Chapter Text
Lieutenant Commander Scott, Montgomery
Commended for exceptional service during the five year mission of the USS Enterprise. Captain strongly advises against reinstating him on Delta Vega as he has not only proven himself an engineer of the highest possible caliber, but has also managed to restore Admiral Archer's dog and should no longer face punishment for a mistake he has since rectified. Recommend three weeks of shore leave before he reports to Starfleet Academy for his required year of teaching.
Chief Medical Officer McCoy, Leonard
Commended for exceptional service during the five year mission of the USS Enterprise. Captain recommends Starfleet disregard evaluations disparaging his bedside manner in favor of his medical research and surgical breakthroughs over the past five years. Has requested one year of professional leave to care for his daughter in the wake of his ex-wife's death. Captain fully supports his request.
Lieutenant Sulu, Hikaru
Commended for exceptional service during the five year mission of the USS Enterprise. Captain recommends promotion to Lieutenant Commander so that he may serve as First Officer on a Starfleet flagship in an effort to someday attain his own captaincy.
Lieutenant Uhura, Nyota
Commended for exceptional service during the five year mission of the USS Enterprise. Captain believes her services will be useful in the relocation of the Romulan people due to her ability to not only speak the language but also to easily distinguish all three dialects. Highly recommended for Command training should she express an interest at any point in the future.
Ensign Chekov, Pavel
Commended for exceptional service during the five year mission of the USS Enterprise. Captain recommends promotion to Lieutenant and requests that he be stationed with Lieutenant Sulu, as they would make an excellent Command team together once Sulu has finished his training.
Jim looks over his paperwork with a sigh. He has remained on the Enterprise, the sole person on the bridge. He's half curled into the Captain's chair poring over the data PADD that will determine the next few years of his crew's future. He is surprised - and admittedly, a little hurt - when he discovers that not one of them has put in a request to remain here with him.
It isn't personal. He knows that on a very basic level, even though the irrational part of him believes otherwise. Scotty needs to fulfill his teaching requirement in order to be allowed to work on the refitting of the Enterprise that will inevitably occur in the next few years. Bones needs to take care of his daughter now that Jocelyn has passed away, needs to reconnect with his family and make arrangements for when - for if, rather - he goes back into space. Uhura is the perfect person for the colonization of Romulus II between her linguistic talents and her ability to empathize with the species despite Nero's deranged destruction of one planet and the near demise of another. And Sulu - Jim knows that Sulu has been lusting over a captaincy of his own for the past few years now, knows too that Chekov is the best possible choice to eventually serve as his First Officer. So no, it isn't personal.
He's been a good Captain. It isn't his own ego talking, although it does tend to echo across the galaxy on a good day. He's seen the peer reviews his crew sent in, seen the overwhelming praise that's been sent to Starfleet on his behalf. And yet here he is on his mostly deserted ship filling out paperwork to send them scattered across the universe because not one of them wishes to remain with him.
Not one of them.
With a pained expression, he scrolls up to the entry regarding his First Officer, the one that should have had priority over the others, the one he couldn't bring himself to fill out yet.
First Officer Spock, S'chn T'gai
Commended for exceptional service during the five year mission of the USS Enterprise.
It's the same thing he's written for every other member of his crew, and it sounds even more hollow when placed under Spock's name. They've all of them - all of them - done extraordinary things during their service aboard the Enterprise. He can think of at least a half dozen times every one of his favorite officers has risked their life for the ship or the crew. They've seen things no one else in the fleet can dream of, wormed their way out of situations that would have had lesser crews turned into a faint red smear of debris amongst the stars.
But Spock ... Spock's service record does him no justice. It can't. There are no words for some of the things Spock has done to keep him safe, the kinds of things he's suffered so that his Captain can go about his job. He's seen him arrested, tortured, humiliated, seen him take it all with an icy calm because he believes it to be his duty. There's little he can write in his report to Starfleet to really encompass all Spock has done without embarrassing him, and the stale, sterile writing he enters on his PADD does him no justice.
Spock has requested to be decommissioned from Starfleet; length of decommission unknown at present. Captain requests that he be allowed to return to the colony developing on New Vulcan to assist in rebuilding efforts there.
Once it's finally written in the PADD, Jim drops it and slumps back in his chair. This is the part he's struggling to understand.
