Work Text:
There were many things Spock should’ve been doing with his spare time: checking inventory, getting a proper health check up, visiting his family, even just picking up a new skill. It was rare enough to get time off from duty, between invasions, sudden dangers, and whatever issues Kirk brought upon them. Even a layman would know better than to waste a day off.
Instead, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he had agreed to shore leave on Earth for a second time. Even worse, a second time with both Kirk and McCoy. If he’d just wanted to argue all day, he could have become a lawyer.
Spock sighed. For the second time in his life, he sat in front of a small campfire, watching as Kirk gently stirred a pot of beans. It was a small mercy McCoy hadn’t joined them yet, though Spock suspected that was more McCoy’s desire for a single day with low blood pressure than anything else. The only good thing was that it was still summer on Earth. The only thing more wasteful than camping was camping in the winter.
“Just about done,” Kirk announced as he took out a spoonful and sniffed it. He frowned. “I didn’t add enough whiskey.”
Spock raised a brow. He knew he had recognized the bottle Kirk had discretely added to the pot. “Does McCoy know you stole his ‘special ingredient’?”
“Steal’s such a harsh word,” Kirk drawled, smirking as he looked up. Even in the dark, there was a spark in his eye, an almost boyish charm that refused to leave no matter how old he got. “Call it borrowed.”
“Did you actually ask him for it?” Spock asked, already knowing the answer. He picked up a bowl and held it out, as Kirk ladled out dinner.
Kirk shrugged, unrepentant. Spock was certain Kirk didn’t understand the meaning of shame. “When you’re as close as we are, you don’t have to ask.”
“I am certain McCoy would beg to differ.” Spock took a bite and almost dropped the spoon. Unlike McCoy’s surprisingly good beans, Kirk’s were an acquired taste at best. Burnt at the bottom, over whiskey-ed at the top, it was a strange mixture of flavours that had no right to be so close to each other. “I believe you said this meal was a simple one?”
“If you can’t cook, there’s no such thing as a simple dish.” Kirk took a bite and spit it out. Wiping his mouth, he glared at the beans. “Wow, that’s crap.”
Spock wrinkled his nose. “I hope you are not feeding me excrement.”
“That’s not—never mind, Spock.” Kirk took another bite and shuddered. “I didn’t even know whiskey could be ruined.”
“I fear not even I could save this.” Spock stirred his bowl twice, to no avail.
“You can’t cook either.” Kirk sighed and set aside his bowl. “Alright, lesson learned. Next vacation, we’re planning food ahead of time.”
Spock took another bite before giving up. It truly was inedible in the strangest ways. “We are fortunate McCoy will arrive tomorrow. We will not have to stay hungry for long.”
“We won’t be hungry at all, just hung over.” Kirk pulled out the whiskey, pouring into a cup. “Don’t want to waste it, after all.”
Spock narrowed his eyes. The bottle looked new. “How many did you bring?”
“How about this, you guess, and for every wrong answer, you take a shot?” Kirk suggested, holding out the bottle. The dark glass reflected the flickering firelight, making the alcohol look as fathomless as space.
“I know better than to gamble against you,” Spock replied honestly, though he accepted the whisky nonetheless. Whatever else Earth was, it did actually have a decent selection of alcohols. A versatile selection too—McCoy’s beans had given Spock much to think about.
“That’s boring.” Kirk took a sip. “This is your second life. You should take more risks.”
“On the contrary, that is illogical. As I have died once already, I need to take care that it doesn’t happen again.” Spock drank the whisky, letting the rich flavour curve a path through his throat to his belly. Immediately, he felt warmer, despite the cool breeze caressing his skin.
Kirk rolled his eyes. “What a waste. If you’re always cautious, what’s the point of living?”
“Is that why you keep throwing away your life?” Spock pursed his lips, eyes locked on Kirk’s.
“That’s harsh.” The campfire flickered, casting shadows across his face. Kirk wore a ghost of a smile at the barb. It was like seeing déjà vu, like Spock was rewatching the scene from a few weeks ago.
Only back then, McCoy had been with them, the three of them eating a meal of beans. Only back then, Kirk had been talking about his own brush with death.
