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The Bridge was quiet this morning when Spock arrived. He knew before the door of the turbolift opened the scenery he would find, the same as yesterday, the same as tomorrow, if nothing happened out of the ordinary. The lieutenant Uhura would be at her station, waiting for a signal, a vessel hailing them, or an urgent communication from anyone. Helmsman Sulu and Navigator Chekov would be staring at their consoles, or into the eternal night of space, barely noticing him. Nobody would notice him, if he was quiet enough.
The door opened, and Spock couldn’t help but notice the silence of the Bridge. Chekov announced, in a whisper, but his voice sounded like a scream in the overwhelming silence:
“Captain on the Bridge.”
Spock’s mind went down again. Even more.
The absence of the man who should have been there, in the captain’s chair, spinning around with a warm smile and sparks in his magnificent blue eyes, struck him one more time as he made his way to the chair. A chair that was his, now. That he never wanted for his own. That should have never been his.
He sat down, without a word, not a twitch in his impassive face that could give away any emotion he might be feeling in that moment. It had been the same everyday since the first time he came on the Bridge knowing that he would sit here. Because Spock couldn’t look weak in the eyes of his crew. He couldn’t allow himself to be grieving on the Bridge. Behind the closed door of the captain’s quarters, his quarters, it was another thing. But for now, he was on duty. He was Captain, and should act as a captain.
“Mr Sulu, Mr Chekov, report.”
His voice was calm and even, his eyes focused on the screen, but he wasn’t looking. He was barely hearing the two men responding to his question. Like yesterday. Likewise the same as tomorrow.
“En route to space station Omega Upsilon III, last stop for standard verifications and shore leave on Federation grounds before entering uncharted space,” said Chekov.
“Speed set at warp factor five, estimated arrival at 1100 hours,” completed Sulu.
“Lieutenant Uhura?”
“Nothing on the hailing frequencies, Sir,” she answered.
She turned to try and look at Spock. As usual, he sat upright, tight in his chair, looking in front of him. And he didn’t say anything, as usual. She could only see the back of his head, but she knew what his face looked like. Over the years, he had lost the expressionless face that Vulcans adored, and she once had her part in it. It didn’t last, but he stopped being as stubborn and let some of his emotions through, from times to times. It had happened more and more often as he and the captain – she winced at the memory of him, he wasn’t captain anymore – grew close. She suspected something had happened between them, and she had been happy for Spock, but now she knew it only made it more difficult for him. He hadn’t been the same since… Since it happened. Spock was deeply affected, he had been the first time, when it didn’t last, when they were still together, and it was also when she realized that whatever she and Spock had couldn’t last, and so she decided to keep their relationship as steady as she could, without going further because there would be no going back, and desillusion would hurt. Instead, they parted without a regret.
Back then, Spock had her. He could go back to her arms at night, just to be held close, or whenever he needed it. Now, he was alone. Uhura knew he was going back to a cold, empty bed at night, and nobody was there to hold him. She also knew he didn’t want anyone to hold him, because he was shielding himself again. All warmth had left his face, he couldn’t have been more Vulcan than now. The Spock she had loved, the Spock she had kept as a friend, was buried so deep inside the armor that he was lost. She couldn’t reach him. He was a stranger whose name was familiar and whose face belonged to another. A face that changed so little now that she was sure everyone could draw without a single look, from memory, without any mistake. An android of some sort, with a beating heart in his side. She was sorry for him.
The Vulcan knew how she felt about the situation, how everyone felt. Well, he had the knowledge of how they felt, but couldn’t integrate it. They couldn’t understand. They didn’t know . And even now, after all this time – 1 year, 2 months, 17 days and approximately 5 hours –– he felt the loss as though it had only occurred moments ago. Before, he had clung to the happy memories and for a time, he had tried to live only in them, but eventually it became too painful to see his face, even in memory. Now he buried everything related to him deep inside himself, behind mental walls that he knew couldn’t break. If he couldn’t live, at least now he could survive.
