant. Both alphas settled into the familiarity of his office.
It had changed over the years. Especially in the months leading to Enterprise's expected launch. Now there were stacks of PADDs and boxes. Knick-knacks from his missions fought for dominance in the cramped space. A fine layer of dust covered the upper shelves. Adorning the walls were holographs of beautiful, alien planets. Various vids of important people handed handing Chris some medal or accolade. In each of them, his mate, Number One, stood by his side except for last year, when she was promoted.
Chris wheeled awkwardly behind his desk. He began rifling through the drawers, intent on his search. Kirk moved a stack of metal plates with strange etchings from one of the less bedraggled chairs and sat. He sneezed twice before the dust settled.
"Is this the part where you reprimand me in private for breaking your ship, sir?"
He smiled. "On the contrary. As your superior officer, it is tradition to make sure you have a little, respectable fun." Chris persuaded. He held a crystal tumbler, forcing Kirk to take it before he dropped the expensive piece. Then he poured him a modest portion before providing himself a more generous serving.
They both savored the Saurian brandy. Kirk paced himself. He was adamant to have one glass. It was a little sweeter than he preferred, anyway.
The weak afternoon sunlight filtered through the transparent aluminum windows spanning the northern wall. Chris rarely used his office as anything other than a free storage unit these days. It was still a hell of a view of the grounds.
"When you said you'd become an officer in three years instead of four, I thought you were an overachieving little shit. Sure, you're a genius, but I thought for sure the Academy would knock you down a peg or two," Chris mused.
Kirk shrugged. "I've have had worse odds, sir."
The older alpha gave him a knowing look and nodded. They had never discussed it in detail, but Kirk knew. He had access to Kirk's sealed records. When Kirk had that itty-bitty mental breakdown in his second year, something had changed. It was how the doctors treated him after Tarsus IV. Chris had been the one to convince him to accept therapy for his food-hoarding issues.
"Well, you've done more than lived up to your end of the challenge."
Kirk smirked, face warm and relaxed. "I don't think we established what I would win in the case of my triumph."
"The chair not enough for you?"
"Too much, if I'm honest."
"Good," Chris emphasized. "It sounds like it's finally hitting you."
"Oh my fucking god." Kirk pressed fingers to his temple. "Excuse my French, but what the fuck?"
"There we go, that's more like it," Chris laughed. "Was wondering when it would sink in."
Kirk placed his glass on the desk next to the decanter. He was successfully exerting moderation in front of his mentor. He stretched in his seat, but it was sadly a lost cause. The cushion was one of those stupid ergonomic inventions that never worked (except to make you slouch at worse angles).
"So, it's sooner than expected," he prompted. "Do you have any idea what sort of captain you'd like to be? Diplomatic envoy, war general, savior of the universe, or something in between?
The blond sighed. "I'll be happy to explore strange new worlds. In the past, I would have captained a ship of wood and cloth sails to cross the ocean. Now I have entire galaxies."
Chris gestured for him to elaborate.
"And I don't want to be stuck running useless milk runs. I want to make a difference. Make sure what happened to Vulcan never happens again."
"The fate of the universe is unlikely to fall in your purview again. They're going to want to test your paces with—you guessed it—milk runs," Chris explained. "Don't discount their importance. What may seem like a ridiculous request to you could mean everything to a colony on the edge of the Neutral Zone. You are often the first and last line of defense out there."
"Yeah, I know."
A minute of contemplative silence softened the room. Chris shook himself from his musings. "You'll want to consider your crew selection."
"Why break up the dream team?" he asked. "Everyone more than proved they are the absolute best crew I could ask for."
Chris nodded. "I'm certain most of them will accept, other than Spock. You'll have no shortage of qualified volunteers for his position, though."
All good feelings from the alcohol and excitement of the day evaporated. Kirk tried not to tense too obviously. Very casually, "What about Spock?"
The older alpha gave Kirk a strange look. "He requested a transfer. I thought you knew?"
Kirk shook his head in the negative.
"I can't blame him for wanting a fresh start. He's dealt with a lot since returning to Earth."
That made sense. Vulcans in general were private beings and Spock seemed especially so. He doubted the scrutiny from the media frenzy was something Spock would easily tolerate. And yet it was expected of heroes. Kirk had avoided succumbing to the interview requests by turning off his comms (and sticking his head in the proverbial sand). Shit, he didn't think he'd have to contend with Spock's absence being one of the obstacles when it came to the promised "glorious-future-super-duper-special friendship." (Not an exact quote, he was summarizing and embellishing.) Well, more of an obstacle than he already was.
Kirk's leg was jiggling in place. His mind raced with contingency plans and potential ruses to keep Spock as his Second. Chris gave him an annoyed look, so he dialed back the stimming a bit and forced himself to hold still. He would go for a walk after this or spar someone at the gym.
Trying to distract himself until then, he focused on a totally different and unrelated topic. "How is your Number One doing?"
Chris raised an eyebrow. "She's stuck in the Laurentian system with the rest of the fleet. Her ship is not expected back for another two months."
"You'd think Earth almost exploding would mean we fortify our defenses here," Kirk said. The sarcasm was thick as jam.
The newly minted Admiral sighed. "I agree with your point, but the rest of my colleagues don't. Losing that system will damage us beyond repair. We must maintain the treaty. We're committed."
"That's not how people will see it. They'll lose confidence in Starfleet's protection," Kirk argued.
"Right now, they're distracted by…other recent issues," he vaguely alluded.
Kirk rolled his eyes. People were frustrating. He was certain there was some new celebrity scandal clogging the feeds. More than ever, he appreciated his ongoing struggles with reading. Refusing to use glasses prevented him from consuming his attention with all that shit. It had nothing to do with him, anyway.
Someone would have told him if it did.
Chris held his empty glass. "Here's to boring milk runs."
"As long as they aren't too boring," Kirk hoped aloud.
Looking back, he later realized what a curse he had wished upon himself and his not-so-new ship and already traumatized crew.
How was he to know better?
"You're tellin' me we managed to grab useable composite scans of the Narada and the Jellyfish?"
