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Jim Kirk and Spock were trapped on a planet for three months as part of what the brass called “survival training and leadership bonding” but what everyone else called hazing. It was meant to bring them closer together as a command team, and give them some hands-on experience with roughing it. Can’t send someone out to do something you haven’t done yourself. Jim didn’t really care about the reasoning, he just knew he was stuck here with nothing to do and no one to talk to except Spock who hated him. Spock who had tried to kill him. Spock who would probably always associate the name Kirk with his mother’s death.
Fuck.
It was hot, and boring. Once they sorted the basic necessities of food water shelter they had hours to fill each day. After a week of getting nothing but “yes captain” or “no captain” from Spock in that prissy little voice of his, Jim started carving a chess set. That at least was something they could do that didn’t require talking, or arguing, or watching the grass grow.
The days got easier after that.
Spock was good at chess. Really good. Grandmaster kind of good. Playing him was like playing a computer. It was a great challenge. The first time Jim beat him Spock walked away without a word. Two hours later he returned, reset the board, and told Jim “show me what you did,” in a steady, emotionless voice.
So Jim did. He showed him his style, his flare. He showed Spock that a predictable choice could be his downfall.
Spock listened. His forehead creased and his mouth was a straight line. His breathing always steady. His eyes intent on Jim and his hands on the pieces.
Jim wondered if perhaps they were becoming friends.
A month into their training exercise, Jim woke up from a dream about Spock tearing off his yellow shirt and licking his chest with his scratchy Vulcan tongue. He glanced over to where Spock was still sound asleep, then snuck out to the creek.
It had been a long time. He hadn’t even masturbated since they had arrived, and that was probably the longest he had gone since puberty. Back home he slept with people regularly: friends with benefits, casual hookups, Bones or Gaia on occasion. Maybe it was a normal response to a lack of getting off. Maybe he wasn’t attracted to Spock.
Maybe he wasn’t falling for him.
A week later Spock they were caught in a rainstorm and they had to help each other peel off their soaking clothes. Jim noticed Spock staring at his chest and tried not to blush. To cover his fluttering heart, he grinned his signature Jim Kirk cocky grin and asked if Spock liked what he saw.
“Very much, Jim,” Spock said, then raised his eyebrow. “Do you like what you see?” Jim allowed himself to stare then, and really take in Spock’s naked body. His chest was covered in hair, and his nipples were small and hard from the rainstorm. His hair was wet and the water dripped down his body in a way that made Jim want to lick it off.
Deciding there was no point in pretending anymore, Jim kissed him, then chased those raindrops with his tongue.
Later, Jim would look back on that time during survival training as one of the happiest times in his life, and as the calm before the storm.
He and Spock explored the wilds of nature and each other. They played chess. They talked. When Starfleet returned for them, they were as bonded as a captain and his first officer could be. They returned home to the Enterprise feeling well rested and ready to face new worlds and new civilizations.
“Jim you had better sit down for this,” Bones told him, and Jim’s eyes darted to where Spock was sitting on a bed in sickbay, his face worried. Jim’s first thought was that he was dying, or that somehow they were being kicked out for breaking fraternization rules.
Bones seemed to read his mind, and put a hand on his shoulder. “No one is dying. Yall have got options. It’s just a bit of a surprise, I think.”
“What? Spock?” Jim turned to him, and Spock gestured for Jim to sit. His heart raced, and he had no idea what to expect.
“There isn't an easy way to tell you this,” Bones said, “but Spock is pregnant.”
“What?” Jim laughed, then saw the look on Spock’s face. “What!?”
“I didn’t know it was possible.”
“Spock,” McCoy said, his voice a warning.
“I thought I would be spared this. Due to my hybrid biology.”
“What!” Jim was up now, pacing the room. He couldn’t look at Spock or McCoy, he couldn’t do anything but try to contain his racing thoughts.
“Doctor…” Spock looked to McCoy, who grumbled, but then began an in depth answer.
“With the destruction of Vulcan we began to see some latent biological processes begin in all Vulcan sexes. It seems that they are all capable of carrying young, if the conditions call for it.”
“I didn’t know, Jim,” Spock said, as close to pleading as Jim had ever heard him. “I thought I was too human.”
