Chapter Text
3 months ago
“Fucking hell, Jim. How’m I one drink away from the pearly gates nd’ you’re still stupidly, perfectly perfect?”
Bones’ slurred words cause the corners of Jim’s mouth to quip up as he sips on the totally illegal Romulan ale that his highly inebriated doctor friend had procured. The drink was bitter to his taste buds and burned all the way down his throat. The sloshing liquid seemed to boil in his unsettled, empty stomach.
“Technically I am sitting and it is not my fault you cannot hold your drink, Bones. Might I remind you that my-” Jim would have continued if Bones had not waved a hand in his direction with a scoff.
“Yeah, yeah. Your metabolism is as pretty as a peach to match the rest of your perfect self,” Jim only hums at his friend’s slurred colloquialisms. Bones always did have a way with words.
Jim took the lull in conversation and the way Bones’ eyes started to droop as a sign to make his exit, “Well, as much as I love spending time drinking totally legal beverages with my favorite doctor, I have to go Bones.”
Jim stands and helps his fumbling roommate to lay down on the couch in their shared apartment. As Jim removes Bones’ shoes and throws a spare top sheet over him he hears a grumpy mumble, “Gonna read me a bedtime story too, Mama?”
He rose to his feet and ruffled his friend’s hair just for fun, “If that would help you sleep, Bonesy.”
Bones squints up at him with annoyance before turning over on the couch to face away from him. Jim almost smiles in amusement but instead makes his way to his room to grab his jacket and PADD before heading towards the door. He checks his pockets making sure he has his wallet and key card before opening the door.
Just as he is about to close the door, Bones calls from the couch, “Fore’ you leave, put the trash can by my bed.”
This time Jim cannot help but let out a small laugh.
Present
“Cadet?”
Jim barely contains himself from jumping a mile high. He calms his features before facing the familiar voice of Captain Pike in a series of stiff movements,
“Sir?”
“At ease, Jim. What are you doing?,” Pike glances at his PADD which he quickly switches off but not before Pike obviously glances at the screen, “Studying transporters, cadet? You think you’d know enough about those by now.”
Jim does not fidget but he desperately wants to, “I was looking into Admiral Archer’s beagle, sir.”
Pike’s face betrays his confusion, “His...beagle? The one that was beamed to who knows where by, uh, what’s his name?” Pike clicks his tongue trying to recall the name.
“Montgomery Scott, sir.”
Pike snaps his fingers, “Ah, yes. What are you looking into that for?”
Jim does not break eye contact but avoids the confrontation, “Why are you here to see me sir?”
He does not miss the narrowing of Pike’s eyes and how they shift to his PADD and back to him, but Pike relents, “I just got out of a meeting with all the old sandbags of the Federation and came to the library cause I saw you sitting near the window and I haven’t seen you in a while, son.”
Before Jim can protest Pike takes the seat across from him and Jim reluctantly seats himself again feeling an odd sense of caution at the way Pike’s eyes seem to calculate his every move like a true starship captain. Jim does not miss the way the endearment, ‘son,’ does not unsettle him as it used to. He’d have to reflect on that later.
“So, how have you been?” Jim crosses his legs to avoid bouncing his right foot but does not miss the other questions behind just the one . Still, he chooses to play dumb.
“I am fine, sir. I did tell you I would finish in three years.”
Pike relaxes in his seat, “As you like to remind me every time you see me. Still don’t know where you find the time to be this big of a pain in the ass and still have the highest test scores in the Academy,” Pike’s words are followed by a fond eye roll directed in Jim’s direction. Jim has learned to decipher most of Pike’s moods and ‘interrogations’ as he likes to call them. Today is a ‘I-may-or-may-not-have-news-you-won’t-like.’
Jim takes the initiative, “Sir, if I may be direct. Could you just spit it out already?”
A lighter smile slides across Pike’s lips, “Nothing gets past you does it? You got some sort of premonition type superpower I should know about?”
When Jim doesn’t respond even in facial expressions, Pike lets out a deep, unnecessary sigh,”Listen, I’m not really supposed to spread this around but I’ve already requested you so it should be fine as long as you don’t say anything.”
Jim looks expectantly for Pike to continue, “Listen son, the Vulcan High Council has alerted the Federation, well they’ve alerted Earth mostly, of some data their planetary scanners are picking up.”
Jim straightens considerably, his features no longer lax, “What did they pick up sir?”
A shadow that Jim doesn’t want to dwell on crosses Pike’s features, “They’re not really sure. All they’ve told us so far is that they’re picking up some large mass that circles the planet from a distance at high rates of speed but doesn’t come closer. They’ve sent ships out to investigate but nothing is there. They’ve ruled out the obvious like a comet or even Klingons. Comets don’t just disappear and Klingons don’t have anything as big as the Council is describing the mass.”
