Chapter Text
Spock displayed great restraint, waiting until the door behind him latched shut before starting down the corridor. He walked briskly, hands clenched at his sides, not even pausing to catch his breath until he had put adequate distance between himself and the human.
It was illogical, of course. Spock knew that further distance would do nothing to settle his racing thoughts, or the pounding in his heart. Mr. Kirk – Jim – would still be on the ship. He would still be laying in Spock’s bed, wide eyed and inquisitive and so…human.
This was foolish. Dangerous. Logic dictated that if one had the means to offer assistance, that one should offer it as such. But Spock was unable to fully justify his decision to save Jim and stow him on the ship. His mission has been to beam down to the planet to assess the most recent anomaly brought to this area by the astral phenomena. He expected debris, perhaps destroyed asteroids or floating matter from deceased planets. He had not expected a crashed space shuttle.
He had not expected Jim.
The fact that the craft came from Earth… that complicated matters even more. Spock was not the first Vulcan to take pity on a stranded human, to break their most sacred rule in the name of mercy. His hands clenched at his side as he swallowed down the embarrassment for doing something so predictable. In the ten years since Spock joined the Vulcan Science Academy, he had never once defied the non-interference policy.
Perhaps his peers were correct. He did not act as a true Vulcan.
But there was something about the way Jim had stared up at him, laying on the floor of his wrecked ship, those bright eyes studying him with not just fear but also wonder. Spock could not accept the loss of this life when he had the means by which to save him.
He simply could not leave him on the planet to die.
The more time he spent with Jim, the more resolute he was in this assessment. Spock was developing a scientific curiosity in him – an impulse to study the man who could survive such a traumatic ordeal and still wish to explore the unknown. Jim was brave and curious, bearing a kindness that Spock has not experienced in quite some time. The tenacity was fascinating.
There was also the matter of Jim’s understanding of the Vulcan language. Spock suspected he may be at fault for that, a remnant left behind when performing the shallow meld to assess his initial injuries. Tensions were high that day, and it had been necessary to work more quickly than advised in order to avoid detection. But he would be unable to confirm his hypothesis without establishing another meld, and the thought alone caused Spock’s heart rate to rise five percent. He decided to set that matter aside for now.
What Spock needed to focus on was his work.
He relaxed his hands, then squared his shoulders and continued down the corridor and into the turbolift, riding it up to the science laboratory. The large, brightly lit room was filled with exam tables, meant for studying and cataloging any specimens collected in their travels. Nestled along the back wall was was a cluster of domed cubicles, one for each of the main scientists. Spock entered his designated cubicle, seating himself at his desk. The work areas were private, the curving walls cocooning him in and blocking all external sound. It was exactly the type of privacy he needed. He logged onto his terminal, the screen illuminating the tiny space.
Spock had been neglecting his duties since Jim came aboard. Work and research had always been a comfort, a way to channel his restless energy into something productive. But the longer he stared at facts and figures, data and charts, the more his thoughts began to drift back to the enigmatic astronaut laying in his bed – how circumstance had brought him all the way out here, how he was healing, and how Spock could feasibly get him back off the ship to return him to his home.
Spock also found his thoughts drifting to the way Jim’s hair was beginning to grow out and curl slightly at the nape of his neck. How his face only fully relaxed when he was asleep, chest rising slowly with each soft breath. And those eyes – wide, shining, and catching in the low light of his chambers – and the way they studied Spock as though they could look right into the depths of his mind.
Spock shook away the thought and returned his attention to his monitor. The “space tornado”, as Jim called it, seemed to be moving slowly throughout the galaxy. It was shrinking, much as an Earth tornado would, and was projected to fully dissipate soon. But there was no telling what sort of destruction it could cause in the meantime. The fact that it could catapult entire ships to far recesses of space was cause for alarm. The VSA’s purpose here was to monitor the storm and catalog their findings so that should a phenomena such as this ever happen again, they would have the data required to predict its movement throughout the galaxy and prevent any undue harm.
Spock tapped his finger against the screen, swiping slowly through different photos of the storm.
What if Jim’s ship had been sent somewhere else? Would he have survived his voyage? Would there be any chance for him to return home? The human’s shuttle looked rudimentary by Vulcan standards (to a near-horrifying degree), and Spock knew that many humans had died during space travel, before.
Many, he mused with a slight pang, but not all.
Maybe Jim would be one of the lucky few who did return from space. Maybe he would be one of the pioneers that propelled Earth towards true space travel, towards warp capabilities. There was a determined edge to the man’s incessant curiosity that suggested he could do what many could only ever dream of. Jim did not seem like the type to give up, and Spock believed he would do whatever was necessary to get home.