“A baby?” Jim said, sitting down beside Spock and feeling dizzy. “What are we going to do with a baby?”
“Doctor McCoy has explained my options,” Spock said, his voice higher than usual. “I may…” Spock glanced at McCoy, who nodded, “I may wish to terminate the pregnancy.”
“Oh.” Jim moved closer to Spock, and he couldn’t deny his relief. He didn’t want a baby. Didn’t want a family. He and Spock hadn’t even decided if they were officially a couple yet! An abortion felt right, and logical. But… glancing at Spock’s face, it was clear it was more complicated than that. “Is that what you want Spock?”
“I do not know.” And then, shocking them all, Spock burst into tears.
After they got Spock settled and calm, McCoy took Jim for a drink, and explained a few more things to him.
“It’s not like a human pregnancy, Jim,” he said. “It’s not even like a regular Vulcan pregnancy. I made some calls to new Vulcan, and I’ll tell you it was hell getting details out of those people.” He took a long sip of his drink. “It lasts three years. His hormones are already going haywire, and by the time he gets about six months in he’ll basically be incapacitated for a year, maybe two. After that he should have a few months of feeling pretty good, and then we’ll have to schedule the birth. I guess they can come out the normal way, but the doctors on New Vulcan seemed to think it was ‘not optimal’ for baby or parent.”
“Holy shit,” Jim said, holding his cool glass to his forehead. “How is this real? How didn’t I hear about it?”
“We have examples of it in nature, spontaneous sex changes in times of need. And it’s only been what, a year? None of the babies conceived this way have been born yet.”
“What is he going to do?” Jim whispered. “Did he tell you?”
“Not my place to tell you, Jim.” McCoy slapped his back and squeezed his shoulder. “I think you and Spock need to have a long talk in the morning. He’s got a few weeks to make the decision.”
Jim put his head in his hands and groaned.
From his reputation, Jim knew people expected that he had been through this before. The great playboy Jim Kirk? Surely there’d been a few pregnancy scares. Surely he’d taken a girl or two to get an abortion. Surely he knew what to do.
But, the truth was, his reputation wasn’t his reality. The girls he had taken to get abortions had been his friends. When he slept with someone, he was usually meticulous about protection.
Until now.
He had known that both of them had had their standard sti screenings before the trip. He had assumed, possibly stupidly, that Spock having a cock meant he couldn’t get pregnant. He had never dreamed of something like this, something so alien. It was easy to forget sometimes that his first officer and lover wasn’t just an odd human. Jim vowed that would never make that mistake again.
Jim sat beside Spock, watching him closely. To others, he might seem emotionless, but Jim knew him well enough to see his distress.
“What do you want, Spock?” he said gently.
“I have never wanted to be a parent,” Spock admitted. “My relationship with my own parents has been strained.” Thinking of Sarek, Jim nodded in understanding. “I also believed my nature as a hybrid meant I was sterile. I suppose this unusual process changed that.”
“But what do you want now, Spock?”
“My desires in this area are complex. I do not wish to be pregnant. Did Doctor McCoy explain it to you?” Spock looked at Jim in the eyes for the first time since he had learned of the pregnancy. He nodded. “I would need to resign from Starfleet. Rather selfishly, I am concerned about what such a strain would do to our newfound connection with one another. But, however imperfect a vessel I may be, I am part of an endangered species. The needs of the many are more important.” Once again, Jim stared at Spock in shock as he began to cry. “Tell me what to do, Jim.”
“We need to talk to your counterpart,” Jim said with more decisiveness than he felt. “Old Spock should have some advice for us.” And then, he took Spock into his arms, and did his best to soothe him.
They both took some leave, and then they took the long way to New Vulcan. Jim tried to see it as a way to connect, to bring back some of that feeling from their training. And they did have a nice time together, without Starfleet and duty hovering over them. Despite that, the specter of the pregnancy haunted their every interaction. Jim couldn’t help but see how outwardly emotional Spock was, or how sick he was. From McCoy’s description, Jim knew a bit of what to expect, but seeing Spock crying, laughing, and throwing up left him shaken.
“What do you want, Jim?” Spock asked him one night as they watched the stars from the transport’s observation deck. “We have spoken much about my feelings, but very little on yours.”
“My feelings don’t matter in this,” Jim said quickly, looking away.
