Work Text:
“Captain?”
He never thought he’d hear Spock call him Captain again.
These, he guesses, are the benefits of losing your rank of Admiral and having a husband who doesn’t remember you’re married.
In any case, it feels good to be a Captain again.
“Yes, Spock?”
“I must ask you an important question. You will forgive me if I don’t remember the answer.”
Spock looks so shy and awkward that in any other occasion he’d let out a chuckle and put his head on his chest. In any other occasion.
“Anything, Spock. You know I’m here to help.”
Spock swallows. He opens his mouth, breathes in; “Where do I live?”
He does laugh, this time, but he shuts up once he sees Spock’s expression.
“Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just… funny that I didn’t think of it.”
They never left Starfleet HQ since they came back to Earth –they’re still in the empty courtroom, in fact. But they’ve been cleared; they’re free to finally go home.
Spock is hesitant in his reply: “Is… I do not understand the reason behind your hilarity.”
“Oh, I’m just a silly man, Mr. Spock. Don’t worry.”
“Vulcans do not--”
“Do not worry. I know. Well, my dear friend, you happen to live with me.”
Spock nods.
“I see.”
He smiles at him.
He wonders if Spock remembers their home.
“If I’m not wrong, it should be common for humans to live with one’s friends.”
“Ye-es. It’s just the two of us, actually.”
He doesn’t hear Spock’s reply, because as soon as he utters these words the implications of this fact cascade down on him.
Oh, this is bad. This is catastrophic. He must find Bones or any other of their friends right now .
“Would you, um, would you mind waiting here for a moment, Mr. Spock? I believe I have to go and find…” he trails off in a mumble. “…wanted to speak with you as soon as this was over,” he resumes.
Spock is clearly perplexed but, thankfully, he doesn’t ask any questions.
He bolts out of the room.
He just didn’t think that they’d be free to go home together. He was so focused on bringing Spock back that he didn’t picture what would happen next , and now he suffers the consequences of his short-sightedness. What kind of awful Captain is he?
He catches glimpse of Chekov in a restroom and runs straight to him.
“I must ask you for another favor,” he blurts out. “Can you hold Spock here for, let’s say, half an hour?”
Chekov is taken aback, and rightly so, since he was just here washing his hands and minding his own business when Kirk interrupted him all red in the face and cornered him.
“I-I think so, yes, but—but why?”
“You’ve seen our house.”
He still doesn’t understand.
“Aye?”
“It’s a house where two married men live. And Spock doesn’t know.”
Chekov exhales a loud “ Oh !”
“He’s in the courtroom if you can find a way to hold him.”
“Aye, Captain!”
He heads home.
He made arrangements for it to be cleaned while he was away, so at least he won’t welcome Spock in a dusty hole, but there’s still work to do. The thing is, it wouldn’t be healthy for Spock if Jim just shoved their marriage on his face; Spock must remember everything at his own pace.
And Jim will help him, even if it means transferring all of Spock’s clothes into the guestroom, and his candles, and his mats, and the content of his bedside table, and the books stored in their bedroom. Even if it means hiding their rings and their albums and the pictures, both holos and framed ones, including the gigantic photo of their wedding day.
Then he must change into civilian clothes, or Spock will wonder what he’s been up to since he got there. He should also take a shower.
By the time Spock comes home, he’s already done everything. Chekov must have been extraordinaire .
He almost can’t believe Spock is back . He can’t stop smiling from the moment he walks in.
He did it. He brought Spock home.
“So, Spock! What do you think?” He greets him with open arms, but knows better than to hug him; he stays at a safe distance.
Spock is looking around the living room.
“The area is easily accessible, yet quiet,” he says, which is not the feedback Jim was looking for, but is still positive. He sounds distracted, though, and he wonders if he’s remembering something.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Sorry, that’s just… an expression. It means I’d like to know what you’re thinking.”
“I… I am trying to recall the location of the rooms.”
“Want to test your memory?”
Spock starts pointing. “The kitchen; the dining room; my bedroom--”
“ Ah , you… you were almost there,” Kirk interrupts, clasping his hands together. “My bedroom’s there. Yours is that way.”
He might have to sit down.
Spock remembered. He remembered their room, except… he didn’t, and Jim had to lie to him because there’s no reason why a man like Spock would sleep with his best friend.
Spock nods. If he’s disappointed, it doesn’t show.
Part of him just wants to walk away; tell Spock goodnight and go straight to bed -to hell with their life and the memories Spock seems to have blocked. It would be so much easier to leave him here and wait for him to remember on his own, if he ever does, without being constantly reminded that his own husband barely knows who he is. After all, he did bring Spock home. That’s enough.
