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Summary: Jim may or may not have done something worthy of the top three for the list of Stupidest Things James T. Kirk Has Ever Done™.
Warnings: Uhhh, there’s some mention of vomiting and blood/injury and v minor sexy-times. Also Spirk??
Notes: This is for the amazing and sweet @commandtrek for the stnetwork gift exchange! Thank you for being so understanding of the delay! I hope you like it ❤️
(The story is 6.7k words)
Something wasn’t right. Some part of him knew what it was, but a bigger part—a stronger part—couldn’t process… couldn’t understand. He blinked, then blinked again. The things he saw held no meaning, but something deep within told him otherwise. If only he could figure it out. A shaking over took him. At first he thought it must’ve been him, then he realized that he wasn’t the only thing moving.
Then, as if a switch was flipped, the reality of his situation hit him. Explosions, fire, flashing lights, smoke. He was in deep shit. He shot up fast, only to immediately regret it when a sharp pain darted through his side. Swallowing down a scream, he looked to the source. Blood was seeping through his yellow shirt.
Small pieces of debris rained down around him as the room jolted again. His stomach rolled with each rattle, causing him to gag for a long moment before finally throwing up, barely missing himself. He leaned back against the metal wall and wiped at his mouth. His stomach threatened to revolt again so he pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw stars, trying to will himself to stop from feeling like he was in the middle of the ocean on a dingy.
An accented voice sounded through the chaos, too loud and composed to be anything but over a PA system. “Evacuation protocol Delta is in effect for Decks November through Romeo. This is not a drill. Emergency response teams have been deployed. I repeat, evacuation protocol Delta is in effect for Decks November through Romeo. This is not a drill. Emergency response teams have been deployed.”
His heart skipped a beat at the words. Evacuation? Emergency response teams? What the hell had he gotten himself into now? A loud banging and clinking sounded somewhere above brought him back to the problem at hand: his probable death if he didn’t get himself out. With a grunt, he ambled to his feet, using his hand to help steady himself with the wall. He didn’t get more than a few feet when a pipe burst through the ceiling and expelled steam so hot he felt like he was being boiled alive. With a cry, he pushed himself away from it, almost falling over once again had it not been for the broken door that didn’t automatically open for him. Pressing his forehead against it, he breathed in deep through his mouth, then out through his nose, willing himself not to throw up again. As he did, something niggled at the back of his mind, but every time he tried to grab hold it slipped right through his fingers. If only his head would stop hurting long enough for him to think.
The metal around him groaned and shuttered eerily, the still working lights down the way he was headed flickered and blackened, leaving everything cast in red from the emergency lights from where he’d just come. He swallowed hard, then, with both hands against the wall, he shuffled into the darkness. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been hugging the wall, or if the horrible swaying just fooled him into believing he’d been moving, before the rest of the emergency lights kicked on. The hallway shuddered again, this time so violently he lost balance and almost face planted against a fallen support beam, sending a fresh wave of pain through his body.
Everything tilted, and in what felt like just a blink, he was on his back. His stomach gave a painful lurch and he rolled over, promptly throwing up what little was left in his stomach. Panting, he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and shuffled forward on his hands and knees. He had to get out. He had to keep moving.
A loud voice echoed through the halls, each syllable feeling like fingernails on a chalkboard, but he kept moving until he felt confident enough that he could stand again. There had to he a way out. There had to be a way out. He needed to get out. He needed to… he needed…
Blinking hard, he tried clear the blurry darkness clouding his vision. Roughly, he rubbed at his eyes, feeling stickiness but not able to muster the energy to care. Groaning, he slumped against the floor. Slight vibrations shot through it every few seconds, making him feel like he was buzzing. As he lay there, looking at the sparking wall opposite, he realized there was something scratching at the back of his mind. Yet, the harder he focused on it, the more transparent it became. His head pounded in retaliation, begging him to give in. His eyes slipped shut on their own accord, just as he heard someone calling out. It sounded like they were looking for someone, but he couldn’t be sure. Maybe they were looking for him? Maybe they could stop the pounding in his head and side. He ran his hand out in front of him, feeling for something, maybe he could get… maybe he…
Slowly, he opened his eyes. Sounds bounced around him like too many people talking at once. He tried to call out, but only garbled air came out. He needed to get their attention. He needed to find something to… he looked at his hand. He clutching a crumpled piece of metal debris. He bit back a grunt, and shimmied himself up, then threw it down the hall as hard as he could manage. A fierce pain consumed him just before darkness did.
