You Have [1] New Message

by torikabori

Summary:

“So let me get this straight,” said Bones, “you’re going on a date with a Vulcan you’ve never met, but he’s also your best friend?”

"It's not a date!" Jim insisted.

--

(Or: the You've Got Mail/Star Trek 2009 mashup no one asked for but we all needed.)

Chapter 1: 2248, Summer

Notes:

I can't believe it's finally here!!! This story has been kicking around in my head for ages now, has taken over my life for the past few months, and now, finally, I am free.

Massive thank you to Medea990 and donutboye for helping me edit this monstrosity, and to the T'hy'la Bang mods and community for being such a supportive bunch and making a great event! ♥

Hope you all enjoy!

It began during Spock’s first semester at Starfleet Academy.

He was in the library, completing an assignment. A group assignment, supposedly, but there had been such difficulty communicating with the rest of his team that he found it easier to simply do the work on his own. It meant he had little time for recreational activities or socialization, but he was used to this.

He became aware of footsteps approaching. Spock kept his eyes on his screen, knowing by now that most humans found it rude to stare, even if they had been the source of a disruption.

But to his mild surprise, his visitor was a fellow Vulcan.

She stopped before him and offered the ta’al.

“Greetings, Cadet.” She spoke in Standard, but her low and measured voice already made him think of home. “I request a moment of your time.”

He stood. It was clear she had sought him out, but what would anyone want with a first-semester student? A concerning possibility occurred to him: had she been sent by his father?

“How may I be of service?” he asked.

“Please be seated. I merely wished to meet the new Vulcan recruit.” Her eyes scanned him, up and down as if doing a sensor sweep. It was a look he had received quite often throughout his young life, and— in the privacy of his own mind— he could admit that he found it somewhat unpleasant.

“And so you have met me,” he said. “I am Spock.”

She nodded. “I am Lieutenant T’Vin.”

Spock took that in, along with her appearance. Her dark hair was sprinkled with gray, the creases on her face just beginning to settle into their permanent homes. It was odd, seeing someone of her years serving as a mere Lieutenant.

“May I inquire as to your ship?”

“You may. I serve with the USS Lincoln, as I have for the past thirty-one years.”

And she was still a Lieutenant?

Something of Spock’s confusion must have shown on his face, for she nodded again. “Before the Lincoln, I served as Junior Lieutenant aboard the USS Reliant. I held that position for thirteen years. And before the Reliant, I was an Ensign serving in various departments for twelve years.”

A silence stretched between them. Fifty-six years in Starfleet, time enough for a full career, and yet she was a Lieutenant whose name Spock had never heard.

T’Vin lifted her chin just a fraction. “You are wondering how this came to be. I am not ambitious, but nor am I complacent. I do my work as well as any of my crewmates. But promotions are not based solely upon the merits of one’s work.”

Spock had to be careful not to frown. “Why do you wish me to know this?”

Her brows lowered slightly, as if she had some concern for his mental faculties. “When I first enlisted, I was not informed of the paths available to one of our race, or the social and political difficulties I would find in a Human-dominant organization.

“I regret very little of my career thus far. But I do believe I would have struggled less if my predecessors had fully prepared me, and I wish now to do better for any young Vulcan who should follow.” She stepped back and once more offered the ta’al. “Should you desire any further advice, seek me out in the Organic Chemistry department of the Academy, or on the USS Lincoln. Live long and prosper, Spock.”

“Peace and long life,” Spock murmured in return, although T’Vin had already departed.

Alone again, he found it difficult to return his focus to his work. T’Vin’s words troubled him. Vulcan was one of the founding members of the Federation; Vulcans had helped to create Starfleet. Why would a Vulcan have such difficulties advancing? Humans’ over-representation among Starfleet’s ranks was well-known, but to call them dominant was a stretch, surely.

Spock looked over his assignment and remembered the exchanges he had shared with his group members. T’Vin had mentioned social difficulties in particular; through that lens, he re-examined his own experience. His classmates were agitated when speaking to him, and he often had trouble understanding their idioms and cultural references. Perhaps that was what T’Vin had meant; despite their amicable history together, the two races did not naturally understand one another. He had certainly seen evidence of this during his childhood.

A soft chime alerted him to the library’s imminent closure for the night. With effort, he banished those concerns from his mind; he needed to complete this assignment.

Later, the idea came to him. T’Vin had been kind to offer her own services as a mentor; kinder still to remind him that he was allowed to seek mentorship at all. Perhaps that was the key to counteracting any pro-human bias in Starfleet: he would have to find a mentor for human culture.

 

*

 

- HOW TO TALK TO HUMAN BEINGS -

- GENERAL CHAT -

- JUNE 16, 2248, 20:56:03 PST-

user39585: Greetings, all. I am new to Earth and would like to practice communication with Humans. I have been recently informed that my education on the subject may have been lacking and if this is indeed the case, I would like to rectify it.

Tribbledaddy420: LOL every1 check out the new rp bot

KlingonKinnieOwO: omg

aged-like-milk: christ is there another one

user39585: Please explain these acronyms.

Tribbledaddy420: please explain DEEZ NUTS

user39585: Evidently my hypothesis was correct, as I have no idea what you mean to ask me.

Tribbledaddy420: @ballsdeep69 @nohomobromo @VulcanAssPinch GET IN HERE

aged-like-milk: guys cmon just block it

VulcanAssPinch: who called me

Enter your message:
Please explain |

 

But Spock never got an explanation, either for the names or the behavior, before he was kicked out of the conversation and banned from the forum.

He stared at his screen, utterly baffled. How had it gone wrong so quickly?

Perhaps this was simply not the best forum for him. He tried another, and another, and was banned even faster.

After that, Spock had to step away from the computer. He could feel the emotions rising in him— frustration, despair, and a deep sense of alienation. The quiet disapproval of Vulcan was one thing; this overt hostility from the other half of his heritage was quite another. For a moment he saw his future stretch out before him, and it was just like his past: a life spent on the margins of every society he entered, allowed only out of civility or respect for his family name, his company never truly desired. He saw T’Vin’s life, or his mother’s, except his mother had at least one defender in her bondmate, and even Spock’s own betrothed did not want him—

His computer dinged. He had received a private message.

 

VulcanAssPinch: hey
VulcanAssPinch: so r u actually not a bot

 

Spock stared at the message for a moment, then responded.

 

user39585: I am not sure I understand your meaning.

VulcanAssPinch: bc u rly sound like one

user39585: Please explain your username.

VulcanAssPinch: LOL
VulcanAssPinch: ok so yk the vulcan nerve pinch

user39585: I am familiar.

VulcanAssPinch: its like a joke abt that

user39585: My understanding was that ‘jokes’ are meant to be clever and amusing.

VulcanAssPinch: hahahahaha
VulcanAssPinch: my compliments to ur programmer, that was good

user39585: Do you mean to imply that one can incapacitate an opponent by pinching that part of the body instead of the nerves at the base of the neck?

VulcanAssPinch: lol well maybe if the vulcan doing it is hot enough they’d incapacitate ;)

user39585: Please clarify “hot enough.”

VulcanAssPinch: adequately sexually attractive ;)))

user39585: That is completely absurd.

VulcanAssPinch: idk man have u ever met a really sexy vulcan

user39585: I am beginning to understand why there is no such thing as social media on my home planet.

VulcanAssPinch: LOL yeah that’s smart. good for u guys
VulcanAssPinch: so why are you here anyway?

user39585: As I already stated, I wish to learn how to better communicate with Humans. Academic and professional instruction have proved insufficient preparation for informal situations.

VulcanAssPinch: lol so you joined a HTTTHB chatboard?
VulcanAssPinch: WAIT DID YOU NOT KNOW IT’S A GAME

user39585: Excuse me?

VulcanAssPinch: omgggggg buddy
VulcanAssPinch: “How To Talk To Human Beings is a PC-based horror-comedy game released in 2248. The game is set in an abandoned Earth colony in 2169, with the player character as an alien species who attempts to communicate with the Human crew without killing too many of them.”
VulcanAssPinch: im losing my mind u thought this chatboard was instructions
VulcanAssPinch: hahahahaha

 

Spock had to close the chat program to verify this. Indeed, a quick search proved that the stranger was telling the truth: this was the title of a computer game for human children. Perhaps older children, he amended— the image stills from the game were cartoonishly gory.

In his effort to socialize with humans in a more natural setting, he had revealed even more of his own ignorance.

Spock bit the inside of his lip. He was in control of his emotions. He was in control.

 

VulcanAssPinch: hello??? u still there
VulcanAssPinch: im sorry for laughing its just so funny. alien tries to learn human talk, gets punked by a hologame

user39585: There was nothing in the forum description indicating that this was a game title.

VulcanAssPinch: well yeah but it’s famous
VulcanAssPinch: you wouldn’t go to a justice league chat looking for like
VulcanAssPinch: actual freedom fighters or something

user39585: Am I to assume that “justice league” is another children’s game?

VulcanAssPinch: bro………

user39585: Also, I am not attempting to learn Federation Standard English. I am attempting to study cultural norms which were not taught to me as a child. I was unaware, for example, that it is apparently a human pastime to deceive and mock strangers on social media.

VulcanAssPinch: lol well ur not wrong abt that

user39585: Further, I question your use of such familiar terms as “buddy” and “bro.” We are neither friends nor brothers.

VulcanAssPinch: ok ok chill out
VulcanAssPinch: im sorry those guys were mean to u

user39585: I do not require your pity.

VulcanAssPinch: wasnt offering any lol

user39585: You have used this acronym “lol” several times. A search tells me it most often stands for “laughing out loud.” However, even with my limited knowledge of human social behavior, I am struggling to believe that this is the case.

VulcanAssPinch: LOL well its more like punctuation tbh

user39585: Fascinating. I did not realize you were familiar with the concept of punctuation.

VulcanAssPinch: like it indicates tone more than anything
VulcanAssPinch: omg ur an asshole
VulcanAssPinch: im obsessed w u

user39585: That is highly concerning. Perhaps I should leave and you should seek medical assistance.

VulcanAssPinch: relax lol it’s just hyperbole
VulcanAssPinch: i mean i like u. ur fun

user39585: You find this conversation fun?

VulcanAssPinch: yeah
VulcanAssPinch: wanna be friends

 

Spock had to read over the message a few times to make sure he had understood correctly. Friends? Had this interaction been friendly?

He scrolled up and read the entire conversation again. What exactly had he said to make this human like him?

 

Enter your message:
I want |

 

He paused, then deleted. He was not sure what he wanted.

 

VulcanAssPinch: ?

user39585: Excuse the delay. I was not prepared for such an offer.

VulcanAssPinch: lol do they not have friends on ur planet or sthg

 

Other Vulcans did. Spock did not.

He debated for a moment how to answer. Finally he decided on honesty.

 

user39585: Bonds of friendship exist on my planet. But they are not usually formed so quickly, especially between parties who remain anonymous.

VulcanAssPinch: oh i meant like on the site. i just sent u a friend request
VulcanAssPinch: so we can talk casually and stuff
VulcanAssPinch: i can explain human stuff to u and u can keep making me laugh
VulcanAssPinch: not like im asking to pledge eternal brotherhood or anything lmao

 

After another moment of hesitation, Spock accepted the request.

 

user39585: If we are going to speak further, I would like to request that you change your username. It is inaccurate and inappropriate.

VulcanAssPinch: lol r u vulcan or sthg

user39585: Yes.

VulcanAssPinch: wait for real??
VulcanAssPinch: vskfdjn

user39585: Please retype your last message.

VulcanAssPinch: oh my god
VulcanAssPinch: cant believe u tell me this now
VulcanAssPinch: ok ok i dont wanna change my brand across the whole app but now that were friends u can change how its displayed
VulcanAssPinch: go to profile, friends, right click on my name

- VulcanAssPinch has been renamed Human -

Human: got it?

 

After that, the stranger spent some time happily guiding Spock through a few hidden features of the messaging forums, giving tips on social media, and clarifying the intent behind some of the most common acronyms. Apparently their literal meaning was often different from their colloquial use, which seemed to defeat the point of an acronym, an observation that frustrated Spock and greatly amused his new ‘friend’.

Finally Spock noticed the time. It was nearly 0100 hours. He would have to either forgo his nightly meditation or delay the night’s work on his assignments. He had not even noticed the time going by; such unawareness of his surroundings had not happened to him since childhood. Clearly, the meditation would have to take priority.

He excused himself to his human guide and retired for the night. Meditation did not come easily, however; he spent far too long mulling over the conversation.

Was this truly how humans made friends?

Clearly, further research was necessary.

*

 

- PRIVATE MESSAGES -

- Human (VulcanAssPinch) -

- June 17, 2248, 13:28 PST -

Human: ok so good news
Human: I talked to the guys in the chat and they said u can come back

user39585: Why would I return to a forum that was created to discuss a subject with which I am unfamiliar?

Human: bc it’s fun! they got some good memes
Human: ill explain them t0 u I bet itll be funny
Human: cmon in the waters great [link]

user39585: Please explain your last message.

[…]

 

- June 18, 2248, 01:06 PST -

 

Human: ok ok im sorry for laughing but that was really funny

user39585: You were incorrect about the “memes” being “good.”

Human: hahahahaha

user39585: You were also in error regarding the general nature of the forum. They were neither welcoming nor interesting to converse with. The users calling themselves “Tribbledaddy420” and “ballsdeep69” were particularly unpleasant.

Human: I jsut snotredd\ my soda

user39585: Are you well?

Human: ok sorry im just laughing so hard

user39585: Perhaps I should leave.

Human: no no im sorry. its just the way you said that

user39585: I still do not understand how my manner of speech is so offensive to Terrans.

Human: its not I promise those guys are just lame
Human: also they totally deserved what u said to them
Human: especially ballsy hes a dick

user39585: Please explain your last message.

Human: hahahahahahaha

[…]

 

- June 21, 2248, 19:43 PST -

 

user39585: There are some things I wish to clarify.

Human: lol ok

user39585: You are not a child?

Human: im old enough to be here

user39585: That is not reassuring.

Human: wait how old are YOU

user39585: Eighteen years.

Human: wait really

user39585: There is no way to prove it to you without showing you legal documents. I hope you understand why I would be reluctant to do this.

Human: lol yeah no dw
Human: dont doxx urself for me
Human: obvi I cant prove anything either but im old enough to be on the world wide web all by myself

user39585: Please explain your last three messages.

 

[…]

 

- June 24, 2248, 14:51 PST -

 

Human: so ive been thinkin

user39585: I am gratified to hear you are learning to do so.

Human: omg f u
Human: anyway im thinkin i wanna learn Vulcan
Human: like the language

user39585: That will be difficult, as “Vulcan” is no more a language than is “Human.”

Human: ok I KNOW you know what I meant tho

user39585: Assuming you wish to study the language most commonly spoken by my people, the Standard English term is Golic.

Human: huh
Human: whats the vulcan word for that
Human: sorry the GOLIC word

user39585: The proper lettering is not available to me on this keyboard. I have been meaning to update it when I have a spare moment.

Human: oh whats ur OS I bet I can figure it out

user39585: Assuming you mean “operating system,” it is standard issue at my workplace. There are upgrades available but I did not expect that I would need them for one of the four most common languages in the Federation.

Human: lol well thats humans for ya
Human: ok so once u get ur sys upgrade and I steal a keyboard out of a school dumpster or sthg would u help me learn golic???

user39585: I cannot condone such behavior. However, if you promise to acquire the tools by means both legal and sanitary, I will consider assisting you.

Human: :D!

user39585: Please explain your last message.

 

[…]

 

- July 1, 2248, 21:34 PST -

 

Human: omg ur so bad at this

user39585: I am performing perfectly well for someone who has never played before

Human: like no games at all??

user39585: That is correct.

 

Spock pursed his lips at the screen; while the chat window had distracted him, he had failed to notice one of the little human caricatures approaching his avatar in the game. As he tried to move, one of his pixelated tendrils brushed against the human, causing a spray of cartoonish red blood and a sound effect very much like the final few pumps of one of the condiment containers in the Starfleet cafeteria.

Humans’ taste in entertainment continued to puzzle him.

 

Human: lol there goes another one
Human: u need an easy mode or sthg?

user39585: I was not aware that was an option.

Human: lol it’s not
Human: but gimme a couple days and I bet I can make you a mod

user39585: I doubt anyone would accept me as a forum moderator after I was banned twice.

Human: LOL nah they wouldn’t but those guys suck anyway
Human: mod as in modification, I can alter the game so it’s more beginner friendly
Human: uh. more accessible to a guy who doesnt play games 24/7

user39585: Please clarify the metric to which those numbers refer.

Human: 24 hrs/day, 7 days/wk
Human: so like all the time

user39585: That does not seem possible.

Human: lol its hyperbole, humans do that a lot

user39585: That seems dishonest.

Human: lol
Human: so do u want the mod or not

 

[…]

 

- July 9, 2248, 11:20 PST -

 

Human: happy now???

user39585: As you are by now aware, I am unfamiliar with that emotion.

Human: are you SATISFIED
Human: is it ADEQUATE
Human: have you RECEIVED what you DESIRED

user39585: There is no need to mock me.

Human: :(((
Human: cmon man I worked hard

user39585: Further testing and study is required. However, I do appreciate your efforts, and I admire your skill at programming. If you are as much of an amateur as you say, this is truly impressive. I am more than satisfied.

Human: oh
Human: thanks
Human: :)

 

[…]

 

- July 15, 2248, 12:47 PST -

 

Human: yeah I just do this on the side

user39585: Have you considered a career in coding?

Human: nah id just be stuck in an office all day
Human: I like these little projects but only when its my idea. and I like messing w/ someone elses system more than building my own from scratch
Human: also im not cut out for working with others or whatever lol
Human: maybe that sounds dumb to u

user39585: It does not.

Human: oh
Human: well what abt u?? if u went into the source code yesterday to look at all my little tricks then you gotta be pretty good at it too

user39585: Much like you, I have a passing interest in the field. And my employer places a high value on versatile skills, so I have found it beneficial to continue my studies, as you say, “on the side.”

Human: huh
Human: whos your employer?

user39585: For security reasons, I would prefer not to say.

Human: lol no worries
Human: oh hey before I forget I got a golic vocab question

user39585: I am certain I have an answer.

Human: lol
Human: gimme a minute to find my workbook

 

[…]

 

- July 21, 2248, 22:01 PST -

 

Human: you know you need a real name

user39585: I have a real name. I have already expressed that I do not wish to reveal it.

Human: well yeah but you need a nickname at least
Human: I can’t just call you ‘user’

user39585: I do not understand why you need to call me anything. Should you need to get my attention, this chat program provides the means to do so, as evidenced by those occasions when I have opened it to reveal fifteen or more repetitions of the word “hey.”

Human: listen if you don’t give me something I’m just gonna make one up

user39585: I am intrigued to hear what you come up with.

Human: shit ok gimme a sec
Human: …how about. Surak

user39585: Fascinating. However, consider that our studies will necessarily involve some talk of our respective cultures. We will need to refer to Surak often, and it may become confusing. As flattering as it is that you would name me after the most important and influential Vulcan in our history, I must insist upon something else.

Human: oh wait he’s the OG logic guy! couldn't remember where I actually heard the name lol
Human: how about uhhh
Human: isn’t solkar another famous one

user39585: He was the Vulcan who initiated First Contact with Earth. I would say he is quite famous.

Human: lol maybe we can be solkar and zephram then
Human: makin first contact on the internet

user39585: Again, I do not think it wise to name me after a historical figure. We may need to refer to him as well. Additionally, I do not believe that we are the first Terran and Vulcan to communicate via this medium, so the reference would not be appropriate.

Human: well shit dude I’m out of vulcan names then
Human: maybe I’ll just give you a human one

user39585: Indeed? Should I give you a Vulcan name in return?

Human: wait yeah that’s hilarious
Human: you can be
Human: Bob

user39585: I do not wish to be called Bob.

Human: how about Susan

user39585: I have already informed you that I am not female.

Human: Dingus
Human: no wait. Bingus
Human: how about Cupcake

user39585: Please endeavor to take this seriously.

Human: ok fine gimme some parameters and I’ll get back to u

 

[…]

 

- July 23, 2248, 10:38 PST -

 

user39585: I fail to see why you cannot simply give me a common English name. John or James would suffice.

Human: no I know a james and he sucks

user39585: Such is the nature of popular names.

Human: wait why does it have to be english anyway

user39585: I assumed since we are speaking that language, a name of English origin would be logical.

Human: well nothings really english origin is it lol
Human: they steal everything from other languages

user39585: Fascinating. You consider cultural inheritance to be theft?

Human: nah just the way england did it. america too actually
Human: maybe I’ll send you one of my old human history textbooks
Human: anyway do u have a name for me yet??

user39585: I suggest Nirak.

Human: oh that sounds cool
Human: what does it mean

user39585: I was not aware we were concerned with etymology.

Human: ill look it up
Human: HEY

user39585: I am pleased to know that you are making use of the research materials I sent you.

Human: ur so mean :((((
Human: ok but you gotta gimme something sexy. maybe something that means im a good student
Human: how about sarek that sounds nice

user39585: Absolutely not.

Human: ???

user39585: The name of the Vulcan ambassador to Earth is not appropriate.

Human: wow do all vulcans just know their random public servants or sthg

user39585: He is a direct descendant of both Solkar and Surak, and is somewhat infamous for scandal in his personal life.

Human: vulcans have scandals?????

user39585: As a comparison, I hope you would not name me after any human tabloid celebrities.

Human: ok im looking up this sarek guy and he married a human??
Human: and they made a hybrid baby????

user39585: Please excuse me. I am receiving a call.

Human: wait no tell me more about the vulcan tabloids
Human: :(

 

[…]

 

- July 25, 2248, 20:19 PST -

 

Human: ok mr no-name I found u some reference materials
Human: [link] heres a wiki of internet meme culture going back to the early 21st century

user39585: This is quite extensive.

Human: yeah I love that site
Human: [link] heres a dictionary of slang terms but make sure you double check with me before you use anything from it, sometimes its outdated or lying

user39585: What is its use as a reference text if it cannot be trusted?

Human: look its mostly good, its just sometimes meanings change faster than it gets updated
Human: or people use stuff ironically or different subcultures use the same word to mean something different

user39585: Human communication continues to surprise me with its penchant for chaos and misunderstanding.

Human: yeeeeeah lol
Human: anyway these things arent perfect but they should help

user39585: Thank you. I will make use of them.

Human: :)

user39585: :|

Human: ??

user39585: Have I used the “emoji” properly?

Human: well I mean they’re used to convey emotion

user39585: Then as a Vulcan, you understand that I would only need the one.

Human: oh my god
Human: im laughign so hard

user39585: :|

 

*

 

“Spock,” said his mother, smiling as she always did after a long time away. It was only a video call, or she might have offered some physical affection; as it was, she only leaned in toward her screen. “It’s so good to see you again.”

Spock noticed, of course, that his father was not present for the conversation. The two of them had not spoken since Spock’s rejection of the Vulcan Science Academy. Spock understood that as the younger party, he would be expected to bow to the wisdom of his parent and seek forgiveness first; but as he had made no error, he wished for no forgiveness. Sarek could speak to him again when he chose, but Spock would not chase him.

And Amanda would not come between her bondmate and her child, of course.

The conversation was neither long nor meaningful; Amanda confirmed that the rest of the family was well, and Spock confirmed the same regarding himself. She asked about his studies, and he told her truthfully that many of his official courses were so far below his level of knowledge that he found himself with more free time than ever before.

“But I am not idle,” he assured her. “I have been carrying on my own studies, independent of Starfleet. I have learned a new programming language, improved my general coding, and am able to communicate much more effectively with my peers.”

Her smile widened. “I’m so happy to hear you’re making friends.”

Spock was not sure what to say to that. His classmates were as aloof as ever, except for the occasional rude comment. Yesterday one of them had bizarrely asked if he liked dancing while their companions giggled nearby, which he could only conclude was meant to be mockery— but that was an anomaly. For the most part they ignored him, much as his Vulcan schoolmates had done.

In truth, the only person he spoke with for purely social reasons was his anonymous acquaintance— and for some reason, he did not want to talk about them with his mother.

Although…

“Mother, I have a question,” he said, just as he thought of it. “When I was created, did you entertain any other names for me?”

She blinked in surprise. “Well, of course we had a list,” she said thoughtfully. “Why do you ask?”

“A recent conversation with an acquaintance has made me curious.”

She watched him for another moment, but when it became clear he did not wish to elaborate, she sighed wistfully. “If I remember right, we had it narrowed down to about three…”

Spock listened, and considered each one. He could not think of any common Vulcan names that would fit his human conversation partner, but perhaps the name of a half-human would do.

 

*

 

- July 29, 2248, 21:06 PST -

 

Human: ok I got one you might actually like
Human: Isaac
Human: its a hebrew name and its kinda pronounceable in golic I think

user39585: I believe that would be an acceptable pseudonym.

Human: :D!!!

user39585: I have one for you as well. Lyras was the name of an influential poet, and resembles some human names I have encountered.

Human: “being who carries emotion” huh
Human: I like it!
Human: thx isaac :)

 

- Human (VulcanAssPinch) has been renamed Lyras -

- Display name (user39585) has been changed to Isaac -

Notes:

Can you tell I had fun inventing their gamer moments? I picture HTTTHB as a weird little indie game, and its fans are a bunch of pretentious nerds who also enjoy gory and immature humor. ballsdeep69, for example, is referencing a historical text from the early twenty-first century, a youtube series called Sword Art Online: The Abridged Series.

A note on Vulcan names: they were all taken from Kir'Shara! T'Vin means "lady who greets," and Nirak means "fool." I believe it was taken from a pre-reform general who was just an absolute legend for how stupid he was. ♥

Let me know what you think!

Chapter 2: 2249-2252

Jim Kirk turned sixteen on a cold, rainy morning. He had never liked his birthday, and this one was no exception.

From his bedroom, he could hear Frank bustling around downstairs, blasting the morning news as always. Jim watched the padd he used as an alarm clock, waiting, waiting, and… bam. At a quarter past eight, he heard the magic words: “anniversary of the Kelvin event."

He shut the padd and pulled his duvet over his head. This was even earlier than last year.

After some time in that position, as he tried to focus on the tapping of the rain outside his window, he heard a tapping on the door frame.

Jim’s room did not have an actual door. His privacy privileges had been revoked six years ago and he had long since given up on getting them back.

“Rise and shine, Jimmy,” Frank said, using the tone he usually reserved for the neighbor’s dog. “School starts in an hour.”

“I’m sick,” Jim declared, not even bothering to try and sound like it.

Frank sighed, for once having no stupid comment. He knew this routine by now, knew Jim’s disdain for his education, and in turn had given up on trying to correct that. Especially today of all days.

“Alright, kiddo,” Frank sighed. “I’ll be at work downstairs. Comm me if you need anything, okay?”

“Mm.”

“Happy birthday, Jimmy.”

Jim had nothing to say to that, so he just pulled the blankets tighter around himself, and remained in that position until he heard his stepfather’s footsteps retreating down the stairs.

He hated when Frank was nice.

It took another couple of minutes, waiting either for the news to shut the hell up about the Kelvin, or for Frank to get a clue and turn it down, before Jim’s patience ran out. He threw the duvet off, stalked over to his computer, and jammed his chunkiest headphones over his ears, nevermind that the sound crackled on one side. He perused his collection of pirated games, looking for something as loud and violent as the noise in his head, before he noticed a download had finished.

It was a book that his Vulcan friend had recommended to him.

Impulsively, he opened their chat log.

Isaac was not usually online on the weekdays before six or seven, Jim’s time; but then again, neither was Lyras.

Lyras: hey r u on

He was about to close the program and start killing alien invaders in one of his vintage titles when he got a response.

Isaac: Yes. This is an unusual hour for you.

Of course he would be there when he was needed. Jim already felt a little better.

Downstairs, Frank turned off the television, only to take a conference call. His voice echoed throughout the house, bouncing easily off the hardwood floors and bare walls, bringing Jim’s mood right back down again.

Lyras: idk man its an unusual day

Enter your message:
my stepdads being |

 

He stopped. Lyras and Isaac did not discuss much of their personal lives; he had never even shared his age. Isaac knew he was in classes of some sort, but he probably thought either college or some sort of part-time continuing education, not high school. When Jim had occasionally mentioned work over the summer, Isaac had probably not imagined a broke teenager picking up odd jobs and part-time café shifts around town.

Of course, Jim was just as in the dark about Isaac’s life.

He had wondered, somewhat anxiously, if his friend was in Starfleet. It would make sense; why else would a young Vulcan be spending so much time on Earth’s internet? But a few days of research had dashed that idea. Jim was well-practiced by now at forging his mother’s or Frank’s credentials to look through internal ‘fleet comms, and he knew now that there could only be one likely suspect.

Much gossip had been made about the first Vulcan to properly enlist in Starfleet in almost a decade. But this guy was apparently the hybrid son of that oh-so-scandalous ambassador, Sarek. Surely if S’chn T’gai Spock wanted to know about human culture, he could just ask his own family.

No, Jim’s friend must be somewhere else. Perhaps Isaac’s parents worked for the embassy, and so he was stationed here, bored out of his mind at a Terran university; perhaps he interned for some private company or non-profit that was headquartered on this planet instead of his own. Such Vulcans were rare on Earth these days, but not completely unheard of.

Of course, this was all assuming that Isaac was really the age he had claimed to be. The frequency of his logging on implied very little offline social life, so he likely did not have a spouse or kids, but that did not necessarily mean he was young. After so many months of talking to him, Jim thought he seemed pretty honest, but… well, everyone lied on the internet. Jim usually claimed to be twenty-three and living alone.

Isaac: You have been typing for several minutes. Are you having difficulties?

Lyras: lol maybe I just have a lot to say

Isaac: When that is the case, your habit is usually to send an average of three to five messages, varying greatly in topic and legibility.

Lyras: lol

Isaac: Perhaps legibility is an imprecise term. They are often difficult for a Vulcan to understand.

Lyras: haha well thats what im here for isnt it
Lyras: explaining stuff

Isaac: Indeed.
Isaac: Lyras, are you well?

Lyras: lol what makes u think im not

Isaac: For one, that response.

Lyras: listen

Jim paused again, biting his lip. Downstairs, Frank laughed at something, spiking his irritation. He wanted to leave. He wanted to be out of this house. He did not want to deal with anyone around him.

But he also did not want to be alone.

Lyras: idk do you ever wake up just knowing its gonna be a bad day

Isaac: If something unpleasant is scheduled, then yes.

Lyras: yeah I guess thats where im at
Lyras: but its not like something I have to do
Lyras: its so stupid its every year but literally nothing is happening

Isaac: Nothing is happening, but you are certain the day will be difficult?

Lyras: yeah
Lyras: for illogical human emotional reasons

Isaac: I see. Is it perhaps the anniversary of something unpleasant?

Jim snorted. It sure was, and neither his mother, nor Sam, nor the goddamned morning news ever let him forget it.

Lyras: yep
Lyras: idk man this day just sucks for me
Lyras: not much to do but get thru it I guess

Isaac: Then I grieve with thee.

Lyras: thanks
Lyras: do you ever get mad when someones nice

As soon as he entered the words, he regretted it, but it was too late to take them back. Isaac was typing.

Isaac: Vulcans do not indulge in anger. However, I have often had the experience of another person attempting to be kind, and instead causing discomfort.

Lyras: yeah?

Isaac: I understand, for example, that many humans enjoy flattery and physical affection as a means of establishing social bonds. However, even after so much time around them I cannot find any pleasure in some of my colleagues’ attempts to connect with me.

Lyras: oh god
Lyras: what did they do??

Isaac: Two days ago, one of them informed me that my ears reminded her of a favorite animal. She then asked to touch them, and was greatly offended at my negative response.

Lyras: kjfskdfsj
Lyras: ok thats weird even by human standards
Lyras: no one touches my ears

Isaac: Indeed? I have often wondered whether this person has a firm grasp of social norms. More than once I have noticed her openly staring at me, which does not seem to be common behavior.

Lyras: lol maybe she likes you

Isaac: This seems unlikely. She laughs at nearly everything I say.

Lyras: uhh
Lyras: yeah buddy I think she likes you
Lyras: either that or shes some kinda weird xenophobe
Lyras: or maybe both

Isaac: I doubt it is possible for humans to feel both bigoted disgust and sexual attraction toward the same being.

Lyras: youd be surprised lol
Lyras: some humans r gross

Isaac: :|

Lyras: yeah sorry you gotta deal with us
Lyras: I grieve with thee or whatever

Isaac: Thank you.

Lyras: oh btw one of the books got here! its the mythology primer

They passed the rest of the morning discussing that, with Jim frequently asking for clarification on some vocabulary or context— the book had been intended for young Vulcans, and as such, had many references to things and places which were common knowledge to them but completely alien to Jim. Isaac was, as always, perfectly willing to explain, and although he pronounced himself greatly disappointed in Earth’s education system for some of the knowledge gaps, he never blamed Jim himself.

It was almost noon when Jim’s grumbling stomach forced him to pause. He snuck downstairs and raided the kitchen, resolutely ignoring Frank in the other room, and returned to his bedroom laden with enough allergy-proof snacks to last him until sundown.

