Archive of Our Own

The atmosphere of the bridge was tense, riding on a knife edge of silence. They'd just gone to Warp 2 to escape the Tandos system; the fine muscles of Mr. Sulu's hands could be seen quivering slightly on the helm controls. Well, he had been down on the planet. Spock sat at attention in his seat, looking at the viewscreen but seeing only the same gruesome scene over and over again, hearing the sharp crack of bone, feeling the cool, wet blood all over his hands. It had been red like the skin of an apple; utterly alien to Spock. Still something he saw far too often.

The beep of the comm startled him; Lt. Uhura patched it through to the captain's chair. "Commander," Dr. McCoy said.

"I am on my way," Spock replied, already half out of his seat. "Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."

The ten-point-four second ride in the turbolift seemed to take an hour; Spock was through the door as soon as he could fit, moving swiftly down the corridor to Sickbay. A small voice in the back of his mind told him how illogical he was being but he ruthlessly silenced it. McCoy was waiting near the doorway for him.

"Spock," he said.

Spock searched his face for any signs of what he was about to say. He looked solemn; Spock was instantly alarmed. "He is not—"

McCoy put up a hand. "He's alive. He'll recover. We healed the fractures and the hematoma, and he'll be on painkillers for a while but he's stable. I could expect to release him to quarters soon, actually."

"There is something you are not telling me."

McCoy looked away. "He.... Fuck. You may as well see for yourself."

Spock followed him with trepidation to the recovery bed in the corner. The curtains were drawn.

Jim looked up when they walked into his cubicle; he was hooked up to monitors and looked pale. "Hi," he said.

He looked perfectly normal, for someone in Sickbay; Spock was not sure what could be so wrong that McCoy could not even vocalize it.

Then Jim looked at him and said, "What's your name?"

Spock looked over at McCoy in alarm, but he did not even look up from his chart.

"That's Spock. He's a Starfleet commander and First Officer of this ship," McCoy said.

Jim squinted up at him in evident interest. "You're a Vulcan."

"Affirmative," Spock replied without thinking. His voice felt marginally rough in his throat. He suddenly felt an urgent need to sit down and groped for the visitor's chair by the bed, sinking down into it gratefully. The urge to put his head in his hands was almost too strong to resist.

McCoy put the chart back on the bed. "As you can see, our guest here is mostly on the mend from his little bout of severe head trauma. May I speak to you in my office, Commander?" he asked, in a tone of professionalism that Spock had not known he could produce.

"Certainly." He got up to follow, in a daze.

Once secure in the CMO's office, they took seats on either side of the desk. McCoy reached into the top drawer for the bourbon that it was against regulations for him to possess. He offered Spock a drink which he of course refused, although he briefly wished that he could process alcohol in the same manner as a human.

"The trauma has left him with memory impairment," Spock said finally.

McCoy took a long swig from his glass. "I've scanned the shit out of his head but I can't find any evidence of organic brain damage beyond what we already fixed. His episodic memory is gone. He can recite the alphabet, do high-school level math, tie his shoes, but he doesn't even know his own name and has no idea where he is or how he got here. No memories of Starfleet, his childhood, not even his mother." He set his glass down and sagged in his chair. "The only good thing to report is that he's hit on two nurses so far."

The humour fell flat. Spock looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. "What course of action do you intend to take?" he asked softly.

McCoy rubbed at his eyes; he had operated on Jim's head for four hours. "I fill out a 37-J and we take him back to Earth for treatment." His voice was muffled through his hands.

Spock froze. "You are going to file the report?"

McCoy dropped his hands and glared. "That's what they pay me to do."

Spock's fingers gripped at each other in his lap, turning the skin white with pressure. "They will terminate his commission and admit him to a hospital facility. The Enterprise will be assigned a new captain."

McCoy gave him an expectant look. Of course that was what would happen.

"What if he recovers? It may merely be temporary. We cannot... simply cast him back to Earth like this. If he regained his memories in hospital, they still might never allow him to resume his commission."

"Never seen you be this optimistic before," McCoy grumbled. "All right, what would you have me do, then? Got any genies handy that we could make wishes to?"

A completely illogical suggestion; Spock did not even acknowledge it. "Give him two weeks."

"What?"

"Two weeks," he repeated. "Surely that is sufficient time to attempt to restore his memories, if they can be recovered. We need tell Starfleet nothing until we have tried this."

The doctor merely stared at him blankly for several moments. Finally, he said, "This breaks so many regs that I can't believe I'm even bothering to tell you what a bad idea it is."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Fine! Two weeks. I can stall that long, I guess. For Jim. But on Day Fifteen, if he's still not better, I fill out the form, the machinery moves from there, and hopefully we're not both brought up on charges."

"Acceptable." Spock got to his feet, then paused. "You are planning to release him to quarters shortly?"

"Tonight, I guess," McCoy said into his glass. "Still hates Sickbay, memories or no."

