Chapter Text
Spock was neither young nor innocent when he met James Kirk for the first time, but for all that he was considered a fully-matured adult by his peers, meeting the brave new captain of the Enterprise made him realize that his life up to that point hadn’t been worth much. It was not an exaggeration to say; he had achieved minor things in the field of science, made few acquaintances he would term friends, had loved quietly and sincerely and lost more than a Vulcan of only thirty-five years should have, but what fleeting accomplishments he’d had never made him feel whole, complete, or at peace. James Kirk—Jim—did that with only one look, one meeting, and Spock had never felt anything like it in his entire life, and never expected to again. Not any longer.
A hundred years was a long time to be without Jim, and Spock knew it. He felt it in bones which creaked as much as any piece of furniture, in his body that was slow to wake from dreams of him, in his mind that was slow to remember reality every morning. He knew it, but in his height of illogic, he sometimes convinced himself that it had only been a day, an hour, since he’d last seen him. Sometimes he even convinced himself that Jim would be coming home again—his Jim—rather than the sporadic and rare visits of his painfully young counterpart.
And when he could lie to himself no longer, Spock kept himself busy, until he was too tired to move or think. New Vulcan—named as such because the Vulcan name was unpronounceable to most and painful to those remaining few citizens of the original planet—was a thriving colony now, the first difficult year in the past and the second rapidly coming to a close. Although he did not think the differences between this world and their homeworld would ever be forgotten—a slightly shorter day, slightly colder temperatures, a blue sun, rain—they were less offensive than they used to be, buffered by as many of the old ways as possible. A Kohlinar ritual still meant the same when performed at one of their new temples. A degree from the Vulcan Science Academy was still prestigious, even with a smaller building and fewer alumni to guide those who wished it. Rituals that were once forgotten, however, were now performed in spades, yielding a society that remained pieced together despite forces that naturally repelled, logic and illogic. Where once marriages were arranged in youth, diminished numbers forced competition for each match, and pon farr—accelerated, no doubt, by the trauma of their lost world—forced deaths where there should not have been. And there were rituals associated with that, costly ones that were performed without fail, because they could think of no other way to avoid seeing the rain that fell from the skies.
But it came as it always did, once a week at least. Despite being a desert world, the rain came regularly, a strange phenomenon that yielded fat drops of water tainted with chlorine, drops that disappeared rapidly in the heat of the day, often before hitting the ground. After the sun went down, the rain glittered against paned glass and chimed against metal roofs, a reminder they didn’t need. Spock listened to it every night.
However, this night was different. The light tapping of rain against the roof was accompanied by loud, echoing thuds, and it took precious moments for Spock to realize that the sound was knocking, and to rise from his bed. His knees protested the motion, and his skin prickled at the shock of cool air as he hurried quickly to the door.
When he opened it, he saw two faces that surprised him—or one. Jim, the young version that inhabited this time, was leaning against the doorframe, his blue eyes piercing and unnatural even in darkness, supporting someone who sagged heavily against him. Spock would have said he was surprised by that alone, but then the slightly shorter man’s head lolled to the side, and he saw his face. He didn’t need to see the eyes behind closed lids to know that they were brown, hazel, a glittering array of colors.
Jim. His Jim.
“Jim, what…” He stopped and swallowed, moved aside. A younger version of himself darted out of the unseen distance, and Spock held the door open long enough for he, too, to enter.
They said nothing as a limp Kirk was deposited on Spock’s only available couch, and when this universe’s Jim spoke, it was about nothing at all.
“Jesus! Nobody said that this place got storms like this!”
Spock watched his younger self snap to attention, and look at his captain incredulously.
“I mentioned that fact no less than six times, Captain.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say they were having one now!”
“I believe that was also in my report, and can be verified.”
Spock listened to the banter with half an ear. Normally it would have pained him. Now, however, he was distracted, his old heart beating like a baby bird.
“Jim, what happened?” Spock couldn’t help but finish the question with a rasp, and the young man he would one day know so well smiled his cocky grin, then patted him on the back.
Spock didn’t miss the way dark eyes followed the action, and he wondered if his younger self knew that he was in love with his captain even now.
“Think of it as a ‘welcome to our universe’ present, old man. I’d love to explain, but we have exploring to do. I’ll call you later, okay?”
Spock nodded and watched as Jim returned to the rain, his aged double remaining perfectly still among the thin cushions. Spock’s young self watched him for a moment, and then added quietly:
“He is in shock from what I believe is a broken bond. His life is not in danger, but he will require a healer, unless his bondmate is available.”
Spock nodded and smiled enough that the other Vulcan looked offended.
“He is.”
The door closed quietly behind his last visitor, but Spock barely noticed. His Jim lived and was in his sitting room, ninety-seven years after he had died and twenty-six years before he realized that Spock was waiting for him; the time conundrum was staggering, and Spock reached out a shaking hand to brush damp blond hair, thinning at the top.
T’hy’la…
Jim stirred, and opened bleary eyes.
“Antonia…?”
Spock snatched his hand back, and Jim fell into unconsciousness again. Of course; this Jim had been snatched from a place with no time, a universe with no ties, the Nexus. It explained how he existed…but he had also been pulled from a place where his idea of paradise was not a ship and his bondmate, but a cabin in the woods and a woman he’d lost, the final heartbreak that Spock had been dealt seventy-eight years after he’d thought he would have no more. And to think he had assumed that now as well.
It appeared he’d been wrong. And Spock sat, his heart aching, wondering what it was the Jim of this universe had done, and how he could reverse it.