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It’s a normal day on the Enterprise. Which, in the life of Jim Kirk, means that he is recovering from a disastrous mission and trying his best to stay awake in the captain’s chair.
Well, disastrous is a strong word. More like awkward. Nobody died and Kirk only came out of it with purple bruises around his neck and the haunting sensation of Spock’s hands choking the—
It wasn’t every day you saw your first officer go insane. And have him attack you in front of a landing party. An attack that included but was not limited to: choking, unfortunate rubbing of certain sensitive parts as Jim was pushed into the dirt, and the tearing of several articles of clothing that revealed a great deal more skin than any captain should show a security team. Or his first officer.
He sighs loudly, rubbing at the ghostly markings on his neck. Of course they’re gone, long healed by Bones and his judicious use of a tricorder, but he can’t shake this strange sensation of being held down, of pressure.
“Mr. Spock, readings please,” Jim asks, more to get his attention than anything.
“All systems normal,” Spock replies sounding a bit constipated. Jim really wishes he’d get over whatever’s making him so standoffish.
Their relationship had come so far in the last three years, going from working well together to having amazing discussions to playing chess and choosing to eat together in the mess. They’d become downright friendly.
The choking thing seems to have really thrown a spanner in the works.
Or maybe he knows how you feel , a little traitorous voice whispers in the back of his head.
What about it? he whispers back viciously and the voice shuts up.
So Jim spends the rest of an interminable shift staring longingly at the science console and pretending he isn’t, trying to give Spock supportive smiles whenever the Vulcan glances over.
**
“Feeling hungry there Spock?” McCoy asks pausing the bite of his salad halfway to his mouth.
Jim looks over at the Vulcan’s tray and tried not to gape. It’s piled high with bread, applesauce, a gazillion vegetables and a large bowl of soup. “I do not think my culinary preferences were under your purview, Doctor,” Spock replies primly before tucking in.
“It is if you’re eating enough for a damn army,” McCoy shoots back. He jams the bite of salad into his mouth with more force than necessary, as if his aggression will somehow prove his point more effectively.
They eat in a silence only slightly more tense than Jim is comfortable with, but he gets it. McCoy is still pretty cranky that Spock tried to off the captain and Spock is still embarrassed about the whole thing. He had to spend a week in medbay while McCoy coaxed him down off his hormones. Or whatever it was that had made him go bananas.
Jim lets the whole interaction go but gives McCoy a strange look when he watches Spock replicate more bread, tucking it into his pockets before leaving the mess.
“What’s with that?’ Jim asks, pointing after Spock with his fork.
McCoy shrugs. “You’d know better than me.”
**
A crunching noise echoes through the bridge and the pause in everyone’s work is palpable in the silence that follows. Jim turns to Spock who looks back, wide-eyed, carrot halfway into his mouth.
“What are you doing, Commander?” Jim asks, biting back both a laugh and a reprimand. Eating on the bridge is generally frowned upon and Spock basically is the rulebook.
Spock swallowed. “My apologies, Captain. I am very...hungry.”
Laughter winning out, Jim nearly doubles over with it and eventually the whole bridge joins in. “I am glad you find the situation humorous,” Spock says archly, one eyebrow raised.
“I’m sorry!” Jim manages between laughs. “It’s just—the look on your face—”
“Permission to leave the bridge, Captain,” Spock grates out, standing up with his hands folded behind his back. Several carrots fall from his pocket and plink onto the ground, ruining the effect of his severe expression.
And the laughter just won’t stop. Wiping at his eyes, Jim waves his hand, “Yes, dismissed. Make sure you get enough to eat before your next shift, Mr. Spock.”
“Yes, Captain,” Spock says before ducking down to collect his carrots.
An untimely snort comes from the helm and everyone holds their breath as Spock strides from the bridge. The minute the turbolift door snicks shut, they’re all in tears.
**
“Do you think Spock is sick?” Jim asks, fiddling with the antique scalpel Bones keeps on a shelf in medbay. Some sort of manifestation of his dark sense of humor.
“Don’t touch that,” Bones says, snatching it out of his hands. Which...fair. Jim can be clumsy on occasion.
Frowning, Jim takes his usual seat in McCoy’s office as the doctor settles into his own. “Well, do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Think Spock is sick?”
Bones lets out a little ‘ah’ of understanding and leans back in his chair. “I don’t know. Hard to tell with a Vulcan. Why do you ask?”
“Haven’t you noticed he’s been eating a lot more?”
“What? Like the other day at lunch?”
Jim nods. “That and yesterday! He was eating on the bridge. Spock! Breaking a rule!”
“I mean a rule that doesn’t hurt anyone,” Bones points out, but when Jim gives him a dubious look he admits, “Yeah, you’re right. That wouldn’t matter to him.”
“Exactly! And then last night, we were supposed to meet and do our reports together and he spent the entire time eating almonds. The entire time! Three hours of almonds.”
McCoy rubs a thoughtful hand over his chin. “That doesn’t exactly sound like Spock. I could bring him in for an eval but you know as good as I do that Spock’s a bit of an anomaly. He’s hell to try to diagnose.”
