#spirk drabble

[subcutaneous-transponder]

Like Chamomile and Sunshine

Here's some fluffy Kirk/Spock drabble.

     Warm water spilled over Spock’s shoulders, rolling down his lean body. James was pressed against him, sharing in the stream of warmth that engulfed him. His muscles were slowly untensing, taut from arousal. Jim’s hands slid over his chest and wrapped around the back of his neck. The warmth of his large palms seeped into his skin. The height difference between them had only just occurred to Spock.

Jim was an inch or two shorter than he was, and perked himself up as he brushed his lips softly against Spock’s. As delicate as a whisper. “You taste so sweet, you know?” Spock murmured against Jim’s mouth.

“Do I?” Jim smirked.

Spock hummed, “like chamomile and sunshine.” James laughed, a smile stretching gloriously across his face, meeting the piercing blue of his eyes.

“And what does sunshine taste like?” His fingers slipped into Spock's hair. Spock loved when Jim did this; it drove him totally insane.

“Let me run some tests to find out for you,” Spock cooed, kissing Jim again, this time pulling him close, wrapping his torso up in his arms. James grunted softly against his lips and it was the most adorable sound Spock had heard escape Jim. When he finally found the strength to withdraw, he made sure to wrap a white plush towel around his hips before pulling a towel off the rack and holding it open for Jim. Spock felt Jim’s eyes lingering over him.

After a long flustered moment, James stepped into Spock’s offered towel. Spock wrapped him up, ensuring Jim’s warmth as he dried. Jim beamed up at Spock. “Thank you.” Spock fought the urge to ruffle Jim’s bouncy, golden hair with the towel.

A smile seized the edges of Spock’s lips. He grinned at James. “You’re welcome, t’hy’la.”

“T’hy’la?” James flushed harder. “My beloved,” Spock confirmed sweetly. “My love. You possess my heart to beat.”

Jim’s eyes filled with joy. He brought his finger tips to Spock’s, gently pressing them together. “I love you, too.”

[spirkme915]

Pick a Song #1 - Take My Breath Away by Berlin

for @between-stars-and-enterprise a spirk drabble inspired by "take my breath way" by berlin.

because my brain is a maze of incomprehensible turns and multiple exits, the first thing i thought of when i saw the song title was "top gun" and all i could remember about that movie was that the gorgeous woman may have been a teacher to the hotshot pilot (idek if this is true??) and i thought of spock teaching jim something, then i looked up the lyrics to make sure i remembered them well enough, and got stuck on the line "if only for today, i am unafraid" then this drabble (or, really, longer than a drabble, oops) happened!

it's all fluff. nothing but fluff.

i hope you enjoy 💙

Jim sets down an apple on the corner of the lectern then takes his seat at the table in the front row.

While he remains the captain in this conference room turned classroom, he won’t be in charge today - that illustrious honor belongs to his highly competent XO.

Spock lifts his gaze from his padd and, upon spotting the red fruit, inclines one svelte eyebrow in question.

“It’s an old Earth custom to give a teacher an apple,” Jim explains.

“Solely this specific type of fruit or any other?”

“Just an apple.”

“What was the origin of this type of gift?”

Jim hesitates, accesses the recesses of his memory and comes back blank. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“Then I must conclude it is an illogical custom.”

“And yet, delicious. That one’s real not replicated - from a bag I picked up at the last starbase. Don’t waste it.”

The corner of Spock’s lips twitch. “Is that an order, Captain?”

Jim tsks. “You’re the one in charge, Mr. Spock.”

“Very well.”

Spock begins the lecture, immediately commanding the attention of the fifty-ish crew who have gathered to hear the most recent updates to Starfleet landing party procedures. Jim tries to pay attention, he really does, but he’s well-aware that he’s going to ignore most (all) of the official procedures the second circumstances deem it, and his time here today is much better utilized cataloging every inch of his first officer.

Appropriate? No, not at all. But a better use of his time? Without a doubt.

While he can’t quite force himself to listen to the substance of the lecture, the dulcet baritone of Spock’s voice rolls over him pleasantly. He appreciates the grace with which Spock moves between the lectern and the viewscreen - long legs, narrow hips, the fit of science blues over a well-formed chest and arms. Spock points to a block of dense, dreadfully boring regulation text on the viewscreen and Jim loses himself in the twist of Spock’s wrist, imagines those elegant fingers against his skin.

Jim clears his throat, stations his elbows on the table and decides to pay attention. It’s time to focus on something else.

Spock is a good teacher, engaging and patient, and Jim’s heart squeezes with adoration as the supposedly bland Vulcan keeps over fifty people hanging on his every word. The material is dry, yet Spock interjects stories from previous missions and invites others to participate. The first wry joke Spock cracks, Jim is the only one who dares to laugh. Ten minutes later, Spock has the entire room snickering. It’s all rather…endearing.

Because of course it would be.