It was around four when he realized that he had just skipped school in order to be in class the whole day anyway. He never would have expected it of himself.

Lyras: have u ever considered teaching?? ur good at this

Isaac: I disagree, but it is kind of you to say so. Your enthusiasm is most gratifying.

Lyras: :)

Isaac: Will you teach me another of your computer games? I was intrigued last time by the physics engine and starmap-generating mechanics of Astro-Racers 4D.

Jim grinned at his screen. After all this time, Isaac was still not really a gamer, but had a bottomless curiosity about the how and why of simulations. He had curiosity about everything, really, and Jim never got tired of talking to him.

The good mood lasted until dinner, when Frank came back and made him come downstairs. They had a silent dinner, then spent an hour waiting for a call from Jim’s brother or mom that never came, and when Jim was finally free he went right back to his computer and pestered Isaac for more Vulcan reading recommendations. By the time they signed off, it was nearly midnight.

All in all, it was a surprisingly tolerable birthday. Maybe the best Jim had experienced in years.

As he lay awake that night, listening to the gentle drip of the rain outside his window, he wondered what the next one would bring.

He wondered— did not hope, for hope was dangerous, he only wondered— if he would ever meet his friend in person.

A year later, Jim turned seventeen on a snowy Friday night. He spent it playing virtual chess with Isaac while they bickered over whether they should mess with the code to invent new types of pieces. The joking argument took the sting out of Jim’s constant losses and distracted him from wondering who the hell had taught Isaac chess, if he didn’t have any human friends.

Jim turned eighteen on a noisy Saturday night, at the seedy downtown pub where he had a part-time job doing dishes and mopping up vomit. He could not celebrate properly at work, since he had used a fake ID to get this job, but he did sneak into the bathroom at midnight to steal a shot of whiskey and harass Isaac on his mini-padd. They talked for almost an hour, before one of the bartenders came looking for him and he had to fake an illness to avoid being fired. Isaac scolded him when he learned he was at work, and Jim told him he would listen to that if he was ever at a job that he liked enough to move off-planet for.

And then Isaac told him that he would soon be changing planets again.

Isaac: Only for a short duration, I believe. I will be offline for approximately three weeks.

Lyras: leaving me :(((

Isaac: I am warning you now so that you may make contingency plans. Perhaps you should hire a babysitter to make sure you attend to your work and get sufficient sleep.

Jim snickered at the teasing, but it did make him think. He had been talking to Isaac nearly every day for a couple of years now; was he getting dependent? The idea of depending on anyone made him uncomfortable.

Maybe this would be a good thing.

Probably not, but he would pretend it was anyway. It wasn’t like he expected his internet buddy to quit his job or anything— they didn’t even know each other, not really.

Lyras: alright have fun in space, hope I don’t forget all my golic while you’re gone
Lyras: wait actually why are you suddenly going when you never did before? did you get moved to a different department or something

Isaac: Not quite, but I am being considered for early promotion.

Lyras: !! congrats!

Isaac: Thank you. I cannot take full credit, as my workplace is suffering a personnel shortage, but I am gratified for the opportunity. I believe I will do well.

Lyras: yeah you’ll kick ass

Isaac: As a pacifist, I hope I will not.

Lyras: cmon you know that one

Isaac: I appreciate your meaning, however I choose not to dignify the idiom.

Lyras: lololol

Isaac: You should also know that once I am fully promoted, I will be leaving the planet with far more frequency and for a longer duration each time.

Lyras: ok
Lyras: are we talking weeks, months, years…?

Isaac: I am uncertain. However, I may be able to connect remotely to Earth’s servers from time to time.

Jim grimaced. As a fleet brat and a guy who did a lot of internet-based socializing, he knew very well what could and could not be done.

Lyras: unless you’re at a real fancy operation you can only send stuff when you’re docked at a starbase
Lyras: then the mail pings thru official SF channels
Lyras: probably gets read and redacted by The Man
Lyras: then it gets delivered to your home planet server when they feel like it
Lyras: also we’d need a new chat app, this one hates the SF file format
Lyras: dates get messed up and it’s impossible to read

Isaac: You have given this considerable thought.

Lyras: lol I know some spacefaring ppl
Lyras: they’re always complaining abt it

In reality, he was awash in Starfleet people, specifically. Years ago, when he had first gotten this particular chat program, that had been part of the allure— it was so proudly Earth-only and hostile to ‘fleet comms that he was unlikely to encounter anyone connected to Starfleet on it. It had been a nice refuge.

Isaac: Perhaps we can switch to long-form mail while I am away. I would not want you to forget how to speak properly.

Lyras: lol wym ;)

Isaac: Already you are reverting. My work will be undone within a week.

Lyras: hahaha
Lyras: gonna miss this

Isaac: I too will miss our frequent communications.

Jim bit his lip as he read the message. Isaac was a Vulcan; they didn’t talk about feelings, and Jim liked that about him. They certainly didn’t talk about missing people.

But Isaac, he knew by now, was not like most Vulcans.

And Jim… well, Jim was a little different, these days.

Lyras: longer mail sounds good
Lyras: I’ll find us a program and we can write long dramatic letters like a pair of jane austen girls

Isaac: As a Vulcan, I take issue with that comparison.

Jim chuckled to himself at the idea of his Vulcan friend knowing that reference; he imagined Isaac studying old English romance novels in an attempt to understand humans. But he would, of course; if he was willing to study modern internet humor, he would certainly study classical literature. The fact that he treated them both with equal studiousness was nothing short of endearing.

They talked for another few hours after Jim finished work, and he went to bed feeling pretty good, for once. He was an adult now, technically. Maybe things would be better now.

But one year later, Jim turned nineteen all alone.

Winona was out patrolling the Neutral Zone; Sam was off on some far-flung colony; Jim neither knew nor cared where Frank was; Jim’s more casual social connections were spread around the globe or beyond it. Isaac was the only one who even tried to keep up a regular correspondence— probably the only one who would think to wish him a happy birthday, had he known— but he was rarely on Earth now.

Desperate for some kind of stimulation, Jim read over Isaac’s last comm again.

Lyras,

I am gratified to hear you are well, and that you defeated the Starfleet cadet who so rudely provoked you. Ordinarily I would not condone such violence, but if the version of events you related to me is true, then I am forced to agree that he did indeed “have it coming.”

As to your questions: firstly, I have sampled some of the replicator dishes you recommended. I did not enjoy the texture of the vegan mac and cheese. The cornbread was dry and bland, though I suspect the replicator coding may be at fault. Also, I have come up with a list of substitutions so that you may be able to sample plomeek soup without triggering your allergies; please see attached.

Secondly, I followed your advice regarding the incident last month. My superiors did not seem to think my crewmate’s words merited punishment, but we were moved to separate schedules for the time being. Until the staffing issue improves, this may be the most I can expect. Kaiidth.

Thirdly, I thank you for your kind words regarding my career. I will privately admit that some of my official duties have become routine, but I still find my organization’s work overall to be worthwhile, and my team’s accomplishments extremely fulfilling. If you will excuse the somewhat emotional aside, I hope that you as well find such employment. I do not believe that bar deserved you, nor you it.

Finally, rook to queen’s level three. Check.

Dif-tor heh smusma,
Isaac

Jim read it again, as if that might put his nerves to rest. He tried to think of his reply, but it was no use; those last few sentences had started a buzzing in his head that was only made worse by it being Kelvin Day.

Jim closed his computer, feeling antsy. As soon as he did, he realized he had to go— there was something inside him again, like bees in his head and under his skin, something that was just too much to be contained in this old house.

So he took his beat-up old motorbike for a ride.

He was not sure where; he rode down empty dirt roads, feeling the wind and dust in his hair, waiting for the roar of the ancient vehicle to drown out the noise within. It did not, so he kept riding.

He went downtown, zipping past the bar from which he had been fired and banned; he flew past stores and apartments and official government outposts, all places he knew so well that he could probably make this drive with his eyes closed and never lose track of where he was.

His bike took him out of the Riverside shopping district, away from other people, away from well-trod paths. But if familiar places had only increased his agitation, the empty landscape made him listless.

He finally pulled up to a stop when the road ended, then grimaced at where he was.

Up ahead, a crane loomed over a construction site. Massive sheets of metal and fiberglass were lifted into the air, while workmen in hovercars guided them into place. In just a few months, the George Kirk Memorial Shipyard would have another completed expansion.

Jim watched them work until they broke for the day, then watched the empty worksite as the sun dipped past the horizon. It made an impressive scene, casting the skeletons of half-finished buildings in red and gold.

He wondered where Isaac was, right this moment. Probably far beyond Earth’s solar system— he might not even see it. But maybe he could; maybe his ship had an observation deck and a big telescope, like one of the bigger Starfleet transports. He knew Isaac enjoyed stargazing; he had said once that he pictured space during his meditations, rather than a calm oasis like most Vulcans did.

So maybe he was looking back, somewhere out there. Maybe Sol was just one of many tiny lights in the distance as his ship sailed through the sky, just like Jim was one of so many humans he would pass by as he went on to do… whatever it was that a brilliant Vulcan scientist would go on to do in his two centuries of living long and prospering.

Jim would do neither of those things, despite what Isaac wished at the end of every letter. Jim was an idiot fuckup with a cocktail of conditions, both mental and physical, and it was really quite shocking that he and Isaac had been friends for this long.

Jim sighed, rubbing his face. After all this time, he knew how much weight to put on certain statements; if his Vulcan friend admitted to being emotional, it was something very serious.

And he seriously thought that Jim could do better than this.

Jim had heard it before, of course. His mom, his stepdad, several teachers and a few social workers, even law enforcement had said so once or twice— he was too smart to be getting in trouble so often. He was wasting his potential. He was disappointing his mother and insulting his father’s memory. He knew no one approved of him pissing away his life on bar fights and petty theft.

But Isaac was different. He did not know what Jim got up to offline; he only knew his friend Lyras, who was… well, he knew about the bar fights. And about one or two of the crimes. And he knew Jim’s personality, and some of what he could do. And he knew Jim was not happy.

And he thought Jim deserved better.

Jim shivered a little as the sky darkened and the breeze grew colder, but he continued to watch the shipyard. Lights were winking on, and a few figures could be seen in the distance, jogging across a bridge.

For the first time in a long time, Jim considered his options. He did not know what he wanted, besides to get away from Riverside, and all its ugly memories— but nowhere else did he have a place to sleep. He could not just go, unless his next place of employment offered immediate food and lodging— and who did that besides Starfleet?

And who else would take him in, besides an organization that worshipped his surname and was having such a personnel crisis that it could hardly afford to turn him away?

Finally, another thought occurred to him: what would Isaac think, if they were to meet on some far-off space station? What if he learned that his dumbass internet buddy had gone from petty criminal to decorated officer? What if Jim could leverage a bit of Starfleet experience to work wherever Isaac was, and they got to see each other every day?

Hell, between his almost-conversational Golic and his skill with computers, Jim could probably test out of a few of the language and engineering requirements. He might graduate in three years and be a ranked officer in just a few more. And most importantly, it would be on his own terms— he would not be guilted into this by his parents, his teachers, or any of the George Kirk respect-payers who sometimes came to call.

Ahead, the shipyard turned off some of its lights, and the stars began to wink into view, along with the telltale streaks of short-range flights around this little blue planet.

By the time Jim revved up his bike again and started for home, his mind was made up. Tonight he would pack his bags, and tomorrow he would be off.

It would be pretty funny, he thought, if his next message to his alien friend came from a Starfleet server.

Notes:

Additional translations, though y'all definitely know these from other fics:

Dif-tor heh smusma: Live long and prosper
Sochya eh dif: Peace and long life
Kaiidth: What is, is
Ta'al: 🖖

Chapter 3: 2252-2253

Acrid smoke spilled into the hallway of the USS Lincoln, the alert lights blaring as crewmen ran from Engineering, half of them out of their minds with sheer panic.

Spock, who had been on his way to Lab 3 to assist with a routine experiment, dropped his earlier plans and pushed through the small crowd. They were nearly all human; perhaps they could not hear the faint cries for help over the ear-piercing red alert signal.

Ducking low to where the air was cleaner, Spock hurried into Engineering, taking only a moment to assess. The smoke came from one of the auxiliary control panels, where something had apparently gotten into the wiring; this was an electrical fire. A young cadet was nearby on the ground, screaming and clutching at her head.

There was a movement to Spock’s left; another officer had come to assist.

“Attend to the injured crew,” said Lieutenant T’Vin. “I will repair the coolant system.”

Spock nodded and was off.

First he got the young man by the auxiliary control; he must have been using the panel when it caught fire, given the location and severity of his burn injuries. Later, Spock would wonder why a mere student worker had been alone at this station.

“I am here to assist,” he said, but the cadet did not seem to hear him. Spock relied on his training: first, get the victim out of danger. When he would not follow, Spock took his arm and half-dragged him back out into the hallway.

“What’s going on?” Lieutenant Commander Richardson was lurking by the door, shifting from foot to foot. “I only left for a second. What happened?”

“We will find out momentarily, sir,” Spock told him, voice rough from the smoke. He could hear another faint scream in the distance and felt increased heat on his back. His mind worked quickly: the crew was in danger, possibly the entire ship, and it would be difficult for a human to withstand the rising temperatures.

“I will return shortly,” he said, passing the injured cadet to his superior.

“Oh! Uhh—”

Spock went back in and found two more crew: an ensign, apparently unconscious from the fumes, and another cadet, trying desperately to administer aid.

Upon closer inspection, the one on the ground was dead.

“Cadet, evacuate to the hallway,” Spock ordered. Technically he had rank. But the cadet only shook his head, tears streaming down his face. When Spock tried to take his arm, he sobbed and clung tighter to his fallen comrade.

Momentarily at a loss— Spock could carry one, but not both, especially not if they fought him while the fumes threatened his own health— he did not see Lieutenant T’Vin approach again.

“I estimate five minutes before the coolant system resets. I must shut down the warp core.” She looked at the two crewmen, one dead and one in hysterics, then pointed at a spot ahead where a boot was sticking out from the end of a Jeffries tube. It twitched as its owner moaned. “Ensign Spock, you are required elsewhere.”

“But Lieutenant—”

T’Vin raised an eyebrow at the humans, unimpressed. “This one is uninjured. Every moment spent dealing with his emotions would be better spent rescuing those who wish to be saved.” And without another word she was off.

Spock hesitated only a moment. As a Vulcan and an officer, he knew she was correct, but her words had hardly helped the situation; the cadet’s sobs had only intensified.

Spock touched the man’s arm, the most he could think to do. “Please get to safety. I will return when I can.” And then he left.

The young woman in the Jeffries tubes— yet another cadet— had to be carried out of Engineering. By the time Spock reached the hallway again, he had to pause to cough violently.

When he looked up, throat raw, he saw only the anxious face of Lieutenant Commander Richardson, who had apparently just asked him a question.

“Excuse me?” he wheezed.

“My engines, Ensign!” the man repeated. “And my team! I can’t go in there— how bad is the damage?”

Behind him, there were only the two people Spock had dragged out; no medical personnel, no aid. “Lieutenant T’Vin is handling it,” he said. “Is a doctor—”

“Oh, I haven’t… but—”

Spock swallowed hard. He could not have an outburst at his commanding officer, not during a crisis. Instead he struggled to his feet, lurched toward the wall, and jabbed his finger onto a communications panel. “Medical alert on deck four,” he coughed. Then he turned, squared his shoulders, and went back in.

In the end, Spock had to haul five people out of Engineering before the red alert was canceled. The panicked cadet was the last of them; he had fallen unconscious while unattended, and T’Vin had to help Spock carry him out, both their strength failing as their bodies succumbed to the smoke.

Even then, the day was not over. They had to go to sick bay, and no matter how many times Spock insisted that meditation and a light trance could fix the worst of his injuries, they kept him in the infirmary where he had to lie awake listening to the desperate coughs of his fellows and the frantic interrogations from Lieutenant Commander Richardson on the state of ‘his’ Engineering department.

As a mere ensign, it was not Spock’s place to question how things were done, and as a Vulcan, it was beneath him to have an emotional reaction. But he could not help a feeling of bitter disappointment in the conduct of his crewmates— and, upon learning that two of his five rescues had died anyway— perhaps in himself.

 

*

Isaac,

That sucks. But it sounds like you did your best in a shit situation. Kaiidth, right?

Adrenaline does have uses, I think. There’s stories about moms lifting cars off their kids (before you ask, idk if it’s true), or doing other crazy stunts they shouldn’t be able to. That’s why we love action movies, loud music, fast cars, all that shit— you just have to channel that energy, don’t let them get stuck in their heads.

So this is gonna sound weird, but here’s my advice: just smack the guy. Not too hard! Just enough to get him moving. I know, I know, you don’t like violence, but think about it like that healing trance you told me about or kicking a machine that’s stalled— sometimes you just have to shock the system. Wouldn’t recommend it for a normal situation (they’ll be pretty mad! actually maybe do it if you can that’d be funny), but desperate times, lives at stake, you know. Might be worth a shot.

Only other idea is maybe you should study your coworkers a little, figure out what kind of bad behavior you can expect from them. Terran education/culture/whatever isn’t as standardized as yours so we all have different flavors of bullshit, lol.

I agree about your bosses though, that was fucked up. You guys are doing business in space and don’t have crisis training???

Sochya eh dif,
Lyras

P.S. Knight takes bishop on level two. Don’t think I didn’t see that :P

 

*

 

In the months after, Spock followed his friend’s guidance and made an informal study of his crewmates.

Starfleet, it seemed, did have crisis training— but many of the classes were optional unless one chose Command track at the academy, and many people found themselves in high-ranking positions through no such early ambitions. Lieutenant Commander Richardson was one; his father was apparently a well-liked admiral who had just so happened to serve as the direct superior of the Lincoln’s current captain for over a decade. The result of this blatant nepotism was a head of Engineering who was unmotivated, inexperienced, and dangerously incompetent in any sort of high-stress situation. Even worse, his lack of ability drove good people out, and the USS Lincoln had one of its most crucial departments staffed mostly with those who were too inexperienced and too young to do well without proper guidance— guidance which Richardson would never provide.

Other areas of the ship were not much better. Medical was perpetually understaffed, especially given the preponderance of accidents, and the safety protocols of some sub-sections of the Science division would have made Spock blush in shame, were he capable of it.

The next tragedy happened in the labs. Someone failed to properly sedate and secure a dangerous animal, and it mauled the unfortunate junior lieutenant who tried to check its readings in the morning. She was then on medical leave, and her less-experienced colleague was hastily promoted. That study was soon abandoned due to flawed data.

The one after that happened to an away team. Six people beamed down to the planet; eight hours later, two people and one corpse beamed back up. One of the deceased had been a well-loved lieutenant; everyone had to stop working for a week while they held services and mourned. After that, several of the crew resigned their commissions, and the ship took on ten more cadet interns to replace them. At least three were fast-tracked to promotion in order to fill out the ranks.

Most distressing of all was the fact that when operations did go smoothly, their crew had real accomplishments. They made two First Contacts within as many months, mapped new star systems every other week, and regularly added to the Federation’s vast libraries of knowledge of their neighbors in the Milky Way. Lieutenant T’Vin’s organic chemistry team was particularly well-run, and at one point Spock was invited to co-author an in-depth report on the symbiotic relationship of two ocean-dwelling species who lived in different hemispheres of their planet but had somehow evolved a way to communicate that was part chemical, part telepathic.

The work was difficult, and a little tedious, but it made him feel alive as nothing else ever had. Even his most mistrustful colleagues seemed pleased with his work, which was its own victory— more and more, he found them warming to him, inviting him into conversation and into new and thrilling projects. At only twenty-three, Spock could never have hoped for opportunities like this back on Vulcan.

He could only wonder what this crew might be capable of, were they all better trained.

 

*

 

Once, Spock tried to approach T’Vin about the matter. He had made a study of her too: she did well under pressure, never panicked the way a human would, and knew the ship better than anyone, having served longer than even the captain. Yet she had never been considered for promotion. When Spock mentioned to a crewmate that he was content serving under her, the crewmate simply said, ‘Spose you would be,” and was silent for the rest of their experiment.

When he dared to ask her why again, she simply told him that it was more of the anti-Vulcan bias that had been prevalent in the organization since the Kelvin incident; apparently humans believed that since the Romulans resembled his people, they must surely be allies.

But when he asked Lyras about his superior’s possible problem, and what it might mean for him, the human had a different theory.

I guess, but how is SHE to work with? I know a Vulcan probably stays chill when there’s a crisis, but does she help anyone else? I had a manager once who was a real asshole, never yelled but god forbid you ask him for anything, once someone said they had to go to a funeral and he just told them to find coverage and be back for their next shift. We had a regular who groped some of the staff and he just told us not to get too close. Yes I’m serious.

Anyway, not saying good old-fashioned human bigotry isn’t there too, but could be something to ask about.

That gave Spock pause; he and T’Vin had been of a similar mind when their crewmates had become inefficient after a loss. Spock had of course not expressed this opinion to anyone’s face, but had T’Vin been so cautious of human feelings?

He got his answer during the next crisis: one of her own team burst into tears in the middle of a difficult experiment, and she simply ordered them to report to sick bay, hardly glancing up from her microscope. The person transferred to another ship several days later, and T’Vin seemed utterly nonplussed when Spock spoke to her about it. She had not even cared to find out why the person was so upset.

“I have noticed that humans sometimes benefit from expressing their emotions, even when we find them extreme,” Spock tried.

“Then they may do so in private,” T’Vin countered. “If a member of the crew is incapable of this, perhaps they are not fit for duty.”

The following week, another junior officer left their department.

“Kaiidth,” T’Vin said, as if there were nothing she could have done differently.

 

*

 

It was another day, and another red alert. At least this time it had not come from inside the ship.

The Lincoln had been called to assist the USS Denali, which had been caught in the crossfire between a rogue Klingon vessel and three small Orion plunderers. Upon the Lincoln’s arrival, two of the Orion ships fled, an action to which the Klingons fortunately took exception; they gave chase and the Lincoln was able to overpower the rest of the attackers in order to get to the injured Denali.

Of course, these were all details that Spock would learn later. During the event itself, his time was occupied by frantic repairs where the ship had been struck on decks three and five, a difficult task made harder by crewmates who were both poorly organized and apparently ill-suited to intense situations.

About halfway through the battle, there was an atmosphere leak in Engineering— if left unnoticed, one of the worst things that could happen to a starship— and the combination of suddenly thinned air and an overactive life support system trying to compensate rendered two crewmates physically compromised and several more unconscious.

Another human was screaming over the red alert klaxon, and Spock decided it was time to put some advice to the test. He was not strictly the most senior officer present, but as he was the most able to function in present conditions, he took charge.

“Commander Richardson!” he said sharply. “If you overwork the oxygen controls—”

“I don’t wanna die!” he sobbed, still reaching for the dial.

Spock slapped him across the face.

He stopped crying, instead staring at the Vulcan in utter shock. That had been a court martial offense.

“Sir,” he said firmly, “please let go of the controls and step away. I must run a diagnostic and access the sealant.”

When his superior officer did not do as asked, Spock took him by the arm and physically moved him out of the way. Technically, it should be Richardson directing him, or perhaps doing all these tasks himself, but the man did not seem capable at this moment. Soon Spock located the atmosphere leak: thankfully, he only had to seal off one area, which was empty of crewmen.

That done, he gathered the sealant and some EVA equipment, brushing past Richardson as he made his way to the site of the leak.

“Sir, I suggest you go to med bay,” he said seriously. “You are emotionally compromised.”

On his way to fix the situation, he came across another human throwing a fit, and two others else trying to calm them. For this one he simply administered a nerve pinch and directed their fellows to get them medical attention. Fortunately, he was obeyed this time.

By the time the red alert ended and the Denali rescued, Spock had plenty of opportunity to reflect on his actions.

He supposed that “Richardson had it coming” would not be a sufficient legal defense against his upcoming court martial. Nor would “I panicked”— a Vulcan would never be so overwhelmed by emotion. And it would be an admission of being unfit for service.

Well, as Lyras had said, kaiidth. He would rather be alive and punished than obedient and dead.

For eight days after that, the Lincoln and Denali took it in turns playing lookout for one another as repairs were completed. When Spock finished work each day he went back to his quarters, organized his belongings, meditated, and waited for security officers to arrive.

But instead, on the sixth day an unfamiliar yeoman came to summon him, and he soon found himself in a conference room, face to face with the Denali’s captain, one Christopher Pike.

The man sat alone at the conference table, leaning one elbow on it, a terminal facing him that Spock could not see.

“Have a seat, son.” Pike had the soft but assured voice of one who had held command for some time, one who expected to be obeyed the same way he expected an object to hit the floor if he dropped it.

Spock sat.

“I’ve been reading over your file,” he began. “Impressive stuff.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And I heard about a few of the incidents you’ve been involved in. Slapping a commanding officer? Running straight into the line of fire to save crewmates who might already be gone? They didn’t teach you that at the Academy.”

“They did not, sir,” Spock agreed. Here it was, then. He was about to lose his position. He was not sure where he would go after this.

But then Pike surprised him. “I’ve been thinking, though, maybe they should have.”

“…Sir?”

Pike observed him, his features steady enough to rival a Vulcan. “That willingness to leap without looking, that determination to do what’s right and damn the consequences. In my opinion it’s something Starfleet’s lost.”

“Captain, I must respectfully protest. I do expect to face consequences, and I of course consider them before I take any action.” He did not want the man thinking he was reckless or impulsive. “If my logic seems flawed, I apologize. But I would certainly look before I were to leap anywhere—”

The captain’s stern features relaxed a little as he held up a hand. “Figure of speech, kid.”

Spock shut his mouth. He would simply have to ask Lyras about it later.

“So, your mission’s coming to an end in a couple of months,” Pike said, seemingly changing topics. “Where do you think you’ll go next?”

Well… “Sir, I was under the impression that my next assignment would be a disciplinary hearing.”

Now Pike laughed. “I guess that’s logical. Lord knows Richardson’s been complaining about you all week.”

Spock bowed his head, but Pike held up a hand again to forestall any protest.

“And the word on the Lincoln is that he’s been asking for it. Off the record, his promotion was a mistake, and we all know it. What’s worse, Richardson himself knows, and it makes him insecure and timid. You’ve seen what that can do in a crisis.

“In my opinion, this personnel crisis has made us loosen our standards, and I’d like to use this to tighten them up. When the Lincoln’s mission is over, I’d suggest you come join me at the Academy.”

Spock could not help a small frown. A life in academics, staying indoors to study theory and watch the stars from a distance, was already one he had escaped at the VSA.

“It’ll be good for your own career, too,” Pike continued. “Once you’ve proved yourself out in the black, it’s best to come home for a bit— do some networking, meet the higher-ups. Take on some of the grunt work of teaching cadets so they know you’ll do your part, and get some experience with authority while you’re at it. Take some advanced classes, get an extra certification or two. And best of all, you won’t be locked into a strict mission schedule or faffing around while you wait for your next assignment— you’ll be one of the first to know when there’s something new coming up, and you’ll have the freedom to take it.”

Spock nodded slowly. “And in return for this freedom, you would wish for me to… help you tighten our standards?”

Pike resettled his elbow on the desk. “I’m thinking you could advise the Command Track professors, maybe help us develop a test or a special class to filter out some of those who shouldn’t be in charge.”

“Those ideas seem sound.”

“And between you and me,” Pike said, lowering his voice a little as if someone invisible might overhear, “When the new flagship is ready to debut in a couple years, you’d be on my shortlist for senior crew. Keep that last one to yourself for now.”

“Of course, sir. Your consideration is most generous.”

“So’s yours, kid.” Pike stood, prompting Spock to rise as well. “Think about it,” he said seriously. “Meditate on it, or whatever you need to do. I’d like an answer by the time we part ways at Starbase Sixteen, if possible.”

Spock agreed and went back to his quarters, his mind abuzz with possibilities.

While he was still loath to return to academics, the opportunity did seem valuable. As for the work, he had considered the need for such additions to the curriculum often during his time on this ship, and it was gratifying to have his opinions confirmed by such a decorated officer.

He liked the idea of a test, perhaps to examine a cadet’s response to fear. He may even be able to put some of his non-Starfleet experience to use; perhaps he could use some of the tricks he had learned from Lyras and his holo-games over the years.

And he would be on the planet with his human companion again. He felt at ease with Lyras, who was so genuine and honest with him, and who sought his company not for who his family was or what he did, but simply because he enjoyed Spock’s presence. He was perhaps the first person besides Spock’s own mother to do so, and these last two lonely years in space had shown him the psychological benefits of it.

In the end, that was what swayed him.

 

*

 

Lyras,

Forgive the brief message today— shore leave has been abbreviated, and I expect to be out of contact for approximately two months. However, I also wished to let you know that I have accepted a transfer within my organization, and at the conclusion of our current project we will return to Earth, where I will be stationed for some time. I look forward to our more frequent communications.

Pawn 6 advances.

Dif-tor heh smusma,
Isaac

 

*

 

“Morning, ladies,” Jim chirped, sliding into an empty seat across from Gaila and an equally pretty human— apparently a good friend, if Gaila was willing to hang out with her before noon. “Mind if I join?”

The friend raised her eyebrows. “Looks like you already have,” she observed, with all the amused disapproval of Jim’s favorite type of teacher. Starfleet seemed to have a higher concentration of those, which had been a pleasant surprise.

Jim winked at the human, which only made her shake her head with a light smirk.

“Jim, this is my roommate.” Gaila waved noncommittally, not even looking up from her breakfast. “Jim is in Advanced Coding with me. He’s alright.”

“Just alright?” Jim asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

But Gaila, rather than flirt back, just gave a huge yawn. “It’s too early to give me those big goo-goo eyes.”

“I would never!” Jim protested, one hand over his chest in mock offense. “Miss Roommate, you like my eyes, don’t you?” He batted his eyelashes at her.

“Not particularly,” the human said drily. She took a long sip of her coffee, appraising him. “You’re in Advanced Coding? I haven’t seen you around before.”

“And you’d never forget a face like mine, right?” He grinned as he slowly peeled his banana. She wasn’t exactly picking up what he was putting down, but nothing could dampen his spirits today.

“I’m sure I can if you give me an hour or two.” Her own breakfast included a couple of half-eaten vegan sausages; she speared one on her fork and began to slice it into tiny pieces, keeping eye contact the entire time.

Jim just laughed. After almost a year at the Academy, he had realized he liked a woman who could kick his ass.

“So, you got a name, Gaila’s roommate?”

For a moment he thought she wouldn’t answer, but then she just sighed. “Uhura.”

“Uhura! Great name. What do you study?”

“Keep your voice down,” Gaila groaned into her waffles, her eyes half-closed. “What’s wrong with you today?”

“Oh, I just got some good news, that’s all.” Jim took an obnoxiously large bite of his banana. “Guess you could say I scored some extra time with my favorite teacher.”

“Funny, you don’t strike me as the type to have a favorite,” said Uhura. “What, do they let you drink in class?”

“Oh, even better. I get to play holo-games the whole time and he tells me I’m a genius for my sick moves.”

“Does he.” Uhura swirled one of the sausage bits around in some sauce. “He sounds easily impressed.”

“Oh, no, he’s got really high standards. My moves are just that good.”

Uhura snorted. “Sure they are.”

“So you never answered my question. What’s your focus? Command? I bet you’d be great on top.”

At this she rolled her eyes. “Xenolinguistics, with a special concentration in vuhlkantra— not that you’d know what that means.”

“Study of alien languages, with a concentration in Vulcans and Vulcanoid species.” Jim grinned widely, feeling a little thrill at this opening. “You speak Golic, then?” he added in that language.

Now both her eyebrows shot up; he’d finally surprised her. “Your pronunciation is horrible.”

He laughed out loud, prompting Gaila to shush him, spilling a bit of her coffee as she did so.

But Uhura, apparently intrigued by the combination of harmless horndog and witty genius that was Jim Kirk, warmed up to him a little. She even stayed to chat in their shared second language— brutally critiquing every sound out of his mouth, of course— well after she had finished her meal.

The truth was, this was exactly what he’d been aiming for: Gaila had mentioned once or twice that her roommate studied Vulcan, and Jim had been making moves to befriend her ever since, hoping to score a study buddy and maybe a date while Isaac was gone. Now that his friend was coming back, though… well, there was no need to tread carefully. He could be his natural obnoxious self and they could take it or leave it with no harm to his prospects.

And he had to admit, he liked it better this way. Uhura was pretty cool.

 

*

 

- June 22, 2253, 23:51 PST -

Isaac: Good evening.

Lyras: :DDDD!!!!

Isaac: 🖖

Lyras: 🖖🖖🖖🖖🖖

Isaac: Look what has become of you in my absence. You believe you have five hands.

Lyras: LOL I missed you being a dick in my dms
Lyras: how was your work thing?? was space fun

Isaac: “Fun” has variable definitions. But I did find the experience valuable.

Lyras: :)

Isaac: I trust you are also enjoying your work?

Lyras: yeah you know it’s not as bad as I expected
Lyras: always hated school but now I’m back in academics and it’s alright
Lyras: definitely a better scene than that shithole I was in before

Isaac: To be an improvement over such a place would be, as you humans say, a low bar to clear.

