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The observation deck was barren, save for the captain. He peered out at the stars as the USS Enterprise flew past them, acknowledging that the beauty of space never failed to astonish him. It was no cheap novelty; nothing like the photos. There were many things James Kirk came across in his line of work that enthralled him, one of them being his austere first officer.
Before his time at Starfleet Academy, Jim had little to no experience with Vulcans. He knew of them; he studied them thoroughly in school. However, nothing he’d learned from a textbook would prepare him for the real thing. Nothing would prepare him for Spock, standing behind his command chair with his hands clasped so tightly behind his back he feared for the other man’s circulation. The two rarely saw eye to eye, with the rule abiding first officer doubting his captain’s unconventional way of running a starship.
The young captain had a tendency to be unconventional. Nothing about his life was ordinary, for better or for worse. There was a higher being, someone or something that decided James Kirk was cut out for the hard knock life. Kirk tilted his chin, dignified despite the obstacles life had presented him with. Since birth, he’d been overwhelmed with his departed father’s accomplishments, but Jim was never one to be happy living in another’s shadow. It was a challenge he was willing to face: upholding his parents’ reputation all while making a name for himself. For a long time, he found he didn’t care for either of those things, but that quickly changed once he realized his potential. He could actually become someone.
Reluctance presented itself through the man’s fear, his deep seated loathing for failure that had both manifested and solidified in early adolescence. As hard as he tried to repress them, memories of Tarsus IV swarmed his mind whenever he let his crew down. As captain, there was always a need to take accountability for misfortunes as well as every misfiring. However, the pain that accompanied such occurrences was never dull.
Back on the colony, Jim had become a beacon of hope for the other children and led them through a time of despair. He watched his friends die one by one. Either by starvation, exhaustion, or means he felt nauseated even recalling. Kirk had always felt as though he’d failed them. The idea that he could have saved them if he’d ran a little faster, hit a little harder, and screamed a little louder haunted him. For years, he tried to rest, meeting his friends again in his frequent nightmares. Kirk sweat bullets, calling out before bolting up in bed, only to find nobody there to soothe him. From then on, the man had built up several protective layers as well as an unshakable sense of both duty and guilt. If he were to do it again, he thought, he would be more aware of his surroundings. However, there was no going back, for the past was the past. Jim had been a child, just as much of a victim as the others, but he couldn’t help the ache in his chest; the feeling of failure. It lingered, despite all odds, and ensured that Jim Kirk’s insecurity would present itself as false bravado.
He was known for many things, one of them being resilience. Kirk was capable of getting back on his feet faster than the average man, something he’d learned as life wore him down. Time would be wasted if he didn’t master this, and time was the most precious resource the young man could imagine. It served no good to dwell on things; to over-analyze them and lose the big picture.
Regardless of his beliefs, he could not shake the unpleasant feeling that came with Spock’s disappointment. The crew was on their way to the nearest star-base, pausing their elongated mission for a brief, three day long shore leave. It was well deserved, especially after their latest planet-side endeavor. The planet’s inhabitants were less than happy to see them, and Jim may have accidentally insulted their Prime Minister upon meeting her. It led to a series of complicated, drawn out apologies, all of which one Lt. Uhura beautifully translated. How was he supposed to know it was disrespectful to bow?
Spock had not seen Kirk’s blunder as a simple misstep, as the mission had been compromised upon initial contact. The treaty had not been established, and there was no new addition to Federation space. It was a disappointment, and Kirk regretted his actions as the Enterprise departed the groggy atmosphere. The captain swore there was something odd in their oxygen. Spock begged to differ.
When his first officer expressed anger, it was more than difficult to place. Few had seen Spock angry- hell, few had seen Spock express anything at all. However, Kirk had learned better, possessing a special eye for the Vulcan’s micro-expressions. For example, when Spock was pissed off he pursed his green-tinted lips into a tense line, and his pointed eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. His voice, usually monotone, sounded rather miffed, as though Jim spat in his plomeek soup and forced him to finish the bowl. The captain knew what to look for more than anybody on the ship, seeing that the two were at odds more often than not.
