Archive of Our Own

Aloxi Beta is, by all definitions, a prosperous planet, and one of the few where they have not had to use the Prime Directive in. The civilization here is advanced enough to contact Star Fleet of their own volition, reaching out in hopes of establishing a port and hub for ships such as the Enterprise. 

It is, by all means, a resounding yes , for once from both Starfleet and the Enterprise crew . While it is not their usual destination, upon arriving, the Enterprise has been treated fairly and kindly by the Aloxians. The planet has seen no recent wars, no conflicting ethics. There are thriving shops and farmlands, schools, businesses, and hospitals. While they are not as advanced as Earth currently is, they are on the rise. Soon, they will have ships that can travel outside of their planet’s atmosphere and be free to travel the galaxy. For now, they are content to simply acquire a new trading partner who can bring them goods and workers from far-away planets.

The deal is, as the Captain would say, open and shut. That is the reason why the final party consists of only himself and Captain Kirk, whereas in most cases they would attempt for at least four more. Diplomatic events are considered sacred to the Aloxian people, and should only be attended by those of highest rank and another for witness. 

As he and the Captain fulfill these requirements and there has been absolutely no sign of malicious intent from the Aloxians, complying with their one demand is logical. There is less than a 0.0004% chance of any adverse interactions, negating any extenuating circumstances, and Spock is ready to finalize the agreement and continue with their main mission. 

Not everyone else appears to see this circumstance as appealing however. 

Just before they beam down, Dr. McCoy grabs his arm. His palm is warm against his sleeve and his grip just a bit too tight. Spock flits his eyes to the ball of bunched up tunic in the doctor’s fist and raises a brow. The Captain stops beside him and eyes his friend warily.

“Bones?” Jim asks. 

McCoy grips a little tighter in response. His adam’s apple bobs for a moment in his throat, a single swallow, before he speaks.

“Be careful, alright? This is too easy and I just.. I have a bad feeling about this one.”

There is no need for any sort of apprehension. The planet is prosperous, it’s people advanced. The Enterprise is merely here to finalize a trade agreement before they move along to their next exploration. Yet, McCoy’s hand trembles ever so slightly, and beside him, the Captain shifts his weight, a sure sign of his anxiety, even as he reaches over to place his hand over McCoy’s wrist. 

“We’ll be fine, Bones.” The Captain says, reassuring as he always is. “Fine and back by the end of the day, if we’re lucky. That gives you plenty of time to stick us with IVs and hyposprays and whatever else your Southern heart thinks will keep us fit for duty.”

McCoy still looks sceptical, so Spock straightens a bit more and adds his own input.

“Doctor, the Captain is incorrect in his statement.” He ignores Kirk’s hissed “ Spock”  and continues. “While we are unlikely to find any problem with the mission, I can assure you that he speaks only for himself. Upon our return, the Captain may be subject to your more unusual methods of ascertaining our continued health, while I attempt a more productive management of our time.”

The grip on his arm slackens immediately as McCoy blinks, takes in the statement, and sputters out a laugh. Jim grins loud and bright, and even Scotty, readying the transporter, loses it entirely and has to hide his laughter in his sleeve. Spock merely raises his brow over eyes that are certainly not twinkling in mirth. 

McCoy smacks his arm with the back of his hand, barely hard enough to feel, before rolling his eyes and attempts to school his face into its familiar scowl. The act is less than satisfactory. 

“You’ll be getting that hypospray whether you like it or not, you hear me you green-blooded computer! Now both of you go before I change my mind on my approval of this whole affair.”

As CMO of the Enterprise, Dr. McCoy is in no way responsible for approving diplomatic events. It has never been, nor will it ever be, under his jurisdiction. This does stop Spock or Jim from nodding their assent.

“Of course, Doctor,” Spock says, stepping onto the transporter. He watches as Jim squeezes the doctor’s shoulder, and then rushes over to the empty spot left on the transporter pad. The salute he sends the doctor is sloppy at best and insulting at worst. 

Doctor McCoy starts on another rant. Lt. Commander Scott bursts into laughter. The Captain holds a surprisingly straight face. 

Spock contemplates how they will technically have to put all of this on record. 

“Beam us down, Scotty.” Jim says, and Spock ignores the way he captures this memory like a snapshot, as if this moment is more than just the start of yet another diplomatic outing. 

Perhaps, there is more to McCoy’s anxiety than he previously noted. It is of no matter. When they get back to the Enterprise, Spock will determine the cause. There will be time to focus on the matter after this treaty has been resolved. 

-

There is no time. 

It goes like this. The Aloxian diplomat greets them upon arrival. They are a stout people, small and bent in stature, with large horns protruding from their head’s like that of earthling rams and multiple, large eyes that blink independent of one another. Despite their appearance, their customs are not unlike that of Earth’s. They greet the Captain with a firm handshake and Spock himself with as much of the Ta’al as their four-fingered hands are able to replicate. 

Kirk and Spock greet them similarly, with the brush of the thumb over their own foreheads that Uhura described as a sign of respect. The Aloxian’s seem pleased at this interchange, and the rest of the brief introductions go on without any problem from either side - the communicators appear to have no problems with understanding the dialect and provide ample translation . The diplomats seem just as pleased with the trade agreement Star Fleet has proposed, eager and more-than-willing to hold-up their end of the bargain. 

It is, by multiple degrees, the simplest diplomatic interaction Spock has found himself a part of. Each side seems at ease with the other, Spock included, and Kirk is in the middle of finalizing a small detail involving shipping cargo when everything goes horrifically wrong. 

An alarm sounds, distant and shrill in the distance, and then another Aloxian, previously unknown to Spock, comes careening through the doorway. 

Spock tenses immediately, hand set just above his phaser, and from the corner of his eye he sees the Captain do the same, just as prepared from the numerous shoot-outs they have found themselves in. 

The Aloxian does not bring violence, nor does he bring news of such. Instead from out his mouth comes news of something that is indefinitely, indescribably worse. 

“The Emergency Distress beacon has been activated. The U.S.S. Enterprise has sent word of full-system failure. The vessel is entering orbit and shows no sign of recovery.”

The meeting is no longer a priority, and if Spock could think of anything other than the immediate recoil that fills his mind, he would be grateful that the Aloxians respond with the same regard. Their hosts take them immediately to their nearest communication center. It is just a mere eight floors up from the room they were occupying for the trade agreement, but every flight feels immensely longer than it should. 

Spock attempts to hail the Enterprise twenty-two times in the time it takes to reach the room. None of his replies are met. Not by Lt. Commander Scott. Not by Uhura. Not even by Sulu who currently has the comm. 

Every second that passes without communication is counted. Forty-three before they reach the elevator, ninety-four before they reach their floor, one-hundred and eighty-seven before they reach the communication room. Every second costs the Enterprise more and more of their life-support systems. Every second, he and the Captain are not there to help fix it. 

His Captain’s distress is palpable, and would be even if Spock could not feel its residue thumming through the brush of their skin. More than once he has asked Spock for an update and more than once he has cursed the tense “ no change, Captain ” Spock allows him before attempting to hail them again. With every quiet exchange, the Captain’s fear, terror, and self-loathing grow. He blames himself for this, Spock knows. 

There is, of course, no way Kirk could have known this would happen in his absence. There is also no way the Captain will not feel this to be because of his own lacking in Command. The Enterprise is incredibly dear to him, his family, his home . Any attempt made on it or his crew is taken as personally as if it were on the Captain himself, possibly even more so. 

It as not as if you are any different, some part of Spock says. He ignores it, and attempts to contact the Enterprise again. 

Two-hundred and twenty-three. 

Beside him, the Captain fists his hand in his hair angrily, before taking up his own communicator and trying his own. They had not attempted this before now. Too many signals can sometimes cause the systems to reject both, but now they are fearful, desperate. 

Too long without system recovery leads to a decline in life-support mechanisms. A decline in life support mechanisms means a loss of crew. Any loss of crew was unacceptable, but having such to happen while they were unable to assist, unable to protect them? Unthinkable. Illogical. 

Wrong.

The communicators apparently are able to get the distress signal out, but nothing past that. Beaming back onto the ship is near impossible because it is falling into orbit at such an incredible speed. Beaming the crew off the ship is impossible for the same reason. No vessel planet-side would be able to reach the crew or attempt rescue; the Aloxian vessels were not meant for conditions outside planetary orbit. Communication with the crew is the only option they had for any sort of solution to the problem at hand. 

The communication which is currently unavailable to them. 

Three-hundred and ninety-eight.