Spock’s hand tingled where it rested against the keyboard, recalling the feeling of Jim's warmth under his palm. That had been yet another illogical misstep on his part. He knew humans relied on physical touch, and that Jim’s prolonged isolation could result in negative emotional effects in the long-term. Jim’s teasing but vulnerable comment on Spock’s perceived prudishness seemed to imply as such. Spock decided that it would be logical to give Jim one momentary comfort.
Jim had relaxed immediately at the contact, melting slightly into the mattress, and Spock could admit to a brief rush of personal pleasure at the reaction. There had been less than a moment to assess that feeling, however, because soon the rush of something like comfort flooded through Spock’s fingertips, as though Jim had been projecting the feeling himself.
It had startled Spock. Jim should not have had the ability to do such a thing, meaning Spock’s shields must have been extraordinarily weakened for such an emotion to bleed through the limited contact. The effect had been overwhelming, to say the very least, which is why he felt the need to retreat to the labs. He needed a moment to recenter himself. To be alone.
Spock blinked at his screen, the photos blurring in his vision. The ambient sound of the labs settled on his ears, grounding him. He had done it again, allowed his thoughts to drift from his duties back to the human. Perhaps research was not the solution to repairing his mental state.
He exited his cubicle and left the labs, taking the turbolift once again, but this time he traveled to the meditation temple. Despite the practical nature of their vessel, the VSA had provided an adequate recreation of a traditional Vulcan temple. It was quiet, and empty save for a few rolled-up meditation mats in the corner and a collection of incense on a table against the wall. Holographic sconces gave the illusion of firelight, bathing the small chamber in warmth. Spock had been coming here often for rest and rejuvenation while Jim remained in his bed, and found the mental and spiritual affects to be satisfactory.
For the first few nights, Spock had stayed in his own quarters, monitoring Jim’s condition in between short periods of rest for himself. But once Jim had regained full consciousness, Spock no longer felt comfortable remaining in the room at all hours. On one embarrassing occasion, he had accidentally fallen asleep at his desk while reviewing data on his PADD. When he awoke, Jim had been slumbering as well, turned on his side towards him as though he was the one watching Spock. Spock did not know how to interpret the action, and felt it best to give them both a small amount of privacy going forward.
At times it felt as though Jim was beginning to place his trust in Spock, something that he could acknowledge was well within Jim’s right to withhold. It was possible they were even becoming… friendly. Sometimes the human would smile at Spock, catching him off guard and causing something warm and confusing to spread throughout his torso. He did not know how to logically dissect these feelings, unsure of how to file them away properly as they were completely foreign to him.
Spock unrolled one of the mats and kneeled, leaning forward to light the incense with a long match. If his mind insisted on returning to thoughts of the astronaut, then it would be best to formulate a plan to return him home. It was foolish to continue hiding Jim on the ship. Either one of them could receive harsh punishment should Jim be discovered, and Spock’s work had been affected enough by the disruption in his routine. He could admit that he was beginning to feel a fondness for the man, some remorse that their time together would come to an end. But the sooner Jim was back to his home planet, the sooner Spock’s life – and Jim’s – could return to normal.
Spock spent several hours meditating on the thought, and he left the temple with a clearer head, as well as a potential plan.
Before walking back to his quarters, Spock took a detour through the cafeteria, stopping in front of the replicators. He requested a serving of gespar fruit, waiting a short moment before a generously-filled bowl of the bright yellow flesh appeared. So far, gespar was one of the dishes Jim seemed to enjoy the most. It concerned Spock how little Jim had been eating, and he hoped that this food would not only nourish him, but also serve as an apology for the haste in which Spock had left the room. It would also open the door to further discussion in which Spock could inform Jim of his plan.
Spock returned to his room, already mapping out the structure of their upcoming conversation, when he noticed the little green light illuminated on the panel beside the door, a beacon in the cool metal. Unlocked. In his panicked state earlier, he must have forgotten to activate the lock.
He pushed open the door, his heart hammering in his side. Spock held his breath as he took in the state of the room. Just as he feared, the bed was empty, the sheets laying in a tangle on the floor. The bowl fell from his hands, clattering to the ground and upending it’s sweet contents in the entryway as Spock raced to check the bathroom. But his search was in vain.
Jim was gone.
Spock grabbed one of his cloaks out of the closet and rushed back into the hallway. If anyone were to find Jim, he would surely be interrogated and then killed. There was only one instance in Vulcan history where they allowed an outsider to remain safely within their borders, and Spock was not about to test the mercy of his peers to allow a second one. And if they found out that he was the one harboring Jim…? Spock is certain that he would be facing incarceration at a minimum, and exile at most.
