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Jim Kirk is like a tornado, a whirlwind of limbs and smiles and he will burst through your life and nothing will be the same.
Someone had warned him, once. It was Spock’s fault that he chose not to listen.
-
Jim appears on the first day of shore leave at 9 in the morning. Spock has just finished breakfast after some much neglected meditation; he is heading, PADD in hand, to sit on the armchair with his tea when the doorbell rings.
Spock is sure that he has not told anyone he is going to be staying here, his mother is off-planet, his father negotiating a treaty and he knows that Nyota is visiting her family. He places the PADD neatly on the table, at a right angle to the desk. The mug of tea steams gently next to the lamp.
When he opens the door he sees Jim, who has snow in his hair and wind-burned cheeks and his eyes are filled with light. He smiles at him and indicates a shopping bag in his hand.
“I brought you some things,” he says, shouldering past Spock into the flat. He looks around and nods approvingly. He steps into the ray of winter sun filtering into the apartment, and Spock has to shade his eyes to look at him.
“Nice place you got here. Is this regulation accommodation?”
Spock is still standing by the doorway, one hand resting on the handle. “This is a place I procured for myself irrespective of Starfleet.”
Jim is already in the kitchen, finding places for items that he keeps pulling out of the orange plastic bags he brought in with him.
“Captain,” he starts, somewhat at a loss, he is about to ask what Jim is doing here, and how he located this apartment but the questions die on his lips as he knows it would be a fruitless exercise.
“Is there anything you require?”
Jim has finished putting away items and notices the mug of tea on the table lying next to the PADD. He folds himself into the armchair, picking up the mug and taking a sip. He motions towards the PADD, tapping it lightly with one finger so that it illuminates itself.
“I thought I’d help you with the reports. This is nice tea, by the way. What is it?”
“Andallonian Spices,” Spock replies, still standing by the doorway. Jim hums his approval as he takes another sip, eyes still on the PADD. With a strange sense of defeat, Spock shuts the door and goes into the kitchen to make more tea.
Jim often surprises him. He turns up without warning and enters the space as if he belongs and is welcomed. Amazingly, what Spock discovers, is that it always seemed to be so. He’ll find Jim in his quarters after a particularly tiring day, chessboard laid out before him, lightly dozing in the chair as he waits for Spock to return. Spock will be sparring with one partner and then, suddenly, Jim is there and the other person has vanished and then it is just the two of them, muscles burning as they challenge one another. It is a singularly peculiar skill.
McCoy had warned him once as he supported the doctor back to the medbay, McCoy leaning heavily on his shoulder, eyes half lidded in a drunken stupor.
“Bloody Jim Kirk, making me worry over him, nearly bleeding out on the table, goddamn he just shows up and disrupts everything,” the alcohol misting his breath is powerful enough to make Spock wrinkle his nose.
“Jim Kirk is like a tornado,” he starts, oddly poetic for the doctor, “a whirlwind of limbs and smiles and he will burst through your life and nothing will be the same. You watch out, Spock,” he says, jabbing a finger in his chest. “It’s too late for me, but maybe not for you.”
“I can assure you, Doctor that I am ready to deal with anything the Captain might do.”
McCoy laughs roughly.
“Well then, it’s too late for you too.”
Spock had placed the doctor in his chair and thought nothing else of the conversation, the idea that one man could make such a large difference to his life seemed ludicrous.
Here he is though, first day of shore leave over the winter holiday with Jim in his apartment and he finds himself going through reports, the silence occasionally interrupted by a question for clarification or using Spock’s memory to revisit a certain aspect of their assignments.
The familiar routine calms Spock, and it is with a start that he realises he has not been paying attention to his internal clock. It is only Jim's stomach rumbling that brings him back to the present.
"Captain, I believe it would be best to retire for the remainder of the day and obtain refreshments."
Jim just grins up at him, getting up from the floor with alarming cracks from his joints as he stretches.
"Now that is why I brought the shopping."
Spock raises an eyebrow at him before following Jim into the kitchen. “I was not aware that you cooked.”
