Work Text:
Nearly a year after the V’ger incident, Jim and Spock’s relationship was in a decent place. The journey to that decent place was a struggle for them both: Jim had to let go of the bitterness he felt from being abandoned, and Spock had to exercise endless patience during this process.
Despite how hard it was, their efforts were rewarded. Ease gradually returned to their conversations, trust was rebuilt, and they learned how to playfully tease each other once more. It was almost like going back in time.
Almost.
Even with all of their progress, there were still some walls Jim kept up.
Not because of a lack of forgiveness. No, Jim was well past that. These walls were more about keeping Jim contained than keeping Spock out. Otherwise, he might do something stupid like kiss the Vulcan.
Yes, Jim was hopelessly, unrequitedly in love with Spock, which was pretty inconvenient. Jim missed the days when he was blissfully unaware of his feelings. He’d only realized them after Spock left for Gol. Quite the cliche: only realizing the object of your affections after losing them. Cliche or not, it was the truth.
Not only was Jim in love with Spock but it was also an enduring love. Completely different from the flings from Jim’s youth. He’d spent the entirety of their separation trying to get over his feelings and had failed miserably.
As inconvenient as unrequited pining was, Jim didn’t think he could bear living without Spock. He also didn’t want to make Spock uncomfortable or elicit his pity; thus, Jim was determined to keep his feelings a secret.
To hide his feelings, Jim established new norms as their relationship was rebuilt. They did not meet in each other’s quarters or in intimate settings. No meeting late at night, and no drinking together. No unnecessary touching: touch telepathy was too dangerous, and Jim worried he’d never stop touching Spock if he started again.
While these measures accomplished Jim’s goal, they unfortunately could be interpreted differently. Jim suspected Spock interpreted them as a punishment. There was hurt in his eyes everytime Jim drew back or refused an invitation. Those eyes made Jim feel terribly cruel in those moments, but what was he supposed to do? Add intimacy onto intimacy until Jim cracked under the pressure of his desperate feelings?
No, distance was better for both of them.
For the sake of their friendship, Jim would resist that pull—that relentless gravity that drew him towards Spock. Day by day, hour by hour, Jim resisted.
Until he couldn’t anymore.
One day—full of tedious meetings with people he couldn’t stand—Jim was just too exhausted to resist. It was some godforsaken time of night, and Jim was too wound up to sleep. He needed someone to talk to. No one else would be up. At least, no one else Jim wanted to talk to. In all honesty, there was only one person he wanted to talk to. One person whose company he craved.
One late-night conversation wouldn’t hurt, right?
Before he could think better of it, Jim entered their shared bathroom and knocked on the door to Spock’s quarters.
A metallic clattering sound—as if someone had knocked over an assortment of objects—and then hurried footsteps. The door opened, revealing Spock in his meditation robe. His sleek cap of hair had those random, out-of-place strands it got at the end of the day, and he’d removed his makeup. The sight was unbearably intimate, making Jim’s heart ache.
On his side, Spock looked like he could scarcely believe what was happening. “Jim?”
The soft breathing of his name made Jim want to retreat. “If it’s a bad time, I can—”
“It is never a bad time,” Spock firmly stated, stepping aside to give him entrance. “You are always free to seek me.”
This was a bad idea. He was stupid to even consider this. More intimacy would only torture him, but he wanted it so badly. He could smell the incense still burning from the interrupted meditation. Could feel the intense heat of Spock’s quarters from where he stood.
During the five year mission, Jim secretly hated how hot Spock kept his quarters. It now felt like a welcoming embrace as he stepped inside.
“Do you require anything? Perhaps a brandy?”
“No, water’s good.” Jim was already playing with fire. The last thing he needed was to get drunk.
Spock fetched water and tea from the replicator as Jim sat in Spock’s sitting area.
Jim couldn’t believe he was doing this. This was such a bad idea.
Too soon, Spock was handing off the water and sitting across from him. The Vulcan’s full attention focused on the human as he asked, “What is troubling you, Jim?”
“It’s silly,” thinking about it, Jim was embarrassed to have broken his resolve over a long day.
“I will listen regardless.”
The simple declaration made Jim love Spock all the more. Coming here had definitely been a mistake. A mistake he couldn’t regret with the happy butterflies Spock had stirred up.
Taking a sip of his water, Jim opened his mouth to speak only for the bosun whistle to interrupt.
Usually, Spock would snap to attention at the whistle’s call. Not this time. The Vulcan didn’t budge from his seat, eyes fixed on Jim.
The whistle sounded again.
“Aren’t you going to answer?”
“It is no matter,” Spock said as the whistle sounded for the third time.
“They’ve tried to contact you three times in a row. It must be urgent.” Neglecting duties wasn’t like Spock at all. “What if it’s an emergency?”
There was a twitch of Spock’s jaw. The one the Vulcan got when he was frustrated or angry. Still, he rose and walked over to his comm unit. “Speak.”
Jim was taken aback by the terse order. Sure, Spock wasn’t always the most verbose person, but he sounded downright hostile right now.
“I’m so sorry Mr. Spock! The containment broke and the floor’s melting and Britz is going into shock! We need your help!”
Definitely an urgent matter. Yet, the Vulcan hesitated before saying, “I am on my way, Lieutenant.” He ended the call and spoke as he retreated into the sleeping area around the corner. “I apologize, Jim. If the situation was not—”
“I understand, Spock. Duty calls.”
Now in uniform, Spock came back into sight, speed walking to the hallway exit. Then, he paused in the doorway. He gave Jim a soft look and said, “I shall return shortly.”