“I know Bones. I’m just asking if you can check,” Jim asks, putting on his best pleading expression.
“Don’t give me that look, Jim. I said I’d do it.”
“Thanks, Bones!” Jim says brightly, hopping to his feet. “Let me know what you find out. I’ve got to run off to engineering, Scotty wanted my opinion on something. Still on for dinner?”
“Sure thing, kid,” Bones says on a sigh before Jim rushes from the room.
**
“Jim you should get down here,” Bones says through the comm on his wall.
Dropping the padd he’s reading, Jim sits up and replies, “What happened?”
“Just get your ass to medbay.”
While he would normally protest a bit more, Jim has a feeling this is about Spock so he tosses on his shirt and hustles down the corridors to medbay.
“What is it?” he asks, gripping the doors to McCoy’s office in an effort to calm his nerves.
“Spock,” Bones replies. “It was a hell of a thing. If he’s been eating as much as you say, it doesn’t make any sense. He’s lost fifteen pounds since he was last here. His hormones are all out of wack compared to baseline but he seemed confused as to why I’d even be concerned. Typical Vulcan nonsense.”
That did not sound good. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I don’t know,” Bones says, throwing up his hands. “What do you normally do? Talk to the damn hobgoblin. Get him to say something .”
Jim decidedly does not like that option because actually talking to Spock about anything serious ultimately skirted the line of him confessing things he definitely didn’t want to confess. Like being in love with him. Or wanting to tear off his clothes.
“Fine. But know that I don’t want to,” Jim says with a scowl.
“How do you think I feel all the time?”
**
Stepping into Spock’s quarters, Jim is already feeling nervous about the conversation ahead. Will Spock open up or just snap at him to mind his own business? Both were equally likely.
He finds Spock at his desk, eating a plate of tomatoes and reading something on his terminal. Looking up at Kirk’s entrance, he puts down the fork. “Can I help you?”
“I talked to Bones today,” Kirk says by way of explanation.
“And? To what end?”
“He said you’re sick. Or at least not well ,” Jim says, coming up to the side of the desk.
“My current health is of no consequence. I have reached out to the healers on New Vulcan and they have given me a regimen to follow that will allow me to better manage my symptoms.”
“So you are sick!” Jim says, accusation clear in his tone.
“Sick is not an accurate description, Captain.”
Pursing his lips, Jim asks, “Was it what happened on Cignus?”
Spock’s hand clenches on his desk, a surefire sign that Jim is on the right track. “It was, wasn’t it? Did I hurt you? Were the hormone regulators not enough?”
“Jim, please,” Spock grates out, eyes closing briefly before fluttering open again. “My current status is related to Cignus however you are not at fault.”
“Well, then what is it? Let me help.”
Spock’s hard expression softens slightly and it makes Jim’s stomach swoop. It’s so rare, that expression and Jim treasures every one.
Spock stands and begins to pace on the far side of the room, clearly searching for the right words. He pauses and looks back at Jim. “You are correct. On Cignus, during our...altercation, the prolonged contact between our bodies resulted in a rare mental bond that when unfulfilled can manifest one of two symptoms.
“The first is perpetual arousal and the second is hunger of similar nature. While I have been spared the former, the latter symptom is what you have perceived and what has interfered with my duties on the Enterprise.”
Jim takes a moment to parse that little monologue—purposefully ignoring the concept of arousal in relation to Spock because, yeah, he didn’t need to go there—but the only response he can come up with is, “Bond? Aren’t those kind of a big deal?”
Spock looks a bit green but nods. “Indeed.”
“But one just—poof! Formed between us?”
“We are highly compatible individuals.”
And now it’s Jim’s turn to blush. “Right. Um, do you...so you’re sick because it’s unfulfilled? What does that mean?”
“It means, in simple terms, that I am bonded with you but you are not bonded with me—”
“Well, that’s easy. I’ll bond with you back and then you’ll be fine,” Jim says, happy to have found such an easy solution but Spock shakes his head.
“You do not understand. This bond is a lifetime commitment. Similar to human marriage. I cannot ask that of you.”
Jim’s heart starts to race at what that could possibly mean. “What if I’m ok with that?”
Spock looks down and says, “You do not owe me anything, Jim.”
Approaching Spock slowly, like one would approach a skittish cat, Jim wraps a tentative hand around Spock’s wrist. “It’s not about what you owe me. It’s about what I want.”
Spock’s eyes widen but he doesn’t pull away.
“What do you want?” Jim asks, searching Spock’s face for any sign of hesitation.
The answer is beautiful in its simplicity: “You.”
Jim can’t help grinning, a myriad of futures he previously thought impossible becoming possible. “Well, right back atcha, Mr. Spock.”
**
The next morning when they enter the bridge for alpha shift and Spock finds a little bag of baby carrots on the science console, Jim holds up his hands and says, “It wasn’t me!”
Spock gives him an unimpressed look, but slips the little bag into his pocket before taking to his station.