Lyras: omg was that a pun

Isaac: That is a highly offensive insinuation. Vulcans do not make puns.

Lyras: maybe I’ve been rubbing off on you ;)

Isaac: Excuse me. I must meditate to purge myself of this.

Lyras: nooooooo don’t go!!
Lyras: you just got back

Isaac: Indeed I did. The hour is very late at my location.

Lyras: well yeah it’s late for me too but I saw your ping…
Lyras: wait you pinged me first
Lyras: did you just put yourself on DND??? whyd you ping me if you don’t wanna talk :(

Isaac: I wished to greet you at the first opportunity. I was not expecting you to be awake.

Lyras: wtf so you just sent a message as soon as you touched down??

Isaac: No. I left my work site, arrived at my new home, consumed a meal and unpacked my belongings. Then I sent you a message. I intended to leave it at that until tomorrow, but as you can see, plans have changed.

Lyras: wow
Lyras: couldn’t resist my charms huh
Lyras: missed you too buddy

Jim flinched as soon as he sent it; he had not meant to be so direct. It was true, of course, but his Vulcan friend would be uncomfortable, and—

Isaac: I as well have missed your company. But it is late for us both, and it would be unwise to “catch up” before we are rested. I will be available to speak more on Sunday.

Lyras: sounds perf
Lyras: can we finish our chess game then too?

Isaac: I look forward to it. Sleep well, Lyras.

Lyras: 🖖

Isaac: 🖖

 

*

 

In San Francisco, the summer came in like the tide: slow, gentle, just enough to wet the toes, nothing like the sticky heat and sudden storms of Iowa. One by one the Starfleet ships came in, depositing a heap of officers on the California shore. Some became professors, some became researchers, some went back out on another vessel and some left Starfleet altogether.

The student body had its own ebb and flow. Senior cadets— Uhura and Gaila among them— received their intern assignments and were swept out into space, a few at a time; in their place, new students slowly trickled in. There were not enough of them to replace all who left, but there was still time; the recruitment ships went out every week, after all. For now, it meant that many of those going into second year did not need to accept a roommate, which suited Jim Kirk just fine.

With Isaac back, his days fell into a familiar pattern. Just like in high school, it was class (less boring and less often skipped, these days), homework (also less boring, sometimes actually completed on time), and then catching up with his friend. They were both busier now, but Isaac always made time for him; more than one of Jim’s weekends was spent almost entirely in his room, surrounded by books and discarded dishes, chat program open and a smile on his face.

“So who is she?” Gary asked accusingly, one day as they ate lunch together before Emergency Tactics. Gary was a bit of a shit, but he was the only other person attempting to do Command track in three years instead of the usual four, so he and Jim often wound up in each other’s orbit.

“Who’s who?” Jim asked, only half paying attention as he checked his padd. “You bothering one of the new TAs again?”

“No, I’m asking why you’ve got that lovesick grin on your face and stopped showing up at happy hour.” Gary narrowed his eyes. “So. Who’s the girl that tied down Jim Kirk?”

Jim blinked at him, utterly nonplussed. “There’s no girl.”

Gary rolled his eyes. “Who’s the guy, then? Or whatever else they call themselves?”

“There’s no one!”

“Don’t play dumb! Finnegan said you went to the replicator in your underwear last Sunday, got two bowls of soup and went right back to your room for the rest of the day. What the hell else could you be doing?”

Jim thought back. Last Sunday…

“Oh,” he said, remembering. “That was me settling a debate.”

What had happened was that he and Isaac had gotten into a heated discussion over replicator foods— well, more accurately, replicator programming— and whether the larger sizes of some soups were simply watered down. Jim, with all his allergies, was intimately familiar with the few things he could eat, so of course he had been right.

“So then I told him,” Jim finished, still a bit smug, “Never bet against humanity’s laziness or dishonesty.”

Gary just rolled his eyes. “God, you sound like a Vulcan.”

Jim grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Well, you’ll love class today, then,” Gary said darkly. When Jim again looked confused, he huffed his frustration. “Commander Gupta’s wife had the baby, so she’s out for the rest of the year. Our sub is some Vulcan lieutenant. Which you’d know if you stopped ditching me and the rest of the gang to argue with online trolls about soup.”

“I’m having lunch with you now, aren’t I?” Jim said, already distracted again. Did he have time to practice his pronunciation, to do a proper greeting in Golic? No, of course not— class was in a few minutes, and Gary would hardly be any help. Maybe just the ta’al? Jim flexed his fingers under the table— no, it would be weird if he did that now but did not speak until later.

He would just have to act like any other human student, and hope he got another chance to test out his skills later.

 

*

 

Spock stood beside the podium, hands clasped firmly at his back. He did not fidget; he did not check his notes. He had conducted fourteen presentations over the past two years and had watched his superiors do many more. His first class was several months earlier than expected, but he was not unprepared. He was not nervous.

One by one the cadets filed in, filling the room with red uniforms and too-loud human chatter. It was not so long ago that Spock had been one of them, although he would have less of an obvious reaction at seeing a new, non-Terran instructor. One or two of the students attempted a ta’al; Spock noted their faces and inclined his head in acknowledgment.

Hm. This was by far the largest audience he had yet spoken to.

Once they were all seated and the voices quieted, he lifted his own ta’al in greeting.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “I am Lieutenant Spock. I will be your instructor for the next month.”

A few of them nodded; some looked surprised. But he was not at liberty to discuss his predecessor’s personal life, and so he did not elaborate.

Spock breathed in, and out. Today’s class was usually a lecture, but in Spock’s limited experience, humans learned better with practice.

And in a class for Emergency Tactics, it was perhaps better to keep them ‘on their toes,’ as it were.

“We will begin with a hypothetical scenario. Who has knowledge of the Battle of Alpha Majoris during the skirmishes of 2219?”

A few hands went up. Spock noted them, then turned to a cadet in the first row. “You are the captain,” he said. He then indicated a cadet who had raised their hand. “You are the ship’s historian, on the bridge by happenstance. Captain, a Klingon vessel of greater strength has approached with weapons drawn. When hailed, the Klingon captain says your ship will answer for the events of Alpha Majoris. How do you respond?”

“Uhh…” the cadet looked toward his appointed ‘historian,’ completely at a loss. “I guess I… ask my historian what he’s talking about?”

“How long does that take?” Spock asked. “Historian?”

The appointed cadet bit her lip. “We lost that battle, sir,” she said. “I might try to figure out if he’s related to anyone who fought there? Did he give us a name?”

Spock turned to the first cadet again, eyebrow raised. “Captain?”

The cadet glanced around him, as if checking to see whether this was an elaborate prank. “Did he give me his name, sir?”

“He has given his clan name, but it is not one you know.”

“Can I ask my historian to look it up?”

“You may. While her computer is processing your query, however, the Klingon captain interprets your silence as an insult, and begins firing on your vessel. There are no more negotiations and the information is now moot.”

The cadet looked stricken. “But sir,” he stammered, “I barely had a chance!”

“We are in Emergency Tactics, cadet. In a true emergency, you may have even less time.”

Spock turned his attention to the rest of the class. “Would anyone else like to try?”

One cadet raised his hand. He sat off to the side by the window, leaning casually on an elbow.

“Well, sir, I think it’s a trick question. I wouldn’t ask my historian at all, I’d just ask the Klingon.”

Spock tilted his head in consideration. “What would you say to him?”

“Probably something like, ‘Hey, I’m new here, so I’m not aware of any beef your clan has with whoever used to command this thing. Also, you’re bigger than us, and we’re carrying a bunch of innocents who weren’t even born until after the incident you’re so upset about. Can you explain to me what honor there is to be gained here?’ And then maybe I’d signal for my team to get ready for evasive maneuvers or something, just in case.” The cadet raised his eyebrows, almost mockingly. “Sir.”

“So you would seek further information while attempting to delay or deescalate hostilities.” Spock inclined his head. “Very good. Although I certainly hope you have prepared this signal to your crew in advance.”

“Of course, sir.”

The tone bordered on insolent, but Spock let it go for now. He turned to the class at large. “As officers, you will all be expected to act quickly. Hostile actors will not be patient, and technical emergencies less so.” He turned to another cadet at random, one who sat toward the back. “Another scenario: you are doing routine tasks in Engineering. You are standing with three junior officers near the warp core when you hear an explosion nearby. How do you proceed?”

“I investigate, sir!”

“How do you do this?”

“I approach the sound, sir!”

“And what of the junior officers?”

“I don’t know, sir!”

“You are their commander. You must be aware of what they are doing.”

“I’m sorry, sir!”

The cadet by the window chuckled, just loud enough that Vulcan ears could pick it up easily. “Something amuses you, Cadet?”

“Sir, if I’ve got three junior guys right next to me, you bet I’d delegate.”

“What would you have them do?”

“One alerts the Chief Engineer, since this seems like his problem. One gets on comms, since an explosion in Engineering is something the bridge should know about— you know, in case we need to warp. And one comes with me, in case I need backup. I’d look pretty stupid if I got taken out by shrapnel or something and no one even dragged my dumb ass out of there.”

“Very thorough. Another scenario…”

And so he continued. By the end of class, the cadets looked tense and ready to run, and Spock thought he had a better grasp of what their studies had covered, as well as some of the strengths and weaknesses of individuals. A productive session, he decided.

A minute before the bell rang to signal the end of class, Spock held up a hand.

“Before we conclude here today,” he said, looking at no one in particular, “I am on a team preparing a practical exam for future students which will test the skills we discussed today. This exam will not be required for your class year, but it is open to beta testing by anyone in Command track. If you are interested, there is a padd for signups on my desk here. Dismissed.”

Unfortunately, most of the class was not interested. The cadet by the window, however— the one who had ended up engaging with nearly half of Spock’s imaginary scenarios— made his way over to the padd, glancing at Spock every few seconds. He took his time putting his name and comm link in, as if he meant to linger.

Spock watched him, expectant. For the first time all day, the cadet seemed nervous.

They locked eyes, and the cadet raised his hand in an attempt at the ta’al. Spock merely lifted an eyebrow, and for a moment the younger man looked as though he might say something, but then there was a cry of “Jim!” from outside the door and the moment ended.

The cadet gave his lazy smile again, ran that hand through his hair in a very unprofessional manner, and went to join his fellows.

When he was gone, Spock checked the padd for his name.

James Kirk. He was familiar enough with human surnames now to know that it was not particularly uncommon, but was there any relation to George Kirk? He seemed the right age…

But soon the next class began filtering in, so Spock put it out of his mind.

 

*

 

Spock’s name was familiar— maybe Jim had heard it on the news once, or in one of Isaac’s more obscure history books. They definitely had not met before, since he would surely have remembered those dark eyes and smooth, commanding voice. And the rest of him— Spock was one of the few people who could make that instructor uniform look sexy.

Hmm. Could Jim make a pass at a professor and get away with it? No, he lamented, probably not. Especially not a Vulcan with any self-respect; he knew from Isaac that they took mentorship seriously. No, Jim would probably just have to admire his extremely hot teacher from afar. And maybe hope the rest of them started doing classes like that— it had been fun.

“What was with that pointy-eared bastard?” Gary complained, once they were sufficiently down the hall.

“I dunno,” Jim said, grinning. “But I like him.”

Notes:

And we're off! Next chapter is when things get exciting 😏

Chapter 4: 2253-2255

Shields at zero percent. Engine power at zero percent. Life support systems at critical failure. Enemy missile incoming. Destruction imminent…

The red alert siren faded, the lights dimmed to almost nothing, and there was a soft, mechanical trill.

Simulation complete, said the cool voice of the computer.

Jim sat stunned, his hands white-knuckled on the arms of his chair. He did not fail tests. He had not failed a test since he was thirteen years old, when he had skipped class on the wrong day and was not allowed to make it up later.

Jim Kirk did not fail tests.

“Thank you, Cadet,” said a monotone even colder than the machine. Lieutenant Spock stood behind the viewscreen, surveying him. “You may exit.”

“I think this thing has a bug,” Jim stammered. His heart was still pounding in his throat. “I didn’t even get a chance to return fire—”

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “Do you believe that would have made a difference?”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Yeah, of course it would. And there should be a bridge crew. What kind of starship captain runs a rescue mission by himself?”

“It is not unprecedented. I believe you in particular would know that, Mister Kirk.”

Jim clenched his jaw until he could trust himself not to curse. “If you’re referring to the Kelvin, sir, those were extreme circumstances. The ship was already dead in the air, facing a superior enemy who refused to negotiate, and the crew was evacuated on purpose. If there’s ever been a competent officer who flung a perfectly fine ship into the line of fire without a full team manning the engines, communications, phasers and shields, I’ve never heard of it. This test isn’t just hard, it’s rigged.”

Lieutenant Spock tilted his head, peering down at the human as if he were some kind of curiosity at the zoo. He did not seem at all bothered by Jim’s implication that he sucked at his job.

“Your suggestion has merit,” Spock finally allowed. “A small crew of your peers may help create realism, as well as enhance the emotional impact.”

Emotional impact? What, did he expect people to fake their deaths if the test-taker made the wrong move?

“Do you have any additional notes for me, Cadet?”

“Yeah. The red alert siren is too loud, I couldn’t hear myself think.”

There was that goddamned eyebrow again. “It is the same volume on a real starship.”

“Then they should turn it down there too. My crew wouldn’t even hear my orders.” Privately, he thought that explained a lot of accidents. Looking at the Vulcan’s blank face, however, he could tell the grim observation would not be appreciated.

Infuriatingly, Spock just nodded. “Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Very well. Thank you for your assistance today, Cadet Kirk. It has been helpful.”

And then he took his finger off the communications button and turned away, typing something out on his console. He did not look up as Jim slowly made his way out of the testing area, though he surely felt Jim’s eyes on him the entire time.

Afterward, Jim stalked back to his room. He could not focus on his assignments without that siren echoing in his ears, or Spock’s cold stare appearing behind his eyelids every time he blinked.

Finally, in a fit of spite, he sat down at his extremely non-regulation gaming computer, weaseled his way into the faculty mailing lists and added one of his burner accounts to the roster. He then set up a few alerts, including one for the Kobayashi Maru test. For good measure, he set one up for news of Lieutenant Spock, too.

As soon as this thing went live, Jim would be one of the first to hear about it, and the first to beat it.

And then he’d tell that pointy-eared pretty-boy bastard where to stick his suggestions.

 

*

 

“You think the alert sirens are too loud?”

Spock inclined his head. “I understand that such a volume is required initially, to get the attention of the entire crew; however, once alert status has been established, the continuous high volume only serves to heighten mental distress and decrease efficiency of communication. I believe I noted this on my report of my first tour of duty.”

“That’s just your Vulcan hearing,” Captain Pike said dismissively. Spock was beginning to doubt whether his report had been read in full. “I don’t know, Spock, we’ve had the same alert system for the past twenty years.”

“Then perhaps it is due for an update. I am not the only one who has noticed—”

“Alright, alright.” Pike waved a hand as if to swat away any further comments. “If you’re that worried I’ll speak to someone in Engineering. But what about the test? You’ve got that ready to go on schedule?”

At this, Spock hesitated. That was the main reason for this meeting; the captain was very interested in his project, and he preferred Spock to update him in person. But he also— like most humans— did not often give Spock enough time to fully explain himself.

“Regretfully, I must ask to delay its debut,” he said carefully. “I have received feedback on potential design changes which I believe will vastly improve the test, but I will need time to implement them.”

Pike watched him, frowning. “How much time?”

“Approximately two weeks, if I change nothing else in my schedule. Or—”

The captain let out a bark of laughter. “Wait, that’s it? Of course you can take an extra two weeks. Hell, take four. Make it perfect.”

For a moment Spock was speechless. Never in his life had failure been met with such amused indulgence. “Sir?”

Pike was still chuckling. “I thought you’d say it’ll take another two months and you’d need three more guys working on it. No, kid, as long as it’s ready by winter you’re good. I just want to give the board time to approve it in time for next year’s cadets. Anything else?”

Spock frowned. He had thought it would be better to implement the test as soon as possible, if it really was as necessary as they had agreed.

Well, he supposed, humans had a strange idea of time and schedules. He might as well try Kirk’s suggestion. “Sir, would it be possible to test more than one cadet? Perhaps if we were to create a simulated bridge crew, we could evaluate the conduct of all participants.”

“Might be hard to coordinate. And with the instructor shortage, I’m not sure we have the manpower to grade to everyone.”

“Then perhaps the cadets can evaluate each other. I have found great value in the opportunity to observe commanders of varying ability.”

Pike smirked at that. “Varying ability, huh? Got something to say about one of your superior officers, Lieutenant?”

“Only that I have been greatly enlightened by serving under them all. Sir.”

Pike laughed again. They spoke for another eight minutes— much of it the sort of friendly chatter that humans liked, but that Spock did not usually experience from a person of authority— and then he was dismissed. He retreated to his rooms with a great deal to think about.

 

*

 

What Jim really needed, he thought, was some fresh air.

Isaac was busier than ever— and when Jim dared to whine about it, the Vulcan insisted he avail himself of “whatever extracurricular opportunities are offered”— so he shuffled some things around on his schedule and signed up for shuttle duty.

It was, weirdly, kind of exciting. Starfleet was doing recruitment drives just about every month and sent shuttles all over the world to pick up the next crop of cadets. Jim got to visit Honolulu, Vancouver, Guadalahara, even Shanghai once when he wound up on one of the bigger ships. While on duty, he did not have time to stray too far from the Starfleet bases— but even so, in each city there was invariably a few good bars, a few good people, and a few spectacular views. He kissed humans and aliens in three different continents, got wasted in four, and had an allergic reaction in only two.

Oh, and they even let him get pilot experience. That would sure help him climb the ranks faster, if he cared to.

And it let him put both that damn test and its creator out of his mind for a while, so he really did feel better.

Okay, fine, this had been a great idea.

Isaac: I believe the human phrase is “I told you so.”

Lyras: >:(
Lyras: listen I’ve never had a job that lets me travel before. how was I supposed to know I’d like it

Isaac: It is perfectly logical that you would.

Lyras: how is it logical??

Isaac: You are a naturally curious and adaptable person, and you have never kept a regular sleep schedule in all the six years I have known you. Therefore I expect that for you, like me, the benefits of exploration far outweigh the inconveniences.

Jim had to think about that one for a while. He couldn’t argue on the sleep thing, of course, and he supposed he could be curious or even “adaptable” when he had to be. But the idea that he was naturally suited to this— that Starfleet might actually be a real career option, not just a way to pass the time or prove he was smart but something he could genuinely like—was weird to think about.

He kept up his studies, kept flying the shuttles, and soon became addicted to staring out the window as the craft flew over his little blue planet.

Sometimes, another shuttle would pass overhead— to the moon, to a starship, to one of the bigger Starfleet hubs orbiting Sol. Jim wondered if Earth was just a temporary stop for some of those other passengers, the way San Francisco still was for him. He wondered where they were ultimately going.

He wondered if Isaac was among them.

 

*

 

Jim’s growing affection for his shuttle job ended abruptly one Thursday when he looked at the weekend assignments.

They were sending him to the George Kirk Memorial Shipyard.

They were sending him to Riverside.

Of course, there was no way out of it. No one would trade with him, and it was too late to back out, and…

“You were requested specifically,” Captain Pike told him, dropping Jim’s leave request right into recycling. “Winona called. She’ll be dirtside until the end of the month.”

All the more reason to not go back there. “Why’s she calling you, then? She can come to me.”

“We both know you don’t answer your comms.”

Jim folded his arms. Yeah, he had noticed a missed call or two the other day, but she could still come here. It was Starfleet HQ, for crying out loud— what could have her so damn busy in Iowa that she couldn’t make her own trip? “I’ve got work to do. That’s why I’m requesting leave.”

“You’re ahead in all your assignments. I checked.”

Well, not all of them, Jim thought with a grimace. He had scammed some extra time on one, but he could hardly say that to Pike.

“Do you stick your nose in all your cadets’ personal business like this?”

“Only when I know their families, and when I know they’d regret it if I didn’t force them to do the right thing.” Pike looked him up and down, appraising. “You gonna try anything else, or can I get back to my work now?”

“With all due respect, sir, you’re an asshole.”

Pike just chuckled and waved him out of the office. “Noted. Go see your mom, Jim.”

Jim stomped out, petty enough to leave the door wide open behind him.

When he had first arrived at the Academy, Pike had found him within a week. The man was a decorated captain, kept out of the admiralty only by his own desire to keep flying. Jim had grown up hearing stories about him— much like Pike had spent his own younger years hearing about the legendary George Kirk. When he had brought up doing a dissertation on the Kelvin, Jim had almost quit on the spot, but Pike… well, for an old ‘fleet stooge, he was usually pretty cool. Usually.

But every now and then, he made Jim regret his decision to stay.

 

*

 

Like anything he dreaded, the Riverside trip came much too quickly. Jim woke up early, glaring out his window at the sun. He debated for few minutes, then decided he wasn’t going back to sleep so he might as well get this damn thing over with.

As always, he arrived at the shuttle port early to go over the flight plan and final checks on the shuttle. His copilot, Ximenez, greeted him with only a nod; he felt the tension in his shoulders ease a bit.

Jim liked Ximenez. Her cold competence was oddly reassuring, especially on a day like this one when he was feeling less than social and not quite on his A-game. Even better, Ximenez let him drive both ways more often than not, preferring to work on her padd while he did the tedious job of sailing familiar routes with only minor nudging to correct for air currents or magnetic fluctuations. Today it would be a particular blessing, having something to focus on instead of his own anxieties about his first trip home in two years.

 

*

 

Lieutenant Commander Winona Kirk was still using her first married name after all these years. She had a few more lines around her mouth and eyes, and another stripe on her sleeve, but besides that she was much the same as the last time her son had seen her in person.

“Oh, Jim,” she said tearfully, arms open for a hug, “you look so much like your dad.”

Jim let her hold him for a minute, rolling his eyes over her shoulder. She always said that.

They settled down in their seats, at the same old restaurant they used to come to for birthdays— well, Sam’s birthday, as Jim’s had been a public event until he started refusing to celebrate at all— and for other important milestones. It was the same table they’d had when Winona told them she was getting married again; they ordered the same appetizer they’d had when Sam got accepted into college. The decor was pretty, the staff was nice, and there were four whole dishes on the menu that Jim could eat without modifications.

Oh, Jim realized as he took his first bite of over-salted potatoes, he hated this place. Somehow he had never noticed.

“So,” Winona said, smiling so wide it looked painful, “Starfleet Academy. I knew you’d join us one day.”

“Did you?” Jim had to ask. “I thought you said I’d fail out of high school.”

“But you got it together! I knew you could.” Winona watched him eat, that adoring smile still on her face. Like he still was five years old and learning his way around a fork.

“Sure,” he said, the compliment sliding right off him. If she really had known, it wasn’t anything to do with him.

“Sooo… how is it? Is Chris teaching any of your classes? Oh, is Professor Lee still lording it over the whole chemistry department? I’ve told him a hundred times he needs to retire.”

Jim shrugged. “I’m command track, accelerated study. Not much chemistry there.”

“So who are your teachers? Anyone else I might know?”

Jim shrugged again. “Probably not. There’s a lot of younger ones, with the turnover and everything. I heard Academy stints are practically a requirement for command now.”

“I’ve heard that too,” she sighed. “Well, hopefully they’ll let you prove yourself out there in the black. Not that there’s anything wrong with teaching, of course! It just doesn’t seem like you.”

He supposed not. Teaching Isaac human jokes and holo-games wasn’t exactly the same as presenting to a crowd.

“You look tired. They’re keeping you busy, huh?”

“Guess so. I’m accelerated.”

“Just like George.” There was that far-off smile again, the other one she often wore when she looked at him. “He’d be so proud of you, Jim.”

Jim had never been sure what to say to that, either.

“So what about you?” he asked, just to change the subject.

“I’ve been great.” She took a sip of her whiskey ginger— the same canned cocktail she had been drinking for as long as Jim could remember. “I really think Starfleet’s turning around, you know. Last month we got four new cadets in my section of the base, and I like them all. If I can get a good team ready for her, it might finally be time to let Wei-wei take my place— I told you about her, right? She could probably build a whole starship by hand, but she’s not the best at delegating. I think if I have Giovanni as her number two…”

Jim let the shop talk wash over him. This, too, was routine; Winona lived and breathed Starfleet, and never really clocked out for the day. She had met both husbands in the service, and when the going got tough at home, work had always been there for her. Hell, Jim and Sam were probably the only people in her life who weren’t enlisted— and now it was just Sam. If they even still talked.

“There is one thing I need to tell you, though,” she said, setting down her glass. “Jim, Frank and I are getting divorced.”

It took him a second to tune back in. “Sorry, what?”

“It just wasn’t working,” she sighed. “I think it hasn’t been for a long time. But we’re still friends, and now that both you boys are out of the nest—” she gave him a grateful smile, as if he had moved out as some kind of favor to her— “I think it’s time we let go.”

Jim stared at her. If her marriage had been struggling, it was news to him.

“Which one of you is moving?”

“Yeah, that…” She shook her head. “We’re selling the house, actually.”

“…Oh.”

“That was the other reason I wanted you to stop by.” She gave him a sad sort of smile. “I know there’s a lot of memories there. If you wanted to see it one more time— you know, before we start moving all the furniture out—”

“I’m good,” Jim said, realizing as he did that it was true. He had taken all the essentials with him to San Francisco; what remained could be put into storage, probably to be thrown away in about ten years without him even looking at it. “Just have the movers ship my stuff over. Or hell, sell it. I’m sure you’ll get plenty of takers for George Kirk’s family detritus or whatever.”

Winona gave one of those long sighs. “Jim…”

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.” He speared the last shitty chunk of potato and shoved it violently into his mouth. “I left my keys back in California, so I’ll mail them to you later. Anything else I should know?”

She watched him for a long moment. “Have you heard from your brother lately?”

He didn’t know why she thought he might have.

She gave him the rest of the news: Sam had published a paper last month, on some very complicated xenobiology subject that neither Jim nor Winona understood. Frank sent his regards; his grandparents (all three remaining ones were former Starfleet) wished both boys luck and congratulations. Jim got through the rest of the family updates, smiled and nodded through a dessert he could not eat, and then they left the restaurant.

“Are you sure you can’t stay a little longer?” Winona asked. “Frank and I have a few legal things to go through, but you could come back to the house, maybe we can put a holo on…”

“I’ve got some stuff to work on tonight,” Jim told her, only half lying. “Sorry. I’d better stay on premises.”

“Alright. Take care, Jim.”

She hugged him again, and then they parted ways.

Jim watched her go, and realized that except for the topic of their shared employer, she had not asked a single thing about his life.

 

*

 

Lyras: I have a stupid question

Isaac: I will try to give an intelligent answer.

Lyras: do you ever get angry at someone for like
Lyras: not being there
Lyras: even when they are?
Lyras: sorry I know it’s a weird human feelings thing

Isaac: I’m not sure I understand the idiom correctly. Are you alluding to a person being physically present but directing their attention elsewhere?

Lyras: maybe
Lyras: more like not being emotionally there, or not caring even though they say they do

Isaac: This seems like an unhealthy relationship. Perhaps you should terminate it.

Lyras: haha
Lyras: hard to do that with family though

Isaac: I see.

Lyras: and it’s like
Lyras: I used to try to be what they wanted, but it was never enough
Lyras: and then I stopped and they just gave up on me
Lyras: all of them did
Lyras: it’s like they care about me in theory but they don’t actually put in the work to know a single thing about me. I don’t think they ever have
Lyras: and sometimes I think they all blame me for someone being gone.
Lyras: since they lost him and got me instead
Lyras: and the least I could do is be a proper replacement, but I’m not, I never will be and they just don’t care to know who I am instead
Lyras: sorry that got intense

Isaac: There is no need to apologize for having emotions. It is in your nature.

Lyras: yeah guess so
Lyras: just sucks sometimes

Isaac: To answer your question, yes.

Lyras: ?

Isaac: Yes, I have felt anger toward a person in my life who failed to perform in a relationship.

Lyras: wait what

Isaac: You remember that Vulcans evolved from a clannish and warlike people. In the present day, we are in theory governed by Surakian logic and grant power based on merit; however, the ancient clans still remain, and certain aspects of the old ways remain with them.

Lyras: yeah makes sense

Isaac: I have mentioned our culture of mentorship and respect for elders. This came from ancient traditions of filial piety and the absolute dictatorship of clan leaders. Most Vulcan parents still expect total obedience from their children, and most Vulcan children still strive to emulate their parents in all things. My family is prominent in our region; we have held this position for many generations thanks to our strict adherence to these customs.

Lyras: wait so you’re telling me vulcans have a nepotism problem

Isaac: You might call it that. You might also imagine, therefore, that I was not expected to move to another planet and forge my own career path instead of the one laid out for me. Due to this disagreement, I have not spoken with one of my parents for over six years. I suspect I will be disowned eventually.

Lyras: holy shit

Isaac: I understand that I have not obeyed to the letter, but as my obedience was never rewarded with any particular affection, I judged it was futile to continue.

Lyras: damn
Lyras: so you’re like some kinda rebel badass huh

Isaac: Vulcans would not frame it in such positive terms.

Lyras: wow

Isaac: Additionally, the clan leader/clan member relationship should be mutually beneficial. If I obey, I should expect protection. Instead I was allowed to be verbally abused by peers and authority figures alike, and the parent in question said nothing, even when this was witnessed directly. They judged it more important to maintain pleasant relations with these people.
Isaac: So yes. I have experienced anger at someone for not “being there.”

Lyras: well I won’t tell the other vulcans I promise

Isaac: I appreciate that.
Isaac: Has this answer helped you?

Lyras: yeah it helped a lot
Lyras: I feel a little less crazy
Lyras: sorry your parent sucks though, I know how that feels

Isaac: Indeed.

Lyras: do you have time for a game today

Isaac: Perhaps. Would you like to make another attempt at virtual kal-toh?

Lyras: oh god you’re just gonna kick my ass again

Isaac: That was my intent.

Lyras: you big jerk :(
Lyras: alright I’m loading it up, your turn to go first

Isaac: :)

Lyras: WAS THAT A SMILE

Isaac: It was a typo. My apologies.

Lyras: >:((((

Isaac: :|

 

*

 

On the morning of departure, Jim was the first in the shuttle. He felt lighter after talking to Isaac, like his Vulcan friend had lifted the depressive weight of this old town right off his shoulders. He was still eager to be back in San Francisco, though. Somehow the bustling Starfleet campus and salty sea air had started to feel a bit more like home.

He leaned against the pilot’s chair, sipping a lukewarm coffee and idly polishing up an essay that was due six days ago, glancing out the window every few minutes as if the sun might rise faster if he only kept an eye on it.

About half an hour before departure, a man stumbled in— tall, maybe mid-thirties, slightly disheveled. He jumped when he spotted Jim, and tucked something awkwardly into the inner pocket of his jacket.

“Got a bathroom on this tin can?” he asked nervously.

Jim raised his eyebrows. “Sure, but you don’t want to use it. There’s a café about two hundred yards to the east, you should’ve seen it on the way to the tarmac.”

The man swallowed. “Why don’t I want to use this one?”

“Because I just shat my brains out in there. Coffee doesn’t agree with me,” Jim sighed, taking another sip.

“Christ.” The stranger took out the thing he’d stashed in his jacket— an actual old-fashioned flask, it turned out— and took a fortifying gulp. “I’ll take my chances,” he declared grimly. He held his breath, marched resolutely toward the back, and locked himself in the tiny bathroom.

Jim sipped his coffee again, eyes on the door. He didn’t think the guy was dangerous, but…

—Kirk to Ximenez. There’s a weirdo in the shuttle bathroom, maybe check it before we head out, over.—

—Ximenez to Kirk, acknowledged. Ew. Over and out.—

He smiled at his comm. Ximenez really was a gift, especially when she got to do all the threatening of ill-behaved passengers. It was pretty funny, seeing her emotionally destroy people twice her size. He kind of looked forward to it.

Jim went back to his essay, fudged some code to fix the edit dates and then responded to his instructor’s comm message about a corrupted file. By the time the rest of his passengers began to arrive— about ten minutes before launch, per regulation— he was just pressing Send to “re”-submit the assignment.

Uhura and Ximenez led the pack, as usual. When he gave them a cheeky smile, Uhura rolled her eyes and sat towards the back, while Ximenez glanced toward the bathroom and back, questioning. Jim gave her a shrug and a wink.

Once the last of the seats were filled— all but one, of course— Jim leaned against the front bulkhead, grinning.

“Alright, kids, this is your captain speaking!” he announced cheerfully. “Looks like the gang’s all here, so I figure we can get this show on the road a few minutes early. Our vessel today is a high-speed, cushion-free little beauty, so keep your seatbelts on and your limbs to yourself unless there’s an emergency. Cadets, you know the drill by now— keep an eye on the newbies. Co-pilot?”

Ximenez was used to his abbreviated introductions by now. She stood, walked straight to the lavatory door and knocked sharply. “You heard the pilot. Get out.”

There came a muffled reply of “I’m fine in here, thanks!”

