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spocks-longterm-boyfriend · 4 months

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Bigger Fish to Fry

This is my first time writing fic ever! Inspired by a post by @spirtkrek linked here where she headcannoned spock as having a little glowing minnow that he's obsessed with. I sat down and listened to there's something going on by frida and this is what happened! Thanks!

The ship thrummed comfortingly beneath his feet as Kirk hurried through the hall towards the officer’s quarters. He assured himself that he was in fact moving at an entirely normal pace, just with purpose, and due purpose at that. Kirk had, to no avail, been seeking out Spock since the end of Alpha shift, which had now ended a standard hour prior. After not having located him in the labs or the officer’s mess that his first officer most often frequented after a typical alpha shift, Kirk had messaged Spock to ask of his plans for the evening and been met with no response. While Kirk would normally just have been disappointed that the Vulcan had departed so quickly after shift, when they often left in a natural tandem, at the present he found himself genuinely concerned at his first officer’s rate of exit. Spock had left in a hurry, after a relatively-trouble free shift, and Kirk felt it would be remiss of him not to see what might have disturbed his typically level mannerisms– even if Uhura had wrongfully chided him for being lovesick and overprotective as he caught her to ask after Spock on the way to the mess.

As he moved along his ship’s corridors, Kirk found himself mentally searching for an answer to Spock’s rapid departure from the bridge. Kirk felt that in the past year and a half of their working together Spock and himself had developed a strong working relationship and even a tentative friendship. Although, its tentative nature came more so from Kirk’s apprehension to breach what he perceived as Spock’s level of comfort with him than any reservation of his own. He knew that Spock was more reserved than himself in regard to defining his relations, and while they found themselves together often in their off hours, and Kirk trusted him more than just about anyone other than Bones, he hesitated to label himself as Spock’s friend. Nevertheless, he felt confident that Spock would have responded to Kirk’s inquiry at his status for the evening if something were not occupying his attention, and paired with his quick exit from the bridge, Kirk found himself concerned.

Kirk rounded the last corner on the way to his and Spock’s neighboring quarters and directed himself to Spock’s door, pressing the door chime quickly and moving to straighten his command golds. If Spock were truly in distress, it wouldn’t serve either of them for Kirk to be a mess at his door. It also gave him something to do with his hands as he awaited an answer. After a moment, the door opened, revealing a seemingly undisturbed Spock, save for a nearly undetectable look of surprise somewhere between his angled brows.

“Captain? I find myself surprised at your arrival. Have we received further orders from the admiralty regarding Draylon II?” Spock inquired, seeming to bring even further severity to the angle of his posture and to begin mental preparation for another night of meeting unforeseen challenges in their journey through the stars. Kirk admired the way in which Spock dedicated himself so wholly to their crew, it often felt as though he was the only first officer in the ‘Fleet who could love and serve the Enterprise and her crew as much and as entirely as Kirk did, but in this moment, Kirk felt sorry for the almost imperceptible softness he had just scared away from Spock’s frame. It was not often that Spock let himself fully relax, and it had taken months for Kirk to see that slight relaxation in his shoulders during their more-than-weekly chess matches or time spent off shift alongside the bridge crew.

“No, no, Mr. Spock, my apologies. I’m not here on ship business– although I appreciate the reminder that I need to bother Komack about what is keeping the admiralty from giving us orders with the trade conference so rapidly approaching. Would you mind looking into any addresses made by Draylon II’s planetary leaders at the start of next Alpha shift? I’m going to see if I can draw any conclusions from intra-fleet communication,” Kirk responded, furrowing his expression, before remembering what had brought him to Spock’s door in the first place. “Anyways, Mr. Spock. I came because you left the bridge in a hurry today and I was worried that something might have caused you concern on shift– or otherwise,” Kirk inquired, quickly saving himself from seeming to concerned by joking, “Can’t have the best command team in the fleet working at anything less than our best, now can we?” Kirk shuffled slightly as he recovered, realizing with embarrassment how disproportionate his concern was beginning to seem to the situation at hand.

“Apologies are illogical, Captain. To your first point, I will search for any pertinent communications at the start of the next Alpha shift, in addition to contacting my father regarding the approaching conference. It is possible that in his role as Ambassador he has come across more information in discussion with other officials than we will find through more traditional research avenues. To your second point, I did not intend to cause concern with my exit from the bridge following Alpha shift. I was preoccupied by a development in a recent experiment and departed with greater speed than usual, so as to not miss any further development,” Spock finished, bringing a tinge of guilt to Kirk’s mind.

“Ah, very appropriate of you, Mr. Spock. As illogical as it may be, I apologize for interrupting any study you may have been making and I will leave you to it,” Kirk remarked, bracing himself for an awkward walk back towards the officer’s mess and recreation halls, where he was sure Uhura would be ready to make fun of him for his unnecessary worry-warting.

