Never Think (part 1b)
So. Never Think Part 1b, if you want all the info on it, just go back :)
“Jimmy said you two were lost,” she says, shooing Little Jim back into the house with a wave of her hand. “Go on, Jimmy, let them in, they look tired.”
“Yes Ma’am,” Kirk answers when Little Jim stomps off. He’s holding back the instinctual urge to wrap his mother into a hug, because he’s not sure it would be all that easy to explain under the circumstances. “My name is Captain Kay, and this is my First Officer… umm, Selek.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she says, nodding politely to each of them in turn. “Come on in. My husband went to a Federation conference last night; he won’t be back for another couple of days, at least.”
“Is that so?” Kirk replies, convincing himself that no, actually, that wasn’t disappointment in his voice.
“That is regrettable,” Spock says in a vaguely unconcerned manner.
“You two don’t know him, by any chance? Kirk’s his name: George Kirk,” she asks as they saunter into the house. “You look just like him. Could be a long lost cousin or something.”
Kirk is surprised at the blush he feels creeping up his neck; he’s been told dozens of times that he looks like his Dad but never like that, with his mom’s voice all happy and curious and so obviously madly in love with her husband.
“Uh, no, I can’t say that I have, Ma’am,” he manages to stumble out, embarrassed at his own awkwardness.
Kirk’s mom waves a hand at him.
“Call me Winona,” she says and oh God, no way is Kirk ever gonna do that. “Jimmy sweetie, go check on dinner; it’s just about finished loading.”
She motions them to the tiny dining room table, clearly made for four or less, tonight with the placemats set for two. Younger-Mrs.-Kirk goes to a pale wooden cabinet and pulls out two clean plates and busies herself with setting up the table.
Kirk surreptitiously looks around the house: it’s small, but the floor plan is open and inviting. He and Spock are standing awkwardly in the dining room, but they can easily see into the kitchen and living room and up a flight of stairs that must lead to the bedrooms.
He also can’t help but notice that this house is so very different from the place he grew up in. He can see a few knick-knacks that his mom had collected in his own universe: an ancient lighting system sits in a dark corner of the living room, bright wires covered in a tiny film of dust, broken starship parts that she’d collected over the course of his childhood, and on the mantle a small replica of a twentieth century airplane, one she’d built sometime when Kirk was only four. But there are other things too, like the holographs of his family beaming brightly at the world from behind thin panes of glass, the Federation flag, framed and comfortably taking up the space of an entire wall, the ancient-looking holo of his dad in his Captain’s uniform, standing in front of a Starship and smiling solemnly. Kirk can’t seem to take his eyes off of it.
“Captain?” Spock asks, and Kirk realizes a second too late that they’ve been talking all this time, and Kirk’s just been staring at the holos of his dad like an idiot.
“Right, yeah,” he says, because mostly when Spock asks him to join in on a conversation, he wants Kirk to find new and exciting ways of saying Actually, Spock’s right and you’re wrong because he’s a genius and you’re not.
From the tiny furrow of Spock’s eyebrows, however, he can tell that this time actually wasn’t one of those times.
“The Captain is allergic to potatoes, as well as a number of other medicines, florae, venoms and their subsequent anti-venoms,” Spock says, stiffly taking a seat when Kirk’s mom gestures for him to do so.
Little Jim’s mom (and he’s really gonna have to get over his reluctance to call her ‘Winona’ here because it’s going to explode his brain soon) laughs, surprised.
“You don’t say?” she says as Little Jim runs into the dining room and hops into the seat across from Spock. “So’s Jim. Isn’t that a coincidence? Well, at least about the potatoes. I’ve never had to give Jimmy an anti-venom, and Lord willing, I never will.”
“Food’s ready,” Little Jim says happily, tucking his hands safely underneath his thighs and pinning his mom with an innocent grin.
She rolls her eyes at him and disappears into the kitchen. Little Jim waits a few seconds before turning to eye Spock intently.