“You will be just as much the child’s father as me. If I remain pregnant we will either have to make the choice together to find a new family for the child, or raise it. You would need to be a part of either decision.”
Jim didn’t know what to say, or do. He didn’t want a baby. His preference was that they go back in time and make it so Spock was never pregnant, so they never had these terrible choices to agonize over. He wanted to go back to the blissful feeling of looking at Spock across the bridge and knowing they were entirely on the same page, and that at the end of their shift they would get lost in each other. He wanted all this to be a dream.
“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Jim said at last. “I don’t feel like I have any right to tell you want to do with your body. If you want to terminate, or keep it, that’s entirely your choice.”
“But if I keep it, will you raise it with me?”
Jim stood up, probably too quickly, surprising everyone around them. “I don’t know,” he blurted out before running away like a coward. “I don’t know!”
Things were tense between them for the rest of the trip, and Jim couldn’t help but feel like he had failed a test. A good partner, a good potential father would have jumped at the chance to pledge his devotion, his good intent to raise the baby. His own father would have done that, Jim thought. He wouldn’t have had a question in his mind over the right thing to do.
But Jim was not his father, as life proved to him over and over again. He would always make different, often worse choices than George Kirk. He would never be able to live up to him.
Old Spock was there to greet them when they arrived on New Vulcan, and Jim breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of him. He was so unshakable, so in control. If anyone could solve this it was him.
He led them to his small house near the outskirts of town, and made them comfortable in his living room. He served them tea, lit some candles, then sat beside Spock. The two of them seemed to share a look—probably some telepathic thing Jim couldn’t begin to hope to understand—and then old Spock took young Spock’s hands.
The moment seemed to stretch for ages. Jim struggled to sit still, and it took every ounce of his Starfleet training for him to not get up and pace the floor.
Finally, they opened their eyes, and spoke.
“My young friends,” old Spock said to them both, “I understand you stand at a crossroads. You have a difficult choice ahead of you.” Jim watched as his Spock wiped his eyes, and he reached over to grab his hand. “And I’m afraid I just complicate it further. I must tell you if another option available to you, and your potential child.”
Spock was on the edge of his seat, his knuckles white as he squeezed Jim’s hand. “Tell us,” he demanded.
“I have been investigating way to make Vulcan pregnancy more comfortable, particularly for the men. I have been in contact with an alien race called the Fletchurians. They possess a deep knowledge of all things related to reproduction, and have technology that far surpasses anything the Federation has to offer. Some of the men here on new Vulcan will be using some of their less invasive treatments, but they have one that might be perfect for your unique situation.”
“Spit it out,” Jim said, restless.
“It is an external womb. Something far more sophisticated than our incubators. It precisely mimics the conditions of a pregnant body, and with it you can control the amount of nutrients the fetus takes in. The baby could remain safe, here, on New Vulcan, while you continue your work for Starfleet.”
“Yes,” Spock said, immediately. “Yes, I will try it.”
“Wait—what’s the catch?” Jim demanded, feeling wary. “There’s a catch.”
“It has never been used on Vulcans before, or on a hybrid. And, due to the unique telepathic capabilities of such a child, you would need to return regularly to promote that aspect of the child’s growth. Sarek and I could assist with this, as your blood kin, but it would be best if you, both of you, returned at least monthly.”
Ah, there was the catch, Jim thought. He didn’t want this, didn’t want any of it. Not the baby, or the regular visits to Vulcan, and maybe not even a serious relationship with Spock. When they had slept together he had seen it as a bit of fun. A fling. But here they were, getting ready to grow a little telepathic hybrid baby in an experimental external womb.
“That’s what we’ll do then,” Spock said, with more confidence than Jim had heard from him in weeks. “Thank you, Spock.”
The operation to transfer the rapidly dividing cells—the baby, Jim told himself—was simple and easy. Old Spock had brought a team of Fletchurians in to show them how it was done, and later Bones told him there had been a whole crowd of Vulcan doctors watching carefully. Afterwards, he and Spock stood next to the womb that somehow held their baby.
“It doesn’t look like much,” Jim mused, putting his hand on it like the doctors had taught him. They said that somehow the spongy red material was able to transmit touch to the baby. Jim couldn’t even begin to understand how it worked, but Bones had seemed impressed and that was enough for him to trust it.