Jim turns to him; he pretends to be hurt by Spock’s statement, but there is an expression on his face that Spock has not seen before and he does not know how to interpret it. “There’s a great deal about me that you may not be aware of.”
Before Spock can respond, Jim has located the kitchen knives and is testing their sharpness against the tip of his finger. The sight of it makes Spock’s chest constrict with panic.
“Are you sure you know what you are doing?” He asks, peering over his right shoulder at the assortment of colours and flashing, fine-edged knives. Jim stiffens slightly at his proximity and Spock thinks perhaps he overstepped some boundary, but Jim turns a smile his way, free and easy.
“Just stay a little over there and I’ll be able to concentrate.”
While Spock is not sure why his proximity has any relation to Jim’s concentration levels, he does not want to be the cause of yet another injury and have to call McCoy in the middle of a hard earned vacation.
-
The radio crackles in the corner, bathed in the soft glow of living room lamp - this is the strangest storm we've ever seen, it's coming over on a westerly wind and it looks like we might have snow for Christmas, better stay inside folks because this one is going to hit hard, and hit soon.
“Oh,” Jim says, pausing in his chopping, “Do you think it will be as bad as they say?”
Spock tilts his head questioningly. “The storm, I mean,” Jim elaborates, waving his knife in the general direction of the radio.
“In my experience,” Spock starts slowly, “humans have a tendency to exaggerate.”
Jim’s laugh is quick and loud.
“Well we’ll just try keep an eye on it.”
The storm does close in on them quickly, steam collecting on the glass from what Jim is stir frying, spices fill the air and it is only halfway through their meal that they notice that the sky outside is just a blur of white and grey. The park that Spock can usually see from his living room window is completely obscured, small pinpricks of light flickering in and out of view from the lampposts below.
“I think it would be wise for you to spend the remainder of your day here, Captain.”
“Jim”, he corrects absentmindedly. He looks as if he is about to protest when a particularly violent gust of wind shakes the windows, accompanied by a disconcerting howl.
“Right. Well, until the storm subsides.” He gestures towards their makeshift office in the living room,, “we still have quite a lot to get through anyway.”
-
The storm continues to rage and Jim resigns himself to sleeping on the couch, a large blanket is found in Spock’s cupboards and he has to admit it is much better than being alone in his large, regulation apartment with no one around.
The holidays are not the best time to be alone. To feel reminded of the precarious family situation Jim finds himself in. Before, Jim would spend Christmas with Bones; they would reheat turkey in an aluminium foil tray, drink shots of whiskey on the side and watch dated movies, black and white flickers on the screen.
That was before, and now Bones wants to see his daughter and Jim will be damned if he gets in the way of that, because ever since he became Captain of the Enterprise he realises more and more that family is important. Bones seems reluctant to leave him the morning that shore leave had started, and he had slipped a piece of paper in his hand.
“Just in case,” he had said.
“Go!” Jim laughs, pushing his friend towards the shuttle. When the shuttle had rounded the corner, Jim unfolded the paper in his hand and saw an address, and underneath Bones had scrawled: Spock.
-
It happens on the second night. The wind has lessened to an occasional shuddering of the windows and the moon is just a sliver in the sky, clouds amassed around it like a halo. It is on this night that Spock is woken by footsteps and a cautious, slow opening of his door. He knows who it is, of course he does, it is illogical to think it would be anyone else.
“Is everything alright, Captain?” Spock asks, adjusting to a seated position.
Jim taps his toe against the doorframe, arms crossed defensively over his chest. Even in the dark, with only a beam of moonlight breaking through the clouds Spock can see the twisting emotions on Jim’s face, the sadness in his eyes and he wonders when he learnt to read so much about humans, or perhaps it is just this particular human.
“I keep hearing them.” He huffs out a sad, broken laugh. He taps his forehead. “In here.”
Spock wants to feign ignorance, out of politeness maybe, but he wants to spare Jim having to talk about it out loud, making it more ugly and real. He knows Jim is referring to the Narada Incident, the thousands of lives that were lost and Spock feels a sharp pang in the back of his mind as his brain instinctively reaches out for broken bonds that will never heal.
“It was not your fault. You could not have known.”