“Are you the same type of species as Spock?” he asks seriously.
Spock inclines his head.
“I am Vulcan,” he says as the other-Mom comes in holding a steaming tray heaped with food.
Kirk’s forgotten just how much he’s missed his mom’s programming skills; his mouth waters when he catches the first whiff of her meat loaf.
“I hope you guys don’t mind meat loaf,” she says a little sheepishly, setting the tray down and picking up a knife. “Jimmy loves it.”
Kirk just smiles, hoping he doesn’t look too eager and accepts his plate graciously.
“See, he’s an alien too Mom,” Little Jim says when she hands him a plate. “The same kind as Spock.”
“You don’t say,” Winona answers, patiently.
“Yup.”
“So, what brings you two to Iowa?” she asks, taking a small sip from her glass.
“Technical difficulties,” Kirk answers easily. “We just got a little turned around earlier.”
Winona nods thoughtfully. Spock has a look on his face that means he’s about to say something Vulcan-y.
“I see no logical reason why your spatial orientation relative to mine-or anyone else’s for that matter-at least when concerned with which direction you may be facing, would be of any value to the conversation, Captain.”
Kirk tries real hard not to roll his eyes at that; he turns an apologetic glance to Winona, but before he can say a word Little Jim speaks up.
“It’s a human expression, sir,” he says. “Spock calls them ‘idioms’.”
Spock blinks at him.
“I see.”
Kirk kind of wants to laugh, but refrains from doing so at the look Winona’s sending her son. He turns to Spock, but he’s looking down at his plate with a slightly disapproving tilt to his eyebrows, and he remembers.
“Oh, wow, I’m sorry Ma’am,” he starts, frowning. “My First Officer’s a vegetarian.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says emphatically, standing abruptly. “I had no idea. Let me go make you something in the replicator really quick. I’ll be right back.”
“I should have mentioned it earlier,” Kirk says, pursing his lips.
Spock shakes his head.
“It is understandable, given the circumstances,” he answers.
“What’s it like on your planet?” Little Jim asks suddenly. “Spock doesn’t like to talk about it.”
Spock clears his throat, the most emotional reaction anyone can get out of him (short of getting strangled on the bridge, that is). Kirk knows he’s remembering the planet he grew up on, and wonders if he’s picturing the deadly beauty of high noon across the desert landscape Kirk himself has so often wondered about or the black nothingness that eventually engulfed the planet.
“Vulcan was-is…” but he seems unable to continue.
“It’s beautiful,” Kirk finishes, and Spock looks up sharply, his expression for once unreadable. And ok, yeah, he’s never been there before, but he can tell that right now, Little Jim isn’t looking for the Vulcan answer. “It’s real hot there, because it’s closer to the sun than Earth, but its winter phase is really nice, right Spock?”
Spock takes a moment to just look at him.
“The season you refer to as ‘winter’ on Vulcan rarely plummets below 298.15 kelvin,” Spock says after a couple of seconds. Kirk smiles because, yeah, he totally just rendered Spock speechless.
“There you go kid,” Kirk says, turning back to little Jim, who’s listening to them raptly. “That’s Vulcan-speak for 67 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s like spring weather.”
Little Jim beams.
“I love spring,” he says and Kirk wants to say well, yeah, I know you do. “I’ll go to Vulcan someday; Spock promised.”
“Did he?” Spock asks, suddenly intrigued. He picks up his glass of water and watches Little Jim over the rim.
Little Jim nods emphatically.
“Yeah. We’re t’hy’la,” he says proudly. “Spock says that means when we’re old enough, I get to go to his home planet with him, at least for a little while.”
Kirk coughs loudly, nearly choking on the food he’s just shoveled into his mouth. He thinks that if Spock had not been Vulcan and Spock, he would have spit water clear across the table. As it is, his eyebrows rise up to nearly his hairline, and he very, very slowly sets his glass down again.