“It is remarkable,” Spock said, placing his own hand on the device. “My existence was improbable. I too was created with technology. My mother often called me a miracle, and now I understand how she felt.”
“I wish I could have known her,” Jim took his hand off the womb and put it on Spock’s arm. “I’m sorry she’s not here to see this.”
“Yes.” Spock said simply, and they watched the machine that would gestate their child.
“Before you go, I must congratulate you both. I told you once that this was a relationship that would define you both, and I am relieved to see that you have taken that step beyond friendship. My Jim and I…” Old Spock trailed off, his eyes distant, “it took us a little longer. I am glad you have each other.”
“Now wait a minute,” Jim couldn’t help but interrupt. “We haven’t defined anything. We slept together. We have a connection, sure. But defining…”
“Did you not explain this to him?” Old Spock looked shocked, and his Spock gave a little shrug.
“I mentioned it.”
“Mentioned what?!” Jim said, louder than he planned.
“Jim…” his Spock looked at him, and he was calmer than he had seen him in weeks. “There are ways to break it, but as I told you before we returned to Starfleet, we have a bond now. Regardless of what we decide for this pregnancy, we will always be a part of one another.”
“What does that mean!” Jim was on his feet now, pacing. “I thought you meant metaphorically!”
“When have I ever spoken in metaphors?” Spock asked. “I assure you I was quite literal. It does not mean that we need to spend our lives together, but there will, literally, always be a part of me aware of you and your feelings. As a human your sense of this will be more abstract—“
“This is why I’m so drawn to you?” Jim didn’t stop pacing. “How do I know what I feel versus what you feel, or what you’re making me feel?” He shook his head as if trying to shake water out of his ears. “No. I’m Jim Kirk! I don’t do relationships. I don’t do family. I’ll do what I have to to keep this baby growing because I’m not a fucking monster, but romantically? We’re done, Spock.” He spun on his heel and marched out of the room, wondering if he had made the worst choice of his life.
Back in the Enterprise, Jim and Spock adjusted their schedules to work opposite shifts. They were polite, friendly—everything you would want in a command team—but they never touched, and they never laughed together, and they certainly never hung out.
Jim hated it. He hated it more than he had maybe hated anything. He missed Spock. He missed his wry humor and his sassy little smirk and the quick way his mind worked. He missed his touch, and the feel of his hair under Jim’s fingers. Part of him longed to run to Spock and beg for forgiveness, to make things right. But… how could he ever know what was real? Did he miss Spock? Or was it whatever telepathic string now bound them together?
“This is ridiculous," Bones growled at him one night after Spock had practically run from the rec room. “You’re not teenagers! Stop acting like a goddamn infant, Jim, and talk to the man.”
“I don’t do fate, Bones,” Jim said back, miserable. “I make my own choices. From the moment I knew old Spock and his me had had something I knew I wasn’t just going to bow to fate! And now on top of that there’s this link? No thank you.”
“Well, the two of you are going to be stuck in a shuttle next week for a very long time so you had better the fuck figure something out.”
Jim took a pill and slept through the shuttle trip. They took turns at the womb, and by the time the shuttle was ready to take them home Jim felt hollowed out with anxiety for the baby who was still too small to see, even if the womb had been transparent. He spent the return journey catching up on paperwork and wanting to cry.
It got easier. It was never easy, never good, but it was easier. He and Spock could make small talk. They could sit in the shuttle together and not kill each other. They could communicate effectively as a command team.
It was easier, but Jim missed what they had had.
“Just tell him you want to try again,” Bones said after he had joined them on a trip to New Vulcan. “It’s obvious to anyone you both want it. Just talk to him, Jim.”
“It’s not as easy as that,” Jim groaned, “what I want is to date, to flirt and fuck and go out dancing. I don’t want to launch into being husbands and dads and a bonded pair!”
“So tell him that! I swear to god if I have to listen to either one of you whine about this for the next two years I’m going to put myself out an airlock.” He stomped away, leaving Jim wondering at what exactly Spock had said to him.
“We’re doing everything we can but you need to come, quickly,” the doctor’s message said, and within an hour Spock and Jim were back in the shuttle.