An unexpected flare erupted in Spock’s gut as he rounded a corner. Why couldn’t Jim have just stayed in the room?! He knew the risks of leaving, Spock had made them abundantly clear. Jim’s stubbornness and inability to follow one simple, straightforward rule could put both of them in jeopardy.
He took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions. It was logical, Spock reasoned, to feel frustration and anger at the situation, when he had laid such strict parameters for their engagement. What surprised him was the thread of hurt tying the feelings together. He felt anger, yes, but he also felt betrayal. It was a confusing combination.
Spock continued down several corridors, tension and disappointment and fear rattling against the walls of his recently-reinforced shields when suddenly—
There.
Jim was standing in front of one of the large portholes at the end of the hallway, the yellow, dusty planet below shining back at him. Sweat beaded at the ends of Jim’s hair, and he was breathing heavily, leaning all of his weight against the bulkhead. Jim’s leg wound must have reopened slightly, a thin streak of red blooming under the bandage. Spock’s frustration mounted at the sight.
“Jim!” Spock whispered sharply as he rushed to stand behind Jim. He draped the cloak over him, hoping to disguise his human features. Jim flinched but did not avert his gaze from the window.
“What are you doing out here?” Spock said, “You need to return to my quarters at once!”
Jim did not respond. Spock shifted to stand at Jim’s side and tried to get a look at Jim’s face. The man’s jaw was clenched tight, but his expression was completely blank – a stark contrast to the lively, animated reactions Spock was used to.
Spock took Jim’s continued silence as a cue to speak again. “You have exacerbated your injuries and could cause further damage. Not to mention the danger you have put yourself in by being out here alone. What possessed you to do something so foolish?”
“We’re in space,” Jim murmured.
What a nonsensical thing to say. “Jim—”
“I assumed… When you said we were on your ship, I thought we were docked on the planet.” His voice was soft, small, as though he was talking more to himself than to Spock. “I mean… You can’t even feel it. The ship. Or hear the engines. But yet all of this…” he trailed off, gesturing around him but still staring down at the planet’s surface.
Something ached within Spock, the barrage of emotions within him melting away as he absorbed the lines of pain in Jim’s face. Without thinking Spock reached forward, moving the cloak slightly out of the way to place a hand on Jim’s bare arm. He hoped to offer comfort while also guiding him away from the window and back towards his quarters. But Jim’s skin was cold. Waves of sorrow and worry and wonder flowed through Spock’s fingertips. It was overwhelming, and so different from the warmth he felt earlier that evening. He sucked in an involuntary hiss at the contact.
Jim tensed, the sound returning him to his senses. He yanked his arm free of Spock’s grip, spinning to face him.
“I was bored, okay?!” Jim exclaimed, and Spock scanned the hallways to make sure no one else had heard the outburst. “I can’t stay cooped up in that room anymore! I’m losing my mind in there.”
Spock shook his head. “Why did you assume it was safe to move about? I told you—”
“Look, my leg didn’t hurt so bad at first. And I’ve been paying attention, Spock. No one is moving around the halls at this time of night. All the sounds of footsteps disappear. You Vulcans may act like you’re so perfect but you still need to sleep, right?”
Spock ignored the question. “If anyone else were to find you—”
“Yeah, but they didn’t. You did. So now I have this big, strong alien to protect me on the way back to my cell,” Jim grumbled.
The words stung, that same feeling of betrayal curling in Spock’s chest. Could Jim not see that he was trying to protect him?
“You are not my prisoner, Jim,” Spock said tightly.
“Might as well be,” Jim said, shoulders slumping as he turned back to the window. “I want to go home.”
Spock did not know what to say. He spent much of his evening formulating a plan to safely return Jim to his planet, knew logically that it would be the best, the only, course of action they could pursue. But now, faced with Jim’s request, Spock could not understand why the thought filled him with despair.
“We can discuss this further. But please, could we return to my quarters first?” Spock said.
Jim turned his head to look at Spock, his eyes glassy. His mouth twitched, as though he wanted to say something but then decided against it. He gave a tight nod.
Spock offered his arm and Jim leaned on it immediately, the smallest amount of tension bleeding out of his posture as the weight lifted off his leg. Spock led Jim back to the room as quickly as he could. But Jim was correct, no one was walking through the halls at this time of night, and they met with no challenge.
Spock opened the door to his quarters and allowed Jim to enter first. Jim took one step, but then slid on the dropped gespar, the cloak billowing behind him. Spock gripped the back of the fabric to keep him upright. Jim steadied himself, then looked up at Spock with a raised eyebrow.