“Captain–” Spock began, raising his immaculate brows ever so slightly and bringing a pause to Kirk initiating his walk of shame. “If you have a moment, I would be available to share with you its preliminary findings.”

“Of course, Mr. Spock.” Kirk answered, confused at the apprehension that seemed to cross Spock’s face at his own offer and following the man into his quarters. As he followed Spock inside, Kirk braced himself for the familiarly comforting wall of heat. In recent weeks, he found himself offering just as often to come to Spock’s quarters for their chess matches as he volunteered to host them in his own, knowing that the heat must bring Spock considerable comfort in comparison to the comparable cold of the rest of the Enterprise. Kirk also couldn’t deny his own appreciation of the Vulcan’s quarters– they were warm in a way that he could only ever find comforting, but also tinged with a spicy aroma that was distinct to Spock, and covered in so much of Spock’s taste in interior design and personality that it felt remarkable to be allowed inside. He couldn’t think of an event in their budding friendship that had felt as vulnerable as when Spock first invited Kirk to meet in his quarters after a shift, knowing that the man kept the space primarily for his own solitary study and meditation. In all honesty, today felt no different than that first time, as Kirk found himself warmed that Spock wanted to share his findings with him, in his role as Captain or not.

As they reached a stop in Spock’s quarters, Kirk found himself brought before a moderately-sized, boxy glass structure filled with water and a number of brightly colored plants, drawn away from the beauty of the display by a tension in Spock’s frame. Upon further examination, Kirk believed the Vulcan to be distressed, but could only see a light akin to joy in his eyes.

“Dr. Tesfaye of the exobiology department was able to secure approval from the admiralty for… private study– of some of the lifeforms from Cambrius VI,” Spock explained with a tone Kirk might characterize as hesitant glee, if Spock were any more expressive in his tone.

“Wait a minute, are these the pets the Admiralty had me sign off on? Those bioluminescent minnows from that gorgeous ocean on Cambrius VI a couple of months back? The report said that they were found to be largely harmless and well-suited to solitary lives, when provided with regular periods of both light and darkness, because of the pattern of light refraction that affects the oceans of the planet, what with its angled revolution around its star. This is what you were so hurried to check in on after the shift today?” Kirk questioned, jovially.

“Yes, Captain,” Spock answered hesitantly, with a tension Kirk might choose to identify as bashfulness on any other, non-Vulcan, member of his crew. After a short, well-meaning laugh, Kirk set to put his first officer at ease, completely taken by this new side of Spock. The captain began to ask Spock about his study of the minnow, paying even more attention to the minute expressions on the Vulcan’s face than the information he rapidly relayed between questions. If Spock were more prone to emotional intonation, Kirk might label his speech a gleeful infodump, but out of respect for his first officer’s sensibility, he cataloged it in his brain as a key study in a new lifeform taking up residency on their ship.

After a time, Kirk paused the taller man to ask a question that he could not will from his brain without an answer, “Mr. Spock, thank you so much for sharing with me your study of a lifeform I was previously hesitant to approve for long-term residency on our ship and for sharing your detailed study with me, but I find myself with one important question left unanswered.”

“Yes, Captain?” Spock inquired, with a slight raise of his brow, seeming to take notice of the way in which Kirk had paused the Vulcan’s stream of information-sharing for this inquiry in particular, unlike with his other questions.

“What is your little friend’s name, Mr. Spock?” Kirk teased, delighting in the playful exasperation he found on Mr. Spock’s face, rather than the confusion or irritation that he might usually find at both his playful teasing and his assumption of a friendship between Spock and his ‘subject of study’. When had they reached this point of comfort with one another? Had Kirk been wrong to believe their friendship was only tentative? After all, only he had found concern in Spock’s behavior following the Alpha shift, and only he had been invited into Spock’s quarters to see Spock’s ‘subject of study’.

“Aristotle, Captain.” Spock responded, softly. Kirk was struck by what a feeling of trust emanated from such a simple response.

“Because of his study of bioluminescence in early terran history?” Spock gave a brief nod. “That’s a lovely choice, Mr. Spock. Thank you for sharing with me.”

“Yes, Captain,” Spock seemed to hesitate, bringing Kirk’s attention to the close stance they had accidentally assumed while leaning in beside one another to peer at little Aristotle. “I will update you on any relevant information I glean from my study of this species.” Spock finished, seeming to regain a sense of Vulcan propriety following such a period of relative excitement.

Kirk smiled softly, taking only a small step back from his First Officer, “I would appreciate that greatly, Mr. Spock. I will appreciate anything you choose to share with me about little Ari here.” Kirk recognized the natural conclusion of their meeting and his own hunger after having missed his usual period in the mess halls following his shift. “I’m afraid I must leave you to your study, as…” Kirk paused to think of a sufficient excuse, “some of my… duties after our shift today kept me from my usual dining period following our shift.”