“Unless you’re having a medical emergency, you need to be in your seat. If you are having a medical emergency, I’ll call a doctor to escort you off the shuttle so we can leave.”

“I don’t need a doctor, damn it, I am a doctor!” At least that got him to open the door— and to notice his audience. That threw him off a bit, but he soldiered on, determined. “I had a perfectly good seat in there, with no windows and a convenient puke bucket, I don’t need—”

“Sir, get in your seat.”

“I suffer from aviophobia, it means fear of dying in something that flies!”

“Sit down right now or I’ll make you sit down!”

That cowed him, as it did most men. Jim loved working with Ximenez.

The guy shuffled toward the last empty seat, somewhere in the middle, before catching sight of Jim. “You— you’re flying this thing? You look like you’re eighteen!”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a very mature twenty-two!”

“Lord almighty.”

“Sir.”

“Y-yes, ma’am.” He shuffled toward the last seat, next to a very uncomfortable-looking new recruit. “I may throw up on you,” he warned.

Jim couldn’t help it; he laughed. “In that case, why don’t you switch seats with Cupcake over here? There’s a little ditch in the aisle by the cockpit. You don’t mind, do you, buddy?”

Hendorff unbuckled his belt and stood. He and Jim had never quite gotten along; it would be a much easier ride if the guy wasn’t right behind him.

Doctor Damn It, however, blanched when he saw the seat. “I’ll be staring right out the front window!”

“Well then, I’d call this a great opportunity to face your fears! The command professors really like that kinda gumption, trust me.” Jim patted the back of the seat. “Come on now, I won’t bite.”

“I will,” Ximenez threatened, and that was enough.

“Don’t worry,” Jim said cheerfully as the doctor settled in, to the snickers of his other passengers, “I’m a great pilot. Promise.”

“Don’t pander to me, kid,” the guy grumbled, and began to list off horrible ways they could all die.

Jim smirked and buckled himself in, while Ximenez finished her prep. While they waited for clearance to leave, he added a few more causes of death to the doctor’s list, to which the man cursed loudly and took another drink. This guy was just as much fun to wind up as any of the internet assholes that Jim had spent his childhood picking on.

Funny enough, though, it seemed like he kind of enjoyed being wound up— or at least preferred it to sitting alone with his fears. Maybe he even knew what Jim was up to. In any case, he let Jim prod him the entire way to San Francisco. By the time they touched down at the main Starfleet Academy campus, the entire shuttle was sick of them both, but Doctor McCoy had not thrown up.

He did not say thank you, but he did offer Jim the last of his flask, which Jim took to mean he had just made a new friend.

 

*

 

The alert ended, the lights came back on, and Jim was once again trying not to scream.

Again. After months of study, even waiting until well after it had been rolled out to all cadets the next semester, Jim had failed the Kobayashi Maru again.

“Fuck,” Bones muttered, running his hands through his hair. “That was intense.”

“It’s supposed to be,” Uhura said loftily, tossing her ponytail back as she stood. And to think he had been so excited to have the teaching assistant on his ‘crew.’ “I think the phaser sound effects could use some tweaking, but it’ll do.” She paused, then looked toward Jim, nodding almost reluctantly. “Not bad, Kirk.”

“Not bad at all, kid,” said Pike’s voice over the speaker. He stood in the viewing area, smiling at him. “You dad would be proud.”

Jim swallowed. Over Pike’s shoulder, Lieutenant Spock was watching him, as one might watch a bug under a magnifying glass.

“Thank you, sir,” Jim said, because he was expected to. They gave him a few more notes, Bones clapped him on the shoulder, and that was it.

Lieutenant Spock did not say a word.

Uhura joined the professors in the viewing area, and they turned to take her suggestions. Once again Jim made his way out. Again he went back to his rooms. Bones tried to get him to go out for post-exam drinks. For once Jim blew him off.

Once he was alone, he went back into the faculty-only servers, and dug up everything he could on the Kobayashi Maru. He didn’t want to cheat, he didn’t need an answer key… he just wanted to check…

Two hours later, his suspicions were confirmed. Out of nine other beta testers, twenty-one volunteers like himself, and thirty-eight regular cadets who took the exam as a requirement, not a single one had beaten it.

This thing was rigged.

Not bad, they’d said.

George Kirk would be proud.

Thank you for your assistance. It has been helpful.

Jim took a deep breath and let it out. No one had passed, and they were all still doing fine, so logically, they must not be required to pass. They just had to humiliate themselves before that judgmental Vulcan eye, and then they could get back to their regular studies.

They expected him to just roll over and accept the loss. They expected him to fail and be fine with it.

Do you believe that would have made a difference?

Your dad would be proud.

 

*

 

Lyras: hey I got a hypothetical question
Lyras: what would a vulcan do if he got scammed

Isaac: Has someone stolen from you?

Lyras: no no I’m fine
Lyras: this is hypothetical

Isaac: Of course it is. Hypothetically, then, we would go to the relevant authorities and seek justice.

Lyras: what if the authorities are the ones that screwed you over

Isaac: Then we would take the matter to a higher authority. Anyone who would abuse a position of power must be removed from it.

Lyras: ok what if they didn’t actually break the rules though
Lyras: like they just lied and wasted my time
Lyras: hypothetically

Isaac: Depending on the circumstances, we would still take it to a higher authority. Dishonesty is a serious offense to a Vulcan.

Lyras: what if the higher authorities support them
Lyras: what if they don’t see any problem with it

Isaac: In that case, most Vulcans would accept the wisdom of their elders. Sometimes we do not understand their logic, but as students it is our place to learn, not to argue for the sake of our own pride.

Lyras: does most vulcans include you

Isaac: That would depend very much upon the circumstances. Hypothetically, of course.

Lyras: hypothetically if they humiliated you in front of your mentors and peers for no particular reason

Isaac: Then the organization may be beyond hope. I would leave if possible, and make it clear what they have lost and why. It is not typically the Vulcan way, but there are times when an unforeseen problem requires a creative solution.

Lyras: so you’d tell them to get fucked, basically

Isaac: I would not use such language.
Isaac: But in essence, yes.

 

*

 

It took Jim a few more months, almost until the end of the academic year, but he managed it.

The red alert ended, and the rescue of the USS Kobayashi Maru was successful.

“What did you do?” Bones hissed at him as soon as they were alone.

“I beat the test,” Jim said cheerfully. “How’d you do on your xenotoxicology final?”

“Kid, what the hell did you do?” Pike demanded at their next office hours.

“Dunno what you mean,” Jim told him. “So do you approve my shift change for the shuttle schedule, or…?”

How was your experiment, Isaac asked him, late Friday night as they chatted over the latest vintage game he had suckered his friend into trying.

It went great, Jim responded. Exactly as planned.

Then, smiling to himself, he added, Hopefully they’ll understand my logic.

 

*

 

“Mister Kirk.”

The cadet stopped as he exited the campus library, his smile freezing on his face when he turned to see who had called him.

“Mister Spock,” he said, with cheer that seemed false. “What a pleasant surprise. But I have class right now, so….”

Spock held up a hand. “I must speak with you. Your instructor will allow it.”

“Oh, I dunno about that.” Kirk nudged his companion, a slightly older cadet whom Spock recognized from a few sightings around the biology labs, and Kirk’s last two Kobayashi Maru teams. “Hey Bones, didn’t the professor say she’d dock points if we’re late today?”

The other cadet glanced between the two of them warily. But as he had been just as surprised at the results of the last test, Spock did not suspect him.

“If you are in the same class, perhaps you can inform your instructor that Cadet Kirk had to speak with me. I will of course ask them to excuse you.”

The cadet nodded. “Sorry, Jim,” he muttered. Then he gave a weak salute and left.

Kirk turned to face him fully, shifting his weight to one hip. “Fine, then. What’s up?”

Spock frowned, assessing this young man. Kirk had a tension to his frame, as if he was braced for a fight.

“I was wondering,” Spock said cautiously, “whether you had something to tell me.”

Kirk just shrugged. “Can’t imagine why you’d think that.”

His tone was just bordering on hostile. Spock could not account for it; although he had not had the opportunity to teach Kirk directly after that one month of substituting in Emergency Tactics last year, he had seen the cadet around campus and heard of him from other faculty. Everyone seemed to like him, particularly Captain Pike, who was usually an excellent judge of character.

Spock tried again. “You remember that I was on the design team for the Kobayashi Maru exam.”

“Were you? Huh.” Kirk gave another shrug. “Guess I forgot. You know us humans, though— our memories aren’t so great.”

More mockery. This was strange indeed. Come to think of it, he had wondered over the last two semesters if Kirk was avoiding him. He had noticed the cadet walking the other way when they spotted each other in the hall, falling suddenly ill right before a class Spock was scheduled to teach. Even in that first month, he had eventually moved to the back and stopped participating.

“When you retook the exam this week, it did not behave as it should. Can you account for that?”

“Weird. Maybe the code’s broken, have you checked it?”

Very well. He would be direct.

“I did. It seems that someone initiated a subroutine to modify the parameters of the test. I do not believe this person was authorized to do so.”

“Yeah? Good for them, that test was pretty broken.”

He seemed… agitated, now. Perhaps angry. Spock thought back to all his interactions with this student: one class in which he’d been arrogant and just shy of rude, beta testing the Kobayashi Maru, calling out sick the next week, and then all that avoidance… for some reason, Kirk seemed to personally dislike him. Spock could not imagine why, except for that test— and why would failing a test be such a personal slight— or perhaps there was something else about him. His heritage, maybe.

He did not want to believe that of Kirk, but he could not think of another explanation for his hostility. Even his behavior during that first class was now cast in a new light.

“If such an act did occur,” Spock said now, giving the cadet one final chance, “it would be a serious offense. Unless there had been a misunderstanding, the guilty party would be called for a disciplinary hearing.”

“Wow. Sucks for them, getting called guilty before the hearing even starts.” Kirk looked pointedly up at the clock on a nearby wall. “Anyway, are we done? I’m already late, wouldn’t want to seriously offend my teacher or anything.”

Spock pursed his lips. “I believe this conversation is finished, yes.”

Kirk gave him a mocking salute. “See you around, then.” He did not wait for Spock to respond before he marched off, chin in the air and his stride uncommonly long, as if he wanted to get away as quickly as possible.

Spock watched him go. He took a moment to compose his thoughts. It had been some time since he had experienced such open prejudice, and he was surprised to find that the intervening years had rather increased the sting than lessened it.

Very well, he thought. He had attempted to be delicate, and to allow Kirk to explain himself. Now he would have to handle this the Vulcan way and contact the authorities.

 

*

 

Unfortunately, the Academy did not understand Jim’s logic.

The disciplinary hearing was held in the largest auditorium on campus— the one usually reserved for orientation, graduation, and other special occasion ceremonies. Jim saw the podium where he was meant to stand: his back would be to the crowd, and he would have to look up at the panel of admirals as they weighed his sins. It was like something out of the history books; he was being put in the stocks, an example to all those who observed.

Well. He had been forced into public view as an example since the moment of his birth. If they thought this would intimidate him, they were sorely mistaken.

He would set an example, alright.

“I believe I have the right to face my accuser directly,” he said, as soon as they gave him an opening.

There was another podium, where someone could in theory stand on his level. And who else would it be but that goddamned Lieutenant Spock.

They introduced him in glowing terms, but Jim already knew what he was dealing with: the spoiled son of a diplomat, who humiliated those below him for fun. Isaac’s bullies were probably just like this.

“In academic vernacular, you cheated.”

As if someone who had bought his way into a professor’s job at twenty-something had any right to make that accusation.

“The test itself is a cheat,” Jim said easily. “You designed it to be unwinnable.”

“I designed it to examine a cadet’s response to fear, and their conduct in the face of a no-win scenario.”

“I don’t believe in no-win scenarios.”

“Then you are unprepared for service.”

The vast auditorium was quiet. For a moment it was only Jim and Spock, staring at each other across the aisle, one with a cocky smile belying the rage in his heart and the other totally blank.

“Well,” Jim said, keeping the smile on through sheer force of will, “I think it’s pretty crazy that an organization formed to explore strange new worlds is now discouraging creative thinking and calmly accepting death.”

Spock merely raised an eyebrow, while one of the admirals spoke up. “Hold on now, that’s taking it a little far. We’re just trying to test your composure in an extreme situation.”

“And I argue you don’t need to resort to dirty tricks to do that.”

“I find it curious that you would call it such, Mister Kirk. You of all people should know that the Kobayashi Maru scenario is quite realistic.”

Jim felt the smile slipping. “Excuse me?”

“You are the son of George Kirk, are you not? Starfleet must be certain that all its officers maintain composure in such circumstances. As hacking a code and reprogramming reality is not an option in a true disaster, it should not be permitted here. After all, a captain cannot cheat death.”

“I’m not suggesting anyone can cheat death. I just think we don’t need to throw up our hands and go ‘kaiidth’ when there’s still a fighting chance.”

Now Spock raised both eyebrows, the only reaction to Jim’s use of his native tongue. “You believe the Kelvin had a ‘fighting chance?’”

It always came back to the Kelvin with these people, didn’t it? Jim would never be anything more than George Kirk Two to any of them. Just like his mom, just like everyone he ever met.

Well, if he was going to burst their bubble eventually, he might as well go all-in. “Respectfully, sir, I believe the only way to win a rigged game is to change the rules. And I also believe it’s stupid— sorry, illogical and misguided— to spend so much time fawning over the conduct of one officer in one no-win scenario when we could be talking about how he got there.”

“Alright, Cadet, you’ve made your point.” The admiral held up a hand against the restless movement of the crowd. “You can step down now. We’ll need to discuss this further.”

Two of the panel of judges had their heads together, already debating; one was typing on his padd; another watched him warily. Jim felt eyes on him from all directions, as he had all his life, but one in particular caught his attention.

As he turned to go, that Vulcan watched him from across the room. His gaze was steady, unnervingly so— but Jim did not dare flinch. He locked eyes with his adversary, defiantly keeping his face just as impassive, until his comm unit beeped.

My office, said the message from Captain Pike, right now.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, once he had Jim alone. “Are you trying to throw your whole life away?”

Jim shrugged. So Starfleet was his whole life now, huh? “Maybe I am.”

“Don’t give me that attitude. You joined for a reason, didn’t you? You wanted to make something of yourself. You wanted to be more than the delinquent son of a legend.”

“Is that why? Weird, I thought I was just bored.”

“Jim.” Pike shook his head, disgusted. “For once in your life, be serious. You know even if they let you off the hook for this, you’ll have a hell of a time finding a starship captain who’ll take you. And there’s no way you’ll get any teaching work with this on your record.”

Jim just shrugged again. “I wouldn’t make much of a teacher, anyway.” There was only one person who thought otherwise, after all, and Jim was beginning to wonder if he was an outlier even among his own species.

Pike let out an aggrieved sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, you’re not even sorry. Just get out of here— I have enough on my plate.”

Before Jim was out the door, he added, “I’m disappointed in you, son.”

Oh, Jim realized. Maybe he had sort of just lost a friend?

Notes:

Oh Jim, if only you knew.

Let me know what you think! I had a bit of a different take on Jim's family situation, which he'll reflect on a bit more later.

Chapter 5: 2255.131

Notes:

Warning this chapter for brief talk of suicide toward the end.

Well, Jim thought, if his life was crashing down around him anyway, he may as well take a running leap.

Lyras: Have you ever thought about meeting?

Isaac: Clarify.

Lyras: I mean you and me. Do you want to meet in person?
Lyras: right now I’m staying pretty close to big air transit hub but I prob won’t be for much longer. thought it might be a good chance

Isaac was typing, and then he stopped. Jim began to sweat. This had been rash, of course, he had known— it was just, if they were about to kick him out, this might be his last chance— he had no idea where he’d end up next, if his schedule or funds would permit travel, and it would be so much harder to get out of Iowa to go to whatever spaceport Isaac was near, and—

Shit. He still hadn’t said anything.

Lyras: only if you want to though
Lyras: I just thought it might be cool
Lyras: you know since we’ve known each other so long at this point
Lyras: but it’s fine if you’d rather not I won’t push

Isaac: Apologies for the delay. I was checking something.

Lyras: ?

Isaac: I would like to meet you. Are you able to travel to the West Coast of North America?

Jim had to take a moment to breathe. Yes. Yes.

Lyras: yeah my classes are based out of california actually, it’s pretty easy for me to get to the big lunar port in san fran

Isaac: That would be convenient for me as well. Are you familiar with the city?

Lyras: kinda, lol

Isaac: There is a small dining establishment overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge on the North side, accessible via air trolley: [link]
Isaac: Would this fit our purposes? It is located away from the more crowded areas of the city, and I believe the menu can accommodate your allergies. Also, there is a nature preserve nearby which is pleasant to walk through at this time of year.

Jim had not heard of the place, but it did look pretty good— and he was so relieved to be away from the Starfleet campus that he thought he would have agreed even if he had to go hungry. He was almost too anxious to eat, anyway.

Lyras: alright so when do you wanna do this? soon?

Isaac: I am available tonight, if you are already close by.

Lyras: oh shit ok
Lyras: yeah I can do tonight
Lyras: 1900 ok?

Isaac: Are you certain?

Lyras: yup I really want to see you
Lyras: I can tell you in person about the wild week I just had
Lyras: not to get too emotional but this is exciting

Isaac: I as well look forward to it. I will see you there at seven o’clock.

Lyras: :)

Isaac: You will find me in one of the window seats facing the bay. I will have a chess set on the table in front of me, and I will likely be the only Vulcan.

Lyras: awesome, I’ll be uhh
Lyras: well I’ll find you
Lyras: 🖖

Isaac: 🖖

 

*

 

“So let me get this straight,” said Bones as they waited for the air trolley, “you’re going on a date with a Vulcan you’ve never met, but he’s also your best friend?”

“It’s not a date!” Jim insisted. He was bouncing on his heels and checking the time every few seconds, but he was fine. He was great. “We met online and we’ve been talking for years. We just decided to meet up now since we’re both on-planet.”

“Uh-huh. What’s his name?”

“Isaac. Well, that’s what I call him.”

“You’ve been talking for years and you never got his real name?”

“That’s just how internet friends are, Bones!”

He shot Jim a glare that looked suspiciously like a pout. “Funny how this guy gets a normal name and I have to be Bones.”

It didn’t bother him enough to ever ask Jim to stop, however.

They took the air trolley across the water, soaring over a truly spectacular view of the Golden Gate Bridge. It was funny; Jim had been living here for nearly three years now, and he was only now appreciating it. Maybe he spent so much time looking at the stars that he forgot to enjoy the Earth. Or maybe now that the curtain was about to come down on the best part of his life so far, he suddenly felt the need to soak in every last moment while he still could.

Or maybe he was just trying to distract himself from his increasing anxiety.

“How long did you say you’ve known this guy?” Bones asked over his shoulder, as he took a picture out the window for posterity. For a moment Jim remembered the day they had met, only a year ago— Bones had all but conquered his aviophobia. Jim wondered if he had done anything so impressive, in his brief foray into a respectable job.

Jim shook himself, remembering he had been asked a question.

“About seven years now,” he said finally. Almost a third of his life.

“Good God, man.”

The two of them lapsed into silence. Jim pressed his forehead against the window, trying to calm his racing heart.

He had half an hour left. What if he just called it off now? Isaac would be disappointed, but he said the location was “convenient,” so maybe his company was actually in the city— which would make sense for a space-faring org, they probably did business with Starfleet all the time— hell, maybe Jim could just reschedule this, clean himself up a bit and meet instead when he was a bit more presentable—

Bones gripped his shoulder. “You alright?” he asked, dropping the irritation act.

Jim nodded. It was just Isaac, he reminded himself. Vulcans in general might judge him, if Lieutenant Spock was anything to go by, but Isaac wasn’t like that. Hell, Isaac already liked him. Besides, it was just dinner and a chess game, something they had done together hundreds of times before. It would be fine.

He would be fine.

Twenty minutes later, they stood on a street corner halfway between the trolley stop and the diner, and Jim was definitely not fine.

“I can’t believe you dragged me all the way out here ten minutes early,” Bones grumbled, zipping his jacket up tighter against the wind. It was a more intense out here, so close to the open sea.

“He’s in there,” Jim said. “I know he is. He probably got there before we left campus.”

“Jim—”

“Can you check for me?” he asked, feeling pathetic. “Just go to the window and tell me what he looks like.”

“For the love of— Jim, you’re an adult!”

“Please!”

“This is ridiculous.” Bones harrumphed and drew his jacket hood up, but he began marching toward the diner’s door anyway. “But just a look, and then I’m going to the med lab, where my services are actually necessary.”

That was Leonard McCoy, Jim thought fondly. He did not need to be here, said frequently that he did not want to be here, had bitched and moaned the whole afternoon, but Jim had asked him for support and so here he was. He was a bit like Isaac in that way: he might talk a lot of shit, but when push came to shove, he would always show up.

Jim held onto that, finally beginning to calm down. He had known Isaac for seven years. Isaac, who was always there for him. Isaac, who had taught him a new language and prompted him to see the world. Isaac, who was the first person to think Jim was worth something besides his father’s grim legacy.

Isaac was, for better or worse, his best friend. Even if they just went back to whatever weird version of pen pals they had been, Jim would be okay with that. And if this was their only chance to be anything more, well… Jim did not want to pass it up.

After a few minutes, Bones came back down the block, looking distinctly less angry than he had earlier.

“What’s he like?” Jim asked, anxious again. “He’s there, right? With the chess set?”

“Sure is,” Bones said awkwardly, glancing back. “Listen, Jim…”

“What is it? Is he ugly or something? Because I don’t care.”

“He’s, uhh.” Bones cleared his throat. “You know that Vulcan professor at your trial?”

Jim wrinkled his nose. “Lieutenant Spock? What’s that asshole got to do with anything?”

“Well… if you’re not a fan of Spock, you’re definitely not gonna like this guy.”

Jim frowned at him.

“’Cause it is Spock.”

No, it wasn’t.

“No, it isn’t.”

Bones gestured at the door. “Go see for yourself.”

Jim ran up to the diner, heart pounding. There was a bit of decorative foliage in front, which he hid behind, peeking his head just over the bottom of the window to see.

Sure enough, there was Spock. He sat in a corner that surely had the best view, with a lightly steaming drink and an expensive crystal chess set on the table in front of him. He seemed to be working intently on a padd, but every time the front door chimed, his dark eyes flicked toward it. It was the same impassive stare he had leveled at Jim earlier that day.

“Listen, Jim…”

He jumped at Bones’ voice, shushed him, and motioned frantically for him to get down.

“I am not squatting down in the bushes with you.”

Jim cursed and scurried away, grabbing Bones’ sleeve and dragging him out of view of the windows.

“Jim!”

“Sorry, I just— shit.” He rubbed his face. He had just wanted to meet his friend. What was this day? He just… “Shit.”

“Sorry, kid.” Bones squeezed his shoulder again. “Are you gonna go in?”

Jim looked toward the diner again. The door banged open: two women left, an Andorian and a human, holding hands and laughing. Jim wiped his own palms on his jeans, feeling sick.

“I think I can stick around for another fifteen minutes,” Bones was saying. “The lab tech might bite my head off if I take any longer, but if you need… I dunno, moral support…”

“It’s fine,” Jim heard himself say. He turned to Bones, putting on a smile he thought was convincing enough. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just tell him I got sick or something.”

Bones watched him for a moment longer, mouth tight. “Alright,” he said finally. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay? You know Samson’s gonna expect you for that zero-G combat test tomorrow morning, suspension or not.”

“I know,” Jim said, grinning. “Really, I’ll be fine.”

Bones kept looking at him like he saw right through his act. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jim.”

He waved cheerfully and kept waving as he watched his best school buddy jog down the street. McCoy really was a good guy; Jim would be sad to lose him.

And lose him he surely would, because no way was Jim going to be allowed to stay at this point.

He turned back to the diner. He should leave, he knew. Go back to campus, tell Isaac something had come up, and pretend he never saw this. Just accept defeat, leave, and let the pieces fall where they may in the morning. There was no winning at this point. He should go.

But then Spock looked up again, caught his eye, and recognition dawned.

And Jim Kirk never could go down without a fight.

 

*

 

Spock sat in his favorite diner, far from the crowds of the Academy campus, where he often came for a change of scenery at the end of the week.

He sat in the same spot he usually did, with the same mug of hot spiced kaasa cider. It was something unique to this establishment: a human style of dessert beverage, using only ingredients and flavors from Vulcan. When Spock had first visited this city, years before joining Starfleet, his mother had brought him here; she had deemed the drink a sort of charming commentary on his own identity. At the time he had found it absurd, but now it reminded him of a pleasant memory, and often brought him some measure of peace as he looked out over San Francisco Bay— that tableau of blue water, green trees and silver Terran architecture that was still so alien to him.

And today… today it warmed him as he prepared to meet his only friend.

He was not nervous, for that would be illogical. Lyras had always accepted him. If anything, he would likely find Spock’s identity amusing, as he did most things. He might even like the kaasa cider, which— incredibly— did not contain any of his known allergens. Spock looked forward to telling him about it, to sharing this last part of himself. Perhaps it would make him laugh; he was human, after all, and when his messages said he laughed out loud, it was likely not all hyperbole. Spock found himself quite eager to learn what that laugh sounded like.

And so, to make absolutely certain that nothing jeopardized his plan, he had left campus and arrived here one hour and twenty minutes early. The chess set was laid out, white pieces facing the seat opposite him (for it was the human’s turn to make the first move), and, for good measure, an enamel pin on his lapel.

It was not his usual habit to collect fan merchandise, but it was the logo for that holo-game— How To Talk To Human Beings— which had inadvertently brought the two of them together all those years ago. He wondered if Lyras would recognize it, and if he would be amused.

The door chimed. A lone human came in— a woman, it seemed, so not likely, but— no, definitely not. She found her companion at the bar, and they embraced.

Spock flexed his own hands under the table. Would Lyras expect that? Would he reach his hand out in a more formal Terran greeting? No, he was well aware of Vulcan custom. He would likely greet Spock with the ta’al and a smile.

The door chimed. A family, this time: two humans of different ethnicities, flanked by three children who were each a unique blend of their parents’ features. They took a booth nearby and argued loudly over what to order.

What would Lyras look like? Spock was not even sure of his basic features. He had said once that he lived in the North American continent, but that was a large place. He had said once that he was of “average” height and build (or more accurately: “im an average-size guy with above-average attributes ;)”), but Spock could not begin to guess the sample of humanity on which he had based that assessment.

The door chimed. But it was only an employee, giving quick apologies for their apparent tardiness as they greeted their fellows.

Where did Lyras work? Given his comments about space, Spock suspected an Earth-based trading company, much like the one he had allowed Lyras to believe he worked for. If so, they likely did business with Starfleet. Perhaps Spock and Lyras would see one another often. Perhaps they had already seen each other; perhaps he should have reached out sooner to meet.

The door chimed. Someone was leaving: an Andorian and a human, lingering in the doorway and talking loudly of how nice it was to meet, how much they liked each other. As Spock watched, the Andorian leaned over and kissed her companion’s cheek, and they stumbled out the door laughing.

He tried to refocus on his padd, but his eyes only went to the chronometer in the corner. 18:55, it read. 18:56. Lyras should be here any moment now.

The door chimed: a middle-aged Tellarite came in, collected a carry-out order, and left.

18:58. Perhaps Spock would see him arrive?

18:59. There was a human outside, waving at another figure. The one retreating almost looked to be in Academy reds, but they were already so far away that it was hard to tell.

19:00. Spock looked at the door expectantly.

19:01. The human outside was still lingering. They seemed familiar, almost— oh. It was Cadet Kirk.

He could tell the moment his former student spotted him: his jaw tightened, his thick brows came together in a glare. Spock hoped he would turn around and go, or… no, he was coming in. Of course he was.

To Spock’s very great displeasure, the cadet was just as brazen in his personal life as he had been in class. Kirk entered the diner, spared hardly a glance for the staff or other patrons, and made a beeline for Spock.

“I am off duty for the day, Cadet,” he said firmly. “If you have business with me, I suggest you save it for tomorrow.”

“Oh, I’m not here on business. This seat taken?” Without waiting for an answer, Kirk slid right into the opposite side of the booth.

Spock raised his eyebrows at the young man’s audacity. “As a matter of fact, I am expecting someone. Please evacuate his seat.”

“No problem, I’m waiting for someone too. I’ll just leave when one of our guys gets here.” Kirk grinned as if he had just said something very clever, then nodded at the chess set. “So what’s this for? You play?”

“I do not discuss my personal life with students.”

“No way!” Kirk leaned forward, his clear blue eyes now alight on Spock’s lapel pin. “They still make merch for that?” He rested his elbows on the table, chin in his hand. “Never would’ve pegged you for a gamer, Spock.”

Spock folded his hands on the table and took a calming breath. It would not do to be distressed when Lyras arrived. “Cadet Kirk. If you pursued me here in hopes of changing my position on your academic dishonesty, I must inform you that you have wasted your time.”

Kirk rolled his eyes at this. “Relax, Spock, I’m already suspended. Guess you could say I’m off-duty too.” He leaned back, stretching out his legs until their feet almost touched. “Can’t a guy get a little fresh air once in a while? Maybe I wanted to get away from the ‘fleet crowd.”

“You are perfectly able to do so in a different restaurant.”

“But my buddy’s expecting me here! I can’t just stand him up!”

“Can I take your order, sir?”

They paused, both startled by the appearance of a server. She fidgeted as she smiled between them, uncertain.

“He is not—”

“Yeah, I’ll have a beer. Soledad Lite, just leave it in the bottle, no garnish.”

Spock felt his mouth drop open in shock. “Cadet.”

“Oh yeah, and we’ll take separate checks, please.” He waved off the server before turning back to Spock. “Anyway, what were we saying?”

Breathe in, breathe out. He was in control of his emotions. “Mister Kirk, this is extremely inappropriate. Cease your antics immediately.”

“What antics? Going to public place in my own free time and buying a drink with my own money? Not that I’d say no if you offered, but…”

“Furthermore, as I have already informed you, this is futile. The final decision on your academic standing out of my hands. Not only that, but your behavior this evening only furthers my doubts about your fitness for duty.”

Kirk snorted. “Furthers your doubts, huh? All because I beat your stupid test?”

“I would hardly classify your actions as ‘beating’ anything.”

“Well, if we’re playing that game, I’d hardly call your little experiment a ‘test.’”

Spock pursed his lips. “Clarify.”

“The word implies there’s some chance of passing, doesn’t it? If anything, I just fixed it for you.” He gave a wink which, quite illogically, sparked an intense desire for violence. “You’re welcome, Professor.”

The server came back and set a beer on the table. Kirk thanked her and raised it toward Spock, as if to toast his own ingenuity.

“Anyway, not to kinkshame, but maybe next time you feel like stringing someone up in front of all their friends and colleagues, you should ask if they’re into that first.” He took a large gulp of his beer.

Spock was in control of his emotions. He was an officer, and he was in control of his emotions. “I do not dictate the official procedures for an academic dishonesty hearing.”

“Sure you don’t. But the Kobayashi Maru is the same thing, isn’t it? You like seeing us humiliated.”

“I take no pleasure in watching you make a fool of yourself. But I do find fascinating the mental leaps humans make to centralize their own feelings.”

Now Kirk raised his eyebrows, still wearing that infuriating smirk. “Oh yeah?”

“Indeed. Your continued presence here is another example of this.” He checked the time: 19:10. Lyras would be here at any moment. “You have vastly overstayed your welcome, Cadet.”

“What, is your friend here?” Kirk looked around the diner, twisting dramatically in his seat to do so. “Which one is he?”

“I never specified that it was a friend.”

There was a flash of something in Kirk’s expression, but the emotion was gone before Spock could place it. “Well, your little setup here implied.” He waved vaguely at the table. “Or maybe it’s a date?” he waggled his eyebrows. “Who owns a chess set made of solid crystal, anyway? Hoping to impress someone?”

Spock would not be baited. He would not. “As a matter of fact, these stones are not uncommon on Vulcan,” he said. He had planned to tell Lyras about them— not to impress him, of course; he had merely noticed that his friend enjoyed hearing little facts about his home planet, and each piece was made of a different gemstone sourced from a different region, so Spock would be able to tell him of their histories and scientific properties; again, not to impress him, just to elicit a smile or two— but that was none of Kirk’s business.

He checked the time again. Where was Lyras?

“Is he late?”

Again Spock wanted to strike him.

“Pretty shitty of him to keep you waiting like this. I can see why you’re so down on humans, if that’s what this guy is.”

“He is not like the rest of you,” Spock shot back, without thinking. Once he had, however, he did not back down. “He would not be so offensive in his manner or invasive of others’ time and space. He would never cheat on an exam merely to sate his own ego.”

Finally the smile began to slip from Kirk’s face. “You really think it was about ego? And here I thought you people were supposed to be smart. You didn’t listen to a damn thing I said at the trial, did you?”

Spock did not know whether ‘you people’ was directed at his species or his employer, and he was past the point of caring. This man was no different than the petty bullies he had known as a child, who simply said whatever they thought would get under his skin, regardless of its veracity.

“I listened,” Spock said, his tone flat, “and I was not persuaded.”

