Fic Post: Life, The Universe, and Everything
Title: Life, The Universe, and Everything
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,352
Summary: Spock sees Jim's tattoo as highly illogical. Jim sees it as the most logical thing in the world. Written for this prompt over at the st_xi_kink_meme.
Author's Notes: Merry Christmas and happy holidays :]
“I’m not getting it removed.”
Spock was certain Jim was asleep and the other’s voice startled him in the darkness of their bedroom. Raising the lights, he looked away from where his hand rest on Jim’s arm, meeting his eyes. An eyebrow slid up his forehead, arched in that delicate, “I have not a clue what you’re talking about” way.
“Don’t pull that bullshit with me,” Jim smirked, narrowing his eyes accusingly at Spock’s eyebrow, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “You know damn well I can feel you creeping around in my head even when I’m asleep.”
Jim wiggled his hand, the smooth tendons on his forearm twitching, and Spock was reluctant to pull away. Etched on the back of Jim’s left wrist were the faded lines of a crudely drawn Command insignia, small enough to be covered by the pad of Spock’s thumb. To others, it went virtually unnoticed, covered by the sleeve of his uniform, but his partner noticed everything.
He had been seventeen when he got his first and only tattoo. Spock had heard the story of its origins many times before, done in a bar bathroom with a safety pin, pen ink and a couple lines to numb the pain. Back then, it was a tribute to all those who had abandoned him, each stab of the pin taking him farther and farther from the anger that threatened to consume him. Now, nearing thirty, the lines and anger had long faded, leaving little flecks across his heart and his hand. It was hardly recognizable these days, yet Jim refused to get it removed.
“I still do not understand why you have chosen to keep this,” Spock spoke, sliding his thumb over the marking once more. Why keep something representative of so much pain?
Jim shrugged once, pulling his hand from beneath Spock’s to inspect it for himself. “It’s a reminder, Spock. Makes sure I never become that person again.”
“Your determination is surely enough to insure that, Jim,” Spock shook his head.
The lines around Jim’s tired eyes softened and he gently slid his fingers over Spock’s. “You’re right. Let’s call it a war trophy then.”
Spock’s brow slid up his forehead once more, his lips pursing together into a thin line. “That reasoning is even more illogical than the first one.”
“Spock, someday, you’ll stop being surprised by what an illogical creature I am,” Jim leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “But, until then, how about we just try and get some sleep? Shore leave tomorrow.”
“Which I am not participating in,” said Spock. Jim knew very well of his intentions to remain on board and catch up on work in the molecular biology lab.
“Yes, but I am. It’s not a long shore leave, but I’ve got things I need to take care of, so I’m heading down bright and early. Which means that while your superior Vulcan physiology means you’re well rested on three hours of sleep, I need a bit more than that.”
Jim nuzzled his nose against Spock’s for a moment before pressing their lips together. “Goodnight, Spock.”
Spock watched as Jim lay back down in bed, his head nestling perfectly against his side. With his partner’s warm breath tickling his side, he picked up a PADD, getting a head start on his work.
---
By the time Spock returned from the lab, Jim had already returned, showered, and fallen asleep. He lay just as he had the night before, coiled on his side in a feline way. For a moment, Spock was tempted to stroke his fingers through the other’s hair, curious as to whether he would purr or not.
Instead, he settled on stroking Jim’s fingers with his own. They drift over the back of his hand, down to Jim’s wrist to trace over his tattoo. Instead of the smooth skin of Jim’s mark, Spock found the rough scratch of gauze and medical tape; rudimentary tools rarely used in a medical procedure these days. It covered his wrist, wrapping around its entirety, little flecks of red and black soaked through the pad.
How very Jim; get injured on shore leave and attempt to sneak it by Spock.
“Jim,” Spock rest his hand on the other’s shoulder, giving it a quick shake. “Jim, wake up.”
“ ‘m sleeping,” Jim groaned, tugging the pillow over his head.
“Yes, that is why I am attempting to wake you,” Spock took Jim’s hand gently in his own. “You have injured yourself.”
The pillow slid off of Jim’s head, smile stretching across his face. “Oh,” he wiggled his hand, watching the tape crease with each move. “You found that, huh?”
“What happened? Who is responsible for this?” Spock held Jim’s hand delicately in his own, attempting to pull back the gauze. There was a fire in his eyes that Jim understood all too well; whoever was responsible for this would suffer far worse.
“Spock, calm down,” Jim laughed, shaking his head. He pulled his hand back and pushed himself up to sit beside his partner. “No one hurt me, I promise. I just got some work done.”
“What kind of work?”