... - .- .-. / - .-. . -.-
He came to with a soft grunt. Blinking, he tried to bring his arm up to rub his bleary eyes, but something caught and tugged at his hand. With a hiss, he blinked a few more times before his aching brain processed the IV. What had he gotten himself into now? Trying to remember was hopeless, flashes of lights were all he could remember, and forcing it just made his head pound harder with each heartbeat.
He needed a distraction. To think about something else until the fuzziness dissipated. Finding out where exactly he was was definitely the best first step. Looking around, from what he could see past the flimsy white curtains half-assed pulled around him, he was obviously in some sort of medical facility, though, from what he could see, the other beds were all empty. Cold grey walls and a cleanliness that made one afraid to touch anything left him feeling like something was off. Taking a deep breath confirmed it. He was in a space ship. The air always did smell different than Earth.
Before he had a chance to really explore, two conversing voices made their way to his ears as they approached.
“-worried, doctor,” said the woman.
“Let the hobgoblin worry. Looks good on ‘im.”
“Doctor McCoy!” the woman sounded exasperated.
Jim looked at the curtain, as if he could see through it to view them. His stomach clenched.
“I just think you should you cut him some slack. He does have feelings, even… even if everyone likes to pretend he doesn’t.”
The doctor snorted. “Only you Christine. I swear…”
The curtain was pulled back with a snap. The two medical staff looked at him, dumbstruck.
“Jim!”
“Uhm… hey?”
“My God man, we thought you’d be out for another two days at least.” The doctor, dressed in Starfleet blues, pulled out a tricorder and began scanning him head to toe. How long had he been out for?
“Get me some painkillers please, Christine. Oh, and one of those compounds I whipped up earlier.” The nurse nodded and quickly left but not before stealing a quick glance at Jim.
“Everyone’s been real worried about you kid,” he said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “What you did… has to be in the top three stupidest stunts you’ve pulled, and that’s saying a lot.”
“What?” Jim didn’t think he’d ever been so confused in his life.
“Don’t ‘what’ me brat.” The doctor raised his hand toward him, and he flinched. An awkward silence hung in the air before Jim looked away, ashamed of his own reaction. He’d been trying so hard to make himself stop doing that.
“Hey,” said doctor McCoy. It was so soft he thought for sure he must’ve imagined it until he locked eyes with the man. A pure, unadulterated understanding was there. His breath caught in his throat.
“I’m sorry kid. I’ll be more careful, okay?”
He swallowed then nodded. “Yeah.”
Doctor McCoy held up his hand again, though slower and farther away. “I just need to check your pupils with this light here.” He pulled a small penlight out of his pocket. Jim nodded, taking a deep breath. The man was nice, nicer than most other doctors he’d ever been around. He didn’t deserve to be saddled with any of Jim’s shit.
The man cupped the side of his head, using his thumb to gently pull up his eyelid, shining the light in and out of it, before moving to the next one.
“Anything bothering you?”
“No.” He blinked. In truth, his head had been steadily getting worse since he’d awaken and his back was so stiff he was sure if he tried to bend it he would snap in half.
The withered look he got made him feel like laughing, though he couldn’t imagine why.
“Can’t bullshit me, I’ve known you far too long now-“
“What?” He must’ve heard that wrong. Too long? They’d only just met… There was no way… He didn’t understand, what was the doctor trying to do here?