“The external womb was a mistake,” Spock said, his face white with fear. “I thought that since I was considering aborting the pregnancy that I would not mind the fetus being an experiment. I thought I would not mind if it did not make it.”
“I’m scared too, Spock.” Jim grasped his hand, and it was the first time they had touched in months. Jim felt as if he was bathed in light, like he had finally come home. “We’re going to do everything we can to protect it.”
“I should have done everything I could to protect it. I was selfish to give up the protection of my body.”
“It could have just as easily been hurt out there in space. And you would have been miserable being trapped on New Vulcan. You and your father would have been at each other’s throats. You made the right choice.” Jim cleared his throat. “We made the right choice.”
“We made the right choice,” Spock repeated.
“No regrets,” Jim said, taking Spock’s other hand. That feeling of home intensified.
“No regrets.” Spock caressed his hand and Jim wondered if he felt it too.
The Fletchurians did some tests on Jim and found a complicated answer to why the baby wasn’t responding well to their usual nutrient delivery system. Something about blood type, and the way his human dna had mixed with Spock’s. After a few tense days, the baby was stable and the doctors told them to go back to their ship.
“I didn’t think I’d get so attached,” Jim mused as he ran his hand over the womb. “We can’t even see the little bean but somehow I love it.”
“I also did not expect such an escalation of emotion.”
Together they touched the womb, and Jim felt something within him shift.
Maybe being tied down wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he should talk to Spock. Maybe he could be a father.
Jim didn’t talk to Spock. They didn’t mention the baby. They did their jobs and stayed distant from one another. They stayed distant, however, when they did see each other there was a distinct warming between them. Spock would touch Jim’s arm in the turbolift. Jim would slap Spock’s back and tell him to mind the shop when he left for away missions. Sometimes, on a good day, Spock would make a dry little joke and raise his eyebrow in that way Jim hadn’t even realized he missed.
Every time they visited the baby Jim felt closer to it, and to Spock. It didn’t make any kind of logical sense—Jim was psi null, there was no way he could feel anything telepathically from the fetus—and besides there was nothing to see. There was just the mechanical womb, humming along in a cool room in the hospital on New Vulcan.
As he grew more fond of the baby, he also felt his feelings for Spock strengthen and bloom. He watched Spock constantly, even when they weren’t on New Vulcan. The way his hands moved over the controls mesmerized him. The way he walked the corridors enchanted him. Bones outright refused to hear anything about it, so Jim had no one to vent to about these blossoming emotions. They took up his whole chest, his whole body, until he thought he might fly away with them.
It all came to a head when their shuttle stalled out and Starfleet told them they’d have to hold their own for two days until a ship could get to them. It wasn’t ideal, but they had heat and plenty of food and water, so they weren’t in any actual danger.
“Two days,” Jim said, fidgeting with his hands, “I’m glad I brought the portable chess set this time.”
They played, and talked, and for the first time since he had learned of the pregnancy Jim felt that unforced connection and happiness that had made the beginning of their romance so memorable. When they grew tired of chess, Jim had the computer project a tv show for them and they settled in to watch. The plastic couch in the shuttle was uncomfortable, but sitting next to Spock felt warm and safe, and it wasn’t long before Jim drifted off to sleep.
When he awoke, his limbs were tangled up with Spock’s and he had never wanted him more. He was surrounded by his scent, his warmth, and an odd intangible feeling that Jim thought of as the bond. He wanted to kiss him.
Spock woke a moment later. He stared into Jim’s eyes, licking his lips and breathing deeply.
“Fuck it,” Jim said, grabbing Spock’s uniform to pull him closer. “I’ve never stopped wanting you.”
“If we do this, it will strengthen the bond we already have,” Spock warned. Jim noticed that his eyes never left Jim’s lips, and his voice was higher pitched than it usually was. “I don’t want you to think I’m manipulating you, or forcing you into something you don’t want.”
“I’d be an idiot not to want you.” Their mouths crashed together hard enough that their teeth clacked, and Jim laughed into Spock’s mouth. “You’re just as eager as me.”
“I advise you to stop speaking and put your mouth to better use.” Spock’s hands were under Jim’s uniform, his lips on his neck.
“I didn’t bring any condoms so I’m not going to fuck you,” he said, gasping at Spock’s hands on him. “Last thing we need is another baby.”