Most people see Spock’s ears and eyebrows and make all kinds of assumptions. But the reality of Spock is much more Human than Spock would ever admit, much more saucy than Bones knows how to deal with, and so rebellious that Spock can make the James T. Kirk look tamed.

Jim may just be a little bit in love with him.

Or, well, a lot.

Spock catches his eyes and Jim gazes back with a smile meant just for his XO. He has to be completely obvious in the moment, but he can’t find the will to care. It’s not as if it’s the first time and it most definitely won’t be the last.

Every look he gives Spock is an invitation extended that he shouldn’t want Spock to accept. It’s safe because he knows that Spock never will.

But that’s okay. Because if this is all they ever are - friends, confidants, chess partners, brothers in arms - then Jim’s life is more complete than he thought it could be. The life of a starship captain can be painfully solitary and Spock’s ever-present presence at his side ensures it’s not.

“Captain?”

“Yes, Mr. Spock?”

“The lecture has concluded.”

Jim starts, glances around the room to find he’s the only crew member remaining. He has no chance of concealing the flush on his cheeks when he meets Spock’s eyes again.

“Ah. It appears it has.”

“Is there further clarification you seek, Captain? I am available for the next twelve minutes to answer questions.”

Will you marry me?, he thinks.

“No questions,” he says.

Spock accepts that with the hint of a nod then heads toward the lectern. He shuts off the viewscreen, picks up his padd, then palms the apple.

“Captain,” Spock says. “Thank you for the gift. I find it is most appropriate as it reminds me of you.”

Jim remains in his seat, curiosity getting the better of him. He rests his arms on the table and clasps his hands together. “And how is that, Mr. Spock?”

Spock takes two steps forward, until he’s standing in front of Jim - a table and an apple between them.

“It brings to mind a Terran colloquialism my mother was fond of saying - you are the apple of my eye.”

Important. Viewed with affection. Cared for.

Cherished.

Jim isn’t sure about the origins of that either, but the meaning is crystal clear.

“As you are for me,” he admits.

Spock leans down then and Jim has a mere fraction of a second to realize that Spock is going to kiss him before Spock’s lips are actually against his. It’s a shock of much colder skin first, then softness, then an electric heat that starts at his lips and zings through his entire body.

When Spock inches back, Jim can’t quite breathe.

“Have dinner with me tonight?” he asks.

He sounds just as breathless as he is. He can’t dredge up an ounce of shame for that one.

Spock holds up the apple, his oh-so-Human eyes dancing with sauciness, rebelliousness, and mirth.

“I will bring dessert.”

[lxvenderjewel]

Personal Log, 2143.07

I keep having this very specific dream, of me and Spock.

It starts out with some fuck-all party, I’m exhausted and I want to go home. Headache-inducing music is floating through the room, and I can practically taste the alcohol in the air.

Looking around, I see much of our crew and one other species, so I assume this is some post-diplomatic party. I’ve always hated these. I sit back on the chair, sipping the shitty drink in my hand while I look around, trying to spot anyone on the bridge crew, just to amuse myself, when I see Spock, sitting alone as well.

I wave at him and he raises an eyebrow in response, so I make my way over to him.

“Do you ever wonder what these parties are even for?” I sigh, dropping onto the seat next to him.

“To celebrate the aftermath of successful diplomacy, sir?” he says, and I smile minutely.

“Yes, but does anyone even like these?”

“Many do, I can see most of our crew enjoying themselves, sir.”

I hum in response, and we sit in quiet silence for a few minutes, the stench of alcohol and sweat growing heavy in the air.

“I can barely breathe,” I say, turning to him. “Wanna go get some air?”

He nods, and I lead him out of the room, to some balcony elsewhere in the building. We both breathe the air deep, and I sit on the floor.

“Will your clothes not get dirty, sir?”

“I don’t really mind, I’m tired. You’re not?”

“Vulcans do not require–”

“Sleep, yeah, I know. But isn't your body tired?”

He considers this a moment, and decides to sit across from me.

I stare.

He stares.

Something is pulling me close to him, closer, too close, I’m going to make a mistake, I need to stop–

I wake up.

[v-thinks-on]

“What’s a logical gentleman like you doing in a place like this?”

Spock quirked an eyebrow at Jim, who merely smiled and slid into the empty seat beside him.

“Your best Vulcan tea for my charming companion,” Jim said to the woman behind the bar of the little deep space outpost where their ships had briefly docked.

“Admiral, there is no need for you to order tea on my behalf,” Spock protested, bemused by the illogical human gesture.

“I wouldn’t invite you back to my quarters without at least buying you a drink first.”

“Very well, Admiral, then I accept.”

[illegalpaladin]

Drabble request: spirk picnic

Thank you for the request!!! It was nice to write something cute and fluffy for Spirk 💖

“So. Spock. What do you think of your first picnic?”

Jim pulled out all the stops. A checkered blanket spread across the gentle slope of a grassy hill. A pile of bite sized cucumber sandwiches. Hell–he even replicated a wicker basket.