That meant that Spock had things to do before returning to the bridge for the remainder of Alpha shift. Sulu could easily deal with command for another thirty to forty-five minutes. He turned to leave, but McCoy's voice stopped him at the door.

"He makes you do stupid things."

"He makes us both do stupid things," Spock replied, taking his leave.

***

Spock called a senior staff meeting for that evening, before Jim was released, to apprise them of the situation. They all looked uneasy, although whether that was due to Jim's condition or the plan to deceive Starfleet was unclear. Regardless, they agreed to help in any way possible to restore the captain's memories. Spock had expected no less; Jim was universally admired and the crew would be hurt to lose him.

He was arranging books and PADDs in his cabin, his thoughts elsewhere, when Sickbay paged him that evening.

"What are you doing in there?" McCoy asked, squinting at him through the video feed. "I had to get Uhura to track you down."

"Are you releasing Jim?" Spock asked.

His evasion earned him a frown. "Yeah. He said he wants a tour, but I'm not allowing it till tomorrow. He needs more bed rest."

"I will be there shortly," Spock said, signing off and placing a carved statue on a shelf before leaving for Sickbay.

Jim was dressed in basic blacks when he got there, sitting calmly on the edge of a bed with his feet dangling. "Cdr. Spock," he greeted.

"'Spock' will suffice, thank you."

Jim grinned, electric and familiar, and hopped off the bed. "The doctor says I can't see the ship till tomorrow. Can we at least take the scenic route to my quarters?"

"The placement of turbolifts makes the route quite static," Spock said, but at Jim's pout, amended his statement. "Perhaps there are one or two variations to choose."

"Great. Let's go." He brushed lightly against Spock on the way by.

They stopped in Observation Deck C on the way to the captain's quarters (only one deck away).

"So," said Jim, as they stared out the windows at the cold depths, "I'm the captain. And you're my right hand."

Spock responded in the affirmative.

"Are we friends?"

"We are."

"Be honest."

"We interact productively both on- and off-duty, Captain."

"But you call me 'Captain' in private?"

Spock looked fixedly out the window. "I have been known to refer to you as Jim."

"Good. Keep doing that."

"As you wish."

"So, Dr. McCoy says that you're all going to try and help me remember," Jim said after a while.

"That is our plan."

"Do you think it's gonna work?"

"We... remain optimistic."

"Who's going to run things in the meantime?"

"You have a very competent command team. As we are en route to a starbase at this time, the smooth operation of the ship should not present any serious problems for the rest of us to deal with in your absence from command."

Jim did not respond, and Spock glanced over at him to see a small smile playing on his lips.

"Well, Spock," he said, "let's go check out my quarters, shall we?"

Jim led the way back to the turbolift and Spock pressed the button for the officers' deck.

"This is your cabin," Spock said, leading Jim to his door. "My own is the door across the corridor."

Spock entered the access code, showing Jim, and stepped aside to let him through the door first. Jim looked around and gave a low whistle. "It's big."

"Being captain provides some benefits." Spock stood indecisively in the entry before stepping through the door, feeling it shut behind him. He gestured toward the desk. "Your console is over there. Intra-vessel communications and several command duties are handled through the interface; you are currently only concerned with the communications aspect. The head is through that doorway."

Jim wandered over to sit on the bed. "Big bed. Being captain must be awesome."

"Indeed." Spock did not know what else to say.

"All this stuff is mine?" Jim asked, his eyes wandering the room, taking in the decorations.

"That is your book collection on the shelving unit. You treasure the bound books typical of Earth's history. There are also several souvenirs of missions; I will tell you about them sometime if you wish."

"What about that?" Jim pointed at the far wall, at the carved, ornamental shield that hung there.

Spock's mouth went dry for a moment; it had hung there for so long that it nearly blended into the wall, from his perspective. It had been too large to move. "That is a relic of Vulcan," he said. "One of the few remaining since its destruction, three-point-two years ago."

Jim blinked at him, making the obvious connections. "Why do I own a Vulcan relic? It looks like some kind of heirloom."

It had Spock's family crest on it. "I once gave it to you as a gift," he managed.

"Well, uh, thanks. It's beautiful. And I'm guessing also priceless."

"Your thanks is unnecessary," said Spock, folding his hands behind his back. "I will take my leave, if you do not object."

Jim stifled a yawn. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, Spock. I can already tell you're a good friend." He smiled. "I'll be glad to get to know you again."

Spock nodded and left the room, crossing the corridor to his own cabin. When the door had shut behind him, he sagged back against it, looking around. Small piles of his possessions sat on the desk and tables, not yet put away. The bed still had no sheets on it.

It was illogically disheartening to find himself in this cabin again, after living across the corridor for two years.

***

Spock consented to take breakfast with Jim in the crew's mess the next morning. He spent it listening to Jim chatter and answering a multitude of questions that spanned a wide range of thought, as well as pointing out and briefly describing several crewmembers in the mess at Jim's request. It was rather exhausting, and when it came time for the beginning of Alpha shift, Spock assigned Lt. Riley to give Jim his much-anticipated tour of the ship. It was a relief to escape to the relative ease and calm of the bridge, even if he was required to sit in the captain's chair instead of at his own, familiar station. The shift passed uneventfully, if solemnly; it appeared that word of Jim's condition had reached the majority of the crew already. Spock endured several looks of varying compassion or wariness throughout the day.

