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Spock settles onto the floor of his apartment, his meditation mat flat beneath him, the incense burning in the firepot creating lazy coils of smoke in front of him. It’s been several days since he’s felt calm enough to even attempt meditation. And several more since they’ve returned to Earth, that time filled with meetings and paperwork and debriefings and interviews. But this is the first night Spock has felt centered enough to attempt meditation and believe he may achieve a restful level of consciousness.
He supposes, as he puts his hands together and touches his pointer fingers to his chin, that his stock of Vulcan incense is a prized and limited commodity now that his home planet has been destroyed. The feelings of shame and guilt that rear up and threaten to swallow him whole are nothing new as they have every night since their return to Earth. But, as before, he allows them to pass through him instead, trying as much as he can to defy his human emotionalism and Vulcan penchant to obsess over his feelings and simply let them go instead.
Mentally sidestepping the battles with Nero’s ship for now, Spock instead concentrates on Command’s decision to honor and uphold Captain Pike’s field promotion of Cadet Kirk to First Officer aboard the Enterprise. Everyone who has studied at the Academy or indeed, knows anything of Starfleet’s history knows the story of Lieutenant George Kirk and his heroic actions that saved the lives of the Kelvin. What has only recently come to light, is that Romulan ship, capable of creating singularities in space, was the same ship, manned by the same crew, that recently threatened Federation planets, reducing one of them into nothing but memory.
Spock agrees that their decision to honor the promotion of Kirk to Captain made a great deal of logical and political sense. Starfleet has not been seen in a positive light for several years now and as a public relations move it was logical to attempt to better that view. And even though many officers Spock had occasion to meet with throughout the day on Starfleet grounds believed him to be in objection to just that decision, Spock could not find it within himself to agree with them.
As much as he felt he was suited for command, had trained for it, and worked toward it in the natural progression of rising in rank through Starfleet’s structure, Spock didn’t want to sit in the center seat. Didn’t want to be Captain of a vessel. Didn’t look for the pressures of command to weigh down his every thought and action, adding to the weight of his Vulcan exterior and oh so human interior, which he continuously fought to stay in control of.
No, he thought as the emotions of this line of inquiry came rushing back from where he shuffled them off to the night before, I don’t want to be Captain.
Perhaps at one point, when he was younger and more foolish than he is now, Spock had wanted to command a ship in the Fleet. A childish wish to be able to throw his rank and title and accomplishments back in his Father’s face. To prove he had made the right decision for his own life. That his Father did not understand him as well as his Mother had. His Mother, who had encouraged Spock to strive for whatever future he felt best suited for. Whatever future he had most desired in the moment.
And as a child on Vulcan, tormented by his peers, he dreamed of nothing but sailing the stars, with a loyal and trustworthy crew stationed around him, seated in the Captain’s chair. But, as with most things, having is not so pleasing a thing after all, as wanting. It was not logical by Vulcan standards, but it was true.
Finding himself in the center seat on the bridge of the Enterprise, with the fleet in shambles around them, and her crew scattered and projecting fear and trepidation, Spock was not at ease as much as he had wished he would be when given the chance to captain a ship of his own. His position there felt tainted. Shadowed by the man he was replacing. His advancement in rank a mockery of everything he had worked toward up to that point.
He felt overwhelming guilt and shame, then, at the sharpness of the relief that came over him when he saw that Kirk had made his way back aboard.
It was much easier to take that seat in the Jellyfish. To pilot her on a course of destruction. Uncaring in those moments if he himself lived or died.
It was easy.
So easy.
Too easy.
Spock shutters, remembering the dark emotions that churned in him for those few dangerous minutes; the shame of everything that happened on the bridge with Mr. Kirk, his hatred of Nero, the self-loathing and guilt that he and his Father had survived the destruction of their home planet while his Mother did not. Why did they survive when she, the most deserving and understanding of them all, was lost to the singularity? Swallowed up with the dust and clay of a planet she never belonged to, always seen as an outsider, only for her atoms to be scattered amongst it for all eternity.
If Spock was likely to laugh at dramatic irony, he would have let out a sad and self-depreciating chuckle. But as it was, he gently lowers his hands from their position under his chin, and settles them on his knees, allowing the sorrow to wash over him like waves. As they approach him, he stands still, refusing to be swept away with it all, determined to remain rooted to this place in his mindscape, while encouraging them to flow in disparate directions as they pass.
The grief for losing his Mother moves towards the familial bond that was severed, acting like a heat compress to a sprained joint. The ridiculous hope at the reunion with his Father, the prospect of rebuilding their connection as father and son once more, he lets slow as it passes, gently encouraging it on toward where the bond with his Father grows stronger and more solid every day. His old frustration at Kirk is pushed forcefully away and out of the mindscape. The gratitude he feels for the entire crew of the Enterprise at pulling off their fantastic stunt to save Earth is the only thing he allows to really, truly linger, nurturing the feeling and allowing it to swirl around him, grounding himself in it, this family of peers he has found and realizes, with some surprise that he immediately chastises himself for, that he’s been looking for all his life. Longing for all his life.