“What’s with all the whats? Jesus kid, I ain’t ever known you to be so quiet, you must’ve hit your head harder than I thought.”
Rage welled up inside him. What the hell was this guy trying to do here? “Look, I don’t know if you get off on this shit or something, but we don’t know each other, so just stop with whatever it is you’re trying to do here.”
He watched the colour drain from the doctor’s face.
“What did you just say?”
“I said,” he raised his gaze to look directly into the doctor’s, “stop pretending we know each other.”
... - .- .-. / - .-. . -.-
It’d been almost half an hour since he’d seen anyone. The doctor had left after he’d examined his head and hadn’t been back since. Almost just as long ago, he’d heard the swoosh of doors and rushed whispers between a group of people until they’d entered a different room, effectively cutting them off.
With a deep breath, he shimmied around so he was sitting on his knees. His whole body felt bruised, though most of his injuries seemed to be fully healed, he knew well enough by now that a special brand of soreness and stiffness would prevail for a least another week. He blinked away black spots trying to take over his vision and looked at the vitals panel. Something was off about it but he couldn’t quite figure out what. Groping the side of the panel, he ran his hand down it until he found what he was looking for: a hatch hiding the power switch. Experience had taught him a long time ago that just jumping off a biobed would result in a lot of unnecessary annoyance and loud noises. Popping open the hatch, he turned clicked the switch off and quietly slipped off the biobed. Peeking around the curtain, he saw nothing too spectacular. Unfortunately, he’d have to get by the room the doctor and his companions had gone into to escape.
With careful steps, he made his way towards the door. Peeking out, he saw no one and made a break for it and tip-toed out of the room and into the hallway. Now that he was free, he was forced to deal with the big hole in his plan. He had no clue where he was, or where to even go. It was definitely obvious now he was on a ship, and most ships, especially Starfleet models, would have to have a floor plan of some sort on each level, especially on a ship this advanced. The problem was, where exactly it would be located. Logically, by an exit, or even some sort of electrical or storage room, but that didn’t help when you had no idea where either of those things were to begin with.
He kept close to the wall, and made his way down the rounded halls. A door swished opened just feet away so he dipped into a doorway. Two science officers walked past, so engrossed in their conversation they didn’t even see him. Sighing in relief, he started back down the hall. A few metres later he came across a touch screen in the wall. It was locked. Only ship personnel could access it with voice recognition according to the text flashing across the screen under a rotating Starfleet logo.
“Shit.”
The device beeped. “Sorry sir, could you please repeat that?” He jolted back. A cool, slightly robotic voice had just sounded from the panel. Hoping for at least one miracle, he gave it a shot.
“Uh… yeah… how do I get to the hangar? Shuttle bay? Whatever it’s called.”
“One moment please, sir.”
There had to be some sort of glitch in the system. How was he able to access it if only ship personnel could? Something wasn’t right.
A comprehensive map appeared on the screen with blue flashing arrows heading toward the shuttle bay.
“Due to damage on decks November through Romeo, you are being rerouted to the only accessible elevator to your desired location. Please proceed fifty-seven point three four metres forward to elevator C. Once there, you will be able to continue to deck Romeo where the shuttle bay is located.”
“Uh… thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
Sir… he could get used to that.
... - .- .-. / - .-. . -.-
Getting to the shuttle bay had been relatively simple. The people he’d seen he’d been able to easily avoid. They were all distracted with completing repairs to the ship anyways. Something serious had gone down from what he could see. Explosions bad enough to tear down walls and ceilings, with debris scattered as far as the eye could see.
It was a little unnerving.
Maybe he’d been caught up in it all? That’d explain the serious headache and general full body achiness. Each step had him feeling more and more lethargic, but he wasn’t going to give up now. Sleep was something he could do later when he knew he was safe and back home.
Rolling his shoulders, he moved along the wall. So far he hadn’t been able to find an extra uniform laying around he could swipe. The patient outfit he’d woken up in was far from conspicuous, and though it was quiet comfy, it would be obvious to anyone walking by he wasn’t meant to be down here. He’d only been gone from the med bay for coming up ten minutes, but it was more than enough time for someone to notice his absence and start to form a search party. Not that he really expected anyone to care if he went missing or not.