He saw Jim again after dinner, while he was on his way to the botany labs.

"Hey," Jim said, jogging over to join him. "This ship is awesome. Are you positive that I'm the captain?"

"I am quite certain, Jim."

"It's so big! I spent like two hours in the engineering decks, talking to the guy in charge down there. Oh shit, what's his name? Loud, nerdy, drunk guy."

"Lt-Cdr. Scott is often known as 'Scotty' to his friends."

"Yeah!" Jim snapped his fingers in delight. "Scotty. Right. Anyway, we spent a long time talking about warp drives. I learned a lot."

"You were once quite literate in the function of warp technology yourself," Spock said, staring straight ahead. "Do you retain none of it?"

Jim frowned. "Scotty said the same thing. I only remember some of the basic math concepts. It all makes sense to me, though." His face changed with the onset of another new thought to relate. "I saw the hottest woman ever today," he said gleefully.

Spock did not voice his thought that Jim only remembered two days of his life so far. "Indeed?"

"She said she works on the bridge. Uhura. Refuses to admit she has a first name." Jim grinned. "I think she's into me."

Spock suppressed a sigh and was glad to see the botany labs only steps away. "I am afraid I must leave you," he said. "I am also chief science officer and I have reports to take from this lab tonight."

"Oh," said Jim. "Sure thing. Talk to you later, Spock."

Spock watched him go, his hands balled up into tight fists at his sides.

***

Spock was enjoying a rare, quiet meal in the officer's mess, his thoughts following patterns of meditation as he ate his plomeek soup, when a tray collided harshly with the table in front of him. He put his spoon down carefully.

"You," hissed McCoy, "are back in your old quarters."

As he had been for four days; Spock raised an eyebrow.

"When you disappeared that day, Uhura said you weren't back on the bridge for another half an hour. You were moving out of the captain's quarters." He raised a threatening finger when Spock opened his mouth. "Don't even try to deny it, you pointy-eared son of a bitch."

Spock glared. "I was about to do no such thing, Doctor. My actions that day are quite evident. As should be their motivations, I believe."

McCoy snorted. "Yeah. You're a coward. Ditching your boyfriend in his time of need."

The doctor could cast aspersions on Spock's character all he wished, but false assumptions about his feelings for Jim were uncalled for. "And supposing, Doctor, that you woke up in Jim's shoes, with no memories of your life, how would you feel to learn that you were in such a close relationship with a complete stranger? I cannot subject him to such pressures while the memory loss persists. He is under enough stress."

It was also quite telling that Jim had immediately focused his attentions back on Nyota, while viewing Spock in a purely friendly and proto-professional manner, but he would not share these thoughts with McCoy.

"Fine, point made," the man said gruffly, "but if you think you're just going to hide it from him forever, you've got another thing coming. I'll kick your ass into next week if you disrespect him like that."

"On the contrary," said Spock, picking up his spoon again, "I am confident that his memories will return before the need arises."

"I thought Vulcans didn't lie," McCoy said, getting up and seizing his tray again.

***

A week went by, and Jim still remembered nothing. He had talked extensively to crewmembers, particularly his bridge crew and close acquaintances aboard the ship; he had spent long hours with McCoy, drinking contraband alcohol (once Jim was off his painkillers) and listening to stories of his days at Starfleet Academy from his best friend. He had taken tours of every square foot of the Enterprise and had been allowed to read several of the more recent and more memorable mission logs. He had been escorted onto the bridge to sit in the captain's chair (he had slouched into it in the same manner he always had, and Spock had been forced to look away from the sight of it).

Nothing was increasing his speed of recall.

Meanwhile, Spock had taken up most of Jim's regular duties, making pains to impersonate Jim where necessary in the completion of his paperwork. He was just finishing applying the captain's authorization code to several documents for Yeoman Rand when the door to his quarters opened.

Jim was there, his hands in his pockets.

"Busy?" he asked, wandering in.

"Not particularly," Spock replied, signing off and closing the final report.

Jim dropped into the chair across from the desk.

"Is something amiss?" Spock asked after a moment, confused.

"It's sort of stupid," said Jim.

"I shall be the judge of that."

Jim smiled, small and shy. "I just... what were my hobbies?"

Spock blinked. "That question is hardly illogical." He shifted in his chair. "Your hobbies included drinking inadvisable amounts of liquor with Dr. McCoy and Mr. Scott, reading, and chess."

"Wow," said Jim, "I'm a geek. I play chess?"

"It has been a regular pastime of yours and mine. You once maintained a FIDE rating of 2400."

"Is that good?"

"I am a Grandmaster and you frequently won against me; it is quite good and probably too low to be accurate."