The Aloxians themselves attempt to help in any way they can. The one who had informed them of the Enterprise’s distress message frantically types away on what appears to be their version of a data pad, and a few others gather around him, muttering vaguely and adding in suggestions. Spock can see a crackling video of Sulu up on the screen -the original distress message- and with every click and swipe of the Aloxian’s paws, Spock sees the message become a little clearer. 

The distress on their Senior Helmsman’s face is palpable and Spock wants more than ever to deny the clench of the heart in his side. 

The Aloxians turn to him suddenly, their faces turning a color that Spock has not seen before. Their many eyes are bright and wide. 

“We have.. We have deciphered the rest of the distress message. It is.. Captain Kirk, its contents are distressing. 

Jim’s panicked breathing cuts off with a harsh inhale. To his credit, his voice does not shake. It is the same voice he uses with the crew when they are, yet again, facing utmost danger, and it is the voice that Spock will always follow. He finds himself standing straighter now and positions himself where he should always be, right behind his Captain. The hand that isn’t clutching his communicator finds Jim’s elbow and grips it tightly.

“Play it.” Jim says, and the air around his cracks with the command. 

The Aloxian flicks the video with a paw that sends it to the larger central screen. Immediately, Sulu’s familiar voice fills the room. 

“This is the U.S.S. Enterprise, issuing an SOS to all available personnel. A meteor storm has damaged our lady- our ship - beyond capable repair. Life support is down to 21% and falling quickly. ETA three minutes to uninhabitable conditions. I fear- I - God Ben, Demora-” His voice breaks, and with it all composure. It takes a moment for him to swallow back the tears; Spock’s grip on Jim’s arm shakes. “I fear there is no helping us. If this is the last message of the Starship Enterprise, know that everyone here has served with dignity and with honor. We have been proud to serve on this vessel. We have been proud to serve under our Captain and First Officer. Jim, Spock, if you are hearing this, know that there is no member of this crew that is not overjoyed to have served with you. Thank you for everything-”

The video cuts out, and with it, all hope.

It has been five-hundred and fifty-three seconds since the first communication. Nine point two minutes. The ship could not have sustained life this long. 

The crew could not have sustained life this long. 

The room becomes unbearably still. No one makes a noise, not Spock, not Jim, not the Aloxians. Spock is somehow still gripping Jim’s elbow. Jim is trembling against his hand. Logically there are now actions that need to be enacted, circumstances that need to be prepared for. Starfleet should be notified. A search team should be sent out. Spock should do his duty as First Officer, as a Vulcan, and assist where his human counterpart cannot. 

Spock counts seconds instead. 

Five-hundred fifty-four, five-hundred fifty-five. 

He does not make it to a thousand before it is announced that the Enterprise has crashed into the desert ten kilometers from where they stand. 

Jim screams. Spock, in true Vulcan fashion, does not say a word. 

-

Spock sees the blaze before the actual wreckage. They’ve been hustled into a vehicle, him, the Captain, and a medical crew, armed with as many supplies as they could possibly carry. 

As soon as the fire is in view, Spock knows none of it will see any use today.

The excessive oxygen content of the Aloxian air sends the blaze half a mile into the sky. Spock sees it before anyone else with his superior vision, but even the Aloxian’s notoriously bad eyesight can spot the tower of smoke and flames erupting from the disturbed earth. His Captain is out of his seat the minute they are close enough, frantically scanning for any sign of life. Spock knows any second he will ask for statistics, probabilities. They need information to give the medical team beside them, what to look for, how to treat the mostly-human crew members that populated - once populated- the ship. 

Spock’s throat is unnaturally dry for the weather. He knows his answer; has known it since the wreckage came into view. That does not make the thought any less disturbing. 

On the abyssal chance someone had survived the crash - barely 0.03%, if he includes the hardier alien populations aboard the ship- , the resulting blaze would have been hot enough to burn them alive within minutes. The death would have been agonizing. 

It is unnatural for a Vulcan to wish harm upon anyone. Upholding life is the greatest of all of the Vulcan laws, and the lives of his crew are no exception. 

He hopes the impact took them all. 

The thought becomes more and more cemented in his mind the closer they get to the wreckage.

The Captain does not understand this, or perhaps he does, but will not succumb to it. Jim Kirk’s Captaincy is made of defied odds, of events and truths so wild and outlandish that had Spock not witnessed them all in person, he would have thought them just another plot of human grandeur. Pulling the crew out of this wreckage would be just another broken law in a sea of broken laws. Spock would do anything - give anything- for this to be the case, but fate is not so kind. 

When they approach the wreckage, his Captain jumps out, primed for rescue. The flames before him swirl and scream, but the Captain stands tall and proud, ready to find and take back his crew. Spock steps out after him, but defeat has already settled upon him. Even this far away, the heat scorches his skin, and Spock hates himself even more for the thoughts that come with the feeling.

How can one beg for the death of one's crew mates and not feel guilt? 

He has no time to analyze this thought, or even the action of feeling at all, before Jim grabs one of the med bags and running towards the blaze. Spock barely manages to catch his Captain’s shoulder before he can bolt into the flames.

“Captain you cannot-!” 

He cuts off when the Captain bucks his hand and whirls around to face him. His eyes are wild, chest heaving. Tears smear a path along his cheeks. 

“How dare you?” He seethes. “That is our crew, Spock. What about Chekov and Sulu and Scotty and Bones? What about Nyota ? I am not going to sit here on my ass when I could be helping them!” 

“No one could have survived that, Captain!” Spock yells, and distantly, he knows that his emotionless front has been broken. The Captain’s mouth snaps shut as his face just crumples, and Spock feels so, so resigned. “Jim… turn away, please. You’ll only injure yourself.” 

There is a moment, a split second where Spock thinks his Captain will ignore him and go careening into the smoldering remains anyway. 

And then it passes, and the Captain… Jim drops his head against Spock’s chest and lets out a wail that is almost inhuman in nature . His fingers bury themselves in the once-crisp folds of his First’s jacket, as Spock keeps the wreckage from view.

Spock, hypocrite that he is, watches the remains of their ship burn the entire time. 

-

Someone informs Starfleet. 

It is not Spock, and it is certainly not Jim, who has spent the last few hours - 4.74 to be exact- in a  blank, comatose-like state. He does not rouse for the driver who takes them back to the diplomatic building or the Aloxian ambassadors who lead them to a quiet, empty room or even for Spock himself, who remains steady and fixed at his Captain’s side. 

He does not even rise for the interplanetary message that crackles from their comms, but that is alright. He is human; the grief would have affected him the most. 

It should not affect Spock at all, but this is besides the point. 

Spock responds as every First should, robotically taking the comm from his Captain’s side and answering the questions of the Ambassador contacting them. He informs them of the basics: how many were lost, time of the crash, information on his and  the Captain’s whereabouts, the when, why, and how. He regales them with facts and information and pretends he is thinking of anything besides the pulsing grief grief grief beating against his skin. They tell him of their plans to come and retrieve the cre- the remains. They tell him to take care of his Captain, as if that were not his only priority. They end it swiftly, as is the case with most Starfleet transmissions, and Spock ends the call with his usual thanks.

Later, when he is all alone, he will think back on the taste of that word in his mouth and spend twenty long, illogical minutes in the washroom doing his best to scrub the taste out.

-

The Medical lab comms Spock in a day after the crash. Technically, they comm his Captain but Jim is finally asleep, and Spock cannot - will not- wake the man. Especially not for what they want. Not for this. 

So Spock finds his way down to the Diplomatic Medical labs - morgue- on unsteady legs that should be fine and greets the Aloxian mortician with a blank stare. Usually, he would allow an acknowledgement here, as most species require such, but the man is a doctor, and calling him such is.. wrong. Horrific, almost. 

There are plenty of other doctors who are not McCoy, but there are no longer any who are McCoy.  

It is pure knowledge, fact, but still it weakens him, and Spock leans his shoulder lightly on the doorframe to steady himself. Even removed from the initial wreckage, the room smells of smoke and ash. His crew smells of smoke and ash. 

Spock slots his hands behind his back to quell their shaking - Remember Jim- and allows the mortician to speak. 

The mortician greets him with a nod and his name - Dr. Aj’x . He is tall and well-built for an Aloxian but his constant motion makes him appear half that. Spock has faced far more terrifying and demanding men as the Enterprise’s Commander. That does not make the shaking quell. 

It appears that nothing will. 

Aj’x does not seem to notice this. Instead, he glances Spock up and down as if appraising him, and then swiftly claps his hands. 

“This will work, yes. We’ll have to hurry, yes.”

Spock continues to stare at him and sees the mortician take a step back and reevaluate his statement.