Jim is moving slowly into the room as if unsure that he is welcome.
“I keep thinking of all the things I could have done differently.” He pauses suddenly, and looks at Spock horrified.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s selfish, you lost your home and I’m talking to you about myself.”
Jim slumps onto the bed next to him, cradles his head in his hands. Spock sits next to him in silence, tasting the words on his tongue before he releases them.
“The loss of Vulcan is not the fault of one man, nor is it something that can be undone by guilt. In my short experience on the matter I have found that there is no way to ease the pain of loss except to focus on what there is left and what can be rebuilt.”
Jim does not answer for a while, and his voice is quiet when he does speak. Spock strains to hear him despite their proximity.
“I just wish I could have done more.”
Spock clears his throat, aware that he has to do something to block this destructive thinking. In this moment he is suddenly reminded of his mother, sitting beside him and stroking his hair as she chased away his nightmares. So Spock decides to mirror her memory and places a hand on Jim’s shoulder, careful not to touch the bare skin unprotected by his t-shirt. From that simple touch Jim’s head snaps up and he looks if anything more pained. Spock removes his hand, unsure of what has happened. He thinks, however, that following his mother’s wisdom is his best option in these circumstances.
“I think it is best you stay here tonight.” Spock guides him into the bed and places the warm cover over him, smoothing out the creases just as his mother used to for him when he was a child.
“I–“ Jim starts, he is visibly anxious. Spock interrupts him, resting a hand on the sheets above Jim’s chest.
“Jim, you are a good captain. No one could have predicted what happened. Sleep now.”
Jim looks momentarily stunned, his fingers clench around the blanket nervously.
“What are you going to do?” Jim asks.
“I shall be here.”
Spock keeps watch for the remainder of the night; he waits until Jim falls asleep, watches the moon throw contrasts on his face and smooth the demons from his mind. He reaches tentatively to the broken links in his mind, they still feel like jagged edges but he forces himself to look at them in turn and to focus on the ones that are still there.
When Jim awakes and finds that Spock is still by his side, head resting back on the headboard in a light meditative state, he smiles.
Jim’s clothes stay in a pile by the sofa, but for all intents and purposes he has moved into Spock’s bedroom, and Spock doesn’t question it.
-
The days seem to melt together; the sky stays grey and clouded, throwing down occasional bouts of snow and rain. Spock notices that they are settling into a routine. Jim’s presence in his bed is, oddly, natural to him. Jim likes to sprawl when he sleeps and he kicks off the covers in the night, leaving his legs bare. Spock takes the opportunity to drag the excess covers over himself, cocooning himself in warmth. They keep their backs to one another and it reminds Spock of when they beam down to a new planet, they circle surroundings back to back and he wonders if it is a conscious choice on Jim’s part. Since Jim moved into his bedroom he has not had any nightmares. It is only logical that if Spock’s presence can allow his Captain to sleep better, then it should be so.
Spock wakes earlier than Jim, but it doesn’t take long for Jim to follow, coming into the kitchen rubbing his eyes and yawning. He flops onto the table, resting his head on one hand: "So what's for breakfast?" he says, and Spock passes him some toast and a mug of coffee and Jim sighs happily when he takes them from him.
"You're the best," he says, and Spock feels something warm unfurl within him.
"It is nice to know you are so easily gratified." Spock replies before he can stop himself, he knows in the back of his mind that something is happening that is out of his control, but it is slippery like a fish and he is easily distracted by Jim's next words.
The snow is still strong outside, so they content themselves with reading by the fire and playing chess until night draws closer and they repeat the whole cycle again.
-
When the snow lessens and it becomes safe to head back outside again, there is no talk of Jim moving back to his apartment. The only thing that Jim announces is that he is going to do some shopping. Jim starts to act a little secretive, refusing to let Spock help him with grocery shopping and banning Spock from looking into one of the cupboards in the kitchen.
“You are aware this is my apartment, are you not?” Spock says, raising an eyebrow. Jim just grins at him.
“Just don’t look, okay?”
-
Two days later it becomes apparent what Jim was trying to achieve, when he shuffles Spock into the kitchen impatiently – far earlier than their usual dinner time and presents his labour with a flourish.