Jim slowly pulled the tape from his wrist and carefully peeled back the gauze, tossing both to the floor. Where the faded tattoo had once been, now sat clear, crisp lines. The skin of Jim’s wrist was still puffy and reddened, but Spock could make out some golden shading within the outline. On first glance, it appeared to be a simply restoration, but upon closer inspection, Spock noticed a new addition; tucked between the two bottom points, just under the arch, was “forty-two”. Spock didn’t need their bond to convey his confusion to Jim.
Beside him, his partner simply smiled. “Do you know what forty-two stands for, Spock?”
Spock stiffened, lines of regret settling across his forehead. “It was the stardate I left you on Delta Vega…”
Jim’s face scrunched into a small scowl. Apparently, he had forgotten about that part. “Oh, right. Well, besides that.”
He shook his head once, attempting to sort through the vast amounts of knowledge nestled neatly in his brain. Somewhere, in the farthest corners, the number sounded familiar, but he simply could not place his finger upon it. “Refresh my memory, please.”
“Okay,” Jim nodded once, sitting up just a little straighter in bed. “I knew you hated that thing, so I decided to get it cleaned up a little. And, I dunno, I thought about something while I was there.”
He rubbed his palms together for a moment before resting his hands on his knees. “When I was really young, I found one of my dad’s journals up in the attic. A real one, too! Paper and ink and everything!”
Spock’s lips twitched at the excitement in Jim’s voice. He knew all too well of Jim’s passion for the written word. How amazing it must have felt to realize where he inherited such a love.
“Anyway, there was this one entry he wrote about my mom, right before he proposed to her,” Jim sighed softly and a look of utter peace smoothed the tired lines of his face. “ ‘She’s the One. Undoubtedly, unequivocally, unabashedly the One. She’s the answer I’ve been searching for since the moment I could think; of life, of the universe, and of everything. She’s my forty-two’ ”
His eyes slid shut, momentarily lost in the catacombs of his memories. “All of this comes back to me as I’m sitting there. And, I dunno, maybe you can call it an epiphany, but something hit me.”
Once more, Jim’s eyes slid open, meeting Spock’s with more certainty than he had ever seen before. “All of that is exactly how I feel about you. Every last bit of it.”
Spock’s heart fluttered against his side, a small smile forming over his lips. He slid his hand out, curling it around the back of Jim’s in a firm grip. Jim lift their hand, pressing his lips to the back of Spock’s hand.
“You're my forty-two.”
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,352
Summary: Spock sees Jim's tattoo as highly illogical. Jim sees it as the most logical thing in the world. Written for this prompt over at the st_xi_kink_meme.
Author's Notes: Merry Christmas and happy holidays :]
“I’m not getting it removed.”
Spock was certain Jim was asleep and the other’s voice startled him in the darkness of their bedroom. Raising the lights, he looked away from where his hand rest on Jim’s arm, meeting his eyes. An eyebrow slid up his forehead, arched in that delicate, “I have not a clue what you’re talking about” way.
“Don’t pull that bullshit with me,” Jim smirked, narrowing his eyes accusingly at Spock’s eyebrow, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “You know damn well I can feel you creeping around in my head even when I’m asleep.”
Jim wiggled his hand, the smooth tendons on his forearm twitching, and Spock was reluctant to pull away. Etched on the back of Jim’s left wrist were the faded lines of a crudely drawn Command insignia, small enough to be covered by the pad of Spock’s thumb. To others, it went virtually unnoticed, covered by the sleeve of his uniform, but his partner noticed everything.
He had been seventeen when he got his first and only tattoo. Spock had heard the story of its origins many times before, done in a bar bathroom with a safety pin, pen ink and a couple lines to numb the pain. Back then, it was a tribute to all those who had abandoned him, each stab of the pin taking him farther and farther from the anger that threatened to consume him. Now, nearing thirty, the lines and anger had long faded, leaving little flecks across his heart and his hand. It was hardly recognizable these days, yet Jim refused to get it removed.
“I still do not understand why you have chosen to keep this,” Spock spoke, sliding his thumb over the marking once more. Why keep something representative of so much pain?
Jim shrugged once, pulling his hand from beneath Spock’s to inspect it for himself. “It’s a reminder, Spock. Makes sure I never become that person again.”
“Your determination is surely enough to insure that, Jim,” Spock shook his head.
The lines around Jim’s tired eyes softened and he gently slid his fingers over Spock’s. “You’re right. Let’s call it a war trophy then.”
Spock’s brow slid up his forehead once more, his lips pursing together into a thin line. “That reasoning is even more illogical than the first one.”
“Spock, someday, you’ll stop being surprised by what an illogical creature I am,” Jim leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “But, until then, how about we just try and get some sleep? Shore leave tomorrow.”
