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San Francisco, 2289 (Three years after Genesis)
A week prior to the twentieth anniversary of the end of Starfleet’s first extended deep space mission, Admiral Josephine Kelvin, commandant of Starfleet Academy, had what she modestly felt was an inspired idea. The date was brought to her attention by a small article on the internal bulletin to all staff, containing a list of upcoming dates of importance to Starfleet. The anniversary of the end of the first five-year mission was a minor entry, deserving of only a small footnote to the effect that press interest was likely, given the – relatively more recent - events surrounding that ship and her crew. Events which were the stuff of fascinated rumour outside Starfleet, and ferocious speculation inside it, other than to those whose clearance allowed them to know the truth.
The date fell right in the middle of a habitually painful period at the Academy. The hiatus between final exams being taken and subsequent assignments being granted was the high-water mark for any likely misbehaviour amongst the student body. Not that Kelvin was expecting much in that line: this was, after all, Starfleet Academy; nevertheless, she felt the need to provide as much distraction as she reasonably could, to keep cadet attention focussed. And chance had dropped the perfect opportunity right in her lap. She just happened to have, on her staff, the gentleman whose name was famous throughout Starfleet and beyond as the person responsible for the successful completion of that mission. A staff member who would have some free time, as lectures would be reduced after the final exams. What better way to spend it than an extended lecture on the first five-year mission and the elements that had made it a success? Smiling to herself, Kelvin called up the teaching schedule for Captain James T. Kirk.
*
Kirk’s first instinct was to refuse. His record, he felt, should stand for itself. There was plenty of information in the official logs and reports of the Enterprise’s first five-year mission, most of which – apart from the high security, eyes-only stuff – had been picked over endlessly in the years since. So, his response to Kelvin had been polite, but firm.
It had taken less than a day for him to rethink his position. First, the anniversary had not gone unnoticed, and articles were starting to appear on Starfleet message boards and newsletters. Some of the inaccuracies were.... troubling. Second, and more concerningly, Starfleet’s external comms team had also noticed the upcoming anniversary. Normally, anniversaries of the ends of missions got less attention than the starts, but, as the comms team had reminded him twice in the past week, they had been unable to celebrate the twentieth anniversary of the start of the Enterprise’s first five-year mission as Kirk had, at that time, been not only absent without leave but also on report for stealing said Enterprise.
This was put to him diplomatically, but in the pained tones of people rueing a good PR opportunity missed. Public events were proposed. Sit downs with the press. Kirk’s plea to be assigned off planet at that time fell on disinterested ears.
The only way he could possibly, legitimately be occupied was at the Academy. Kirk sighed to himself as he sat at his desk that evening and flicked through his private messages. He had, at a rough count, a dozen separate invitations for the day of the anniversary. Interviews, lectures, public appearances, speeches, all promising to be spectacularly dull and/or embarrassing. Jo Kelvin’s idea was the most appealing of a radically unappealing list.
He hated the feeling that he was some kind of historic figure. Like his time was already over, and ready to be talked about as part of the history of Starfleet, not it’s current life. He straightened in his chair, trying to shake off his melancholy mood.
A hand ruffled his hair lightly and he glanced up. Spock was behind him, still in uniform, and looking down at him with that gentled expression that to anyone else would have seemed entirely neutral, but to Jim was a smile that never failed to warm him.
He smiled back, reaching up to catch his bondmate’s hand and squeeze the long fingers lightly. ‘Hey. How was your day?’
‘It passed adequately.’ Spock paused, then added carefully, ‘I oversaw remedial flight training for three cadets, was prevailed upon to have lunch with Captain Follett, and I have almost completed my latest paper for the Vulcan Science Academy.’
Kirk smothered his amusement. Spock did not see the logic in engaging in small talk regarding the minutiae of his day at the Academy. But Jim liked to know what was going on with him, and valued their evening chats about their respective days. They had worked side by side for so long that not knowing what Spock was doing all day felt strange, now their working lives kept them apart for much of the time. He had said as much a while ago, which had led to Spock being careful to add detail to his formerly one sentence summary of his day’s activities.
‘Sounds like fun.’
‘It was not.’
Jim did laugh then. ‘Well, my day wasn’t fun either. Come on.’
