Chapter Text
It’s not unusual for Jim to wake up and consider the fact that he may be living in a dream.
Sleeping does that to him nowadays – leaves him disoriented and feeling vaguely like he’s not himself. He used to wake up in his dorm room at the Academy, wondering if that bar fight really happened, if Pike could have really been there and what a strange coincidence that he found himself sharing a room with Bones, of all people.
After his meld with the other universe’s Spock, he thinks maybe it’s not so much a coincidence as the universe falling into place.
But he is not captain of the Enterprise. Although, he thinks of Pike’s challenge to him, of his dad’s twelve minutes of captaincy saving eight hundred lives, and feels fairly certain that saving an entire planet and possibly more in the few hours he was captain is enough to be judged as doing better.
They still lost one planet and so many lives.
He glances at Spock, where he stands by the science station. He sits in the captain’s chair, but he’s not captain – he’s first officer, and Pike is in the ready room to speak with Admiral Komack. Basically, he stole Spock’s job and failed to save his planet. That’s the sort of thing that tends to put a damper on the possibility of friendship, no matter what the other Spock seems to think.
Tapping his fingers against the armrest, he crosses and uncrosses his legs as he stares out the viewscreen. It’s a blur of stars passing by them, a steady course of warp 3 leading them towards the planet Kleja II. He should be excited. It’s a First Contact mission, after all, with what seems to be a friendly species. Several months after their first shakedown missions, and with the following real missions mostly successful (78.3% successful Spock informed him yesterday in that unnervingly unemotional yet condescending tone of his), he has yet to encounter an entirely new form of humanoid alien.
Logically, he thinks with a wry little smile, all diplomatic contacts with new and possible candidates to join the Federation had been put on hold after the Narada incident. There was too much to rebuild and too many people to reassign. Almost an entire generation of graduating cadets had been lost. Pike had almost been grounded due to his injuries. Jim’s academic hearing had changed into a commendation, and official promotion to first officer of the Enterprise.
Going from cadet straight to first officer of the Federation’s flagship is not the thing that makes him most disoriented though. He’s always been ambitious, even though he pretended not to be until he joined the ‘Fleet. No, the thing that leaves him reeling is Ambassador Spock’s memories.
They’re vague impressions most of the time, like a dream that slips through his fingers the moment he wakes up fully. Even when the images don’t stay with him, the emotions do. Stability. Love. Home.
He glances, again, at Spock. There’s not a lot else that requires his attention on the bridge. He could read reports, but he’s already set enough time aside for those once Pike returns from his call. Better to be bored in the captain’s chair than by his own station. At least here he looks productive. Even if what he’s really doing is checking out the ship’s chief science officer, because let’s face it – Spock looks criminally good in those science blues.
Maybe the worst days to wake up are the ones where the memory of Spock and Uhura on the transporter pad has played on repeat during the night. It’s his own memory, but it feels wrong. It feels like it shouldn’t exist. It forces him to face the fact that all those nice feelings that the other Spock implanted in his mind during the meld belong to another universe, and that he’ll never have them.
It’s as if the old Spock grabbed his head, shook it around, and left him with a jumbled mess except for the knowledge that he should be married to his own Spock because that’s just the way the universe worked.
He can not imagine himself in love with Spock. It’s weird. Crazy. It’s driving him crazy. They barely know each other. They started off under terrible circumstances. He’s not sure if Spock has forgiven him yet for messing with the Kobayashi Maru – he’s under no illusion that Spock will ever forgive him for the things he said on the bridge in order to take over command.
The turbolift doors slide open, and he cranes his neck backwards to find Pike striding onto the bridge.
“Captain on the bridge,” he chants, standing up and cracking his back with a groan.
You’d think they could find a more ergonomic chair to sit in for hours on end. Maybe Bones is right and it’s just his awful posture.
“Report,” Pike says once he’s seated, Jim standing slightly behind his right side.
“Nothing to report, sir,” he replies, because literally nothing had happened during the two or so hours he’d been away. “How was your date?”
Pike turns to scowl at him, and it’s all he can do to keep his mouth from twitching.
“Very funny, Commander Kirk,” he says, and the use of title tells Jim it was absolutely dreadful and he should not have reminded him. “Mr. Spock, how are those calculations coming along?”
Usually he’s Mr. Kirk, and sometimes Jim when Pike is feeling nice. Somehow, Mr. Spock sounds a lot better than Mr. Kirk does. From what he can glean from the old Spock’s memories, Mr. Spock seems to have been his own preferred way of addressing the Vulcan as well.
As Spock goes into full science mode with his explanation, Jim goes back to his own station, lazily sifting through reports and requests that need his approval. He feels like in just a few months he’s done enough paperwork to last a lifetime.
At the end of his shift he ambles down to sickbay, catching Bones in his office. It’s nice sometimes that he’s not the only one who got thrown into a shitload of responsibility simply for being in the right place at the right time and surviving it.
“Look who’s here,” Bones drawls, leaning back and dropping his stylus onto the desk. “Just the person I didn’t want to see.”
“Love you too, Bones,” he snorts, falling into the chair opposite him and running a tired hand through his hair. “If I have to write one more report I think I’m going to jump through an airlock.”
“Well, let me know if you feel the urge, I’ve got just the hypo for the occasion.”
Rolling his eyes, he grabs Bones’ stylus and twirls it between his fingers, considering if he wants to talk (well, complain) about Spock or spare the doctor his troubles. He can feel Bones’ stare boring through his head, no doubt wearing his customary disapproving expression on his face.