"This barely scratches the surface of the technology we now have intimate knowledge of, Mr. Scott. Your equation brings unexpected possibilities."
Scotty startled from his intense study of the PADD covered in diagrams and schematics to stare at Admiral Marcus. So they had found it already? They left no stone unturned with their bloody investigation. He wished he had asked Kirk to cover their tracks. He had a feeling the lad knew a trick or two to outsmart the law.
He had to be careful.
"Well, that's brilliant!" Scotty smiled and tried to smell calm.
The alpha's smile in return did not reach his eyes. "We'd love to have your unique insight working closely with us on this new information."
"Us, sir?"
"I am entrusted with the power to seek specific knowledge otherwise ignored by Starfleet Command. They are in favor of more public-facing works. People like you and I work in the background. But if our work doesn't get done, the ship, or in our case, Starfleet, doesn't fly."
Feeling a tad vexed by the purposefully pretty words, Scotty understood, even so. He had long suspected a shadow group was operating out of Starfleet. This had secret, military ops written all over it. His mum raised no fool.
Hands clammy now, he set the PADD on the desk between them. He was forcing himself to send out soothing beta pheromones. The alpha was unaffected, coldly composed.
"Now that is a mighty fine offer, sir. But, see, my heart is already promised to a gorgeous lady. I've accepted a position on the lovely Enterprise." It was easy to sound starstruck and foolish when talking about her. He hoped it was convincing enough.
Disappointment marred the sternly handsome man's face. "I'm certain we could provide you with what you need while aboard. You would need a cover for your assignments under me."
"I'd be a poor engineer if I neglected my duties to my ship, sir. She deserves nothin' but the best."
"You would be compensated appropriately for your time, of course," the Admiral negotiated. "And only time you can spare. We wouldn't want you so tired you made a similar error to the one that had you stationed on Delta Vega."
The pointed barb made Scotty wince, but he kept the friendly veneer. "Ah, see, I'm already a disgraced engineer, sir. Ya cannae want me on your team. I'd make a right mess of things."
"Minds like yours come in many forms. I am not dissuaded by a young man's foolish mistakes, so long as he learns from them."
The smile on Scotty's face stiffened slightly. "I'm afraid I haven't," he corrected.
"I see."
The Admiral's blue eyes studied him. They dissected the change in attitude as it veered into soft rebellion. Scotty was no longer smiling. His own eyes were hard, expression mulish.
"I'm sorry to 'ave wasted your time, Admiral."
"I found it…educational, Mr. Scott." The alpha initiated a dominance display. Scotty quickly folded and looked away. "See yourself out."
Feeling a mite shaky, Scotty rushed to the door. He spared one look at the still-lit screen of information on the PADD on the desk. Before he could make his escape, Admiral Marcus gave a parting shot.
"I hope you don't come to regret this decision, son."
His tone was almost fatherly, certainly familiar. It sent a prickle up Scotty's back. He had potentially made a dangerous enemy.
Bloody principles.
Spock read the message again, certain his wandering mind had missed an essential detail. Something explaining the rejection. It remained unchanged. His memory was not faulty in this regard. There was no reason given.
He steepled his fingers and contemplated his options. There were few he could determine. This captain had been his last chance to be transferred to a ship while performing the same duties as First Officer or Science Officer. He had expected not to be able to do both when he transferred. But for every single ship to reject either option was significant.
It appeared the opportunities expected by his future self were overly optimistic. Spock suspected the differences between the two of them were more considerable than simple time travel. He wished to interrogate him but knew any queries were unlikely to be answered.
The mystery presented by the Ambassador had little bearing on his current conundrum. He would not have endeavored so if not for the promise of belonging, of peace and self-assurance. They were words he had not uttered yet inferred in the way he spoke of revelations.
It was a revelation he was certain did not necessitate the inclusion of the cadet. Kirk was a common variable between his other self's existence and his own. One mistakenly considered as causation rather than correlation. If further interactions were anything akin to what had already passed between them, it was improbable friendship lay in the years ahead. They had damaged one another enough for a lifetime. Spock had no desire to go anywhere near the man.
He would note Nyota's absence with a sense of dissatisfaction. She was the person closest to him now, even above Sarek. Precisely the reason why he had selected her as the executor of his estate in the event of his death.
An option he had not discounted as of yet. The Black Hole was feasting within him, always devouring more than he could sustain. It was a matter of time before there was nothing left.
Spock set such a line of thinking aside and stood from the seat where he sat at the dining room table. He would consider his dwindling options later. Sarek had requested he assist him at the Vulcan Embassy at 13:00. It was a short journey, provided he utilized public transport to the inner city.
He spent the time on the monorail distracted by his PADD while waiting to arrive. There was another message from Nyota. Her missives were stored in a separate folder. He had yet to respond. Spock was grateful the tone of her writing remained untarnished with frustration. She continued to update him about the many rumors awhirl at Starfleet.
Your lawyer has made a name for herself. Omegas are coming to her with cases of discrimination within Starfleet. Areel Shaw is going to be a household name soon enough. There's talk of a counter-demonstration by Traditionalists on campus. Security has increased as it gets closer to the annual parade. Did you see the article that said they're pushing to limit suppressants? Here's the link.
Mr. Scott has started hanging out with us. He gets along well with Pavel especially. I'm pretty sure he's trying to convert him to becoming an engineer. Jan keeps telling him he looks too good in gold though. Poor boy blushes so much. I've decided to join Hikaru's workout group. We're gearing up to learn some fencing, or so he promises. Kirk and Gary have this bet on which one of them is going to be the better student, so they're actually behaving. Well, as much as Kirk can behave.
Everyone's signed on under Kirk once the Enterprise is ready. I wish you would join us. You're exactly the level-headed balance Kirk needs for his stupid ideas. And who am I going to sing with when the mission starts? Christine is tone deaf and Janice only likes music I can't stand. What am I going to do with myself without you? You're one of my best friends, Spock.
To be honest, I'm worried about you. We barely talk and you don't respond to my messages. Which, no pressure, I absolutely understand. You need to take time for yourself and your people while you heal. But I want to know you're okay. Please be okay.
And you know what I mean by okay, don't get pedantic on me, rafiki yangu. I know you too well.