He gave Spock a gentle shove towards their bedroom. ‘Get changed while I tell you about it.’ Being out of uniform whilst Spock was in uniform was another feeling he didn't especially like.
He sat on the bed whilst Spock changed into his off-duty clothes and threw on his meditation robe. The sight distracted Jim and he gazed absently at his bondmate, watching as the dark material fell into place around his slim form.
As he straightened the robe, Spock said, ‘Jim? You were going to tell me about your day?’
Kirk looked up. ‘Oh. Yeah.’ He sighed. ‘The comms team got in touch. You know next week is the twentieth anniversary of the end of our first five-year mission?’
Spock came to sit beside him on the bed. ‘I was aware.’ He seemed about to say something further, then stopped.
Jim said, ‘I’d forgotten, actually. Time goes by so past.’ He nudged his shoulder against Spock’s. ‘I rely on you to remind me of these things.’
He felt it then, a tiny ripple through their bond. He looked at his bondmate in surprise. ‘What’s up?’
Spock said, ‘I - was not sure you would wish to be reminded.’
‘Why -’ Then he remembered. ‘Oh. Well. It was a long time ago.’ He shuffled closer to his bondmate and slipped an arm round his waist. ‘And you came back.’
They sat in silence for moment, then Jim said, ‘Anyway, I’m getting inundated with requests to present myself at various media outlets like some kind of historical talking head. Komack, obviously, has hung me out to dry in terms of giving me anything else to do. I'm getting hints that the brass would like some kind of acknowledgement too. By far the least awful option is a couple of hours lecturing at the Academy. Jo Kelvin’s idea. Keep the cadets entertained for a few hours and the ensigns distracted from wondering what ship they’ll be on.’
‘But you do not welcome the idea.’
Kirk frowned. ‘Not really. It’s a bit, me, myself, and I, you know? And there’s nothing I can tell them that’s not in the logs or reports – nothing that’s still not sealed, anyway – and Jo’s talking about hours. Even I’ll get sick of the sound of my voice. And things have moved on -’ He trailed off.
Spock watched his bondmate for a moment, then said, ‘Would it be helpful if I accompanied you? If you feel my contribution could be of value.’
Kirk stared up at him. ‘Of value? Are you kidding?’ He smiled in relief. ‘Spock, that would be brilliant. Look, are you sure? I don’t want to steal you away from something more important.’
‘There is nothing more pressing requiring my presence on that day.’
‘Brilliant.’ Kirk stood and dropped a kiss on his bondmate’s sleek hair before heading back to the living space. ‘I’m calling Jo before you think better of it.’
*
Kirk commed Josephine Kelvin. ‘We’ve got some conditions.’
‘We? Who’s we?’
‘I have prevailed upon Captain Spock to join me. Two memories being better than one. And his being practically infallible.’
Jo Kelvin looked like a kid on Christmas morning. ‘I’m getting both of you?’ She grinned at him over the comm link. ‘Then I’m feeling generous: shoot.’
‘No faculty.’
Jo Kelvin raised an eyebrow.
‘Come on Jo, you know how these things go. Too many teachers in the room and the cadets are all too busy trying to be clever to contribute anything interesting. If we’ve got to do this, I’m not having it be dull.’
‘How ‘not dull’ are we talking here? Because if any of my cadets take it upon themselves to reprogramme the Kobayashi Maru simulation, I’m coming after you, Starfleet hero or no.’
Kirk rolled his eyes. ‘I’m assured that’s not even possible anymore.’
‘It wasn’t possible when you did it.’
‘Jo-’
‘Fine. No faculty. But I’m going to have to front up to some disappointed staff.’
It was Kirk’s turn to grin. He hadn’t expected that concession to be so easy. Jo Kelvin must be desperate. He said, ‘Tell them to grab me in the mess. Or prime a cadet with their questions. So: two hours, max.’
Jo Kelvin barked a laugh. ‘You wish. I’ve got a whole morning to fill. Three hours, plus at least an hour for a Q&A.’
‘Four hours of me talking?’ Kirk frowned. ‘God Jo, even I think that sounds like cruel and unusual punishment.’