Jim looked bemused. "Huh. Well, maybe you can teach me how to play it again, and we can try to have a match sometime." He stood up. "Thanks for humouring me, Spock. I'll leave you alone now."

Spock immediately felt guilty. "Do you have plans for this evening?" he enquired.

Jim grinned. "Think I might go check out my book collection. 'Night."

The door shut behind him before Spock could say another word. He picked up his PADD with a quiet sigh.

***

The following day was a long one; Spock was experiencing a great deal of stress, between his regular role as CSO and his duties as the unofficial acting captain. Deceiving Starfleet by impersonating Jim on all official documents was draining; McCoy scowled more than usual every time they found themselves sharing space; and in addition to all of these sources of stress, Jim had still made no progress in regaining his memories.

When the replicator in the officers' mess malfunctioned in the midst of replicating Spock's dinner, the last vestiges of his patience shattered. He swore at it under his breath as he reached to remove the front panel from the unit.

Jim, standing behind him, gasped.

"Did you just swear? In Vulcan?"

Spock froze in the middle of reaching for the wiring. "You understand Vulcan?" he asked.

"I—I don't know. I understood that word. Mostly the fact that it's not very polite." He frowned. "How did I know that?"

Spock pulled on a wire with a bit more force than may have been absolutely necessary. "You once insisted that I teach you how to curse in Vulcan. Apparently the vocabulary has remained a part of your knowledge and was unaffected by your amnesia."

Jim chuckled, watching him for a few moments.

"Deep breaths, buddy," he said finally, patting Spock once on the shoulder before walking away.

Spock glared at the replicator, splicing two wires around a dead circuit before replacing the panel. He was no longer hungry, so he left the mess.

***

It was Day Twelve (the words seemed to resonate in Spock's thoughts) and Spock was paged to Sickbay, one hour into Beta shift.

"McCoy's in his office," Dr. M'Benga said when he walked through the door.

McCoy sat pensively behind his desk, which was chaos: stacks of PADDs and medical journals towered and threatened to spill from the edges of it. Spock took a seat.

"I've been thinking," McCoy started.

"Fascinating." Spock could not restrain the automatic reply.

McCoy glared at him. "How do more people not know that you're a smartass? Anyway. I did... well, a lot... of research on the whole amnesia phenomenon. All the medical advances of the last four hundred years and we still have no idea what memory is really all about." He sat up in his chair, looking intensely at Spock.

"I also talked to M'Benga," he continued. "You can mind-meld, right?"

"I have the standard training in it," Spock said warily. He saw where this was going with a sort of inevitability.

"Can you mind-meld with Jim? Get inside his head and see what's wrong? Maybe fix it?"

And there it was. He opened his mouth, and then shut it again. There was a sense of wrongness about the idea.

"You've mind-melded before, right?"

Spock had sudden images of intense melds, sharing the throes of passion. He looked down at his knees. "On occasion."

"So, can you do it?" McCoy was agitated; they were running out of time and ideas to help Jim.

"It is a different type of mind-meld than I have so far ever attempted," Spock said finally. "I will try, but do not expect drastic results."

"I'm having a harder and harder time expecting anything," McCoy said, his tone morose.

Jim was sitting on a biobed, being scanned by Nurse Chapel; this explained McCoy's timing for summoning Spock to Sickbay.

"Hey, Spock," Jim said as he approached. "Come to help me escape?" He batted away the tricorder and Chapel pinched his arm in retaliation. "Ow!" he said. "Feisty!"

"Your ordeal will be over soon," Spock said, ignoring the easy flirtation. Jim had always flirted, he reminded himself. "Dr. McCoy has suggested an alternative form of treatment which we are now going to attempt, with your permission."

"Like what? Drugs? Brain scans? Had those," said Jim, who looked curious in spite of his words.

Spock seated himself on the edge of the biobed as Chapel departed. "Something different. I have telepathic abilities, and I would like permission to touch your mind. To survey what is left of your memory, and to attempt recovery of all that is lost, if possible."

Jim studied him in silence for several seconds.

"All right," he said. "Should I lie down?"

"That will be unnecessary." Spock reached forward, touching his fingertips to Jim's face. "This may feel unusual," he cautioned, and then he intoned the ritual words, his voice a whisper, and slipped into Jim's mind.

The surface thoughts were bright, quick, darting. This was familiar. Mostly. But he had to delve deeper to find the appropriate memories. He slipped into the breathing pattern that aided meditation and focused his concentration, slipping below the barriers of surface thoughts to find the shining web of episodic memory.

There was nothing. It was emptiness. Spock could not go further, no matter how he focused his mind.

He drew out of Jim's mind abruptly, and his panic must have passed to Jim, because both inside his head and from his mouth came clamouring, frantic words.

"Spock? Spock! Did it work? What did you see? What's wrong?"

Spock opened his eyes and dropped his hand from Jim's face, pulling it into his lap. He took deep, steady breaths, trying to centre himself, as Jim continued to panic beside him, reaching out to touch him but not quite doing so.