Spock briefly shut his eyes and breathed, grappling with the Black Hole. He shut his PADD and watched the buildings pass the rest of the journey. He arrived at the Vulcan Embassy with plenty of time to spare. Sarek was not due to arrive for another 12.67 minutes.
He took a seat in the main lobby to prevent engaging in the throng of passing Vulcans passing. They were gathering their children from a collective caretaker. School would not resume for some time. Until then, Vulcan parents needed a place for their children to be supervised. It was difficult doing so while they dealing with the realities of refugee life. Unlike human children in similar crises, they were quiet and orderly, always doing as they were told.
A notable exception was a young female, approximately 5 or 6 years of age. Her hair was dark, sleek curls in a state of disarray unusual for her age. She had a moss-green cut on her lower lip. She kept sucking on it, as if unable to help herself. Her clothes were untidy and there was a smattering of mud on the hem of her plum-colored robe.
Spock recognized the signs of a physical altercation. He watched her with mild interest as the rest of the children were collected promptly. When the crowd dwindled, she drew herself tall, attempting to peer between the stragglers.
He did not see who she was seeking, for Sarek collected him earlier than planned. When they finished, 2.27 hours later, she was still waiting in the lobby. The caregiver had left. It was past the allotted time they had agreed to care for the children. She sat on the bench Spock had vacated earlier. Her eyes were dark and expectant, alert towards any movement from the entrance.
Spock was unsure why he approached her. He had no paternal instincts up to this point. He had never taken the opportunity to interact with a child in his adulthood. She stared up at him quietly, chin jutting out in a tiny dominance display.
He introduced himself, "I am Spock."
"I am T'Amanda." Her voice was high and sharp, but bold.
The name had gained popularity due to Amanda's influence in the world of education reform and diplomacy. It was to be expected he would someday meet a Vulcan with the name. Hearing it should not sting.
"You are injured," he stated.
"I am not," she insisted.
"Who are you waiting for? They should see to your cut."
Spock saw her expression flicker to a scowl before it smoothed away. It was unusual for someone her age. He felt a regretful pang of kinship.
T'Amanda bluntly met his gaze. "I am waiting for sa-mekh. He is very late." Her tone brooked no emotion yet managed to convey neat disapproval. "May I utilize your comm to contact him?"
The omega gave it to her. She needed assistance once before entering the code by memory and holding it tightly in her dirty palm. Spock stepped away to grant her some privacy and to locate a bottle of water and sustenance while she spoke.
When he returned with both in hand, she had completed her call. He gave them to her in exchange for the return of his comm. T'Amanda scrutinized the fruit for a moment before handing it back to him.
"I do not want this. They gave it to us yesterday. The skin is thick and bitter."
"It is an orange," he explained. "The skin is not to be eaten. You are meant to peel it open and eat the wet part inside."
She visibly recoiled. "With my hands?"
Spock sighed. "You do not need to do so now. In the future, however, I recommend using utensils as one would with a duf-krus-savas."
"Yes, savensu."
"I am not savensu. I am a Starfleet officer."
T'Amanda perked from her silent sulk. "Are you the one who helped save sa-mekh and I?"
Before Spock could respond, the entry door opened. A tall, darkly handsome Vulcan walked in at a brisk pace. He carried a heavy pack by his side.
"T'Amanda," he said.
"Sa-mekh," she responded, sweet and agreeable.
The Vulcan stopped midway across the room, eyes focused on Spock. A familiar scent of hot stone and clay clashed obnoxiously through the air. Spock kept himself from wrinkling his nose against the heady alpha scent. He especially disliked this specific combination and its source.
"Greetings, Stonn," he said. Spock raised his hand in the ta'al. "You are T'Amanda's father?"
Instead of greeting him in return or responding in confirmation, he turned to T'Amanda and jerked his chin to the left. She obediently followed the silent command and walked to a computer terminal to occupy her time. Stonn watched her before returning his attention to Spock.
"Spock," he said. "I am gratified you are here. I intended to seek you when the time was right. As it appears to be now."
"Why?"
"I could sense you. When T'Pring was parted from me."
Spock did not flinch. He should have known their bond would have been strong enough for Stonn to sense Spock's link with T'Pring. He felt a deep flush of shame. His pride had prevented him from allowing the link to break. The events between the three of them felt age-old and distant. Pointless.
"I grieve with thee," he managed to say.
Stonn did not acknowledge the platitude, his beetle-black eyes studying Spock.
"She went back," Stonn said. His voice was clipped and precise. "You and she are—were alike. She was an emergency responder. And she went back. To try and save more."
Spock tried again. "I grieve with thee."
"You were not the only one who kept the door open. She always believed someday you two would reunite as old friends." His gaze flickered to his daughter before returning to pin Spock in place. "Your mother, the late Lady Amanda, thought the same. She showed us great kindness when we were cast from our families for what we did to you."
"T'Amanda?"
"Yes, in honor of her."
Spock breathed. He took great pains not to look at the Vulcan child in the other room. Her gaze, her way of speaking, the way a stray curl had rested on her cheek, all felt familiar to him. A distorted echo of two mothers.
The Black Hole tugged at the bleeding edges of his dead and rotten bonds. It drew them in and pulled fresh wounds to the surface of his mind. He breathed.
Stonn stepped closer. "I grieve with thee," he said without inflection. His scent confused Spock. It was as he remembered, perhaps muskier and richer, but there was something wrong with it.
Empty, it cried. Empty, empty, empty.
"Forgive me," Spock said.
The alpha regarded him quietly for a moment before drawing back. "You are different. I can smell you."
Spock stiffened. McCoy expressed concern his body was not ready to return to his regiment of Supprimiolfac. So, he had liberally applied the pheromone deodorant that morning. It was usually effective enough to disguise him as a beta around humans.
Stonn noticed the minute movement. "I meant no insult." When Spock did not respond, he continued. "Perhaps it is time we depart. The shelter will not hold our place for long. T'Amanda," he called.
Spock watched her walk serenely to his side. "May I have the orange after all?" she requested.
"Of course."
Spock pulled the orange from his robe pocket and placed it in her palm. He waved off her apology when she fumbled with the size and dropped it.