“Ta da!” he says, stretching his arms wide and forcing Spock to sit. He takes the seat opposite, and Spock can feel the excited, nervous, anxious energy rolling off him in waves. He does not try to close himself off from it and looks at the bowl of soup in front of him.
The soup is an unmistakable dark orange colour with a consistency like double cream.
“Is this…plomeek soup?” Spock asks, cautious.
“Why are you looking at it like that? I’m not going to poison you, scout’s honour.” Jim holds up two fingers and then drops them quickly, “actually I wasn’t in the scouts but I’m still not trying to kill you.”
“You are mistaken. I am simply…gratified at your generosity.”
A soft blush suffuses Jim’s cheeks. “Oh,” he says, hands waving as if to dismiss, “well in that case, you’re welcome. It could be disgusting though, so wait until you eat it.”
Spock takes the first spoonful and struggles to resist sighing with happiness. It tastes exactly like home. It reminds him of the Vulcan desert, of the hot pavement beneath his feet and he swears he can recall his mother’s voice calling from the kitchen. Jim is looking at him expectantly, his own spoon hovering between his mouth and his bowl.
“It is very good, Jim.”
Jim breaks into a smile, a wide, open happy grin that doesn’t leave his face for hours. Spock lets the sound of Jim’s voice wash over him for the rest of the meal as he basks in this moment. Jim talking about inane topics and Spock feels something warm and indescribable blooming in his chest. He puts it down to the soup, rather than the way Jim looks when he is pleased with himself, rather than the way Jim’s toes are pressing lightly against his own and the creeping of their fingers closer together on the kitchen table.
-
After dinner Jim makes them both hot chocolate, his with a dash of rum and Spock’s with extra chocolate. They go out on the balcony to watch the snow fall and the city spark into existence as night descends and the electric lights wink to life.
Leaning his elbows on the metal rail, Spock is reminded of the observation deck at the Enterprise. Of the hours spent watching stars rush by as he worked. The mug feels warm against his fingertips and he enjoys the sensation. Jim is blowing on his hot chocolate, wrapped in a blanket that comes up to his ears. Their shoulders bump companionably and Spock wonders when he stopped minding the touches, when the constant presence of Jim Kirk stopped bothering him. In fact, when he actually started to enjoy it.
“You don’t have to stay out here if you’re cold, this must feel like sub-zero to you.”
Spock lets his gaze linger a little too long on the outline of Jim's face.
“I find it does not bother me.”
-
It has only been a few days into their routine when Jim, intently planning his next move on the chessboard, asks:
"How is Uhura?"
It does not follow on from any conversation they were having, but Spock is used to having to make leaps when attempting to follow the strange curves in Jim's thinking.
“She is well; she has sent a card wishing seasonal greetings and appears to be quite happy to be home.”
He notices that Jim’s hand is very close to his own, a few inches of space separating them and it is as if he has forgotten how to breathe. His mind is so focussed on that tiny gap of air that he misses the beginning of Jim’s question.
“…still in touch?” Jim asks, curious.
Spock hazards a guess, "It is only logical that she and I exchange messages."
Jim's game is distracted, he has left his queen wide open, Spock is about to point it out when Jim speaks again.
"She is quite something, isn't she." There is an odd tone of resignation in his voice.
"Quite." Spock replies, a little lost.
“I think it has stopped snowing. I’m going to go for a walk, uh, want to join me?” Spock nods, uncertain why there was a sudden shift in atmosphere. He feels as if he has failed some kind of test as he watches Jim’s figure retreating into their shared bathroom.
-
The snow crunches beneath his feet and Spock takes a moment to catalogue that particular pleasure. Jim has his hands shoved into his pockets, a scarf wound tightly around his neck and he is walking without thinking, eyes cast down. Spock does not know how to handle this kind of Jim. He has not seen it before and it unsettles him. They have been walking for over an hour, creating trails in the fallen snow. Any attempt by Spock to draw Jim into conversation has failed, so they have settled into silence.