McCoy rushed forward to join the commotion. "Well?" he demanded. "Report!"

Spock stood up. "It was a failed experiment," he said, pushing past McCoy and leaving Sickbay at a fast pace.

***

Spock was on his way from a morning meal in the officers' mess to the bridge when he heard the familiar gait of Dr. McCoy approaching from behind. He briefly, illogically, considered increasing his own pace, but of course he would not be permitted to escape, for the doctor knew where he was going.

"Spock," he said shortly when they had drawn even.

"Doctor," Spock began, hoping to stem the tirade he knew to be approaching, "I am aware of the purpose behind this conversation, and I do not wish to—"

"It's Day Fourteen," McCoy said unforgivingly.

Spock resisted the impulse to close his eyes.

The previous evening, he had followed through on his promise to teach Jim chess again. They had played for hours (several short and decisive games, because Spock only taught by example). It had taken Jim the entire first game, played at a patient pace, to find comfort with the rules and legal moves, and his natural aptitude had allowed him to play with increasing confidence afterward, although he never won a game. Traces of his former strategy—those rash, impulsive, brilliant attacks and sacrifices—had shone through, eventually. However, Jim—the old Jim—had played chess for ten years before ever meeting Spock, and it had not felt at all familiar, watching Jim play from across the board.

He had acutely learned two things from this which he had not before appreciated: first, that people are made, in large part, by their experiences. Second, that the human metaphor of 'heartbreak' was illogically, brutally accurate in its description.

"Jim hasn't made any progress on regaining his memory," McCoy continued.

"No," said Spock, eyes forward, "he has not."

McCoy's voice was suddenly less harsh. "I have to send off the paperwork to Starfleet tomorrow morning," he said. "That was the deal."

Spock stopped at the turbolift, his hand over the summoning control. "I thank you for your patience. I hope your career has not been put in jeopardy."

"It'd be worth it." McCoy laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it before continuing down the corridor.

Spock squared his shoulders and stepped inside the turbolift.

***

He entered Jim's quarters that night to relay the news.

Jim studied him, then looked down at his hands, folded casually in his lap. "Time's up, huh?"

Spock stood awkwardly for a moment before settling into a chair, across from where Jim sagged into the couch. "Affirmative."

"Well, it was worth a shot, I guess." He looked up, his eyes beseeching. "What now?"

Spock blinked, momentarily at a loss. "I would not be averse to your suddenly recovering your memories by the morning," he said finally.

Jim smirked mirthlessly. "You and me both." He was silent for several moments. "I have to leave the ship? Go back to Earth?"

"There is no alternative. The Enterprise requires a capable captain, and you have lost three years of Starfleet command training and an additional three years of experience in the field."

Jim smiled sadly, bracing his chin in his hand. "What'm I gonna do, Spock?"

Spock looked away; he could not linger on that face. Instead, his gaze caught on the shield, still hanging proudly on the wall. "There will be a required convalescence in a Starfleet medical facility, while further scans are run to discover the full extent of your brain trauma. Once you are cleared, you will likely be granted retirement and your pension."

"Great."

Spock looked back up at him, a little desperately, it had to be said. "Your mother lives, Jim. She resides in your family home. You once informed me that you also have a brother."

"They're both strangers."

"There have been cases where amnesiacs, presented with the correct type of emotional trigger, will achieve at least partial recall of their pasts. It would be logical to pursue this avenue in case of success."

"And if it doesn't work?"

Spock frowned to himself; Jim had never been so defeatist. Then he chastised himself for the thought. This was not his Jim. This was a different person with similar characteristics, and to compare him to the Jim he had known would be unfair.

"While your memories and some of your specific skills are lost, Jim, your high intelligence, natural aptitudes and adaptability remain. I am confident that you will succeed in whatever avenue you may wish to pursue." He paused. "Your entire life remains in front of you. This is a tabula rasa. Few of us are blessed with such an opportunity to begin anew."

Jim sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Do you want to 'begin anew', Spock?" he asked through his fingers.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind. Well. I guess." He dropped his hands into his lap, letting them slap loudly against the tops of his thighs.

Spock took that as his cue to leave, and rose to his feet. "I will see you tomorrow," he said.

That was all there was to say.

***

No one was court-martialed when Starfleet was informed of Jim's condition, thankfully, although it became clear that McCoy had somewhat altered the situation as reported. Admiral Pike himself called the ship to follow up, and Jim was escorted onto the bridge to satisfy the admiral's curiosity.

"You fell off a ladder, Kirk?" Pike asked, an expression of utter consternation on his face.

"Apparently. Sir." Jim squared his shoulders and folded his hands behind his back, in some semblance of parade rest. His body language, Spock could tell from standing next to him, was nervous. "I don't remember a thing."

Pike snorted and turned his attention back to Spock. "File all appropriate incident reports, Commander. You know the drill. Since Captain Kirk is unable to do it, I hereby transfer command of this vessel to you until you arrive promptly back on Earth."