“You are t’hy’la,” Spock repeats slowly, very deliberately not meeting Kirk’s gaze.
Little Jim nods again, smiling like a loon (which, Kirk has just decided, he certainly must be if he believes that).
“Yup.”
Just then, Other-universe Winona comes back, bringing the rich smell of soup along with her. She smiles apologetically and places the steaming bowl in front of Spock.
“I’m so sorry,” she says again. “I hope you don’t mind soup.”
Spock watches her for a while, unblinking, before finally finding his voice again.
“It will suffice,” he says.
***
Later, after Mrs. Winona Kirk has shown them to the only spare bedroom and Spock has stopped gawking in that way that only Kirk can ever really see, Kirk starts pacing the length of the only available floor space: the three feet or so separating Kirk and Spock’s single beds.
“So. Options, Spock,” he finally prompts after realizing Spock still seems a little distracted.
At least it gets Spock to turn his quiet sulking into a more normal thoughtfulness (Spock would call it a ‘contemplative phase,’ but Kirk knows him well enough to call sulking sulking). He stands, hands behind his back, and raises an eyebrow.
“I believe I can replicate the circumstances of our sudden departure,” he says.
“Great,” Kirk says. He flops onto his bed with a relieved sigh. “How?”
“We would need to create a series of gamma ray bursts that would equal the relative instability and energy generated by a solar flare.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
Kirk frowns and sits up again, wishing he knew more about the unknown so they would never have to get into messes like this in the first place.
“The probability of death or serious short-term or long-term injuries is five to one,” Spock answers.
“Those are some great odds,” Kirk sighs.
“As you would say, I would not bet on them.”
Kirk manages a weak smile at that before running a hand through his hair.
“So, okay: once we do that, how do we get back to our universe?”
Spock frowns-well, the corners of his lip twitches ever so slightly, but really, that might as well be a pout on him.
“That I do not know.”
“What?” Kirk asks, lowering his voice significantly in case they’re overheard. “How can you not know? You know everything!”
“While I appreciate your acceptance of my superior knowledge and-”
“Spock.”
Very quietly, Kirk thinks he hears Spock sigh. He imagines that Spock wants to run a hand through his hair the way Jim had done not moments before.
“There is no logical reason why we would have been transported to this universe accidentally, given the present variables,” he finally says.
“Wait,” Kirk says, something dark and ugly forming in the pit of his stomach. “Are you saying that-that-”
And he can’t finish; fuck, he can’t even get his mind to wrap around the concept. What Spock is suggesting-
“Sabotage would have been most likely,” Spock says when Kirk can’t get the words out.
“No,” he answers. “No, Spock. No one on my ship would ever willingly do this to us, do you hear me? No one.”
“Captain-”
“Dammit Spock, I don’t want to hear you spout numbers and percentiles at me, ok? I don’t care how likely it is; no one on my ship could have done this.”
Spock is silent for a while; Jim presumes he’s formulating his next argument. He prepares to ignore it completely.
“I believe you are correct,” he finally says slowly, taking a seat on the edge of his own bed across from Kirk. “It would be most probable that there are unknown variables we have not taken into account. Until then, it would be unwise to jump to conclusions. Forgive me.”
Jim is taken aback.
“Oh,” he answers, still unsure if Spock’s just setting him up. “Okay then. So. What should we do?”
Spock looks down at the neatly folded linens in place of an answer; it’s one of the only ways Kirk knows how to tell that Spock’s got absolutely no idea. It comes as no surprise that his First Officer’s hesitation sends dread curling through Kirk; after all, how many times has he relied on Spock to miraculously save him? If Spock has no idea what they should do, it means they’re really fucked.
“I would suggest we replenish our energy for now,” he finally says. Kirk can tell that even Spock knows how pointless his suggestion is. “Perhaps our situation will become clearer with meditation.”
