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🛜 Chapter 18: Video Call

The strangest thing about the elder Spock aren’t his similarities to the younger. No, the strangest thing- the thing which unsettles her the most- is the fact that there’s a difference. One very notable difference. Like Spock, Selek has a soulmark on his neck, but it isn’t a line. It isn’t golden, either, though that fact is less surprising… No: as Nyota peers at it, she feels an odd sense of foreboding. She knows that mark. She’d know it anywhere; even blindfolded. It’s a silver hourglass.

Amina laughs, and peers through the gap. Her eyes widen. "Nyota," she says, "His marks are like yours.”

His uniform is strewn somewhat carelessly across the floor, starting with the blue shirt. There's an enquiring grunt. “An untidy Vulcan?” She muses. “Or am I holding you to unfair standards in a moment of distress?” “Nmn.” “Well, in that case, I apologise.” She sits on the edge of the mattress. The lump wriggles closer. She reaches a hand out. “Is this your head?” A purr.

Nyota smiles. "I'm here with my sister. She's eight, so she's always getting into accidents." "Ah," the boy nods. "I'm Jim, so I'm always getting into accidents."

“You should really go to medbay,” she says. “Telling me what to do already?” He hisses out a laugh. “I'm gonna have my work cut out for me, assuming I'm Captain for more than five hours, which is…. debatable.” He quiets, but lets her approach. Gently, she takes the applicator from him, and he draws in a breath. “Easy,” she murmurs. “If you're not going to go to medbay–” “I can't.” “– then I'll try not to make this hurt.” Gently, she cups his jaw, and he leans into the touch. He's tense. “Close your eyes,” she murmurs. He looks at her helplessly. “You've got a bruise around your eye.” He studies her for a long moment, but finally does as she asks. “You know why I can't go to medbay, right?” He breathes, at last. “Bones will kill him. Like, actually kill him, with his bare hands.” She smiles. “He cares about you.” “Too much.” He lets out a hollow laugh. Her heart thuds. “I don't think that's possible.

“You can go in now,” the doctor says, as she passes. She gets to his feet. “Is he okay?” “He will be.” She sighs. “He's a regular customer.” Nyota frowns, and enters. The ward is otherwise empty, and curtains have been drawn around the only occupied bed. She hurries over to it. Jim lies on his back, pencil-straight, with his arms at his sides. His concealer has been removed- medical bay protocol- and she stops in her tracks. His marks are all-too noticeable in the light, and, for the first time, she understands why he might want to hide them. She'd forgotten just how striking they looked. Everywhere he goes, people must stare. The curtains swish shut behind her. He doesn't stir. She thinks about the last time she'd seen him like this. They're in the same ward as last time, with the same pastel yellow walls. Jim looks every bit as sickly as he did back then- perhaps more so, in fact- but nowhere near as lean. She approaches him slowly, and settles on a chair beside the bed. “Hey,” she says, softly. She rests a hand on his arm. A pair of eyes meet hers, startlingly blue. At long last, he moves, just a millimeter. “Hey,” he croaks. “We've gotta stop meeting like this.” She reaches out, but pulls back. “What happened?” He watches her hand from the corner of his eye. “Oh, the usual. I saw a peanut and decided to end it all.” “Jim.” She grasps his arm. He smiles weakly. “I was allergic to something at the party; don't know what it was yet.” “How many allergies is that now?” He squints. “Thirty-six?” He shifts slightly. “They're never going to let me on a starship.” “Don't say that.”

She steps into the ready room. The call is already over. Jim is slumped over his desk. “You’re surprised that her mark didn’t fade after The Kelvin, right?” he says, without looking up. Nyota stops in the doorway. “I guess there’s no point in me pretending this is about ship’s business.” He runs his fingers along the edge of the table. “Depends on the excuse, I guess. What were you going to say?” “Well…” She glances over her shoulder. “Rand’s doing a coffee run.” His mouth twitches. “I don’t think I need it.” “No.” She steps forwards, and the door shuts with a hiss. The ready room is distinctly more colourful than it was when they first inherited it: the seat at the edge of the room has been covered by a red throw blanket, and there are other touches of decoration here and there. A painting done by a crew member, a pink cushion, and a lively plant (no doubt acquired by Sulu). It was so empty when she first came on board- for all that talk of it being 'his' ship, Pike didn't really have time to decorate it before they blasted off into space, and the only thing he left them with was the room's centrepiece: the round, wooden table. Jim traces its edge again, and she notices a series of small grooves cut into the side. She can’t work out if they were made by him, or Pike. “You know, Spock would probably say my emotions are Ship’s Business,” he says, after a pause. She smiles. “That’s his way of asking how you are.” “I know.” He looks up, and holds her with a serious gaze. “My mother…” He stops. “Admiral Kirk. Everyone always treated her like it was her fault. Like she must not have loved him enough.” Nyota stays very still, scarcely daring to breathe. She's never heard Jim talk about his family before, and any interruption might cause him to shut down entirely. “I used to believe it, too,” he murmurs. “Used to believe she didn't love anything or anyone. She used to leave me for weeks on end. Not alone. Although that might have been better...”