“Alright, spill. What did you do this time?”
“Why do you always think I’m the one who’s done something?” he protests mildly, poking the stylus into the middle of his palm. It’s sharper than it looks. “Can’t a guy just be bored?”
Bones rubs his face, then stands to rummage through a cupboard. He returns with two whiskey glasses and a bottle of what may or may not be against regulation to keep outside private quarters.
“Yeah, that’s the part that worries me. You’ve been way too quiet lately, haven’t heard you and Spock go at each other like cats and dogs in, what, three days?”
“We don’t argue that much.”
He gets a look for that, and then Bones busies himself with filling their glasses. He pushes one reluctantly across the desk, grabbing the other for himself and swirling the amber liquid around for a moment. Jim sniffs at it, then shrugs and downs it in one go.
“Fine, I’ll bite,” Bones says with a sigh, giving him a sloppy wave with a hand. “Talk to me, kid. Who knows, I might even listen this time.”
“You’re awful, Bones. The worst.”
“Yeah, well. Unless you make friends with the walking computer, I’m the only one you’ve got.”
It shouldn’t sting the way it does, but Bones knows him too well. He doesn’t do friends, or at least he didn’t, before Starfleet. But he would like to be friends with Spock, if only because he wants to figure out what the Jim Kirk of that other universe could possibly have seen in him. He likes to think he’s friendly with most of the crew, but Uhura still tends to give him the stink eye and Scotty reminds him of Delta Vega which reminds him of Ambassador Spock which reminds him of his dreams and yeah. Sulu teaches him fencing sometimes, Chekov is fun to tease, but Bones is really the only person he can talk personal stuff with.
He imagines telling Pike about how he and Spock were married in a different universe, and shudders at the thought.
“That’s kind of the thing,” he mutters, putting the glass on the desk and fiddling with it. “I feel like I should be friends with Spock, but it’s kind of an impossible task.”
“I think impossible is putting it mildly,” Bones says, taking a sip and humming at the taste. “Wait. Are you telling me you actually want to be friends with him? The guy you can’t even spend a minute talking to without getting up in each other’s hairs? Or did Pike finally order you to behave.”
He can’t help the grin that tugs at his lips.
“I mean, to be fair, Pike has ordered me to behave and I’ve ignored him. It’s not my fault Spock hates me.”
“Except that it is.”
His grin turns into a smile, indulgent.
“Bones. Bones. I bet you I can make Spock like me. It’s impossible not to like me.”
“Oh sure. Just as impossible as the two of you becoming friends.” Bones shakes his head, eyes flickering upwards as if praying for strength. “Two impossibilities don’t make a possibility, dammit.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard that saying before,” Jim says happily, hopping out of his seat and winking at his friend. “Might just have to prove you wrong now.”
Raising his glass in acknowledgement, Bones tips back the drink and gets up as well.
“How about we get something to eat and don’t talk about your science officer,” he suggests, ushering Jim out of his office. “I’ve already lost enough appetite.”
Throwing his head back with a laugh, Jim opens the door and decides to humor Bones for once.
“He’s not my science officer,” he still says, clapping Bones’ shoulder. “I’ve got a while left ‘til I make captain.”
“Whatever you say,” Bones grumbles, and they don’t mention Spock for the rest of the night.
☆☆☆
“Commander, a word.”
Oh boy, is Jim glad he never took any of Spock’s classes at the Academy. It’s bad enough he makes him feel like he’s going to be reprimanded every time he wants to talk. He kind of does get reprimanded every time they talk.
“Sure, Spock. What’s up?”
He pauses in the middle of the corridor, waiting for Spock to catch up. It’s relatively deserted, early morning ship’s time. He’s out of uniform, headed for the gym to blow off some steam after yet another weird, intangible dream messing with his head.
“I believe the ship’s interior hull, as well as several decks–“
“O-kay,” he interrupts with, not in the mood for Spock’s literal interpretations. He swears he sometimes does it just to fuck with him. “What do you want?”
Spock stops at a respectful distance, a little further away than a Human would, but probably close enough to make a Vulcan uncomfortable. His hands clasp behind his back, his face as impassive as ever.
“Have you received the request I sent to you for the adjustments to the infrared lamps in lab three?”
“Probably, yeah.”
Oh, there’s that slightly raised eyebrow he loves to hate. Or hates to love, whatever.
“Commander Kirk, several time sensitive experiments rely on the implementation of the–“
“Jim.”
Spock stares at him.
“I’m off duty, call me Jim, will you? Actually, don’t ask me about paperwork while I’m off duty. Unless you want to join me at the gym, just pretend you didn’t see me walking down the corridor. You can chew me out on the bridge later for being slow at signing shit.”
“…very well, Commander. I shall wait to, as you say, chew you out until your shift starts.”
“Why thank you, Mr. Spock. Most appreciated.”
There’s a minute narrowing of Spock’s eyes before he gives a stiff nod, then turns and heads back where he came from, all smooth grace and perfect form. On most days, Jim would take those narrowed eyes as a victory. Today, he just feels drained. He knows Spock will give him crap for it on the bridge later, but he can’t bring himself to care.
He spends an hour or so punching a bag, feeling a bit more stable and like himself afterwards. Sometimes he considers calling the other Spock to ask about the things he sees, but he knows he won’t answer. It’s just so weird to see snapshots of a life he’ll never have, and wonder if any of it is going to happen in the life he does have. Maybe his Spock is just too different from his counterpart. Maybe he himself is too different from the man that somehow managed to convince Spock to marry him.