“You’re still qualified to identify them, as Second-in-Command, yes? And as Vulcan, you are better than your poor human Captain, yes?” 

As Vulcan. As that emotionless Commander that Spock should be right now. The Commander that the Captain… that Jim needs him to be right now. 

Not that Jim knows he needs anything right now, as far down in his grief as he is. 

Still, the mortician has a valid argument that Spock is more than in agreement with. He nods once, a solemn, silent thing, and braces himself. He is Vulcan. He can withstand this, however horrible it is. 

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

He expects most of it, anticipating but still horrified at the blood and gore; the charred remains of the crew mates that just last week, were happily counting the months down to shore-leave. What he did not account for was the sheer mass, all 1,014 members of the Enterprise present and marked. -and what a statistically improbable thing, that none of the remains burnt up in the crash.-? He can barely view the bodies that curled together, one protecting another, and falters at the image of the ones who died completely alone. But it is the ring that breaks him.

McCoy’s ring specifically.

His body is one of the last Spock identifies, but one of the ones least affected by the flames. Sickbay is - was- designed as one of the most protected areas of the Enterprise, per orders from Jim, himself, and Dr. McCoy. Just last year, they reinforced a good portion of the walls surrounding the medical bay. All of the personnel here are easier to identify because of it. 

He’s curled around Nurse Chapel and another younger intern, because of course he is , and the flames managed to capture the horror frozen on his face during his last moments. Eyes wide but determined as he crouched over two of his colleges. 

Jim can never see this. But Spock, Spock can never unsee this. He will never unsee this. 

His stomach threatens to riot, and if it were not for decorum, for his need for this to be him and not Jim, he would have vomited right there on the morgue tiles. 

But if it were not for this need, he would not have seen the ring. 

Spock has never actually seen the ring before, as it is always hidden behind the Doctor’s tunic, but he knows of its existence. It is where it always is, dangling on the chain around McCoy’s neck. Tarnished silver glimmering among the remains. For any other man, it would have been his wedding ring, but not McCoy. Instead it was set with a small stone placed into the middle, that McCoy had once divulged was his daughter’s birthstone. 

It should not have survived the fire - how did anything survive the fire? There are statistics, and probabilities. Maybe maybe… no he is Vulcan and can withstand this; remember Jim- but here it is, covered in ash but otherwise recognizable, the ring McCoy wore to everything, the ring he cherished almost as much as his own daughter.

The ring that is now clenched in Spock’s hand.

What he does next is selfish by human standards. It is selfish by all standards.

The ring belongs - belonged- to McCoy. Upon his death, it should return to his daughter, who it symbolized in the first place, to have something to remember him by. Spock stares at the bitter, clear blue stone and finally parts his parched mouth. 

“All the remains are identified and accounted for.”

He pockets the ring and firmly does not think about how much McCoy would hate him.

It never returns to Joanna. 

-

Spock has only ever attended one funeral this large. 

In all technicality, it was not so much a funeral as a mourning, for a group of people who did not mourn, and as such the event is much different than that which occurred when Vulcan was destroyed. 

Jim stands ahead of him in full regalia but slumped, heavy shoulders. His eyes are blank and dull, but his uniform is nothing but pristine.

He will give his crew this even if it kills him. Spock fears, in a quiet, deep place in his subconscious, that it quite possibly will. As much as the thought pains him, wrenches at his very core, he keeps his mouth tightly shut and his position no more than a foot behind Jim at all times. 

Even in a crowd like this, Spock will not be ripped away from his Captain. 

Still, it is difficult to think in an area as crowded with emotion as this one is, all around them families are working through their grief, and Spock knows them all. Maybe there had not been a  prior meeting, but the Captain made it a point to learn all his crewmates' immediate family members by name, and Spock has learned how important such an act is to many races, human or otherwise. So he has done the same, enough so that he knows each and every one of his crewmates’ family members by face alone. 

Up ahead, Cadet Johanason’s mother and father clutch at a photo of their child, weeping into each other’s arms. Ensign Llorln and Ensign Xen’s sisters cling tight to each other a few feet away. The two ensigns had enlisted together, and their families became close when they joined the enterprise. Officer Bjorn’s husband is here with his three children, all weeping into the folds of his robe. Nyota’s parent refuses to look at him, dark brown eyes clouded over with grief, but they shake hands with the Captain when Jim walks by. 

Spock pretends that doesn’t sting as much as it does. 

Nurse Chapel’s nephews are close by as well, along with her many brothers, sisters, and siblings, all chatting together aimlessly. They look upset but aren’t anywhere near as vocal with their grief as the other families. They greet Jim with respect. They greet Spock with the same, but both times it's muffled over. Grief does not make any of these people loud or angry. What it does do, is make them removed and distant. 

Spock is certain if they had met during different circumstances, these families would have liked Jim the way most do. They may have even loved him. Now, most can barely hide their disdain. The entire memorial reeks of it, disgust and disdain and grief wrenching their emotions into something vile that has the very real possibility of putting Spock completely out of commission. 

Not that he will show it when he has his Captain to care for.

There are also those who greet him and the Captain well, despite the circumstances. Ben Sulu is one of them.

Spock and Ben have met on multiple occasions. He has always thought the man to be well-versed and kind to his partner. Ben has also made for adequate conversation on many shore-leaves, but Spock has never held as much fondness for the man as when he pulls Jim close to him in a one-armed embrace, in full view of everyone. His other hand is clasped in his daughter’s, but he still manages to send Spock a meaningful look over the two of them. 

“If you need anything..” Ben says with teary eyes, and Spock nods his assent, even if he will never make use of the offer. The fact that the man still offers it, under the circumstances, is something Spock will thank until his dying day.

His captain must think likewise, but the effort it takes to voice that is stolen by the tears he’s only just keeping at bay. Instead, he squeezes Ben tightly to his chest, and then, softly, places a hand on Demora’s head. 

“He was thinking of you, spoke of you both, when it happened. Hikaru loved you both very much.”

Ben breaks away with a thanks that crumbles into a sob. His daughter crowds close to him, softly asking why her Papa is crying. Spock leads Jim away before he can start to do the same. 

They meet many others in the same fashion before the memorial begins. Jim is sure to attend to them all, even those that clearly do not want to see him. Spock knows the Captain sees it as his duty, the last thing he can offer his crew before they’re all peacefully laid to rest. He also knows, just as well, that many of these people are grieved and suffering greatly, and that their only outlet right now is his Captain. So Spock stands as close as he can, dogging his captain’s every move, tracking every move of those around him, no matter their age or status. 

Of course, these people are important to him by extension. He would protect them because this is what his crewmates would have wanted, but the Captain is the only person left who he can call his crew. The only person left who he can call his home. 

His Captain takes precedent, no matter how much the man himself refuses to take this into account. 

So Spock clings to him, despite the crazed, anguished emotions that come when he brushes by any of the mourners, despite the very same emotions threatening to come screaming in him. Thankfully, this only lasts for a few hours. Afterwards, the actual memorial starts, and Spock is beyond greatful when his Captain takes the stand, pulling them away from the brunt of the grieving crowd. 

Around them, a hushed silence settles, broken only by those too grieved or young to notice. Thousands of people of all different demographics, races, and genders stare up the Captain, In all of them, Spock can see the visage of his crewmates, their actions or features, their subtle motions that mark them as one of their own. He swallows down the unexpected hurt this action brings. His Captain does the same, his adam’s apple bobbing before he finally brings himself to open his mouth. 

Spock has watched him rehearse this speech time and time again on the journey over, listened to his Captain’s cracking voice as he struggles to explain just how good their crew was, the great feats they accomplished both personally and professionally, the kindness they all showed, the ways they would amazing him with their skills over and over and over again. Their crew was too large to go into personal details about each and every member, but his Captain found a way to highlight each major group’s gifts and contributions: the ingenuity of the Engineering department, the steadfast determination of their Security team, the protection and healing of their medical department, the curiosity and intrigue of the Science team, the fondness he held and still holds for their Command Crew. 

No matter how much he is suffering, the Captain does his best to show the families of his crew the respect they deserve. His voice dips and cracks, but still he continues, working his way through the speech. He’s about halfway through when a small voice interrupts, somehow clear in the midst of the thousands and thousands of people gathered. It takes Spock a moment to place where the sound originated. 

It takes his Captain less than a second. His eyes snap to Joanna McCoy instantly, breath hitching in his chest.  Spock has only seen the girl in photos scattered about McCoy’s desk, gathered memories of her steadily growing up, grinning at the camera with her chubby arms wrapped around her father or her mother or in one case the Captain himself, laughing as she pulls wrapping paper off his Christmas gift. 