'Come on, you were out there for five years. If your logs were even remotely accurate, you could fill four weeks of lectures, and then some. And you’ll have Captain Spock to help you.’ She smiled. It was the smile of someone about to play their trump card. ‘And I hear that if you aren’t here entertaining and informing my cadets, you’ll have to play nice with the press.’
Kirk grimaced. ‘Four hours. Okay. But no questions about anything other than the first five-year mission.’
Kelvin held up a hand. ‘Not a problem. Agreed.’
*
On their way to the lecture hall, Kirk acknowledged to himself that he was experiencing a minor level of trepidation about the experience. Although he felt like he’d answered every possible question about those five years in the time since - and cadets wouldn’t be able to ask about any of the eyes-only stuff anyway – the idea of four hours of what could amount to an interrogation of his first command by newly minted Starfleet officers, inexperienced in the field, and full of zeal for correct procedure and protocol, was proving to be slightly disconcerting.
A voice hailed him from an adjacent corridor as they passed.
‘Jim!’ Lantana Arai, deputy Head of Starfleet Medical, bore down on them with her usual contained energy. ‘I hear,’ she said as she drew nearer, ‘that you two –’ she flashed a quick smile at Spock, who inclined his head, as she returned her teasing gaze to Jim, ‘- are giving a lecture today and I am not invited.’
Jim smiled carefully. ‘Not just you, ‘Tana. No faculty at all.’
She fell into step next to them, close enough that her arm brushed Jim’s as they walked. ‘Well, that is unsporting of you.’
Kirk gave her a conspiratorial half-grin. ‘Well, you know what the staff here are like. We’re trying to keep it civil.’ She laughed, and leaned closer to reply.
As they walked, and the conversation next to him continued, Spock became aware of an odd phenomenon. To all intents and purposes, Jim was relaxed and happy, responding to her cheerful flirtation with no little charm of his own. Through their bond, however, Spock could feel something so utterly contrary that it brought his eyes to his bondmate, brow almost furrowed in concern.
Jim was – uncomfortable. And not a little – Spock interrogated the feeling gently – sad. Returning his eyes to the corridor in front of them, he tried to define the cause. Prior to the arrival of Doctor Arai, he had felt only a small and understandable amount of trepidation, well kept in check by his bondmate’s usual confidence and belief – both in himself, and in them as a team. Jim had spoken to him of Lantana Arai in the past as a respected colleague and amusing lunch companion, as well as a mutual friend of Leonard McCoy. As they turned a corner towards the lecture hall, Spock mentally examined these previous statements with more care. Perhaps there had been some subtext to Jim’s remarks that he had missed. Certainly, he had mentioned her more frequently of late.
He wondered if it was his own presence at their unexpected meeting that had caused the change, and dismissed the idea as unlikely. Due to their discretion in their private lives, and in spite of the occasional rumour that persisted nevertheless, it was not unusual for people to flirt with Jim in front of him. Within the circles in which they both moved, Jim was famous, both for his competence and exploits as a Captain, but also for his personal charm, and reputation for having used that charm to seduce across the galaxy. Spock had utter faith in the love and fidelity of his bondmate, but he also knew that Jim enjoyed being flirted with, and flirting back. It was a very human need to be acknowledged and seen, and something that had once privately bothered Spock, but with age had come tolerance, unassailable confidence in his relationship, and a very unVulcan pride in his still attractive and charming mate.
Jim stopped as they approached the hall, and said, a little louder than necessary, ‘Well, this is us.’
Dr Arai looked around in surprise, then back to him with an inviting smile. ‘Lunch tomorrow? You can let me know how it went.’
Jim smiled easily back. ‘Sure. Just let me check my schedule for the time.’ She flashed him another smile, nodded to Spock with a quick, ‘Captain’, and headed back the way she had arrived calling, ‘Tomorrow, Jim.’
Kirk’s smile faltered slightly before he met Spock’s gaze and Spock felt as much as saw his bondmate switch into his professional demeanour. Before the transformation was complete, Spock touched his elbow and drew him into an empty classroom.
He began, ‘Jim.’
Kirk looked at him in surprise. ‘Spock, what’s up? We’ll be late.’
‘We will not.’ Spock gestured towards an open set of double doors a little way down the corridor. ‘The hall is there. And we are still three point five minutes ahead of schedule.’
