Chapter Text
It’s another two months before he’s willing to say, “Hey, Spock,” in the middle of their chess game.
“Yes, Jim?” When no one else signs up for chess club, they hold it in their quarters instead.
“I think I might be ready.”
Spock’s eyes jerk up from the rook he’s just used to take Jim’s bishop. “To—complete the—soulmate bond?” He must be feeling particularly emotional, because Jim knows that he’s very uncomfortable with the word ‘soulmate.’ “Your mental control is—sufficient?”
“You can check,” Jim offers. “But yeah.” He moves a piece. “Check.”
“I trust you,” Spock says. Then he looks at the board. “Oh. I see.”
“It’s mate in three,” Jim tells him. “But we can finish the game if you want.”
Spock narrows his eyes. “Jim, did you time this revelation as an opportunity to win a chess game?”
“Side benefit,” Jim says, and he grins. “I was going to beat you anyway.”
Spock examines the boards and sighs. “Yes, you were. Very well.” He stands and faces Jim, and Jim mirrors his position. “If either of us experiences difficulties, we will—postpone.”
“Take a deep breath,” Jim says.
“I believe that is my line.” Spock puts his hand on the back of Jim’s neck just below the mark, warm and steady in a way that Jim has come to depend on.
“Sorry.” Jim lays his hand on Spock’s hip, fingertips just barely dipping into the waistband of his pants. “Ready?”
“I am.” Slowly, they touch each other’s marks.
The physical contact is nothing compared to the mental wave that rushes through Jim, like the tide coming in all at once—and that’s Spock’s memory, shivering on the beach in San Francisco just after arriving, the cold water sweeping over his feet. Wanna see something? Jim asks.
If you wish to show me.
They’re very suddenly in a building full of shelves—Is this a Human library?
Video rental store, Jim says. On Earth, they used to keep holovids on physical discs, and people could pay money to rent them for a few days. He gestures at the shelves, which are labeled with stardates. It’s how I’ve—organized the memories.
You have contained them in physical forms, to access only when you wish to, Spock says. Fascinating.
Jim grins at him and lets the image of the video rental store slip away. The rest of the bond sweeps through them, the safe memories passed back and forth—Winona Kirk swearing during a game of Monopoly, the warmth of Amanda Grayson’s arm, Spock’s fierce determination to prove himself, the way that Jim counts all the crew of Enterprise as family now—and underneath it all, their minds knitting together. Outside their minds, Jim knows, they’re pressed close together, removing clothing as best they can without breaking the contact, and he’s looking forward to it, but for now he’s content to stay here, in the strange landscape of their minds, sharing thoughts. Finally, he thinks, There are some other things I want to do, and they’re suddenly back in their physical bodies. Everything feels slow, syrupy, as they touch, as they find each other’s bare skin as though it’s never happened before.
Eventually, after they’ve collapsed on the bed and Jim has flung an arm across Spock’s chest—it’s too warm but he doesn’t care—Spock says, “I can tell that something is amusing you.”
Jim cracks up. “I can tell that you think it’s going to be inappropriate, which, considering what we just did, is amazing.” He can feel Spock’s wry amusement. “Just imagining having to stand in front of T’Pau wearing ceremonial robes while we did that—” There’s a surge of horror and then grudging humor from Spock. “But you know if we do go have a ceremony on New Vulcan, I’m taking you back to the house in Iowa to meet my mom. She’ll have to transport in special for the occasion.” He knows Spock can feel the particular sensitivity around the edges of those thoughts, the lurking ghosts. “I’ll try not to get too emotional about it.”
“Jim,” Spock says, “I look forward to spending the rest of my life with your emotions,” and the crazy thing about it is that Jim can feel that he means it.