The stale air of the shuttle bay made his nose itch as he neared it. A hole had been blown through most of the thick metal door like it’d only been made of toothpicks. Poking his head through, he saw a mostly empty bay. Save for more debris, there was only a handful of shuttlecrafts, small enough to be manned by one person, but large enough to be missed, or easily detected once he got out into open space. Every once in a while a haggard looking crew member would scurry by.
With another quick look around, he bolted toward a skid hiding behind the large container on it. Blinking hard, he tried to clear the blurriness. Cold sweat started to run down his face and neck. Reaching his hand out to clasp the edge, he realized how truly nervous he was. His body was shaking. Closing his eyes, he tried to think back to something calming. Something that could ground him in the moment. Then, like something akin to being stuck in a twister, a vision of sorts flashed through his burning brain. It was hard to make out, like everything he saw was shrouded in a gaussian blur. A beautiful man, brushing soft fingers against his temple down to the underside of his chin, whispering to him in a language he felt he should know. His heart ached for him, but his mind spun. Then, as if it’d never even happened, he was back in the shuttle bay, gasping for air and clawing at his tightening chest, his head pounding.
“Jim!”
He jumped. Rushing toward him was the doctor from earlier as well as another man- no, a Vulcan. He’d never seen a Vulcan looked so worried before. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure there was anything that could worry them.
“What’s wrong with him, doctor?”
The doctor held up the tricorder to scan him. Mumbling under his breath, he pulled out a hypospray and stuck him in the neck before he even had time to react. His chest immediately loosened, the pain considerably dulled.
“Ger’off,” he tried to push the doctor away but his limbs wouldn’t cooperate. They were turning to jelly as his skin prickled and started to go numb. What the hell had the doctor given him? Struggling was futile, but he still tried, until he knew no more.
... - .- .-. / - .-. . -.-
“Now, before you get yourself in a tizzy, it’s only temporary.”
He opened his eyes with a start. Disappointed, he realized he was back in the medical bay. Then the doctor’s words hit him. Stay like what?
Then he noticed the restraints. His blood went cold.
“Let me out!” He jerked at them, desperate, but they wouldn’t give.
“Jim, calm your mind.” The Vulcan went to reach for him, but the doctor stopped him, shaking his head.
“Jim, look at me.” He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to hear the lies and excuses for what they were going to do to him. He was tired of them all. He just wanted to go home. “Please.” With a deep breath, he closed his eyes, refusing to give into his emotions. He couldn’t afford to show them anymore weakness.
“I know you’re scared,” continued the doctor, “but we’re not gonna hurt you kid. I promise.”
He laughed. It was so painfully obvious he was scared he couldn’t help but cringe.
“This must be very disorienting for you. Please let us explain what has happened.” He had no idea why, but the Vulcan’s voice made him feel calmer. Like maybe this wasn’t the end of the world. With a long sigh, he opened his eyes again and looked at them.
They looked almost… hurt. Something niggled at the back of his brain again, like he knew he’d left something at home but couldn’t remember what.
“Before we explain anything, we just need to know one thing, okay?” Doctor McCoy pulled a stool over and sat down. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
He frowned. They had to be trying to pull something.
“Please, it’s important.”
He hated himself for wanting to give in. Why did these two make him feel like he could tell them anything? Why did they make him feel so… safe?
Sighing, he looked at them, hoping he wasn’t making a horrible decision.
“I remember…” he blinked. It was harder than he thought to think back. Everything felt fuzzy. “I remember… I was at a shipyard… they were just starting construction on a new Starfleet ship and I wanted to check it out. Supposed to be the best in the fleet, if not the galaxy. Or so they say.” It was a half truth at least. He really was at the new shipyard, just not solely to check things out.