He tries to tell himself that he hasn’t known Spock for long, that their other selves were much older when they met and older still when they got together. The problem is that he’s not patient, never has been, wants to know now if there’s any chance it’s going to happen to them. If there isn’t, he might as well give up on trying to be friendly with Spock.
Even as he thinks the thought, he can see the Ambassador’s disappointed face if he were to give up. And he knows there’s more to Spock than indifference and tension. There has to be, if someone like Uhura is into him. It’s just so hard when everything Spock says and does makes him want to punch him and kiss him in equal amounts.
He’s pretty sure the urge to kiss him is caused by those goddamned memories left over from the meld. Spock in this timeline hasn’t done that much to make himself attractive. He’s good-looking, sure, and competent. They make a decent team on away missions, although any rapport they seem to have down on planets or space stations evaporates instantly once they’re back onboard the Enterprise. Maybe it frustrates him more than he wants to admit.
He’d prefer it if he did know Spock, if he had a real reason to want his company. Now he’s stuck with wishing Spock would look at him the way the Ambassador does, when in reality he’s lucky to be seen at all. There’s only so many times he can try to reach out and get nothing in return before starting to wonder what’s wrong with him.
When he reaches the bridge, barely on time, Pike throws a look over his shoulder and orders both him and Spock to join him in his ready room.
Spock sits ramrod straight in his seat, hands folded in his lap. Jim sends him a scowl before slumping even lower in his seat, raking fingers through his hair and no doubt messing it up beyond repair.
“Alright,” Pike starts, standing behind a chair for a moment, leaning on its back with both hands, before seemingly remembering his own body’s frailty and sitting down as well.
Most of the time he can walk on his own, but there are days he needs the wheelchair. Jim carefully doesn’t ask how he feels on those days. The result is that he rarely beams down for missions, most of the time relying on Jim to perform any on-planet captain’s duties. He’d feel more excited about it if it weren’t for Spock always coming with him to correct any slip-ups.
“So, Kleja II,” he starts again, eyeing both of them as if daring them to argue with him. “I’m sure you’ve read the mission brief. The Klejans seem peaceful enough, and eager enough to trade the dilithium of their sister planet Kleja I. They don’t travel and they don’t want visitors, though they seemed curious about the two of you.”
“Guess that means it’s you and me again, Mr. Spock,” Jim says, forcing a lopsided grin.
Spock says nothing – which means he’s loudly ignoring him. Probably trying to rein in that urge to yell at him or something.
“They specifically asked for you,” Pike continues, frowning a little. “Diplomatic talks have been going well, so it’s more of a gesture of goodwill for you to beam down and sign the treaty in person. Still, it is a First Contact mission, and we don’t know much about their culture.”
“Don’t worry so much,” Jim says, his grin more real this time. “You’ll get wrinkles.”
“As they are a telepathic species,” Spock says, tone even and still obviously pretending Jim isn’t there, “I must ask if sending a psi-null Human is advisable in this case, Captain.”
It’s not really a question. It’s more of a Kirk is going to fuck this up and I don’t want to be there and pick up the pieces for him kind of thing. He’s getting better at understanding Spock-ese. Kind of easy when all of it translates to fuck you, Kirk.
“Advisable or not, they asked for the two of you.”
The dismay that flickers in Spock’s eyes is almost enough for Jim to kick his shin under the table. He only resists because he would rather not get strangled again, thank you very much.
“Cool,” he says instead, stretching his arms over his head. “We’re famous even outside of Federation space. We make such a great team, don’t we, Mr. Spock?”
Spock’s lips thin into a line, and Pike’s mouth twitches as if torn between laughter and anger.
“Jim, please. I’m putting Spock in charge this time, you’d do well to follow his orders.”
“Depends on what those orders are. Sir.”
It earns him a huff, but he knows Pike has a soft spot for him. And Pike knows he won’t actually jeopardize the mission to be petty. Spock, however, glares a hole in the side of his head.
“So, we beam down, make nice, sign the papers. Anything else we should know?” he adds, if only to avoid Spock calling him psi-null like an insult again.
“Probably, but nothing I can tell you. And for God’s sake, don’t piss off some rebellion faction and get yourself kidnapped.”
The again is implied.
“Sir, I would never,” he gasps, hand on his heart. “And if I did, Spock would save me. Wouldn’t you?” he asks sweetly, his smile syrupy as he directs it at the Vulcan.
“I shall follow the Captain’s orders,” is the reply, which, as always, translates to fuck off and die, Kirk.
“Great,” Pike tells them, slapping his hands against the tabletop. “Back to the bridge.”
“Captain, I believe Commander Kirk and I have matters to discuss. We will join you shortly.”
Pike’s gaze flits between them, no doubt wondering if fists are going to be involved. Something in Spock’s tone sort of implies he wants to mess Jim up. Which, to be fair, is what he sounds like most of the time.
“It’s fine, Pike. Just a science request I’m late signing off on.” He waves a flippant hand at their captain, suppressing a grin at Spock’s evident disapproval of his familial form of address. “No one’s going to get hurt. Just give us a minute.”
“I believe, as the Commander has yet to read the request, a more accurate calculation would be seven point twenty-three minutes, Captain.”