He stays by Jim’s side as they meander through the park, to the right a lone bird skims across the surface of the half-frozen lake. Spock follows its path as it alights on a leafless tree, stark silhouette against the cold, blue sky. The temperature is starting to affect Spock slightly; he tamps down the urge to shiver, but pulls his coat more tightly closed.
Jim notices the movement out of the corner of his eye and tilts his head to look at him, his lips are flushed pink from the cold wind and he purses them in disapproval.
“You should have told me you’re uncomfortable. Let’s head back.”
Spock is about to argue but he sees the set determination in Jim's face and just nods stiffly, “Thank you.”
Jim sighs, an expression of exasperation for humans, but Spock notices that Jim’s eyes are looking at him with a softness that he has seen before in his mother’s eyes. Jim reaches out a hand and touches gloved fingers softly on his shoulder, and then shakes his head.
"Come on," he says, turning swiftly, "You look like an icicle."
-
“Get under the blanket.”
Spock is still standing in the middle of the room, unwilling to remove his coat. Jim has already turned the heating up, peeling the scarf off his neck as he gestures towards the sofa and the cream, overly fluffy blanket resting on it.
“Do I need to make it an order?”
He knows Jim is teasing, but he settles back onto the sofa and allows him to drape the blanket over him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”
“It is irrelevant.”
Jim is leaning over him; and Spock is suddenly hyper aware of everything, as if time has slowed down and zoomed in. He can feel his hip pressed against his, the rough fabric of the blanket against his wrist, the intensity of Jim’s gaze. It is as if the world has righted itself and Spock leafs through his memory of every moment that he has shared with his Captain and wonders how he could be so obtuse.
“Jim,” he says, and it comes out quick and hurried in a puff of air, he is shocked by the longing in his voice.
Jim is cut off mid-sentence, probably chiding Spock, and looks at him with a curious expression on his face, and before Spock can decipher the curious combination of the glimmer in his eyes and lips slightly parted Jim has leaned forward and is kissing him: a feather light, gentle pressure against his lips and Spock is so stunned that he doesn’t move. His senses are reeling, the cold still numbing his reactions. Jim snaps back as if he has been slapped, eyes wide with terror: “I am so sorry” he says and before Spock can collect himself enough to reply he hears the sound of the door slamming shut.
-
Jim pulls the collar up on his coat and stamps his booted feet against the sidewalk, dislodging trapped chunks of packed snow. He keeps his hands shoved into his pockets and looks up, exhaling softly. The soft glow of the street lamp lights up the tall building, throwing shadows across its face.
He’s been walking around in the cold for about two hours, he knows Spock will be worried. He can see him sitting in the armchair by the window, looking out at the park, back straight and fingers clasped together over his knees. He knows he is being a coward, he knows he has to face this head on if he ever wants to have a functioning relationship with his first officer again.
He takes a deep breath, nothing like the present, he thinks, fingers trembling, trying to still the wild pounding of his heart.
-
When Jim comes back, finally, Spock feels like a pressure has been relieved from his body and he finds it is quickly replaced with anger.
He gets up slowly and turns to see Jim looking at him sheepishly; arms held out, palms open – a typical human gesture of asking for forgiveness.
“You left.” He knows he sounds angry. He is angry, and he should be surprised but he’s lost count of all the times that Jim has driven him to distraction.
Jim starts walking forward, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “I know, and I’m sorry, Spock, I didn’t –“
“You had no right.”
Jim deflates visibly, shoulders buckling inwards, exhaling sharply. He is still wearing all his layers and had begun to unwind the scarf from his neck, but at Spock’s words he leaves it dangling, exposing the lines of his throat – in a state of disarray. His voice comes out soft and quiet.
“I know. I had no right to kiss you.”
“No–“, the sound rips out of him, primal, vehement. “- you had no right to leave.”
The confusion on his face is obvious; Jim shakes his head a little as if to clear it. Spock steps closer, determination written in his stance. Jim leans a hand against the sofa for support.
“It was confusing. And counter intuitive.”
“What are you saying, Spock?”
“That if your intention was to further our relationship, leaving was not the correct step to take, unless I am mistaken in your intention?”