"Aye, sir," said Spock, his posture stiff and straight as he regarded the screen. He was uncomfortable with deception as a rule and was reminded of his weeks of forgery and impersonation as he stared benignly up at his superior.

Pike cast another, unreadable look at the bridge and sighed. "Starfleet out." The feed cut back to the view of the Sirian system.

"How long until we reach Earth?" Jim asked hesitantly.

"About two weeks, Captain," Sulu answered. There was an awkward pause as he realized how he had addressed Jim, and then he turned back to his station without further comment.

"Well," Jim said, "I'll just...." He gestured in an indefinite way toward the turbolift and then turned to leave. Spock watched him step into the lift and felt the illogical urge to go after him, to say or do what, he was not sure.

But there had been no eleventh-hour victory for them this time; he was (officially) the acting captain, and his shift had only just begun. Instead, he turned and sat down slowly in the captain's chair as the lift doors shut.

"Status reports," he said, straining to keep his voice free of inflection.

***

The following two weeks seemed to Spock as though the Enterprise were travelling through some sort of time dilation field (outside of normal relativity, of course). The present appeared to crawl by at an interminably slow pace, while days flashed past in retrospect. He passed the time by throwing himself into his work, spending hours in meditation, socializing marginally with Uhura, and occasionally, when he could not avoid it, playing chess with Jim.

They were 1.2 days from Earth when Spock entered Jim's quarters to see boxes on the bed.

"You are packing," he said unnecessarily; the sight was unexpectedly disturbing to him.

"Yeah," said Jim, turning around with a book in each hand. He tossed them lightly onto the bed. "Thought I might as well go through everything and get started on it."

Spock moved to stand beside the bed, casting his eyes over the things strewn across it and tucked into the boxes. "Is this all that you are taking with you?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know what to do with the rest of it. It's just stuff, you know?" He ran a hand through his hair. "I thought maybe the crew could take what they like from what's left, or Starfleet will do something with it. I doubt I can take that much with me anyway, if I'm going to a hospital and have nowhere to live."

It was true that Jim had not seen the point of maintaining an apartment on Earth. He had spent their last several periods of leave on Earth with Spock, in the small apartment Spock kept near the Academy. He briefly considered offering the use of it but then remembered the closet, half-filled with Jim's civilian clothes; the holos in the living room, which Jim had insisted on taking during a shore leave that coincided with Christmas; the espresso maker in the kitchen area that Jim had purchased and was the only one to use. It would be unwise. He had not found a way in the past four weeks to communicate to Jim what needed to be said, and that was not the correct way for him to find out.

"There is a high probability that you could send your possessions to your mother's house in Iowa," he said instead.

Jim folded a shirt and threw it haphazardly into a box, which Spock thought rather rendered the folding process irrelevant.

"Nah," he said. "It's okay. I've got some civilian clothes, some books, my chessboard, stuff like that. Essentials and stuff I have a new attachment to. The rest doesn't mean anything to me. It's like you said; I have a whole new life to live. New stuff to collect." He winked.

"What about the shield?" Spock said after a moment. "As I have told you, it is yours."

Jim looked over at it, his expression thoughtful. "Tell you what," he said. "Hang onto it for me. You'll take better care of it than I could. Maybe when I get settled somewhere, I'll come get it from you, if you still insist it's mine."

"It is."

"Spock. You're holding it in trust, okay? It's too big to come along in the shuttle with me anyway, right?"

Spock conceded that he had a point.

"Chess?" Jim asked. "I haven't packed the board yet."

***

The Enterprise entered spacedock the following day; Jim's shuttle was scheduled to depart as the rest of the crew finished their docking checks before they could begin their brief shore leave. They were all supposed to be occupied with their duties, and yet the crowd that had gathered in the shuttle bay was suspiciously large.

Two ensigns loaded Jim's remaining belongings as Jim mingled with the assembled crewmembers. True to his outgoing and charismatic personality, he appeared to have relearned all of these peoples' names in the previous month, and exchanged quiet, friendly words and affectionate hugs with several of them as he moved through the crowd.

Spock stood near the shuttle with McCoy and Uhura on either side; he suspected that they had arranged themselves intentionally. He watched with detached interest as Jim shook hands with the lieutenant he had once regularly addressed as 'Cupcake' (an unfathomable inside joke, apparently) and exchanged hugs with Chekov and Sulu. He studiously pretended to be observing the ensigns doing the loading and pre-flight checks as Jim approached Uhura and McCoy, but he could see out of the corner of his eye and hear the faint murmuring as Jim said something to Uhura that made her smile, and then winked at her. He moved onto McCoy for a firm hug that involved thumps on the back.

Then Jim was standing in front of him. Spock looked at him unwillingly, shocked as ever by the blueness of his eyes.

Jim smiled faintly. "Thanks, Spock, for all you've done in the last month. I can see that we must have been good friends, and I'm sorry we're not able to get back there again. Not right now, anyway."

It took Spock a moment to find his voice. Finally, he held up his hand in the greeting of his people. "Live long and prosper, Jim."