Jim bites his lip, hard. He briefly wonders if Spock calculates sex the same way. I would like to have sexual intercourse with you for seven point twenty-three minutes. Yeah, right. Poor Uhura.
“Then I’ll expect you on the bridge in seven minutes,” Pike tells them, his face betraying nothing.
Once the door slides shut behind him, Spock lifts up the PADD he’d placed on the table upon entry, scrolling for a few seconds before holding it out towards him.
“Let me know if you need further explanations,” he says, staring at a point over Jim’s right shoulder.
“Sure,” he replies, voice dry as the desert.
He contemplates asking questions just to make them late to the bridge, but the sooner he doesn’t have to be alone with Spock the better. He skims through the words, all of it extremely boring. He can’t understand why Spock can’t sign off on it on his own. It’s not like the science department doesn’t have its own budget. Maybe it’s because engineering has to get involved. He fishes a stylus out of his pocket, having learnt early on to bring his own rather than rely on other people as they stick PADDs under his nose at all times of the day.
“There you go,” he says eventually, finishing his signature with unnecessary flourish. “Request granted.”
Spock nods, taking the PADD back and wasting no time heading for the door.
“You know,” he throws after him, still sprawled in the chair as Spock pauses in the doorway. “If you’re going to kidnap me every time you want something time-critical signed, you might as well just bring it to me in person in the first place instead of sending an email.”
“I shall consider it,” Spock says, which is probably a no.
He shrugs, and Spock doesn’t leave.
“What?”
“Our presence is required on the bridge, Commander.”
“It sure is.”
He’s presented with a condescending eyebrow, raised at an angle he could never mimic.
“Am I to assume you have another engagement that takes precedence?”
“Nah, you can assume I just don’t want to arrive in precisely seven point twenty-three minutes.”
If Spock were more of a Human, he’s sure he would have rolled his eyes. As it is, he merely stares at Jim as if he’s an illogical puzzle he will never solve.
“I shall inform the Captain of the reason for your delay.”
Jim gapes after him as he does leave, wondering if that twinkle in his eye really was humor. It couldn’t be, could it? Scrambling to follow – he really isn’t sure he wants Spock to actually tell Pike – he ignores the way his heart flutters. Spock having humor is in no way sexy, he tells himself sternly. It just isn’t.
Except it kind of is.
☆☆☆
There are few beings as illogical and difficult to understand as James Tiberius Kirk. Spock is, however, slowly getting used to him. Perhaps prolonged exposure has desensitized him to the point where Kirk becomes fascinating rather than irritating. He does respect him, as he is highly intelligent, if, at times, unpredictable. It is illogical to spend as much time thinking about Kirk as he does.
He would defer to the fact that they are expected to work as a team, were anyone to ask. They have been moderately successful to this point.
Often, Kirk’s illogical actions can be explained afterwards. They are puzzling, but not impossible to understand. His mind is wired differently from a Vulcan’s, perhaps differently from other Humans. He is relentless in aiming for a goal, and relaxed when he is not. He tackles his duties like a baby sehlat, determined to succeed, but struggling without experience. Spock’s attempts to guide him are often met with scorn and distrust.
Captain Pike says they simply need to learn to communicate properly.
He is not sure they ever will.
Nyota has informed him that she doesn’t understand Kirk either, which is a relief. It is not simply a matter of Vulcan-Human relations. He believes he understands Nyota most of the time, as well as Captain Pike. And although he and Nyota terminated their relationship a few weeks ago, she has remained a close confidant.
It does not explain why he hesitates to discuss Kirk with her. Perhaps it is because the subject doesn’t sit well with her, as her feelings towards Kirk were previously negative. When he did ask her why Kirk acted in a certain way, she would sigh and tell him that she didn’t know. The one time he brought up Kirk’s illogical actions with Captain Pike, he’d received a shrewd look and the suggestion that he didn’t need to understand everything Kirk said and did, as long as they worked well together.
They would, he surmises, work better together if there was a greater level of understanding between them. All attempts to understand had, so far, proved fruitless. Much meditation has been devoted to this matter, and yet he is not much closer to solving the puzzle that is James Kirk.
He does, however, enjoy inspiring illogical acts in Kirk. His reactions are always loud and obvious, and near impossible to predict. But no longer fully impossible. He now knows in what way to raise his eyebrow to ensure Kirk will grit his teeth in frustration. He can more accurately predict at what point in a discussion Kirk will start to show signs of anger, if not precisely what words will set him off. If he points out all the flaws of one of Kirk’s many ideas, only to agree with him in the end, Kirk will stare at him in disbelief for up to twenty seconds before his expression morphs into one of happiness.
Kirk would sigh and complain about paperwork, but most of the time complete it satisfactorily on time. The crew enjoys his company and he knows their names, and he never makes anyone uncomfortable, Human or non-human alike. Even Spock cannot say that he dislikes the Commander’s presence. He is frustrating to work with, but only for Spock. Even Nyota has no trouble with him professionally. And as frustrating as he is, Spock does not wish for them to cease working together.
For these reasons he has resigned himself to yet another diplomatic mission side by side with Kirk, as the alternative would be for him to stay onboard the ship. As the only telepath in service on the ship, as well as having been personally requested by the Klejans, the latter was not a logical option. He can, however, foresee many difficulties that might arise during the time spent planet-side.