The door shut behind him, and Jim stared at where Spock had been for a good minute. Realizing what he’d been doing, pressed his palm into his face and groaned. Goddamn fool. This was not going to help his hopeless heart. Every second he was alone with Spock was another second he might take things too far.
He should leave. Spock would understand: it was late, and Jim was tired. They could talk tomorrow in the rec room.
Jim would leave a note to try and mitigate any hard feelings.
Glancing around the room, Jim looked for a spare PADD or something. Unlike Jim’s PADDs—that had a habit of migrating around the room—Spock’s were all neatly organized on his desk.
Hoping he wasn’t ruining some intricate organization system, Jim picked a PADD at random. His intention was to open a blank page; however, he was drawn up short by a word.
“Jim”.
In a box, the phrase, “Jim’s parents” was written beside a mark of 3.043 years.
Ordinarily, Jim could resist the urge to snoop, but his curiosity was piqued. What could Spock possibly write involving Jim’s parents?
Upon further investigation, the document seemed to be a diagram or a timeline of sorts. There were many boxes containing brief phrases with measures of time, connected by lines. They seemed disjointed, but Jim knew Spock always had a method to his madness.
It may make more sense if he started from the beginning.
Scrolling to the top of the document, Jim read the first box.
“V’ger.”
No measure of time. Then, it connected to a box that read “status?”, which branched to “apology” and “reinstatement”.
Was this a journal of sorts? Following V’ger, Spock had asked about the status of their friendship and then apologized for his sudden departure to Gol.
Moving on, Jim started to find measures of time next to the words. “Meal invitation” was accompanied by 3.721 days. “Minimal pleasantries” was given 2.782 months. “Real smile” had 1.032 months.
The more Jim read, the more a picture started to form in his mind. This tracked the progression of their rekindled friendship, the steps they took and the landmarks. Except, the dates weren’t accurate, and some events were in the wrong order. Spock would never record the wrong time or order of steps in a retrospective document. Therefore, this was not a journal.
This was a plan. The measures of time were predictive estimates.
Spock had always been one to organize his thoughts before implementing them; though, Jim hadn’t known he wrote relationship plans.
Did he do this for all of his relationships? Probably not. Probably just the important ones.
The thought caused an enormous, dopey smile to spread across Jim’s face. God, this man would be the death of him. Why was he so precious? Why was he the sweetest thing in existence?
Looking further, Jim was—for the millionth time—impressed by Spock’s thoroughness. He’d truly thought of everything: stages of teasing, eye contact, emotional support. There were at least three dozen boxes on chess.
Then, there were the notes on touch. He blushed at the reminder of how often he’d touched Spock before Gol. Shoulder grabs, helping hands, accidental brushes. The Jim of the past had been all over Spock. Much to the current Jim’s mortification.
At least Spock didn’t seem to think much of it. He’d included it into his friendship plan after all.
A few entries confused Jim; for instance, “status; McCoy” was repeated a couple times. Why was Bones included in this? Was he getting advice from the doctor?
Those entries made sense after Jim caught sight of a certain word. At first, he thought he imagined it. He rubbed his eyes, but it was still there when he looked again.
“Kiss”.
Excuse me? Kiss? Kiss who? Wasn’t this about friendship?
Jim found other entries along those lines, outlining what must be Spock’s expectations for a physical relationship. Some of the stuff he wrote about had Jim hot under the collar. Was that what he thought Jim was into, or was that what he was into? Either way, Jim had some new fantasies.
It wasn’t just steps in a physical relationship though. There was a step for Spock to set up a meditation corner in Jim’s quarters and a step for Jim to leave books on Spock’s nightstand. Spock intended to learn to cook Jim’s favorite meals, to teach him Vulcan, to meet each other’s families.
This wasn’t a friendship outline. It was intimate and explicitly romantic.
As the implications sank in, an irrepressible smile spread on Jim’s face. Spock wanted to be with him. He had a plan to blend their lives together. Albeit, without Jim’s input, but that was really the only problem with Spock’s approach. That and the pace was a bit slow for Jim; although, he may be a bit eager since he wanted to be married to Spock four years ago.
Thumbing the edge of the PADD, Jim wondered what to do with his newfound knowledge. His first instinct was to run to Spock, to confess his pent-up feelings. Or to wait for Spock to get back and then ravage the Vulcan.
Nevertheless, there was a part of him that wanted to see Spock go through with his plan. Would that be cruel? Surely not. Not as long as Jim played along. Spock always liked it when his plans came together.
Jim may speed up the timeline though: he wasn’t waiting a whole two years to sleep with Spock.
Mind made up, Jim copied the document and sent it to himself. He then put the PADD back where he found it. When he sat back down in his original seat, you’d never guess he’d moved at all.
In a little while, Spock came back. His sleeves were singed. He brought a bubble-gum and rotting wood smell into the room, but he looked happy to see Jim where he had left him. There was that lovely barely-there smile around Spock’s mouth and eyes.
“I apologize for the wait.”
“That’s alright: it sounded like an emergency.”
“Indeed; however, it is resolved.” Spock sat across from Jim once again, giving his undivided attention. “I am free to listen to your predicament.”
This time, Jim didn’t feel conflicted about receiving his attention. It filled him with unconflicted fondness and comfort. Jim took a sip from his water before launching into his tirade about bureaucrats with their never-ending meetings.
They talked for a long time about Jim’s day and the lab incident and nothing in particular.
At one point, Spock refilled their drinks. Jim let their fingers brush together when Spock handed him the water. Graciously, Jim chose to not comment on the Vulcan’s sharp inhale and barely-there blush.
It was a near thing though.