But, of course, he loves Spock too much to do that.
“Well, Spock, how hungry are you?”
“Not much.”
“Then come on and get changed into something comfortable. I’m taking you to get a slice of pastiera napoletana ; that should fill you up.”
Spock’s eyes narrow. “Is that Italian?”
“Excellent deduction, Mr. Spock. What do you think of that?”
Spock nods. “Yes. Yes, if you will wait for me.”
“I will wait for you, Mr. Spock.”
---
Outside the window, Spock can see the sparkling lights of the bay. Inside, he and Kirk are both comfortably sitting on their armchairs with a book.
His eyes immediately shift to Kirk when he puts down his book and clasp his hands together. Watching from the corner of his eye, he sees the tips of his fingers turn white from the pressure.
Spock fights the urge to prompt his friend to speak and reminds himself that Kirk will talk when he wishes to.
If he hasn’t said anything yet, it can’t be an urgent matter.
Although the tightness of his grip suggests otherwise.
Kirk releases his hands and places them on both sides of his armchair.
“Spock?” he murmurs. He hasn’t noticed Spock was already paying attention.
“Yes?”
“I’m going back to work next week, starting Monday. They gave me my job back.”
“That is good news,” Spock says tentatively, because technically it should be, but that wouldn’t explain Jim’s nervousness.
“Yes. It is.” Kirk flashes him a mechanical smile that he very well recognizes. He may not recall everything they ever did together, but he never forgot how to read Jim’s face.
“Is this bothering you for some reason?”
“I’m happy to go back, but you still haven’t recovered.”
He looks so worried that Spock has to fight a fond smile.
“I doubt I will be in trouble.”
Kirk chuckles. “Knowing you, I doubt that .”
Spock’s lips twitch upwards.
“I will manage to take care of myself. I have not forgotten how to do that.”
Jim laughs. “Very well, then. I’ll just be gone for a few hours anyways, but I wanted to make sure it was fine with you.”
“It is.”
He appreciates Kirk’s solicitude, but they’ve been doing little else other than reading, taking little walks and going out to eat.
Spock wondered why Kirk was so keen on Italian food until he remembered one particular night when they were offered lingue di gatto at a restaurant, when Jim laughed for a disproportionately long time at Spock’s horrified look before explaining that cat tongues are a type of biscuit. That’s why Jim is attached to it; it’s some sort of running joke between the two of them. He wishes he remembered more of them; he wishes he remembered more of what they used to say to each other.
Monday morning, Kirk leaves.
Only now that he’s alone does Spock realize how captivating Jim’s presence is. He feels like he's seeing the house for the first time despite having lived here for a month.
He walks around the rooms, trying to remember.
They had a golden tablecloth that Spock accidentally burned up with a candle.
Sometimes their friends come over for dinner.
Jim once tripped over that blue and green carpet and sprained his ankle.
Spock often likes to glance at—
There is an empty spot on the wall where Spock was sure there used to be something. Maybe it was a painting that fell and broke.
As he wanders, he notices more empty spots on walls and furniture; corners that draw his eye and make him think they should not be empty.
Over the next days, he explores the house in depth.
He always seems to end up in the only room he doesn’t remember: his own.
It does not look familiar at all. It is small. The mattress is too soft. The color combination is not pleasing. He cannot remember where he used to sit to meditate, and this time his body will not cooperate him with subconscious memories. He cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong.
He cannot trust his memories, but he can trust his sensations.
With these thoughts, he enters Kirk’s bedroom for the first time.
He would not invade his friend’s space, but he must see . He cannot hope to put the pieces back together if he is missing one. Besides, he figures, he must have already been in this room if he lived here for more than ten years.
The room is spacious and luminous, with a wide window and light furniture. There is a double bed, slightly larger than Spock’s, but he figures it’s because he sleeps more composedly.
Only one of the bedside tables is in use. The wardrobe is half empty.
Despite his solid reasons, he still feels like he’s intruding, and runs out.
Either Kirk is lying to him, or he’s hiding the truth. Of this, Spock is certain. He may be blind, but the rest of his senses are still active, and they are telling him that something is not right.
He knows Kirk means no harm, because he remembers being his friend: there is a 20-years-old fondness for Jim in Spock’s soul.
But he still needs to understand the truth.
That night, in front of a bowl of pasta and pesto alla genovese , he confronts Kirk.
“Jim, I must ask you a question.”
“Tell me.”
There is no better way than to be blunt. “Are you married? And, if so, does your spouse live with us?”
Kirk’s mouth is agape. “ Uh .”
“I apologize if this sounded like an insensitive question; I was--”
“No,” Jim cuts him off. “No, you can ask me anything you need to know. And no, there’s nobody else living here, nor was there. It’s just the two of us, Spock.”