“Because you just want the Academy to churn out another George Kirk.”

“That would be preferable to the low criminal I see before me.”

Kirk’s beer bottle fell from his lips. “What?”

“You seem surprised,” he noted. “Did you believe my colleagues and I would not look into your records? I am well aware of your history of drunken brawls and petty thefts. I am further aware that you were accepted into the Academy based on the reputation of your family, and the affection of their friends. It is regrettable indeed that Starfleet is forced to accept these as credentials, and with more measures like the Kobayashi Maru, it is my hope that we will soon weed out those who have no merits of their own to recommend them.”

Slowly, Kirk set his drink down on the table. His smile was entirely gone now. “My aptitude tests tell a different story.”

Spock tilted his head. It was grimly satisfying to know he had finally affected Kirk’s bravado. “Do you mean those very basic Terran public exams, which are calibrated for your species’ meager abilities in arithmetic and recall? Or are you referring to Starfleet’s physical aptitude tests, which would be simple work for an average athletic teenager? I must ask, Mister Kirk, if you were hoping to impress someone.”

A muscle twitched in Kirk’s jaw, but his face was otherwise still. “I’m on an accelerated command track,” he said finally. “I don’t need to justify myself to you.”

“That is very fortunate, as I have little faith in your ability to justify any of your actions today.”

“Your test is bullshit,” Kirk shot back. “That’s my justification.”

“And now you resort to crass language, indicating that you have no further argument. I should have expected no less from a human with your criminal history.”

“Fuck you.”

“Remarkably mature.” There was something very satisfying about staying calm in an argument while one’s opponent lost his temper. “You do your family credit, Cadet. If this is how you behave to all your superiors, their reputation must be truly impeccable. I cannot imagine that you would be given so much lenience otherwise.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Kirk spat. “I’ve looked you up too, you know. You think you’d be one of the Academy’s top professors at twenty-five if you weren’t the prince of Vulcan?”

“Vulcan does not have royalty, nor have I ever used my family’s name to gain favor with command.”

“The hell you haven’t. Your whole family’s old money and descended from Vulcan Buddha, your dad’s the ambassador to Earth and your mom wrote three of the Federation Standard textbooks on xenolinguistics. You think that never helped grease your way?”

Spock sat up a little straighter. Kirk simply had no idea what he was talking about— if anything, his status as a child of two worlds had held him back all his life. His father did not support his choices and his mother did not understand them.

“Your grasp of Starfleet and Vulcan politics is as poor as your ability to accept a loss,” he said finally. “It is regrettable indeed that George Kirk should have left behind such a legacy.”

They stared at each other in furious silence, blue eyes burning into brown. Kirk’s hand around his drink was gripping so tightly that his knuckles were white, but his voice was remarkably calm when he said, “Alright. You wanna talk about my father? Let’s talk about my father.”

He leaned forward an inch or so, tense like a rubber band about to snap, and said in a low, flat tone: “The Kelvin Incident was a goddamned clusterfuck before it even started. The ship headed toward a supposedly impossible weather event with almost no precautions in place. When they were attacked, it took out their shields and weapons in one hit. Then they were hailed, the captain took a shuttle over and got killed for his trouble. Then the crew was evacuated while George Kirk stayed behind to drive the Kelvin into the enemy ship. When autopilot failed, he did it himself.”

“I do not require a history lesson—”

“So let’s work backwards,” Kirk went on, talking right over him. “Autopilot could have had a backup. Someone else could have been there with him. The larger shuttles could have had beaming capabilities to get him out. There could have been an escape pod on the bridge.

“And what about the rest of the crew? The captain could’ve taken someone over with him, maybe a whole team. They could have stalled during the ceasefire, gotten the Romulans talking. Maybe they could have fixed some systems, maybe started evacuating earlier. Maybe those systems could have been built to be less vulnerable in the first place. Hell, they could have investigated that weather anomaly with any amount of caution.”

“These are all untested hypotheses, Cadet.”

“They sure are. And thanks to people like you, they’ll probably never be tested.”

Spock pursed his lips. “People like me.”

“Yeah. People who care more about an officer killed in action maintaining composure than whether he should have been put in that position in the first place. People who think my father’s suicide mission was the most badass and heroic thing they’ve ever heard.” The cadet knocked back his beer, drained it, and set it down hard on the table. “You know something? I think I’m the only person in this whole fucking organization who doesn’t throw around my dad’s name to score points. You really are just like everyone else.”

And then he stood, rattling the chess pieces with the violence of it, and stormed out of the diner.

Only a few people turned around— but then, for all the command it had held over Spock’s attention, Kirk’s furious speech had been remarkably quiet.

Unsettled, Spock checked the time again. Lyras was well over half an hour late. Had something happened?

“Is… is he coming back?”

Spock glanced up: the server had returned and was staring nervously out the window. In his rage-filled departure, Kirk had apparently forgotten to pay for his drink.

“I will cover it,” Spock told her, and ordered another cider to justify his continued occupation of the table. His had gone cold.

He sent a message to Lyras, though the argument was still turning over in his mind. Kirk had behaved abominably, of course, but Spock was beginning to doubt his own conduct; should he have been more charitable in his assessment of Kirk’s motives?

After all, it was certainly reasonable to assume that the Kelvin’s demise would have a different impact on Kirk than it had on the rest of the Federation. For them, it was an important historical event; for him, it was a family tragedy. Suicide was a strong word, but it was not technically inaccurate— and it should have occurred to Spock that with such a unique perspective on the subject, Kirk might have some valuable insight.

Considering that the Kobayashi Maru may have been emotionally triggering for the cadet, perhaps some of his reactions were not so unprovoked.

And, although Spock was reticent to admit it, he must yield to logic: Kirk had made some valid points. He would bring them up with his superiors tomorrow morning.

Spock checked his padd again: 20:03, and he had no new messages.

He took a long sip of his cider and tried to clear his mind. Mentally replaying the confrontation when he might be interrupted at any moment would not bring clarity, nor would worrying over Lyras make him arrive faster. Surely he would have told Spock if they had to reschedule; he had most likely been waylaid by traffic, or a sudden emergency that took more time to handle than he expected. Humans were notoriously bad at timekeeping, and Lyras could be worse than most, but he always got around to things eventually. He would get here soon.

Spock ordered another drink and waited.

And waited.

But Lyras never came.

Notes:

Oh no! Turns out the twist villain all along was Jim's Issues. :(

Also, connoisseurs of 90s rom-coms will notice the scene that I completely cribbed from You've Got Mail here. It's also the scene that basically spawned the entire fic around it, so I hope you guys enjoyed!

I think only one new translation note this time: kaasa is a fruit.

Chapter 6: 2255-2258

Notes:

Warning for some canon-typical violence and death, fellas. The TOS episode "Obsession" is referenced.

 

Name: S’chn T’gai Spock
Rank: Lieutenant, senior / Dept: Science / Spec: [see note]
Author credits: [link]
Current assignment: Academy, Instructor PT (Command), Lab assistant PT (Science)
Past assignments: USS Lincoln, Lieutenant junior grade / USS Lincoln, Ensign / Cadet assignments [read more]…
Cert: first aid terran lvl 2 + vulcan lvl 2, computer lvl 5, defense lvl 5, security clearance lvl 3, languages [read more], sciences [read more], engineering [read more]…

Jim shut his padd and shoved it away, furious and sick. It felt wrong to be reading this— yet why should it? Why should he feel bad for that bastard?

It took about half an hour of angry powerwalking back across the Golden Gate before the guilt really began to take hold, and another hour or two for Jim to fully realize how badly he’d fucked up.

By the time he got home, all sore legs and aching feet, all he wanted to do was lie down on the floor and beg the earth to swallow him whole.

He had skipped dinner, he realized. He scrolled through the replicator menu for a full minute before settling on an unseasoned baked potato and an allergy-modified power bar, and managed to eat about half of each before he lost his appetite.

He flopped face-down onto his bed, groaning. What had he been thinking? Sure, just go confront the guy who might be destroying his whole life, he’d be able to stay calm, no worries! And definitely don’t just come out with the truth, that wouldn’t have diffused the situation at all.

He buried his face deeper into the sheets. No, he knew, it probably wouldn’t have. Isaac— Spock— no, Isaac had believed in him, but that was before he knew what a mess Jim really was. Their friendship was the best thing in his life, but it could only exist in an anonymous fantasy; just like everyone else, Spock’s good opinion could not survive the reality of him.

His comm pinged. He didn’t look at it.

He turned over onto his back.

What had he been thinking, really?

The truth was that he hadn’t. He had been confronted with a no-win scenario— his worst enemy being his best friend— and instead of thinking things through, he had just panicked. He had gone in and lashed out at the person who had put him in this situation, just like he used to lash out at his mom for not being there, or Sam for not caring enough, or Frank for not being able to fix the hole they’d left.

His comm pinged again. Low battery, he realized.

But getting up and setting it to charge got him moving, and then he was in front of his computer terminal.

After much deep breathing and staring at the blank screen of his device, he finally turned it on.

Isaac [17:40]: I have arrived early. I am seated in the sixth booth from the door, on your left as you enter.

Isaac [18:00]: I take your lack of response as a sign that you are en route. I hope the distance is not too inconvenient.

Isaac [18:30]: There is a drink here I believe you might enjoy. I know that you typically find kaasa fruit too sweet, but the spices in this recipe make it very well balanced.

Isaac [18:45]: I have the chess board prepared. It is your turn to take white.

Isaac [19:38]: Will you be here soon?

Isaac [19:45]: Please let me know if you need directions. I understand San Francisco can be difficult to navigate.

Isaac [20:00]: I did not mean that as an insult. I am certain you can find your way here. However I understand that large cities’ transit systems can be daunting, especially if something goes wrong. I have been living here for some time, so if you need an alternate route, I can suggest one.

Isaac [20:15]: Are my messages getting through? Please respond.

Isaac [20:30]: Lyras, have I said something to upset you?

Isaac [20:45]: Are you okay?

Then, at 22:13, there was a message on the mailing system they had used while one of them was traveling.

 

Lyras,

I hope you are well. I waited for you today as long as my schedule permitted, and it is not like you to disappear without a word. I am available to meet another day this week if possible. If you need assistance to travel, you need only say so— I have lately been reminded that I have an excess of resources at my disposal. Perhaps I should have offered sooner. If so, I ask your forgiveness.

Also, if you are still open to advising me on human social practices, I am in need of your help. To be brief, I had an interaction today that ended poorly. I attempted to be firm and instead was unjustly cruel toward someone for whom I should serve as a mentor. My work requires me to take on more leadership positions and I would like to do right by the humans under me. I mean no disrespect to your skill as a teacher, but I am not sure I understand these matters as well as I thought.

Please respond when you can, if only to confirm your safety and wellbeing. I will be here.

Dif-tor heh smusma,

Isaac

Jim stared at the messages. Spock… Isaac… had waited for him for hours.

And Jim had shown up and… done what he had done.

Worse, he’d used Isaac— just like he used Bones and Pike and Gary and Gaila, people he called friends but were really just something to lean on when he was bored or needed support but who he never properly did anything for in return. It was the same way his family— and the world that worshipped George Kirk— had treated him all his life.

And Isaac deserved better. Isaac had always been a good friend, and he deserved so much better.

Jim closed his eyes and breathed for a moment. What should he do? How could he possibly win this?

Well, he probably couldn’t. Not if winning meant getting everything he wanted right now.

But he knew this one. If he was in a no-win scenario, he had to change the parameters.

He wanted to meet Isaac, but Isaac was Spock, and Spock would never accept him because he was a huge piece of shit. So he had to stop being that, somehow.

Maybe that started with not being a shit friend.

 

*

 

Isaac-t’hy’la,

I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. One day I’ll be able to tell you why, and I hope we can both laugh about it. Or I can laugh, and you can tell me just how much of an idiot I was.

I do want to see you, but it’ll be a while before I can. Something came up and I’ll be out of town for a long time. But I’m okay, please don’t worry.

About your human. I’m sure if he’s been working with you, he should know you never meant to be cruel. You’re one of the smartest and kindest people I’ve ever known, and I bet you’d make a great leader. I bet whatever you said to that guy was provoked, and I think maybe us humans should try harder at understanding you for once.

I’m sorry I can’t explain myself or give you a better apology than this. I’m sorry we can’t meet yet and I’m sorry I’m getting so emotional now. I’ll work on being a better friend to you. I’m sorry.

I hope your work stuff is going well. You deserve all the success in the world.

Sochya eh dif,
Your friend Lyras

 

*

 

Dear Lyras,

Thank you for your words. Whatever has kept you away, I too hope that we will one day find it entertaining.

Also, you should know that t’hy’la is a very strong term— I am not sure you intended it. But I do appreciate the sentiment and although there is no adequate translation, I am honored that you would call me a friend.

In lieu of something from my own language, please let me know if my greeting above is acceptable. It seems forward but I have been told many humans begin personal letters this way.

I will try to keep your advice in mind. I suspect you may be overestimating me, but I thank you for your kindness anyway. I have noticed that you understand me quite easily, but perhaps only because you have put in so much effort to “meet me halfway,” as a human would put it. I am not sure if others would go to such lengths, and so I thank you for this, as well.

Dif-tor heh smusma,
Your friend Isaac

P.S.: If you are amenable— pawn 3 advances.

 

*

 

And so, somehow, things found a new normal.

Surprisingly, Jim was acquitted of academic dishonesty and allowed to finish his final year. He was even offered a couple of options for ship assignments— the best for his career would of course be the newly-christened Enterprise, under Pike, but Jim turned that down immediately. He would go from being a teacher’s pet to the captain’s pet, and— and Spock was on that ship. It was hard enough avoiding the man at the Academy, that wide open space where their paths hardly crossed; they could not be on a ship together. Jim couldn’t— he just couldn’t.

So, he accepted a less prestigious role on the Farragut— which was a perfectly fine placement, thank you very much, Bones— and, under a captain whom no one could say favored him, on a ship without any family patrons to help him along, Jim Kirk took his first trip out into the black.

And it was… nothing like he had expected.

Oh, they kept him busy. He split his time between Engineering and Communications, the two departments most in need of a skilled programmer. He also gophered for everyone else: fetching padds, running messages back and forth, and generally being a glorified cabin boy. By the end of his first month, Jim knew the ship inside and out; by the end of month two, he was on first-name terms with the entire command team. By month three, he was allowed to join the away teams, acting as everything from guard to diplomatic entourage to active assistant.

Where the Academy had been all theory, this was all hands-on, and Jim… loved it.

As I knew you would, Isaac wrote to him, a mix of smugness and pride that made Jim’s chest ache. Many of Isaac’s letters did, especially in the beginning, but he could not give them up.

He also wrote to Bones— the doctor would not play slow-motion chess with him via subspace letters, but he still argued, still bitched at Jim to eat his vegetables and not make a nuisance of himself. It always made him smile.

And Jim got to know people on the Farragut, too: Ensign Karim, who worked in the computer labs and gushed endlessly about their girlfriend, only to move onto a new one every other month; Cadet and Yeoman Blanchard, two siblings who served together and knew more about Federation history than anyone Jim had ever met; Lieutenant Diallo, an engineering genius who kept pictures of his family taped to the walls of his station no matter how many times he was asked to keep the area clear; Nurse Zhou, a no-nonsense professional who kept a stern eye on Jim’s medical situation (Bones would be proud) and refused to admit to checking out his ass, no matter how many times Jim tried to make it clear to him that he was available.

And Jim… Jim had friends. Actual friends. He wasn’t deluded enough to think they’d all keep in touch after the two-year mission was over, or that he’d found any lifelong companions, but— he would see them again. He liked being a part of their lives, and he liked feeling that he was part of a community, in a way that he had never let himself feel back in Riverside, or even at the Academy. Though he was just passing through here, too— hell, this was even more temporary than either of his former homes— it felt like he was finally living.

So of course, something eventually had to go and fuck it all up.

It was supposed to be a routine trip for the Science team, collecting soil and foliage samples on an uninhabited planet. Jim stood by one of the botany teams, along with his friends Johnson, von Heigl, Murasaki and Pham, on the lookout for dangerous fauna.

The only warning they had was a smell, sickly-sweet like licorice. Then a cloud of mist swept in, as if pulled by a breeze that wasn’t there, and engulfed four of their party: Johnson, Murasaki, and two botanists Jim didn’t know. One of them screamed— he could not be sure who— and then all four dropped to the ground, their skin tinged an unnatural shade of blue and their eyes wide open in death.

There was shouting— the mist took another scientist. They shot at it, unloading their phasers on the highest setting— no effect. They retreated, von Heigl covered them, and the mist took him too.

By the time they managed to get away, most of their party was dead.

Later, it would be said that Ensigns Kirk and Pham went beyond the line of duty to regroup the landing parties, that they saved twenty lives in one desperate hour. But Jim could only think of the sixty-four that were lost, picked off like fish in a barrel before they all managed to get back in the shuttles or beamed back up. Even then the mist was not done with them— it claimed nearly a hundred more lives on the ship, taking half the crew before they managed to shake it off. The Farragut limped back home in shambles.

“You did everything you could,” said Commander Alvarez— no, Captain Alvarez now— even as she wept over their fallen friends. “You did your instructors proud, Lieutenant Kirk.”

But Jim went to bed thinking of just one of them, and of no-win scenarios, and of how much of a naive idiot he had been.

 

Dear Isaac,

Something happened at work today. I don’t know what to say except that I’m sorry. I was so stupid.

I miss when we were both on earth. I wish I could just DM you whenever, I wish there was a way we could m|

Jim stopped and swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat. Then he deleted the message. He didn’t know how he could talk about this without talking about everything, and— and he couldn’t, yet. Isaac might never speak to him again, and he needed his closest friend. He had lost so many today.

But he couldn’t stay in their shared fantasy while his real life was suffocating him, so he wrote another message instead.

 

 

Bones,

By the time you get this you’ll probably have heard the news about the Farragut, and I’ll probably be back in San Fran with some fancy new stripes on my sleeve. Let’s get drunk about it next time we’re together.

Miss ya,
Jim

 

*

 

They did indeed get drunk about it, or at least Jim did. He might have cried a little— okay, he might have cried a lot— but he would deny it forever, and Bones maintained that unless he had reasons to be concerned as a physician, what happened in a filthy dive bar after half a bottle of bourbon stayed in that bar.

When Jim woke up in the doctor’s dorm the next morning, sprawled over the bed with a bottle of water and a note saying that Bones had gone to class and if Jim didn’t drink this whole thing and eat some real food by noon, he would know and there would be hell to pay… somehow, that was when Jim realized that he now had two best friends.

And so, Jim whiled away the days of his mandatory shore leave at Doctor McCoy’s side, pestering him between classes, letting himself be bullied into healthy eating habits while his soul stitched itself back together. He saw a few of the surviving Farragut crew around campus; they exchanged nods and went their separate ways. And he wrote to Isaac, of course— his Vulcan friend could probably tell something was wrong, given the sudden uptick in communication, but he didn’t press, and they finished three of their long-distance chess games before Jim got his first offer of a new ship assignment.

His heart sank as he read it: Captain Pike wanted him on the Enterprise.

Bones frowned when he heard. “Shouldn’t you be jumping for joy? That’s the flagship.”

Jim swallowed. “Yeah, but…”

“But our favorite pointy-eared bastard is on there,” Bones supplied. “Did you ever…?”

Jim shook his head.

“Right. And you’re not still talking to him, are you?”

“No,” Jim lied. “It’s not that, I just— it’s awkward, you know? Not sure I want to be on a ship with the guy who tried to get me expelled.”

“Yeah, guess so.” Bones rubbed his chin, thinking. “Still, it’s not like you’d be working with him directly. I say you take it— I’ve got an eye on that ship myself when I graduate. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Jim wasn’t sure, but he had a bad feeling about it.

 

*

 

 

Dear Lyras,

So, to clarify: you’re asking whether you should hold back your career in order to avoid someone at a particular worksite?

And this person will not be in your department? You will not be reporting to them, or they to you? Based on the size of the worksite, how often will you be forced to work closely together, particularly without others nearby?

Is there perhaps a safety issue? If so, you know I would advise you to take it up the chain of command. Since you have not mentioned it, I suspect this may be a case of mere “awkwardness,” according to some human custom I have yet to understand.

Lyras, you must do what is best for your future. If this person would take issue with that decision, I must consider them unreasonable and therefore beneath your concern. I highly doubt you have done them some unforgivable wrong, anyway; it is not in your character.

Rook takes pawn on 2d4.

Dif-tor heh smusma,
Your friend Isaac

Even for someone with a lot of practice, it could be hard to argue with Vulcan logic.

So, despite all his misgivings, Lieutenant James T. Kirk signed onto the Enterprise. He hoped this would not be a horrible mistake.

 

*

 

The duties of a Lieutenant Commander were a big step up from a mere Lieutenant, even a senior one.

Spock, at twenty-seven, was now second in command of the Science division aboard the USS Enterprise, one of the most coveted assignments in the fleet. He was also fifth in line for the entire ship, and therefore an official part of the command team.

This meant he had a bit less time to work on specific projects, but more influence over the priorities of the whole department. He also worked Beta shift on the bridge and saw more of the entire crew than he ever had as a lower-level member of the science team. It was challenging, as Pike had warned him it would be, but Spock was more than willing to rise to the level at which Starfleet needed him.

It was made easier by the fact that he had an excellent team to work with. Lieutenant Uhura, who had been of great assistance in his teaching endeavors and whose aural sensitivity was unparalleled, worked in Communications; he knew a few others by name and skillset from the Academy, even if they had not worked as closely together; he knew yet more from the Lincoln, or from his own days as a cadet serving short assignments on other ships. All had proved themselves worthy officers.

“Which means other captains keep trying to poach them,” Commander Olson complained one day, as they went over transfer requests. “I tell ya, Cap’n, I’ve lost six great engineers just this month thanks to you people. Did you see Galuk’s going to the Ulysses? He’s my best computer tech!”

“Oh, is that why you keep haranguing poor Spock over here?” Commander Dawson shot back. “I need him to keep an eye on that microbiology project, you know these kids won’t listen to me.”

Spock wisely said nothing as he took a sip of his tea. The heads of Engineering and Science often bickered like this, and sometimes he was the thing they played tug-of-war over. Privately, though, he sometimes appreciated that they both valued his assistance so highly.

“Well, I got great news for you both,” the captain said in a more serious tone. “The Farragut’s been decommissioned. Her remaining crew are getting disbursed among the fleet, and we got first pick of the litter.”

“Excellent. Fresh meat,” Olson said, while Dawson muttered, “God rest their souls.”

“Here’s our list of new recruits. You’ll all like number eighteen there.”

Olson grabbed the offered padd first, grinning toothily when he saw. “Perfect, a coding whiz. Hey, is that Winona’s boy?”

“That’s the one,” Pike said, his eyes on Spock as the padd was passed around.

Spock scanned the list when it got to him, and his eyes immediately fell on the name in question:

 

Name: Kirk, James T.
Rank: Lieutenant, junior / Dept: Command / Spec: Human
Current assignment: USS Farragut [see note]
Past assignments: none
Cert: first aid terran lvl 1 + first aid vulcan lvl 1, computer lvl 4, defense lvl 3, security clearance lvl 3, engineering [read more]…

Dawson whistled. “Level four and he’s in command division? Why isn’t he one of ours?”

“Or mine,” Olson put in.

“You’ll have to ask him,” Pike said. “Personally, I want him cross-trained on all departments, so you’ll each get a turn. Unless someone here has objections?”

Spock gave a minute shake of his head. He appreciated the warning, but he would not allow any personal discomfort to hinder a much-needed addition to their crew.

Pike nodded his satisfaction, marked Kirk for a transfer request, and continued down the list. Olson and Dawson argued over each one, just for the fun of it; Spock added little to the conversation, preferring instead to learn from his superiors by watching them craft a team. In the end, he had reason to be optimistic about the new additions— assuming they all chose to accept, of course.

And the truth was, Spock realized later that evening, he was curious to see Kirk again. After their disastrous meeting at the diner, he had made a few attempts at an encounter on campus— if only to clear the air and apologize for some of his harsher words— but it had never happened, and so they had both gone out into space without another word to each other. Normally such loose ends did not bother him, but it was… odd, when their few interactions had been so intense.

In any case, he hoped the Lieutenant had matured.

 

*

 

So the thing was, Jim had a plan.

Number one: avoid Spock at all costs. It would mean some limits on his cross-training, of course, but it would be far, far worse for his career if they got into another argument, or if— God forbid— he slipped up at some point and Spock had reason to think he was some sort of creepy stalker.

Number two: Isaac could not know their messages were coming from the same source. This was easy enough to do; Jim only had to program his own computer to reroute some of his personal comms to a civilian proxy server, just as he had done on the Farragut. In a way it would be just like it always was, when one of them was away— only this time, he would know exactly when the letters were coming, since his work in Communications meant he had a pretty good idea of when the Enterprise received nonessential message parcels. He would just have to remember to always wait a day or two before responding, so that it did not look suspicious.

Number three: tell no one else. This would be easiest of all, he figured.

Besides, he was only on this ship until the end of its mission in less than a year, and then he could figure out where to go from there. It would be fine.

He would be fine.

 

*

 

If Spock had anticipated any awkwardness about working with Lieutenant Kirk, his concerns were soon allayed by the simple fact that he was not working with Lieutenant Kirk. Somehow, on the rare occasion that their departments needed to collaborate, Kirk was always elsewhere— on break, on his off day, or simply assigned to another station. He seemed to change tasks quite often, and so it was surprisingly difficult to find him.

“Kirk?” Lieutenant Uhura said, after Spock finally gave in to curiosity and asked her, “Yes, he’s all over the place. He’s one of those cross-training enthusiasts, I think.”

Spock was familiar with the type. Starfleet liked its officers to be versatile, but some of them went about it unwisely, trying to gain experience in every possible department over the course of a week. It meant they moved onto the next new and exciting project before fully completing the current one, and it gave them a broad but ultimately shallow knowledge of all the ship’s business. It made for an officer who knew the names of a hundred crewmates but almost none of their strengths or weaknesses, and Spock could not say he approved. Neither did Captain Pike, or so he had thought.

When he voiced that concern, Uhura leaned in conspiratorially. “Actually, Lieutenant Zola told me that the captain asked her to treat Kirk like a special case. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s being groomed for command.” She wrinkled her nose a bit at the idea. “Maybe he’s changed since the Academy, but…”

“Who, Kirk?” Pike asked the next day, after only a light prompting. “Yeah, I was hoping to bring him to the bridge soon. I know you two have your issues, but he’s a good kid. Good family, too. And you’ve seen his aptitude scores.”

“Sir,” Spock said uncomfortably, his instinctual respect for authority and for this man in particular at war with his misgivings about this aspect of Starfleet culture, “I am not sure academic skill and a well-known family are sufficient qualification for higher rank.”

“I know they aren’t, son.” Now Pike frowned. “But a single demerit on his transcript isn’t enough to disqualify him, either.”

“When that demerit relates to his integrity, perhaps it should.” At the captain’s sharp look, Spock felt the urge to bow his head and apologize, but he refused to take back his statement. While he might have sympathy for his former student, he still did not entirely trust him.

Pike let out a sigh. “Well, I’ve never known Vulcans to hold a personal grudge,” he said, and held up a hand to forestall Spock’s protest, “so I know that’s not what this is. Your input is noted, Mr. Spock, but I didn’t invite a promising officer onto my crew just to keep him a lieutenant for his whole career.”

Spock was reminded forcibly of Lieutenant T’Vin’s predicament. Perhaps she too would be in a better place if her superiors gave her a chance— though how well she would take advantage of that chance was a mystery.

“Besides,” Pike said, as he dismissed him, “I think you boys have a lot in common. Maybe you should get to know him, you might make a friend.”

Spock doubted it. He only had one friend, after all, and Lyras was a special case.

Maybe Spock would try to ask his advice, the next time they spoke.

 

*

 

“Oh,” said Uhura as she entered the communications lab, “you again.”

“Me again!” Jim gave her a wave and a wink. He still liked to flirt with her now and then, although by now he had long accepted that nothing would be happening on that front.

“Anything interesting happen during Gamma?” she asked, shooing him out of the seat that would be hers for the next few hours.

“Well, on the record, it’s all on here.” He patted the top of the console affectionately. “Off the record, at about 0300 Ensign Riley put in a request to start a weekly karaoke night in the rec room. Coincidentally, but at 0200 Ensign Lev put in a request to switch sleeping quarters—f apparently his has, quote, ‘intolerable noise.’”

Uhura snorted, as he had known she would; she might act above it all, but she loved petty ship gossip as much as he did.

“In other news, there’s a rumor Cadet S’Parva and Nurse Chapel have a thing going on, but further investigation’s required.” Jim paused by the door. “I’m gonna hit up the replicator on my way out, you want anything?”

“Coffee, one cream, no sugar,” she said, rolling her neck and shoulders before putting on the headset. “I’ll ask Christine later, but I’m pretty sure that rumor’s not true.”

Jim shrugged and went to grab their drinks. When he returned, she looked curiously at his.

“That’s k’vass,” she observed. “I didn’t think they had that on the menu.”

Jim had to smile. “They don’t. This is from my own files.” Well, his own files that he and Isaac had tweaked. Their concoction had that same hot-buttered rum taste, but it got neither of them tipsy and did not make Jim break out into hives.

“Huh.” Uhura bit her lip for a moment, then asked, “Would you mind if I borrowed it later?”

“I’ll copy it for you,” he promised, and left her to her shift.

 

*

 

“Fancy running into you here,” Lieutenant Uhura said one evening, as she approached Spock on the observation deck. “Is this seat taken?”

Spock looked up from his padd. It was his day off, and he had been hoping for some alone time under the stars at this late hour. But Uhura’s company was not unpleasant, so he gestured to the chair facing his.

“I’ve always liked this view,” she said, and human social rules required him to respond.

“As have I,” he agreed. “On Vulcan, we are often kept inside by fierce sandstorms, so when there is a chance to observe clear skies, we do so.”

“Sensible people,” Uhura said. “I’ve always thought that, too.”

Spock nodded. After a minute, his eyes drifted back to his padd. He could say something pleasant about humans, but all that rose to mind was the sort of teasing retort he usually gave Lyras. His friend always laughed, but other humans might be offended.

They were quiet for some time, working slowly and looking up at the inky sky. A message parcel came through, and Spock saw one from Lieutenant T’Vin. He had been advising her on finding her own human guide, so that she too might rise through the ranks as he had. He also had a message from Lyras, telling him about some amusing interpersonal drama at his workplace, which Spock read with interest. He was just composing his reply when Uhura spoke up again.

“You know,” she said, “a year ago I thought I’d never set foot on a starship again.”

Spock glanced up, reluctant to tear himself away from Lyras’s message but even more reluctant to be rude. “Why is that?”

Uhura smiled. “Oh, I had a bad experience on my first assignment. I’d never speak ill of my crewmates, but…”

Spock understood that well enough. “This team works together uncommonly well. Captain Pike is quite talented at placing officers.” At least, that was what he had been reminding himself for the past few weeks.

“Yes, he’s very good.” Uhura set her padd down, looking at him significantly. “It helps that he has such good officers to place.”

“Indeed,” Spock said, nonplussed. It seemed she was trying to imply something, but he was at a loss as to what.

She watched him a moment longer, then set down her padd. “I’m going to get something from the replicator,” she said suddenly. “I’ll be right back.”

Spock nodded and went back to his correspondence. Lyras had also made a move in their chess game, shifting one of the movable levels of the board in a way that Spock had not anticipated. He would have to change his strategy. He was just settling on a new one when Uhura returned, holding two drinks instead of one.

“Here,” she said, holding one out to him.

It was k’vass, he noted with some surprise. He did not wish to be intoxicated just now, not when he was trying to outwit a skilled opponent, but it would be unspeakably rude to refuse, so he accepted the mug and merely held it while Uhura returned to her seat.

“I was not aware this was available on the ship’s menu,” he said cautiously.

“Oh, it’s not. But I have my connections.” She smiled and took a sip of her own, then blinked at it. “Looks like it’s a spicier recipe. I hope that’s okay.”

“Spicy is acceptable.” He raised it to his lips, giving an experimental sniff. It was very similar to the version he and Lyras had synthesized. But now he was on alert; he lowered the drink to his lap without tasting it.

Uhura took another sip, watching him. “I did love the Academy, you know,” she said as if there had been no pause in their conversation. “But part of the reason I agreed to this assignment was that I knew I’d be working with better people this time.” She was still holding eye contact. Her hand tensed minutely on her mug, as if something troubled her. “I was really looking forward to working with you again, Spock.”

“That is kind of you to say.” And, because it was true and she seemed to expect it, “I find you pleasant to work with as well, Lieutenant.”

Her mouth twitched into a broad smile before she smoothed it down. Spock had noticed some humans doing this— as if the presence of a Vulcan meant they too should hide their emotions. Spock would not mind so much except that it did not come naturally to most humans, and their discomfort often bled into the conversation.

But he had never known Lieutenant Uhura to behave this way. He wondered if he had done something to make her uncomfortable.

She took a small breath, then spoke up: “I was wondering… would you be open to anything more?”

Spock tilted his head, frowning. “Please clarify.”