Years ago, a much older Spock informed the younger Spock - his Spock - that theirs was a friendship that would define them both. It's taken a long time to get there - almost a full year into the mission before Spock finally stopped calling him Captain all the damn time - but without a doubt it has been the most rewarding aspect of his time on the Enterprise. Granted, he's the youngest Captain in the fleet. Granted, he's managed to carve out a place for himself in history without having to resort to simply being George Kirk's son. Granted, he has a crew he'd die for and who have regularly put their lives on the line for him.
But Spock ... gets him. He's too young and at the same time too jaded to put much stock in things like destiny, but he is irresistibly drawn to the half-Vulcan in ways he can't explain. He's absolutely brilliant, which means he's also smart enough to figure out that Jim is too, rather than brushing him off as a headstrong idiot like so many other people tend to do. He's fiercely loyal when he believes someone worthy of it, and knowing just how high his standards are makes Jim feel like some kind of hero to know he's earned that loyalty. He has a dry sense of humor that seems to elude most of his crew, but once Jim finally catches onto it, it's one of the highlights of his day. He plays an absolutely infuriating game of chess, and that seems to be a mutual feeling.
And he loves Jim.
This in itself is something of a miracle. Jim knows he has plenty of qualities that are anything but lovable: he's stubborn, arrogant, has a questionable reputation as something of a man-whore, and whenever he can't outwit an opponent he tends to simply throw himself into the fray and hope for the best. He gets morose and miserable to be around on his birthday. When he drinks too much he can be found either in the Mess Hall or locked in Sick Bay belting out obscene drinking songs with his best friend. He flirts with Uhura purely to annoy her. He touches Spock incessantly, despite knowing that he prefers little to no physical contact with those around him.
And yet somehow, through all of that, Spock loves him.
They've never talked about it, and Jim despairs of ever doing so now. It's an unspoken thing between them, something they're both aware of but never verbally acknowledge. There's the chain of command to consider, the idea that certain decisions Jim makes as Captain can be interpreted differently if everyone thinks he's got a closer-than-strictly-necessary relationship with his First Officer. There's the friendship to consider, something both of them treasure and that neither of them is willing to sacrifice for the potential to develop something more. Hell, there's Jim's feelings to consider - Spock is without a doubt one of his best friends, one of the few people he feels close to, but he isn't sure whether his feelings extend beyond friendship, isn't even sure if he's capable of it.
And there's Vulcan. Or rather, there isn't.
Spock never told him why he decided to stay on as his First Officer when he was given the Enterprise. Jim knew he had wanted to head off to the colony to help rebuild, but apparently something had changed his mind. Not wanting Spock to question that decision, Jim had never broached the subject with him.
He wonders if Spock's decision to go now has something to do with the illness he contracted during the first year of their mission. He'd gone mad and had nearly destroyed himself in what he described as a blood fever. They had managed to get him to New Vulcan as he'd requested, and three days later he returned to the ship looking worn and embarrassed but otherwise unharmed. He never spoke of the illness that had gripped him or what the cure had been and Jim had forbidden anyone to ask - including McCoy.
Now, with their five year mission complete, Spock is leaving Starfleet - leaving Jim. And he shouldn't take it personally like that, shouldn't be moping about this like a lovesick teenager, but he's the only one on the bridge and so he allows himself his sulk.
Allows it, that is, until the turbolift opens and reveals his First Officer, no longer dressed in his science blues but rather in those strange, draping Vulcan clothes he wears so rarely. Jim straightens out of his sulk and hopes fervently that Spock didn't notice it, trying hard to look professional and Captain-like.
"Starfleet has given me one final mission before I return to New Vulcan," Spock informs him solemnly.
Jim wonders briefly if the Admirals are just trying to fuck with him one last time before he goes through the promotional process. "And what might that be?"
"I am to escort you off the Enterprise, as she cannot be processed for maintenance procedures until the entire crew has disembarked."
He grins a little at that. "Yeah, I know. But I needed to get the crew recommendations done and I can't do that in some tiny Starfleet cubicle."