"A simple error," he graciously stated.
He and Stonn both reached for the fruit as it rolled on the stone floor. Spock's hand reached it first, but he began to retreat when the alpha's shadow loomed over him. The tips of Spock's fingers brushed Stonn's outer wrist. Both Vulcans drew their hands back as if burned. T'Amanda picked it up with both hands instead.
Spock stood, unable to meet Stonn's eyes. His shields were in tatters, as all his strength was spent keeping the Black Hole at bay. He had no desire to hear Stonn's loud thoughts echo in his mind. Nor did he want his childhood tormentor to comment on his lack of control.
Stonn did not have similar reservations. "Spock, I am a mind healer."
"Farewell." He turned to leave.
"You are dying."
Spock froze. He had misheard. He was being mocked. Stonn was threatening him. He could not be dying. He had not yet decided whether to live or die. He had survived his heat without suppressants. Spock was stronger than this. Stronger than the Black Hole dragging him further and deeper—
"Spock, let me help," Stonn pressed, unaware of the torrent unleashed. "This is my sacred duty. You are not the first afflicted after the destruction of our people."
The omega breathed. It was all he could do.
"Let me help."
T'Amanda stared up at them both, brow furrowed slightly in displeasure. "Sa-mekh, my body requires nutrition and rest."
That shook Spock from his ruminating. "I have a home you both are welcome to stay and rest for the night. I can prepare a meal."
"We do not accept charity," Stonn admonished.
"It would not be," Spock assured. "Consider it payment for your help. Stay with my father and I." He gave slight emphasis to the word 'father'.
The mention of Sarek seemed to drain the tension from Stonn's shoulders. Spock suspected Stonn had not been amenable to the idea of imposing on the home of an unmated omega. As little as Spock considered himself to fit the definition. They were the old traditions of Vulcan he had not practiced in several years.
T'Amanda was not so easily persuaded. "You live on Earth with the humans. Do you eat meat?"
"I do not."
"And you will not serve us meat for dinner?"
"It will be a traditional, Vulcan meal," he promised. Sarek had stocked the kitchen when he moved in as part of his nesting process.
She nodded, satisfied. "I will have this orange for dessert. If it is like duf-krus-savas, it will be most sweet."
Spock nodded favorably. "May I help you with your belongings?"
"I carry all we have," Stonn said. "I do not require assistance."
Spock fell silent, sensing the alpha's desire to protect. He was not planning on having two alpha scents in his apartment. Perhaps he would fall ill and be forced to wear a mask for the duration of their stay. That would be suitable.
Spock thought back to the many rejections lurking on his PADD. At this rate, he would not be departing Earth for some time. Already, his mind wandered over other possibilities and scenarios to try and solve his dilemma.
The sooner he left Earth, the better.
An alpha's toned body pressed him forcibly against the wall of the bathroom stall. Teeth scraped against his ear as the other whispered filthy praises. His breath was hot, lips sliding down his neck in a slick caress.
He tried to reach for the perpetrator's belt but found both wrists gripped in a tight hold.
"Nuh uh," the alpha teased. "No touching."
His arms were pinned above him as he tried to grind against the tantalizing leg between his thighs.
"Such a good slut for me," he whispered. "Can you stay right here if I let you go?"
He shook his head, unable to speak.
"Don't you want me to touch you, baby? C'mon, be good for me."
Kirk shoved Gary against the opposite wall. "Don't fucking call me 'baby', asshole."
The other alpha laughed. "But you don't mind 'slut'?"
"It's the principle of the matter," he protested. He was making better headway with the belt now his hands were unimpeded.
Gary leaned back and smirked. "Would you rather I call you 'Captain'?"
"Please don't," Kirk begged. "I just want to suck your dick."
His friend swatted at his rambling hands. Kirk was too drunk to do this efficiently. Gary was noticeably not. His gaze was steady and smug as he watched the blond alpha fall to his knees. Kirk struggled to unbutton the pants in front of him.
"What if I want you to call me your Second? What do I have to do for that? Captain. Kirk."
"Suck my dick," he laughed. He wobbled a bit before regaining his balance.
Gary stopped, frowning.
"It was a joke," Kirk protested. "Please, can I—"
"Well, I'm not joking, Jim."
"What do you mean you're not joking?"
Gary stroked Kirk's jawline and brushed his thumb along his lips. "You know why I'm here."
What the fuck?
There must have been a trick of poor lighting. He thought Gary's grey eyes shone white-silver and inhuman for a flash of a second. It was there and gone again so quickly.
A wave of cold nausea swept through him. He was both too drunk and too sober for this conversation. Kirk pulled himself up with the help of Gary's still-unbuttoned pants, courtesy of the belt loops. He must have been able to sense the change in mood because he didn't mistake it for the groping from earlier.
Gary tried to give him a sultry look. "Come on, Jimbo. Don't be like that. We were good together because we both wanted to be on top." He ran his hand along Kirk's softening erection, safely nestled in his boxers. "You're Captain of the Enterprise. Which leaves me with First Officer. I know you're looking for a replacement."
"Gary, no. You don't need to do this…"
Gary shoved him again this time, and it hurt in a not-so-good way. He started buttoning up his pants and smoothing his shirt. He did it silently, sullen anger bleeding into a full-on rage. Kirk watched in a daze, dread curdling his stomach.
"You fucking bitch." It was said softly, and all the more terrible for it. "So you screw your way to the top, gagging on Daddy Pike's knot, till you're in the right time, the right place to play the hero. And yet you act like a dumbass omega when I want the same opportunity I am owed."
Gary punched the wall. The force of it left a dent in the metal. Kirk didn't move.
"You think you're much better than me? You're nothing but a cockslut who'll end up killing everyone who serves under you. You think Vulcan imploding was bad? You're such a screw-up, that's going to seem like just another Thursday with you in the chair. No wonder your mom can't look at you. No wonder no one can stand you. Everyone leaves you, Jimmy, and you're the reason why! It's because you pull such juvenile bullshit like this."
Kirk wondered if he was loud enough now to be heard outside in the club. Perhaps strangers were walking by and listening. Gary punched the wall again with a loud swear before storming out.