Jim is staring at him with knitted brows.
“I had to be certain, since we never talked of this matter,” he explains.
It is not a lie, but it is not the complete truth: he is still suspicious. His inquiry was sparked by very particular details that are still unexplained.
He knows he won’t get everything back.
He knows that nobody remembers every waking moment of their life, but he needs more than just a feeling to go on; when sensations clash with memories, he needs facts.
The next day, he takes a look at Kirk’s bookshelves.
The two of them own a surprisingly high amount of old paper books. Kirk seems to be particularly fond of 19th and 20th century human literature, for reasons that Spock can just vaguely picture.
Tale of Two Cities .
He gave it to Jim as a present before he died. He takes it from the shelf, remembering carrying around the book in his pockets for an entire day, waiting for the right occasion.
As he opens it, he sees that the first page is convolute and torn. He places his hand upon it, trying to mimic the gesture to speculate what has been done to it. It is likely that Jim clenched his fist on the page.
He puts the book back.
He doesn’t sleep that night, just as the night before and the night before that.
He doesn’t meditate, either.
He simply looks at the unfamiliar walls.
He wishes he remembered his life as much as he remembers theoretical physics. He managed to recall back years of intense studies in just a few weeks as if he were turning on a long row of old switches.
He does remember some of the Enterprise’s adventures: he remembers being trapped and running and fighting, and going back in time, and being a disembodied brain, being controlled by telepaths. Those on the Enterprise were surely the best of times and the worst of times .
But something is still missing.
In the morning, Kirk is home, and they go out for a stroll in the crisp air.
In the afternoon, when Kirk is at work, Spock goes back to his room.
He looks out of the window.
He wonders if there is logic to his actions, or if his mind is just wandering.
He doesn’t feel particularly at unease with the latter thought, and he wonders how much labor it took him to accept his more illogical side.
Now he simply knows that illogical impulses are often an efficient way to unveil deeper truths.
He sits on Kirk’s bed. It is comfortable.
He lies down.
He is suddenly drowsy, and it is understandable, given how little sleep he has gotten over the last few days.
---
The house is quiet.
He doesn’t call for Spock in case he’s meditating and doesn’t want to be disturbed, but he still looks for him.
He’s done little else lately. At least finding him has been a thrilling experience.
However, Spock is nowhere to be found this time, which probably just means he went out for a walk again. He hopes he put on something to keep him warm, because he was freezing earlier this morning.
He goes to his bedroom to take off his clothes.
Spock is sleeping on his bed.
On their bed.
The sight is so familiar it makes his limbs ache.
He goes out to get groceries and run useless errands. He’ll come back in a few hours, when Spock should be awake.
He doesn’t want to embarrass him.
---
He reaches out, but Jim’s not here.
He must have got up already to make breakfast. He’s craving toast. He hopes Jim is making toasts.
His eyes snap open.
Of course.
Of course, of course . How could he keep his eyes closed and believe he was blind?
He rolls on his back and faces the ceiling. His ceiling.
He lets out a laugh, because the situation certainly allows one.
Of course this must be the answer. Jim, married, to him.
Unless… unless this is just a fantasy. Could it be? Could he fantasize about waking up in Kirk’s bed? He believes he could.
Oh, but there is a way to be sure. If they are married, there must be proof of it.
As always, he cannot but trust his mind.
He closes his eyes, focuses inward. He searches for something he never thought would exist - a connection with Jim.
---
When he comes back home for the second time, Spock is reading in the living room.
“Good evening, Captain,” he greets him.
“Good evening, Mr. Spock. You okay?”
He knows he shouldn’t ask, but after this afternoon’s accident, he wants to make sure Spock hasn’t retreated back in his shell. Hopefully he avoided that when he didn’t interrupt his sleep.
“I am fine,” Spock answers, and Jim sighs with relief.
They stay up late that night; they play chess.
Jim missed looking at Spock over the board, missed watching his eyes shift relentlessly and then still, focus, narrow before he makes his move.
He loves surprising him with an unexpected move.
He loves surprising him.
“Jim?”
“Yes, Spock?”
He looks up at him and smiles, as he always does when Spock calls his name
“I have been thinking.”
“About what?” he gently prompts him.
“About getting married again.”
“You…”
Spock’s lips curve upwards; he’s barely containing a smile.
“I believe our bond has been damaged by my death. We could restore it, if you wish to.”
“You remembered.”
“Not everything, yet.” His smile falters.
Jim bolts out of the room.
When he comes back, relief is evident on Spock’s face.
“What did you bring?”
“Photos. To help you remember.”