Eddie gets legitimately upset as the years and decades pass and Steve just keeps getting hotter to him.
Steve at 25 getting fitted with his first pair of glasses causes 26 year old Eddie to miss the bottom step of the stairs in their first apartment.
Steve in his early 30s whose body is starting to show evidence that his metabolism is no longer that of a 20 year old in their prime. He has a soft middle covered in hair and a slightly softer jawline. The image of Steve coming out of the shower to join him in bed makes him want to chew on his own fingers.
Steve at 40 with grey hairs showing up along his temples that unlock an affinity for the Older Man look Eddie had never given much thought before the love of his life was suddenly a DILF.
Steve in his mid 50s with full salt and pepper and wrinkles carving paths around his eyes and in the valleys of his hands. Eddie thinks Steve looks like a damn model, still with that famous Steve Harrington volume to his hair, while Eddie is starting to thin a little at his hairline. (Steve tells him every day how handsome he finds him, but Eddie doesn't think the unfairly attractive get to try and hype him up. He'll take his opinions from the brutally honest, like Erica Sinclair, thank you very much.)
Steve and Eddie getting close to their 70s, their skin is soft and fragile now. Steve has a smattering of age spots that situate themselves happily between his smatterings of moles and freckles and some of Eddie's earliest stick-and-pokes have faded away into distant memory. Eddie loves to kiss every new spot he finds on Steve even when his back protests the reach, and if he forgets which ones he's kissed already from time to time, well, he doesn't mind doing it again. Better safe than sorry.
Steve and Eddie at the end of their lives. They look so different than they did when they started their lives together, both barely over the threshold of their 20s. Some of the details they forget, but luckily they have several scrapbooks chock-full of the best moments of their best years together, so Eddie will never forget how annoyingly beautiful his husband has remained through a lifetime of love.
11th doctor x time lord wife reader, y/n has known the doctor since childhood and have been married for centuries, during her husbands speech to Akhaten, y/n goes unconscious due to the amount of energy. This fic feautures amy and rory instead of clara.
Eleventh Doctor x Time Lord Wife!Reader | Set during "The Rings of Akhaten"
The stars of Akhaten gleamed like shards of memory, suspended in the velvet canopy of space. The wind carried songs of the past—notes strung together by sacrifice and belief—and somewhere, at the heart of it all, stood a man with an ancient soul and wild eyes.
The Doctor.
And not far behind him, wrapped in soft cerulean robes that shimmered faintly with stardust, stood you—his wife, his oldest companion. Y/N, the Time Lady who had once raced him through the copper hills of Gallifrey, who had flown beside him when the sky burned red with war, and who had married him beneath the twin moons of Castallan IV in a ceremony only the stars could understand.
The bond you shared was unshakable. A union of minds, hearts, timelines. Centuries together, through regeneration and ruin. And still, even after all this time, he looked at you like you were new.
But today… today felt different.
You stood near the back of the amphitheatre as the Doctor stepped forward, his long coat trailing like the cloak of a hero worn from battle. Beside you, Amy and Rory exchanged a glance, sensing the swell of something great and terrible rising from the ancient god that slept at the center of this system.
The Old God. The parasite that fed on stories, on devotion. On souls.
And the Doctor… he was about to give it everything.
You knew what he was doing before the words left his mouth. You could feel the energy in the air shift. Something stirred in your chest, something raw and tangled in golden timelines. A thrum of the vortex itself.
"He’s going to offer it his memories," you whispered, staggering slightly.
Amy reached out, steadying you with a worried frown. "Y/N?"
You blinked, feeling the weight of time pressing down on your bones. It wasn’t just his memories. It was yours, too. Bound together in time, in soul, you were a mirror to his past—and when he offered himself, when he opened up his heart and mind to feed the Old God…
You felt it.
“Come on, then! Take it! Take it all, baby!”
The words rang out, furious and defiant, echoing off the ancient stones.
You gasped.
It felt like the air had been ripped from your lungs, like someone had cracked your chest open and poured molten starlight into your veins. Memories flashed through your mind too fast to hold—your wedding, Gallifrey's fall, your husband's laughter, the birth of time itself—rushing through you with a force no mortal could endure.
Your knees gave out.
Amy lunged forward with Rory right behind her. Together, they caught you before your head could hit the stone. Your eyes rolled back, lips parted in a silent cry.
“Y/N!” Amy shouted, gently cradling your head.
“She’s burning up,” Rory muttered, feeling your pulse racing like a warp drive at full throttle. “What’s happening to her?”
“She’s—she’s connected to him,” Amy realized. “He’s giving everything to that thing—and she’s feeling all of it!”
Back at the altar, the Doctor had no idea.