He stood there for a while, counting prime numbers mentally. When enough time had passed and he was sure Gary was probably not coming back, he began to right his clothes. He washed his hands for something to do and resolutely did not stare into the cracked mirror. It was filthy with smeared lipstick prints, crude drawings of various genitalia, and comm codes for a "good time."
He waited some more.
Finally, he dared to glance in the mirror. Everything looked normal. He pasted on a smile, making sure it reached his eyes in a way that would seem genuine.
He had heard it all before, anyway.
The walk home was miserable. He was unpleasantly drunk with too much energy and nowhere for it to go. It would have been faster to take public transport, warmer too. But nothing calmed him like physical activity. And he wasn't in the mood to try and charm someone else to his bed.
With a sharp pain, he wished Gaila was there. Not to have sex with. She was funny and always knew how to break him out of these moods. They had been friends before they were lovers.
Kirk ignored the screens flashing with his face as he walked along the crowded street. It looked like they used his student ID with the black eye expertly edited. Thankfully, the screens grew less invasive the closer he got to the Academy grounds.
As he was waiting to cross the street, he was hit with the whiff of a tantalizing smell. It reminded him of the omega that left her heat scent in his room. Perking up, he followed his nose to its frustrating source: a 24-hour bakery. Kirk stood at the entrance, bemused he was truly disappointed. On a whim, he went inside.
The shop was nearly empty. There was a shelf with outdated board games and raggedy books for bored patrons. In the back corner, a group of five teenagers were taking advantage and playing a tabletop game. The barista was brewing a pot of decaf but greeted him after a minute of him standing there like a dumbass.
Kirk shambled to the counter to look closer at the large selection of pastries. He couldn't make out which specific dessert was the one that had caught his interest. Maybe it had been a combination of them?
Growing impatient, the barista interrupted his musings. "Would you like to try our weekly special?"
"What's that?" he slurred, intelligently.
"This week we are featuring a gluten-free, sugar-free, dairy-free, organic, free-range, cruelty-free, carrot cupcake," they quoted.
The words buzzed in Kirk's head in a lump of mush. "That's a lot of words to say something is disgusting and without joy," he complained.
"Owner's on a health kick. I wouldn't recommend it. It's a little dry."
"Do you have anything with chocolate?" he asked. It was suddenly imperative he eat something that tasted like chocolate.
"Chocolate lemon bars, chocolate cherry tart, and salted caramel chocolate chip cookies."
"The last one," he managed.
"Just the one?"
Kirk tried to do the math on how many he could eat before they spoiled. It came more naturally than talking (at the moment).
"Gimme, uh, forty-two."
The barista rang him up, and he was soon the proud owner of some amazing-smelling cookies. Kirk ate three on his way home. They weren't as good as he hoped, but he was too hungry to care now.
On his way, he considered his reaction to thinking he would meet the fantasy omega. There were fragrance stores specializing in custom scents. Chemists could smell a person once and replicate their scent with a cheap copy. Kirk usually avoided them because so many carried one designed to smell like George Kirk: cedarwood and rain. His mom always kept a bottle with her, and it freaked him out. But maybe there was some merit to having a piece of someone you could never have.
Kirk shoved another cookie in his mouth and forced himself to think less morbid thoughts. He probably should have tried to instigate a fight at the club. It was one of those nights he wanted to fight or fuck (or both). Doing neither and mixing alcohol usually brought on a depressive episode.
Bones was dead asleep when he slipped into their room. Kirk kicked off his boots but had zero energy for anything else. He threw the box of the rest of his cookies on his bedstand. Then he rolled himself into a blanket cocoon and shut his eyes.
It should be so easy to sleep.
It should be so easy to…to sleep.
To sleep…
His father was wearing a red and white uniform. Jim stood on shaking legs and stumbled to a clear but solid barrier separating them.
"Ship…out of danger?" he gasped. He knew he was in agony but in a conceptual way. The idea was there, but the sensation was not.
"Yes," said his father.
"Don't grieve, Admiral. It is logical." Jim then said something that felt like quoting scripture. "The needs of the many…outweigh…"
"The needs of the few," George Kirk continued.
"Or the one," he finished. His father looked as if his heart was breaking. Jim wanted to reassure him. "I never took the Kobayashi Maru test, until now. What do you think of my solution?"
Oh. Jim was dying. His cells were unraveling. He was irreparably damaged, and there was no way his father could save him. There was still no pain. It was as if something blocked what he knew he should be feeling.
"Spock!"
Jim didn't have time to be confused as to why his father was calling out Spock's name like a broken man. It was a dream, after all.
It was all a dream.
Everything was fading away, the dream drifting out of focus, perhaps.
"I have been, and always shall be, your friend."
T'hy'la.
Friend.
Brother.
Lover.
"Live long and prosper."
All at once the block was gone. He could feel everything. There was grief and devotion and sorrow and regret and disbelief and longing and fear and anger and despair and love. He loved so deeply and so strongly. It wasn't just his, it was theirs.
Their bond was breaking, death parting them too soon.
And that's when Kirk realized this wasn't a dream, it was a memory.
Bones was shaking him awake, voice gentle. It took a hot minute to disassemble himself from the memory and stop crying. Which, he didn't realize he had been doing until the doctor kept making shushing noises at him.
Several great gasps of air later, his bestie was roughly patting him on the back, trying to soothe him while half-asleep himself. Bones was used to the nightmares that plagued him on occasion. Kirk wiped his face dry on his blanket, smearing tears and snot into the grey fabric.
"Gross, Jim. You better wash that," Bones groused.
Kirk rolled his eyes. "A little busy here," he hiccupped.
"Okay, you've caught your breath. Do you know where you are?"
"I'm in our apartment. Starfleet Academy, San Francisco, Earth. I am safe. No one is going to hurt me."
He sat up suddenly, nearly knocking skulls with the other alpha. Bones jerked back, narrowly avoiding the maneuver.