He watches nervously as Spock scans the meadow, taking in the bright flowers that dot its surface.

Spock clears his throat. “It is certainly an… idyllic use of time.”

Jim's mouth twitches into a frown. It's a non-answer. Is Spock enjoying himself? Is he bored?

The next words out of Jim's mouth are a panicked attempt to fill the silence. “Have you ever done cloud gazing?”

Spock turns his attention from the green field to Jim, a pointed eyebrow raised. “I can't say I have, Jim.”

Jim’s grin returns. “Well, it's another idyllic use of time, but I think you'll like it.” He has his doubts, actually, but he keeps them to himself. He's been so nervous around Spock recently–ever since they started this relationship, or whatever they'd call it.

He stretches his legs out in front of him and reclines, leaning his weight against his hands behind him. “Come here, Spock. Let me show you.”

Spock shifts until he's next to Jim and copies his posture. They're close enough that Jim can almost feel their fingertips brushing. He blushes, and it reminds him of falling in love as a young man again.

“That cloud there–” Jim shifts his weight onto one arm and points at a particularly fluffy cloud in the periwinkle sky. “Take a look. What do you see?”

He glances at Spock just long enough to see him blink. “That is a cumulus cloud.”

It startles a laugh out of Jim. “No, Spock–we aren't classifying them. What does it look like?”

“A cumulus cloud.”

“Hm.” Jim lets himself fall back until he's laying across the blanket. He points at another fluffy cloud. “I think that one looks like a cat's head. See the ears? What do you think?”

He's almost surprised when Spock lays next to him. Their shoulders brush, and Jim feels heat rise to his cheeks at the intimacy.

“That one is also a cumulus cloud, Jim.”

Jim feels his heart sink–just a little. He feels like he's failing Spock somehow. Letting him down.

Spock shifts next to him. Suddenly, Jim feels a cool hand resting on top of his. Fingers moving to tangle with his own.

Jim feels his heart skip.

“And I do believe,” Spock hums, “that it represents a sehlat much more than it does a Terran feline.”

[fruitsboots]

Going to bed but I'd like to take some drabble requests!!

Please send me requests for TOS/AOS any configuration of Kirk/Spock/McCoy!

I'll try and do a couple tomorrow!

💖🖖

[teacup-gathering-itself]

James “unfathomable number of allergies and frankly astonishing number of recessive traits” Kirk is visually interesting to Spock especially when compared to the other humans around; of course he subconsciously keeps sliding his gaze over to the captain. He’s also directly under his command, his attention should veer to Kirk as opposed to anyone else on board. It’s just his mind logically choosing who to defer to and who likely will need his attention most urgently. It’s his job, and he’s excellent at this job. That’s all it is. A logical conclusion regarding a noted pattern.

It’s definitely not got anything to do with the way his barely-in-regulation uniform frames his body, or the physique he maintains, or the devastating silhouette he cuts, or the charisma he exudes, or his illogical approach to life that somehow still works, or his exceptionally emotive voice that fills a room effortlessly, or his sheer brilliance and masterful grasp of complex mathematical and scientific concepts, or anything of that sort. Of course not. That would be illogical. And Spock is a being who is rooted in logical above all else.

[c4t1l1n4]

So I wrote a quick little short fic about THIS cute comic by @uhuraborealis. I wrote it just now in like 10 minutes so it's not edited, but you can read it under the cut!

Vulcans Tell No Lies

Spock knows that when Jim approaches him with a look like that, nothing good is going to come of it.

“Spock,” Jim asks, voice full of wonder and eyes full of stars. “Can you meld with the Enterprise? Tell her I love her?”

Spock considers the captain for a moment. It’s not something he’s thought about—mind-melding with a ship. He doesn’t really think that anything would happen, as much as he’s touched the console and felt nothing in response. He knows that humans refer to ships as female and often personify them out of loneliness or a need for bonding. He doesn’t understand why humans can’t just appreciate a machine for the tasks it performs, but seeing as much as Dr. McCoy tries to project his human emotions on Spock himself, he supposes that it must just be second nature to them.

He indulges in a more human tendency, seeing as it was just him and Jim, and sighs. It cannot hurt to try, if not for the very least on the premise of scientific discovery, and it’s not like there’s anyone around to judge him.

“Fine.” He agrees rather bluntly, but Jim just looks at him, enthralled.

Spock supposes, as he places a hand on the console, that he can always lie for the sake of appeasing Jim. Vulcans do not lie, but as McCoy always points out, Spock is only half-vulcan, and half-vulcans can bend the truth. 

However, as he reaches out for what he can find of the consciousness of the Enterprise, he finds that he has no reason to lie. He is so caught off guard by the discovery as some form of being reaches back towards him, that he is overwhelmed by the experience.