“I’ve seen whole worlds end. I’ve watched universes burn like paper. And I carried them all with me. Every moment…”
His voice cracked.
“Every second…”
Your fingers twitched weakly in Amy’s grip. You whispered something, barely audible.
“Stop… he has to stop… it’ll take too much…”
“I remember it all.”
A wave of psychic energy blasted through the amphitheater, knocking dust and debris into the air. Amy shielded your body with her own, Rory leaning in close to keep you from convulsing.
Then silence.
A soft, hollow silence.
The Doctor stood trembling, sweat on his brow, eyes wide and glassy.
“Did it work?” Amy called out, voice breaking.
The Doctor turned slowly.
And then he saw you.
Limp.
Unmoving.
Cradled in Amy’s arms like a fallen star.
His hearts stopped.
“No—no, no, no, no…” His feet moved before his mind caught up, tearing across the stone steps, leaping over ancient carvings. His hands found your face before he’d even dropped to his knees.
“Y/N,” he breathed, “no, please…”
You weren’t unconscious—you were deeper than that. Lost in the echoes. You had shared his burden for centuries, linked by time and love, but this…
This had broken through even your formidable walls.
“Wake up,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “Come back. Don’t you dare leave me.”
Amy looked away, tears in her eyes. Rory’s jaw tightened.
“I felt her break,” the Doctor said, his voice shaking. “The second I gave it to Akhaten… she took the hit, too. I didn’t think—I should’ve—”
“She’ll be okay, right?” Amy asked, almost afraid of the answer.
The Doctor didn’t reply.
He just took your hand.
Held it against his twin hearts.
And did what he always did when he thought he might lose you: he told a story.
“Do you remember the Temple of Stillwinds?” he whispered. “You were so cross with me. Said I was flirting with the High Priestess just to get the last key. You hit me with a vase, and I regenerated two hours later. Thought I was being dramatic, but I really liked that face.”
A flicker of breath passed your lips.
He smiled faintly.
“We built a treehouse in the upper boughs of the Singing Forest, just to hear the lullabies at night. You said that was the closest thing to peace you’d ever felt. Even the TARDIS liked it. She still hums the tune sometimes when she thinks I’m not listening.”
Amy and Rory exchanged a glance, feeling the weight of his grief hang in the air like mist.
“Come back to me, Y/N,” he whispered, closing his eyes tightly. “Please. I don’t know how to be without you. I’ve forgotten so much—but I could never forget you. You’re the reason I kept going. You’re my constant.”
And then—
You stirred.
It was faint. A twitch in your fingers, a flicker of golden light beneath your skin. Your eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.
“…Doctor?”
He let out a shaky laugh that cracked halfway through.
“I’m here. I’m right here.”
You tried to sit up, and he helped you, one arm supporting your back, the other cradling your hand as if afraid you might vanish again.
“I felt everything,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “All of it. You gave too much…”
“I had to,” he murmured. “It was the only way to save the girl. To save the world.”
“You should’ve let me share it properly,” you chastised gently. “Next time, don’t block me out.”
“You nearly died.”
You leaned your head on his shoulder.
“I’m a Time Lord, love. It takes a lot more than an angry god and a few million memories to take me down.”
He chuckled softly.
“Still… don’t scare me like that.”
Amy cleared her throat, stepping back as Rory helped her. “We’ll, uh… give you two a moment.”
As they left, the Doctor pulled you fully into his arms, burying his face in your hair.
The two of you sat like that for a long while, wrapped in silence, surrounded by the ashes of belief and the weight of eternity. It didn’t matter how long you’d lived, how many times you’d been broken and rebuilt. In that moment, the only truth was love.
“I never want to see you fall like that again,” he said, voice barely a whisper.
You turned your face toward his, brushing your nose against his. “Then don’t give yourself away without me next time.”
He nodded, lips ghosting over your brow.
“Deal.”
A pause.
Then he smiled.
“I did a pretty good job back there though, didn’t I? With the whole shouting at the god thing?”
You raised an eyebrow. “You scared the entire system into submission.”
He grinned. “Just another Tuesday, then.”
And together, beneath the light of a dying god and a reborn star, the Doctor and his wife rose slowly, hand in hand, two eternal souls forged in time, memory, and love.
Even gods could not consume them.
The air in the amphitheater had grown quiet. The songs had faded, the Old God silenced, and the golden glow of the Akhaten system was soft again—calm after the storm. The Doctor helped you to your feet, his arm firm around your waist as he kept you close.
“Let’s get you back to the TARDIS,” he said gently, still watching you with that same wide-eyed worry he always had when you were hurt. “You need rest. Proper rest. Time Lord or not, you were almost—”
“Don’t say it,” you cut in softly, your voice rasping with fatigue.
He nodded, lips pressing together.