And the captain of the Enterprise kept staring at the screen in front of him, the consistency of space being a reflection of his own. And to anyone looking, something seemed off about this Bridge scenery.
Gold definitely wasn’t his color.
***
“Hey, you! Wake up, got a job for you!”
The man who spoke waited by the door to make sure the other actually got up instead of just turning his back to him with a grunt, which he usually did. And of course, the other knew it, so he turned away with a grunt, just as expected.
“There’s a Starfleet ship comin’ today,” he added. This time, he got a reaction from the blond, who sprung up with a look between horror, joy and utter fear. Weird combo, to be honest, but not unexpected either. “We’ll be needin’ ya.”
“Can’t.” The blond shook his head. “You’ll have to do without me.”
“The boss won’t get ‘no’ for an answer, kid.” The blond winced. He always did when someone called him that. “Come on, ya should get outta here sometime. Won’t do any bad. No worse, at least.”
The blond man sighed, defeated. He had no arguments left, and missing work for two consecutive days was too much. He’d be sent out into space – in other words, fired – before lunch time.
“What’s the ship?” he asked.
“Uh, dunno. The USS Enterprise , I think.”
The blond’s face dropped.
***
“Captain? The station is contacting us, they need us to send them the form for a stationary stay. You haven’t sent it to me,” stated Uhura, and Spock barely turned his head to listen.
“I haven’t,” he responded, “because it was not requested. Until now, as it seems.”
A moment later, all authorizations were given and the crew was sent down to the station for their last shore leave in a long time. Spock was among them. He didn’t want to go, but he had to, forced by most of his chief officers in all domains. They knew there was no way for him to relax, but he wasn’t going to stay locked in his quarters for the five-days leave. So, instead, he was going to stay locked in his hotel room, on the station. He was fulfilling the desire of his crew, or at least, he hadn’t lied when he said he was going to spend his time on the station. Spock wouldn’t have to see anyone that way. It was for the best. And… Well, he didn’t have to think about the time he had spent in the room of the Enterprise , before he became Captain. Nothing would remind him of it.
The shuttle landed and allowed its occupants to get off. The captain was the last to put a foot on the station floor, and when he did, he felt a tug in the back of his head, a sense of familiarity, as if… As if some part of him had been there before. He quickly buried the strange feeling away with the rest of his emotions.
There was no logical reason to indulge in emotions and impressions.
He walked alone, going the opposite way from his crew, towards the residential quarters. His room, thought Spock, he needed to find his room. There, he could settle down, work on his reports, and maybe even let himself go, if the walls weren’t thin enough to let sound be heard from the other rooms. Maybe he would let himself be tempted into inappropriate things by an attractive woman or man – the thought went away as soon as it appeared in his mind. No, he couldn’t. Not yet. Not ever, in fact. Spock knew he couldn’t get over his ex-captain’s death – his t’hy’la. And he would not touch anyone else the way he allowed himself to touch him.
He didn’t see the door open right when he passed by it, and bumped into the man who got out of the building.
“Sorry,” mumbled a familiar voice.
Spock looked down at the man picking up the things fallen from his arms, and at his blond hair, and his eyes when he looked up. Confusion. Hope. Sadness. Joy. Anger.
“Jim?”
***
Shit. It was not what Kirk wanted, far from that. The exact opposite. The one man he wanted to avoid the most, and he had managed to run directly into him. Kirk could hardly believe his luck. His coworker arched an eyebrow at him, silently mouthing what Kirk knew could only be a ‘what the hell’ of confusion, and Kirk sighed. He looked down at his feet, unable to face the chocolate eyes of the other and god how he’d missed those eyes .
“Hey, Spock.”