"Except that's not true, Bones! Spock is going to die—and I think future me and him were in love or something—and I'm going to have to watch—and I think Ambassador Spock broke my brain—like, I'm hearing things that aren't there and seeing things that aren't there—and I might actually be going insane—and they're going to take the Enterprise away from me—and everything Gary said was right—"
He was rambling so fast; Bones didn't have a moment to react or process what he was saying until he mentioned Gary. When he said his ex's name, the alpha growled.
Kirk paused to watch his friend. Bones never growled.
"Sorry, sorry," he apologized. "I'm just tired. What did that three-eyed toad say this time?"
"Nothing," he lied. "Look, you're ignoring the important part. Spock is going to die!"
Bones crossed his arms. "Says who? I'm pretty sure I saved his life. He can't be dumb enough to get himself killed already."
"I just know!"
"Jim," he said.
"Bones."
The doctor rubbed his forehead with more force than necessary. Probably regretting not requesting a room change three years ago when Kirk first started pulling this shit.
"I know you're under a lot of pressure right now. Hell, a little trauma after Nero is to be expected. Why don't we see if we can schedule you to see your old therapist? Just to check in?"
Kirk scowled and met his equal in the concerned glare from his friend's bloodshot, hazel eyes.
Despite being best friends with one, Kirk despised doctors. And hyposprays. And hospitals in general. Normally, he would only voluntarily seek one out while also not-so-figuratively kicking and screaming. Even if he liked his therapist. (She always allowed snacks in their sessions and was good enough to fool him when she said she wasn't judging him.)
But he hated seeing Bones worry. The man looked haggard enough without waking at four in the morning thanks to him. And Kirk himself was freaking out (just a tiny bit) about the strange dreams and hallucinations lately.
So maybe.
Maybe.
He might go.
And maybe.
He could learn how to save Spock.
Spock was tense. Stonn and T'Amanda had been living there for three days at that point. The adjustment had proven more difficult than anticipated.
Sarek was sleeping in the master bedroom. Stonn and T'Amanda were utilizing the pull-out couch in the living room. If Spock wanted privacy, he had to content himself with meditating in the small guest quarters. It had previously housed his numerous experiments and was cramped. Because of the lack of space, Stonn and he had yet to have their initial healing session.
So when the door rang and he opened it to find Nyota, he tried to turn her away.
"You're alive," she said, as a way of greeting.
"Nyota," he said. "I am gratified to see you." He stepped outside. "However, now is an inopportune time for a visit."
"Your father invited me for dinner," she explained. "I wasn't planning on bothering you until you were ready."
Spock regarded his friend. She carried a bottle of what looked to be wine and wore an elegant dress with a sunflower motif. Her hair was loose from its usual ponytail. Nyota met his assessing gaze with an amused raise of an eyebrow. He was certain she had learned it from him.
"Do I pass inspection to officially meet him?"
"Your appearance is always adequate and appropriate," he assured her.
She laughed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you he invited me. I was worried you'd tell me not to, and I really wanted to see you."
"Come in."
Nyota handed the bottle she was holding to Spock while she took off her sandals. Spock had a 'no shoes' policy in his apartment.
"I regret to inform you, while the gesture is appreciated, alcohol does not affect Vulcans," he informed her.
She took the bottle back and turned the label for him to read the Vulcan script. "The good news is this isn't wine. It's k'vass. I do hope you have something else for me to drink though. I'm not a fan."
Warmth curled in his fingers. He considered the amount of effort it must have taken for Nyota to procure the beverage. They would become more rare with time and must be treasured. Spock guided them both to the kitchen where dinner was being prepared by Stonn. The alpha was much better at cooking a satisfying meal than Spock.
"I hope you are amenable to the selection of pressed juices I keep in stock?"
"Spock," T'Amanda interrupted. "Who is this?"
"I am Lieutenant Uhura," she said, in flawless Vulcan. She held up her hand in the ta'al. "May I know your name?"
"I am T'Amanda. Are you Spock's mate?"
"Ko-fu," Stonn called in slight admonishment. He paused in chopping a salad and glanced at them over his shoulder. He then pointedly looked at the PADD she was using to study. T'Amanda did not pout, but left the impression she would like to, and refocused on the screen. "You must forgive my daughter's curiosity," he said. "We are all adjusting."
Nyota smiled. "You must be Stonn. Sarek mentioned you and your daughter were staying here."
"Indeed."
Spock did not sigh. His father had a longer discussion with Nyota than simply requesting her presence for dinner. He was uncertain how the two had even connected. He could ask Nyota but was apprehensive to put her on the defensive with such a line of questioning.
"Dinner will be completed in two minutes," Stonn said. "Sarek is due home in six. Make yourself comfortable while you wait."
Nyota looked ready to protest before Spock gave her a significant look. She sat across from T'Amanda while Spock set the table. He had to bring another chair and arrange all six. It was originally designed for four places, but he made do.
What proceeded over the next two hours was the most uncomfortable dinner Spock could have conceived. While Stonn treated Nyota courteously, T'Amanda seemed to have taken an instant dislike to the beta. Nyota acted oblivious to the juvenile slights and focused on charming Sarek, who was surprisingly warm with her.
Meanwhile, Spock was displeased to find he had no time alone with his friend. They had hardly spoken anything of import in the duration. She met his eyes and tilted her head in the direction of the balcony. He nodded.
They finished their meal and began cleaning. Stonn started T'Amanda's bedtime routine. The longest part was a guided meditation they shared. Sarek excused himself to work at the cramped desk in the main bedroom. He hardly slept with how busy he was. T'Amanda was prone to losing focus at the merest distraction, despite Stonn's expert direction, so Spock and Nyota quietly made their way to the balcony. Spock stopped by his room briefly to grab his ka'athyra, a Vulcan lyrette.
Once the door was shut behind them, Nyota leaned against the wall. She hung her head over the edge to look at the small park below. Spock stood opposite her and allowed his body to relax in a way he had found impossible until then.
She tipped forward slightly, stretching. "I've missed you, Spock."
"I find I share your sentiment."
Nyota chuckled, amused. "Have you been reading my messages?"
"You have kept me sufficiently apprised," he said.
She smiled. "And? What's been going on with you?"
Spock hesitated. Should he share the Black Hole with her? How could he even describe it to a psy-null species? For the first time, he contemplated how it would feel to join minds with Nyota. What would it take the shape of? Would it be compatible with his own?