Amy and Rory followed behind silently, casting glances at you every few steps, still shaken by how close you’d come to falling into the void for good.
But you were alive.
You were always strong—but this had pushed you to the edge.
Back aboard the TARDIS, the Doctor led you to the console room, settling you gently on the jump seat. The TARDIS dimmed the lights instinctively, the soft hum of her engines lowering to a lullaby as if she too understood the fragility of this moment.
He knelt before you, hands on your knees, eyes scanning you for anything—anything at all—that seemed wrong.
“Pulse?” he murmured, tapping two fingers to your wrist.
“Still there,” you mumbled.
“Eyes?”
“Both present and accounted for.”
“Memory?”
You blinked slowly. “You once shaved your eyebrows off in your fourth incarnation just to see if it improved aerodynamics in high-speed chases.”
He smirked. “Yep. You’re all there.”
But as he started to stand, you swayed.
The jump seat seemed to tilt sideways and lurch beneath you. Your vision shimmered with threads of gold, fractured memories flying past your consciousness in a rush—visions not just of Akhaten, but of Gallifrey, of the Death Zone, of Earth’s future. Too much.
Too fast.
And then—
Darkness again.
This time, the fall was gentler, but no less frightening.
The Doctor caught you mid-collapse, sliding to the floor with you cradled in his arms. “No, no, no, come on—Y/N…”
Amy shouted from the corridor, “Doctor? Did something happen?”
“Stay there!” he called back, urgency threading through his voice.
He lowered your head into his lap, brushing your hair from your forehead as golden pulses of memory visibly flickered beneath your skin. The threads of time itself were swirling too fast inside you.
You were unraveling under the weight of it.
He laid both hands on your temples and closed his eyes.
“Shhh. Slow down, love. You don’t have to carry it all at once. Breathe with me. Anchor with me…”
His voice was soft, gentle, the rhythm of it syncing with your own scattered thoughts. Gradually, the storm in your mind began to settle. You weren't alone in the timeline—you never had been.
You had him.
When your eyes fluttered open, the Doctor was still beside you, seated on the floor of the console room with your head resting against his chest. His hearts beat steadily beneath your cheek.
“…Doctor?” you whispered.
His head jerked down in relief. “Y/N. Oh, thank Rassilon.”
You looked up at him, your body still trembling slightly from the overload. “I didn’t mean to scare you again.”
“You’re lucky I don’t regenerate from sheer stress,” he said, stroking your cheek. “What happened?”
You blinked, swallowing hard. “The memories… they came too fast. Not from now—but from before. I think Akhaten’s energy pulled something loose. Maybe your speech... the force of it knocked the vaults open.”
He nodded. “We’ve lived too long. Sometimes the mind forgets how to sort it all.”
You touched your temple gently. “I saw Gallifrey. I saw us as children. I saw you wearing your Academy robes backwards just to make a statement.”
He chuckled. “I was a statement.”
“And… I saw Akhaten. Again.” Your voice trembled slightly. “But not from my eyes.”
He paused.
You sat up slowly, still held in his arms. “I saw you. Standing there. Alone. All that pain in your voice… and then I saw you cry.”
The Doctor inhaled sharply.
“You never cry,” you said gently, fingers trailing up to his face. “But you did then.”
He looked away.
“I wanted to go to you,” you continued, reaching to cradle his face and guide his eyes back to yours. “The moment I saw that first tear, I tried to reach for you. But the energy hit me too fast, and I couldn’t…”
Your thumb brushed along his cheekbone. “You gave so much. Too much.”
He swallowed thickly. “It was the only way.”
“You never should have had to stand there alone.”
“I wasn’t,” he whispered, his hands tightening around yours. “You were there. Even if you fell, even if you couldn't reach me—you were still there. And somehow, that made it bearable.”
You leaned forward slowly, gently pressing your forehead against his. “We’ve carried the weight of time for so long. But you don’t always have to be the one to bleed first.”
He closed his eyes, letting himself fall into your embrace.
“You saw me cry,” he whispered, almost ashamed.
“I did,” you said softly. “And it broke my heart. Not because you cried—but because you tried to hide it. From me.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”
“Doctor,” you breathed, taking his face in your hands, “that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen you do. You gave every part of yourself to protect a little girl, to protect a planet. That isn’t weakness. That’s who you are.”
A long pause stretched between you.
Then you gently tilted his head so you could press a kiss to his forehead.
He shivered at the contact.
Your hands moved slowly across his face—fingers ghosting over his brow, tracing his jaw, thumb brushing his lips. Each movement was soft, grounding.
“I remember our first century together,” you murmured, “when you still hadn’t stopped grieving for Gallifrey. You used to wake up screaming, saying you didn’t deserve peace.”
“I still don’t,” he murmured.