She looks nothing like that excitable little girl now, in her black dress and flats, grief clouding her every movement. 

“You’re a liar!” Joanna breaks away from her mother, eight-year-old face tear stained and angry, to run up as close to the stand as possible. “You’re a liar, Uncle Jim! You said you’d bring him back home! You promised!” She screams. She throws a stuffed bear up at them and it bounces harmlessly off Jim’s pantleg. “I want my Daddy!”

The hall has gone silent but for the faint crying of mourners and McCoy’s daughter’s sobs. 

When Spock looks over, Jim’s face is frozen in guilt. His mouth works furiously but no sound comes out. The bear, the Christmas gift from the photo Spock realizes, comes to a stop at the end of the podium, facedown against the concrete. McCoy’s ring, which sits cold and chilled on a necklace against Spock’s chest, seems to burn with every passing moment the two stand, staring desperately at each other. The rest of the mourners turn away awkwardly, and the air has gone still, and Spock? Spock does not know what to do. 

This is where he would usually defer to Nyota, or Dr. McCoy to take charge of the situation. This is where Commander Scott would offer up an odd but wise turn of phrase or Chekov and Sulu would insert themselves with a smile and open arms. 

This is where Spock would turn to his crew, but there is no crew to turn to. There are two columns of marble and one thousand and fourteen names, and the acrid taste of charcoal on his tongue. 

There is nothing but the empty space in his side and his own inadequacy, and neither will help his Captain. 

Spock thinks that nothing will.

So he lets the silence reign until finally Jim whispers a broken ‘ sorry’ into the air. McCoy’s daughter does not accept it. All it does is make her tiny face screw up and turn a bright, heated red. She starts to wail even louder than before, completely inconsolable. Eventually, her mother takes her hand and walks her away. 

The rest of the memorial continues in that same horrible silence until the final graves are lowered into the ground. 

Spock takes one look at his Captain’s empty face and knows that his soul went with them. 

That night, Jim walks into the apartment Spock has procured for them, drinks himself sick, purges it all, and then drinks some more. The days that follow are much the same. He never once cries. He barely speaks. He drinks and drinks until he knows nothing of the tragedy, of his grief. 

He drinks to forget, and Spock is the only one left with the burden of the memory. 

This is, in all ways, much worse. 

-

The days turn into weeks, the weeks into months, and still nothing changes. The scar is not-so-much a scar as a poorly placed gauze strapped over a wound that has, in no way, begun to heal. 

Spock finds himself watching phantoms down the hall; Sulu’s laughter at the dinner table, Nyota’s favorite perfume as he’s washing laundry, McCoy’s ire as he’s dragging Jim back from the bar. Once he even catches the tail end of Checkov’s excited Russian when he’s buying groceries. There is no longer stillness to his meditation but an aching in his bones and voices of those long deceased. 

At nights, when he should be resting, he sits there and listens to them, McCoy’s ring in hand, always hidden out of his Captain’s view. No matter how deeply he concentrates, it is not enough to drown out Jim’s retching in the next room. 

Throughout this, the Captain drinks, but this too is nothing new. 

Spock for his part, does what he has always done: redirects calls from Command, looks after his Captain, handles the necessary paperwork to keep them together. And if, in doing so, he has to clean up Jim night after night and tuck his practically comatose form into bed, then so be it. He is his Captain’s first officer, his second-in-command, even if that command is down to two. Extra duties have always been something he has handled with ease.

And if that is no longer the case, so be that as well. 

Spock knows his place, even if Command tries to take him away every chance they get. Spock is Vulcan and, more importantly, the son of a diplomat. Manipulating rules and regulations to his own gain is something he has been versed in from birth. 

So Spock does his job and two months in, and the letters requesting their presence stop coming. 

Three and the dismissals begin to replace them. “I’m sorry to inform you” and “medical discharge” become the new greetings that face Spock opening either of their letters. There is a tone of general disappointment that even Spock, with his limited ability to read any sort of human emotion, can make it out. 

It is beyond disgusting. 

He thinks, if the Captain were ever sober enough to read them, he would agree. That option does not seem forthcoming in the near future, and becomes even less so as time marches on. When Jim wakes, he drinks and drinks and drinks until at some point he falls asleep, just to restart the process over again in the morning. As it is, Spock thinks the idea of sobriety is more far gone in Jim’s mind as the people he is drinking to forget. 

As far as Spock himself is even. 

Even though Spock is the only person Jim has seen in months, his own presence seems like an afterthought to his Captain. Everytime Spock comes in to pick Jim up from the floor, or tuck him into bed or hold back his bangs as he vomits over and over again into their toilet, Spock appears near invisible. His Captain will barely look at him, much less acknowledge him, and as the days pass on and on, Spock fades even more from his vision, until he’s certain that to Jim, he is no less a ghost than their crewmates.

Months pass in this way, with Spock tending to his Captain and his Captain tending to his drink, before finally it all comes to a head. Spock is making breakfast for himself and hopefully his Captain, though he doubts the man will take it, when Jim comes around the corner. 

Drinking. Already, at eight in the morning. Spock has no idea how the man is even awake at this hour considering he piled him into bed no earlier than two that morning, after having bullied him into a shower. 

Jim does not acknowledge his presence or the eggs placed in front of him, and Spock can only stare as his Captain collapses against the table, still curled about the bottle. Jim takes another swig, and it is enough. He cannot watch this any longer. 

“What would you have me do?” Spock asks, and even his whisper rings out against the quiet of the room. Jim stills the bottle against his lips.

“Spock?” Jim’s voice slurs along the edges but he is not yet drunk enough to disregard the note of despair blatantly clear to both of them. Spock is aware that his eyes must be tinged red now, hidden behind downtrodden brows. He still won’t look at Spock. “I don’t have-”

“What would you have me do, Jim,” Spock repeats. “If you were to die?”

Jim stares at him, eyes wide in his sockets, the first emotion he has shown in months, the first time he has looked Spock head-on in weeks. Spock should rejoice at this, but he could no more stop the words then he could the Enterprise’s demise. Then he could any of the other millions of horrid events these months have wrought. 

“Where would you have me go? My people do not want me. My planet is destroyed. My mother is dead and my home–” Spock bares his teeth through the crack that splits his sentence in two. “My home is buried with our crew. I will not lose you to some addiction that clouds your mind. I will not lose you to you.”

Spock swallows and does the one thing he has left, the last bit of knowledge he has that isn’t actively working against him at this very moment. He kneels against the table, curls his hands around his Captain’s, bows his head and presses their clasped fingers together against his forehead. This is the last lifeline he has is to appeal to the one facet of his Captain he can still reach, and he will not let go of it. 

So he begs. 

“Jim, you are the last thing I have. Whatever you need, ask and I will give it to you. Anything. Just… Please . Do not rob me of this as well.”

He tucks his head in further, and feels nothing like the Vulcan he was. It is of no matter, not if this brings Jim back to him. 

“ Please Jim . I cannot bear this burden alone.”

Spock would whisper until his voice was hoarse if given the chance. But there is none. The hands in his are gone, and the ghost of their warmth is all that is left. 

There is a shatter of glass to his right, and then an accompanying flurry of broken bottles, but that is of no concern of his. Nothing is anymore. If he does not have Jim than there is nothing. 

Spock needs to leave. His legs are shaking and will not hold his weight -illogical, unneeded, there is no physical problem with them- but he needs to move. He cannot stay here and watch this. 

When his Captain goes, he goes, but he will not watch the process. He cannot sit and watch his world burn, not again, two times is more than enough. So he leverages himself off the table and takes a step, another. The grief is palpable in a way that it should not be. 

But what does it matter? His display is not Vulcan, the family he had was not Vulcan; there is significant evidence to support that he is not Vulcan, or not Vulcan enough. A Vulcan would not beg or plead. A Vulcan would not hear their voices. A Vulcan would not feel this… this open wound as if his own heart was stolen from his side. 

He stumbles from the weight of it, and he lets it. There is nothing left in him to stop it anymore. 

Jim catches him. 

He is not steady on his feet, the alcohol in his system already making him wobble, but still he is here and alert and for the first time in months, without a drink in his hand. 

Spock feels his breath catch. His head spins, and he shifts a little more, barely an inch. It’s enough to send them both toppling to the floor. 

Spock blinks for a second dazed. The ceiling comes into view and then… and then his Captain , hand against the wall for support, but still kneeling over him with that forgotten half-twist of his lips.

“Well that… didn’t go as planned.” He slurs, and the missing part of Spock’s existence slots back into place. The curl of Jim’s mouth doesn’t meet his eyes but there’s an awareness there that Spock hasn’t seen in so long. The tension bleeds out of Spock’s frame so quickly he shakes with it. 