Doctor McCoy looked burdened by the news.
“Jim, what year is it?”
Now they definitely had to be yanking his chain.
“What’s with these questions, huh?” His faced heated with anger. “Tell me why I have to tell you anything. You’re the ones who should be answering questions for me! Instead I’m being held against my will with no idea why!” He yanked at the cuffs for effect.
The Vulcan and the doctor shared a look. It was clear they were trying to communicate something to one another.
“You were injured during an attack on this vessel.” His stomach jolted. He knew something had obviously happened to him and this ship, but having it confirmed still managed to shock him. “I am sure you saw the damage done to the ship on your way to the shuttle bay. We were attacked by a hostile species and suffered serious damage to decks November through Romeo. During this time, you made your way to deck Oscar to assist in the evacuation of personnel and help Chief Engineer Scott with the warp core.”
Jim sucked in a breath.
None of this made any sense. Why would he be doing something like that?
“Once the necessary measures were taken, you left to join us back on the bridge.” His mind was whirling with what this could all mean. “For reasons unknown to us, you remained on deck Oscar, where you were severely injured. At an undetermined amount of time later, you were found unconscious by myself and doctor McCoy.”
He averted his gaze. Possible explanations ran through his head at a dizzying rate. Maybe this was all a ruse. They’d kidnapped him and were trying to create a sense of Stockholm Syndrome. Or maybe he’d snuck aboard a Starfleet ship when he was in the shipyard and somehow ended up here, in a case of mistaken identity.
“I know this must be hard for you, kid. I can only imagine how you’re feeling. But we need you to let us help you.”
He licked his lips. Why did he trust them so much? It was something that had been bugging him this whole time. Yet, he had no real answer. Just a gut feeling. Something too deep within to control. But something he knew he needed to trust.
“2251.”
The doctor spluttered. The Vulcan looked almost shell-shocked. They shared a look.
“Jesus,” muttered the doctor, rubbing at his face.
“What year is it really? At least ten years later?” The doctor chuckled.
“You’re too smart for you own good, y’know that?” The older man sounded fond, it was weird. If someone ever said that to him, it was normally with contempt.
“The stardate is currently 2264.232. You are aboard the Starship Enterprise as a member of its crew.”
He wasn’t as surprised as he thought he’d be. It made sense, he guessed. The ship was extremely advanced, definitely too advanced for 2251. Its computer system had recognized his voice, and everyone he’d encountered so far had seemed to already know him. All the puzzle pieces he’d gathered fit into place. Even he couldn’t argue with the logic of it all.
“Huh, never thought I’d actually join up.”
“This must be a lot to take in, but retrograde amnesia is rarely permanent, and after your last scan, I’m confident you’ll be getting your memory back within a few days once the swelling in your brain goes down and you get the right medicine in your system.” He held up a hypospray. “You’re lucky you got such a hard head.”
He smiled. He liked this guy.
... - .- .-. / - .-. . -.-
After, he’d been filled in on some of the information about the missing thirteen years (including being the frickin’ captain of this baby!), him and the first officer Vulcan he now knew was named Spock, were headed to his quarters. Spock had been tasked with keeping watch on him for the next few days until his memories started to come back, something the doctor assured him would happen naturally and that trying to force it would only make his headache worse.
“These are your quarters.” Spock hesitated. “I am… aware of the entrance code. If this makes you uncomfortable, it can be changed.”
From what he could tell, Spock and the doctor were friends of his… or his future self. Yet, they didn’t try to force it on him. In fact, they seemed to be actively making sure they didn’t impose on him. If they really were his friends, he’d hit the jackpot.
“Uh, no no. It’s okay.” Spock bowed his head before inputting the code. 03226010. He wondered if it meant something.
His room was clean and orderly. A few knick-knacks were placed about: an old-fashioned printed picture in a frame of him with his mom and brother, a small statue he didn’t recognize, and a handful of candles. Pretty boring all-in-all.
“Is something unsatisfactory?”