“You do. And you always did.”
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes now, and this time, it was you who let them fall freely.
“You are the most extraordinary being in this universe, Doctor. Not because of the battles you’ve won or the legends they sing—but because of your heart. And I’ve loved it across every incarnation. Every wound. Every tear.”
He looked at you as if seeing you for the first time.
And for the thousandth time all at once.
“Come here,” he whispered, pulling you fully into his arms again.
You curled into him, resting your head beneath his chin, your arms around his waist. His fingers wove into your hair, and yours into the lapels of his coat.
Time bent gently around you.
Even the TARDIS was still.
Hours passed like moments.
Amy poked her head in once, saw the two of you curled together on the floor, and silently backed away with Rory in tow, offering you peace.
In the quiet afterward, you pulled back slightly to look into his eyes again.
“No more giving everything unless we both agree on it,” you said firmly.
He gave a wry grin. “Agreed.”
“And next time you cry, don’t hide it. I want to be the one who holds you.”
He nodded slowly. “You always were.”
You smiled faintly, then rested your forehead against his again.
“And next time I fall over from a memory overload, you are not allowed to blame yourself.”
He snorted. “Can’t make that promise. But I’ll try.”
You cupped his cheek again, gazing into his eyes. “We’ve lived through the worst things time has to offer. But we’re still here.”
“We’re still here,” he echoed.
And in the center of that console room, surrounded by the stars and the song of a healed system, the two of you held each other—not just as lovers or Time Lords, but as the only two people who could ever truly understand what it meant to live forever.
Tim was 17 when Kon opened his eyes for the first time. it was an uncalled love at the first sight. getting older, more fights, more arguments, more love to give. The boy inside the tube fell in love with the boy that tried to break him out.
Tim was 20 when he finally reciprocated Kon's feelings. The emotional boy now turned to a man, forcing Kon to act mature too. But he said he loves Kon just the way he is. The loud laugh now just giggles, but it's a laugh at least.
Tim was 35 when he had a desire to have family and kids as Dick and Bruce did. Kon tried to set him up with a woman, but ended up badly, Tim got angry and threw away his ring.
Tim was 40 when Kon finally addressed his concern for Tim's condition. He realized that the boy he loves is slowly getting older and has wrinkles. Even Lex Luthor can't prevent a man from growing older.
Tim was 50 when Kon realized that Tim can't work or move as much as when he's younger. he spends his days as Kon called "a boring old man". He still helped him maneuver through the world, helping him as much as he could.
Tim was 65 when he finally got retired and stopped being vigilantes. finally used Bruce's trust fund as his retirement money, he moved out of Gotham to live peacefully in Smallville. Kon loves to come over and accompany his boring old man watching sun sets as they're sipping tea.
Tim was 75, he realized that Kon was never really growing old. The boy looked as young as he was inside the tube. with his wrinkly hand, he touched Kon's young face, smiling. "You look beautiful as ever."
Kon is the only one that is still standing in front of Tim's grave, even after days.
Getting a distress call from the other world, Kon chose to solve problems in another world.
As they come to Gotham, he looks at one of the rooftops, and meets him.
17 year old Tim.
Kon recklessly flew to him, just to hug him tight and cried in his shoulder, "You look beautiful as ever."
Chapters: 1/2 | Rating: Explicit | Warning: MCD (NOT Kirk or Spock) | full tag list in ao3 link
Summary:
Jim has been missing for over a century, but for him it was less than a minute. When he reappears, he discovers the galaxy has moved on without him—everyone except Spock.
Captain’s Log, stardate 2268.04
[7 hours missing]
First officer Spock, acting commander.
I have taken command of the Enterprise after the sudden and unexplained disappearance of Captain Kirk. What began as a routine training scenario has escalated into a search and rescue operation.
The Captain had expressed an interest in joining the cadets on a tethered, open-space exercise. When he and the selected crew had ventured beyond the hull of the ship, a phenomenon of unknown origin occurred.
Without warning, we were struck by an undetected source, resulting in minor damages to our shields. Chief Engineer Scot is currently investigating whether the cause was a system failure of some sort. I, however, suspect a solar energy storm may have passed through the quadrant, though I cannot be sure at this time. And, admittedly, it does seem rather strange that we were unable to detect it beforehand if that were indeed the cause.
In any case, those outside the safety of the ship were more severely affected, though none have reported damages beyond moderate bruising.
According to witness accounts, Captain Kirk had ensured that each crew member returned to the safety of the ship before he followed behind them.
Only, he did not return to the ship.
The crew claimed that the Captain was directly behind them, but upon looking back, he was no longer there. The words ‘vanished without a trace’ was used multiple times, by multiple witnesses.