Spock tilted his head down briefly in a nod and began to walk Kirk back towards his quarters’ exit. Pausing briefly as he went to open the door, Spock turned to the captain, “Sir?”

“Yes, Mr. Spock?”

“I would be gratified if you were to join me in my quarters following Alpha shift tomorrow. I believe that some… geologic materials I procured for Aristotle’s tank will be arriving and I plan to set them up for further study. Your company would be appreciated.”

Kirk couldn’t help the sunshine grin that overtook his face if he tried. “Of course, Mr. Spock. I would be happy to. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Leaving, Kirk felt all final tension from his earlier search exit his body. However, by his third turn on the way to the officer’s mess a new anxiety was rapidly creeping in. With Spock’s extensive knowledge of the last decade in marine exobiology findings and immense care for such a small creature, Kirk had reached his own terrifying conclusion: Spock was undeniably adorable, and Kirk now had less than a day to process that fact. Otherwise, his newly-discovered– although maybe not entirely new (that was a concern to process later)– taste for his first officer’s exobiology ramblings was going to cause him significant trouble the following evening. Uhura may have been more right than he was ready to admit.

#my favorite spirk trope? fact? is that kirk can read him better than anyone #I love the idea of them being so in love with each other so visibly before either of them have caught on #I think that theyre just two nerdy boys in love and that means that kirk is invested in spocks fish tank #spirk #k/s #pre relationship #the premise #star trek #this is very tos i think but im imagining either #tos star trek #aos star trek #spock #s'chn t'gai spock #james t kirk #jim kirk #kirk #enterprise shenanigans #my writing #spocks bf is boldly going

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ihni · 7 months

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Bubbles the fish

My last fill for the Short fic challenge ("That emotional moment that you can’t find a plot for"), as well as written for day 13 (yeah I know, I'm a little late ...) of Angstober, prompt: "From childhood".

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Jim Hopper is not what you would call a people’s person. He knows how to do his job and he’s good at what he does, but there’s a reason why he most often makes his deputies or Flo deal with the more emotional people – and contrary to popular belief, only part of that reason is that he dislikes it. The main reason is that he’s simply not good at it. Angry people, he can deal with no problem, because Jim is big and imposing and does not back down, but the sad ones? The crying ones, the ones who are silent and hurting? Jim is not the right person to deal with those people, and he knows it, so he usually lets someone else do it.

So when he walks into Billy Hargrove’s hospital room, two months after Starcourt, and finds the kid hugging his own knees, shoulders shaking with silent sobs? A big part of him wants to turn right back around and walk out, pretending he didn’t see anything.

But. The kid looks so small huddled up to the headboard of the bed, scarred forearms wrapping around scrubs-covered legs. And just like every other time Jim has been visiting, no one else is here. It doesn’t sit right with him, because he knows that the doctors lifted the ban on visitors as soon as they were certain that the kid would live; as soon as they knew that he didn’t pose a threat to anyone. Yet every time Jim stops by on his way home after work – spurred on by El, who keeps asking about the boy who saved them – no one else has been around. The doctor said that the kid’s sister – El’s friend Max – has been by a couple of times, but there hasn’t been a word mentioned of his parents, or friends.

Kid must be lonely, Jim thinks and steels himself against the discomfort that emotional people cause him. He will go in there, because the kid got between Jim’s daughter and an otherworldly monster – saved her life when Jim wasn’t there to do it – so the least Jim can do make sure the kid is okay. Or as okay as one can be while recovering from being shish-kebabed by said otherworldly monster.

But hell, Jim is not equipped for this.

He takes a breath and knocks on the doorframe. The kid flinches and looks up, eyes wide, and then grimaces as if he’s in pain. He probably is. He’s got more stitches in him than Jim’s best suit.

“Hey kid,” Jim says, voice gruff even though he’s trying to soften it. “You okay there?”

The kid looks away, frantically – and futilely – wiping at his face as if it’s not obvious to anyone with eyes that he’s been crying. His hands are shaking, and so is his voice when he says, “I’m fine.”

“Hate to break it to you, kid, but you don’t look fine.” Entering the room fully, Jim spots an opened parcel on the floor on the other side of the bed. It’s just a cardboard box, looks to be empty. “You in pain? Want me to get a nurse?”

“No!” the kid says, and it’s too fast and too loud. He’s trying to hide something under the blanket, as if he doesn’t want Jim to see whatever it is.

Alarm bells go off in Jim’s head. The doctors had mentioned that they’re making the kid talk to a shrink, that he sometimes hasn’t seemed all that interested in recovering. That he, at one point when he’d just woken up, grabbed a syringe from a nurse and tried to stab himself with it before they could wrestle it away from him. And now the kid is crying, doesn’t want the nurses to come in here, and is trying to hide something?