Jim's smile grew. "You too."

Technically, although he would retain his title, Jim was no longer Spock's commanding officer, so no official recognition of his rank was required by the circumstances. Spock found it fitting to salute him anyway, and felt an inexplicable sense of gratitude when every other person in the room did the same.

Jim blinked at all of them, and then belatedly returned it, the crispness of training gone from the gesture but the meaning still apparent.

"I know I was lucky to have served with all of you," he said, and with that he boarded the shuttle.

Everyone filed out of the shuttle bay to clear it for takeoff. Spock walked with his back straight and head high at the rear of the crowd; McCoy and Uhura flanked him once more. Rather than linger to watch the shuttle depart, he went straight to the bridge to attend to his final duties before disembarking himself. McCoy left them for Sickbay and Uhura returned to her own station without a word; the remainder of the bridge crew filed back in from the turbolift in groups, their mood solemn and demeanour quiet.

McCoy surprised him by reappearing on the bridge shortly after the last call for shuttle boarding.

"Drink?" he said gruffly.

Spock blinked, feeling completely out of his element. "I do not consume alcohol; it has no effect on me."

McCoy clapped a hand onto his shoulder, guiding him toward the turbolift. "We'll get you a hot chocolate, then; it's winter in San Fran anyway."

Spock mused briefly on the benefits and risks of acquaintance with a physician skilled in xenobiology, as McCoy pressed the button for Deck 2 and the shuttle bays.

"I never did tell him; you are aware of this," he said finally.

McCoy nodded brusquely, staring at the door. "I'm reneging on my promise to kick your ass," he said. "You do an excellent job of that on your own."

Spock was speechless; fortunately, they arrived at the shuttle bays and he was excused from formulating a response.

"Come on," McCoy said, waving him out of the turbolift. "We're in the last tin can down and I have a long night of drinking away the trauma of the trip ahead of me."

***

Spock was promoted and granted captaincy of the Enterprise for the remaining 1.9 years of their mission, a move which surprised him, although perhaps it should not have. He found that he was relieved not to have to serve under a new captain and eventually acclimatized to living in the captain's quarters alone; in addition, Sulu made an excellent first officer. Spock completed his commission with confidence that Sulu would eventually have a successful captaincy of his own.

The ship was brought down for refits afterward, smoothing over her battle scars and the wear of years of space exploration with upgraded technology and renovations to the crew spaces. She would not, he thought, be the same ship again. Scott stayed with her all the same; Sulu and Chekov went on to form part of the command team on the USS Laurentian, McCoy took up a starbase posting where he could raise his daughter in safety and Uhura took a teaching post at the Academy for one term before returning to space on the USS Endeavour, as chief communications officer and first officer.

Spock considered taking up the captaincy of another ship (he was offered the Lexington), as well as returning to New Vulcan to aid in the ongoing development of the colony (his elder self and his father both appeared to prefer he remain in Starfleet), but in the end he returned to the Academy to teach. Lt-Cdr. Grmixyln, who had taken over administration of the Kobayashi Maru, offered it back to him and had to be politely declined six times before conceding. Spock was, in truth, marginally displeased with the current iteration of the test, but as he could no longer even hear it mentioned without experiencing strong memories of Jim, he felt it best to leave it to his past, like so many other things.

And so another three years passed.

***

Spock sat in his office one April afternoon, the sun warming his back through the window as he read through a terribly-organized grant proposal, when his door abruptly opened without even a chime. He looked up quickly and nearly dropped the PADD in his hands.

"Jim!" he said, perhaps a little more loudly than was proper for a Vulcan. Then again, Leonard McCoy had annoyed many of his more Vulcan traits into dormancy.

Jim stormed into the office, the door shutting behind him.

"You fucker!" he said.

"I beg your pardon?"

Jim stopped an arm's length away from the desk, hovering next to the visitor's chair, tense with energy.

"You and I were in love!" he shouted.

Spock blinked. "You have not..." he began.

"No, I still don't remember anything. It's all gone. I found out. Did you think that was never going to happen?"

Had he thought that? "I—"

Jim held up a hand, silencing him. "I was walking past this place this morning, on my way to a meeting with a client, when some lieutenant stopped me in the street. Apparently she didn't get the Starfleet official memo or something, because she had no idea what happened to me, but she used to work on the Enterprise."

Spock abruptly had a cold feeling in his stomach.

"She asked me, Spock, if we were still together and how you were doing. You can imagine how the rest of that conversation went. 'Awkward' does not begin to cover it."

"Starships are notorious for rumours," Spock tried, unsure how to deal with this discussion now that he was suddenly having it, five years too late. Somewhere in the Altairian system, McCoy had to be laughing at his expense.

"Cut the bullshit and show me some respect, Spock. It wasn't my first clue, just the last nail in the coffin. Other people knew and you still couldn't fucking tell me. Was it a convenient excuse to dump me? Were we miserable? Did you think you were doing us a favour?"

"That is not even remotely accurate, Jim," Spock snapped. "Sit down and cease that pacing."