This particular part of their statement is frustratingly accurate—Captain Kirk has left no evidence behind. No body. No residual energy signatures. No warp trail.
Chief medical officer McCoy has expressed concern that the Captain may be deceased, but that is not possible.
We will remain in orbit and continue the search until I can be certain.
—
Captain’s Log, stardate 2269.12
[12 days missing]
We have plotted a course for the ninth planet from its primary star, with an arrival time of seventy-three hours, where we will continue our search for any trace of Captain Kirk.
It has been twelve days since his disappearance.
We have conducted thorough searches of three prior planets, to no avail, and enlisted the aid of a nearby starship, the U.S.S. Midway, to assist us in our efforts. They have deployed a new probe prototype that is capable of detecting signatures that our current instruments cannot. I await their findings.
The crew remains hopeful, though I can sense their growing doubt. Morale is dropping quicker for some than others.
I have no reason to doubt, however.
Though I am oathbound to silence at this time, I can say with utmost clarity that Captain Kirk remains alive. The evidence that I alone possess is irrefutable.
Our search continues.
—
Captain’s Log, stardate 2269.21
[21 days missing]
Though I remain serving as acting Captain of the Enterprise, there have been indications of mutiny.
An admittedly disappointing development.
I have never been particularly adept at cultivating loyalty amongst others—save, perhaps, the humans I interact with on a daily basis.
But even they are losing confidence in my ability to locate and retrieve Captain Kirk.
I had hoped that their loyalty to him would steel their nerves, but I suppose what I ask of them is… difficult. Particularly in the absence of my full disclosure.
It is with trepidation that I must now consider breaking Jim’s confidence in exchange for the continued support of the crew, along with that of the U.S.S. Midway.
But that time has not yet come.
For now, our search continues.
—
Captain’s Log, stardate 2270.03
[6 months missing]
I have acquired a new vessel.
It is of Vulcan design. Highly advanced. Configured for long-range space travel and capable of being piloted by a single individual. What it lacks in comfort, it compensates for in durability.
I have assigned her the name Tokmar; a reference to an ancient Vulcan ritual intended to bring lost ones home.
I am grateful to my father, from whom it was gifted to me. Though we have had our many differences over the years, he has been my sole support in my so-called ‘fall from grace’.
The mutiny aboard the Enterprise occurred shortly after I made the error of revealing to the crew the reason for my certainty that Captain Kirk is still alive.
Unfortunately, it served to only make matters worse.
Revealing that Jim and I had an established mating bond between us was meant to reassure them. Instead, it was taken as evidence of my being emotionally compromised.
They could not accept the truth; that I would have physically felt my bond with Jim severing in my body had he truly perished.
They concluded that my judgement was impaired, and therefore unable to perform my duties as acting Captain without biases.
The ordeal was… frustrating.
Admittedly, it can be difficult to convey the complexities of a mating bond to a group of humans who do not naturally form such connections. Especially when they had already made up their minds.
I will admit to feeling a particular bitterness towards the ones I had called my friends when I was forcibly removed from command and placed in the brig shortly thereafter.
The trial, at least, was not drawn out.
My father had argued in the tribunal that I had suffered a mental and psychological break after losing my mate, as Vulcan’s are sometimes known to do.
It was believable enough for the deciding entities to rule my actions as… an unfortunate incident within another unfortunate incident.
I am ‘honourably discharged’—though I fail to see what is so honourable about everything that has transpired. The spectacle of it all…
Perhaps I remain embittered.
My search for Jim, at least, has been able to resume.
Simply being in the same solar system once more is a sharp relief. Our bond had stretched so painfully thin while I stood trial light years away, making it difficult to function.
I find myself reaching through our bond with increasing frequency, as a sort of reassurance, perhaps.
It pulses—warm, intact and content. While Jim’s thoughts and emotions remain unavailable to me, his quiet and enduring presence is a sufficient comfort.
I can only hope that wherever he is, he knows I am searching for him.
—
Captain’s Log, stardate 2274.04
[5 years missing]
I have successfully launched an additional six probes, each on an independent course to the outer reaches of this system. They will remain a constant source of incoming data which will alert me should they detect anything unusual.
Additionally, I have begun development on an upgrade to allow future probes to enter stable orbit around the local planets where they will remain indefinitely. As this has previously been undiscovered country, it remains virtually uncharted.
Once, the opportunity to map unexplored worlds and potentially encounter new civilizations would have been of particular interest to me. But, now…
I fear I have lost much more than just my bondmate.
A solemn discovery on its own.
Still, I persist. The bond remains, and so too must my hopes.
—
Captains Log, stardate 2279.01
[10 years missing]
It has been over ten years since Jim was lost to me.