First Contact missions were rarely simple. In this case, all discussions have been held via video communication, and their translators have been adjusted to ensure successful dialogue. They know that the Klejans are telepathic to some degree, and rather than having any sort of government seem to rely on small tribes and what they call the Thinkers. While they do not have warp technology, they are advanced enough to have picked up on space transmissions on their own. He and Kirk would beam down near the place where the Thinkers resided, with no further information on customs or proper procedure. They seem to operate under the notion that all will be self-explanatory, and this makes Spock wonder if the Klejans would rely on telepathic communication. Hence his reluctance to allow Kirk to beam down with him.
The diplomats had spoken to different Klejans each time, although this did not seem to have slowed discussions. The Klejans have revealed that although the tribe residing in the same place as the Thinkers were similar in appearance, there were great variations among the planet’s population. They had been assured, however, that their minds were all one and alike.
Yet another clue that telepathy is important to them.
As he meets Kirk on the transporter pad, he attempts to stress the importance of Kirk keeping his thoughts neutral while among the Klejans.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Spock,” Kirk insists, as they wait for a final check of coordinates. He keeps tugging at his yellow command shirt, fiddling with the sleeves. “It’s not like they’re gonna go digging around my mind first thing.”
“You do not know that,” he argues, the fingers of his left hand tightening around his right wrist behind his back. “As they have had no physical contact with other species, they may not consider it a breach of privacy if it is not so in their own culture.”
“Wouldn’t the diplomats have covered that?”
“One would assume so. However, the Klejans gave few answers to cultural questions and did not ask any of their own. It was noted in the brief. They were not interested in cultural exchange, merely the transaction.”
Kirk shrugs, and Spock tightens his jaw for a moment.
“They’re the ones who asked for me. If they don’t like what’s in my head, that’s their problem.”
Even as he says the words, Spock takes notice of the way he shifts his weight. Uncomfortable, he thinks.
“Do not speak until I deem it safe for you to do so.”
He expects Kirk to argue, but receives only an annoyed huff of air. He will take it as agreement.
They settle on the transporter pad, and Mr. Scott nods to them before the familiar light surrounds them. As they materialize on-planet, Spock notices two things before it all goes downhill, as Humans would say.
The Klejans look just like in the recorded diplomatic talks – tall and gangly humanoids with long fingers, and long dark brown hair that reach the ground in intricate braids. They have small mouths and large, amber eyes, skin dark like Uhura’s.
It is eerily quiet.
In preparation for their mission, Spock had meditated and strengthened his mental shields to what he believed a sufficient level. Their thoughts hit him like a tidal wave.
By his side, Kirk falls to his knees, head cradled in his arms. The noise inside his head is too loud to hear him scream. It is unlike any telepathy he has encountered before. It is not the probing of one mind, nor is it the ripples of a joint awareness. It is like being submerged under water, plunged into ice cold substance, pressing onto his skin and demanding to be let inside.
He grits his teeth, pushes.
Surprise-alarm-confusion-wrong-wrong-wrong
Kirk is rigid with tension when he manages to open his eyes. The Klejans have yet to move, standing perfectly still with their large eyes staring, intense.
Wrong
The impression settles under his skin like needles. He knows he needs to reach Kirk, takes a stumbling step towards him. The Klejans do not stop him. He crouches down, palm on Kirk’s neck, feeling their thoughts pulse through him, like his body is made of mist.
Pressing the other hand to Kirk’s face, he braces himself and initiates a meld.
There is no barrier between Kirk’s mind and the Klejans’ wish to communicate. He cannot understand the words themselves – the translator does not work on telepathy – but the emotions are strong enough, similar enough, to pick up on.
Confusion-wrong-lost-urgency
Slowly, he extends his shields to push them out of Kirk’s mind, too. He does not think about how easily Kirk’s mind accepts his presence. He does not acknowledge the shiver of pleasure that ripples through his body.
Nervous-confusion-alarm-sorrow
His shields crack and groan under the weight of their thoughts. A fragile air bubble deep in the ocean. Their thoughts are one but their minds are many – more than the few Klejans surrounding them. The very air itself feels heavy with thought, each breath a struggle despite the adequate oxygen levels.
“What the hell,” Kirk groans, and Spock realizes that battling their telepathy did not hinder his ears from functioning.
Kirk had simply been silent before – now, the Klejans hesitate, their language a shrill chatter against his shields. One of them steps forwards, hand outstretched non-threateningly.
Had he felt an inkling of harmful intent, Spock would have called for beam up. The Klejans, true to their word, do not seem hostile. Still pressing his hand to Kirk’s face, he wraps an arm around him and eases him up, until they are both standing. His eyes meet the gaze of the Klejan approaching them, their face expressionless, their movements slow. Their thoughts still batter against his shields, but now that his own thoughts are more in order, it does not seem like a conscious attack. It is more like a school of Terran fish, to continue with the likeness of an ocean. Their thoughts are attuned to each other, impossible to distinguish individually from a distance, and yet he can feel that they are not one but many as they surround him.
He can feel Kirk’s apprehension through the meld, and squeezes his side in warning.
I do not believe they mean us harm.
Kirk’s head jerks up, eyes boring into the side of his face. He’s careful to shield not only outwardly, but also between himself and Kirk. The strain is already giving him a mild headache. It is surprising that it is more difficult to shield from Kirk than it is to shield from the Klejans. His mind beckons to him, his emotions a loud buzz that threaten to swarm him.
You’re in my head, Kirk thinks, loudly and articulate as if believing Spock will only hear him if he shouts.
My apologies.
Like the other Spock.