This time, though, Kirk felt the effects of Spock’s disappointment more acutely. Had he done more research leading up to their planet-side mission, the landing party would’ve been received better. He knew he should at least asked about the Prime Minister, but he’d been up to his neck in paperwork. Now, he had even more paperwork to do, and a stern Admiral Komack to report to. Regarding the failed mission, Kirk was just as unhappy as the rest of the senior bridge crew, if not more. It looked bad to leave empty handed and reflected poorly on his competence as captain. That said, he needed time to himself before he could even consider facing Spock on the bridge.
Spock. There was something about the man that made Jim a better leader, but their teamwork was dependent on compromise. There was no way Kirk would abide by the rules all the time, and it was just as unlikely for Spock to allow those ideas to grow unchecked. Meeting in the middle had become standard for the pair, and Kirk believed this method brought equal parts emotion and logic to their decisions.
Jim’s thoughts grew beyond dutiful when it came to Spock. It was just his luck, he thought, to feel an irresistible attraction to the Vulcan in question. Jim was never one to settle down, seeing romance as desirable yet unattainable. That was before Spock, of course. Before the two sat down together for the first time, after Nero, to play a game of chess. Spock’s strategy was logical; every move was premeditated and part of an overarching plan. Jim, on the other hand, preferred to move unpredictably, getting a feel for the game as he moved each piece. He relied on his intuition, basing his movements on Spock’s. If Kirk knew anything about chess, it was that playing logistically had its pros and its cons. It was efficient, but became predictable very fast. Kirk’s methods frustrated the Vulcan, for nobody had ever been able to beat him before. Especially not using such a nonchalant technique.
He recalled Spock’s face when he’d seized his king, gazing at him through lidded baby blues and smirking before plucking the piece into his fingertips. Spock’s mouth had fallen open in disbelief.
How did you manage this? He’d asked, hands folded in his lap.
Why, Mr. Spock, he’d said, a magician never reveals his secrets.
Spock had looked him up and down before the corners of his lips twitched upward. He began to rearrange their board, setting up for a rematch. Very well.
From then on, Kirk was smitten.
Of course, the second he feels a genuine connection, it’s for a Vulcan. Not just any Vulcan, but his second in command. He may as well have fallen in love with 1950’s heartthrob James Dean. It was just another instance in which Kirk’s life had become unconventional, for he could spend hours picturing a future with his XO. He could see the two of them growing older together as they had done in another life, a parallel that gave him the slightest bit of hope.
After all, James Kirk never lost hope. When things looked grim he clung to it, treating it like a newborn child in his arms. He treated it gently, relishing in it when necessary and providing it when his crew needed it most. It was what granted him his captaincy, Bones told him, his everlasting hope. Therefore, courting Spock was not something he would quickly drop. Unless the Vulcan explicitly denied him (and he knew Spock could), he would never let him go. Some things, he decided, were strong enough to tear down the barriers of both logic and emotion. It was much like the meeting of their minds; two different worlds wrapping around one another, mingling and enveloping the other in warm light as they become one.
Twin doors sliding open made him draw his head from the clouds, finding his shoulders most adequately. He turned from the glass window, the starlight illuminating the observation deck and painting his first officer in a dim, white luster. Kirk smiled at him, the love light in his eyes evident from a mile away. He couldn’t give this up.
“Captain,” Spock said, approaching his commanding officer before coming to his side. Where he belonged, Jim thought.
“Mr. Spock,” he sighed, mirroring Spock’s position and placing his hands behind his back in earnest. “How may I help you?”
“I merely wished to inform you that we are minutes away from reaching the nearest star-base.” He didn’t sound angry anymore, Kirk noted. Perhaps he needed time to himself, too. It was only logical.
The captain nodded, staying silent for a second longer than he’d anticipated. “Say, commander,” he questioned, reluctant but willing to test his luck. “Do you have any plans for your shore leave?”
Spock raised an eyebrow at Jim, making the human’s pulse speed up.
“I do not.”
“What do you say we have dinner together? My treat.”
Spock’s gaze threatened surprise, but what could only be excitement shone through. “I am amenable to this suggestion, captain.”
“Call me Jim,” he extended a hand, placing it gently on Spock’s shoulder. “We’re off duty.”
Spock didn’t pull back from the touch. Kirk felt his heart pound in his chest as they made eye contact.
“Very well,” he said, “Jim.”
Kirk grinned, and led Spock out of the observation deck. It paid off to have faith.