The Enterprise does not think in the same way, with clear structure, intent, or words. No, she thinks with colors and emotions, bright and loud, filling up his senses. She is overwhelmingly a she, and she imparts him with the notion that she will tolerate nothing less from him, even if it means zapping him through the console like a misbehaving child.

He supposes that might be the best way to describe the way she feels about the crew—as children. They are all so much smaller than her, and she cares for them, treating them as gently as she can. In return, they treat her with love and respect and keep her in working order. If Dr. McCoy would stop hitting the biobed display screens when he was frustrated, she would appreciate that, though.

After taking a moment to reign the sensory flood back in, Spock organizes his mind and sends a specific train of thought to her. The words do not translate to her, so he tries to phrase them in a way she would understand, thinking of command gold, bright eyes, and a happy spirit. He focuses on the general sense of cheer, well-being, and concern that Jim carries for every member of his crew, but also on the horribly mushy feeling Spock gets on the inside when thinking about him.

Color ripples across his vision, something like laughter, and he thinks she gets the point. The reply he gets in return is what he sent tenfold—a tidal wave of things he could not possibly put into words and yet understands perfectly. He thanks her, sending a bright wave of gratitude radiating warmly from deep inside him, and pulls away.

He opens his eyes and looks over to Jim, who is waiting patiently. Curiosity and excitement dance in his eyes. There is no possible way to convey what he experienced in what felt like hours but was probably only seconds, so instead he says, “She loves you back.”

When Jim beams at him, smile wide and eyes glistening, Spock is glad it is no lie at all.

[indeedcaptain]

Spirktober 2023, day 20: Protect

Protective!Spock is my favoriteeeeee <3 so here we go!!

Also posted on AO3 here!

☆☆☆

Starfleet, in its infinite wisdom, had changed the design of the cutlery in the mess halls, and Kirk hated the new ones.

They were balanced differently, they were less ergonomic, and --- as he bent down to regather the knife that had slipped down off his plate onto the floor for the third time in as many days --- they refused to stay where they were placed. 

He returned to upright to see Uhura and Bones staring in states of shock at Spock, seated next to him. Spock placidly spooned plomeek soup into his mouth and gave no indication that he was aware of their attention. He finished his meal, slid his spoon into the bowl, and stood. “I will be in Laboratory 7 for the remainder of Alpha shift,” he said. “Good-bye.” 

“Bye, Spock,” Uhura said faintly, and she and Bones watched him leave with that same slightly dazed look. 

“Alright,” Kirk said. “That’s enough. Why are you looking at him like that?”

Bones and Uhura looked at each other before answering, which was never a good sign. Uhura must have won whatever argument they were silently having, because it was Bones who sighed and said, “Jim, have you ever noticed that Spock is slightly… overprotective?” 

Kirk started. “Now, I wouldn’t call it over-protective,” he said, shifting in his seat. “He’s loyal. He’s a Vulcan. The ship and her crew are his responsibility, as first officer.” 

“Not with the crew, captain,” Uhura said. “It’s really just with you.” 

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Mr. Spock is the best first officer in the Fleet. Everyone says so. Protective? Sure. But we seem to get into trouble more than most, so that’s probably for the best.” 

Bones and Uhura exchanged another glance. “If you say so, captain,” Uhura said, and they finished the rest of their meal in relative peace. Kirk had nearly forgotten about the exchange until his padd pinged with a message from Bones as he was preparing to lay down for the night. 

>TheRealMcCoy: just saying

>TheRealMcCoy: [Attachment: securityfile3214-25.gif]

Kirk tapped on the gif and it opened. It was a looping video that Bones must have pulled from the security feed, or bribed someone else to pull, more likely. It showed a black and white view of the officer’s mess hall. Kirk saw the square table where he, Bones, Uhura, and Spock had shared lunch earlier in the day. He watched himself set down his knife, which promptly slid backwards off his plate and bounced to the ground. He saw himself bend over sideways to grab at it, ducking his head down beneath the level of the table. 

He saw Spock lean over and cover the corner of the table with his hand. He saw himself come back up, and as his head cleared the edge of the table he saw Spock straighten back up and return his hand to its standard position in his lap. 

Kirk sat down on his bed, expanded the .gif to fill his whole screen, and watched it again. He leaned down to grab the knife and Spock covered the sharp corner of the table with his hand until his head was safely away from it. He watched the .gif over and over again, memorizing the little protective gesture of Spock’s that he hadn’t even noticed at the time but was now immortalized in the security footage. Spock hadn’t even turned his head to look at Kirk before moving to cover the corner. How frequently had this happened? How many of these moments had Uhura and Bones seen that he hadn’t? 

>JTK: Huh 

>JTK: Okay

>JTK: I still don’t think it counts as OVER protective 

>JTK: does this happen a lot?? 

>TheRealMcCoy: the good lord gave you your own eyeballs 

>TheRealMcCoy: how about you use them

“Computer, lights to zero,” he said. He lay in the darkness, trying to sleep, unable to wipe the sight of Spock’s hand sliding over the table’s corner out of his mind. 