Illogical as it is, I find it particularly difficult to articulate the words aloud. As through lending it my voice might cause further sorrow. A foolish thought…
Perhaps it is one of the ramifications of a life lived in isolation. It is unhealthy for a Vulcan to be separated from their bondmate for such extended periods of time. It has historically been described by others as an empty, hollow feeling that drains you of your energy. I have found that I am, regrettably, no exception.
I can only hope Jim is not feeling the same strain. There are no records of how such a feeling might translate to the human experience.
Despite my constant fatigue, I find myself seeking meditation more often than true rest. During sleep, unable to fully suppress my intrusive thought patterns, which then turn into nightmares.
Scenarios where I am forced to witness my Jim die, and subsequently perceive the severance of our bond. Scenarios where I watch him suffering in the vast emptiness of space, cold and alone. In some instances, I imagine him lost on one of the many planets below, struggling to survive, without means of communication. Worse still are the scenarios where he believes I have abandoned him.
I wake in a deregulated, emotional panic. It is only after several moments of forcing myself to slow my breathing that I am able to turn my senses to our shared bond. Only then can I regain my composure.
Meditation carries no such risk.
I committed the grave error of sharing this information with my mother, who has begun contacting me with increasing frequency. Unlike my father, she lacks the innate skill natural-born Vulcans possess when it comes to the mind-meld technique. She is therefore unable to understand that my bond with Jim remains intact.
She has urged me many times to abandon my search and return home to Vulcan where I might properly mourn my loss.
She simply does not understand—my home is not on Vulcan.
It is with Jim.
I cannot cease my search for him. Not when I can feel him so clearly. What else could be more worthy of my time than to spend it in search of my mate? Simply put, there is no more logical use of my energy.
For all her years entrenched in Vulcan culture, she remains skeptical of many of the higher functions of our race.
But, I will endeavour to be more patient with her. Like my Jim, she is only human.
Perhaps I should strive to increase my physical durability sessions to induce exhaustion. This may lead to a deeper rem cycle, and bypass my higher brain functions.
As always, my search continues.
—
Captains log, stardate 2294.9
[25 years missing]
Much has transpired these past years.
Regrettably, none of it has resulted in finding Jim, nor any sign of him. Still, our mating bond remains as securely in place as the day it was formed, thus I remain ever hopeful.
No, my recent efforts have resulted in initiating first-contact with a previously isolated society within the system.
What’s more, they were on the cusp of achieving warp capabilities, so it was only logical for me to usher them forward into joining the Federation.
They call themselves the Zel'Thraxians, of the world Zel’Thraxia. They are an insectoid-species. Bipedal, oxygen-breathing, with an exoskeletal frame. Adapted to a harsh, desert-like climate—similar to Vulcan.
For the majority of their evolutionary development, they functioned within a hive-mind based-society, operating as little more than drones. This was until an environmental-shift occurred sometime in their history, one that encouraged independent thinking—a shift that fundamentally altered the trajectory of their species—a truly remarkable and highly cooperative one.
Translating their language, which consisted mostly of chittering clicks, was a challenge. One that became considerably less so after I requested the aid of my former colleague, Lieutenant Uhura.
Despite her retirement, she seemed quite eager to offer me her services, indicating that this might be a way for her to ‘make up’ for what happened twenty-five years ago.
I assured her that, as a Vulcan, I lack the ability to carry a grudge.
Her work was exemplary, as I expected. Communication was successfully established, and the subsequent developments will be public record.
She truly is a testament to the calibre of our former crew, and not for the first time I longed to return to that period of my life. I expressed as much to the Lieutenant, and she echoed them.
‘The time of my life’, she had said.
It is difficult to put into words what working alongside her again meant. I will not attempt it. But it has put something right in me, I believe.
Perhaps, as a Vulcan, I was unable to hold a grudge, but this does not account for the human half of me.
Or, it is possible that I have simply grown ‘soft’ in my advanced age.
Jim himself will be nearing sixty-one years of age. For a human, it is considered… older. An age at which one considers retirement—though, I cannot conceive of any age in which my Jim might consider slowing down.
I do not deny that I mourn the years lost between us. The chasm ever widens between him and I.
It serves only to sharpen my resolve in continuing on with my search—that I might ensure the latter half of his life is an enjoyable one.
My network of probes spans 78.3% of this galaxy. Every charted planetary body, both full-sized and dwarf planets alike, maintains an active beacon within its orbit. The work-load increases exponentially. Still, it is insufficient.
Blind spots remain.
The road that lies ahead of me remains clear. I will not stop until I am successful.
—
Captains log, stardate 2311.02
(42 years missing)
I have received word that my mother has passed.
A shuttle accident, my father informed me.
She… she was quite old for a human, though she maintained much of her health.
I have suffered losses before, of course. But it cannot be understated how keenly I feel her absence. A tether to my katra has been torn free of me—one I have known no life without.