And even with the unexpected additions of Misters Scott and Kirk to that complement, to the previously untested and untried Cadets assigned to walk her decks, Spock feels there could be no better crew. No better family than that. Not even if he hand-picked every last officer and enlisted person himself.
Kirk as her Captain. Where he by all rights should not be, also felt right.
Spock did not experience any surprise at this revelation, much like he would have expected to. But it did. It felt right. It was right.
Politics of Starfleet Command notwithstanding, Spock did not wish to captain his own vessel.
Instead, he would strive to be the best First Officer of the Enterprise that his Captain – Captain Kirk – would allow him to be. Stive to support not only the Captain, but also everyone under him on the crew to ensure their ship would not be relegated to milk runs or diplomatic ferrying across the Alpha Quadrant, a continuation of the PR stunt they’ve created. He would instead push them to be the best damn crew and ship in the Fleet. Worthy of the Enterprise herself, worthy of the sacrifices made to keep her whole and bring her home to Earth, worthy of the lives lost in what the news holos call the “Battle of Vulcan”.
Worthy of the position and understanding built between him and Kirk – Jim.
Worthy of the life and legacy laid down before them.
Spock would do his best to support and nurture the Captain he knew Jim could be, that he very likely wanted to be, with everything he had in himself. And at every possible opportunity, Spock would make sure Jim understood that he was where he wanted to be. Serving as the XO. Handling the day-to-day business of the ship, following in the Captain’s wake, providing support and correction where needed, but ultimately, hopefully, as friends.
They’d shown it was possible. The way they strategized and planned their final approach to the Narada, how they disabled the Romulan ship and dealt with the fallout, how they’ve navigated their return to Earth and leaned on each other oh so subtly since then.
Spock had already long forgiven Kirk for pushing him to his violent outburst on the bridge. Understood now the role his elder counterpart had played in that particular move. And ultimately, understood and accepted it as further evidence and reasoning for him to refuse to accept his own ship. Spock could understand destiny and fate, while he did not subscribe to them much as ideologies to live his own life by. But in this, perhaps he was willing to make an exception.
And with one final deep breath and a relaxing of his shoulders, Spock settles further into his meditation, leaving the swirling emotions to sink below them, to assess and understand their root causes. For only through understanding could he process and accept those emotions further. And so he begins, with the firm belief that he is where he needs to be, as was Jim Kirk, and that they would work together to build their lives in Starfleet as they had thus far – tumultuously, with heightened emotions, with fists, with passion. And ultimately, hopefully, as friends.
*
“By Starfleet Order 28.455, you are hereby directed to report to Admiral Pike, USS Enterprise, for duty as his relief.”
Jim turns on his heels to where Pike approaches from the side of the room.
“I relieve you, Sir.”
“I am relieved,” Pike responds, actually sounding like it.
“Thank you, sir,” Jim says, knowing it’s what he’s supposed to say, with a fake smile burning on his face.
“Congratulations, Captain. Your father would be proud.”
Jim’s heart stutters in his chest, his breaths coming short as he turns to the audience in the auditorium, the applause overlapping and blending with the sound of the blood rushing in his ears, creating static that overwhelms everything but the fake smile on his face.
He leaves as soon as he possibly can.
Runs like the coward he is to the temporary quarters Starfleet set up for him just off the Academy campus. The apartment is nice. Much nicer than anywhere else he’s lived in over the past fifteen years. Nicer than he would have expected he’d be assigned after the several stunts he’d pulled over the past week. They also absolved him of the Starfleet Code violation for his win against the Kobayashi Maru. And went so far as to present him with a letter of recognition for “original thinking” for hacking the test.
“Total bullshit,” Jim whispered to himself as he punched the wall unit to illuminate the apartment on the lowest yellow light setting. He removed his uniform, throwing it haphazardly into the closet in the bedroom, kicking it back into the far corner where he couldn’t see the blood red fabric anymore. Not even bothering with proper clothing, he dons the t-shirt and shorts he wore to bed for the past few nights and makes his way to the kitchen.
There were just a few more cans of the cheap beer he found at the nearby corner store his first night in the apartment, but they would be enough to get him through tonight at least. They also served as a mocking reminder that he had an 0800 meeting with Command the next morning and that he shouldn’t get as drunk as he wants to tonight if he’s going to be presentable as the new Captain of the Enterprise.
As he sits on the too-comfortable couch in the living room, Jim notices the blinking light on his PADD cycling through three colors indicating his missed video message, text message, and personal message. He drinks more of his beer and reaches forward to the coffee table, flipping the PADD over so the light isn’t ridiculing him anymore.
He settled into the couch a bit more, sliding down until his head rested on the back of it, and takes another drink from the can steadily warming in his hand.