“Right,” Kirk says, his voice sounding just a little hollow.
He lies back down, pillowing his head on his arms.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Spock gather himself on top of the bed into a meditative pose. Kirk closes his eyes, hoping it’ll help him fall asleep.
It’s silent.
“I find it strange that our counterparts should be so close in this universe,” Spock says suddenly.
It’s strange enough that Kirk sits upright again, propping himself up on his elbows to frown at Spock, who’s never been one to break his meditation cycle for idle conversation.
“You think so?” he asks, watching Spock’s prone form, still sitting cross-legged on his bed with his eyes shut. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t be. We’re close.”
Spock’s eyes open abruptly, and if Kirk didn’t know any better, he would say that a slight greenish tinge appears around the tips of his ears.
“Your eight-year-old counterpart referred to the relationship between him and my own counterpart as-”
“Woah, wait,” Kirk says, waving one hand quickly and blushing bright and high on the tops of his cheeks. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to suggest that-that we-"
He stops himself and looks away, feeling the burn of Spock’s piercing gaze through the side of his face. Because yeah, he can admit to himself-in the safety of his mind if nowhere else-that he’s got a monstrous thing for his First Officer, and listening to other-universe versions of himself (or even other-universe Spocks, for that matter) go on about epic friendships and t’hy’la doesn’t really help his situation.
“I would rather not speak of it,” Spock says quietly, and Kirk nods, ignoring the fact that Spock was the one who brought it all up in the first place.
“We should…just go to sleep then.”
“That would be advisable.”
Jim risks a glance back towards Spock, who sits for a few more seconds before getting up and crawling under his sheets to lie flat on his back. Kirk shifts so that his back is facing his First Officer, watching as the lights dim around him.
“Goodnight Spock,” he says.
“Sleep well, Jim,” Spock answers quietly.
It takes an eternity before he finally falls asleep; most of that time he spends listening to Spock’s even breathing, remembering that Vulcan’s don’t need as much sleep as humans.
The thought doesn’t help him get to sleep.
“Jimmy said you two were lost,” she says, shooing Little Jim back into the house with a wave of her hand. “Go on, Jimmy, let them in, they look tired.”
“Yes Ma’am,” Kirk answers when Little Jim stomps off. He’s holding back the instinctual urge to wrap his mother into a hug, because he’s not sure it would be all that easy to explain under the circumstances. “My name is Captain Kay, and this is my First Officer… umm, Selek.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she says, nodding politely to each of them in turn. “Come on in. My husband went to a Federation conference last night; he won’t be back for another couple of days, at least.”
“Is that so?” Kirk replies, convincing himself that no, actually, that wasn’t disappointment in his voice.
“That is regrettable,” Spock says in a vaguely unconcerned manner.
“You two don’t know him, by any chance? Kirk’s his name: George Kirk,” she asks as they saunter into the house. “You look just like him. Could be a long lost cousin or something.”
Kirk is surprised at the blush he feels creeping up his neck; he’s been told dozens of times that he looks like his Dad but never like that, with his mom’s voice all happy and curious and so obviously madly in love with her husband.
“Uh, no, I can’t say that I have, Ma’am,” he manages to stumble out, embarrassed at his own awkwardness.
Kirk’s mom waves a hand at him.
“Call me Winona,” she says and oh God, no way is Kirk ever gonna do that. “Jimmy sweetie, go check on dinner; it’s just about finished loading.”
She motions them to the tiny dining room table, clearly made for four or less, tonight with the placemats set for two. Younger-Mrs.-Kirk goes to a pale wooden cabinet and pulls out two clean plates and busies herself with setting up the table.
Kirk surreptitiously looks around the house: it’s small, but the floor plan is open and inviting. He and Spock are standing awkwardly in the dining room, but they can easily see into the kitchen and living room and up a flight of stairs that must lead to the bedrooms.