“I mean a relationship.” She took another breath. “A romantic relationship, with me.”

Oh.

 

*

 

 

Dear Lyras,

Forgive the brief message and the non sequitur; I have a personal dilemma and I would appreciate your advice as soon as you can give it.

A colleague has, to employ human terminology, ‘asked me out.’ How should I proceed?

LLAP,
Isaac

*

 

Jim blinked at his padd, not sure he’d read correctly. Someone had asked Spock out? Who?

No, he thought, shaking himself. Someone had asked Isaac out. He shouldn’t be mixing them.

He was technically on duty, but he was just standby in Engineering during Gamma, and his XO would even let them bring a book for these shifts if they had proved they could jump into action when necessary. Jim checked the ship’s computer with his Communications login— yes, they were still in range of Starbase 42, and would be for about an hour. And Isaac had said ‘as soon as you can,’ so…

Lyras: hey are you online right now?

Isaac: Yes. Did you receive my last message?

Lyras: I did, yeah
Lyras: so what happened? did your coworker make it weird?

Isaac: I am not sure. She asked me whether I would be amenable to a relationship. I believe she was as respectful of my culture as she knew how to be. Her interest seems genuine.

Lyras: ok… that’s good to know…
Lyras: so are you gonna say yes?

Isaac: I believe she would be an acceptable mate. We share a workplace but are unlikely to find ourselves in the same chain of command, and we are quite close in age. Additionally, our personalities seem compatible, as we have been working together amicably for several years now.

Jim’s eyebrows shot up. Several years? Who the hell was it?

He shook himself again. Focus, Kirk.

Lyras: so do you like her back?

Isaac: Her company is not unpleasant.

Lyras: romantically tho?

Isaac: As I do not know what a romantic relationship with her would be like, I have no strong inclination on the matter.

Lyras: lol that sounds like a no

Isaac: You believe I should reject her?

Lyras: I believe it sounds like you’re not that interested

Isaac: As I said, her company is not unpleasant. I would not be opposed to us spending more time together.

Lyras: ok? and you’re worried about losing the friendship or something?

Isaac: She assured me that were I to reject her, our positive working relationship would not be affected.

Lyras: ok
Lyras: so do you want to date her or not?

Isaac: I am trying to determine whether it would be the best course of action.

Lyras: Isaac
Lyras: not to use the F word but how do you actually feel about this person?
Lyras: do you want to just stay friends? or hook up? or do the whole flowers and romance thing? or none of the above?

Isaac: Vulcans do not “hook up.”

Lyras: lol well maybe you should try it sometime. lowers the stakes of this whole thing

Jim wasn’t sure how he felt about Sp— Isaac hooking up with someone he probably knew, but… but he wanted his friend to be happy. And if one wanted to get to know human culture, then going on a casual date or two, maybe making out or… more… was a good exercise.

It was perfectly logical, and there was no reason to be bothered about it, so he wasn’t. It didn’t bother him at all.

 

*

 

Spock frowned at the question. Lower the stakes? How could sexual activity lower the stakes of a relationship?

Then again, perhaps Lyras meant relationships in general, perhaps that was true for humans. But for Spock, the stakes would always be high, because he did not have many options.

“I will not wait for you,” T’Pring had said, the day he left their planet for good. “I believe you have known my preferences for some time now. While I can set them aside and do my duty as the bondmate of a diplomat’s son, I will not be the consort of a Starfleet officer.” Her teenage eyes, still unskilled at masking emotions, had flashed dangerously. “Nor will I exist to warm the bed of an absentee husband.”

“You will not sway me from my decision,” Spock had told her.

“That is not my goal. I merely wish to inform you that you may not find refuge with me when your Time comes. I advise you to find someone else, for if you meet me at the appointed place, I will call kal-if-fee.”

He had stared at her then. “If that is all you wish to tell me, I must prepare for my journey.”

T’Pring had simply held up the ta’al, but without the traditional words. “Goodbye, Spock,” she had said, and then they had parted ways. He had not seen her in the ten years since.

He closed his eyes against the memory now. He did not believe he had anything to fear from his Time arriving. As a genetically engineered hybrid, he was sterile, and he had been denied the respect of his full Vulcan heritage all his life; it would be quite absurd if he still had to contend with the most humiliating part of it. Surely his human genes had to be useful for something.

But even if it were not a biological imperative, he still wished for companionship.

Isaac: So you believe I should take this opportunity.

Lyras: it’s not a job offer, my guy

Isaac: But it is a chance for a pleasant experience that is not guaranteed to come to me again soon, if at all.

Lyras: now hold on
Lyras: is that what this is? you think this is your one chance at love or something and you’re trying to talk yourself into it even though you’re not that into her?

Isaac: It is not an unreasonable hypothesis.

Lyras: isaac. buddy. listen to me
Lyras: this is not your one chance
Lyras: you’re a total babe and if you let people know you were DTF they’d be lining up down the street
Lyras: so don’t panic over turning one person down

Isaac: I am not panicking. And as we have yet to meet in person, you cannot possibly determine that I am a “total babe.”

Lyras: babeness is in the mind not the body
Lyras: but listen. I can feel it in the universe. you're definitely hot
Lyras: you have hot guy energy

Isaac: That is nonsense.

Lyras: it’s not
Lyras: also even if you were butt ugly it wouldn’t matter bc you’re basically impossible not to love
Lyras: so don’t worry ok?

 

*

 

“Well,” said Lieutenant Uhura, when he spoke to her later, “I had to try.”

She looked somewhat sad, but nothing extreme. In this instance, she was kind not to foist her emotions onto him. “I am sorry to disappoint you,” Spock said, a bit helpless.

But she shook her head. “Don’t be sorry, please. The last thing I want is to pressure you.” She took a steadying breath, then smiled up at him. “I’d still like to be friends, if that’s okay.”

Oh. Was it really so simple?

And then another revelation: he had more than one friend?

“That would be pleasant,” he said, still reeling.

Uhura’s smile widened. “I’m about to meet Christine and S’Parva for lunch. Join us?”

Spock agreed and followed her into the mess hall.

Impossible not to love, Lyras had said. It seemed absurd, and went against everything Spock knew about himself, but he could not stop thinking about it.

 

*

 

Jim was maybe losing his mind a little bit.

It was none of his business who Lieutenant Commander Spock might be dating. They were strangers. It wasn’t even any of his business who Isaac might be dating, or had dated— they were friends, but long-distance friends, and neither had even brought up the possibility of anything more until Jim had gone and fucked it up.

So he did not think about it. He definitely did not think about it at all.

He was so preoccupied with not thinking about it, in fact, that he finally slipped up in his careful little dance and ran into the lieutenant commander himself in the science labs.

“Um.”

Spock looked up from his microscope, unimpressed. “Yes?”

Jim had almost forgotten why he had come. “Oh, I… Commander Dawson wanted me to recalibrate the… the thing.” He gestured vaguely at a mechanism nearby.

“Ah. I did inform him that the assay machine was out of alignment.” He settled back down with his project. “If I am in your way at any time, please say so.”

“I— yeah. Thank you. Sir.”

Jim shuffled awkwardly to the machine and laid out his tools. He noticed one or two sidelong glances from Spock, but he forced himself to stay focused.

After a few minutes, the anxiety began to subside. They were both just here to work, after all, and the problem with the assay machine took a while to figure out. Eventually he realized that the calibration settings themselves were off, and someone had broken the control panel trying to fix them.

While he rebooted the system, he leaned against the table with a sigh, and noticed Spock looking at him again.

“Lieutenant Kirk—”

“Sir—”

They both stopped. “You first,” Jim said quickly.

“Very well.” Spock sat up a little straighter. “I wish to apologize for some of my words, the last time we met. I believe I made some assumptions that were untrue.”

“Oh, that— please, no. You were right about me. And— sorry for the profanity, sir, but I was a huge asshole that day.”

Spock quirked an eyebrow, but he did not argue. “How do you believe I was right about you?”

“I was arrogant. And— and naive about what the service was really like.” Jim swallowed, memories of the Farragut flooding back to him. “I thought— I grew up in a big Starfleet family, I thought I knew more than I did. I’m sorry.”

Spock tilted his head. “Considering your instructor’s disregard for the knowledge and wisdom you did have, such an assumption was not unreasonable.”

Jim frowned. That was… shockingly cool of him. “Sir?”

“But I do not have such an excuse. If you will permit the personal disclosure, I too was raised in the public eye, and I should have known better than to assume anyone’s comfort level with the event they are known for.”

Jim nodded, trying on a tentative smile. “Yeah, I guess your dad’s a big deal too.”

“He is. But I was referring more to the manner of my birth. It was a great achievement in genetics, and my enthusiasm for further experimentation has often been taken for granted.”

The assay machine beeped, and Jim gave a sympathetic nod as he refocused on his task. “Treated you like a lab rat, huh?”

“Essentially, yes. Both my loss of baby teeth and onset of puberty were reported in major scientific journals.”

Jim winced. “That sucks.”

“Indeed.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment while Jim ran the assay machine. It was still off, but at least the system could tell him where the problem was now. “If you ever want to see a prime example of human awkwardness, look up the Remembering George Kirk documentary that Starfleet did back in 2243. They had me in a little tux, giving a speech and everything.”

“You officiated a rite of public mourning at the age of ten?”

“Nine, actually. They filmed most of it the summer before.” And a week later, he had hot-wired his stepdad’s vintage car and driven it off a cliff. Good times.

Spock was quiet for a moment, then said, “I believe the human term for that would be ‘fucked up.’”

Jim barked out a laugh, unable to help it. He looked back up at the Vulcan, who was watching him with a small but obvious glint of amusement in those dark eyes. Jim was about to ask where he’d learned a phrase like that, but—

But it had been him, he remembered. He even recalled the conversation, when he’d explained to Isaac all the various uses and forms of the word ‘fuck.’

His laughter faded. What was fucked up was this— talking to Spock like they were just normal coworkers, like Jim didn’t already know weird and intimate details of his personal feelings, and then talking to Isaac like he didn’t know incredibly specific facts about where he worked, what he did, who he was talking about.

Jim swallowed and tried to finish his work. He should go.

“If you are available after Beta shift today,” Spock was saying now, “you are welcome join me in the mess hall. I am interested to hear your thoughts on other topics.”

Jim’s heart sank. He wanted to, very much, but he couldn’t think of a worse idea.

“Maybe another time,” he lied. Because he was a liar. “I’m meeting someone else today.”

But Spock only nodded graciously. “As a member of the command team, my schedule is public. You may find me when you are next available.”

Jim said something polite, he hoped, and then he got the hell out of there.

This had been a terrible idea all along and he never should have agreed to it. When the Enterprise’s mission ended next month, he was transferring, and that was that. He absolutely could not keep serving with Spock.

Unfortunately, however, life had other plans. A week later, the Narada returned to Federation space, and everything went to hell.

Notes:

A note on references: The misty stuff that killed half the Farragut is of course from the TOS episode, and S'Parva is from the famously spirky novel Killing Time, which I unfortunately haven't finished yet but I just HAD to include Chapel's doggirl gf, because... listen to that. Chapel had femslashy scenes with an alien furry! The world must know.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed the happy scenes this chapter, because it's about to get real dark. :')

Chapter 7: 2258.42

Notes:

In this chapter: ST09 plot! Death and violence and trauma all around!

The worst day of all their lives started out pretty normal.

The Enterprise was docked in San Francisco, getting patched up in a few places from her last encounter with a dense asteroid field; Jim was telling Bones all about it over lunch off-campus, where they were celebrating the doctor’s upcoming graduation. In the midst of a grand tale of his own heroics, Jim almost missed the beep of his comm unit, but Bones noticed his, and they both heard the announcement blaring from several units around the restaurant:

—All hands report to main Academy hangar bay. Received distress call from the planet Vulcan. Repeat: all active duty and all cadets year 2 and above, report to main Academy hangar bay.—

Jim and Bones shared a look, mentally calculating how long it would take them to get back to campus, then put down their lunch.

“Put it on my tab,” Jim told the server as he stuffed his comm in his pocket and threw on his jacket. When three other Starfleet personnel also hurried to pay, he added, “Them too— Lieutenant James Kirk, USS Enterprise, bill them all to me. Cadet, drop that burrito and move it!”

There were shouts of “yes, sir!” and “thank you, sir!” as they all sprinted out the door.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this,” Bones huffed as they ran toward the summons, “but you sounded like a real officer back there.”

Jim wheezed a laugh and kept running.

They arrived just in time, the whole group still in civilian clothes. Jim dragged Bones right up to the Enterprise, already knowing where he was assigned. Lieutenant Commander Spock raised an eyebrow at their attire but checked them off his padd and waved them in without remark.

Maybe he was worried about his planet, Jim thought. If he didn’t already know his own Vulcan friend was safe—

He shook himself as he and Bones hurried toward the quartermaster. He could not think about Isaac right now.

They were changing into freshly replicated uniforms when the ship jumped into warp, and one of the bridge crew got on the shipwide speaker and updated them all on the situation.

Then he said “lightning storm in space,” and for the second time in an hour, Jim dropped everything and ran for his life.

Bones followed, shouting at him and carrying his tunic, but Jim just ran faster, ordering cadets out of his way, speeding up the turbolift with an override code he shouldn’t have, his blood rushing in his ears as he tried to move faster, faster—

 

*

 

Technically it should be Dawson on the bridge today, but he had switched with Spock at the last minute due to the nature of their mission. “In case you need to translate or… or something,” Dawson had said, as if that were the only reason Spock might want to be the first to see the planet’s status— or as if he needed the excuse, so as not to bear the suspicion of being emotionally compromised.

Such concerns were not necessary, but Spock appreciated his commander’s kind intent all the same.

He noticed the other lingering eyes of the humans around him as the Enterprise jumped into warp. But he was part of the command team; the appearance of calm was more important now than it had ever been.

Kaiidth, he thought. Whatever the problem was, they would handle it when they arrived.

His calm lasted until the bridge doors flew open and Lieutenant Kirk ran in, clad in his black undershirt and pursued by his friend from Medical.

“Stop the ship right now,” he shouted at the captain.

“Lieutenant,” Pike said, exasperated. “What the hell—”

“Jim, calm down—”

“No, Bones— sir we’re warping into a fucking trap—”

Spock stood as the three of them shouted at one another, the rest of the bridge looking on in bewilderment.

As the instigator, he approached Kirk first. “Lieutenant, please explain yourself.”

“The planet’s being attacked by Romulans,” Kirk said, suddenly focused on him. “The same Romulans who attacked the Kelvin on the day of my birth. The lightning storm in space, the lack of any communication after the initial distress signal, that message from the Klingon fleet last night— it’s them.”

“Jim,” the medic said quietly, a hand on his arm.

“I haven’t heard about any Klingon message,” Pike said.

“Sir, I intercepted it myself.” Lieutenant Uhura stood at attention. Her eyes darted between Kirk and Pike, before settling on Spock. “Kirk must have heard me discussing it with the Communications team this morning. Forty-seven warbirds were destroyed by one large Romulan vessel, which then evaded capture. Sir.”

“The same massive ship that appeared on the edge of Klingon space twenty-five years ago, destroyed the Kelvin and was never heard from again,” Kirk insisted. His words were directed at the captain, but his eyes burned into Spock, just as they had that day two years ago. “It’s them, sir.”

“You are certain of this?” Spock asked quietly.

“I’d stake my life on it.”

Spock looked back at the captain and took a leap of faith. “Lieutenant Kirk has a unique perspective on the Kelvin Event. We would be wise to heed his advice.”

Pike wasted only a second more, glaring at them both, then turned back to the bridge. “Shields up, red alert,” he ordered. “Try to hail the planet. And Jim, for god’s sake put your shirt on.”

The doctor passed Kirk a folded gold tunic, but Kirk only held it, eyes on the viewscreen as they approached Spock’s home.

The Enterprise dropped out of warp, and the chaos of a destroyed fleet erupted all around them.

 

*

 

“I’m leaving you two in charge,” Pike said as they headed toward the hangar bay. “Olson will assemble a team and take down that drill. Spock, you take the bridge. Kirk, you’re his number two. If I don’t report back, consider me gone and get my ship out of here.”

“Sir—”

“No buts,” Pike ordered. But he did pause in the turbolift, long enough to spare them both a small, grim smile. “The day after Kirk’s trial, both of you told me the same thing about how to avoid a no-win scenario. Today you told me the same thing again, and it just saved all our lives. I know a sign when I see one.”

There was a brief, tense silence as the lift whizzed along.

“Sir,” Kirk said stiffly, “I’d like to be part of the away team.”

Pike nodded. “I’d like you there too, son.”

They reached the hangar bay, Spock helped them prepare for departure, and then he was sent right back up to the bridge, to sit in a chair while they watched his planet burn.

 

*

 

The ship burned, too.

Doctor Puri was killed. Commander Dawson was killed. In the away team, Olson died. At twenty-eight, Spock was now the highest-ranking officer on this vessel.

The Romulan drill was disabled and some systems restored, but not fast enough. The enemy ship, harried by the Enterprise and all other survivors of their fleet, jumped into warp to get away— though not before dropping something into the hole left in the Vulcan desert.

Something that should not exist.

“How long does the planet have?” Spock asked. It sounded far away even to his own ears.

“Minutes, sir,” was the horrified response, and his focus narrowed to just one point on the surface.

Kirk protested, but Spock had no time for him now. Minutes, the ensign had said. Spock had minutes.

He beamed down and ran for the Katric Ark.

 

*

 

Jim cursed as Spock disappeared, his mind racing. This was just like the Farragut. This horror would take them, the only way to win was to get out of its reach, but his orders were—

No, he was giving the orders. He was second in command now— with Spock down there, the ship was his— he had to get to the bridge and—

“Call every ship that can hear us,” he ordered. “I want every transporter in the fleet locked onto that planet. Uhura, can we access the surface?”

“I have the city council of ShiKahr on standby!”

“Tell them I want everyone to drop what they’re doing and stick together, in groups of as many as they can fit onto a five-by-five-meter platform. Not just the council, anyone who answers their comm. Make them cuddle if they have to, and don’t waste time prioritizing. Science, scan the planet for exactly where those groups are.”

“Sir?”

“Just do it!” He pounded the captain’s comm with his fist. “Transporter room! Lock onto as many life forms as you can and start beaming. When they’re here, get them out of the room and beam up more. Communications, tell the other ships to do it too.”

It was tense, awful work. Jim saw the seismic activity through the viewscreen, watched as that nightmare device got to work on a planet full of billions, ordered Uhura to broadcast through Vulcan communication channels while he directed the other ships via another console, spreading them out, trying to get as much of the planet surface as possible, knowing it could never, ever be enough—

When Spock’s signal reappeared, although it killed him to do it, he ordered the transporter to pause their evacuation and grab Spock’s party instead. Jim’s team was awfully good for a bunch of kids fresh out of school, and the Vulcans were fast listeners for a bunch of harried civilian refugees, but it was not fast enough, they didn’t have enough time—

Spock and the elders materialized on board, and the party looked pitifully small even without the empty pad. Chekov tried to grab another signal, but they would be saving no more: the planet was gone.

 

*

 

With so many passengers aboard and a life support system that was functioning normally, it was not logical that the ship’s temperature should be lower than usual. And yet, as the alert signal ended and repairs commenced, Spock felt cold.

He sent his father and the high council to med bay, and went by himself to the bridge.

The mostly-human crew looked at him with fear and pity, except for Kirk. The lieutenant’s eyes searched him— for what, Spock did not know.

He sat in the captain’s chair and requested the ship’s status.

They barely had impulse power. Warp drive and shields could be fixed, but it would take several hours.

“I have them on it,” Kirk told him. “Spock, you— maybe you should get to sick bay.”

Spock looked up. Kirk was still staring at him with those unnerving blue eyes. Not just Kirk— everyone was staring at him.

Oh, he thought, they needed a captain. Spock was the highest-ranking officer on this ship, so they needed him.

Humans, he remembered, often needed emotional reassurance.

“I am unharmed,” Spock told them all. “Officers, cadets, you performed admirably today. On behalf of Starfleet, I thank you.”

They kept staring. One of the ensigns, a stranger to him, was openly crying. Perhaps Spock had done this incorrectly.

Well, in any case, there was still work to be done.

“Lieutenant Kirk, you were injured in your away mission. Report to the medical team.”

“Spock,” he said in a near-whisper, his voice catching, “I…”

Spock glanced up. Kirk was still searching him, eyes shifting minutely, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Whatever Kirk had meant to say, though, he soon reconsidered; he instead gave an abrupt nod and obeyed.

That done, Spock moved onto the next item in his list of duties. He reviewed the personnel records, confirming deaths, shifting positions like pieces on a chessboard to make sure all departments were adequately covered. He compiled notes on the ship’s repairs, which materials would need to be replenished, which systems would need to be gone over again when the ship was in port. He felt cold. He ordered checks of the life support systems, checks of how many passengers were aboard and where they might be safely housed. He felt eyes on him. He made an entry in the captain’s log, summarizing the results of the battle. He felt lightheaded. He checked over Lieutenant Kirk’s work earlier, his admirable attempt to save as many as possible. He remembered his mother’s face as she fell—

Spock stood, calmly, and excused himself.

Uhura looked for a moment as if she might follow, but she remained at her station. That was good. Her work was necessary.

The ship was crowded. Voices were kept low, and no one was running anymore, but emotions pressed on him from all sides, a thousand souls talking, praying, weeping, all crushed together like an overstuffed air trolley, their voices swirling until it was like a physical sensation in his head—

He went to the turbolift, paused it between decks, breathed. In, and out. Count to ten. Count to twenty. Now even numbers. Now prime numbers. Now simple equations…

When he had first learned to control his emotions, as a child trying to calm down from a panic attack, the standard Vulcan techniques had not worked for him. Reciting number sequences had been his mother’s idea.

He remembered what she looked like as she fell.

Spock breathed in, and out, and felt cold.

 

*

 

Sick bay was crowded with Vulcans.

Jim had sent them all here for a reason, of course; many of them had physical injuries from the chaos, and they all had to be… processed. So they knew who was alive.

The dead were impossible to count. In Starfleet, they would know eventually— ships would report in, or not report in, and it would be easy enough to figure out whose families would be getting horrible news. On Vulcan, however, the deceased’s records had vanished along with them, and so had entire histories, entire languages, entire cultures. The loss was, quite literally, unimaginable.

Jim closed his eyes and breathed. Now was not the time. Nero was still out there, Pike was held hostage, and he was second in command of the only ship still remotely functional, and now was not the time.

In, and out. Survive now. Fall apart later. He could do this. He had to.

So he waited his turn for medical attention, behind a line of stoic people who had just lost everything, and tried very hard not to think of the one upstairs.

 

*

 

Dear Lyras, I suspect the news of my planet will have reached you before this message. Please know that as of the end of the event, I am still alive.

My work will keep me away for a short time, and then I will return to Earth. Would you be willing to attempt another meeting? I can travel anywhere on the planet. We do not need to discuss anything of today. But I want to see you. Please.

your friend Isaac

 

The message was not adequate— Spock did not merely want to see his dearest friend, he yearned for it, needed to speak with him, was ready to beg— but now was not the time. He would send that one message, just to make sure Lyras did not grieve prematurely, and then he would not think of his friend again until the present situation was handled.

Repairs were, somehow, proceeding well. Weapons were back online, shields at nearly seventy percent, and warp drive would be available later this evening. The crew seemed to have only two emotional states: either they worked as mechanically as the technology around them, or they threw themselves into their duty with a feverish intensity that pressed on Spock’s telepathic shields.

He must go to med bay, he knew. As acting captain, he should see their passengers, and he should check in with his acting chief medical officer and acting first officer. But as he approached, he had to stop; that area of the ship was full of Vulcans, and their mental anguish was too much to bear. He must remain steady.

He paused, turned to check on Engineering instead, and appointed a cadet from Communications to run the errand for him.

 

*

 

“There you are,” Bones said gruffly. “You’re good to go.”

Jim flexed his fingers. “Probably shouldn’t have used the osteo-regenerator on this,” he muttered.

“The hell I shouldn’t have. We need our command team, and I need one thing I can properly fix.”

Jim met his eyes. He knew he probably looked just as haunted as his friend did. “Bones, I…”

“Save it.” Bones handed his machine off to a nurse— who promptly carried it toward a battered group of Vulcans— and made a few notes on his medical padd. “We’ll get drunk about it later, Jim. After we’ve all survived this.”

Jim felt a powerful urge to hug him. But then he might really start to lose it, so instead he just nodded. “You got it. I’ll put it on my calendar and everything.”

“You’d better.” And then Bones straightened up; Jim followed his gaze to see a Vulcan approach, who was probably a century or so judging by his gray hair.

“Doctor,” he said, “the elders are in need of your assistance.”

“’Course,” Bones said, though he frowned. “My nurse didn’t get to them yet?”

“She did,” the Vulcan replied, tone mild, “but they would prefer to see you.”

There was a flash of anger in the doctor’s eyes— Jim knew what he got like when anyone disrespected his team and demanded special treatment, especially at a time like this— but Jim had heard enough about Vulcans to know that one did not refuse the demands of an elder so lightly. He forestalled a complaint by squeezing his friend’s arm.

“Go on,” he said. “I’m good, right? I’ll see you on the bridge in a few.”

It was a convenient time limit, and Jim knew that there would have to be a meeting anyway. If the CMO wasn’t normally invited, well, Jim was now authorized to fix that.

Taking the hint, Bones went off toward his patients. The old Vulcan, however, stayed.

“You are part of the command team of this vessel,” he said— whether asking or observing, Jim was not sure.

“Yes, sir,” Jim said. “James Kirk, acting first officer.” For good measure, he slid off the table and held up the ta’al.

The Vulcan returned the sign, but if he thought anything of Jim’s display, his face did not show it. “I am Ambassador Sarek. If you need to organize our people, I have been appointed to lead them.”

Sarek, he thought. He had heard that name before.

“I am also authorized to speak for what remains of the Vulcan government. If you intend to return to the bridge, I would be honored to accompany you. I would like to be in communication with your captain.”

Then it clicked.

“You’re Spock’s father,” he blurted out, then immediately backpedaled. “I mean, ah—”

Sarek inclined his head. His face was still blank. “I am,” he said simply. “Rest assured, we will not let the relationship affect our work.”

Jim nodded, thinking quickly. Spock’s father. And the person from their party who had not made it onto the ship— that was Spock’s mother. And Spock was—

Spock was Isaac. And as Jim looked at the perfectly stoic, austere Vulcan face of the man before him, it suddenly clicked, and he knew— somehow, he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was the parent Isaac had told him about. The one who was so displeased with him for joining Starfleet that they had not spoken in years.

“I apologize, sir,” Jim said, surprising himself with how polite his voice was. “But the bridge is officers-only during emergencies. I’ll send for you as soon as I can.”

Sarek did not like that, he was sure, but the man was a professional. He merely nodded. “Perhaps I can wait in an available briefing room.”

With a computer console and a high-ranking ambassador’s security clearance, Jim thought. But Sarek was not the enemy— Jim only needed to shield one person from his judgmental gaze. And that would be easier if he was contained.

“That sounds perfect, sir,” Jim said. “I’ll contact Operations and find one.”

He picked one of the smaller meeting rooms, a bit out of the way— which might have been terribly rude, but Jim was just a young human lieutenant, who could blame him for ignorance— and stashed the ambassador there. Then he made his way back up to the bridge.

 

*

 

Spock was on his way back when the turbolift stopped, and the doors swished open to Lieutenant Kirk.

He started when he saw Spock, but there was no one else around, so he could not reasonably leave. He stepped inside, and the lift continued up to the bridge.

Spock breathed in, and out. Silence stretched between them.

Spock remembered Kirk’s face earlier, as they warped into the wreckage: eyes on viewscreen, focused, burning, like a Vulcan warrior of old memorizing the layout of the battlefield. He had acted the part, too: his quick tactics and cool head had saved so many people that perhaps up to ten percent of the species owed him their lives. Spock wondered if he knew that. He wondered, had he himself been a little faster and a little better, if the two of them might have saved just one more—

Oh. Kirk was talking.

“I beg your pardon,” Spock said. “My mind was elsewhere. What did you say?”

Kirk bit his lip, but he did not comment on Spock’s rudeness. “I said the Vulcan ambassador wants to talk to one of us. I can deal with that later, if you want.”

Ah. Sarek. Spock’s father would not say so in public, of course, but they would both know how very disappointed he was, and Spock was not sure he was equipped to bear it now. The crew was depending on him; he could not break.

I’d delegate, Kirk had said once, a lifetime ago. Spock was not sure why that came to mind now.

“That would be agreeable,” he said.

The lift continued on.

Suddenly Kirk took a breath. “Tushah nash-veh k'du,” he said.

I grieve with thee, heavily accented.

Spock blinked. He had used informal terms, as if speaking to an equal; it was not what he would have learned at the Academy. Or in a phrasebook, if that was what he used.

“I was not aware you studied Golic,” Spock commented, in that same language.

“I learned from a friend,” Kirk said. His eyes looked overbright.

Oh. A Vulcan. Of course. Spock’s mind was quite slow today.

“Then I grieve with thee as well.”

But Kirk shook his head. “He survived. But I… I think I lost him a long time ago.”

What an odd thing to say. But some things about Kirk made sense now: his erratic behavior during previous meetings, his use of a Vulcan word at his trial. His awkwardness whenever they encountered each other on the Enterprise, which Spock had found excessive even considering their brief history. Perhaps he had been nervous about using Spock’s language, or about meeting, as he had once said, “the prince of Vulcan.” Spock was certainly well aware of his species’ reputation for being unapproachable.

Not that Lyras had ever minded. Or Spock’s mother. Or, apparently, Kirk— at least in one circumstance.

Spock wondered who his friend was.

There was a small pinging sound, and Kirk pulled out a mini-padd. It looked somewhat out of date, and certainly non-regulation.

Spock’s own personal device made a smaller noise. They must be near a starbase, to be receiving off-ship communications; there were certainly enough rogue satellites left in the system.

He checked it: nothing from Lyras yet. Perhaps he was at work. The news would take time to travel.

There were other messages, but none that interested him. He put the unit away.

He looked up, and was startled to see Kirk staring at his device, hand over his mouth and tears in his eyes.

“Lieutenant?”

Kirk looked up, blinking hard. “S-Spock,” he said, his voice cracking, “I…”

But then the lift reached its destination, and the bridge was waiting for them. “I will give you a moment,” Spock said quickly, and made his escape.

He was the acting captain. He would not break.

 

*

 

I want to see you. Please.

 

The words turned over and over in Jim’s mind. In the entire decade they had known each other, Isaac had rarely asked for anything, and never in such desperate terms.

God. It really was a decade now, wasn’t it? Almost half Jim’s life.

He wouldn’t be here if not for Isaac. If not for his friend, who had supported him, believed in him, urged him to get out of Riverside— Jim might still be back there, hopping from one crappy job to another and hacking software out of his family’s old house. He wouldn’t have met Bones, or anyone else from the Academy, or anyone on the Farragut. He wouldn’t be able to speak Golic, or play chess and kal-toh, or be able to see so much of the world, much less the stars beyond it.

If not for Isaac, he might still be hiding in his room for every birthday, and he would have heard about Nero’s return on the news just like everyone else. He would have been all alone when his father’s murderer came for the rest of them.

And now Isaac was right in front of him, all alone after the death of his mother and his planet. He needed a friend, and Jim was right here, and he couldn’t just— he couldn’t—

“We must rendezvous with the rest of the fleet in the Laurentian system, and receive orders from there,” Spock was saying. “Lieutenant Uhura, what is Nero’s trajectory?”

“Earth,” she said with confidence. “Or another planet in the Sol system. His course suggests no other destination.”

“Of course he’s going to Earth,” Jim said, trying not to snap. “He has Pike, doesn’t he? The flagship captain would know Earth’s defense matrix.”

“But would he need that?” the helmsman asked. “He got through Vulcan’s defenses just fine, no special intel needed.”

“Maybe he did,” said their young Russian navigator, “and we just haven’t heard yet. Communication was down for some time, sir.”

Jim thought that made sense. After all, he knew how damned secretive Vulcans could be, and how little they liked to ask for help. “And I’m not sure we’d have heard about it, even if Starfleet knew.”

“Or perhaps Nero had another way of accessing Vulcan’s systems,” Spock said quietly. “After all, Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestry, and given the history of reunification efforts, it is not unreasonable to assume that wherever or whenever Nero’s ship came from, he was able to obtain knowledge of historical systems.”

A pause followed that pronouncement.

“What the hell,” Bones said, breaking the silence, “do you mean by when-ever? Damn it, man, are you actually suggesting they’re from the future?”

Spock clasped his hands behind his back. “Given the impossibility of their technology, their apparent knowledge of the fleet, and some of the statements made by Nero himself, I think it is quite likely. I can assure you I have no history with any Romulans, yet he was convinced that I have personally wronged him. Or, to use his language, that I will do so.”

His voice was mild, but Jim could see the barest hint of steel in his eyes. I have felt anger, Isaac had told him once. Jim felt it too.

“That’s insane,” Bones said. “Jim, tell him he’s insane.”