I knew I wouldn’t die then, Kick had stated, with none of his usual cockiness or swagger. It had been a simple, straightforward truth, as illogical as that had been. “Because you were there.”
For a second, Spock had thought it was the start of another speech about unity, or even an acknowledgement of his skill. Instead, Kirk’s next words had left him cold.
“I’ve always known I’ll die alone.” Kirk had smiled then, an expression utterly devoid of his usual arrogance or flirtations.
The quiet resignation of it all haunted Spock. Something in him had twisted that day, and even now it refused to relax. It had been weeks, and Spock still didn’t know what to do with those words, with this feeling.
Before he could stop himself, he asked, “How did you know?”
“Know what?” Kirk asked, perplexed. He lowered his glass. “That you’re harsh?”
“Not that. A few weeks ago. You said that you will die alone,” Spock asked softly. He rolled his glass between his fingers, trying to organize his jumbled thoughts. “Humans are incapable of foresight.”
Kirk laughed, taking this matter far more lightly than he should have. That wasn’t new. Spock hated it nonetheless. “If I had foresight, we’d have a lot less trouble.”
“Kirk.”
“It’s nothing like that. I thought it was obvious. I mean, look at me.” He gestured at his chest. “You’ve said it yourself—I’m reckless. Our job is full of danger. I’m lucky I made it this far. One day I’ll go too far and wham! Dead.”
Spock tightened his jaw. He didn’t like that response. He didn’t know why. Only that the coil within him tightened. “That’s not an answer. Why will you die alone?”
“I…” For a rare moment, Kirk looked at a loss for words. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I…I don’t know. It was just a feeling. Why, what do you think?”
“I…” Spock curled his fingers into a tight fist as he thought about it. He couldn’t answer. He didn’t know the answer either, he didn’t even know why he was questioning it. For once, he took the easy out. “I will live to be around 200, like my father. All things considered, I will also die alone. You’ll all be dead first.”
Kirk guffawed heartily before taking another swig of his whisky. “The downside to living so long, huh? I’ll make sure to leave some room when you join us.”
Spock fell into silence, not comforted by that thought in the least. And that was without taking into consideration their differing views of the afterlife.
Kirk swirled his drink contemplatively. When the silence grew too long, he clapped his hands and stood up. “Alright, enough doom and gloom. We’re on leave, we’ve got a decent spot, and hell, even if the food’s shitty, the drink’s still good.” He skirted the campfire and plopped down on Spock’s right. Taking another sip, he sighed happily. “What do you say to a drinking contest? Or even those marshmallows you made before?”
Kirk brushed against Spock’s arm, his body warm. Spock suppressed a shiver. Clearing his throat, he pulled out a small, food-making machine and started it. A plump marshmelon popped out. “I have read up on marshmelons and apparently we require chocolate and crackers.”
“S’mores?” Kirk swiped the marshmelon and eyed it fondly. “I haven’t had those since I was a boy.”
He had said that about the camping songs on their last trip too. Spock raised a brow. “It seems camping is something one only does as a child?”
“No, I just haven’t had time. We barely have time for this shore leave, let alone actual vacations.” Kirk picked a random twig out of their kindling and wedged the tasty treat on the other end. “Considering the messes we get into, singing yankee doodle is at the bottom of my list.”
Spock copied his movements before raising the marshmelon over the fire. “I can say, on good authority, half of those situations are due to you.”
“I…can’t really argue that.” Kirk shrugged and bumped his shoulder. “Still, look at you, learning all about Earth. Maybe we’ll make a person out of you yet.”
“I am already a person,” Spock replied simply, rotating the stick slowly to give his marshmallow a perfect burn. Perhaps he had studied up a little too much for this trip. “Our last trip was…enjoyable and I merely wanted to ensure I was well-prepared this time.”
“Well-prepared.” Kirk snorted derisively. “You know this isn’t work, right? You don’t actually need to research.”
Kirk was wrong about many things, and this was just another one of them. Spock shook his head. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to make the most of this trip.”
“You don’t need to study to have fun.” Kirk rolled his eyes. The fire crackled as he tossed in another log with his free hand. The flames jumped, but not enough to burn their sugary treats. “Is the word ‘relax’, ‘vacation’ or even ‘fun’ in your dictionary, or are those ‘human’ things?”