…
I find myself fixating on Jim’s physical absence during this time.
His bond remains warm and steady, and indeed, a comfort…
But… perhaps it is the human side of me that longs for the physicality of comfort, rather than simply the intangible. The simple feeling of being touched—embraced…
The desire for it overwhelms me at times.
…
Perhaps I should… perhaps such things are not helpful to record.
It changes nothing.
I regret being unable to attend the ceremony and extinguish the coals of her life alongside my father, but my search for Jim remains my priority.
I will enter into a season of mourning. I know not when I will ever find the strength to leave it.
—
Captains log, stardate 2320.08
(51 years missing)
I have acquired additional assistance in my search.
The Zel’thraxians have taken well to space travel, and as a gesture of appreciation for my various technological contributions over the years, they have pledged one fully manned starship to aid me in my search for Jim.
From what I gather, it is mostly a ceremonial assignment. A pilgrimage, of sorts. It seems I have unintentionally become a figurehead of these people. A symbol of their progress.
The irony of it does not escape me. I, who have spent most of my life in pursuit of that which was lost to me, unable to pursue any other course besides the one before me, while the rest of the galaxy, including the Zel’thraxians, move ever onward. Past me.
They refer to me as Ambassador. I have not disputed the title, though it was never my intention to assume such a role. I am… humbled by the level of regard in which they hold me in.
I am quite certain Jim will, as he would say, ‘get a real kick out of it’, once I explain the situation to him.
…
Jim.
In the quiet moments when my thoughts inevitably turn to him, I feel…
I feel.
It is difficult to fully articulate the depth of my longing. It is an ache that never ceases. The most sacred part of me—a love I have sheltered within the harbour of my chest—never leaving me. It urges me forward, and yet, it is the source of my greatest pain.
When I find him… It will be worth the cost. Of this, I am certain.
I need only stay the course.
—
Captains Log, stardate 2345.8
(76 years missing)
My father has come to visit me.
I was aboard his cruiser for several hours before returning. I knew he had grown older, but it remained a shock to see the effects the years, and possibly grief, had on him.
I am quite certain he felt the same when he looked upon my own face.
My father spent many of our hours together trying to urge me to go with him, back to Vulcan, so that the elders might sever my connection to Jim.
It is, of course, out of the question. To stop now, after all of this time—to truly abandon Jim, condemning him to whatever treachery that keeps him from me… No. What he asks of me is unthinkable.
Jim is so deeply woven into my katra, that were he to be rooted out, I believe only an emptied out shell of myself would remain.
He has, however bluntly, given voice to an uncomfortable truth that I have avoided confronting for many years. Jim’s human life span is nearing its natural end; over a hundred and ten years old.
Though many modern humans live well beyond a century, I find it unlikely that he would have had access to the advancements in medical care necessary for such longevity, while lacking access to a device to signal for help.
And yet, against all odds, my mating bond remains intact, as robust as ever. My father confirmed as much. Though I know he was dissatisfied with my final decision, he said no more on the matter.
He provided me with several additional upgrades for my ship, along with the means to repair the malfunctioning probes. Perhaps more, if I get… creative.
Before he left, my father also presented me with the amulet that my mother often wore around her neck. The vibrant blue of the vokayan stone bears a striking resemblance to the colour of her eyes—a detail I had never noticed while she was alive.
The amulet now rests at my own neck.
Though I recognize the sentiment to be illogical, the weight of it grants an illusion that she is still with me. And perhaps she is. There are many things in the universe that remain unknown to me. Life after death remains one of them.
And as always, my search continues.
—
Captains Log, stardate 2367.09
(98 years missing)
Age has finally begun to catch up with me, it seems.
My hands in particular have slowed, and now exhibit a persistent tremor—one that is increasingly difficult to ignore. It is enough of a hindrance to impede my ability to keep up with the workload I am required to handle.
Additionally, I wake with aches throughout my body that never fully leave me, regardless of how thoroughly I stretch. The ship's narrow passages and various ladders I must climb between levels has also become increasingly taxing.
I find myself relying more and more on the auxiliary unit I built some years ago. It has been most efficient in performing repairs and keeping up with maintenance aboard the ship and the occasional damaged probe.
It does, unfortunately, have a tendency to get underfoot. But as long as it stays out of my path, I find I do not mind the background activity.
It is… enjoyable to have company aboard the ship, even if the unit is void of any personality programming.
When I served aboard the Enterprise, Jim and the others would often remark that I would make for a very fine computer. Perhaps to them, I was very much like this bot is to me.
Still, I would give most anything to relive those years.
Particularly the months in which Jim and I entered into our courtship, and subsequently our period of being bonded as mates.