Spock raises an eyebrow at him, that one little gesture that can mean anything from, 'Your hypothesis seems intriguing,' to, 'You're being a complete idiot but I can't say that to my commanding officer.' Jim loves the eyebrow-interpretation game and he can't come to terms with the idea of not being able to play it anymore. "I fail to understand why you would be unable to complete your work in an alternate location."
"Because it's the Enterprise. Because I don't know if I'll be allowed back on her again. I spent the best five years of my life aboard this ship. I'm not that eager to leave." Maybe it comes off a little bitter, but he can't help it.
If Spock senses the bitterness, he doesn't comment on it. But he does reach out a hand to touch the corner of the helmsman's console, as if he needs one last connection with the ship. "May I ask a personal question?" he says after several moments of silence.
"You know you can."
He inclines his head in acknowledgment. "Why did you accept Starfleet's proposal to promote you to Admiral?"
"It's quite an honor. I was the youngest Captain in the fleet and now they're offering to make me the youngest Admiral."
"But it is not in your nature to accept a challenge merely for the fame involved." And this is another part of why he loves Spock; where everyone else sees a brash, egotistical blowhard trying to make a name for himself, Spock sees him for what he really is: a Captain who happens to love even the hardest parts of his job. Gaining some measure of notoriety for his adventures is inevitable considering the number of successful missions he's pulled off during his relatively short career. The fame is just a side effect of the love for a challenge. It certainly isn't the ultimate goal.
He feels another pang at the idea of losing this man, and he shrugs inarticulately in lieu of a properly reasoned response. "It seemed like the thing to do, considering the rest of the crew won't be returning."
There's another of Spock's pensive pauses then, his fingers sweeping unconsciously over the console in a way that makes Jim's brain wander into dangerous territory. For almost five years now he's thought about those hands touching him, mapping him out, exploring him in that maddeningly methodical way of his, and now it's too late.
"I did not ask to be retired from Starfleet," Spock finally says, breaking the long silence.
It seems an odd change of topic to Jim. "You didn't?" he asks, unsure of what else he can say.
"I asked for a temporary decommission in order to return to New Vulcan and attend to the recolonization efforts there."
They've had this discussion before, Jim knows it. But there's something off about it this time. "I know. You told me."
The eyebrow twitches slightly in that irritated fashion Spock usually only demonstrates when he's arguing with McCoy. "To retire from Starfleet would indicate that I do not plan to return."
He thinks about that for a moment. God forbid Spock ever just come out with what he wants to say rather than laying out a maze of riddles and roundabout statements. "Then ... you plan to come back, at some point?" he guesses.
"I have planned nothing, as I am unsure of the progress on New Vulcan. But I wished to leave myself open to ... possibilities in the future." And he lingers on the word in a way that makes Jim's heart lurch.
"Possibilities," Jim echoes wistfully. He shakes his head to clear it of all the melodrama before he gets out of the command chair, standing and brushing invisible dust from his trousers. "I guess we should get going."
And though Spock is under orders to escort him from the ship, he doesn't move from his stance next to the console, one hand still splayed over the buttons and levers there. "Spock?" Jim asks, moving closer.
Another pause, and then he speaks again. "I must admit to a similar measure of hesitation to leave the ship," he says quietly. "It became a second home to me." A second family, Jim thinks, but he knows Spock would never admit to it out loud.
"We can always take her out for one last joyride," he offers instead. And while he's mostly joking, they both know he'd do it if Spock really wanted to, no matter how poorly it might reflect on his professional record.
"An ill-advised idea for several reasons," Spock returns, but he doesn't launch into the list of them like he does with McCoy or really, any other member of the crew. It's more of that unspoken communication between them that's so easy and effortless. Instead he lets his hand fall from the console to the chair in front of it, fingers dipping into a groove where Sulu has rested his neck against it for the past five years. "However tempting," he continues.
Jim smiles, eyes lingering on the long fingers again. He had never pegged Spock to be so tactile, nor so attached to inanimate objects, but he's not about to voice how illogical it is because it's endearing, in its own way. It's a spell he doesn't want to break.
But he needs to. He takes advantage of Spock's tactile mood, pressing an affectionate hand to his shoulder. "Come on, Spock. I've got Admirals who need their asses kissed and you've got a shuttle to catch."