Despite his best efforts, a memory bleeds through. He files it away for later examination – the Klejan has reached them now, their outstretched hand lifting to wipe across their own mouth, before doing the same to Kirk.
It’s admirable that Kirk does not so much as flinch at the touch.
“You want me to talk?” he asks, and the feelings battering against their minds become something like relief-urgency-curiosity-sorrow-urgency.
The Klejan does not reply out loud, but turns and walks slowly, the urgency rising in volume until Spock starts following, gently pushing Kirk forwards.
You sure this is safe? Kirk asks inside their minds, the words sliding easy from one to the other, a pleasant motion.
I calculate only a 3.8 percent chance that they are hostile. It is more likely a misunderstanding.
Yeah, misunderstanding sounds about right.
It is easy enough to tell that Kirk is wary but there is no panic or fear, only a settled calm that feels too natural to be a conscious effort. Spock swallows, attempting not to calculate the chances that they will ever meld again. He cannot afford distraction at the moment.
The other Klejans follow them, their thoughts as loud and open as ever. He is certain that they spoke out loud during the diplomatic meetings. There were of course the usual hiccups as the universal translator worked to piece their language together, but once it did, communication went smoothly. It had taken months to explain video communication, he remembers from the brief.
As they walk along the dirt road, he senses Kirk analyzing their surroundings. The area is flat, gentle lands with tall yellow grass that glints golden in the bright sunlight. The temperature is mild despite the lack of clouds, though the Klejans wear only sleeveless flowing robes of muted colors. Once again he is struck by the lack of noise. There is the soft thumping of their feet against the ground, the quiet swish of robes, but no wind in the grass and no animals or insects. The birds that fly across the sky are too high up for him to see more than general shapes, and there are no calls between them.
It’s creepy, Kirk comments, startling him. He had thought his shields sufficient to block him from access to his thoughts. Believe me, I’m not reading your mind because I want to. You’re the one who jumped in all uninvited.
I assure you I would not have done so unless the situation called for it. To meld without permission is not allowed outside emergencies.
It’s fine. I can tell you’re not poking around where you shouldn’t. Didn’t know you needed to hug me for it to work, though.
Amusement bubbles through their connection as Spock jerks his arm away. It washes over him, warm and comfortable, flowing easy and bright unlike his own, more Vulcan emotions. They tend to burn, all-consuming, unless carefully controlled. Shielding from the Klejans grows easier by the second. Shielding from Kirk is a strained battle.
Please refrain from attempting to lower the shields between us.
I’m not attempting anything.
A deeper meld would distract us from our surroundings.
Yeah, still not doing anything.
Spock tells himself that as a psi-null species without the proper experience and instruction, Kirk would not know what he was doing, even as he did it. There is no time to discuss it. He will endure. He will not consider the allure of the bright mind he can sense underneath the barriers. He will not ponder the taste of freely flowing emotion. He will not ask himself if this is what convinced his father to love his mother – to find logic in the illogical, to give in to temptation.
Wow, even my mind is sexy, huh?
He slams down the shields, heart beating furiously in his side. He refuses to look at Kirk, who is radiating smugness. They reach a valley, a cluster of large trees taking up one side, the other side home to a sparkling lake. Klejans move leisurely in groups, some spread over what looks to be vegetable patches.
Their sense of relief and urgency increases.
They are lead down the road towards the trees, and Spock notes a fascinating mixture of technology and harmony with nature. There are solar panels sticking out of the tops of the trees in intricate patterns, carriages with hover-technology pulled along by those working in the gardens and loaded with tools and water containers or freshly picked produce, strips of light panels twisting around the trees once they enter their shadows.
The path leads through the trees towards the middle of the cluster, and along the way the Klejans pause to stare at them. There are children chasing each other in complete silence under the watchful eyes of adults. There are elderly Klejans sitting in circles on soft moss, frying vegetables on flat stone blocks, seemingly heated by thin cables leading up through the nearest tree, most likely connected to the solar panels above them. There is the faint rustling of leaves and soft, shuffling movements – other than that, there’s only the constant barrage of the Klejans communicating telepathically with each other.
While the path seems irregular and there are no signs of direction wherever it forks off, the Klejan before them walks confidently through the trees. Kirk is busy cataloguing the information around them, something Spock should be doing as well. He is, however, distracted by the effort of maintaining his shields.
Even Vulcans can’t multitask an infinite amount, huh?
I assure you my eidetic memory will serve its purpose once we are back on the Enterprise.
Kirk huffs a breath beside him, but Spock can pick up on the stray thought of gratification that he no longer has to be subject to the full force of the Klejans’ telepathy. Regardless of the request, sending a psi-null being for a first contact meeting with a telepathic species is inadvisable. He will have to stress this in his report.
We’re basically kidnapped by an unknown species and you’re thinking of reports?
They are not unknown. However, as their telepathic abilities were unknown to us, I was right to object to your presence here.
Whatever. Stop calling me psi-null like an insult.
Spock allows himself a glance towards Kirk, catching his eyes for 1.23 seconds. He can feel irritation and amusement in a confusing combination from the other man.
An insult would require malicious intent. I was merely observing–
Yeah, yeah. Quit observing me as a psi-null species, then.
That would be difficult, Commander, as you are no less psi-null now than you were before we beamed onto the planet.