Spock’s hands were slightly shaking, Kirk noted. That was… alarming, to say the least. Then the hands were on him, pushing Jim against the wall, one of them around his throat – well, it brought back memories… Kirk saw, in the corner, his coworker leaving discreetly. The bastard. Kirk heard a choked moan fall from his mouth, and he tried to breathe in for air, but Spock’s grasp was too tight, shit. Vulcan strength. Angry Vulcan strength. But upon hearing the noise, Spock let go of him, instead, he put his hands, gently, on Jim’s face. The same hands that were choking him moments ago, but Kirk found he didn’t care. Because now, Spock was holding him, and his head went resting in the crook of Kirk’s neck. And Kirk knew exactly how he felt, his surprise, relief, anger, his confusion, his love , still, unconditional.
“Jim,” he repeated, voice soft, vulnerable. His thumb was stroking Kirk’s cheek, and Kirk could feel his amazement in waves, shaken with the breaking doubt, the crushing thought that it was a dream, because what if it was? What if Jim wasn’t there and Spock was just imagining it all?
Jim felt his heart sink.
“Spock,” he murmured, finally finding the strength to hug back. And to shield the emotions that menaced to come through. He didn’t want Spock to know what he was thinking, not now, especially not when Spock was like that, at abandon in his arms. “Spock…”
“Why have you never contacted me?” Spock lifted his face, but didn’t stop the movement of his thumb. “I… We… Everyone thought you were dead.” he stopped. “Why did you hide from our bond?”
Here it was. The dreaded question, inevitable, Kirk knew it. But still so hard to hear. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, he didn’t want to accept, in the depths of himself, that he had hidden from the bond, from Spock . But it was necessary, he told himself.
No, it wasn’t , replied the inquisitive voice in his head. And you know it , it insisted. Shut up , replied Kirk. And the voice did.
“I…” he stopped. What could he say? Kirk needed to lie, but he didn’t know if he could actually do it. “A year ago. When… we were separated.” Better to start from the start, he thought. “I got knocked out, and when I woke up, I had no idea where I was. I even forgot who I was, for some time.” It wasn’t lying, until there. “A ship picked me up, then they brought me to another, and another, and I ended up here.” Still true. “By then, I kind of remembered, and I thought… I thought that it had been too long since anyone heard of me, so I didn’t say anything. Figured you’d be better off without me,” he confessed, and even if it felt stupid now, with Spock’s hands on his face, when he first thought about it, it made sense. And it still kind of did.
“No,” replied Spock, categorically. “No, I was not better off without you.” He breathed in, eyes closed, and though Kirk could not see the hurt in Spock’s eyes, he just knew it was there. Spock breathed out, even, and opened back his eyes, looking into Kirk’s soul. “I could never be even slightly good without you.”
***
It was a damn euphemism. ‘Not good’ was far from how Spock had felt in these months away from Jim, believing him dead – and it was his fault! Because he had left Jim alone, he knew Jim would be alone, and he had let him go! It was his fault that the shuttle had crashed, because he hadn’t taken the time to verify its condition, and his fault again that Jim was believed dead, because he couldn’t scan the surface and the transporter was malfunctioning, and there was no other shuttle to go…
But Jim was there now, right? Everything could be back to normal. He would bring Jim back to the Enterprise , at his rightful place, as the Captain, and Spock would be his First Officer again, as if nothing had changed. Or even with everything changed, Spock didn’t care. Furthermore, the probability that Jim would be cleared for duty immediately was extremely low, so he would have to remain as the captain for some time. But then Spock would be with him. He would be near his partner, his husband, his t’hy’la , and it would be alright. It could not be any other way.
“Jim,” he murmured. “Come back with me.” Jim winced and tried to break free, but it did not seem intentional, a nervous reaction at most. Spock didn’t let go. “Please, Ashayam .” His voice was full of emotion. Fear, relief, longing. “I need you with me, my love.”
The last appellation seemed to make an effect, and Jim nodded. His eyes were filled with tears, though, and Spock could only suppose they were because Jim was overwhelmed. He was, too, and understood better than anyone. The bond had not been severed, and now that Jim had unshielded, it was recognition, love, regret from both parts. It was a lot to process. Jim nodded again.
“I’ll be coming with you. Just… Just how long do we have?” he asked, his voice breaking on the last word.