“When I realized you were no longer in the room, I left in a bit of a haste,” Spock responded quietly.
Jim smirked at him, and that strange warmth bloomed within Spock again. It was pleasure, he surmised, at making Jim smile, along with relief that Jim was not permanently angry with him.
Spock led Jim back to the bed, gently removing the cloak before assisting him as he sat on the mattress. The bleeding on his leg was minor and seemed to have stopped, and would probably not need to be re-bandaged. As Spock picked up the discarded sheet and draped it back on the end of the bed, Jim leaned against the headrest, staring at his hands in his lap.
Spock paused, taking in Jim’s dejected countenance. He felt a professional responsibility to lift his spirits, as well as a small desire to see that smirk again. Solely for the purpose of knowing he succeeded in improving Jim’s dour mood.
Spock held his hands behind his back. “So what did you think?” he asked.
Jim tipped his head up to look at him. His normally bright eyes were dull and clouded. “About what?”
“The ship. The view. I do not believe you saw much, but I am curious to know your thoughts. Surely you have some.”
Jim’s gaze softened slightly, his attention turning towards the closed door as though looking right through it.
“It’s...amazing Spock,” he whispered. “The kind of thing I’d always dreamed of seeing out here.”
He turned back to Spock then, a small smile playing on his lips. Spock felt the corners of his own tick upwards in response, the closest to his own smile he had come in quite a long time. Jim’s eyes went wide at the sight, his mouth stretching into a full grin. Spock tensed at the attention, at being caught in such a blatant display of emotions. His cheeks warmed, and he tore his gaze away, schooling his features.
“I would like to propose an idea,” he said quickly, ready to broach the subject he originally wished to discuss.
“Oh?” Jim asked, still smiling.
“I may have an idea about how to get you home.”
“Oh,” Jim whispered, his expression slipping to something wide and hopeful. “What is it?”
“We could return to your ship.”
“But you said it was totaled. Nothing much left off it.”
“That is true. It is unlikely that we will be able to make it capable of flight again. But I imagine there will be coordinates in its database, a way for me to figure out exactly where you need to go. We could deposit you in a place that makes sense for your previous destination, or perhaps even on your planet’s space station.”
“What good’s a map going to do if we don’t have my ship?” Jim asked. “You really think they’ll let you drive this thing for a totally random, definitely-not-because-of-a-human-stowaway jaunt to Earth?”
Spock shook his head. “There are a number of shuttlecrafts on this ship. Finding an excuse to take one may prove to be a challenge, but it is not entirely unlikely.”
Jim gaped at him. “You’d trust me to pilot one of your shuttles?”
Spock blanched. “Absolutely not,” he said. “I will go with you to ensure the craft’s safe return.”
Jim blinked at him. “You’d go all that way to get me home?”
“Yes,” Spock said. He could not understand why that would come as a surprise. A small part of him was concerned that Jim would not welcome his company.
“But...why?” Jim asked quietly after a moment, “Wouldn’t you get in even more trouble?”
“You have no knowledge of how to pilot a Vulcan spacecraft. It would also be unwise to leave said spacecraft in Earth’s orbit, so the plan would require a pilot to bring it back here. And also,” Spock swallowed, “I do not wish to cause you any more distress. You must have a smooth voyage.”
Jim huffed out a small chuckle. “Had enough of my sad, puppy dog eyes?”
“You are not my pet, Jim. You are—” Spock looked away, his stomach tightening. He was unsure of how he had planned to finish that sentence. “I respect you. You deserve a say in what happens to you. If you wish to leave, then you can do so.”
The smile slipped off Jim’s face and he regarded Spock with an expression he could not name. “Thank you, Spock,” he said softly.
“You’re welcome, Jim.”
Silence fell over the room as their eyes met, and Spock felt the air become thick with a tension that had not been there before. He felt the illogical urge to step closer, to once again reach out and touch the human to gain a sense of all of his curious and illuminating emotions bubbling beneath the surface. Perhaps he had been wise to maintain a professional distance before. He found himself more fascinated than ever. And the way Jim was looking at him now, Spock wondered if Jim was harboring a similar scientific curiosity.
Suddenly Jim stiffened and he cleared his throat, his attention shifting to a spot on the wall. The tension popped like a bubble, and Spock noticed a faint pink blush dusting Jim’s cheeks. Had his display of compassion made Jim uncomfortable?
“It’s a good thing you’re coming with me,” Jim said, running a hand through his hair. “I still have a lot more questions for you.”
Spock felt himself soften, his concern dissolving. He allowed himself one more small smile.
“That comes as no surprise.”