“No… it’s just not what I expected… though I can’t say for sure what I was actually expecting…”
The Vulcan nodded. Jim couldn’t help but stare. Now that the drama of it all had subsided, he couldn’t help but admire the other’s beauty. The strong jaw and long eyelashes that brushed his cheeks. His stunning eyes, so deep with emotion and intelligence that it would be easy to get lost within them for hours. And his hands! They looked like something from a Grecian sculpture. God, he had the hots for this friend. What the hell was wrong with him?
“Captain, should I call the doctor?”
He blushed, embarrassed for getting caught staring. “I’m okay, just got lost for a moment.” Spock didn’t look appeased, but let it go.
“I will leave you to get reacquainted with your room. If you are agreeable to it, I can escort you to the mess hall at 2200 hours.” He looked to the clock on his bedside table. 30 more minutes.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks.”
The Vulcan clasped his hands behind his back before nodding once more and leaving.
Jim immediately regretted it. He was happy for the time to be able to explore his room alone a bit, but a deep sadness had already begun to settle in. He didn’t belong here, not like this. What if he never got his memory back? The future him would lose everything. The present him would lose the promise of everything. His own captaincy, friends who actually cared about him, respect. It was a lot to take in. In his own head he was an 18 year old screw up with no prospects and no life direction. In reality, he was 31 with his shit together and a real life with real responsibilities. It was more than a little overwhelming.
He flopped down on his bed. Some kind of memory foam that his achey back loved. After a few moments he rolled onto his side and opened up the bedside drawer. Some candy, papers, two books, and box of opened condoms and lube. The box was almost emptied. Smirking, he praised his future self. He was definitely getting some. But with who? He scanned his bedroom once more. If there was one thing he knew, it was himself. Being a captain of one of the best ships in the fleet meant he’d have to be careful with certain things, especially relationships with other personnel. And since he knew himself as well as he did, he also knew he loved to keep things that reminded him of his loved ones close by.
He scooched off the bed and slipped onto the floor. When he was a kid, he’d hide important things in the furniture and under floorboards. His room here was carpeted, so he doubted he tried to hide anything underneath it. So that just left two beside tables, a desk, a chair, a bookshelf, and his wardrobe.
He opened the bottom drawer. It was empty save for two energy bars and another book. He flipped through it, then turned it upside and shook it. Nothing. He grabbed the energy bars and peeled the wrapper back and bit off a chunk, almost ashamed of himself. Almost. Then, he reached into the drawer, and ran his hand against the bottom of the upper drawer, seeing if there was anything tapped to its underside. Nothing. He opened the top drawer again and felt the underside of the top. Again, nothing. Sighing, he shuffled over to the other table and repeated the same thing before approaching the other furniture. All he ended up finding was more non-perishable food, some bottled water, more books than he was sure he had time to read, and a whole lot of not what he was hoping for.
So maybe he didn’t know himself as well as he’d thought. His years in Starfleet obviously had made him craftier, or more paranoid, as his mom liked to call it. As he looked around once more, it clicked. The best place to hide something was always in plain sight. He went over to the picture frame, opened it and pulled out the photo. He looked at it from the side. A thin line ran down it. There were two pictures. Carefully, he pulled away the second photo. The breath caught in his throat.
It was him and Spock. Their faces so close they were almost touching. He was genuinely smiling while Spock looked at him, and honestly, he looked as close to happy as he was sure a Vulcan could get. So… apparently him and the Vulcan were an item. Happiness spread through him like a shot of hard liquor. Then it clicked. The “vision” he’d had in the shuttle bay, it was Spock. Spock was the one who’d been caressing his face, whispering beautiful words to him. He couldn’t believe it. How the hell had his life turned out so well? Jesus, he’d never had so much luck before. But something had to give. Something always did.