Kirk raised his eyebrows. 'Alright. So what is it?’
Spock said bluntly, ‘You were disturbed by the arrival of Dr Arai.’
Kirk opened his mouth to deny it, and return them to the task at hand, then realised the futility of the attempt. He quirked a rueful smile at Spock. ‘You know, sometimes I forget about that damn bond. Ironic, given how you used to worry about it affecting me.’
Spock, whose eyebrows had raised at the reference to ‘that damn bond’, said mildly, mollified by the rush of affection that had accompanied the statement, ‘I acknowledge my concerns were unfounded.’
Kirk looked away, released a huff of breath, then said simply, ‘I hate it when people do that.’ On Spock’s quizzical expression, he added, ‘Flirt with me. In front of you. It feels – rude. Like – my bondmate is right there, you know? He waved a hand. ‘I know, I know, they don’t know that. It’s just – I mean, even if you weren’t there – most times its fine, just social interaction, just light-hearted, but sometimes - ‘ He sighed. 'You know what? Doesn’t matter.’
Spock said carefully, ‘Jim, if you wish to redefine the parameters of our relationship - ‘
Kirk turned a horrified face to him that would have been heart-warming had Spock had any concerns about his bondmate’s intent. ‘What? No! What? Do - do you want to -?’
Spock said quickly, ‘The parameters of our relationship with regard to the secrecy we have always observed.’
Kirk stared at him for a moment. Spock watched some of the tension drain from his body, and when he spoke his voice was quiet. ‘I love you, you know.’ Spock blinked in surprise as his bondmate’s face broke into a gentle smile. ‘I’m really head over heels, don’t know if you noticed.’ The rush of emotion that accompanied this statement dried any response in Spock’s throat. He quelled a desire to reach for his husband. The rarity of Jim’s openness at times like this, particularly with them both in uniform, and at the Academy, froze him in place.
Kirk said, ‘It’s fine. It really is. Don’t know what’s come over me lately. We agreed. We both agreed. It’s for the best. And I know how much you value your privacy.’ He took a steadying breath. Down the hall, the hum of noise from the lecture hall indicated that their presence was eagerly awaited.
Kirk inclined his head towards the sound and shot him a half smile. ‘Come on. Duty calls.’
After a moment, Spock nodded, and they moved towards the sound.
*
Despite already being lecturers at the Academy, neither officer was ever called upon to talk together, or specifically about their first famous mission, and word had got around. The lecture hall, when they entered, was packed out, with cadets and recent graduates of all ages sitting on every available surface and standing against any clear wall space. As they entered, a ripple ran through the waiting crowd, and the applause started, a smattering at first, then sweeping through the room like wildfire. There were even a few cheers.
Kirk looked over at Spock, who raised an eyebrow.
Jim sent through their bond: This the kind of reaction your lectures usually get?
It most assuredly is not.
Huh. Me neither.
He addressed the room at large, raising a hand. ‘Alright, that’s very kind, thank you. Sit down please, and let’s get started.’
Working through the highlights of their five-year mission in chronological order, he and Spock began to take it in turns to summarise and elucidate appropriate teaching points. They’d discussed their general approach beforehand, but decades at each other’s side had rendered any detailed agreement on approach unnecessary, as they bounced off each other and anticipated the other’s words with the ease of experience.
After an initial jolt of alarm at the sheer weight of expectation that the number of attendees and enthusiasm of their welcome had engendered, as the first hour went by, Kirk began to relax.
He had anticipated almost a quiz on the decisions he had taken, and had reviewed some of his personal logs to remind himself of his thoughts at the time of some of the more controversial ones. But their entire audience were treating the missions as some kind of Starfleet gospel. As if the decisions taken by Captain Kirk and his famous crew couldn’t possibly be wrong. We’re history, he thought. Great.
They’d decided in advance to take questions as they went along, which proved a good decision, as the atmosphere in the hall soon relaxed into an easy give and take. It also told both men quickly that their audience were extremely well informed, obviating the need to over simplify or contextualise most of their missions. It became increasingly apparent that the student body had come prepared: more than once, Kirk found himself confronted with quotes from his own logs or mission reports that he had no memory of making.