Spock doesn't turn to follow him like he expects. Instead he presses those long, unreasonably warm fingers to the back of his hand, gaze focused on the viewscreen but his attention undeniably set on his Captain. "Jim." He hesitates then, almost as if he's embarrassed.
"Spock," he returns easily, moving to stand in front of him, unwilling to release his hold on him and lose the sensations of those fingers on him.
"I..." The eyebrows furrow a bit and he seems to be collecting himself. "I wished to express my gratitude." He makes eye contact then, as if willing Jim to hear whatever it is he hasn't said.
Even with five years of practice translating Spock-ese into something more understandable, Jim still isn't sure what he's getting at now. "Gratitude?"
"I had not expected to make friends during my time aboard the Enterprise. I have been pleasantly surprised."
"Oh, well, if that's all," Jim chuckles, then sobers at the disapproving look on Spock's face. "C'mon, Spock, you know I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that it's not like it's a hardship to be your friend and I certainly don't need to be thanked for it."
Spock's mouth moves in that weird way like he wants to say something, then appears to think better of it. He gives a slight shake of his head instead, letting his fingers drop from Jim's hand and visibly steeling himself. "It is time we leave the ship," he says quietly.
Jim nods, reluctantly releasing his hold on Spock's shoulder and sparing a moment to send off his report on the data PADD. They make their way in silence to the turbolift, walking in tandem down the hallway toward the transporter room.
The silence isn't comfortable like it usually is; it isn't born from the simple enjoyment of each other's company. It's awkward and stilted, almost like it was back when they first began working together, and Jim inwardly cringes at the idea that this will be their last memory of one another until they see each other again.
If they see each other again.
There's no one in the transporter room, the majority of the crew having left shortly after they finished the docking procedures. It seems wrong to be down here without Scotty ranting about whatever might break next, or at the very least without a team of Scotty's engineers wincing over his latest diatribe about the dilithium crystals or the shields or whatever else he feels Jim has been battering lately. It's too quiet, especially given the sudden silence of his First Officer, and Jim's heart lurches again when he realizes how painfully lonely the next year or two is going to be while he finishes the training and procedures necessary to complete his promotion to Admiral.
Their fingers brush for a moment as they work the transporter console to allow them to beam back to the star base, Spock stiffening at the gesture. He's done this before, always refuses to explain when it happens, so Jim covers the awkward moment by speaking up one last time. "As long as we're expressing gratitude when it isn't necessary, thanks for sticking with me through this. I know you didn't have to - hell, you could've been on the colony all this time instead of slogging through uncharted space with a load of illogical humans - but I'm grateful you did. You've-"
He doesn't get to finish his last sentence, or even think all the way through about what he wants to say, because suddenly he's being kissed with a fervor he's never experienced before. It knocks him right off his ass when he internalizes the fact that, holy shit, Spock is kissing him, and he's grateful for the solid pressure of the transporter console digging into his backside. He leans bodily against it for support and finally works through the shock enough to kiss back.
He's not a romantic, sure as hell isn't a sap. He has a well-deserved reputation as the master of one night stands and friendly fuck buddies. He doesn't believe in love at first sight or amazing first kisses, but somehow he's stumbled onto the latter. Which is not to say it isn't awkward in its own way, because Spock's got all that Vulcan strength pouring over him, and their teeth sometimes bump against each other with a weird grinding noise, and they're perhaps a little too desperate for contact to worry about things like finesse or where their hands should go or trying to breathe without sounding like a hoarse seal. He's been kissed by people who are far better at this than Spock seems to be - hell, Jim's better at this and he knows it, but he's too overwhelmed to be skilled about it. He revels in the clashing of teeth, the awkwardness of long-fingered hands skimming over his chest and curling around his neck, the painful pressure of the console's corners digging into his ass.
Jim's arms snake around Spock's waist without putting much thought into it, fingers digging into his backside and dragging him forward, closer, spreading his legs so one of Spock's thighs can give him the friction he's desperately craving. A tiny voice in the back of his mind tells him that now isn't the time for this, that Spock needs to leave for the colony, that fooling around with him now is the worst idea he could possibly have. He ignores it in favor of grabbing one of Spock's hands and sucking on his fingers.