He also can’t help but notice that this house is so very different from the place he grew up in. He can see a few knick-knacks that his mom had collected in his own universe: an ancient lighting system sits in a dark corner of the living room, bright wires covered in a tiny film of dust, broken starship parts that she’d collected over the course of his childhood, and on the mantle a small replica of a twentieth century airplane, one she’d built sometime when Kirk was only four. But there are other things too, like the holographs of his family beaming brightly at the world from behind thin panes of glass, the Federation flag, framed and comfortably taking up the space of an entire wall, the ancient-looking holo of his dad in his Captain’s uniform, standing in front of a Starship and smiling solemnly. Kirk can’t seem to take his eyes off of it.
“Captain?” Spock asks, and Kirk realizes a second too late that they’ve been talking all this time, and Kirk’s just been staring at the holos of his dad like an idiot.
“Right, yeah,” he says, because mostly when Spock asks him to join in on a conversation, he wants Kirk to find new and exciting ways of saying Actually, Spock’s right and you’re wrong because he’s a genius and you’re not.
From the tiny furrow of Spock’s eyebrows, however, he can tell that this time actually wasn’t one of those times.
“The Captain is allergic to potatoes, as well as a number of other medicines, florae, venoms and their subsequent anti-venoms,” Spock says, stiffly taking a seat when Kirk’s mom gestures for him to do so.
Little Jim’s mom (and he’s really gonna have to get over his reluctance to call her ‘Winona’ here because it’s going to explode his brain soon) laughs, surprised.
“You don’t say?” she says as Little Jim runs into the dining room and hops into the seat across from Spock. “So’s Jim. Isn’t that a coincidence? Well, at least about the potatoes. I’ve never had to give Jimmy an anti-venom, and Lord willing, I never will.”
“Food’s ready,” Little Jim says happily, tucking his hands safely underneath his thighs and pinning his mom with an innocent grin.
She rolls her eyes at him and disappears into the kitchen. Little Jim waits a few seconds before turning to eye Spock intently.
“Are you the same type of species as Spock?” he asks seriously.
Spock inclines his head.
“I am Vulcan,” he says as the other-Mom comes in holding a steaming tray heaped with food.
Kirk’s forgotten just how much he’s missed his mom’s programming skills; his mouth waters when he catches the first whiff of her meat loaf.
“I hope you guys don’t mind meat loaf,” she says a little sheepishly, setting the tray down and picking up a knife. “Jimmy loves it.”
Kirk just smiles, hoping he doesn’t look too eager and accepts his plate graciously.
“See, he’s an alien too Mom,” Little Jim says when she hands him a plate. “The same kind as Spock.”
“You don’t say,” Winona answers, patiently.
“Yup.”
“So, what brings you two to Iowa?” she asks, taking a small sip from her glass.
“Technical difficulties,” Kirk answers easily. “We just got a little turned around earlier.”
Winona nods thoughtfully. Spock has a look on his face that means he’s about to say something Vulcan-y.
“I see no logical reason why your spatial orientation relative to mine-or anyone else’s for that matter-at least when concerned with which direction you may be facing, would be of any value to the conversation, Captain.”
Kirk tries real hard not to roll his eyes at that; he turns an apologetic glance to Winona, but before he can say a word Little Jim speaks up.
“It’s a human expression, sir,” he says. “Spock calls them ‘idioms’.”
Spock blinks at him.
“I see.”
Kirk kind of wants to laugh, but refrains from doing so at the look Winona’s sending her son. He turns to Spock, but he’s looking down at his plate with a slightly disapproving tilt to his eyebrows, and he remembers.
“Oh, wow, I’m sorry Ma’am,” he starts, frowning. “My First Officer’s a vegetarian.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says emphatically, standing abruptly. “I had no idea. Let me go make you something in the replicator really quick. I’ll be right back.”
“I should have mentioned it earlier,” Kirk says, pursing his lips.
Spock shakes his head.