He cut off that line of speculation. If Stonn was correct in his diagnosis, a mind meld was dangerous in his present state. He would not endanger her.
"I find myself uncertain as to my next course of action," he admitted. "My requests to transfer while retaining my position have been denied. As of now, I am considering what little options I have left."
Saffron suffused the air between them. Nyota's brow furrowed and she gestured sharply in frustration. "That's ridiculous. Maybe Areel can help?"
"It is understandable," he said. "Aligning themselves with me would prove to have more disadvantages than not."
Nyota gave him a hard and direct stare. "Spock, it is worth fighting for. I can't imagine what you've been going through with the court case, but you can't stop now. Omegas are inspired by you. Christine's a grown woman and I'm pretty sure she worships you. Janice would have started a fan club over you if she wasn't distracted by Kirk."
It was too much. But he could never tell her.
"What would you suggest I do?"
"You always have a place on the Enterprise," she said. "I mean it. Kirk owes you, there's no way he would turn you down. He'd be grateful if he had any sense, which he sometimes has. Don't tell him I said that."
Spock gave the idea consideration. His major objection would be working with (under) the cadet—Captain. It would be a challenge.
And he was scared.
Despite his future self's assurances, every molecule within Spock was certain Kirk was dangerous. More dangerous than any other alpha. Because—because—
Empty, empty, empty, empty, crooned the Black Hole.
With a violent shove, Spock forced the strange yearning away and refocused. What mattered was the fear. He would be vigilant, keep his guard and attention at the ready. If Spock was going to be prepared, he would need to fix the Black Hole plaguing him.
"I will consider it, Nyota," he promised.
They spent the next hour discussing trivial matters. Nyota showed him the Andorian sign language she was struggling to learn. She wanted to attend an upcoming seminar but was embarrassed at how clunky her motions were in comparison to her vocal languages. Spock agreed to practice with her. It would be useful, he was certain.
Then she showed him a video of Sulu in a fencing competition. They were both appreciative of the speed and grace the duelists wielded. Nyota was excited to learn under his tutelage. Spock felt a pang of resentment. He was still recovering physically from his heat. The sooner he could take suppressants and utilize the gym, the better.
He refused to recall McCoy's hesitation in agreeing it was possible to do so. His body simply needed a little more time to achieve homeostasis.
The night deepened as they continued to talk. Nyota sat with her back against the balcony wall. Her right knee knocked against a plant escaping the confines of its pot. It would need to be repotted soon. Spock leaned his elbows on his knees as he felt exhaustion begin to exert its iron grip.
And still, they talked.
They talked about the protests. They talked about the discovery of a new color only seen by an alien species that spoke through underwater vibrations. Nyota talked about her summers swimming in a nearby lake where she was raised and nearly drowning when she was eight. Spock described I-Chaya's idiosyncrasies and how the family sehlat refused to listen to Sybok but would fawn over Spock. They shared music, playing song after song at the lowest volume their comms could provide. Nyota would hum along to the ones she knew. Spock idly strummed the ka'athyra as accompaniment.
They talked about everything and nothing until their voices grew hoarse.
Spock noted Nyota's yawns increase in frequency. He stifled the urge to distract her from her tiredness. He wanted more time but knew his friend was only human. She needed more rest than he. Eventually, she acknowledged this fact, too. They tiptoed through the living room where T'Amanda slept. Stonn waved at them absentmindedly from the dining room table. Spock walked her to the front door and closed it behind them.
As she untied her sandals, Nyota noted aloud, "Stonn is attractive. I think he likes you."
Spock did not look at her incredulously. "We are not compatible," he affirmed.
"Really? Because the chemistry between you two is intense." Her tone was conversational, not suggestive in the slightest. She hopped on one foot trying to adjust before moving on to the next sandal.
Spock felt the tips of his ears burn.
"You misinterpret," he corrected. "We knew one another as children. Our relationship is…complicated."
"Oh?" Nyota stood, both sandals finally situated.
"He was mated to my betrothed."
She stared at him.
"Her name was T'Pring."
"The other omega?" she remembered. "The one with the hormonal imbalance?"
"Indeed."
Nyota tapped her chin. "Complicated," she agreed. "But I stand by my assessment. He likes you."
"I would ask how you came to such a conclusion but find myself apprehensive as to how you determined such an outlandish concept."
"Why don't you kiss him and find out?" she winked. Very abruptly the color drained from her face, and she turned away.
"Nyota?" he prompted.
Her voice quivered, "I just miss Gaila so much."
"I grieve with thee."
She gazed up at the sky and breathed deeply. "I'm going now. I'll talk to you soon."
Before he could offer another word of comfort, she left. Spock watched her until he could no longer distinguish her sunflower yellow dress in the darkness. She had deserved more from him. But he had no idea how to give what she needed when he had yet to address his own grief. With that in mind, he went back inside to where Stonn was working at the dining room table.
"Spock," he said as a greeting.
Gathering his resolve, Spock approached. "Are you amenable to having our first session at this time?"
"T'Amanda is asleep in the living room."
"My quarters should prove adequate."
Stonn inclined his head and tidied his work before standing. Spock led the way. While the alpha settled into position, Spock considered which incense to use. He wanted to conserve his diminishing supply from Vulcan. So he considered the new selections bought by his father. Most of them were labeled for omega use: flowery and sweet. Spock selected the one with vetiver and pink camellia and refused to examine the underlying reason. Once everything was in place, he took position across from Stonn.
The alpha regarded him with beetle-black eyes that held no warmth. Spock matched his measured breathing. Instinctively, he began the process of ordering his mind. He was unable to fall into his usual trance, but it was soothing, nonetheless.
"Tonight, we will begin with an exploratory meld to assess the progress of your deterioration." His tone held no inflection or judgment, but Spock felt his shoulders tense abruptly. "I will maintain my shields, but you will need to allow me deeper access than you might typically prefer."
"Understood."
Stonn leaned forward with his left palm raised. Spock shut his eyes as the alpha placed his fingers on the appropriate meld points.
"My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts."