Captain.
He didn’t deserve to be Captain. Not of a busted-up freighter or a starbase and especially not of the flagship. Not of the ship he saw being built in the Riverside Shipyard. Not the ship he dreamed of being close enough to touch one day, every time he saw the construction pilons during his drive into town. Not of the Enterprise. Not when they had lost so much in the battle with Nero. Not when Starfleet was in shambles.
Not when he should, by all rights, still be on academic suspension, still a Cadet for messing with the Kobayashi Maru. Not when he should never have made it on the Enterprise in the first place. Not when he shouldn’t have made it off Delta Vega. Not when he forced Spock into a rage on the bridge. Not when he should be in a brig somewhere unmentionable for the rest of his life.
Not when Spock should be Captain.
He’s the one who deserves to be in the center seat.
He’s the one who’s worked his entire career flawlessly, to be the best.
Spock deserves to be Captain of the Enterprise.
Jim takes a long drink from the can, draining half the remaining volume in one go as his thoughts continue to swirl uncomfortably in time with his uneasy stomach. Command gave him this ship in a PR stunt, it’s clear as day for anyone who knows the facts. Oh, they’ve certainly spun it so the general public doesn’t know what really happened between Pike going over to the Narada and the Enterprise returning to Earth. Making it seem like James Kirk, the hero son of the late George Kirk, hero of the Kelvin, rose to take on the task of bringing the rogue Romulans to justice. Those same Romulans that threatened the safety of not only Earth, but that of all Federation planets, with their superior weaponry and battle tactics, which decimated the Fleet. Brought to their knees with a clever and untested strategy that was born of intelligence and skill. All by one man: James Kirk. The next hero in a pedigree of Starfleet accomplishments going back generations on both sides of his family.
Jim feels sick.
It’s such a disastrous fallacy for anyone who bothers to look beyond the headlines in the news holos. How could one person, forcing themself into the Captain’s chair be solely responsible for saving the galaxy from the big bad?
Jim huffs out a sarcastic laugh and bounces the back of his head against the couch a few times, trying to dislodge the circular trajectory of his thoughts. Thoughts that he’s revisited day in and day out since they’ve returned to Earth and all the bogus pomp and circumstance that went along with it.
Back when they were on the Enterprise, limping back on impulse power from Titan, it felt good to be in the center seat. Right. Jim felt competent enough to warrant taking it, while Spock never made another move for it himself, and Pike was confined to medbay for treatment.
Jim fooled himself into believing he deserved it, he realizes now, as the guilt of his field promotion being upheld settles in, always near the surface, just waiting to overtake him.
He sat in the Captain’s chair once before, when they were strategizing on where to go after the destruction of Vulcan. Jim felt powerful then, the ache that he maintain his position in that chair so fierce that he actually rolled his eyes when Spock chastised him for sitting in it.
I was a damned fool.
Jim drains the rest of the beer from the can, the fizz rising in his throat for a second.
When he was in that chair, he acted like he did during the Kobayashi Maru simulations. Like he was infallible, untouchable, always right, a godsend for all to witness his brilliance.
Nothing like experience to humble an incompetent asshole. And in true trial-by-fire fashion, he crashed and burned. Not by Starfleet parameters, no no. By his own. But then again, Jim Kirk was always his own worst critic.
So much for living up to your legacy, Dad.
Jim clenched his eyes shut, forcing the wave of sadness and self-pity to pass, trying to forcibly keep the tears inside his head so they wouldn’t fall, another testament to his fragility, his shame, his guilt.
This promotion felt tainted, grimy with his eagerness and pursuit of it. Lieutenant George Kirk didn’t want the captaincy. It was thrust upon him. And he paid for it with his life.
Spock said he didn’t want it either, but he was born for it. To be in charge, to take control of every situation with his Vulcan stoicism that blended so perfectly with his human emotionalism, making him a natural commander.
Jim, ever since the cursed idea was put in his mind by Pike back in Riverside, with a fucking dare of all things, had wanted this so badly. Lusted after it like it would solve all his problems. Fix all his issues. Give him purpose in life like he hasn’t had since Mom and Sam left home. Give him something to keep living for, someone to keep living for.
He didn’t deserve to be in the center seat. But, he reasoned with a sigh and another bounce of his head against the couch back, I’ve got it now, so I better make the best of it. For everyone.
And with that, he sheds a layer of his malaise and self-pity, picking himself up mentally and physically as he stands from his slump on the couch. He makes his way to the kitchen and rinses out the beer can, tossing it unceremoniously in the recycler. He fills up a large glass with ice cold water from the tap and returns to the sofa, settling crossed legged on it while he drinks down several gulps. Then, finally, he reaches down and pulls the PADD into his lap, feeling the burn of determination to do the best he can to warrant sitting in that chair on the bridge of the Enterprise start to grow as he sets to work.