Spock reaches out a hand, and for once, doesn’t think about it. He has no idea what will come of it, no deductions to make on the outcome. He is sprawled out on the floor and Jim is barely keeping himself from doing the same but it doesn’t matter as long as…

As long as Jim meets him halfway and slots their fingers together. From the brush of skin, Spock can feel him again, aching and grieving but whole . This is what matters. This is what Spock has missed for so long.

Jim closes the gap between them, and pulls him up and closer until they are forehead to forehead, with their clasped hands between them and Jim’s other relocated to grip him by the back of the neck.

“I’m back.” Jim whispers, and the hand on his neck squeezes in tandem. “I’m back, my friend. I’m so sorry for these last few months, but I’m here now, and I’m not leaving you.”

He presses in closer and Spock can feel the echo through his skin, the affirmation of this gift reverberating through them. His eyes water from the contact, the shared grief flowing between them. A hand comes up to brush the tears away, and Spock feels the love through every shift against his skin. 

He’d missed this. Jim has always been an emotional person, but the grief had drawn every bit of that out of him. What walked around the past few months was not Jim but the body that once carried his soul. Even the initial grief had been better than the nothing that followed these past months. The love and sadness Spock feels thrill along their skin is something he has begged to return to them. Now that it has, he is undone, and curls further into the touch, until he is practically balled up in Jim’s lap. And then, as if that open display is not enough,he begins to sob. Loud and ugly sobs that wrench his chest and leave him gasping for breath. 

It is unsightly. Emotional. Undignified. Anything and everything a Vulcan should not be. 

It is all that and Spock does not care. Trying to compose himself would dislodge the Captain’s touch from his skin, and stop the constant reassurance that Jim has returned to him. So he allows the hands to rake through his hair, and rub along his back, and Jim’s croaking voice to calm him with “I’ve got you. I’m back. I’m not leaving you” over and over and over again. 

He only jerks back when Jim’s hands ghost too close to the necklace pinning the ring to his neck, and even then he forces himself to stay just for a moment, to revel in the sparks of emotion he feels thrumming throughout his Captain’s skin. He holds this moment tight against his chest and then breathes it out as he quietly extradites himself from Jim’s grip. 

The Captain steadies him with a just-as-unsteady hand against his back, before reaching up with his other and mopping up Spock’s face with the cuff of his sleeve. It is… slightly ridiculous how comforting the act is. 

Here they are, the former Captain and First Officer of one of the largest and well-known exploration vessels in the galaxy, sitting in the hallway of their still-unpacked apartment, exhausted and wiping tears off each other’s faces. It should be shameful, this wounded, empty thing they’ve become but all Spock can feel is grateful. Grateful that he has someone to share this grief with, that his Captain has come back and he is no longer alone in this. 

The Captain is not a touch-telepath, and they have not bonded in nearly a year, and only then out of necessity, but he does not seem to struggle to read Spock’s mind. He never has. Instead he tips their foreheads together again, and lets out a shaky laugh.

“C’mon. Let’s getchu… us, to bed.” He smiles weakly, barely a tug of the lips. “I just wasted a lot of alcohol, that I’m not going to be happy about it later, and I’d much rather you be well-rested to talk me out of it then.” 

It will be less than that, they both know. In merely a few hours, the withdrawal symptoms will start and it will be hell for them both, but for now, Spock takes the captain’s hand and leads them both to the bedroom. 

And he breathes out quiet, sure relief. His Captain is back. They will make it through this. 

——

The withdrawal takes another month that Spock spends teetering on the edge of hopeful. It’s slow going but no one has ever accused Spock of being less than patient. He waits it out, the shaking and and the mood swings and the overwhelming grief that his Captain has denied himself until now. They sit through counselor after counselor until Jim finds one he can say the name of without accidentally calling them Bones . 

Anything to see the recognition in his eyes, to know that Spock is no longer alone in this. 

And slowly, they march on. It is not beautiful, or graceful in any way, but they are no longer stationary, even if their movements stagger and tilt with each passing day. 

Jim cries himself to sleep most nights. Spock himself can barely keep a meditative trance that lasts more than an hour. They usually give up on either and curl into the bed in the back room together, doing nothing but listening to the other breathe in the quiet space.

Still, it is… better, for lack of another word. To know where his Captain is. To know where the last part of his home is. 

Chest-to-chest, breath-to-breath. They struggle. They shake. They grieve. And somehow, someway, the emptiness in them begins to heal. 

It is all they can do. It is all they have left to do. 

-

Or it is all Jim has left to do. 

Spock has one additional task. Three hours after Jim decides to quit drinking, McCoy’s ring takes up permanent residence in his pocket instead of around his neck, hidden away now that his Captain has the slightest possibility of noticing it. It seems that while Jim’s addiction has ended, Spock’s own vices, will remain hidden for the foreseeable future. 

Spock thinks that perhaps if McCoy were alive, he would call him a hypocrite for this action. Spock also thinks that if McCoy were alive, he wouldn’t have need for this hypocrisy in the first place. 

-

Five weeks after he gets Jim back, and two weeks after the worst of the withdrawal has passed, they realize, quite abruptly, that they are living in what must be the most barren apartment in the city. There are but two sets of dishes in the cabinets, a fridge that is stocked with barely enough for a meal, and windows they cannot control the light from because neither of them had been in the right mindset to buy curtains. 

That alone tells them both how well Spock had truly been handling himself since the crash. 

Spock blinks for a minute as he stares at the emptiness, trying to calculate the last time he went shopping, while Jim gathers their coats and shuffles them towards the doors.

They will need food and towels at the very least. Food and towels and perhaps curtains to keep Jim’s now more frequent migraines at bay. So they set out for town, in what is perhaps, their first trip out together in weeks. The grocery shopping is monotonous but an easy, unburdening chore that leaves Spock feeling refreshed and Jim in a better mood than either of them have seen in a long time. 

Getting curtains is the exact opposite for another reason entirely.

The first few minutes they spend in the store are ordinary, nearly mundane. Jim browses a set of towels for their bathroom. Spock finds himself looking along the curtains for something that will be thick enough to offset the bright light from their kitchen window. 

He skips past a few daintier ones before coming across the thicker sets. Spock is looking over a dark set that boasts eliminating light from an area entirely, when another set catches his eye. 

The thick curtains are a warm pink, almost orange in hue’ and something in them sparks a memory. Spock stops to examine them a little closer, and after a moment, his Captain does as well, peering over his shoulder with a soft smile. 

“That’s Pavel’s favorite color.” Jim mumbles offhandedly, only to freeze when they recognize the words. It is the first time Jim has mentioned Chekov’s name since the funeral. It is the first time he has mentioned any of their names. 

The words summon up an image of a pink bow tie matching the curtain’s colors exactly  and Chekov’s excited, drunken grin, but that is of no matter. Not when Jim has turned so pale and sickly that Spock ushers them out immediately. 

He leaves the curtains, and briefly… only slightly… considers the odds that the small new addition will help their household. The odds are against him certainly, almost inordinately against his decision. There is an eighty percent chance that Jim will cry, a seventy-six percent chance that he will be angry, a fifty-three point eight chance that he’ll leave Spock forever-

But there is a forty-seven percent chance of something else. 

So, when Jim has left for a trip to the gym, Spock goes out and buys the curtains. They are made of a cotton product that makes them immensely soft to the touch, and Spock finds himself grazing his fingertips over them, sitting at the table waiting for Jim to return. He has taken to running again, another healthy coping mechanism that their therapist suggested, and something Spock remembers him enjoying before the crash. 

Indeed, it seems to have helped somewhat, for when Jim comes in, he is in a remarkably better mood than when he left. His Captain does not smile much anymore, just a faint twisting of his lips or a tug of the corner of his mouth, but is a nice change. He is doing such now, greeting him with that half-smile of his, as he walks through the door and hangs his jacket up on the coat rack.

And then he spots the bundle. 

The smile vanishes immediately, and Spock’s fingers clench tighter in the soft pink fabric. He ought to explain his actions, increase the odds of Jim staying, but he wants the Captain to have the first word. If it is chastisement, or anger, or grief, he wants it to be unprompted of his own decisions. 

But the Cap- Jim does not scream at him, does not break down. Instead he stares at the curtains in an almost shuttered off wonder. He reaches out, almost touches it, and then retreats his hand as if ashamed. When he speaks, his voice is hushed in whisper. 

“Are those the curtains from earlier?” 