When Kirk imagines (with very loud thoughts) that his foot stomps on Spock’s foot, he decides to drop the subject. They have reached a clearing, where a dome of some sort of rock takes up most of the space. It is dark and the light from the sun reflects dully in it, the surface polished smooth. Perhaps later he can run his tricorder over it. As it is, he waits patiently behind the Klejan leading them as they pause, and a moment later a part of the dome’s wall slides open to reveal a narrow entranceway.
This is the part where I really hope you’re right on those calculations, Kirk thinks, though he does not hesitate to enter.
The wall is thick but the entranceway opens up to an open space, lights running in thin lines up and down the interior walls. The effect is a soft shine that reveals nine Klejans of various appearances and ages seated on cushions in a wide half circle. One looks barely out of childhood.
Probably those Thinkers, Kirk notes, and Spock is not entirely sure it’s consciously directed at him.
As they’re guided to sit in the middle of the gap in the circle, the door slides shut behind them. It’s an immediate relief, as the barrage of thoughts comes to a stop. Perhaps the dome shuts out telepathy – he files this away for further consideration later. Slowly, he eases out of the meld with Kirk, his hand dropping from his face with some relief.
The Klejans stare at them for a minute, and though he cannot pick up on their thoughts, they seem to be at a loss.
“So,” Kirk says, out loud, and all eyes snap towards him. “Do you mind if we talk like this?”
Had they still been connected through the meld, Kirk would have felt Spock’s disapproval. As it is he stays unmoving, trying to convince himself that he does not miss the touch of Kirk’s mind.
The youngest Klejan rises elegantly to their feet and walks a few short paces over to a shelf. Retrieving something, they pause for 8.5 seconds, head bent, before turning and walking back to them. Spock immediately recognizes the device they carry. It had been present on the video recordings, and he eyes it with interest as the Klejan places it gently in front of one of the other Klejans. The chosen Klejan has intricate braids falling in a pattern in front of their face, like a short veil. They move one hand from where it had laid open in their lap, and places it on the device. It whirrs to life with a soft hum, and then the Klejan speaks.
“Loud thoughts are needed?” they ask, the translators he and Kirk wear picking up on the foreign words and echoing the translation in the otherwise silent room.
The Klejan had moved their mouth, however, the sound came from the device. Spock contemplates this for 5.2 seconds and decides that more data is necessary for any conclusions to be made.
“Yes,” he says, attempting to keep the conversation simple. While the translator had been fed as much of the Klejan language as they had access to, they had certainly not enough to be considered fluent. “We share thoughts in this way.”
Even though the Klejans’s faces show no expression whatsoever, something tells him this was unexpected news.
“We thought only needed for thoughts through space,” the Klejan says, eyes flickering first to the device, then to him, then to Kirk. “There is much to learn.”
Another Klejan moves closer to the device, and the first Klejan lifts their hand as if anticipating this. Which they most likely did, as logically they must be able to speak to each other telepathically even inside this dome.
“You are called Spock,” they say, then looks at Kirk and adds, “you are called Kirk. We heard your names in thoughts in space. We do not have loud names. But, call me Bird.”
There are so many things Spock wants to ask. He knows they picked up transmissions through space somehow, but they never described how. How did they figure out that their thoughts needed to be ‘loud’ to be heard in return? And how, exactly, did they encounter transmissions that were not sent through their solar system?
“Thank you, Bird,” he says instead. “Let us learn from each other.”
He can feel Kirk’s gaze on him. Twice now, Kirk spoke without his permission. He is almost surprised it hasn’t been more.
“We are different from you,” Bird continues, staring at Kirk. They seem to blink rarely. “We share thoughts with all. You understand only when we use the Speaker.”
The translator flickers over the last word, indicating it is only an approximation.
“Do you understand our thoughts without the Speaker?” Kirk asks, gesturing towards the device.
It is smooth and dark, rectangular in shape. One Klejan hand fits comfortably on its surface and not much more.
“No,” Bird answers. “We feel. We hear. But your thoughts are different. You touched and shared thoughts.”
“Vulcans can share thoughts through touch. I am Vulcan. Kirk is Human. He can only share loud thoughts.”
The Klejans contemplate this in silence. He is itching to find out what the rock is made of, allowing it to block telepathy from outside and between himself and the Klejans, but not between the Klejans themselves.
“This is wrong,” the first Klejan says, replacing Bird’s hand on the Speaker. “We must know you. We know every living being on our planet. We must also know you.”
He shares a look with Kirk. What Humans lack in telepathy, they surely make up for in terms of body language. It is a language that Spock has yet to master, however, it is easy enough to understand that Kirk feels apprehension at whatever it is that the Klejans mean to say.
“It is true that we are different,” he starts, contemplating the best course of action. “There may be limits to how you can know us.”
“We will teach you to understand us, like we teach newborns,” they say, and Bird rises from their cushion. “Loud thoughts are slow.”
Bird comes to stand behind them, and Kirk lets out a slow breath beside him. The youngest Klejan follows them, carrying the Speaker device so that Bird can still be connected to it.
“Explain how.” Spock’s mind is racing, working through what he knows of the Klejans so far. It is 53.6% likely that what they aim to do will harm Kirk in some way. “Humans are easily harmed by telepathy.”
He has concluded that the most likely scenario is a knowledge transfer. While knowing their language will simplify matters, it will not change the fact that Kirk cannot function on his own outside this dome as he lacks the ability to shield as well as any telepathic abilities.
“We will teach you first,” Bird tells him, hands hovering awkwardly on each side of his face. “You will know if it is harmful to Humans. But it will not be.”