☆☆☆ 

Kirk watched his first officer carefully over the next few weeks, and it was an enlightening experience. Nothing in Spock’s behavior or demeanor had changed, but Uhura’s comment of “it’s really just with you” had latched in his brain and reframed how he saw the little quirks of Spock’s protectiveness. They sparred in the gym and, even though Spock threw him, Spock’s hand was behind his head before he hit the ground. They ate lunch in the mess hall and Spock inserted himself in the seat between him and the security officer with a peanut butter sandwich. And, without fail, when the new shitty knives slid off his plate and he had to retrieve them, Spock’s hand was between his head and the table’s edge every time. 

How had he never noticed this before? The Enterprise, when flying on her own, was not a particularly dangerous place. And yet almost every time he encountered something that was slightly hazardous to himself, Spock was there. Each observation warmed him. His stoic, unfeeling, deeply Vulcan first officer was protective of him. He still wasn’t sure if he would call it over-protective, though. 

Kirk did keep a small collection of .gifs on his padd when he could get the security video discreetly. He liked the proof. 

☆☆☆ 

Kirk thought that there was a slight possibility that Spock was a little overprotective of him when he went missing for only a few hours --- alright, was kidnapped like a damsel --- on an away mission and Spock went, according to all reports, absolutely berserk. His first introduction to this idea was Spock ripping the door to his cell clean off its hinges. He threw it behind him, where it hit the wall of the corridor with an almighty clanging, and stepped inside. Kirk stared at him from where he sat on the cot in the corner. Spock stared at him, chest heaving, face flushed green, and as he registered Kirk’s unharmed state and general air of relaxation his breath slowed until he was very nearly back to his normal appearance. 

“Hello there, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, slightly bewildered. 

“Captain,” Spock said, inclining his head. He straightened his uniform shirt and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m gratified to see that you are well. I believe you are free to go.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Spock,” he said, rising from the cot. “You were able to negotiate with the rogue faction?” 

“Yes, captain,” Spock said, and turned to follow Kirk out of the cell. “I found that they were willing to acquiesce to my demands rather quickly.” 

“That’s good, very good,” Kirk said distractedly as they walked down the hallway. He did not see any sign of his security team, and there were unconscious guards lying solo or in piles at regular intervals along the hall and down the stairs. He recognized his kidnappers from their clothing among the guards, but they were also all unconscious. 

“What, ah, negotiation tactics did you use, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked as they ascended the stairs into the front hall and reunited with some red-shirted security officers. They stood around with their arms crossed, phasers holstered, and they gave no indication of having participated in any sort of strenuous activity. What had their role been in the fight with the guards…?

“Vulcan ones, captain,” Spock said, and if he noticed that the security officers stared at him with an interesting mix of respect and horror, he gave no outward indication. 

“Ah,” Kirk said. “That’s… good.” He had a feeling he could guess what Vulcan negotiating tactics were, but he reserved judgment until he had received mission reports from his other officers. Spock walked alongside him with his usual reserve, and as he was now free from the cell he had formerly been trapped within, Kirk found that he had no complaints of however Spock chose to negotiate on his behalf. 

On the ship, in his quarters, he read over the reports from his security team, which varied from professional to unfortunately creative, in mounting disbelief. 

First Officer Spock proved the efficacy of the Vulcan art of Suus Mahna in about thirty seconds… 

Science Officer Spock kicked down the door to the building and then neutralized the entire kidnapping party… 

Mr. Spock in combat is, in my professional opinion, somewhat of a demon… 

God help the man who gets between Spock and the captain. 

Kirk pressed his intercom button. “Mr. Spock, could you please come to my quarters for a moment?” 

“Yes, captain.” Spock’s response came immediately, and the man himself appeared in Kirk’s doorway about twenty seconds later. “How can I help you, captain?” 

Kirk handed the padds with the security reports to Spock and sat back down in his desk chair. “Could you please review these and let me know your thoughts on their accuracy?” 

Spock raised one eyebrow at him, but said, “Certainly, captain.” He stood in front of Kirk’s desk and methodically skimmed over each report. He set them down one by one until his hands were empty, and then he clasped them behind his back. 

“I believe these reports to be mostly accurate, if unfortunately unobjective,” Spock said. 

Kirk blinked. “So you did kick the door down.”

“Yes, captain.” 

“And you refused to wait for the security detail.” 

“I did not need them, captain.” 

“And you neutralized the entire threat before ripping my cell door off the hinges.” 

“I believe you witnessed the second part firsthand, captain.” 

“I see,” Kirk said, and covered his hand with his mouth to hide his smile. When he had regained control of his face and looked suitably serious, he said, “Mostly accurate? What in the reports is false?” 

Spock straightened the pile of padds on the desk in front of him, forcing them into perfect alignment. “I do not believe there is a god in this universe that could help the man that stood between us. Good night, captain.” He turned on his heel and left, leaving Kirk gaping at the space he had left behind. He looked back at the stack of padds on his desk to his closed door once more, replaying Spock’s departing words to him in his head.