I will not deny that the secrecy of it all was part of the thrill. From across the bridge I would feel the moment his eyes landed on me. Through our bond, I could feel how he yearned for me, and I, in turn, yearned for him.
How we would collapse into one another’s arms the moment the doors slid closed behind us. How he took special care to kiss me in my way—with his hands.
So much touching. Something I had always felt a distinct repulsion towards… but with my mate? I never wanted Jim to stop touching me. The exchange of emotion was like a stimulant that I could not seem to consume enough of. Even now, having lived far longer without it than with it, I feel I remain addicted to his touch.
My Jim is still out there. Still waiting for me. I feel him. Though the years pass us both by, that truth remains a constant.
I will never cease my search for him, so long as I remain able, and he remains missing.
—
Captain’s Log, stardate 2387.62
(119 years missing)
Another four probes have malfunctioned, with two going offline entirely. This was inevitable, given their age. The remaining two hundred and thirty-eight remain functional, reporting back to my ship at two-hour intervals with consistent efficiency.
I have delegated the maintenance and refittings of the malfunctioning units to the Zel’thraxian ship—aptly named the Tiberius. Their reports, written in their sharp and jagged scripts, are transmitted to me every twelve hours.
My system blankets the solar system, never sleeping. I have, as the saying goes, ‘left no stone unturned.’ Now it is a matter of maintaining the web, and responding accordingly.
On a separate matter, it has become clear to me that wherever Jim is, he must be suspended in some sort of limbo, where he is affected by time differently. As he has far surpassed the upper limits of the human life-span, this remains the only logical theory.
I can only hope that my health and physical abilities remain what they are. That my own life-span will prove adequate.
Perhaps I will speak to the Zel’thraxians on this matter. Though I am reluctant to impose further on these people’s goodwill, I suspect they would not need much convincing to pledge a continued search party for my Jim after I am no longer able.
Such morose thoughts to give voice to.
Ones I do not wish to dwell on for longer than need be, so I will end this here.
My search continues.
—
Something strikes the hull of the Tokmar. The vessel lurches nearly onto its side before the stabilizers compensate for it.
The force of the blow is nearly enough to throw Spock from his bed in a violent awakening. Thankfully, he managed to partially catch himself, grabbing hold of the rails he had installed some years ago for this very purpose. Still, his lower half crashes onto the floor, causing pain to radiate from the impacted area.
The auxiliary unit whirls behind him, emitting a series of rapid chirps.
“I am uninjured,” Spock says, voice strained, “resume your tasks.”
The bot complies, quieting only marginally as it zips away.
The emergency lights flash red, accompanied by various alarms sounding throughout the ship, converging in the cockpit. The place he needed to get to, and fast.
It takes Spock a frustratingly long time to line his now bruised limbs into a position where he can lift himself.
A series of further chirps sounds directly behind him as he slowly manages to get to his feet. Stubborn thing…
“I repeat, I am uninjured, thus do not require medical intervention,” Spock says, catching his breath, “go, I will not repeat myself a third time.”
It rolls away, though not as quickly as it ought to, bound for one of the sparking control panels along the hull.
Spock assesses the damage on his ship as well as his own person as he makes his way through the narrow corridors of the Tokmar, hands trailing along the bulkhead for support.
Life support remains operational, as does the propulsion system, which means he is not in any immediate danger, at least. He keeps the weight off the leg he had fallen on, but even when he puts pressure on it, it does not feel broken, only bruised. Spock counts himself fortunate.
As he carefully lowers himself down into the captain's chair he is greeted with a sprawling sea of blinking alerts. His probes have also suffered some damage, it seems.
He exhales slowly, feeling the weight of it. Not only will repairing the damage take time, it leaves vast stretches of space completely offline until such repairs are complete.
He quickly hails the Tiberius and confirms that they are functional and unharmed before setting to work.
One by one, Spock begins logging the errors, sorting them by priority. Most will simply require recalibration and reactivation, with only a few that seem entirely offline. Perhaps better as scrap than as a functioning unit.
He presses the alert button, prepared to receive one of the automated responses—when something else comes through.
“…in, Enterpr—…tain Kirk, come in, Enterprise. Do you—…”
Static overwhelms the feed, cutting it short.
For a fraction of a second, Spock is rendered paralyzed. Immediate doubt sparks in his mind—did he imagine it? Has he finally gone mad, as they all predicted he would?
The remaining fraction of time passes.
Then, Spock’s hands spring to life. He isolates the signal, then amplifies it.
He prays to ancient Vulcan deities he had never once put any faith in for a miracle—
Then the voice breaks through the static again, this time loud and clear.
“Come in, Enterprise, this is Captain Kirk. Do you read me? I repeat, this is Captain Kirk. Come in, Enterprise.”