Spock stood on achingly familiar red sands. He was in a valley with jagged mountains surrounding him. The air was dry, and the sun beat upon his bare head. He was wearing an ancient robe. It grew heavier the longer he stood in place, gravity increasing exponentially.
As if summoned from a heat mirage in the distance, Stonn appeared wearing similar attire. There were poems in Vulcan script sewn into his sleeves. They began to slip into the folds of slick material like water pouring over silk. Spock recognized some of the verses of a famous love sonnet from the pre-Surak era. Along the body of the garment were names from his family house. Nestled at the top were T'Pring and T'Amanda's. Stonn walked towards Spock with graceful ease.
In comparison, Spock's steps sunk deeper into the ground as he struggled closer, like walking on quicksand. With a frustrated flick of his mind, Spock threw his hands into the air and began to soar. It was his mind. He had a preferred shape, and he was not wearing the heavy robes of tradition.
Stonn watched him with something akin to fascination before following. His robes phased into the cold metal of a tripod-shaped, Vulcan ship. Spock identified it as a Suurok-class vessel. A ship designed to take on the role of combat cruiser or science vessel. Satisfied Stonn could follow him in this form, Spock led him to the center of the universe.
They passed planets made of moments, celestial bodies of words, stars of ideas. Life and death portrayed on a cosmic scale. It encompassed everything Spock was and beyond. He could spend an eternity exploring and never stop.
As they increased proximity to the center of the universe, Spock could sense the pull of the Black Hole. He watched helplessly as it consumed a planet. It was composed of the memory of Amanda's voice singing a lullaby when he was only a few months old. Now it was gone, lost.
It had been an insignificant memory compared to the rest of his life with her… But already he wondered if his memory of her voice was accurate. Spock had perfect recollection, yet when the Black Hole strangled her planet and crushed it to nothing, he questioned if her voice had always sounded so hollow and brittle and empty and dead and—
Stonn broke the meld, drawing back his hand as if struck. Spock watched him, wary at the sudden motion.
"Apologies," he said. "I was more abrupt than intended. Your mind is quite…dynamic."
Spock narrowed his eyes at the compliment. The human equivalent of what Stonn had said would have been bordering on flirtatious.
"Forgive me, but I did not recognize what shape you assumed in your mind?"
"An atom. I am what creates everything within. The universe itself is simply an atom from a different perspective."
Stonn regarded him with respect. "Intriguing."
"What is happening to me?"
"Your mind has aptly chosen a black hole to represent your bonds. The loss of Vulcan and our people, your mother, and T'Pring have created a void. I believe this happened at the exact time a new bond was forming. The trauma damaged the new bond into what it is now. After all, black holes are formed by a massive star collapsing in on itself. You never accepted the bond, and it festered into what it is now. It is poisoning you."
Spock bowed his head. He was struggling to process his reaction. He watched the smoke rising lazily from the incense that smelled like home.
That was…not possible…
It had been a single moment of weakness. Granted, it had been a life-altering moment of weakness. He remembered the endless hallways of his mind swept away in an eviscerating gale of destruction. Of finally seeing stars when he looked up while looking down into impossibly blue eyes—
"The bond cannot be completed. What must I do?" he asked.
Spock could smell Stonn's pity. An avalanche of stone assaulting his nose at such proximity.
"Who?" the alpha asked.
"I know not," he lied. "Will I improve?"
"It will take time," he said. "I will guide you."
"We must work with haste," Spock insisted. "I have a ship to catch."
"Report."
"He's awake, sir. We've begun the tests, but he's not cooperating."
"Make him."
"Sir, while subject Kappa is restrained at this time, he won't be within a few hours. He's burning through our sedatives faster than we can administer them."
"Damn Augments. I expect you to handle it, Lieutenant McGivers."
"I'll figure it out, sir."
"Dismissed."
"Engineering thrusters and impulse engines at your command, sir."
"Weapons systems and chutes on standby."
"Dock control reports ready, Captain." Uhura turned smartly in her chair to face Kirk. There was an undertone of snark he could only just make out.
As expected, he smirked at her. His collar felt tight and he forced himself not to fidget with it. He hadn't eaten anything that would provoke an allergic reaction (or eaten anything at all). It was just nerves. Speaking of, Bones looked ready to have a conniption.
"Bones," he smacked his friend's arm with enough force to make the other alpha shift. "Buckle up," he instructed. Kirk flashed him a smile and took his seat in The Chair.
He tapped the commlink for engineering. "Scotty, how we doin'?"
There was the sound of a loud commotion on the other side before Scotty responded. "Dilithium chambers at maximum, Captain!" A pause. "Get down—," he was cut off hastily.
"Mister Sulu, prepare to engage thrusters.
The soft swish of the bridge doors opening failed to grab Kirk's attention, but the smell of his dream omega did. Chocolate, caramel, and salt. He could pinpoint the combination in a crowd. Except, the person who walked from the turbolift was not a sexy blonde babe sauntering in to make all his fantasies come true.
It was Spock.
Kirk tried not to be disappointed. A part of him was ecstatic to see the beta. He was relieved the message he sent to not-so-subtly beg Spock to stay had been a success. But the other (primal) part of him was expecting an omega. Maybe she was hiding behind the Vulcan?
"Permission to come aboard, Captain."
Something about the way Spock said his newly minted title sent a zing up his spine. Kirk sat straight and smiled.
"Permission granted," he said, magnanimously.
Spock approached while speaking and Kirk stood to meet him. "As you have yet to select a first officer, respectfully, I would like to submit my candidacy. Should you desire, I can provide character references."
This near to the beta, he forgot to wonder where the elusive omega hid. He basked in the simple feeling of being close to Spock. Uh, his heart was beating a little too fast? Then again, Kirk was excited he was actually going to be best friends with him.
He couldn't help the grin on his face when he replied, "It would be my honor, Commander."
Spock nodded stiffly and moved to his designated spot at the science station. Kirk stood for a few seconds, basking in how ridiculously happy he felt. And that amazing smell was stronger, richer. It made him feel alive.
It faded in intensity as Spock moved further out of reach.
Oh.
Oh.
Uhura was right. He really was a fucking idiot.