“Which I am not participating in,” said Spock. Jim knew very well of his intentions to remain on board and catch up on work in the molecular biology lab.
“Yes, but I am. It’s not a long shore leave, but I’ve got things I need to take care of, so I’m heading down bright and early. Which means that while your superior Vulcan physiology means you’re well rested on three hours of sleep, I need a bit more than that.”
Jim nuzzled his nose against Spock’s for a moment before pressing their lips together. “Goodnight, Spock.”
Spock watched as Jim lay back down in bed, his head nestling perfectly against his side. With his partner’s warm breath tickling his side, he picked up a PADD, getting a head start on his work.
---
By the time Spock returned from the lab, Jim had already returned, showered, and fallen asleep. He lay just as he had the night before, coiled on his side in a feline way. For a moment, Spock was tempted to stroke his fingers through the other’s hair, curious as to whether he would purr or not.
Instead, he settled on stroking Jim’s fingers with his own. They drift over the back of his hand, down to Jim’s wrist to trace over his tattoo. Instead of the smooth skin of Jim’s mark, Spock found the rough scratch of gauze and medical tape; rudimentary tools rarely used in a medical procedure these days. It covered his wrist, wrapping around its entirety, little flecks of red and black soaked through the pad.
How very Jim; get injured on shore leave and attempt to sneak it by Spock.
“Jim,” Spock rest his hand on the other’s shoulder, giving it a quick shake. “Jim, wake up.”
“ ‘m sleeping,” Jim groaned, tugging the pillow over his head.
“Yes, that is why I am attempting to wake you,” Spock took Jim’s hand gently in his own. “You have injured yourself.”
The pillow slid off of Jim’s head, smile stretching across his face. “Oh,” he wiggled his hand, watching the tape crease with each move. “You found that, huh?”
“What happened? Who is responsible for this?” Spock held Jim’s hand delicately in his own, attempting to pull back the gauze. There was a fire in his eyes that Jim understood all too well; whoever was responsible for this would suffer far worse.
“Spock, calm down,” Jim laughed, shaking his head. He pulled his hand back and pushed himself up to sit beside his partner. “No one hurt me, I promise. I just got some work done.”
“What kind of work?”
Jim slowly pulled the tape from his wrist and carefully peeled back the gauze, tossing both to the floor. Where the faded tattoo had once been, now sat clear, crisp lines. The skin of Jim’s wrist was still puffy and reddened, but Spock could make out some golden shading within the outline. On first glance, it appeared to be a simply restoration, but upon closer inspection, Spock noticed a new addition; tucked between the two bottom points, just under the arch, was “forty-two”. Spock didn’t need their bond to convey his confusion to Jim.
Beside him, his partner simply smiled. “Do you know what forty-two stands for, Spock?”
Spock stiffened, lines of regret settling across his forehead. “It was the stardate I left you on Delta Vega…”
Jim’s face scrunched into a small scowl. Apparently, he had forgotten about that part. “Oh, right. Well, besides that.”
He shook his head once, attempting to sort through the vast amounts of knowledge nestled neatly in his brain. Somewhere, in the farthest corners, the number sounded familiar, but he simply could not place his finger upon it. “Refresh my memory, please.”
“Okay,” Jim nodded once, sitting up just a little straighter in bed. “I knew you hated that thing, so I decided to get it cleaned up a little. And, I dunno, I thought about something while I was there.”
He rubbed his palms together for a moment before resting his hands on his knees. “When I was really young, I found one of my dad’s journals up in the attic. A real one, too! Paper and ink and everything!”
Spock’s lips twitched at the excitement in Jim’s voice. He knew all too well of Jim’s passion for the written word. How amazing it must have felt to realize where he inherited such a love.
“Anyway, there was this one entry he wrote about my mom, right before he proposed to her,” Jim sighed softly and a look of utter peace smoothed the tired lines of his face. “ ‘She’s the One. Undoubtedly, unequivocally, unabashedly the One. She’s the answer I’ve been searching for since the moment I could think; of life, of the universe, and of everything. She’s my forty-two’ ”
His eyes slid shut, momentarily lost in the catacombs of his memories. “All of this comes back to me as I’m sitting there. And, I dunno, maybe you can call it an epiphany, but something hit me.”
Once more, Jim’s eyes slid open, meeting Spock’s with more certainty than he had ever seen before. “All of that is exactly how I feel about you. Every last bit of it.”
Spock’s heart fluttered against his side, a small smile forming over his lips. He slid his hand out, curling it around the back of Jim’s in a firm grip. Jim lift their hand, pressing his lips to the back of Spock’s hand.
“You're my forty-two.”