“Five days until the Enterprise has to leave the docks,” replied Spock mechanically. “Plenty enough to catch up,” he added, eyes full of all the love he had for Jim, all the love he couldn’t give him for the past year, and all the love he could give him for the rest of his life, and more.
Jim nodded, and his beautiful blue eyes met Spock’s. They lacked the spark that the Vulcan loved so much, but he was sure it was temporary. He would make sure his mate’s eyes would shine again, everyday, in the way they did before, sparkling with life and bright as a star. Poetic , he thought. Not very Vulcan. But Spock found he did not care.
Jim was there, and Spock intended to enjoy that as long as it lasted. Forever.
***
Heaven.
If you asked Kirk, it’s probably what he would say these four days felt like. And at the same time, it was hell. Because he knew it was coming to an end, and he was going to hurt Spock again. But hey, he’d hurt him even more if he didn't do it. Still, Kirk didn't know if he could ever get the strength to do it, Spock was glowing , and he was going to end it, oh stars, how he regretted it…
If it made it better, he had refused to sleep with him. Well, he had refused to not sleep with Spock when they were in bed together. Oh, to hell with it, they didn't have sex. There. Said it.
But he did kiss him, both in the human and the Vulcan way. Kirk never initiated it, though – did it make it better at all? He couldn't tell. Shit. He really loved Spock, didn't he. All the worse.
Standing in the shower – Spock ’s sonic shower – he let the waves go down on him, and he hoped that they would wash away his doubts and regrets. For a moment, he wondered why he felt water on his face with the sonic, then he realized – he was crying. Fucking crying . Shit. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t cry.
But he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t do anything he had planned to do, and he couldn’t just not do it either. And Spock was hurt because of him, because Jim had been shielding himself from Spock so that the Vulcan couldn’t feel him, ha was still doing it, and now knowing that Kirk still didn’t want to let himself be felt hurt Spock even more, and he knew that Spock was trying his best to make him feel safe, confident enough to drop his shields, to allow them to just bathe in the union of their minds like they had when they first started their relationship… Like they hadn’t since Jim had disappeared. Spock was trying so hard, and he was happy, but underneath he was hurt. Kirk just knew without needing to hear it. But he couldn’t try, he didn’t want to make things worse. He should have never even got up that morning, when the Enterprise had docked in the sky. He wouldn’t have seen Spock, he wouldn’t have hurt him more, he wouldn’t have known how terrible Spock felt, thinking that Jim was dead…
The sonic stopped, and Kirk got out, dressed and peaked into Spock’s room. The Vulcan wasn’t there yet. Good. Kirk went to snatch his PADD and booked his shuttle. It was standard procedure: he had to book a seat in order to be able to go to the Enterprise , so technically he would have been able to do it in front of Spock. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Kirk closed his PADD and put it beside him on the bed. That’s about then that he noticed his hands were shaking, and the PADD flew over the room, crashing on the opposite wall with a loud bang. Jim’s whole body was shaking, tears in his eyes, a flood ready to storm out of him at any moment, and he wanted to cry, oh he wanted to be able to cry so bad, but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t…
“Fuck, why do I love you so much…” Kirk heard his own voice, but he wasn’t sure he had talked. He hadn’t meant to. If he could, he wouldn’t be talking at all. Ever.
***
The day they started dating, it was raining.
The Enterprise was in orbit around this M-class planet, empty except for the flora, and it was a paradise. The exploration mission had started well, the suns were still out, and even though there were a few clouds somewhere far away, it should’ve stayed sunny until the end. The landing party had beamed down in a clearing in the forest, just a few science officers, plus Spock and the Captain. In groups of two or three, they had gone their own way, and that’s about then that the sky darkened and Jim felt the first drops on his head. He didn’t think much of it, but soon the rain was pouring down, soaking him from head to toe, and he and Spock ran to a nearby cave entrance to avoid getting any wetter, which was clearly useless if Jim was only half as wet as Spock, whose uniform clung to his skin and his bangs, usually so well-defined, now completely messed up and dripping…
The look of him made Jim laugh, and Spock’s slightly annoyed face didn’t help. Then the Vulcan leaned in to move a strand of Jim’s hair out of his face, his face soft and reading of affection, and Jim couldn’t help himself.