“I’ll be damned,” Kirk said. He had never been one for pick-up lines, and he wasn’t even sure if that was one, necessarily, but… that was one hell of a pick-up line. He made copies of the security reports and added them to his little folder of proof and if he smiled to himself while he washed his hair in the shower then it was nobody’s business but his own. 

[dustythewind]

Transplanted a Spirk-ish drabble to ao3 from an old ff account. Trying to get my 💩 together enough to maybe write again eventually.

[junewild]

"It's aliens."

“It’s not aliens, Mulder.” Scully retorted, sweeping the beam of her flashlight across the deserted park. Someone had called in suspicious activity--something about heavy wind and lights in the sky. "It's never aliens."

"Lights in the sky are one of the most classic tells," Mulder argued, angling his own light into the grass. "If there's smoke, there's fire. Plus a heavy wind? In the middle of San Francisco? Localized to the Golden Gate Park?"

She rolled her eyes. "Not all fires come from little alien engines."

"No, look at this," he insisted. "This indentation in the grass over there. It's weird." He began to walk toward it, his long legs eating up the ground.

Scully glanced his way, unimpressed. "That could be anything. Someone set up a volleyball court too hard." She resumed her casual study of the trees, off to the left.

Mulder didn't reply. Uncharacteristic. Scully looked over again, and--

"Fox!"

He was lying crumpled on the ground.

Scully was an expert at running in heels. She was by his side in no time. She knelt down, training the flashlight on his face. A cut was dripping blood down the side of his forehead.

"Mulder," he murmured. "It's Mulder."

He was awake, at least. Scully swallowed her initial distress and put on a business-like air. "What happened?"

He waved a hand vaguely. "Air's solid."

"Air isn't solid."

"This air is." This time his hand moved further before stopping abruptly. Scully heard a thud.

"I don't understand," she said, reaching out one hand tentatively herself. "Are you talking about some kind of electromagnetic field?"

"It's a wall," he replied, sounding drowsy. "An invisible wall."

Scully's searching fingers found--solid. She stroked along it. It was cold and had the distinct texture of metal.

"I don't understand," she said again, mostly to herself. "It's a trick of the light. It has to be."

She found herself reaching for her sidearm.

Bright light spilled over her from above, and her arm jerked upward to shield her eyes. "What?!"

A door was taking shape a few feet up and to the right. She squinted at it, uncomprehending.

"A wall," Mulder repeated happily. "'S got a door and everything."

Three figures resolved in the doorway. They began to float--or, no, to walk?--down. Scully had dropped her flashlight, but she fumbled for it with one hand and unholstered her pistol with the other.

"There's no need for that," one of the figures said. They were at the bottom of the invisible ramp now. As the three of them turned toward Scully, she swept her flashlight across their faces. Three men, one of them a little shorter than the others. They were wearing some kind of uniform, though in two different colors. One of them, in blue, had some kind of square device in his hand.

But it was the other one dressed in blue that Scully had a hard time taking her eyes off of. His face was wrong. Human-like, but different. Dark eyebrows swept dramatically up above his eyes. Pointed ears curved up along his temples. His face was emotionless.

The yellow-shirted one was smiling. He was the one who had initially spoken. "It looks like your friend is a little out of it. Can my doctor take a look at him?"

"I--I suppose so," Scully said, finding herself at a loss for words.

"Bones," the man who seemed to be the leader of the group said, "go ahead and patch him up. I don't want to leave anyone worse off than they were when we leave."

Bones (what an odd name for a man) strode forward briskly, holding his rectangular object. Scully put out a hand. "Don't bring that thing near him."

He ignored her. "This is a tricorder. I can see from here that he's bleeding, but he's probably concussed."

"An alien," Mulder said, wonderingly.

"I'm a doctor, not an alien," Bones retorted acerbically. "Now, Spock over there is as alien as they come." He moved Scully to the side, not ungently, and knelt over Mulder's prone body.

"Half alien," the other blue-shirted man corrected. His tone was as emotionless as his face. "My mother was a human. My father was a Vulcan. Admiral, a concussion is far from fatal. There is no reason to compromise our camouflage."

"Nonsense, Spock." The admiral smiled at Scully. "You heard them. They were looking for us. Why, they found us. We might as well have a chat."

Spock tilted his head. "Jim."

"Perhaps they'll know something about whales," the admiral--Jim?--added.

Scully was not keeping up with this discussion. "Whales? Like the mammal?"

"Ah! I see you're educated. Many people of this time seem to consider them fish."

"Illogical, as they are warm-blooded and nurse their young," Spock murmured. "They are clearly not fish."

"Yes, well." Jim extended a hand to Scully, and she realized that she was still kneeling on the ground. Defiantly, she rose by herself.

He retracted the hand, still smiling. "How is the patient, Bones?"