Spock was used to the jab. He also couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. “My dictionary is half human, as you like to remind me.”
“Sometimes, I wonder.” Kirk’s tone was light, teasing. He pulled back his stick, revealing a golden brown marshmelon, and grinned. “Perfect. Pass me some of that chocolate and crackers, I’ll show you how you’re supposed to eat these.”
“Very well.” Spock pressed a few buttons on his food machine. It whirred for a second, updating the order, before spitting out the light brown biscuits. He glanced at the marshmelon—combined with chocolate, it would be a very decadent meal. “It is quite fortunate McCoy isn’t here to see this. He would worry for our health.”
“Bones worries either way.” Kirk squished two crackers around the marshmelon and chocolate, making a strange perversion of a sandwich. “This only means more for us.”
The marshmelon oozed stickily onto Spock’s fingers as he repeated the steps. Irritatingly, the chocolate stayed stubbornly solid despite the heat. An imperfect s’more. He’d have to improve the next one. “It’s sweet.”
“It’s mostly sugar.” Kirk took a sip of whiskey and licked his lips. “This’ll fix it.”
As with all of Kirk’s solutions, it was a quick, simple, and temporary reprieve. The whiskey cut through the sweetness and kept the chewy marshmallow from sticking in Spock’s mouth like taffy. And if he wanted to eat any more s’mores, Spock would have to drink more.
But Spock absolutely refused to get drunk when it was just the two of them. Someone had to stay a voice of reason, and Kirk couldn’t even manage that while sober.
“That reminds me, you won’t get out of singing tomorrow.” Kirk yawned. The moon was high above them and crickets chirped. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves and ruffled Kirk’s short hair. “Even if it’s just row, row, row your boat.”
“I learned all of the required lyrics,” Spock replied evenly, remembering McCoy’s disappointment from their last trip. “Though I must profess, I still do not understand them. What does a boat have to do with a dream?”
“Nothing. It’s a song, Spock. Not everything has to make sense.” Kirk blinked sleepily. The whiskey bottle fell out of his limp fingers with a soft plop. It spilled onto the dirt, staining it. “Some things are better when you don’t understand them.”
“Some things?” Spock scoffed. Everything was better with set parameters and boundaries, with clear-cut definitions and meanings. “Like what?”
“Us,” Kirk mumbled, resting his head on Spock’s arm. “I think that’s what makes it work.”
Before he could respond, Kirk had already fallen asleep. Spock stared down at his golden-brown hair. It was a sight he had seen many times, enough so that his arm remained relaxed despite the intrusion.
If only his mind could do the same. Kirk’s words repeated over and over, bouncing in the corners of his head.
Us.
Somehow, that didn’t make Spock happy. Not the way this night had made him happy, not the way that just doing something as frivolous and inane as bickering over a campfire had made him happy. He hadn’t wanted the night to end.
No, it was deeper than that. He didn’t want any of this to end. Spock had never considered himself selfish, but he wanted it all. When he reached 200, he wanted to still have it all.
For a moment, he understood what his father must have felt upon meeting his mother: a mixture of fear, terror, and paralyzing happiness. The deep joy of making a connection, the painful realization at how temporary it was and how many long years would be spent apart.
And yet, despite it, his father had still chosen to be with her. It was the logical thing to do, he had said once.
Spock’s logical choice snored against his arm. Hesitantly, he wrapped an arm around Kirk. He couldn’t be honest when Kirk was awake; he could barely manage now that he was asleep. “What do you mean ‘us’?”
Kirk didn’t reply, his breathing even. An owl hooted. The wind blew. Spock stared at the fire, realizing what was bothering him. His fingers dug into Kirk’s arm.
“You said you’d die alone,” he muttered, pulling Kirk closer. “That is incorrect. That is illogical. That is a lie.”
Perhaps his own death would be a lonely one. Perhaps Spock would find another—a century was an incredibly long yet oddly short time. But he didn’t need to know that to know what he’d do in another thirty years. Fifty, if they were lucky.
“If there is an us, then I will be there.”
The tight coil relaxed. Spock breathed in deeply. The full moon shone brightly overhead, and he hummed row row row your boat. Maybe tomorrow they could rock climb together.