Jim stopped his frenetic movement back and forth across the room, but did not sit down.

Spock rubbed at his temples, staring down at the clean surface of his desk. "How did you know?"

"You mean besides the gigantic Vulcan shield just hanging on the wall of my quarters? The 'gift' from you?" Jim sneered. "I found one of your fucking science shirts in the bottom back of my closet. How the hell else could it have gotten there?"

Spock squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the view of the desk, blocking out the room.

"Spock," Jim said more softly; Spock heard him finally taking a seat. "If you weren't dumping me then what were you doing?"

It took tremendous effort to look up at Jim. He looked nearly the same as he had when he had left the ship five years previously; his skin was tanned from his long sojourn on Earth and he looked tired, his eyes pinched slightly at the corners. His eyes were the same, piercing blue. The sky over the ocean on a clear afternoon, Spock thought distractedly. A colour never seen on Vulcan.

"I have no idea what I was doing," he said in a rough voice.

"That's not very logical," Jim said, standing up again. He reached into his pocket and removed something, throwing it onto the desk; it was a business card. "Comm me tonight when you get out of here," he said. "We're going to get dinner and catch up. Don't bitch out, or I'm going to come back here and tell everyone in Starfleet what a pussy you are."

He left the office with a casual wave over his shoulder. Spock reached forward and picked up the business card, the flexible plastic bending between his fingertips.

"James Kirk, Computer Security Specialist," it said.

Spock let it fall to the desk and got up to make some tea.

***

"...So I started reading this programming textbook some cadet'd left behind while I was in the hospital, and that got me messing around on this PADD a nurse left me, and it turned out that I have a knack for programming and finding vulnerabilities in systems." Jim leaned back a little in his chair and stretched. "I thought about using my powers for evil... but instead I learned three more programming languages and picked up some cryptography, and got into computer security." He shrugged. "Consultancy is good money."

Spock dug lightly into his salad with the fork, looking for tomatoes. He had eaten them all. "You once... never mind," he said. It was illogical to dwell in the past, especially when it was lost to one—both—of them.

"Go ahead," Jim said.

Spock put down his fork. "You once knew six unique languages to proficiency. Did Dr. McCoy or anyone else ever inform you of the fact that you defeated the Kobayashi Maru test?"

Jim raised his eyebrows. "No. I've heard of that test. How did I beat it?"

"You hacked it."

Jim burst out laughing, predictably. He was not so different, if one knew how to look at him.

Spock took another bite of his meal while waiting for the laughter to die out. When it did, Jim wiped his eyes, still grinning.

"So what've you been up to for the last few years?" he asked.

"I was given the captaincy of the Enterprise, which I maintained for nearly two years until the end of its five-year mission, and then I returned to the Academy. I am now the head of Computer Sciences."

Jim nodded, playing with his drinking glass.

"You seeing anyone?" he said after a moment.

"I am not," Spock replied, his voice as serene as he could make it.

"Have you—" Jim began, but Spock interrupted the rest of the question by shaking his head.

"I have been focused on my career," he said.

Jim smirked. "Uh huh."

Spock arched an eyebrow at him. "Vulcans do not lie, Jim." The words slipped out easily; he had uttered them so many times before.

"Except by omission," Jim corrected him, raising an eyebrow right back.

Spock felt himself flush slightly; hopefully it was not noticeable in the dim interior lighting of the restaurant.

"I've seen a couple people, since they let me out of the hospital. When I was travelling the country and stuff," Jim said, his tone light and nonchalant. "Nobody who stuck, though."

The silence that followed this pronouncement was heavy, expectant.

Spock finally broke it, unable to stop himself. "Jim, if you are indeed implying that you wish to resume our relationship, I must caution you that this is not a wise idea. You have only really known me for four weeks and you are not the same—"

But Jim was smiling at him, and he stopped speaking abruptly.

"I'm the same enough," Jim said. "I can tell from your reactions to me that I'm not so different from how I used to be. I hear I've had some... life experiences... that are maybe better forgotten. I get to be an undamaged Jim Kirk now, I guess. And I meant it when I said I could tell we were friends. I'm telling you now that I have no trouble believing we were more than that." He shrugged a shoulder, still smiling but looking down at the table. "I'd bet my Starfleet pension that not only did I love you, I loved you pretty much from the time I got to know you." He shifted in the chair, looking back up at Spock, who was frozen in place, unable to react, unable to look away, until this speech had concluded.

"I'm not asking you to marry me in Vegas or anything, Spock. But I want us to look at this as a first date, and take things from there. We can start over, too." He winked. "I usually put out by date number three, by the way."

Spock could not stifle a tiny snort at that. Jim grinned widely.

"Well?" he said.

Spock looked up at him steadily. "I suppose that if I have waited for five years, I can continue to wait until 'date number three'."

Jim let out a shocked burst of laughter. Spock took another bite of his salad and resolved that he could only look forward. The anticipation of the future, he found, was pleasurable.

THE END