It all adds up to nothing good, and Jim is the Chief of Police. He is very familiar with ‘not good’.

“What’cha got there, kid?”

The kid in question shakes his head, and – hell – his eyes well up again. Jim’s got a bad feeling about this, so he strides up to the bed and ignores the hands trying to stop him when he reaches down under the blanket to fish out …

A fish. Literally. A stuffed animal in the shape of a fish, and by the looks of it, it’s been well-loved over the years.

Confused, he lets the kid yank the fish out of his hand, and feels a twinge of guilt as he can’t do anything but watch as the teen shuffles his way painfully to the other edge of the bed, as far from Jim as he can, while clutching the stuffed animal to his chest. His head is turned down, but Jim hears his hitched breath and knows that he’s crying.

And great, now Jim feels like an asshole.

“Uh,” he says, and then quiets. Because what do you say to a teenager who’s been traumatized beyond belief, and who is now desperately clinging to a stuffed animal like he’s five instead of eighteen? “Sorry, kid, I …” He trails off. Doesn’t know what to say. Considers going to fetch the doctors – maybe they can give the kid some sedatives or something – when he looks down and sees something else on the floor next to the empty box. A piece of paper with hand-written text on it.

The kid is not looking at him, so Jim bends down to pick it up. It’s a letter. Or, more of a note, really.

Dear Billy, it says, in loopy handwriting.

I heard about the fire. I’m glad you’re okay, and really proud that you saved those kids. It’s strange to think of you all grown-up and saving kids, since you were just a kid yourself the last time I saw you.

I went through some boxes recently and found your old friend Bubbles. Do you remember him? You used to take him with you everywhere you went. I thought he should be with you, now.

I’m also sending a photo of the two of you. I hope he can bring you some comfort now, as he did when you were younger.

I hope this finds you well.

Mom

Jim looks from the note in his hand, to the boy in the bed who has curled up with his back to Jim, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Then he looks at the note again, and frowns. He read through the kid’s file after the incident at the Byers’ house back in November, and he knows that the kid lives with his father. That his mother is not in the picture. Max once let slip that Billy hasn’t had any contact with her in years.

Bending down again to pick up the box, he sees another piece of paper on the floor, having ended up halfway under the bed. It’s a photograph. A polaroid, of a blond little boy, no more than seven, in a hospital bed much like this one. His arm is in a cast, and he’s sleeping, curled up around a purple plush fish that looks much bigger than the one the kid is clutching now – but of course, the boy in the picture was much smaller back then.

“Please leave,” the kid says, voice muffled. “Please.” He can’t suppress his sobs, and the part of Jim that can’t handle it when people are crying wants nothing more than to do what the kid asks.

But the part of him that is a father hates watching a child hurt – because eighteen might be an adult in the eye of the law, but no one who saw the kid curled up and hurting like he is now would consider him anything but a child.

So he doesn’t leave. Instead he turns the box over to examine it, and as he does, his heart sinks. Because Jim is a cop, and he’s damn good at finding clues and coming to conclusions. So when he looks at the box and the note, he sees beyond the brown cardboard with its carefully scrawled delivery address (addressed to William Hargrove at this specific hospital – they sender even got the room number right), and sees what the kid must have seen, too.

The address shows that his mother knows where he is, and that she could have contacted him this whole time, but chose not to. The lack of a return address means that Billy can’t contact her back.

The fact that she mentions the fire – the official story that the media ran with, when Starcourt was destroyed – shows that she knows that he got injured. That she’s writing it now, a couple of months later, and addressing it to a hospital, means that she must know that he was badly hurt, and still on the mend. But instead of showing up herself, or contacting her son or the hospital staff to get updates on his condition, she sends an old toy, a photograph and a note.

A note in which she writes I hope this finds you well. Not Love, not Hugs, nothing that can be interpreted as personal in any way.

“Aw, hell kid,” Jim says quietly and drags a heavy hand down his face.

The kid sobbing in the bed has been through hell and back, only to get slapped in the face with the reminder that his own mother does not want him in her life. The woman might have thought she was doing a good thing, but Jim looks at the kid now and thinks that it would have been better if she’d stayed gone.

“I’m sorry,” Jim says, and finds that he is. He’s sorry that the kid got dealt such a shitty hand in life. That he got involved with all the Upside Down bullshit in the first place, that he got hurt saving the kids, that he’s got a shitty dad who never visits his own kid in the hospital and that he’s got a shitty mom who sends a shitty kid’s toy instead of showing up in person when her son almost died.

And he’s sorry that he’s the only one here now, when the kid so obviously needs someone else; someone who could help him, or comfort him, or make him feel better. Jim is woefully ill-equipped to provide any of that.

No wonder the kid is inconsolable.

#billy hargrove #jim hopper #stranger things #bubbles the fish #ihni writes #short fic challenge #angstober

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