Spock dips his head in acknowledgement. This display is odd, terrifying, but it is not what he feared. Jim sucks in a breath as Spock watches him, the steady rise and fall of his chest. It is an odd loop, him watching Jim watching the curtains but a continuous one, as Jim takes in one more breath and then lays his hand down over Spock’s. The fabric is a small barrier between them, but they are close enough to where Spock can feel the pulse of his feelings against his own skin. Grief and regret and… almost.. acceptance. 

“Alright.” Jim says, and squeezes his hand. “Alright. Do you… do you think the kitchen? He was..” He swallows once, hard. “He was always talking about that cake his grandmother would send, the uh…”

“Medovik, Jim.” Spock injects, softly. “He was quite insistent that every officer on bridge try a piece when it arrived. As I recall, you found it to your preference.” 

More than such, Spock recalls, if the beaming grin Jim sent the young Ensign had been indicative. 

Jim seems to remember as much and gives him a wobbly smile. 

“It tasted like honey right?” He whispers. “Honey and cream and way too much sugar?”

“I… I am not certain. I did not partake at the time.” He hadn’t needed to. The sugar content had been far higher than what he was acclimated to on Vulcan, and he had already had lunch. It had seemed… illogical then. Now, he regrets that decision immensely. Jim must notice the change and squeezes his hands through the fabric. 

“We can make them. Here I mean. I’m certain there’s a recipe we can find online. It probably… it won’t be as good but you can try them, alright?” 

Spock feels something in his chest, that angry and broken thing that’s been there since the crash, start to settle, like a dull ache instead of a fresh wound. He nods. 

“Alright, Jim.” 

They hang up the curtains in the largest window in the kitchen, the one overlooking the veranda Spock has never paid attention to and the river that Pavel would have loved. They hang them up, and spend far too much money on ingredients they will likely never use again, and make a cake that they let sit for too long in the oven and accidentally burn. 

Jim cries during much of it, when they put up the curtains and when they accidently burn the cake and when they eat it anyway. He cries but he laughs just as much, at Spock’s inability to whisk an egg and the flour in his hair and the way they softly, carefully mention the time Pavel accidently set off the fire control system in the Enterprise attempting to use his phaser to make french toast. Spock, for his part, finally tries the cake. It tastes more like cinders and ash than anything else, but the slight sweetness of the honey is still there. It’s enough to make his eyes water, and he drops his head against Jim’s shoulder in response.

That following morning they get up early to pull back the curtains and watch the sunrise through their window. Shoulder against shoulder, breath against breath, they watch the dawn of a new day edge over the horizon. 

-

The next week they visit the furniture store again. Spock buys plaid pillows that will never match their couch. Jim finds a wilting lily plant he painstakingly tends back to life. 

And they talk.

Little tales, half-spoken words between them at dinner, whispers into the dead-still of their room. Jim catches sight of the pillows and spends half an hour describing the unbidden memory of Scotty drunkenly professing his love for a passing - and thankfully wooed-  ambassador. Spock watches his Captain birth life out of decay, and is so firmly reminded of Hikaru’s patience, he aches with it. They trade tales of the Enterprise in hushed tones, and when that fails, slot their fingers together and let the connection speak for them.

It becomes a tradition of theirs, buying and talking, redecorating and commiserating. An antique set of books makes its way into their living room - “Jim, did Nyota ever tell you of her love for Romanian collections ”, a painting of a butterfly in a frame “Were you aware Nurse Chapel took watercolor classes during shore leave?” Even a small trinket shaped like a creature from a children’s show that Spock swears he did not buy because of its likeness to a certain engineer’s companion. “You, Mr. Spock, are a dreadful liar.”

Their home becomes a mix-mash of furniture and decorations that should, in no way, be paired together, but are somehow perfect. They fill the space with stories and tears and healing and grief. The rooms abound with so much emotional energy that, were it not his own, Spock would be overcome by the sheer depth of it. 

They never discuss McCoy. 

It is… illogical in a way. McCoy was the closest and oldest friend Jim had upon the starship, and despite their constant bickering, one of Spock’s dearest companions. Yet his name is never uttered, not by Jim and certainly not by Spock, with lies on his lips and the ring - McCoy’s ring- hidden away in his pocket. 

He cannot lose the Captain again, and this mistrust, this crime against McCoy and his daughter will lose him indefinitely, so Spock keeps his mouth shut on the subject and stays to the easier topics: Nyota’s and Jim’s bickering, Hikaru’s poetry, Scotty’s somehow in-tune bagpipes. 

Still the object sits, a burning flame along this thigh.

Spock keeps quiet. This does not make things any better. 

-

It all comes to a head on the anniversary of the crash. Spock expects a multitude of things to occur with this day. He expects his captain’s grief, his own grief, the out-flooding of anything and everything he has tried to fix in the past few months. 

The actual dates brings… nothing of the sort. Spock rouses himself from his medication at the same time he always does, turns his head to see light pooling in through his window. The rays are warm, and for a moment, Spock allows himself to bathe in them, to sit here and pretend that the rest of the day will not be as awful as it will be. 

He pretends that he and his Captain will be alright, no matter the significance of the date or the taste of ash he refuses to acknowledge has returned to his tongue, but he worries nonetheless. Already, the voices of his crewmates are more… distracting today, louder and more direct than they’ve been in months. Chekov reminds him that they have an appointment tomorrow with Jim’s psychiatrist. Sulu lets him know that the plants in the foyer need to be watered. Scott shoots out a joke that Spock refuses to acknowledge. 

Nyota and McCoy both catch him before he makes his way back into the living room. 

“Don’t take on too much,” Nyota whispers, in words that taste so real he can feel the brush of her lips on his own. “You’ve let Jim heal, but you have to allow yourself to do the same.”

McCoy’s voice is just as warm, in that worried way he’d only use with Spock when a mission had gone especially bad, and the two of them would pretend not to enjoy each other’s company in the broom closet McCoy called an office, criticizing each other’s choice of drink and sniping at each other in jabs too blunted to hurt. 

“Get out of your head, you damn computer, and just take care of each other,” he says. “Don’t make me come back and do it for you.”

Spock would want nothing more. He promises to do so anyway, in a voice that cracks straight through the middle.

This is as much his crew as Jim’s, and he would do anything they asked, even if he’s speaking to dead air. They deserve that much. So he steps his way into the living room ready to fulfill their wishes, to care and be cared for in equal measures. 

Spock finds himself faltering in his mission not even two steps in. He doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this. Jim stands in front of their dining table, arms loaded with plates and plates of Vulcan and Earthly dishes, scrambled eggs and plomeek and Kreyla and bacon all occupying the same space around his body. 

“Spock!” He says, that half-smile plastered firmly on his face, as he does his best to set down the dishes with minimal spilling. “I’m just getting finished. Give me a second and we’ll eat.”

Spock takes a moment to pull his tongue off the roof of his mouth. 

“You made breakfast,” He says, more question than statement. Jim answers regardless. 

“Yes, but I think I burned the plomeek,” he clicks his tongue as he assesses the bowl. “I didn’t even know you could burn soup to be honest. You’ll have to try it and tell me.”

Spock will. He’s learned by now the importance of sharing the gifts his friends give him, but it doesn’t stop the questions from forming on his tongue, doesn’t hold back the uneasiness in his chest. 

“Yes, I wasn’t aware that was a possibility either. I- Jim, I do not understand what is going on here.”

There is nothing physically wrong. Spock knows this. Neither himself nor Jim is injured, their house is not in disarray, everything seems to be in its proper place, and that horrifying, overwhelming grief he so feared has not yet overtaken them. In fact, it seems that they will avoid this entirely. 

This seems to be the best outcome that could have come out of today and still, Spock is uneasy at this change. For the last year Spock has made all their meals. Spock has been the one to get Jim up and ready them for their daily activities, and keep them moving. Spock has done everything so that his Captain can stay afloat and the deviation from that normal activity makes his mouth dry and his heart tremble in his side. 

“It’s a promise to you. Me too, but it’s mostly for you.”

Spock blinks. 

“Promise?“ He jerks his head around again, this time taking in the perfectly clean kitchen area, their dining room clear of the previous day’s projects, the floor swept and mopped and shined so well Spock could eat off it. “Jim, I do not understand your intentions. I did not- I have never asked for you to make a promise of any kind.”

Jim smiles at him, a soft thing so close to the expressions he’d use before the crash that Spock is taken aback. Jim stops fiddling with the plating to sit down at the table. With his free hand, he gestures to the adjacent seat. 

Spock takes another glance out at their apartment before walking over and hesitantly pulling back the chair. He drops into it with none of his usual grace.

Jim shoots him another lopsided smile. 