"He's concussed, Jim," the doctor replied. "It's not brain surgery, but I'd like to keep him under observation for the next day or so."

Jim seemed delighted by the news. "Then I will invite you to accompany me into the ship, Miss--"

Scully realized that she had not introduced herself. "Special Agent Scully," she replied. "And this is Special Agent Mulder. I'm with the FBI."

"The FBI," Jim said, sounding thoughtful. "Weren't they something to do with food inspection?"

"You are thinking of the FDA, Jim," Spock corrected. "The FBI were one of the American government's primary security and law enforcement agencies."

Jim's smile fell slightly, but then it brightened again and he clapped his hands together. "Well then, I'll have to introduce you to Pavel. You can share security tips."

"I haven't said I would come aboard," Scully said, feeling the need to exert some agency. "If Mulder is concussed, I should take him to a hospital."

Bones made an extremely rude sound from where he now stood, having gotten up. "A hospital? In the 20th century? They'll butcher him. Absolutely not. No patient of mine would be caught dead in a hospital."

Scully dug in her (metaphorical, seeing as her literal heels were already quite well dug into the grass) heels. "I don't know you from Adam," she insisted. "Why should I trust you with Mulder?"

"Jim," Bones said, with a meaningful glance at Jim.

"Doctor McCoy," Spock began, with a meaningful glance at Bones.

Jim ignored them both. "He will be in the best hands here," he assured Scully. "I would trust Bones with my life. Indeed, on many occasions, he has saved many of my crew, including myself and Captain Spock."

Spock's meaningful glance was now directed at Jim, but it was a different flavor. These men are very important to each other, Scully decided.

But it was time to start putting the puzzle pieces together. "Captain?" she asked. "Admiral?"

Jim beamed. "Yes! Welcome to the--well, this isn't the Enterprise." The smile faded again. "Welcome to this Klingon warbird. I am Admiral James T. Kirk, and this is, er, Captain Spock. We are Starfleet officers."

"Starfleet," Scully repeated. "And you're from--where, exactly?"

"Earth," Jim replied, at the same time as Spock said "Vulcan."

"Earth doesn't have a Starfleet," she protested.

Jim held up a finger. "Earth of today doesn't have a Starfleet. Earth of the twenty-third century?"

If it weren't for the door open in the sky, Scully would have laughed in his face. "Time travel? And aliens?"

"Alien," Jim said. "Singular. Half, really, on his father's side. Shall we?" He gestured in the direction of what, if Scully remembered correctly, was an invisible ramp.

Mulder would never forgive me if I said no, she thought, with a sigh. "Might as well, if the truth is in there."

[gimmemorespirk]

A new work in my drabble series and my first work in a long while.

Summary: Jim's internal thoughts while Spock dies inches away from him in ST:TWOK.

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

In All Seasons, or None

“Do you miss Vulcan?”

Jim and Spock are sitting at the end of a small wooden dock, bare feet dangling just above the lapping water. It’s unusual, this time away from the Enterprise; this time is exceptional for the small fact that Jim convinced Spock to leave his work on the ship. He doesn’t even have a PADD with him.

There’s a nearly imperceptible movement from Spock, one Jim recognizes as Spock’s version of a shrug. “It is merely a place,” Spock says evenly.

The noise Jim makes is perilously close to a snort. “It’s your home, Spock. It’s not just a place. It’s experiences, memories, people.”

“I sometimes miss my mother,” Spock concedes. He stares out across the water, fingers reflexively seeking out Jim’s hand for brief contact. “My relationship with Sarek is…”

“Complicated,” Jim says, bumping their shoulders together.

“And you, ashayam?”

“I don’t miss Vulcan much at all,” Jim quips; this startles a rare, true smile from Spock. He leans into Spock again, relishing even the brief contact. “When we’re on the ship I don’t miss Earth. Not often, anyway. It’s days like this that remind me what it was like to have solid ground under my feet, day in and day out.” He leans back onto his hands to look at the cloudless, bright blue sky. “That makes it sound—” A strangled sound escapes his lips. “I loved Iowa, especially in spring. Cold melting away to reveal tiny green shoots of grass, spring flowers pushing up through the snow, the buds on the trees so bright it hurt my eyes. Summer was warm and full of fresh air and getting into trouble, but the coming of spring was always my favorite.”

“You miss the changing seasons,” Spock says.

“Yes.” He closes his eyes, remembering the reds and golds of autumn, the greens of spring, the bright blue of summer. He doesn’t dwell on the soft white of winter—he’s never liked the cold—but he does have fond childhood memories of stomping across a field of freshly fallen snow to leave his mark on an untouched world. It was partly that joy that morphed into wanting to step on strange new worlds, to place his feet where no human had been before.

“The Enterprise is my home,” Jim says. “You are my home.”

“And you are mine—in all seasons, and in the dark of space.”

