A Distant Horizon
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Kirk/Spock, Kirk Prime/Spock, Kirk Prime/Spock Prime
Word Count: ~21,000
Beta: the glorious notboldly50295
Warnings: implied rough sex, rimming
Disclaimer: Under no circumstances am I affiliated with Star Trek or anyone who owns Star Trek. No offense or copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Four men. Two realities. One love. A sequel to “Not Even the Stars.”
A/N: My heartfelt thanks to notboldly50295 who had to listen to me whinge on and on about this monster, and didn't even complain about the noise.
A Distant Horizon
He was an old man now, a man whose hands were gnarled and thick about the knuckles, veins gone ropy and bulging with age. The skin that stretched loose over delicate bones was withered and papery, dry and translucent. He had slowed a great deal over the past few years, time, isolation and guilt aging him as surely as the uncanny disorientation of having found himself thrown back into an alternate timeline where his steps were just off, his sight slightly skewed as if peering at the world through spectacles he’d outgrown. As time comes to all living things, time had come to Spock, but in his side his heart ticked on, and he set himself to righting what he’d made wrong.
He had his own wing in Sarek’s house, his father unwilling during desperate times to relinquish kin in any form he found it. In the rapidly expanding New Vulcan Science Academy, he had his own lab, and his own budget. In the council of elders, he had his own place, and no one made mention of his tendency to smile or frown or shrug if the urge came to him. But he was alone in all things, his adopted name, Selek, spoken in hushed tones. In communities so small, there were no secrets, and thus he stood outside the bounds of the colony’s wasted, cobbled society as the one who had been instrumental in a collective grief so profound that it crippled those who survived the psychic backlash of six billion dead in an instant. The citizens of New Vulcan knew who he was and gave him wide berth.
Spock accepted it as his due.
His old hands moved over the keyboards with a sluggishness that should have frustrated and alarmed him, but he was only patient with his newfound limitations. This formula was not yielding the proper results; there would be a wormhole, yes, but anything sucked into it would spend an excruciating nanosecond being turned inside out.
Spock sat back and rubbed at tired eyes. He grew fatigued much faster, now.
He blinked away gummy blurriness, but not before his distorted vision muddled one flawed formula into another on the screen. Spock sat up straighter, brain prickling. He wrestled with unyielding numbers and rigid formulas for so long his sense of time wavered and drooped like a flower in a drought. But then, long after other scientists had shut down their stations and caught transport to their homes, long after Spock’s stomach had begun to lament audibly its state of emptiness, it was there, full and clear on his computer screen, a Frankenstein string of letters and numbers and symbols suddenly obvious: the way home.
Spock let himself laugh.
Part I
Pairings: Kirk/Spock, Kirk Prime/Spock, Kirk Prime/Spock Prime
Word Count: ~21,000
Beta: the glorious notboldly50295
Warnings: implied rough sex, rimming
Disclaimer: Under no circumstances am I affiliated with Star Trek or anyone who owns Star Trek. No offense or copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Four men. Two realities. One love. A sequel to “Not Even the Stars.”
A/N: My heartfelt thanks to notboldly50295 who had to listen to me whinge on and on about this monster, and didn't even complain about the noise.
A Distant Horizon
He was an old man now, a man whose hands were gnarled and thick about the knuckles, veins gone ropy and bulging with age. The skin that stretched loose over delicate bones was withered and papery, dry and translucent. He had slowed a great deal over the past few years, time, isolation and guilt aging him as surely as the uncanny disorientation of having found himself thrown back into an alternate timeline where his steps were just off, his sight slightly skewed as if peering at the world through spectacles he’d outgrown. As time comes to all living things, time had come to Spock, but in his side his heart ticked on, and he set himself to righting what he’d made wrong.
He had his own wing in Sarek’s house, his father unwilling during desperate times to relinquish kin in any form he found it. In the rapidly expanding New Vulcan Science Academy, he had his own lab, and his own budget. In the council of elders, he had his own place, and no one made mention of his tendency to smile or frown or shrug if the urge came to him. But he was alone in all things, his adopted name, Selek, spoken in hushed tones. In communities so small, there were no secrets, and thus he stood outside the bounds of the colony’s wasted, cobbled society as the one who had been instrumental in a collective grief so profound that it crippled those who survived the psychic backlash of six billion dead in an instant. The citizens of New Vulcan knew who he was and gave him wide berth.
Spock accepted it as his due.
His old hands moved over the keyboards with a sluggishness that should have frustrated and alarmed him, but he was only patient with his newfound limitations. This formula was not yielding the proper results; there would be a wormhole, yes, but anything sucked into it would spend an excruciating nanosecond being turned inside out.
Spock sat back and rubbed at tired eyes. He grew fatigued much faster, now.
He blinked away gummy blurriness, but not before his distorted vision muddled one flawed formula into another on the screen. Spock sat up straighter, brain prickling. He wrestled with unyielding numbers and rigid formulas for so long his sense of time wavered and drooped like a flower in a drought. But then, long after other scientists had shut down their stations and caught transport to their homes, long after Spock’s stomach had begun to lament audibly its state of emptiness, it was there, full and clear on his computer screen, a Frankenstein string of letters and numbers and symbols suddenly obvious: the way home.
Spock let himself laugh.
Part I