“It is understandable, given the circumstances,” he answers.
“What’s it like on your planet?” Little Jim asks suddenly. “Spock doesn’t like to talk about it.”
Spock clears his throat, the most emotional reaction anyone can get out of him (short of getting strangled on the bridge, that is). Kirk knows he’s remembering the planet he grew up on, and wonders if he’s picturing the deadly beauty of high noon across the desert landscape Kirk himself has so often wondered about or the black nothingness that eventually engulfed the planet.
“Vulcan was-is…” but he seems unable to continue.
“It’s beautiful,” Kirk finishes, and Spock looks up sharply, his expression for once unreadable. And ok, yeah, he’s never been there before, but he can tell that right now, Little Jim isn’t looking for the Vulcan answer. “It’s real hot there, because it’s closer to the sun than Earth, but its winter phase is really nice, right Spock?”
Spock takes a moment to just look at him.
“The season you refer to as ‘winter’ on Vulcan rarely plummets below 298.15 kelvin,” Spock says after a couple of seconds. Kirk smiles because, yeah, he totally just rendered Spock speechless.
“There you go kid,” Kirk says, turning back to little Jim, who’s listening to them raptly. “That’s Vulcan-speak for 67 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s like spring weather.”
Little Jim beams.
“I love spring,” he says and Kirk wants to say well, yeah, I know you do. “I’ll go to Vulcan someday; Spock promised.”
“Did he?” Spock asks, suddenly intrigued. He picks up his glass of water and watches Little Jim over the rim.
Little Jim nods emphatically.
“Yeah. We’re t’hy’la,” he says proudly. “Spock says that means when we’re old enough, I get to go to his home planet with him, at least for a little while.”
Kirk coughs loudly, nearly choking on the food he’s just shoveled into his mouth. He thinks that if Spock had not been Vulcan and Spock, he would have spit water clear across the table. As it is, his eyebrows rise up to nearly his hairline, and he very, very slowly sets his glass down again.
“You are t’hy’la,” Spock repeats slowly, very deliberately not meeting Kirk’s gaze.
Little Jim nods again, smiling like a loon (which, Kirk has just decided, he certainly must be if he believes that).
“Yup.”
Just then, Other-universe Winona comes back, bringing the rich smell of soup along with her. She smiles apologetically and places the steaming bowl in front of Spock.
“I’m so sorry,” she says again. “I hope you don’t mind soup.”
Spock watches her for a while, unblinking, before finally finding his voice again.
“It will suffice,” he says.
***
Later, after Mrs. Winona Kirk has shown them to the only spare bedroom and Spock has stopped gawking in that way that only Kirk can ever really see, Kirk starts pacing the length of the only available floor space: the three feet or so separating Kirk and Spock’s single beds.
“So. Options, Spock,” he finally prompts after realizing Spock still seems a little distracted.
At least it gets Spock to turn his quiet sulking into a more normal thoughtfulness (Spock would call it a ‘contemplative phase,’ but Kirk knows him well enough to call sulking sulking). He stands, hands behind his back, and raises an eyebrow.
“I believe I can replicate the circumstances of our sudden departure,” he says.
“Great,” Kirk says. He flops onto his bed with a relieved sigh. “How?”
“We would need to create a series of gamma ray bursts that would equal the relative instability and energy generated by a solar flare.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
Kirk frowns and sits up again, wishing he knew more about the unknown so they would never have to get into messes like this in the first place.
“The probability of death or serious short-term or long-term injuries is five to one,” Spock answers.
“Those are some great odds,” Kirk sighs.
“As you would say, I would not bet on them.”
Kirk manages a weak smile at that before running a hand through his hair.
“So, okay: once we do that, how do we get back to our universe?”
Spock frowns-well, the corners of his lip twitches ever so slightly, but really, that might as well be a pout on him.
“That I do not know.”
“What?” Kirk asks, lowering his voice significantly in case they’re overheard. “How can you not know? You know everything!”