Huddling onto the floor, he clutched the picture to his chest as tears welled up. Goddammit, why couldn’t he remember this? Maybe that’s how his life was just destined to go. One horrible experience after the next. Have everything he could ever want, only for it to have no real meaning—no personal emotion and experience attached. Just empty. He also knew, if he never got his memory back, what that spelt for him career-wise. He’d be honourably discharged and dropped back on Earth (if he was lucky), and promptly forgotten about. It always circled back to him being left behind like an unwanted piece of trash.
“Jim,” he jerked. Spock was kneeled next to him, his hand hovering inches from his shoulder.
“S-Spock,” his voiced cracked, his vision blurry with unshed tears. “I’m sorry.” God he was such an asshole. Here he’d been lamenting about how he couldn’t remember, when Spock very much could and had to pretend like they didn’t mean more to each other than just casual work colleagues.
“There is nothing to apologize for, Jim. You have committed no offence against me.” A sob slipped past his lips. How was he so understanding? He should be yelling at him, hitting him, telling him he wasn’t worth the energy or the time. Instead, this Vulcan—someone from a species who didn’t do emotions and touchy-feely things—was holding him, stroking his hair, whispering things to him he couldn’t understand. His mind told him over and over he didn’t know this man, yet his body and his heart told him an entirely different story. He buried his face deeper into Spock’s chest. Why did he have to destroy every good thing in his life? Why was he such a screw up?
“Fuck, I’m so sorry Spock.” His voice was shaky as he pulled away. “I know… I know this must be so hard on you. I wish I could remember. I want to remember. I want to remember you.” Spock lifted his chin so their eyes met. Once again he was struck by the depth in his eyes.
“Just because I am lost to you, does not mean you are lost to me.” Spock gently pulled his hand away from his chest, taking the photo from his shaking hand. “I was not aware you kept this photo.” Something played over the other’s face so fast he’d almost missed it entirely. “I do not expect anything from you, in regard to our relationship, at this time. I am…” Spock made a face, as if his next words were painful to say, “confident in the doctor’s abilities. I believe his diagnosis is accurate. Your memory will return soon.”
“But what if it doesn’t?” He held his breath, unsure if he really wanted the answer or not. What if Spock was lying to him?
“Though the chance of you not regaining your memory is 1.33 per cent, if it were to happen, I would continue to stay by your side as your first officer, and friend if you so choose.”
“And what about this? …Us?”
Spock hesitated and looked away. “I would not presume to believe that you would want us to continue seeing each other.” His heart fell. Maybe at first he’d be uncomfortable, but he could easily see why he fell for the Vulcan in the first place. Would Spock really not fight for them? Then brown eyes met blue.“Yet, I will continue to try to win your affections again if you will allow it.”
The world stopped. He was sure it must’ve. Or maybe it was a stroke. That had to be it.
“I… I’m not sure I heard you right.”
Spock cupped his cheeks and brought him close. “I will fight for you, ashaya, until the day you want me no longer.” He closed his eyes, refusing to let more tears escape. Then the Vulcan pulled him closer and gently kissed each eyelid.
“Sleep, Jim. You will feel better. Tomorrow I will answer any questions you may have.”
Spock helped him up onto his bed, then left for a moment before coming back with a pair of Starfleet issued pyjamas.
“I am just next door.” Spock pulled out a piece of paper from his desk and wrote something on it. “I will leave the code to my quarters with you. If you find yourself in need of anything, you may come at any time.”
Jim nodded. Maybe Spock was right. Sleep would do him some good.
“Goodnight, Jim.”
“Night.”
And with that, Spock left.
... - .- .-. / - .-. . -.-
The next few days were a rollercoaster for him. The first real day he’d been awake since the accident, no memories came back. It’d been a hard pill to swallow. Thankfully, Spock and McCoy were there to guide him through it. So, instead of sitting around, he’d gone a tour of the ship in hopes that it may jog something, but also because he felt he should know what was going on—he was captain after all, whether he remembered it or not.