Jim looked up. He had wondered— for years he had wondered— just who had destroyed the Kelvin, and why. “You’re the scientist,” he told Spock instead. “Could a black hole make some kind of tunnel through space-time?”

“The idea has never been tested, for reasons that I hope are obvious. But theoretically, yes.”

Jim nodded. “Then we should go after Nero now,” he said.

The helmsman turned to him, incredulous. “The Romulans are at warp and they have a headstart. There’s no way we’ll catch up.”

“But they’re not so far ahead we can’t track them.”

“No, they’re not,” Uhura said. “It’s possible their warp drive was damaged, or they’re taking their time while they… talk to Captain Pike. But they’re not moving as fast as before.”

“Then they’re probably not expecting to be followed.” Jim looked back at Spock. The fire was in him too, Jim knew. It had to be. “We just have to push the engines a little harder. It can be done, I know some of our guys were working on it.”

“But the technique is not yet perfected, and it cannot be done safely,” Spock said.

“Is anything safe, with Nero out there?”

“No, which is why we must gather with the rest of the fleet and come up with a proper strategy. If you agree that the Romulans have likely traveled through time—”

“Then he might already know Earth’s defense codes! Maybe Pike’s just a hostage for him to harass the Admiralty, or a distraction for us while he runs his drill, and he might be doing the same thing on Earth right now—”

“Or in four hours, when he arrives,” Uhura put in.

“Right, or he’s about to, and for all we know this is our only chance to catch him—”

“And do what, Lieutenant?” Spock asked, still infuriatingly calm. “Drive the ship directly into his scan range and allow him to fire upon us? We are hopelessly outmatched—”

“Which is why we have to strike now, when he’s already been damaged and he’s not expecting us—”

“I will not allow this vessel, which is carrying several hundred refugees and far fewer escape pods, to be destroyed by an attack which can be easily avoided—”

“No it can’t!” Jim insisted. “That’s my entire point! Nero is coming for us, he’s coming for you, maybe today, maybe tomorrow, but this is our one chance to fight him on our terms!”

“And what do you propose? A rescue mission? Are we to send an elite squad of teenage students and elderly civilians to take down a warship with technology from decades in the future?”

“It’s not a warship with that design, it’s a mining vessel at best, and I could do it myself if you’d let me!”

“This is not a school exam or a holo-game, Mister Kirk, and I will not allow you to put all of us at risk over a desire to either play at heroics or settle a personal grudge—”

“It’s got nothing to do with that, Isaac, if you’d just listen for once—”

And then Jim’s brain caught up with his mouth.

For a moment, time seemed to stop. Jim went silent, and so did the rest of the bridge.

“Lieutenant Kirk,” the Vulcan said, taking a step forward, his flat voice suddenly terrifying, “what did you just call me?”

 

*

 

Kirk’s face had gone pale. Spock took another step toward him, his heart hammering in his side, blood rushing in his ears.

Isaac.

Kirk should not know that name. No one in Starfleet should know that name.

He remembered Kirk’s fury toward him, his look of betrayal, after the disciplinary hearing and after their argument later that night. He remembered Kirk’s odd behavior since then, his avoidance. He remembered Kirk’s sudden tears, in the turbolift just minutes ago.

“You have gained access to my personal communications.”

“No,” Kirk stammered. “No, they were— they were sent to me.”

Spock remembered more. Kirk before the trial, taking the Kobayashi Maru. Kirk taking it multiple times, despite how upset it made him. Kirk avoiding him otherwise. Kirk at their very first class, the way he had lingered, the look on his face as he raised the ta’al. Kirk joining Starfleet at all, beginning at the Academy shortly after Spock had begun going to space—

“Hold up,” Doctor McCoy blurted out over Kirk’s shoulder. “Are you two still messaging each other?”

Still. The doctor knew.

They had been together when Kirk had run onto the bridge earlier today. They had been together years ago, when Spock tried to confront the cadet before calling a hearing. What else had Kirk told him? How many others were there? Had he been sharing all of Spock’s personal information— his private feelings— with all his human friends? And how long? Three years, since McCoy had joined Starfleet? All ten years, perhaps? Longer?

And just how had he disguised the source of his messages? Had he hacked the Enterprise communications? The entire computer system? His personnel file listed only a level four certification in coding, but he was already known to misrepresent himself.

And now he was trying to send them all back into Nero’s clutches, to who knew what ends. Spock could not let it happen. He could not lose the Enterprise and he could not fall apart, he could not—

Despite the speed of Spock’s racing thoughts, only seconds had passed. Kirk closed his eyes and swallowed. “Spock, I—”

“Get off this ship.”

“I’m— what?”

“You are a security threat, and you need to leave.” Spock turned to the rest of the humans, who were staring between their two commanders, utterly bewildered. “The closest Starfleet outpost is in this system, on Delta Vega. Mister Sulu, lay in a course for that planet, impulse power only. Security, escort Mister Kirk to the transporter room and hold him there until I give the order to beam down. If he struggles, you may eject him instead via pod.”

“Spock,” Kirk stammered, “Spock, just listen—”

“The rest of you, back to your duties. Doctor McCoy, a word in private, if you please.”

McCoy looked to Kirk, but Kirk was still staring at Spock, horrified, even as Security Officer Hendorff took him by the arm. “Please,” he said desperately, “Isaac—”

“Do not call me by that name,” Spock said sharply, and that was enough to shut him up as he was dragged into the turbolift.

The bridge was silent once more.

Spock breathed in, and out. He felt eyes on him, everywhere.

But he would not fall apart.

 

*

 

The base on Delta Vega, it seemed, had only one person manning it. Maybe two, but Jim could not be sure how much Keenser contributed.

And now it had… two or three, depending.

Luckily, Lieutenant Commander Just-Call-Me-Scotty didn’t try to engage him in conversation too much. He even gave Jim something to do— scanning the area and monitoring Starfleet communications did not occupy him as much as he would have hoped, but he was hardly good for much more, anyway.

He had been sent down without any of his stuff, even his personal comm, and so could not try to contact someone. Not that he would— the one person he wanted to talk to had almost certainly blocked his comm link.

How could he have been so stupid?

Jim rested his elbows on his grubby little station, face in his hands. The truth was, it wasn’t just slipping up now. This whole endeavor had been a mistake— he should have never signed onto the Enterprise.

But no, then the ship might be lost.

He should have never lied to Isaac— to Spock. He should have come clean when he signed on.

But then there were those years in between. What if Spock had known him during his Farragut years? Would he have helped? Bones had been wonderful, of course, and Isaac had comforted him in his own way from afar, but…

No, no. Before that. He should have come clean at the diner.

No. Earlier. They could have been friends when Jim was at the Academy. They would have had to declare the conflict of interest, of course, and Spock would not be able to teach Jim’s class or administer his exams, but they could have…

No. Even earlier, and Jim could have joined Starfleet earlier. He could have enlisted at eighteen, maybe seventeen if he got permission from his guardians, which of course he would have, and he and Spock could have been students together, they could have…

Jim dug his fingernails into his scalp. He was so, so stupid.

Spock had looked furious enough to start strangling him right there on the bridge. Jim almost wished he had; he certainly deserved it.

A small beep caught his attention, interrupting his bout of self-loathing. Jim looked up, squinting at the console… oh. There was a life form out there in the wilderness.

A Vulcanoid life form.

“Hey, Scotty…”

“If you’re asking about the fella in the old mine to the south, I dunno,” he called from across the room. “Spotted him yesterday and tried pingin’ every frequency, but nothin’. And we don’t have enough phaser power to fend off the wee beasties on the way, so we can’t investigate until Starfleet delivers our next batch of supplies.”

Jim frowned at the little blip. “This just showed up yesterday?”

“Aye. If you ask me though, I think it’s a glitch— otherwise we’d have to suppose some ship came in the night, stranded a random Vulcan in an empty cave with no tech of any kind, and then flew off before our systems alerted me.” Scotty shrugged, popped open a can of room-temperature soup, and sniffed it disdainfully. “Doesn’t seem likely. Hey, do you reckon they’ll bring some real food with the next supply run?”

But Jim was staring hard at the scanner, his mind beginning to boot up like a laggy computer. This old system did not say Vulcan, it said Vulcanoid. It could just as easily be a Romulan, left here by Nero to keep an eye on Vulcan’s graveyard.

And who else could avoid their scans and alert system, but a ship from the distant future? This lurker might not even be as unarmed as they appeared.

Jim was already on his feet. “I’m gonna look,” he said. “You don’t need an extra guy to stare at screens.”

Scotty tried to protest, but Jim’s mind was made up. He took an old phaser that only had half power, a tricorder that barely worked, and an extra coat, and made his way down the abandoned tunnels.

Besides, he thought, if this really was a Vulcan, he could probably use someone to grieve with. And at least Jim was good for that.

Twenty minutes and several rodent encounters later, Jim rounded a corner and heard snarling. He hurried on— it was one of Scotty’s wee beasties, a fuck-off huge alien monster who snarled and spat at the cave entrance, and at the person inside.

Jim ran forward, phaser out, but the situation was already handled: the creature apparently hated fire, for it soon backed away from a torch waved in its face.

Even better, Jim could see from here that the stranger was otherwise unarmed, and a very old man at that. He doubted this was a Romulan spy after all.

“Na’shaya,” Jim said, before remembering his manners. This guy was an elder, he would be expecting a formal address, and shit, what was it again—

But the man turned, and— he actually smiled. “James T. Kirk,” he said, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

And Jim was famous, he knew, but not that famous. Not by his face alone. “Sorry, do I… know you?”

“I am Spock,” said the old man. “I have been, and always shall be, your friend.”

Bullshit, Jim thought reflexively.

But then, stranger things had happened today.

 

*

 

“We will rendezvous with the rest of the fleet in the Laurentian system,” Spock informed his crew. “Engineering, you will inform me when warp drive is restored, and we will proceed there immediately.”

“Sir,” someone said timidly. “I… I think I agree with Lieutenant—”

“I have made my decision,” Spock said flatly. “I am in command of this vessel, and if anyone here is not prepared to do their duty, say so now and you may join Mister Kirk.”

They quieted and went back to their tasks. Spock almost regretted it, for the anxious silence was nearly worse than the chatter. But he could only handle so much before the tight hold on his emotions broke, and he could not allow it to break.

Doctor McCoy had not known, he claimed. But how could Spock trust that? He could not trust anyone, least of all a friend of Ly— of Kirk. But the ship could not lose another doctor, so Spock had banished McCoy to med bay, and would try to exchange him for someone else when they reached the rest of the fleet. Or exchange himself, if his commanding officers permitted. Surely there was someone better equipped for this duty, someone who had not just lost an entire planet and failed to save even his own mother, someone who had not been catfished like a lonely fool for ten years—

Spock forced his mind back to his work. He could not break.

He breathed in, breathed out, and burned.

 

*

 

Billions of lives lost… because of me, Jim. Because I failed.

Jim slammed back into his own head, reeling. He wanted to scream, he wanted to sob, his chest was going to burst, he—

“Apologies,” said the old man. “Emotional transference is an effect of the mind meld.”

Jim nodded, trying to breathe. Was this how his Spock felt, up on the Enterprise? He knew Vulcans had feelings, of course, but their strength was still shocking. The pain that echoed along the k'war'ma'khon, the mental bond that all Vulcans shared, was like an open wound scraped raw.

Jim wiped his eyes desperately. He had to get to Isaac— to the other Spock. He didn’t know what he could possibly do, but he had to.

“I wanted to go after him,” he said now. “Nero, I mean. If we can sneak onto his ship, there’s gotta be a way we can take it down.

“I agree.” It was kind of amazing how calm the old man appeared, when Jim knew his heart was broken. “If your ship has a lock on the Narada, I can show you how to beam aboard. And if you can route a communications link to the Enterprise, I can return you to that ship to reunite with my counterpart and arm yourself.”

“Can’t you just take me to the Narada directly? Your counterpart kind of— sir, he’s in command, and he hates me. If I show up there, he’ll probably just toss me in the brig.” Jim wiped his eyes again. He still felt overwhelmed with guilt, and it wasn’t all from the meld. “With good reason,” he added.

“You believe so?” the older Spock asked mildly. “Whatever you have done, Jim, I suspect I have overreacted. I am emotionally compromised, after all.” And he started toward the base, holding his torch out like an old-timey tomb raider, leaving Jim to awkwardly stumble after him.

“Listen,” he said when they were side-by-side. “Is your ship here? There’s gotta be a better way. He’s not compromised, he’s just understandably pissed at me, and he won’t appreciate—”

“If Nero is using the red matter, my ship must still be aboard the Narada. He will not have the technology to contain it. As to your concerns…” The old man gave a small sigh. “Jim, I have just lost my planet. I have marooned my t’hy’la. Given my youth, I am likely at my first command, and it is in the midst of the Federation’s worst crisis. I can assure you… I am emotionally compromised.”

Jim was not sure what to say to that.

Old Spock took them back to the base, where he was apparently delighted to see Scotty as well— so delighted, in fact, that he insisted that the two of them beam up together. Given that he referred to the equation for trans-warp beaming as Scotty’s, Jim was beginning to suspect he had a lot more to tell— about who else he knew, and who Jim was apparently supposed to be friends with.

He was still kind of fucked up over that word Spock had used. T’hy’la.

"There is one more thing,” the old man said. “Under no circumstances should you reveal my presence to my counterpart.”

“But there’s no way he’ll believe me otherwise!”

“I am sure you will convince me. You are, after all, quite innovative.” He lifted the ta’al, as Scotty said his goodbyes to Keenser. “Live long and prosper, Jim. And good luck.”

Jim ground his teeth. Of course this guy would be just the same mix of kind, supportive and infuriating as the Spock he knew.

But at least Jim could still get the last word in. “Sochya eh dif,” he said, and savored the brief flash of surprise and appreciation he got in return, before the base disappeared around him and his atoms were launched out into the black.

Notes:

:')

Translation notes: Na'shaya is a very casual "hello."

Chapter 8: 2258.42, 2258.43, and after

Notes:

Warning for this one: events of ST09 taken seriously. Collective trauma and mental health problems for everyone from here on out.

The trans-warp beaming was a success. Jim rematerialized in Engineering, and Scotty rematerialized… next to him, in a water tank.

After the fast, panicked work of getting him out, they were apprehended by security, and escorted up to the bridge. Of course the bridge, Jim realized— there were so few senior officers equipped to deal with him that there was no other choice.

“How did you get aboard this ship?” Spock demanded.

“Transporter beam,” Jim said. “Listen, we got information about—”

“You are a Starfleet officer?” Spock asked Scotty, completely ignoring him. “You will explain how this was accomplished.”

Scotty glanced between the two of them. Spock was a stranger to him, of course, but he was a Vulcan, and there was a tension underneath that calm exterior, like a cable held taut. And he would not look at Jim.

“I’d, ah… rather not take sides,” Scotty said, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“You will explain your actions or face a court martial.”

Scotty looked to Jim, a hint of fear in his eyes. Spock still did not turn.

“Commander,” Jim tried again, “There are more important issues right now. I have info on Nero, and I think I know how we can beat him—”

“As nothing from you can be trusted, Mister Kirk, there is little point in hearing it. Lieutenant,” he said, directing his attention to Hendorff, “take them to the brig.”

Hendorff hesitated. The whole bridge was watching them. “Sir…”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Did you hear me, Lieutenant?”

“The information isn’t from me,” Jim protested, getting desperate. “Spock, listen!”

Finally Spock looked at him. There was a tightness in his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, and Jim— he had thought of a few possible stories, maybe a deserter from the Narada or a Vulcan survivor who had figured something out, or maybe even his own harebrained ideas, but— but he locked eyes with Spock, saw all the grief and betrayal under that Vulcan mask, and— and he could not lie to his friend again.

In Golic, he said, “Meld with me.”

Whatever Spock had been expecting, it was not that. Jim realized he was getting better at reading Vulcan emotions, or maybe Spock was just starting to slip, because he could see things flashing in his face: shock, offense, anger, fascination. Finally, as Jim felt the security officer’s hand tighten on his arm, Spock made up his mind.

“I will speak with the lieutenant in private,” he told his crew, his gaze never leaving Jim’s. “Security, take the other stowaway to Medical and keep a watch on him. Mister Sulu, you have the conn.”

Spock towed Jim into an empty conference room and locked the door.

When he turned around to face Jim again, he still had that deadly, barely controlled calm. “You do not know what you ask, Lieutenant.”

“I do, actually.”

“Now you mean to tell me you have joined minds before?”

“Yeah. About half an hour ago, with you.”

“You were not on this ship half an hour ago.”

“Which I can explain, if you’d just… you know.” He gestured at his face, turning it up to present his meld points. As Spock took a step toward him, it felt oddly like baring his neck to a man with a knife.

But this was Spock— Isaac. This was his dearest friend. His… his t’hy’la, or one who would have been that, if Jim hadn’t… if they weren’t in this situation. They weren’t friends anymore, really, but Jim still trusted him.

Spock raised his hand to Jim’s face. Jim swallowed and closed his eyes.

“My mind to your mind,” Spock murmured, and joined them.

He was expecting it this time, but it still felt like gravity stopped, like the whole ship vanished around them and he was floating in the void— no, he was soaring through hot desert air— no, he was suspended in water, cracked open and exposed. Thought and memory whirled around him: the caves on Delta Vega, his childhood bedroom, his room aboard the Farragut. He was trapped in there, burning up and struggling to breathe. He flew a shuttle over California, flew the Jellyfish toward Romulus, flew the Enterprise toward home. He felt eyes on him, everywhere, from the bridge, the auditorium, the other children, the news camera pointed at his face. He was falling toward the drill, falling into the singularity behind the Narada, falling, his mother was falling, he remembered her face as she—

The meld broke and Jim fell back into his own skin, dizzy and feverish. He tried to breathe, tried to call out, and it came out instead as a sob.

Spock had staggered back and braced himself against the conference table. Outwardly, he was more composed, just a bit tense as his fingers dug into the edge, but inwardly…

“Spock,” Jim croaked, past caring how pathetic and sniffly he sounded. Spock was worse. He was beyond emotionally compromised, he was…

“I am in control of my emotions.” Spock said it in his native tongue, and it sounded like a mantra. He breathed in sharply, breathed out with a tremor. “I am in control of my emotions.”

“You’re not,” Jim said. His face was still wet, but that horrible panic was fading, his raw and bloody psi-receptors scabbing over. He reached out toward Spock without thinking, taking him by the shoulders despite the feverish heat that traveled up his arms at the contact. “You’re not in control, Spock, but you don’t have to be.”

Spock did not let go of the table, but nor did he pull away. “I am in command of this vessel,” he rasped.

“I know. But that’s why you have a first officer.” He squeezed gently. “Let me help you. Please.”

Spock shut his eyes. “How, Lyras?”

Jim bit his lip. He hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward so their foreheads were just barely touching. Spock’s shields were in tatters, so flashes of thought and feeling leaked through their skin like ink through cheap paper. Jim tried to focus on just one image.

“Pawn five advances,” he said quietly.

Spock breathed in. “Pawn four advances.”

“King’s bishop to one-A-one.”

Spock breathed out, slower. “Queen to three-D-two.”

“King’s knight to one-D-two.”

Spock’s eyelashes fluttered. “You are deliberately exposing your king.”

“Come and get him, then.”

“Pawn three advances. Your mental shielding is poor. I can see your strategy clearly.”

“Can you? That’s a shame, you’ll have to teach me a lesson. My pawn three also advances.”

Spock breathed in, and out. “Your mind a complete mess. I do not know how humans have survived this long. Pawn three advances to level two.”

“Oh, I think of it more like organized chaos. My pawn says hello.”

“That is not a move.”

“Alright, pawn three goes to level two and asks your pawn three what he’s up to this evening.”

“Hm.” Spock considered. “My queen moves forward three spaces to chaperone.”

Jim smiled. “Pawn four advances to play wingman, since his buddy needs backup.”

“My pawn four advances as well.” Spock’s eyes fluttered open, though he still did not move away. “The bridge is waiting for us.”

“Yeah. Guess we’ll have to pick this back up after we take care of business.”

Spock gave the barest hint of a nod. “I must reinstate you first,” he said. He took another deep breath, then straightened up. “And we must inform the crew of our new destination. Jim— Lieutenant Kirk. I suggest you… compose yourself.”

Oh. He supposed his face was still a bit of a mess. Shrugging, Jim just wiped his eyes and nose on his dust-covered jacket sleeve. “I’m composed enough.”

There was tiny quirk, the most minute twitch in the corner of Spock’s mouth, which Jim now knew was his version of a smile. And somehow, that was when he started to feel like they might actually pull this whole thing off.

“Very well,” Spock said, and unlocked the door.

They returned to the bridge, and then it was all business.

Jim took the lead in planning, but it was a team effort— the crew was young but brilliant, and they had a captain to rescue, after all. Sulu set in a course to Sol, Scotty worked his magic on the engines, Chekov found a way to disguise their warp signature. The confirmation that the Narada was a mining vessel, as well as the images planted in Jim’s mind of some of the inside, gave them some idea of what to plan for; Spock, as the closest thing they had to a Romulan expert, finally spoke up when he volunteered to go.

It was logical, Jim had to admit. Spock had ways of getting information and of defending himself that the rest of them did not. “But I’m coming with you,” Jim insisted.

Spock raised an eyebrow. He was looking more like himself by the minute. “I would cite regulation, but I know you would simply ignore it.”

“You know me too well,” Jim agreed, grinning toothily.

Their plan decided and their two commanders once again on the same team, a new mood settled over the crew. Now they were not merely running for safety or trying to survive; they were on the hunt. With several minutes to go, Jim and Spock armed up.

“I’ll be monitoring your frequencies,” Uhura told them both, as they got ready to beam over. “Don’t do anything stupid, alright?”

“I’ll try,” Jim said cheerfully. He felt like he had in that moment before Pike dropped him out of the shuttle and onto the drill— or maybe like right before taking the Kobayashi Maru for the final time, his cheat code already plugged in, all coiled up and ready to spring.

“I will keep an eye on him,” Spock said. “Energize.”

 

*

 

Spock’s work had become, once again, a series of tasks. Take cover from the enemy. Return fire. Access ship computer. Access the mind of a felled Romulan. Follow the map to the first mission checkpoint. Follow the prompts of his fellow officer.

It was rather like the holo-games he and Lyras had played together, years ago. Spock could see even more of their practical use now; when his emotions were so chaotic, it helped to lose himself in the challenge-reward loop of simple missions that someone else laid out for him. Or maybe it was like chess, but he was only a piece, not the player.

They parted ways on the Jellyfish. His older self’s ship was advanced— far more advanced than anticipated— but Jim had complete faith, despite the extreme odds against them.

“Pawn four advances again,” he said, eyes alight. They were the same shade of blue as the metal alloys lining the ship’s walls. The same as a now-extinct flower from his mother’s garden. The same as the skies of San Francisco on a clear day, where he had once looked up from the academy grounds and wondered what a life in space would be like.

He wondered why Lyras had never mentioned his eyes were such a color. Was he aware?

“Your attempt to bait my queen is noted,” Spock told him instead. “Pawn eight advances. Consider your next move carefully.”

Jim laughed, saluted him, and was off. Not a proper military salute, nor even the ta’al, but a quick sign between friends. He knew they would see each other again soon.

Spock activated the tiny ship, turned his seat forward, and moved onto the next task.

 

*

 

Once he left Spock, it was all kind of a blur. Jim got his ass kicked by Nero, dragged himself back to his feet, got his ass kicked again by another Romulan, shot him and got his ass kicked by the ship itself as it moved and lurched. As he reached Captain Pike— severely injured, but still himself— his communicator chirped back online. Spock had taken down the drill, then, and their wonderful ship had stayed hot on the Narada’s heels as Spock led her away from Earth.

Jim smiled down at his captain. “Morning, sir. Ready to go home?”

“God help me, it’s you again,” Pike groaned. “Yes.”

He hailed his beloved silver lady, and his team beamed them back. Bones was already in the transporter room, ready with a cadre of nurses, who swept Pike off to sick bay and attacked Jim with their scanners.

“You got a lock on— ow, Bones, jesus—”

“Aye, sir, your Vulcan friend is in my sights.” Scotty grinned at his console. “Hang on tight, lad…”

Jim had just met this guy and he decided he already loved him. All the same, he only started to breathe again when Spock reappeared on the transporter pad, hands still extended toward the controls of the Jellyfish.

“We must return to the bridge,” he told Jim immediately, not even reacting to the med team’s aggressive scans. “There is a singularity forming ahead of us.”

Then it was the turbolift, pushed as fast as she would go. For a few seconds, like a moment stolen out of time, it was just Jim and Spock.

“Jim—”

“I changed my mind about that strategy.” He smiled, and Spock raised an eyebrow. He felt high. “Queen’s knight to one-C-two.”

“Interesting,” Spock said, but then the lift doors opened, and they were back to fighting for their lives.

Nero refused aid, of course, and for a moment Jim thought his attempt at mercy might have cost them the ship— but no, it only lengthened their ride home, because they had to eject the warp cores to get away.

But they did get away.

The ship slowed to impulse power, very nearly adrift in open space, but alive, gloriously alive.

Jim collapsed into the captain’s chair. “I hope all you crazy bastards get awards for this,” he said with feeling, and the tension finally broke.

Most of them laughed, a few of them cried, and Bones had plenty of work to do as they laid in a course for home.

Spock approached, and Jim realized he was in his commander’s seat. But his legs felt like jelly and was not sure he could get up. He almost thought he was about to be reprimanded, but then Spock began, quietly enough that only Jim could hear, “Queen to—”

“Excuse me,” said a voice from behind him, and Spock straightened immediately.

“Ambassador,” he said, in perfect Vulcan calm.

Oh. Oops. Jim forced legs to work, though he had to brace himself on the chair to do it. When had he gotten so tired?

Ambassador Sarek had apparently lost patience with waiting in a random conference room while the ship went into combat, and so had invited himself onto the bridge.

“I was wondering if I might be of assistance,” said the diplomat. “Have you any messages for the Vulcan refugees?”

Oh. The refugees. The memory of the last twenty-four hours sunk back into him, and Jim nearly collapsed into the chair again.

“Not at this time,” Spock said, because he was, technically, still in charge. “But it may take as much as three weeks to reach Earth at present speed, and so we will need to find accommodations for them. I am certain our operations team will appreciate your help in this task.”

Jim nearly winced. The Vulcan ambassador to Earth, playing camp counselor? This guy was basically royalty, and Spock had just sent him to play assistant to the yeomen.

Suddenly he glanced between the two Vulcans. Were those the first words they had exchanged in ten years?

But Sarek, to his surprise, merely inclined his head. “I would be honored. I am also able to provide diplomatic access codes, should you need them.”

Oh. Yeah, that was… really useful, actually.

Sarek left them be, and Spock turned to Jim.

“Lieutenant, the ship chronometer has been calibrated to Pacific Daylight Time, where it is now oh-three hundred hours. I believe you are long overdue for a shift change.”

“I guess, but…” Jim was still struggling to stand up properly, but Spock had been through even more, and he couldn’t just leave him—

Spock gave him a look, and maybe Jim was imagining it, but there was a hint of softness in his eyes. “I will work the remainder of this shift and then retire. Vulcans require less sleep, and I do not have injuries.”

Jim blinked. He was perfectly fine, he tried to insist. But his body, having gotten the message that the danger finally was over, decided to clock out for the day. When had his eyelids gotten so heavy?

“Queen moves one space to your left,” Spock said quietly, and then Bones dragged him off.

The journey back to med bay was a blur, and he had to lean on his friend for most of it. When he finally got there, it was to the sound of Spock’s voice over the speakers.

“Attention all crew,” he said, his voice just as calm and soothing as anyone could hope for in a commanding officer. “The Romulan threat has been neutralized.”

There was a tired cheer from a few of the cadets, and even some of the nurses. Jim had to smile as he stumbled into bed.

“This vessel is now en route to Earth. Unfortunately, due to damage sustained in battle, our journey may be as long as nineteen point five days and quarters will need to be rearranged. All crew will report to Conference Room Two as soon as they are able.

“To our passengers…” And here Spock switched to a very formal Golic, “Time is a path from the past to the future and back again. May we accept the reaching of our friends who are so different from us and become greater than the sum of our component parts. Live long and prosper, and may we all find home again soon.”

Jim let the words cover him like a heavy blanket. Spock was quoting something, he could tell, but the words were beyond him; he and Isaac had not spent much time on formal or archaic speech. Around sick bay, there was a small chorus of “peace and long life,” and maybe some Vulcan version of “amen,” but he could not be sure.

At the end of the day, his former friend was an alien, and their shared fantasy was almost over.

Jim drifted off to sleep. He never did remember that last chess move.

 

*

 

The three weeks passed by like a fever dream.

In the first few days, the mostly-human, mostly-cadet crew were often crying and embracing in the hallways, and the Vulcans left their rooms only at mealtimes, when they seemed to think it was polite to sit in silence and observe the emotional noise with a critical eye. People started bowing to them, even the children, and the Vulcans were either too polite or too uncomfortable to say anything back.

Jim, for his part, made a few attempts to talk to them. But after a Vulcan teenager was reprimanded for poking fun at his accent, he decided to stick to English. They all understood it better than the reverse, anyway, and around day four he realized that a couple of the civilian adults liked eavesdropping on his dinner chatter with the crew— so he told a few of the more outlandish stories from his shuttle days, just to amuse them. When one finally turned around to ask for more details about his various hospital visits around the Northern Hemisphere, and another human volunteered their own absurd allergy stories, Jim thought he’d accomplished something. But with few exceptions, the Vulcans and Starfleet groups stayed pretty separate.

Of course, everyone was busy. There were repairs, and organization, and reports. The Vulcan elders commandeered the few remaining rec areas to hold large grieving rituals, and the Starfleet officers were often working double shifts to cover the work of the injured and dead. Between the work and the grief, most were unable to do much more than collapse into bed at the end of each day.

The worst part, for Jim, was that he hardly saw Spock. With Pike still out of commission, it was just them and their most senior lieutenants running this whole circus, and someone always had to be available. Jim saw Spock when he was relieved on the bridge; he noticed Spock far across the cafeteria, having a lunch meeting with the Vulcan elders; he heard Spock had been around an hour ago when he checked on someone’s work.

He had thought of his next move in their chess game. He wanted to tell Spock before he forgot. He came close, once, on day twelve— but Spock was deep in conversation with his father, and they looked to be getting along so well that Jim did not dare interrupt.

As the Enterprise limped back into Earth’s system and eased into orbit, Jim knew his chance had passed. The mission was over, the dream had ended, and it was time to go back to reality.

 

*

 

The dead of Vulcan were uncountable, but the dead of Starfleet were recorded in detail. Every ship lost to Nero had a name, a duty roster, and a list of officers and cadets who would not be coming home.

As a newly-promoted Commander, Spock shared in the grim task of logging them, accounting for those lost, contacting the families. At headquarters, lost comrades’ work had to be redistributed: classes were momentarily suspended, but Spock found himself updating systems, overseeing labs, giving input on promotions and even flying shuttles from one base to another. If he planned his days well, he had approximately five hours per night for sleep and meditation— not that he was able to use it. If he was not woken up by nightmares, he would invariably find himself lying there anyway, unable to achieve meditative peace, paralyzed as he was by memory.

The second day of the journey home, Sarek had found him on the observation deck, trying to regain some sense of equilibrium.

“You have been hard at work, my son.”

Spock had merely looked at the stars, unsure of what to say. They had spoken of business frequently the last twenty-four hours, but this had been their first moment alone together in nearly a decade.

“Your recitation of Surak’s teachings was well done. T’Pau herself led us all to recite those same verses at the dawn ceremony today.”

“I find it curious that you call it that, when there is no dawn aboard a starship.”

“That is true. Sometimes familiar words provide comfort, however.”

Spock had breathed for a moment. “Mother used to say that.”

“She was very wise. I often find as much guidance in her teachings as those of the priestesses.”

Spock had been silent again. What was there to say? His mother, with all her wisdom, was gone because he had failed her.

“Spock,” Sarek had said. “You asked me once why I married her. The truth is that I did so because I loved her.”

Spock had shut his eyes. He had never— in twenty-eight years, he had never told her—

He opened his eyes now, to his cold room on this cold blue planet. He remembered his mother’s face as she fell, and he knew he would not be sleeping tonight.

 

*

 

The USS Lincoln and the newly-recommissioned USS Farragut were both among the ships lost. Spock did not know if Jim knew any of the dead, but he did.

Captain Garrovick. He had taught one of Spock’s classes, his first year at the Academy.

Commander Thelin. The Andorian had been stern, but not unkind, especially toward a fellow non-human in the Science division.

Lieutenant Blanchard. She had wept when they heard the news of the Farragut’s tragedy, which seemed so small now.

Lieutenant Commander Richardson. Spock had often disapproved of him, but he had deserved better than this.

Eight officers who had once served with him in Science. Nineteen officers from his graduating class, three more former instructors, thirty-seven of his former students.

Lieutenant Commander T’Vin.

Spock paused on the name.