**

31 days of ficmas, day 14 - season

[curator-on-ao3]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Trek: Strange New Worlds (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James T. Kirk/Nyota Uhura, Spock/Nyota Uhura, James T. Kirk/Spock, Christine Chapel/Spock Characters: Nyota Uhura, James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek) Additional Tags: drabble, reflections on the prime and Kelvin timelines, Episode: s02e06 Lost in Translation (Star Trek: Strange New Worlds), Movie: Star Trek (2009), beginnings Summary: Meeting James echoes in Nyota’s mind as if … as if it had happened before or would happen again?

[v-thinks-on]

Jim!

Admiral James Kirk awoke in a cold sweat. He bolted upright in bed on the Enterprise, his heart pounding and a painful sting in his side that wasn’t really his.

Spock! He called out with all the psychic powers he didn’t possess. Spock, do you read me?

Near the edge of consciousness and unconsciousness, he found Spock fighting to stay awake.

Spock! Jim called out again.

He felt Spock’s eyes flutter open. Jim… Spock projected, but he seemed distant and weak.  The pain spiked as he tried to move.Spock, just hang in there, Jim insisted, I’ll find you.

[illegalpaladin]

Ficlet/drabble prompt: Spock asks his parents for advice because he wants to be in a relationship with Jim but doesn't know how to go about it.

Aw man, I LOVE this prompt so much. Sorry it took me a minute! I was really trying to think about how this one would go. I named my word document "Sarek: Romance Expert." I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for sending this in!

Spock was in his room, sitting stiffly in front of his computer with his hands firmly in his lap. On the screen, side by side, were Sarek and Amanda. 

“Spock,” Amanda said with a gentle smile, “it isn’t often that you call. To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

The relationship Spock had with his father had been tense throughout his adulthood. Even after they– to a certain extent– had made amends when Sarek had been aboard the Enterprise, Spock would not classify their relationship as a friendly one. 

Even now, at the word pleasure, Sarek looked like he was trying not to bristle. 

“I have found myself in a situation,” Spock said, selecting his words carefully. “Due to your expertise in the matter, I realized it would be most logical to direct my inquiries to the two of you.” 

“Our expertise?” Amanda’s brow furrowed in confusion. Sarek’s eyebrow twitched. 

“Yes.” Spock wanted to shift, to squirm under Sarek’s gaze. But, as that would be most un-Vulcan, he refrained. He knew the words that were coming next were heavy, but he was unsure precisely how they would hit. “I have found a human that I wish to pursue… Romantically.” 

“Romantically,” Sarek echoed flatly.

“Romantically?” Amanda straightened in her seat. “A Human?” 

“Yes.” Spock’s hands flexed in his lap, tensing and untensing. 

Amanda’s hands steepled in front of her face; her delight was apparent in the way her eyes sparkled. “Oh, Spock– that’s wonderful news!” 

Sarek did not look as enthusiastic. Though, to his benefit, he didn’t look dismayed, either. 

“So,” Amanda’s hands fell back to her sides, and her smile softened again. “You wish to know how to pursue this Human?”

“I am unfamiliar with Human courting customs,” Spock explained, trying to keep the rush from his voice. “And thus I am unsure how to continue.” 

“It is Captain James Kirk that you are interested in?” 

Spock’s gaze shifted to Sarek as he tried– and likely failed– to hide his shock. “Yes,” he managed after a moment. 

“Hm.” Sarek’s brow twitched again, and Spock braced himself for the words of disappointment. He was more than used to disappointment by now. 

Sarek leaned forward. His gaze stayed steady and even, and Spock could see his mouth turned in the slightest frown. 

“My son,” Sarek began. Spock tensed and untensed his toes to keep himself unmoving. “In order to pursue a Human, you must be aware of just how different Human culture as a whole is from Vulcan.” 

Spock blinked back his surprise. Sarek seemed to register this, and his frown deepened minutely. 

“Humans are rash. They are loud with their emotions and with their intentions.” 

Amanda seemed unfazed by this. Spock wasn’t sure if the words were meant to be insulting. 

When Spock didn’t respond, Sarek leaned back and settled back into place. “What I am saying,” he continued with the smallest hint of agitation, “Is that James Kirk’s interest in you is apparent. There is no reason to worry yourself over Human courting customs.”

Spock had to keep his mouth from falling open as the shock of his father’s words hit him. He’d said it so simply, as if it were a fact as clear as day. 

And if he were saying it that way, that must be the case. “I see,” he finally managed. 

“It was the same with the two of us, you know,” Amanda hummed. “When I first met your father, I–” 

“Spock does not have time for such stories,” Sarek interrupted flatly. “He is the First Officer of a starship. Surely he has more important matters to attend to.” 

Spock could barely hear the words. His head was spinning. His mouth moved on its own. “Yes. I do have some tasks that need my attention.” 

“As I suspected. Goodbye, Spock.” 

Amanda sighed and shook her head just slightly. “Good luck, Spock. Not that you need it.” 

And with that, the call ended.