“I know what you thought would happen today, and really I can’t blame you because that’s what I thought was going to happen too.” Jim’s hand finds Spock’s on top of the table, and slots their fingers together without hesitation. “I was scared that I would go back to the way I was right after the crash, not the drinking but the sorrow, the endless grief that dragged me under and refused to let me go. But then last night, I was thinking about everything that happened those first few months, and I realized something that I may not have made clear to you. That revelation changed things.”

His thumb swipes a circle across Spock’s warm and comforting as he continues. 

“That day when I stopped drinking you said I was the last bit of our family you had left. I’m here to tell you that the inverse is just as true. You’re my family, Spock. You’re the family I have left, and I’m going to do my best to be here for you know. I’m going to do my best to stay ahead of that grief, to move forward, not just because our crew would have wanted it, but because I want to do that with you, for you .”

And then, in a motion that renders Spock speechless, he tugs their joined hands up and presses them against his forehead, a near mirror image of his own pose from months ago. When Jim flicks his gaze up to meet Spock’s, his eyes are wet but as clear as they were when he would stand at the helm of the Enterprise, a command on his lips and the crew, their crew, at his back. 

“Just like I said then, Spock. I’m not going to leave you. Not on this anniversary and not on the next. Not when I miss our crew more than words can say. Not when I see Chekov’s curtains, or Nyota’s books or Hikaru’s plants or Scotty’s shitty out-of-place pillows. Not when the thought of Bones makes my heart feel like it’s going to crack until a million pieces.” The emotions under Spock’s fingers burst in intensity as Jim continues. “You’re going to be stuck with me forever. Enterprise or no enterprise, you’re my family. My crew. And I’m going to look after you just as much as I would them. More even, because I know what it’s like to lose them.”

Slowly, Jim loosens his grip on Spock’s hands, drops them from his forehead to the rapidly thickening space between them. When he looks up at Spock his eyes are a crystalline blue blue blue. Blue like the sky through their curtains, blue like the uniform Spock can no longer wear, 

Blue like the ring currently sitting in Spock’s pocket.

“I just wanted to make it known, Spock,” Jim continues, unknowing of the guilt threatening to eat Spock whole, of the ashy smoke starting to coat the lining of his tongue. “I wanted to prove to you that I’m getting better, that we’re getting better. With everything out in the open now, we can finally-“

“No!”

Jim jerks to a stop, confusion and rejection flashing across his face. Spock rushes to explain himself. The idea of his Captain thinking this was his transgression instead of Spock’s own is inexcusable, just as his acts a year ago were. The taste of ash gets ever stronger in his mouth, and suddenly he can take it no longer. He fumbles for the ring in his pocket, feels the metal brush against his fingertips, so cool it almost feels like it’s burning.

“I don’t deserve this. Not after, not since-” Spock’s voice catches in his chest, trapped in that locked tome of lies he has hidden time and time again. Jim reaches out to catch him, voice smooth as silk and fingers like keys, effortlessly freeing his vocal cords with a single touch. One of his hands move from Spock’s own to his face, thumb brushing over the arch of a cheekbone into the hollow of his face. 

“Talk to me,” Jim says, all the command and surety from when he was Captain, when his steadiness was all Spock would need in any situation. Death and damnation, trials and tribulations, all would fall beneath his Captain’s tread . It seems that months and months of its absence have not starved Spock of his need to turn towards that voice like a flower to first light, he bathes in it just as he bathed in the first traces of sunlight this morning, soaks it in and comes out steadier with every beat of his Captain’s pulse against his skin. 

Spock can lie to him no longer. No matter the outcome, his Captain deserves his best, and that is what Spock will give him. 

Before he can decide against it, he pulls out the ring. It flashes in the light of their living room flashing silver and blue blue blue before Spock shoves it between them, a multicolored flag of surrender. 

Jim blinks suddenly, fingers twitching on Spock’s cheek. 

“Spock, I’m honored but I don’t know if this is the-”

“It’s Dr. McCoy’s,” Spock’s voice cuts through his Captain’s, barreling through with all the subtlety of one of Scott’s drunken escapades, of Nyota’s sharp wit, of Dr. McCoy’s protective ire. His heart hammers a pulsing, angry beat in his side. “I took it. From his- I took it from his body when I went down to examine the corpses. After the, after the crash. And I know that was-” distasteful, disgusting, a horrible act against someone who Spock cares for so dearly. “Not- not appropriate but-”

But nothing. There is nothing Spock can say to make this better, that can allow him to look his Captain in the eyes again. And yet, he finds himself trying for the words anyway, tracing the notches and grooves in McCoy’s ring, racks his brain for any idea of how to explain himself to describe his need to find something, anything that would tie him back to the crew they both lost. 

There was no time to take anything from Vulcan when it fell. Very little of his childhood was… ideal, or even cherished between the endless medical run tests and procedures he was so constantly shipped to and from, but he remembers some art pieces from his mother’s collections he would have liked to have saved. There were portraits of himself and his siblings, scraps from notes and books passed down from generation to generation that would have served him well. 

He has his memory, and the sparse items other Vulcans preserved in their mad dash to safety, but there had been nothing he could show to Nyota when she asked about the curriculum there, no pictures to show McCoy during the few times he would talk of his daughter and ex-wife, no specimens to show Sulu or Chekov when they asked about the wildlife there. 

Spock may not have been understood by the majority of the population there, but Spock is still Vulcan. His home, their traditions and clothes, their writings and texts, had been his pride, still is. Even as he embraces other aspects of his identify, he still misses the way Vulcan was, the way his homeland used to be, tall and proud and beautiful. He did not want that absence to happen with the Enterprise, and so he committed an act so egregious that it has haunted him for a year since the fact. 

He dips his head down further, atonement and shame forcing his gaze to the floor, and his mouth open to beg. 

“I am so sorry, Jim, that I have kept this from you. I am sorry that I committed this act against our crew, I know there is nothing I can do to regain your trust but please-“ 

Do not leave me, is what almost comes out. Forgive me, is a close second. Instead, he finds himself saying none of these things, not before Jim says something first. 

“That’s not Bones’s ring.”

Spock stops. Blinks. Meets his Captain’s eyes for the first time since he pulled out the ring. The room has the same stillness of one so many months ago. 

“I- pardon me?” 

Jim’s eyes are wide. He stares at the ring with a new purpose, a set in his jaw Spock has not seen since the crash. His fingers twitch, hesitance he hasn’t shown since the start of this conversation. 

“Joanna was born in December. Her birthstone is red, not blue.” His breath hitches. “That’s not Bones’s ring. Spock, That’s not Bones’s ring .” 

The ring in his hand is already trying to change hue, fluctuating slowly to a light purple. Spock drops the offending object in surprise. It clatters on the ground to the tune of Spock piecing it all together. How had he not known before? How had he not noticed the inconsistencies?

The chance of a meteor shower in their edge of the galaxy was less than 0.00005%. A near impossibility. More than that, the bodies had been too pristine. After a crash like that, he should not have been able to identify his crew that easily. Objects should have been disrupted, pieces lost in the atmosphere. Everything was too perfect, too staged. 

As if they were pulling it straight out of their minds-

“ Jim ,” Spock commands, and knows from experience that Jim will listen. “Meld with me.”

Jim is already offering his psi points, even as Spock says it. Because Spock knows what this is now, a trick, a game, and he will allow them be pawns no longer. Neither of them will let this go on if there is any chance, any chance at all that their crew is still… They cannot hold onto that hope, only to have it be dashed if they are wrong, but they both know they will take that chance in an instant. There is no time to debate; they cannot give their captors anymore time to pull them apart. 

Spock hopes they are right, begs that they are right. They will not live again if they are not.

“My mind to your mind.” He says, and fuses their consciousnesses in a single breath.

-

For a moment there is only that abundance of Jim, but as Spock delves deeper into their fused consciousness, the lies around them fall apart. The feeling of the chairs beneath them dissipates, as does the stillness to the air. That infuriating small thing poisoning their minds is easy to pinpoint in this scape. Spock knows Jim’s mind better than his own. Finding the outlier is no more difficult than detecting a bullet hole in his own skin. 

He knows Jim can feel when he finds it too, the swirling mass of his Captain’s consciousness writhes in fear and anger, as Spock snatches the offending psychic force and without hesitation upends it from their minds. There are likely easier and safer ways to discard it, but doing so would take time, and Spock thinks if they spend any more time separated from their crew he would take drastic measures he would not be able to come back from. 

He thinks what his Captain would end up doing might be worse.