They’d ended up encountering a lot of personnel, all who seemed very happy to see him up and about. All them very understanding of his current condition. It made his heart swell. He wasn’t sure if he would go as far as to say he was proud of his future self, but he was pretty damn close. The camaraderie and support he saw, not just toward him, but everyone else, made him feel like maybe he wasn’t screwing up as bad as he’d secretly feared his future self was.
At one point during their tour, McCoy had pulled him aside and told him of some not so pleasant memories that may be coming his way of Spock. That him and Spock had practically hated one another until “you both got your head outta your asses, that is.” And had even come to blows at one point. The doctor looked pained at having to talk about their relationship, but he could tell the older man honestly cared, and didn’t want Kirk to misconstrue any memories he may get since there was no guarantee they would come back in order.
Day two he’d remembered something, this time so vividly he’d almost blacked out. McCoy had been on hand with another hypospray to help him with the panic attack. It’d been a memory of him meeting Spock at the transporter platform, his hand outstretched, a look of devastation clearly written across his normally stoic face. Though that was the only memory he’d gained that day, he somehow knew what had happened to cause it. He wanted so very badly to lie to the Vulcan when he’d asked what had come back to him, but he knew he couldn’t. The last thing he wanted to do was bring up something so obviously painful again. Yet, as the words tumbled out, Spock seemed to take it well. A deep hurt had flashed through his eyes before he admitted that it was more to do with that he wished that it hadn’t been Jim’s first regained memory. All Jim could do was pull him close and kiss him on the cheek.
Day three he’d woken up with most of his memory from his time at the academy—good and bad. He’d ended up crying on Bones’ shoulder, blubbering about how sorry he was for making him late to see his daughter in their second year.
“Jeez, kid, I never knew you felt so bad about it,” he said, patting him on the back. “But don’t worry your pretty little head over it. The ex and Joanna were running late that day as well so I didn’t look like too much of an ass when I got there.”
He just hugged his friend harder.
Day four was the worst. Memories of Khan and dying and not so nice things that had happened to him before he joined up all flooded back. It’d been so tiring and emotionally draining he refused to leave his room, instead, opting to lay in his bed refusing to do much more than stare at the wall. Spock refused to leave his side the whole time.
Day five was… interesting. Intimate moments with Spock swirled in his head. How their relationship started, the chess games, all the shore leaves together, the sex. God, the sex! It was… hot. So hot. After a rather awkward morning, he and Spock sat down and talked for hours. Spock was afraid of taking advantage of him, that much he knew, but with most of his memories back he craved Spock’s affection and attentions again. He knew he needed to make sure they were on the same page though first, not wanting the Vulcan to feel responsible for anything supposedly untoward. Spock was able to roll with the punches, adapting to each memory as it came day after day, yet Kirk wasn’t sure if he was up to adapting to something more carnal so soon. After expressing their concerns to one another, they’d decided to keep it simple. Only over the clothes stuff and nothing more. Turns out Spock was a really good memory booster.
It was day six when he got the rest of his memories back, save for the incident that caused this all, which Bones had informed him would likely never come back. He’d been a little disappointed to realize they’d never know why he’d stayed on the deck instead of heading back to the bridge like he was supposed to. But he guessed somethings would forever remain a mystery.
Having his lost memories back was like surfacing from being under water too long. Everything was clear now. He had focus and understanding like never before. The crisis that lead up to his accident was clear, as was the attack on Yorktown over a year ago. He know remembered Pike—the father figure he’d never had. All the times he’d gotten wasted with Scotty over engineering theories. How Spock learnt French just for him because his mom used to speak it with him when he was little. That he always got his ass-kicked by Uhura and her impeccable poker face when they played cards, and that Sulu and Chekov got the whole crew to start calling him ‘mom’ and Spock ‘dad,’ much to their annoyance. Suddenly, birthdays and names and anniversaries and little tidbits about people that had been wiped from his mind just days before were all back. It was exhilarating. Freeing.
With Spock by his side, and all his friends—his family—to back him up, nothing could stop him.
He was sure of it. Now more than ever. He was Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise. And damn was he proud.
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