She had been one of his most dedicated teachers. She had been the one to approach him, all those years ago, and warn him of what awaited him as a Vulcan. She had inspired him to study humans more deeply, which had led to him finding Lyras, which had led to Jim, which…

Spock wondered if she had taken all his advice on human relations to heart. He wondered if she had seen their planet fall— but no, the Lincoln had been one of the first responders to Vulcan’s call for aid, and so they had died quite early in the day. Spock had not even noticed his former ship among the wreckage.

He saw that T’Vin had finally gotten a promotion. But it hardly mattered, in the end.

 

*

 

Sometimes, en route from one task or meeting to another, Spock noticed someone from the Enterprise.

Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Chekov, stuffing bagels into their mouths as they hurried across the Academy campus, apparently late for something. Doctor McCoy and one of his nurses, following up with someone at the Vulcan embassy. One of Spock’s former assistants in the Science department, bent studiously over the equipment in the labs at Headquarters.

There were a few that he saw on purpose. Captain Pike, upon release from the hospital, held weekly meetings with Spock about the events of the mission and the status of the Enterprise. Engineer Scott met him even more frequently, as he seemed to believe that the ship’s repairs were just as much his responsibility as Spock’s— and after witnessing his skill and his easy rapport with the other engineers, Spock had to accept that as true.

Lieutenant Uhura was often glimpsed at the Embassy or in discussion with various secretaries and diplomats, but once he saw her on the Academy campus, seated on the stone steps to the main auditorium with an Orion woman, an arm around her shoulders as they both cried.

Spock changed direction as soon as he noticed them. It was not uncommon, this grief— Starfleet had lost so many, after all, and the two women were probably mourning a friend. But it was… uncomfortable, the ease with which other species displayed their pain. Vulcans had suffered most of all, and yet they maintained decorum.

He suddenly wanted nothing more than to go home. He wished to see the skyline of ShiKahr one last time, even as it crumbled, and he almost wished he had fallen into the singularity with it.

Spock had to take a moment, after that. He wondered if he should have taken Uhura’s offer, all those months ago. Would he be more able to express these feelings with a human partner? Would she hold him as she did her Orion friend, or maybe the way his mother had when he was small, or maybe the way Kirk had, after their meld—

He found a secluded corner and breathed. Upon further consideration, he decided his regrets were unfair. Lieutenant Uhura had her own concerns, especially now, and it was probably for the best that she had not entered a relationship with someone who could not comfort her in return.

Perhaps that was why Jim had not contacted him?

Of course he saw Lieutenant Kirk too, from time to time. The two of them had not been able to talk, back on the Enterprise— but then, what was there to say? Spock still found himself thinking of their history, of all the questions he still had but perhaps did not truly want answered. And it would not have been right, starting the discussion in public, when they had both been so busy, and Kirk had been the emotional pivot on which the entire ship turned.

Kirk was filling the same role now, he thought; when Spock saw him on campus, the human was inevitably surrounded by others, leading discussions, guiding them, helping steer them toward stability just as he had on the Enterprise.

And Kirk had not reached out to him at all. If Spock had any special relationship with the man, he realized, it had long since ended. The fantasy was over.

Spock began to wonder if he should leave Starfleet.

 

*

 

One week later, a message came from his father, inviting him to assist in the reconstruction of their race. From any other Vulcan parent, this would have the force of a command. But Sarek had been oddly gentle with him since their mutual loss, and had gone out of his way to state that he would support whichever path Spock chose.

Spock did not particularly trust this statement, but that Sarek would make it at all was perhaps a good sign. He meditated upon the idea— going outside of San Francisco city limits to do so, since he could not escape the mental anguish around him otherwise— and thought of some questions for the ambassador before he gave his answer.

He had just finished yet another meeting with Engineer Scott and was on his way to investigate an issue with one of the Enterprise’s shuttles when he spotted Sarek, mercifully alone in the hangar bay.

“Father,” he called out. It would be better to ask his questions now, he thought, so it would be off the record.

But then the old Vulcan turned around.

“I am not our father,” he said.

For a moment Spock could only stare. He had never expected to meet this man, and now here they both were. Rather than stay in hiding, which would be logical if his identity must remain secret, his elder counterpart had simply strolled into Starfleet to be found, almost as if… it had been planned.

Spock strode forward. His patience with such tactics was wearing thin.

“I believe you told a mutual acquaintance of ours that the two of us could not be allowed to meet.”

“I only told him that we should not. That a world-ending disaster would occur was merely his own assumption.”

“An assumption which you deliberately induced him to make.”

“Perhaps, but it was for his own good, and yours as well.” The elder regarded him, an almost human smile playing across his wrinkled face. “I could not deprive you of the chance to work together, and of a friendship that would define you both, in ways you cannot yet imagine.”

Spock felt a surge of anger. He most definitely could imagine it; Lyras had been his constant companion for an entire decade, had influenced him in myriad ways large and small, had taught him so much about human culture, about friendship, about himself. But Lyras was not real. And James Kirk had not spoken to him in weeks.

Unwilling to think of their past or their lack of future, Spock returned to the present.

“Regardless of how he came to believe it, he risked unknown damage to the space-time continuum simply because he wished to tell me something I would have learned anyway. Surely you have some reaction to this recklessness.”

“Ah, yes. My Jim and I often did such things for each other.” The elder looked wistful. It was unsettling, how freely he displayed his emotions. “He told me once that the needs of the one outweighed the needs of the many.”

“Is that so?” Spock asked, feeling a little unwell. Just how far had his older self turned from their people’s way? “Was he speaking from ego, or emotion?”

“He spoke from love,” he said, still in that nostalgic tone. “Spock, what do you plan to do?”

Spock found himself unwilling to answer. He wished, just once, someone would state plainly what they wanted of him, and then leave him be. His control over himself was slipping, the result of intense trauma compounded by personal betrayal, profound loneliness and weeks of overwork, and the last thing he needed in this moment was yet another attempt at manipulation.

And the word love was still rattling in his head.

“I believe you have your own plans for me.”

“I have suggestions, but the choice must be yours.”

“Then you may make those suggestions.” It was an effort to keep his voice level. “And I will consider them, logically, among my options.”

The elder tilted his head, observing him as his childhood instructors once had, when he gave the wrong answer to a question.

Those instructors were probably all dead now.

“Logic and emotion are not so divorced from one another as you may think,” his counterpart said softly. “I urge you only to remain in Starfleet, and to do what feels right. Your own happiness is a worthy cause, and it would not be a betrayal of our people to seek it out.”

With that pronouncement, he lifted his hand in the ta’al.

“Since my customary farewell would appear oddly self-serving, I shall simply say… good luck.”

And he made his departure, leaving Spock more lost than ever.

Notes:

Oh, Spock Prime. Absolute legend. 👑

Chapter 9: 2258: spring, summer and fall

Notes:

In which my silly little ST09 rewrite also becomes a You've Got Mail fix-it, because I love that movie dearly but boy howdy do I have some Opinions about the end.

Isaac: At 0700 hours tomorrow morning, I will be at the diner where we attempted our first meeting. If you wish to speak honestly, find me there.

 

Jim stared at the message, mouth agape. Spock wanted to talk to him now?

No, not now. At seven in the morning, across the bay. Tomorrow.

He looked at the time: almost midnight. With the way the air trolley system was these days— half the pilots drafted into Starfleet to help make up for lost hands, many of the vehicles commandeered by government officials— he would have to leave at least an hour early in order to make it. No, more than that; he was sure to get stopped on the way to the station. Did Spock have any idea how packed his schedule was?

Before his conscious mind even realized what he was doing, he had three different alarms set.

 

*

 

“Zero-six thirty-two,” noted the Vulcan, as Jim jogged up the steps to the diner. “I see your time in space has improved your punctuality.”

“Yes, sir,” Jim panted, shivering. The sky was still dark, the night was unseasonably cold, and the wind had buffeted him the whole way here. He didn’t know how a desert species like Spock could be so unaffected.

Spock raised an eyebrow at the address. “We hardly need to stand on titles now. We are both off-duty, and I did not request your presence via work channels.”

Jim nodded. He shivered again. “So what did you want to talk about?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “The last time we met here, you left without paying. I believe you owe me a drink.”

Jim swallowed. He owed Spock a lot more than that and they both knew it.

“However, the diner will not open for another twenty-seven point two minutes,” the Vulcan said smoothly. “You have until then to explain.”

He did not say what needed explaining— but then, he hardly needed to.

Jim took a shaky breath. “Look, I… there’s no excuse. I fucked up. I lied to you. I never meant for it to get this far, but…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Spock.”

Spock just tilted his head, face impassive. “For how long were you aware of my identity?”

“Not until that day at the diner,” Jim said quickly. “I swear, I didn’t know you were in Starfleet. I know it sounds crazy, but I didn’t think— I mean, years ago, I looked you up, the real you, and I thought, well, a half-human would be way more familiar with human culture, and if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be asking me…” Jim bit his lip. He was babbling, and time was running out. “You probably won’t believe this, but I only found out when I saw you through the window. And then with the trial and everything, I just lost my head.”

“I see.” Maybe he was imagining it, but some of the tension seemed to ease from Spock’s shoulders. “And after we parted ways, you took steps to distance yourself from me. Is that why you rejected Captain Pike’s initial offer to join the Enterprise?”

“Yeah. Well, that and I wanted to prove myself.” He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm up. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you were right about me. I was— my family’s been in Starfleet for generations, my dad’s practically a folk hero, especially to one of the old guard like Pike, and I was stupid to think that didn’t affect things. So I took the Farragut to try and— I don’t know. Be someone new. If that was even possible.”

“But your primary motivation was to stay away from me,” Spock clarified.

Jim couldn’t deny it. “Yeah.”

“In that case, why did you not cease communicating?”

“Because— because you were my friend,” Jim said, helpless. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Your previous statement would seem to contradict that.”

“I guess I thought I could compartmentalize.” Jim clenched his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering. “Isaac was my best friend, but Spock hated me, so I tried to pretend I didn’t know. I tried to think of you as two different people, which I know is ridiculous, but…” he shrugged hopelessly. “Chalk it up to me being an idiot, I guess.”

Spock continued to watch him squirm, his face unreadable. “I do not hate you,” he said finally. “Nor do I think you an idiot.”

Jim felt his heart flip over in his chest, like he was going down the stairs and missed one. “O-oh.”

“Your logic was flawed,” Spock concluded, “but I understand it now.”

Jim nodded. He wasn’t sure whether to thank him for that. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“How many times do you plan to apologize?”

“As many times as you’ll let me,” Jim said desperately. “I know it’ll never be enough.”

“If you believe any number of attempts will be inadequate, there is no point in continuing. I do not require more.”

Jim shut his mouth and nodded. He rubbed the back of his neck, which had stiffened with the cold and lack of sleep. “Okay.”

“How did you disguise your identity once we were both in Starfleet?”

“Oh, that… well, our chat program and my personal comm link are both Earth-based. Everything you sent to me would’ve been rerouted through civilian servers, same as it was when I was in high school.”

“And you did not change to Starfleet systems because…?”

“I wanted to keep them separate, especially after I found out. And…” He took a breath. Spock deserved total honesty, and Jim meant to give it to him. “And because I used Starfleet logins for other things. Sometimes mine, sometimes my mom’s or my stepdad’s.”

“So even before your altering of the Kobayashi Maru, you have gained illicit access to Starfleet systems.”

Jim swallowed. Total honesty, he reminded himself. “…Yes.”

“For what purpose?”

“Getting information. But just harmless stuff— exam dates ahead of when they were announced, things like that. Personnel files that were… for commanding officers.”

“My personnel file.”

“Yeah,” Jim admitted. “I could only fake the security clearance of a Lieutenant Commander, though, and I didn’t look at anything that’d send an access report. It was all— well, not public information, but the kind of thing any officer of a certain rank could look up. No medical data or Academy transcripts or personal messages, just stuff like basic assignments, certifications, links to published work.” He bit back another apology. “…I know you have no reason to believe me on that, but it’s the truth.”

Spock inclined his head. “Have you read any of my published work?”

“No. I tried, once, the night after we met. I think I got about a paragraph in on your report to the Academy about command track training, but it just— it felt gross, so I stopped.”

“I see.” And Jim was definitely imagining it, but he seemed almost… disappointed? “If you come across a study of mine which has been made public, you have my permission to read it.”

Jim risked a small smile. “I can’t promise I’ll understand all the science.”

“Then perhaps you can find a scientist to explain it.” Spock turned, looking uphill. “Our time is up.”

Had it already been half an hour? Apparently so; the sun was rising over the roof of the diner, and an employee was just beginning to turn the outside lights on.

Spock walked up the steps to the place, somehow looking regal in his black pea coat, while Jim followed him like a man walking to the gallows.

The server yawned a bit as she took their order— one spiced kaasa cider and one hot black coffee, to go— but just as Jim was taking out his credit chip, there was a loud gasp from their left.

“It’s you!” cried a middle-aged Andorian, hands over her mouth in an oddly human-like gesture. She was staring at Spock, antennae twitching.

Spock did not frown, but that tension in his shoulders was back. “It is me,” he said. “Who do you believe I am?”

“Oh, you’re that sweet Vulcan boy who used to come here every week. When you stopped, and we heard the news, I— I thought—” Her voice broke, and she seemed in danger of fully dissolving into tears.

If anything, Spock looked even more uncomfortable. “My work called me elsewhere,” he said. “I am perfectly well.”

She nodded. “Oh, of course you are, dear, I just— stay there a moment, okay? Martha! Elim! Xiang!” She hurried to the back and, to Spock’s obvious horror, came back with several staff members who all crowded around him, relief on their faces.

“You’re okay!” one cried. “Oh, thank God!” “Did your family survive?”

Jim took that as his cue. “Alright, everyone, give him some space,” he ordered gently. “Vulcans aren’t touchy-feely, we all know that.”

The staff allowed themselves to be herded back, with mixed apologies. That first Andorian woman— evidently the manager or something, judging by her lack of uniform or apron— soon returned with their drinks, and a large bag of fresh pastries.

“On the house,” she said, pushing it all into Spock’s hands. “Oh, we’re all so happy to see you again.”

Spock said something gracious and vague, and they made their escape.

Once outside, Jim couldn’t resist. “Every week, huh?”

“A gross exaggeration,” Spock protested.

And maybe it was the way he was clutching the bag of goodies, maybe it was the way the wind mussed his usually-perfect hair until so that he looked almost human, or maybe it was just that disgruntled-cat look on his face, but Jim had to smile at him.

“You know, with that little stunt we pulled? Saving the earth on live TV? You’re gonna have to get used to people being even more obsessed with you now.”

The corner of Spock’s lips drew down minutely. “I am unfortunately well aware,” he said with distaste. “I have received eight requests for press interviews this week, and I cannot leave my quarters without incessant displays of emotion.”

Jim laughed. “Well, at least these guys liked you before it was cool.”

“Hm.” Instead of responding, Spock opened the bag of pastries. “Many of these are covered in tree nuts,” he observed. “Will your allergies permit…?”

Jim glanced inside. “Nope,” he said with a grin. “It’s all yours.” Then, taking a wild risk, he added, “You know, technically I still owe you a drink now.”

Spock looked down at the cider in his hand, considering. Then he nodded. “You do. We can make another attempt at the same time tomorrow, if you are available.” He gave Jim a once-over, gaze lingering on his chattering teeth. “I suggest you dress more warmly.”

 

*

 

And so, the next morning, Jim showed up at the same spot, bundled up tight and even earlier. Spock was still there, perched on a bench and working studiously on a padd.

“Did you take the midnight bus or something?” Jim had to ask. “How long were you gonna sit here, anyway?”

“Until the diner opened.” Spock tucked away his padd and stood. “We have forty-three minutes. Walk with me.”

He set off down the street, and Jim followed obediently.

It was still dark, and most businesses were closed. A light fog muffled everything, like the world itself was not yet awake. On occasion, another person passed them by, appearing out of the dark like a mirage and disappearing just as quickly, usually with a work bag or a small breakfast clutched to their chest.

“I can’t believe I’ve never been to this part of the city before,” Jim ventured to say. “Three years at the Academy and I feel like I barely left campus when I was here.”

“Apart from your shuttle work,” Spock reminded him.

“Well, yeah, but that was different. Sometimes it felt more like a vacation than anything.”

Spock gave a small “hm,” then led him down a side street that soon became a narrower foot path.

“Technically, we are no longer in San Francisco itself,” the Vulcan explained. “Before Starfleet was established, this area was a popular vacation spot. Old photographs show quite a peaceful view of the bay.”

“Before it got crowded with air traffic,” Jim supplied.

Spock quirked an eyebrow. “Indeed.”

The foot path took them into a park, where the low hum of vehicles and other humanoid life gave way to the faint sounds of nature: bugs, birds, a rodent here and there.

“This nature preserve is now smaller than it was, but I still find it pleasant. When we attempted to meet three years ago, I planned to take you here.”

Jim’s heart ached. He wanted to apologize again, but Spock had told him not to, so he didn’t. “I bet I would’ve loved it.”

“That is good to know.”

The path opened up to a clearing. Benches and little tables lined the edges, spaced out just enough to give any occupants some measure of privacy, shaded by massive trees. Jim breathed in the mossy air and smiled.

“We had places like this back in Iowa,” he said. “Not exactly like this— it’s a lot of flatlands and creeks, and the trees are smaller. But there’s a bunch of nature preserves, hiking trails, stuff like that.”

“Did you frequent these places as a child?”

“Sort of. My brother used to drag me along.”

Spock glanced at him. “I was not aware you had siblings.”

“Just the one. He— we haven’t talked in a while.”

“I see.” Spock was quiet for a moment, then said, “I have a brother as well. He is eighteen years older than me, from my father’s previous marriage. We are not close.”

Jim nodded. Family was such a fraught topic. And now, for Vulcans…

“He left the planet when I was a child,” Spock went on, as if to answer the unspoken question. “We have had no contact since then. I do not know if he still lives.”

There was a story there, Jim could tell. But he had pried enough, so he didn’t ask.

Spock led him farther into the woods. They lapsed into silence for a few minutes, then the Vulcan spoke up again. “On my home planet, preserving the view of the desert was a priority for certain cultural practices and for public health. There were restrictions on air travel outside of major cities. If I walked for twenty-six minutes in any direction away from ShiKahr, I would be completely alone with nature.”

Jim swallowed past the lump in his throat. But Spock did not want apologies. “Did you do that a lot?”

“Yes. When I was stationed at the Academy, I sometimes came here instead. Now it has become part of my routine. It is pleasant to be away from telepathic and auditory noise.”

“Sorry to intrude, then.”

“Your company is not a disturbance.”

Jim did not know what to say to that, so he simply fell silent.

They continued on, until the path opened up to that area with tables again. They had just walked a loop, Jim realized.

“I believe we have just enough time to return to the diner.”

Jim checked the clock and saw that he was right. After a moment of hesitation, he took another leap: “Would you mind if I joined you again tomorrow?”

Spock inclined his head. “That would be acceptable.”

 

*

 

And so a routine developed.

Jim woke up around five-thirty, got his things ready for the day, and headed out. He got off the air trolley around six, met up with Spock, and they went for a walk.

They did not always talk. Sometimes Jim was too tired— it took a while for his sleep schedule to adjust, and sometimes he was up late the night before with meetings, projects, or the occasional bout of insomnia and nightmares— and sometimes Spock was just quiet. He might have been tired, might have been depressed, or maybe just had nothing to say; with a Vulcan it was hard to tell.

After the walk, they always went back to the diner at seven, got their drinks, and parted ways. Jim never asked where Spock was going afterward; it was a little too much like asking to be part of his life again, and he did not dare. The time they had was too precious, too fragile to risk. For just this one hour, they could pretend again— not to be Lyras and Isaac, for those two had died back on Vulcan, or maybe on Delta Vega, or maybe in the singularity that swallowed the Narada. But Jim and Spock could just be two guys on a walk, not Earth’s heroes, and certainly not two senior Starfleet officers who spent their days cataloging deaths and doing all the hard, ugly work of rebuilding.

Their old fantasy was gone, but this one was… nice.

 

*

 

About three weeks into the morning walks, the sun was rising just a little bit earlier, and Jim realized something about those tables they passed in the park.

“These are chessboards,” he said, delighted. The old-fashioned flat kind, not the three-dimensional ones they were used to playing on, but if one of them brought pieces…

“Unfortunately, my set was in my quarters when the Narada destroyed that section of the ship,” Spock said. “But if you wish to bring yours, I believe it was your turn to play white.”

 

*

 

Jim did try the cider, just once.

He took a careful sip, smacked his lips thoughtfully, then took a larger mouthful.

“It’s good!” he said, surprised. “It’s like apple cider, but you’re right, the fruit is hard to describe.”

“You may be pleased to know that the kaasa fruit was preserved in Starfleet greenhouses,” Spock told him, “as well as many of these spices. The rest are recorded on replicator systems, and there may be some complete plants on one of our former colonies. I have already been told of three different varieties of birkeen.”

“That’s not one of the spicy ones, right?” Jim coughed. “What’s the one here that burns on the way down? It’s good, whatever it is.”

Spock frowned. “Eastern insilit can be potent, but the sensation of heat is usually felt in the sinuses.”

Jim took another sip, still curious, and then his throat closed up.

Two emergency hypos and one frantic trip to the hospital later, Jim had another allergy to add to his already-impressive list.

“Still good, though!” he laughed, voice raspy from his ordeal. “And it’s not the worst reaction I’ve ever had. Joke’s on me for getting adventurous without my doctor’s blessing.”

Spock was far less cheerful about the experience and insisted on scrutinizing everything they ordered after that.

 

*

 

It was inevitable, of course, that they would run into each other on the way to their meeting place. Jim hopped on the air trolley, started making his sleepy walk toward the back as usual, and then realized who was sitting in his favorite spot.

"This seat taken?" he asked, gesturing to the seat next to Spock.

The Vulcan blinked at him, noticing his surroundings for the first time. "This is early for you," he noted.

"Couldn't sleep," Jim said, faltering a little. "If you wanted some alone time first..."

But Spock just gave a small shake of his head and gestured vaguely at the open seat. Jim took it, and the two of them looked out the window in silence, observing the misty, pre-dawn cityscape as the trolley rose and fell.

"I have also had difficulty sleeping," Spock confessed, eyes not moving from the window.

Jim nodded. Spock's exhaustion these past weeks had not escaped his notice, but he had refrained from commenting. "I bet Starfleet's running you even more ragged than me."

It was an easy opportunity for deflection, but Spock did not take it. "My workload is manageable."

Jim nodded again. "You want a nap now?"

"I would miss our stop."

"I'll wake you up."

Spock looked doubtful, but he was evidently too tired to protest, for he leaned his head against the window. When the trolley started up again, bumping him, he sat up with a most un-Vulcanly scowl.

Jim tried offering his jacket as a pillow, but that too was awkward. Eventually they arrived with Spock asleep on Jim’s shoulder, and Jim trying very hard not to wrap an arm around his back, or press his cheek to that dark hair, or anything else that might scare him off— or worse, create enough contact for his thoughts to bleed over.

Jim allowed himself one small squeeze of the shoulder to wake him up, and neither made any mention of it as they disembarked and began their usual walk to the park.

After that, Jim came early on purpose, and Spock’s trolley nap soon became part of the ritual.

 

*

 

“I have been offered a captaincy,” Spock told him one day, as he made his move.

“You were? When? That’s awesome,” Jim said with feeling. “You’ll be great at it.”

“You think so?” Spock asked. He glanced pointedly down at the board, and Jim moved one of his pawns.

“I mean yeah,” he said. “Isn’t that— do you not want it?”

“Perhaps one day.” Spock steepled his fingers as he considered the board. He had been playing cautiously today, even more than usual. “I do not know that I am ready.”

“But you already did,” Jim said, surprised. “You were in charge almost the whole time.”

“Perhaps in theory. In practice, we acted as co-captains, and our winning strategy was more yours than mine.” Finally he moved his rook. “Have you been offered a position?”

Jim wrinkled his nose. “Yeah. They want me commanding a ship, too— it’s great PR after this mess, and I guess Pike must’ve recommended me.”

“Did he? I’m glad we agree.”

Jim’s hand paused as he reached for a knight. “Wait. You recommended me?”

“As I said, we acted as a team—”

“Spock, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” The Vulcan looked up, those dark eyes hard as they held Jim’s. “You have now proven your ability in multiple crises. Approximately ten percent of surviving Vulcans and one hundred percent of the planet we now stand on owe their lives to your quick thinking and skill.”

Jim wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just moved his knight.

“Furthermore,” Spock went on, “while I agree that their offering you the flagship specifically is a public relations maneuver, I believe you would be well-suited to it. You should take the opportunity.”

“But they haven’t offered me the flagship.”

“I suspect they will, once I turn it down.”

“Wh— Spock! They’re offering you the Enterprise?! Are you crazy?”

Spock lowered his gaze to the board, deflating a little. “No,” he said. “I am, however, emotionally compromised, and I do not believe I am to be trusted as a captain at this time. Especially when Starfleet, more than ever, needs a steady hand at the helm.” Very slowly, he inched a pawn forward. “I know the admiralty would not take kindly to me turning down this promotion. I am trying to come up with an alternative place for them to put me, where I can serve the same function in their eyes without… certain duties entrusted to me.”

Jim watched him, the game nearly forgotten. “We’re all emotionally compromised,” he said quietly.

“And yet, some of us are able to work through it.” He paused. “It is your turn, Jim.”

Fuck the game, Jim thought, and moved a pawn without looking. “What do you want to do, then? If you could have any job at all. Which I bet you can, by the way.”

Spock seemed to think for a moment. “Chief Science Officer,” he said finally. “I believe I can still run a department, and I have always enjoyed that work.”

“You got it. First Officer too, if you’re willing.”

Spock looked up, amused. “Are you offering me a position on your ship, Captain?”

“You bet your ass I am. We can keep right on being co-captains, Starfleet gets its PR stunt, and I get a guy in the number two spot who won’t put up with any of my bullshit. We’ll be the best command team they’ve ever seen.”

Spock pursed his lips, his eyes still dancing. “I fail to see how my ass is relevant, but I believe I will take that bet.” He slid his queen across the board. “Checkmate.”

 

*

 

After that, their lives became planning, planning, and more planning— yet somehow Jim hardly ever felt tired. He collapsed into bed each night with his comm in hand, his mind bubbling over with thoughts that he had to send Spock immediately. Then he sprang out of bed a few hours later and did it all again.

The higher-ups loved the idea of their dream team, just as Jim had known they would. They would get nearly all the crew requests they put in, and they took full advantage: McCoy, Uhura, Sulu, Chekov, and at least a dozen others that Spock had served with over the years. Jim was about to recommend Scotty, but Spock had put in for him first— “he has become a rather essential fixture of the ship, Captain,” he’d said gravely, and upon hearing the man talk about all his ideas for their “silver lady,” Jim had to agree.

Then it was equipment, and supplies, and all the physical things. Spock went over all the meal cards with great suspicion, trying to comb through them all himself, before McCoy finally told him in no uncertain terms that if anyone was going to “prevent Jim from shoving poison into his face, it would be the goddamn doctor you idiots hired.” Personally, Jim wasn’t worried; mostly he was looking forward to watching his two best friends get to know each other. They’d get along eventually, he knew.

Next, an outline of all the schedules, for crew rotation and for the first three months of missions. Jim had to wonder how anyone else managed without a Vulcan for a First Officer; Spock lived and breathed spreadsheets, and he had a patience for solving logistical problems in an hour that would have taken most humans all day.

“There is one more thing,” Spock said, as they finished a late breakfast together at their favorite table in the park.

“Hmm?” Jim drained the last of his water and licked his lips. He thought they were all set for a final systems check tonight. “What’s that?”

Spock paused as he wiped his fingers on a napkin, and Jim sat up a little straighter. He knew his friend’s tells by now, and if he had to guess, he’d say Spock was… nervous.

“When we first became friends,” Spock said deliberately, as if he had prepared these words far in advance, “you agreed to help me understand human social customs. Over the years, I have found your teaching indispensable. Would you be willing to continue?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jim said, frowning. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Spock gave a small nod. “I need a lesson, then. How would you ask a human for a romantic relationship?”

Jim felt winded. This, he hadn’t expected. But… but Spock was doing better now, emotionally, and even though Jim knew by now that he had it bad for Spock, he had promised himself long ago that before they were anything else, they were friends. And he wanted his friend to be happy.

So he plastered a smile on his face, and answered. “Probably just say that. Like ‘hey, I have feelings for you, can I be your boyfriend?’”

“Very well.” Spock seemed to center himself, took a breath, and faced him across the small table. “Jim, I have feelings for you. May I be your boyfriend?”

…Oh.

Oh.

Jim almost forgot how to breathe. “You… you want that? Really?”

“I do.” Spock’s expression was very still— and Jim knew that one too now, he was beginning to doubt— “Have I misinterpreted your feelings? I thought—”

“No! I mean, no, you didn’t misinterpret.” Jim ran his hands over his face. Holy shit. Holy shit. “I just… god. I need a minute, Spock, you can’t just ask me that and not expect me to lose my mind.”

“Really? I thought I copied your words exactly. Did I get the inflection wrong?”

“Jesus.” Jim laughed, feeling nigh-hysterical. “No. No, that was perfect. I’ve just been kind of in love with you for so long, I’m gonna need a minute to… process.” He covered his face and breathed. When he looked up again, Spock’s eyes were dancing in that familiar Vulcan smile. “I’d love to. Yes. Just as long as you don’t feel obligated or anything.”

Now the corners of Spock’s mouth turned up, in something more human. “I do not feel obligated,” he said, “though I do find you quite impossible not to love.”

Jim was smiling so hard his face hurt. He felt like he was flying. “Can we do another cultural exchange now?” he asked. “I really want to know how Vulcans kiss.”

Spock reached his hand out to take Jim’s and brushed their index and middle fingers together. Jim felt the tingle of it all the way up his arm. “Now you must show me the human way,” Spock said primly.

Jim stood and rounded the table, where Spock rose to meet him. And he definitely knew what he was doing already, because he placed his hands confidently on Jim’s waist, closed his eyes and kissed perfectly, all soft and warm and tasting of bitter spice tea sweetened with alien fruit.

When they pulled back for air, Spock gave a small noise of consideration. “I am not sure I understand,” he said, his voice catching slightly. “I will need more practice.”

Jim laughed and held him tighter. “Yes, sir,” he said, and kissed him again.

 

*

 

- OCTOBER 30, 2258, ST 22:54:36 -

- You have [1] new message -

 

Spock furrowed his brow. Somehow, after all this time, he still had this old chat program on his personal padd. No one should have his contact anymore, so it was likely a notification from the developers, or something else automated.

Curious, he opened it.

pla'kruslar-k'hy-tor: guess who ;)

Spock raised an eyebrow and glanced across the room. Jim was asleep, his arm flung out over the side of Spock’s narrow bed and his legs clamped down on roughly seventy-five percent of the blankets. His own padd was on the bedside table. He must have sent this while he was waiting for Spock to finish his nightly meditation; it had been a long one.

Spock looked back down at the message. Should he…?

Of course he was typing before he had made up his mind.

Isaac: I see you have configured a solution for the issue of this program not functioning on Starfleet servers. I also see that despite your increased skill at manipulating computer code, your maturity level has not increased since the age of fifteen.
Isaac: Additionally, if your intention was to translate your old username, pla’kruslar is not the best choice. It is a scientific term more appropriate for anatomy textbooks, rather like posterior or gluteal muscles. If you are determined to be crude, the pre-Reform word coi’a would be better.
Isaac: In any case, you must know I will not be calling you that.

- Display name has been changed to Spock -

And then he paused, considering. Should they simply use their names?

He mulled over it as he put away his things and prepared for bed. Jim slept through it, fortunately— a new captain worked long hours, even in port, and humans needed their rest.

Nearly done, he paused by the bed. In all Jim’s tossing and turning, his hair had become disordered. Spock reached out to smooth it back into place, though it had apparently dried this way and only bounced back as soon as his hand moved away.

Still Jim did not wake, but at his touch their minds brushed up against one another. Spock felt him like a sip of hot tea, like a sigh of contentment as one settled down after a long day, like a little ping on his padd screen that was just a crude representation of a human face, smiling at him.

He marveled at the feeling under his fingertips. Touching Jim was still new, but already he could sense the first threads of a bond forming, his katra reaching out to another and being accepted with open arms.

Perhaps their shared fantasy had never been one at all. Perhaps it had always been real, and this wonderful thing between them had formed not in a few world-changing moments of desperation, but in uncountable tiny ones, in ten years of little jokes and holo-games and translations across the miles and lightyears between them.

Maybe calling him Lyras had been the first step toward calling him something else.

Jim stirred as Spock slid into bed, and relinquished the blankets to cling to his partner instead. Spock indulged him once again; he planned to do so for a very long time.

 

- pla'kruslar-k'hy-tor has been renamed Jim-t’hy’la -

 

- Friend request has been sent -

Notes:

And that's it! Thank you so much for reading!!

This fic kind of consumed me, but it was so, so worth it. I had an amazing time, and I hope you all enjoyed watching these mad lads try to communicate as much as I did. Please let me know what you thought!

Now I'm gonna go sleep for a while before I post more absurd spirk content. Until then, LLAP 🖖