Whatever their responses would have been, what they end up doing is far less drastic. Spock detaches his mind from Jim’s with ease, and they open their eyes to find themselves in the conference room the Aloxians set them up in during their initial visit thirteen months ago with a few notable changes. They’re lying on some sort of bio-bed like what McCoy kept in their sickbay, alone except for a single Aloxian, staring at them with terror in his many eyes.

“How did you break free of the simulation?” He squeaks. He scrambles up to try for his computer, only to be stopped by the phaser Jim points at him. His Captain isn’t even to his feet, has barely dragged himself up so that the upper-half of his body is off the bed, but that doesn’t matter. Not to anyone who saw him. 

The steel-cold anger in his voice, the murderous glare to his eyes, the way he holds himself despite the numbness Spock knows is weighing both their bodies down, all of it is an indicator for the man to stay still or else. 

“Sit down,” Jim orders, and the Aloxian keeps his many paws up to settle himself back down on his seat. “Don’t touch anything else or I will shoot you.”

There is a very high chance Jim will shoot him anyway. Spock doesn’t even know if he will stop him, or if he’ll just let whatever is happening happen. The sooner this individual is eliminated, the sooner Spock can deduce what’s actually going on. 

A simulation obviously, that much is certain, but if they’re back on Aloxi Beta then- 

Then-

Then, there’s a chance that anything that happened after they first touched down on this planet was a lie, the peace treaty, the negotiations, 

The crash. 

He throws himself out of the bed as far as his body will allow, leveraging himself off the bed with his elbow and doing his best to follow Jim’s movements. He doesn’t need to pull out his phaser, he doesn’t think adding another weapon into the mix will do any good for either of them, but he does his best to keep the Aloxian in his sights, to ready himself for a fight if need be. 

“Now,” Jim’s tone is deadly. “Explain yourself.”

“It was nothing. Nothing physical at least,” the Aloxian stutters, his many paws shaking. “Just a simulation to determine your ethics. I couldn’t just trust anyone with the safety of our people. I had to be sure you were-“

“And you do that by killing our crew!”

“Simulated!” The Aloxian snaps, jerking forward before he seemingly remembers the phaser. “I simulated the crash. Your morals had to be evaluated. It’s for the good of our people.”

“For the good of your people, you kept us enslaved in that simulation for a year,” Jim laughs, thick and without humor. His phaser trembles in his grip. Spock has half a mind to tug it from him before he accidentally shoots himself with it. 

Then again, he doubts his own grip would be much better. As it is, even he is having trouble keeping up with the situation. 

“A year is more than a test. It’s… what did you have to prove past the first week, past the first day. What did you have to prove at all!” Jim’s voice cracks, sucking in a harsh breath. “We showed you who we were the second the crash hit. Why did it need to continue past that?”

The Aloxian stares at them, its many eyes wide in horror. He doesn’t even seem to notice the phaser anymore.

“A year?” He stutters. “You’ve only been under for two hours.”

The phrase makes them all stop. Jim drops his arm, the phaser now focused on a point in the floor. His face is pale white, breaths so frantic and shallow he barely seems to be getting in any oxygen at all. Spock opens his mouth, only to promptly snap it shut when only a thin, reedy sound comes out. 

“How long has it been since we landed on Aloxi Beta?” Spock finally manages.

The Aloxian darts a frantic glance at the machine next to him. 

“Three and a half hours. It took some time to get you both sedated for the simulation to take place. I- I assure you that the longest I would ever subject a person to this simulation would be four hours. Anything more than that would be severely detrimental to…” he cuts off again. “It simulated a full year? We don’t have the telepathic technology for that sort of mind manipulation.”

The Aloxian dissolves into muttering, calculations and reasonings Spock can’t hear over the rushing in his ears, over the way Jim is near hyperventilating next to him. No the Aloxians wouldn’t be able to do something like this, not without latent telepathic abilities, but a Vulcan with touch telepathy could. A Vulcan with a mind breach could subconsciously do many things to protect themselves, including but not limited to pulling themselves further into their own mind to protect themselves from an intruder. 

And if that Vulcan were grieved and unstable? Creating an entire world based off a traumatic event wouldn’t be difficult, especially if he had another person’s grief fueling his own. 

Spock trapped them in there for that year. The Aloxian in front of them may have started that simulation, but Spock was the one who added to it. The memorial so like the one on New Vulcan, the apartment like he stayed in upon first coming to Earth, the ring he had always heard of but never seen, the trinkets and souvenirs around their apartment that so perfectly mimicked their crewmates, all of it was his own damaged mind rebuking the simulation and pulling both himself and Jim further into what he thought that grief would look like. 

He should have known months ago. Perfection isn’t inherent in the universe, not like how it was in that simulation. Spock should have done his duty as First and- 

Jim’s voice startles him out of his thoughts. It seems his Captain has finally gotten his bearings, and Spock watches as his Captain re-emerges from their suffering, back and arm steady as he takes up his phaser and once again, points it at the Aloxian. 

“Intended or not, this sort of action towards a Star Fleet decorated officer of any kind carries a gravity you have now placed on your people’s backs. An act like this is considered torture and imprisonment without reason towards a diplomatic party. It is cruel and inhumane, and will have you and anyone found to be conspiring with you facing interrogation and war-time charges.”

His voice is clipped, succinct, but more than that, dangerous. Spock jerks his head up in time to realize that his Captain’s words and his body language do not match. His Captain’s suddenly set jaw, steeply eyes, heaving chest say something that his words do not. 

Jim is, very clearly, just barely restraining himself. They need to get out of here before this Aloxian says something that will-

“War-time! It was just a simulation- '' The Aloxian squeaks, and Spock flings himself off the biobed just in time to catch Jim’s phaser and force it down. He’s certain that if it weren’t for the Vulcan blood swirling in his veins, the other man would have pulled him off his feet and they’d have a completely separate diplomatic incident on their hands. 

“Spock, let me go.”

Jim’s voice is quiet, deadly in a way Spock hasn’t heard directed at him in years. He ignores it to further clamp down on his Captain’s shoulder. His Captain’s anger, his own guilt, can wait. Spock just realized the most important part of this equation, something they’ve forgotten in the swirl of emotions testing them both. 

“Control yourself, Captain.”

“Control myself?” Jim’s laugh is high pitched, dangerous. “Control myself? After what he did to us Spock, control isn’t something in his vocabulary. It doesn’t matter how long he meant to keep us there, we went through hell for a year . He let us think our crew was dead .”

“Yes,” Spock takes his eyes over the trembling figure in front of them, bites his lip to control the anger and guilt building in his gut. 

At least one of them needs to be logical right now.

“Yes, he did, but that does not negate the fact that you are the Captain of the Enterprise and I am your First Officer. We cannot kill this Aloxian, despite how much you, or I, feel the need to.”

“And why is that Mr. Spock?”

“Because now we have a crew to return to.” He squeezes Jim’s shoulder. “I think they would like to keep us in those positions, instead of immediately detaining us for murder.”

“Our crew,” Jim’s voice trembles. “I… I wasn’t thinking.”

His wet eyes snap to Spock’s. 

“We need to contact them. I… we need to get back.”

“Yes,” Spock spins them both around towards the doors. The less time spent looking at the Aloxian in front of them the better their chances were of not killing him outright. “Let the Aloxians and Star Fleet deal with this man or whatever men have done this. It’s much more of a prerogative for us to return to our crew.”

Those words seem to set Jim off, snagging Spock by the hand and dragging him forward. Spock thinks that maybe they should get further away from their captor before trying to contact their crew. They have no idea how deep this conspiracy against them goes, it could simply be this one Aloxian as he claims. It could be all of them, and he is simply protecting his people. 

Spock thinks it’s something they will have to bring up with their crew for further analysis. He also thinks that if they wait any longer, both he and the captain will shoot someone before they have a chance to do so. They make it as far as a single hallway away, with Aloxians dodging them at every turn, before Jim snags the communicator dangling at his hip. 

“Scotty, two to emergency beam up.”

Silence. Jim takes in a breath and tries again. 

“Scotty, two to emergency beam up.”

The communicator doesn’t chirp. No crew rushes up to greet them. No particles swirl around them. There is nothing but the harsh whimpering sounds as Jim turns to bury his face in Spock’s neck and Spock ducks his head to press his nose against Jim’s hair. They know they cannot go through this again.

Mother please do not take them, yet. We need them here. 

Jim sobs against his neck. Spock trembles against him. And the communicator… the communicator crackles loud enough for them to hear one phrase:

“Ready t’ come back already, Capt’n?”

Spock gasps out a breath of harsh relief. Jim lets out a laugh that is more tears than anything. He grips the communicator like a lifeline. When he speaks, his words are stolen by the light spinning around them. 

“Take us home, Scotty.”