Kirk is wide-eyed now, staring at him with urgency.
“Vulcans need touch?” Bird adds, and Spock takes a moment to gather himself before replying in the affirmative.
With touch, he will be able to understand the process better. Bird places their hands gently on each side of his head, just below his hairline. It is close enough to his psi points. A moment later he is once again submerged in that metaphorical ocean, the air seeming to vibrate with awareness of the minds of each Klejan.
It starts as a whisper, a long string of words and images, of emotion. It is not as intrusive as he anticipated. Little by little, their language unfolds. Although Vulcans may share emotions through a bond or touch-telepathy, communication via thought uses words to convey meaning. The Klejans seem to attach images and emotion/feeling to their words, to further the meaning of the word itself. ‘Bird’ for example encompasses all species of bird, and to specify the bird in question, an image is attached to the word.
You may call me Bird, is the first thing Bird uses to test his understanding. The image of a colorful bird with large plumage is attached to the word bird, as well as the feeling of the bird’s mind. You comes with an image of Spock, seated in the circle.
I understand, he replies, and Bird sends him an emotion only – contentment.
We will know you now.
Before Spock has time to consider this, Bird does something that opens his mind wide. His shields crumble as if they were never there, and the Klejans are in his mind just as he is in theirs.
It is nothing like a meld. It is communication only. It is a passageway between his mind and theirs, their thoughts streaming into him like a flood.
We know you Spock/So much to learn/Relief/Perhaps not so different
Below the thoughts directed fully at him, there are other thoughts he would deem private, as in not meant for him to know.
We must eat soon/Federation did not explain this/How can Humans live only with loud thoughts
There is something overwhelming about the way images and emotions unfold with the thoughts. His mind is busy filing things properly, adjusting to impressions. It would take time and meditation to sort it through in its entirety.
What is meditation/Difficult to understand meaning/Hesitation
Allow me to explain to Kirk, he thinks, directing his thought towards Bird. He receives affirmation. Turning to Kirk, he finds it difficult to form thoughts out loud with the open pathway inside his mind.
Understand now/So slow
“Commander,” he starts, then frowns. They have already melded once. Showing him would be simpler and faster. “May I have your permission to meld with you, thus better preparing you for the procedure?”
Kirk raises both eyebrows. He shuffles closer, their knees bumping together. Although they are clothed, Spock can tell that Kirk is feeling a mix of excitement and hesitation.
“Sure,” he says, lips tilting at one corner. Spock files it away for later examination. Kirk has proven to be a most fascinating study subject for Human body language. “My mind’s all yours.”
Most peculiar, he thinks at that, and the Klejans chatter inside his head. They seem to be constantly communicating, though he supposes it is understandable as they do not differentiate between communication and private thoughts.
He puts his hand once again on the side of Kirk’s face, fingertips easily sliding into place over his psi points. Entering his mind is easy. He makes sure to keep the meld shallow, a transfer of information rather than an exchange of thoughts. Kirk’s eyes dart between his own, teeth digging into his lower lip. Spock is shielding sufficiently between them to avoid emotional transference.
It is likely that the pathway will only last a few days, as it does not feel permanent. Perhaps it would reopen even, should some time pass between this visit and a possible second visit. It is a thought to consider later. Specifically, whether the pathway remains or not, he doubts it may be used by any other being except the Klejans.
It’ll be fine, Kirk tells him through the meld, and Spock can feel his curiosity well up, strong enough to slip past his shields. He breaks the meld, then, and sits back before telling Bird to proceed.
He supposes that a psi-null species would be interested in acquiring temporary telepathy, if it could be achieved without harm. Spock is careful not to let his apprehension spill through. It takes only moments before a quiet gasp from Kirk alerts him to Bird’s success. Kirk’s eyes are wide open, his mouth working over silent syllables. He’s breathing deeply, and Spock is so distracted by him – unforgivable, even with his current lack of control – that he tunes out the Klejans’ thoughts until Bird reaches for both of them.
I will connect you, Bird tells him, and the others repeat it like a chorus. He snatches up the stray thought that the Klejans had believed that somehow, they had accidentally severed the connection between Kirk and Spock as they beamed down to the planet, a connection that would have been there if they, too, had been of a similar telepathic species. He does not have time to consider the implications of it.
Perhaps a full Vulcan would not have allowed it to happen. Perhaps, had he not been so weak against Kirk’s mind, or if their minds had not been so compatible – but it does not matter. Bird means only to open the pathway between him and Kirk, nothing more, nothing less. They could not know that Vulcans share their minds differently, or that there was already a weak link left over from their melds.
When Bird opens the pathway, Spock does not have time to resurrect his shields before it happens.
When Bird opens the pathway, the pain of all his broken bonds rear to life, latching onto that thin sliver of a link between them that bears the promise of so much more.
When Bird opens the pathway, Spock’s mind creates a bond.
Between one second and the next, Kirk is inside him, around him, part of him. It is much stronger than the bond he shared with T’Pring, who perished on Vulcan-that-was. It is so much stronger than a familial bond, deeper, touching his soul. It mixes with the path of surface thoughts and the Klejans startle at his panic, his utter terror.
His mind screams at him, rejoices.
T’hy’la, it sings, as he stares into the wide blue eyes of Kirk, his expression one of stunned surprise, his thoughts stuttered to a halt.
Then, in the space of two heartbeats, Kirk loses consciousness.