“I thought I told you to remain quiet. Or do you need a more direct order, Captain?” Spock smirked at him. “Shut. Up.”
For once in his life, Jim listened.
Once they were back in the Enterprise, everything felt great. Complicated, but great. He and Spock went back to working the same shifts, and hanging out whenever they had time off. The crew seemed more cheerful, and even Bones begrudgingly congratulated them on working things out.
“I don’t know where this is going,” Jim warned Spock after Bones had left the room. “I’ve never had any kind of relationship that lasted. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“All I ask is that you try,” Spock said.
“I really fucking like you, Spock. And I want to make this work. For you… and, well… for our little bean.”
“You are considering raising the child with me?” Spock practically leapt his feet at that. “You have seemed so sure that you are not ‘father material.’”
“I’m still not sure,” Jim admitted. “I’m scared as hell. But it seems like you’re going to raise the kid whether I want to be involved or not, right?” Spock nodded. “The only thing worse than an absent father is a half-assed one. I will not be a half-assed one. So,” Jim swallowed hard, “that means my options are to be completely absent and never even meet the kid, or be as involved as I can be.”
“I didn’t dare to think…” Spock murmured, looking at Jim through his eyelashes. “I do not know what to say.”
“Do you want that too?” Jim felt suddenly nervous. He had expected Spock to be happy about this.
“I have grown quite attached to what you call ‘our little bean,’ and I have been considering my options for how to raise it and remain in Starfleet. I would welcome a partnership for this.”
“And romantically?” Jim asked. “Do you welcome that too?”
“I am, and always have been, yours, Jim. I have been ‘all in’ from the moment I first kissed you.”
“I think I kissed you first, Mr. Spock.” Jim grinned, leaning towards him.
“Hmmm,” Spock raised that infuriating eyebrow and Jim broke into relieved, nervefilled laughter.
“I’m going to kiss you first now,” he warned, “and then we’re going to make this official.”
Before he could blink, Spock surged forward, pressing his lips to Jim’s. “All in,” he said as Jim caught his breath. “I love you.”
In some ways, the next two years went by in a flash of Starfleet missions and kisses and figuring out exactly how they could be together and still build a life in Starfleet. In other ways, it seemed like those years lasted an eternity. The shuttle journeys to and from New Vulcan felt endless, and with every trip Jim wanted more to actually see and hold their child. Their daughter, as they had learned a few months before she would officially be born from the artificial womb.
“Grace?” He asked Spock while he was brushing his teeth.
“Winona?” Spock countered.
“Amanda?” Spock made a face at that.
“T’Bean?” Jim said to lighten the mood, and Spock actually snorted. They bounced names around constantly, hoping for one that would stick. Jim’s mind refused to think of her as anything other than Bean, which was of course not an appropriate name for an actual real life child!
On their second to last visit before the birth, they were standing beside her and resting their hands on the womb when it came to Jim like a flash of lightning.
“It’s Bea,” he told Spock, “her name is Bea.”
“Bea. S’Chn T’Gai Bea Kirk.”
“Yeah,” Jim said, feeling his eyes water at the surge of emotion he felt over it. “That’s our girl.”
She was born under bright lights with what felt like a million doctors around her, and cameras, and recorders. It was a far cry from the dark cave Spock had been born in, all those years ago. The doctor passed her to Spock immediately, who swaddled her up into his robes to shield her and comfort her with his touch. It was probably only minutes, but it felt like hours before Jim was allowed to take her into his arms and smile at her perfect little face, and her perfect little pointy ears.
“I’m glad she got the ears,” he told Spock.
“And your hair,” Spock said, patting the soft blonde fuzz on her head.
“A perfect mix of us, who would have thought?” Jim marveled. He looked at her little toes, her little fingers, and her little nose. She was perfect, somehow.
“A miracle,” Spock said, echoing the words his own mother had spoken to him. “It is remarkably improbable that she is here, alive and thriving.”
Standing there with his child in his arms, Jim had never felt so scared, or so sure of a choice. He was terrified of all the ways he could mess this up, the ways either of them could, but he also knew without a doubt that he wanted to try. He wanted to try to be a good partner to Spock, and a good dad to Bea. “I never wanted this,” he said to Spock, “I never wanted any of this. But I think I might just be the happiest man on the planet right now.”