Jim’s eyes widen.
“I think there has been some miscommunication.” Spock says, stepping closer.
“I think we should clarify,” Jim says.
Spock reaches out two fingers, questioning, and Jim reacts without hesitating and the trust there makes something in Spock's chest ache. Jim leans forward into the touch, eyes wide and open, Spock’s fingers rest lightly on his meld points and then he is –
he sees himself step close to Jim and Jim has to resist so hard not to lean into it, he sees himself illuminated by the moonlight standing vigil and the safe, happy feeling that provides, he sees his own eyes fever flushed and cheeks green, and a thousand more moments, on the bridge, in the gym, in the observation deck standing with his hands held behind his back and he wonders how long Jim has seen him like this - there is a surge of warmth and joy and affection and Spock doesn't want to close himself off to this ever because this is Jim, his Captain. Jim who is bright like sunshine, illuminating corners of his mind and he can't believe that he would be worthy of this –
The meld breaks as Spock is startled by a soft pressure against his lips, and as he comes back to the outside world Jim is on top of him and kissing him insistently, his tongue sliding at the seam of his lips and Spock can't do anything else but open up to him.
“God, you have no idea,” Jim says between kisses, dragging a thumb along Spock’s hip, “how hard it has been, having you so close all the time.” The words send a shudder down Spock’s spine, and he allows himself a small smile.
“You should not have restrained yourself so much.”
Jim laughs bright and beautiful into the crook of his neck. He plants a kiss at the curve of his shoulder and Spock can feel his smile against his skin.
“No, I shouldn’t have .”
-
The morning sun is weak, and when Spock wakes it is the first thing he sees, the soft, flickering light spread over his fingers and the expanse of sheets. It is the first time he has woken after Jim and it unsettles him slightly, but he feels remarkably rested. He sits up and can hear the sound of Jim in the kitchen. He is still unsure of himself and this shift in their relationship, but Jim is humming softly, keeping an eye on whatever is in the pan that is sizzling softly and he is mesmerised by the way Jim’s pyjamas are sitting low on his hips, by the gentle rhythm he is tapping out with his fingers on the counter and he can’t not touch him and wonders how he ever stopped himself before. Spock leans his hands on either side of Jim, trapping him between himself and the counter, softly as if not to startle him. And when Jim leans back into Spock’s chest, a contented sigh escaping him, Spock thinks that there is nothing more wonderful than this. To have the trust of this man who tilts his head to accommodate Spock’s chin settling on his shoulder.
“We are scheduled to head back out on the Enterprise tomorrow,” Jim says, a little nervously. Spock is tracing circles on his hand.
"Yes at 0900. What are you cooking?” Spock asks, not particularly caring of the answer but he is sure that Jim wants to tell him.
“I’m making a tofu omelette.”
Spock smiles.
“Do you know what tofu is?”
Jim hits him lightly with the spatula, but there is no harmful intent and Jim steals a kiss before ordering him to sit down.
"You are always so doubtful of my abilities."
They eat breakfast in silence, their feet tangled together under the table. Spock looks up from reading his PADD to see Jim smiling at him.
"I can't believe this has really happened." Jim says, he touches two fingers lightly on the top of Spock's hand that is on the table between them. "Do you think it will change anything...work-wise?" Jim asks.
Spock takes a moment to think about it. He realises now that his utter dedication and fascination of this man was not just a desire to be the best First Officer to a first class ship. He thinks, perhaps a little too romantically, that he would follow Jim to the ends of the universe.
“I confess it will be harder to concentrate.”
Jim grins wickedly. "Serves you right after all the anguish you caused me."
Jim slides out of the chair and leans over Spock for a kiss, his hands travelling down Spock’s chest and slipping under the waistband of his trousers. “They should really not make our uniforms so tight.”
Spock manages a grunt of assent before all thought gets obliterated from his mind by the sight of Jim Kirk kneeling between his thighs, lips wet and open and eyes filled with lust.
Jim Kirk is like a tornado, a whirlwind of limbs and smiles and he will burst through your life and nothing will be the same.
Not for the first time, Spock is very glad not to have followed McCoy's advice.