He gets the response he was aiming for, grateful now for all those sudden stiff-backed cues whenever their hands brushed. Spock must have incredibly sensitive fingers, because his eyes roll back in his head and he lets out a moan he never would have imagined him capable of. The pressure increases against his groin, Spock pressing into him and rocking them together steadily, his face flushed sage and his pupils blown dark and devastating.
The look on Spock's face, the eyes and the green cheeks and the slightly puffy lips slack and open in a low moan has Jim shuddering and panting like a damn teenager, releasing Spock's fingers with an obscene popping noise and latching onto his lips instead. In between less aggressive, but no less intense kisses, Spock starts whispering into his mouth, and when he finally collects the focus needed to really hear the word, he shudders again when he realizes Spock is chanting a quiet mantra of, "Jim, Jim, Jim." It develops a low purring quality to it the more desperate it becomes, and Jim can't decide whether he wants more of the chanting or more of their tongues curling together, and he makes an effort to soak up as much of both as he can.
The rocking gets more desperate along with the raspy quality of Spock's voice, and the sharp bruise digging into Jim's ass isn't doing anything to distract from the pressure between his legs or the insistent rubbing against his thigh. It's building faster than he had realized, spiraling out of his control. He digs his fingers into the layers of stiff black cloth covering Spock's backside, urging him closer, faster, trying to keep him plastered up against him. The insistent rocking gains a jerky, unsteady quality to it, and Jim breaks from the kiss just in time to see Spock's face as he launches over the edge. The green blossoms over his cheeks to envelop most of his face and even those delicately pointed ears, eyes wide and shocked, mouth open in a nearly silent, "Oh..." of rumbled pleasure.
It's the eyes that kill him. Jim's harbored a not-so-secret thing for a lot of Spock's characteristics, like the long fingers and the pointy ears and the rigid posture, but it's those too-human eyes that lock onto his own with a look of such complete openness and shameless wonder that he's gone moments after Spock, coming in his pants like an overstimulated kid. He should be embarrassed, or at least ashamed of his own lack of self-control, but with dark Vulcan eyes boring into him with unmasked emotion, he can't feel anything but a sense of completion and belonging.
And love.
He can't deny it to himself any longer, not when he's surrounded by such steady heat and that strange smell of incense that permeates Spock's clothing. His head drops to Spock's shoulder with a groan, closing his eyes and shuddering when he feels shaky lips pressing against his temple. The gesture, and its accompanying sense of sweetness, settles into his heart with a pang.
They can't stay.
Spock seems to realize it at the same time Jim does, because the easy warmth and tangle of the two of them is gone a moment later. They stand facing one another, the flush in Spock's face having tempered down to a faint staining of his cheeks, the warmth in his eyes gone beneath that usual mask of calm. "Jim," he says quietly, and his voice betrays him where his face does not.
"I know," Jim returns, and he's not even sure what he means when he says it. He knows what they've shared? He knows they have to separate? He knows he'll never be the same? It all sounds so trite, so cliche, so ... far removed from what he wants to say instead. "I know, Spock," he repeats. He lifts a hand to press against the too-hot cheek, tempted to pull him in for another kiss, to trace the shape of those severe eyebrows, to caress the lines of those pointed ears. He lets his hand drop before he can give into the temptation, shaking his head. He tries to think of something, anything to say that will both give them closure and leave a window of opportunity open to the future.
Spock precedes him. He lifts his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute, and in his native language says, "Dif-tor heh smusma."
Jim tries his best to copy the gesture. It is not, perhaps, what he wanted to say, but it will suffice. For now. "Live long and prosper, Spock."
Spock makes his way to the telepad alone, and Jim lets him, busying himself unnecessarily with the controls before allowing himself to look up one last time at the disappearing form of his First Officer. The face is frozen once more, the hair neatly in place, the clothing impeccable. His mouth twitches for a split second in that way that Jim has come to understand is his attempt to smile, and then he's gone in a series of swirling white lights.
Jim slumps when he's alone again, elbows planted on the console and rubbing his face wearily. He thinks back to the dry, professional tone he used on Spock's evaluation, wishing that he hadn't sent it off yet. He can think of another three pages worth of accolades he could add now, but it's too late.
He checks the controls one last time to ensure he hasn't knocked anything out of place, scruffing his hair back down and wincing at the mess in his trousers. He should change, he should go get his PADD, he should...
He should go. Now. So he does.