A few seconds later, Spock was sitting on the muddy ground, Jim straddling him, lips locked together and fingers interlaced. And, for some obscure reason, Spock was actually kissing Jim back.
He never loved the rain more than that day.
***
Today wasn’t a rainy day, because the weather controls of the station never allowed rain, as it would probably mess up with the other readings. But there was a meteor shower caused by a nearby planet and it was as close as it could get to proper rain on the starbase. Kirk knew he wouldn’t see it, and Spock wouldn’t either, because he would be too late on the Enterprise and Kirk would be in his shuttle when the meteor shower would happen.
He looked up at the buildings one last time, and caught one of his coworkers’ eyes, who waved vaguely. Kirk didn’t wave back, but kept staring for a few more instants.
Then he turned around, and it was as though he was never there.
Somewhere, in Iowa, not so far from Riverside, rain started pouring.
***
The best day of Spock’s life was, undoubtedly, the day of his wedding with Jim. And just like today, there was a meteor shower – except the planet it was “raining” upon was T’Khasi.
It wasn't the ceremony, nor the hours-long reception that Spock remembered most vividly. The only important thing that he could recall was the feeling of Jim , his brilliant mind meeting his, a joyful greeting of a friend, a brother, a lover, and more. They were t’hy’lalar, Spock had known that for months now, but he could never have imagined how Jim’s gaze would fall upon him, blue and sparkling with so much love and devotion, but pale compared to the unceasing flow inside their mind.
At this moment, Spock knew he could never be complete again if he were to lose him.
But now, Spock knew he would never have to lose Jim again.
***
In the shuttle, Jim almost broke down crying. He was alone, nobody to see him except for himself – and that alone was too much. He didn't shed a tear.
Kirk sat upright in his seat and made a point to clear his mind, a feat he could successfully achieve rather easily. It was alright. Everything was fine. The shuttle was not going to crash anywhere.
***
When Spock arrived on the Enterprise , Jim wasn’t there yet, but it was normal – his shuttle was scheduled later than Spock’s. The captain went to take his place on the Bridge, which he hopefully wouldn't occupy much longer. The thought of Jim coming back to the ship was – the Vulcan part of Spock could only agree – honestly thrilling.
***
Kirk stepped out of the shuttle and looked around. Large white steel walls, dry, unforgiving – so different from the starbase, dry but seemingly welcoming – so different from the Enterprise , naturally warm and welcoming, feeling like home – but it felt like home too, somehow, not the same home.
“Welcome, James,” said the mechanical voice over the speakers of the turbolift.
He reached a huge room, UV lights about seven feet from the ground, the ceiling three decks high. It was a space farm, Kirk had made sure of that, and it grew corn, the exact same kind that Jim used to play in, back when he was a kid in Iowa. Back then, corn meant endless games and joy. Now, what could it even mean?
Kirk looked up, and watched in the glass ceiling as a small dot of blinking white light suddenly lit up and crossed the sky, leaving only a strange feeling of regret and melancholia.
Kirk knew the Enterprise was gone, and it would not come back for him. He would not let Spock come back for him.
Before shutting the bond, Jim let himself send a last goodbye to the man who had been the love of his life.
***
He was on the Bridge when he heard it within himself, sitting in a chair that never really was his.
“I’m sorry, Spock.”
Then he felt the bond close, and Jim’s mind parting from his, like a locked door leading to a stone wall. Spock’s hope fell back down.
The worst thing was that he knew Jim really was sorry. He could feel it, before the bond was quieted. He could feel Jim’s regret, his sadness, his love.
And even that love could not keep them together.
The next day, Spock resigned.
They would never meet each other again, as it was Kirk’s wish.
As it was absolutely not Jim and Spock’s common wish.