Jim compartmentalizes the information presented to him as his brain flys a mile a minute for solutions, responses, queries, anything. The thinking does nothing to calm his elevated heart, “What is being done as of now?” His voice is surprisingly calm.
“Vulcan is preparing defenses and working on shielding their major cities. They think they can outfit those huge storm shields they have to withstand an impact to the planet. Damned Vulcans are so secretive but I read between the long, drawn out lines. They’re preparing for war, son. War against what, we have no clue.”
Jim starts again slowly, “What does this have to do with me sir?” Although he’s grateful for the information, he remains confused.
“Starfleet’s ordered me and a few other ships to make our way to Vulcan to see what can be done,” Pike smiles a little as if his words explain Jim’s question.
“And?”
Pike smiles wider, “Welcome to the Enterprise, Cadet .”
While Spock generally appreciates his student’s proclivity to remain behind and ask him questions about his lessons, today he finds himself extraordinarily fatigued. He has been unable to meditate for 5.7 or 5 days, 16 hours, and 48 minutes. He has yet to find the source of his mental unrest but plans to force himself to address his problem when he retires to his apartment in the next hour.
“Thank you Cadet, but I must be leaving. If you have any further questions, please email me and I will respond tomorrow morning.”
Spock gathers his briefcase and takes long strides to leave the lecture hall knowing he was too short with his students but cannot find the effort to care at the moment. It is not as if he is known for being the kindest professor among the faculty.
As he makes his way across the large Starfleet campus, Spock uselessly glances at the grey San Franciscan sky. The air is not as humid as Romulus nor as dry as his home planet but rather a cold, heavy feeling that lingers in the air. Spock, being half-human, supposes he is allowed some sentimentality and not for the first time finds himself missing the almost constant sun and blanketing heat of Vulcan. It is illogical to miss the way the sand would find its way into almost every crevasse imaginable but Spock allows himself to be illogical in this moment. He misses his human mother, seeing as Amanda Grayson is the only person in this world and beyond to truly understand Spock, even when he did not desire it.
“Professor?”
If Spock were human, he may have jumped and laughed nervously at the intrusion upon the reflection of his thoughts.
But Spock is not human so he turns slightly to face the cadet, “Yes, Cadet Uhura? I am not able to stay for extra questions but if-”
Cadet Uhura cuts him off with a wave of her hand, “No, no, no. I understood most of the material. Well, maybe except for the part of the lecture describing the way to express ....” Uhura must have interpreted something from his ever reserved face but she lowered her arms and continued at a slower speech rate, “Anyways, I saw you standing here looking at the sky and just wanted to check on you. If you’re interested, I know a really good tea place nearby that serves a Vulcan blend.”
Spock considers this. Was he staring at the sky? He accepts that his behaviour would seem rather odd to passing cadets to see the only Vulcan professor stopped in the middle of the outdoor part of the campus musing at the grey, clouded sky.
“Thank you, Cadet. I appreciate your invitation. However, I find myself in need of meditation so I will have to decline your offer.” Spock wonders if he will be perceived as rude to Cadet Uhura’s human standards, however she simply smiles in true human fashion.
“That’s alright. I’ll see you next Tuesday. Bye Professor.” Spock offers a ta’al as Cadet Uhura’s ponytail swishes quite elegantly across her shoulders as she walks the opposite direction.
Spock considers Uhura’s invitation again. She was among the most promising of all of his students and always showed an aptitude for forward thinking and leadership, not that he would ever admit favoritism. She was highly intelligent and steadfast in her dedication to xenolinguistics and being as knowledgeable as possible in her concentration. All traits that Spock admired. Was the cadet attempting to be kind to Spock? Did Spock look visibly distressed in order for her to reach out and ask him to purchase tea with her?
Spock needed meditation and he needed it now.
3 Months Ago (Again)
One second Jim was at his desk researching his latest warp theory project and the next second he…..was not doing that.
Upon impact with a near freezing cold floor Jim feels a surge of bile surface as he vomits across the ground below him feeling as if his body was ripped and rinsed amidst a crashing ship. His stomach heaves once more before he crashes on his side against something blunt that digs into his spine. He pants heavily before taking stock of his body and potential injuries and to calm his respiratory rate back to normal.
The first thing he comprehends hearing is metal falling against metal and someone cursing loudly, “Oh goddamit he’s boaking all o’er the floor! Who do ya reckon is gonna have to clean that up? Take a look ‘round here! Ya see anyone besides me and this useless wreck?! No! So, it’s gonna be me to clean up this fucking mess!”
Jim tries to calm his pounding head as the thickly accented voice becomes louder and presumably closer to his current location of; the floor.
He attempts to push himself upwards but feels as if the thick bones in his arms had been replaced with fiber, too weak to hold his body weight. Before he can continue trying to force his uncooperative limbs to move, a pair of feet are within his blurry sight.
“Hello...old friend.”