“While I appreciate your acceptance of my superior knowledge and-”
“Spock.”
Very quietly, Kirk thinks he hears Spock sigh. He imagines that Spock wants to run a hand through his hair the way Jim had done not moments before.
“There is no logical reason why we would have been transported to this universe accidentally, given the present variables,” he finally says.
“Wait,” Kirk says, something dark and ugly forming in the pit of his stomach. “Are you saying that-that-”
And he can’t finish; fuck, he can’t even get his mind to wrap around the concept. What Spock is suggesting-
“Sabotage would have been most likely,” Spock says when Kirk can’t get the words out.
“No,” he answers. “No, Spock. No one on my ship would ever willingly do this to us, do you hear me? No one.”
“Captain-”
“Dammit Spock, I don’t want to hear you spout numbers and percentiles at me, ok? I don’t care how likely it is; no one on my ship could have done this.”
Spock is silent for a while; Jim presumes he’s formulating his next argument. He prepares to ignore it completely.
“I believe you are correct,” he finally says slowly, taking a seat on the edge of his own bed across from Kirk. “It would be most probable that there are unknown variables we have not taken into account. Until then, it would be unwise to jump to conclusions. Forgive me.”
Jim is taken aback.
“Oh,” he answers, still unsure if Spock’s just setting him up. “Okay then. So. What should we do?”
Spock looks down at the neatly folded linens in place of an answer; it’s one of the only ways Kirk knows how to tell that Spock’s got absolutely no idea. It comes as no surprise that his First Officer’s hesitation sends dread curling through Kirk; after all, how many times has he relied on Spock to miraculously save him? If Spock has no idea what they should do, it means they’re really fucked.
“I would suggest we replenish our energy for now,” he finally says. Kirk can tell that even Spock knows how pointless his suggestion is. “Perhaps our situation will become clearer with meditation.”
“Right,” Kirk says, his voice sounding just a little hollow.
He lies back down, pillowing his head on his arms.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Spock gather himself on top of the bed into a meditative pose. Kirk closes his eyes, hoping it’ll help him fall asleep.
It’s silent.
“I find it strange that our counterparts should be so close in this universe,” Spock says suddenly.
It’s strange enough that Kirk sits upright again, propping himself up on his elbows to frown at Spock, who’s never been one to break his meditation cycle for idle conversation.
“You think so?” he asks, watching Spock’s prone form, still sitting cross-legged on his bed with his eyes shut. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t be. We’re close.”
Spock’s eyes open abruptly, and if Kirk didn’t know any better, he would say that a slight greenish tinge appears around the tips of his ears.
“Your eight-year-old counterpart referred to the relationship between him and my own counterpart as-”
“Woah, wait,” Kirk says, waving one hand quickly and blushing bright and high on the tops of his cheeks. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to suggest that-that we-"
He stops himself and looks away, feeling the burn of Spock’s piercing gaze through the side of his face. Because yeah, he can admit to himself-in the safety of his mind if nowhere else-that he’s got a monstrous thing for his First Officer, and listening to other-universe versions of himself (or even other-universe Spocks, for that matter) go on about epic friendships and t’hy’la doesn’t really help his situation.
“I would rather not speak of it,” Spock says quietly, and Kirk nods, ignoring the fact that Spock was the one who brought it all up in the first place.
“We should…just go to sleep then.”
“That would be advisable.”
Jim risks a glance back towards Spock, who sits for a few more seconds before getting up and crawling under his sheets to lie flat on his back. Kirk shifts so that his back is facing his First Officer, watching as the lights dim around him.
“Goodnight Spock,” he says.
“Sleep well, Jim,” Spock answers quietly.
It takes an eternity before he finally falls asleep; most of that time he spends listening to Spock’s even breathing, remembering that Vulcan’s don’t need as much sleep as humans.
The thought doesn’t help him get to sleep.