Spock, he noticed, had no similar difficulty. Listening to his former science officer field a technical question about the functioning of the Enterprise’s transporter system during the destruction of the Constellation, Jim wondered anew why his technical memory had survived Genesis apparently unscathed, whilst it had taken – was still taking – time for him to recall their prior relationship in any detail. He pushed the thought aside as unhelpful, and focussed on the task at hand.
Later, as Spock launched into a detailed aside on the Horta of Janus VI, to the obvious delight of the wide-eyed xenobiologist who had asked the question, Jim found his mind wandering again. He had had no idea, before that mission, of the existence of the Vulcan mind meld. Prior to assuming command of the Enterprise, he had done significant research on the customs and practices of Vulcans and remembered feeling sure he knew exactly what to expect upon meeting his then science officer for the first time. How spectacularly wrong that assumption had proved.
As the time passed, and the good humour and forbearance of the Enterprise’s erstwhile command team was demonstrated, the questions grew bolder and less strictly connected to the mission logs as reported. Briefly wondering if he should rein it in, and then deciding to see where it went, Kirk listened in admiration as Spock sidestepped and redirected a question so skilfully that the questioner wasn’t even aware it had happened. Any further down that conversational road would have led to questions about the Guardian planet, and the artefact thereon, knowledge of which was still restricted to only the highest-ranking Starfleet officers and civilian scientists.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk caught sight of a young human woman on the third row: pale, dark-haired, with delicate features and a dark tunic, and for a moment his mind supplied an image of Edith Keeler. ‘You? At his side, as if you’ve always been there, and always will.’ He sucked in a breath against the unexpected stab of emotion the image evoked. He hadn’t thought of Edith in a long time. He and Spock had been years away from the acknowledgement of the feelings that had grown between them as their first five-year mission went by. Had Edith seen – something - even then? She had been oddly, brilliantly prescient. He realised with a start that Spock had finished speaking and he hadn’t been listening. Tuning back into the conversation he gave himself a mental shake.
The conversation had taken something of a segue away from their specific missions to a more general discussion on first contacts, and the necessity for frontline officers to be diplomats, as well as explorers, or soldiers. Spock was emphasising the importance of thorough preparation in the customs and practices of new species prior to first contact, and Jim nodded along.
‘What may seem a minor concern to you, may be mortal offence to the species concerned.’
Kirk added, ‘True. And make sure you’ve had science and medical review every surface scan for substances hazardous to the physical or mental health of anyone on board. In fact, get them to do it twice. Even then, it’s a safe bet something will get missed.’
A voice from the third row said, ‘Like on Omicron Ceti III, sir?’
Kirk had to fight not to roll his eyes. ‘Yes, Ensign. Just like that.’
The ensign in question added, ‘Sir, in your log from that mission, you stated that you were hoping to persuade then Commander Spock to be the first to return to the Enterprise. Given that there was then no antidote to the spores of Omicron Ceti Three, and the only way to counteract the agent was to invoke strong emotion, I was wondering why you chose Commander Spock as the first person to be retrieved?’
Kirk said, slightly bemused, ‘Well he was my first officer, Ensign.’
‘The point I think the Ensign is politely skirting around,’ Spock said mildly at his side, ‘is that someone from a species other than one renowned for not displaying emotion might have been a more logical choice. Any human crew member, for example.’
Kirk crossed his arms, looked at his bondmate in amusement. ‘Any human? You make it sound like riling you up was hard.’
Spock blinked at him. ‘You were – highly provoking. As I recall, your exact words were – ‘
Kirk said quickly, ‘We really don’t need to get into – ‘
‘ – “you mutinous, disloyal, computerized half-breed.” That being one of your milder insults.’
There was a shocked silence, followed by slightly nervous laughter as Spock arched an eyebrow at his former Captain and Kirk buried his face in his hands.
Against the amusement in the hall, Kirk raised a hand. ‘Please note the highly extenuating circumstances and never, ever insult any of your officers in such an egregious way unless they are under the influence of an alien pathogen which can only be neutralized in such a manner and you're facing the desertion of your entire crew.’
He shot Spock a ‘thanks for that’ look and felt suppressed amusement through their bond. ‘To return to the original question,’ he said pointedly, ‘First contact is one of the most important missions you can be asked to undertake. It has ramifications for the entire Federation.’ To their suddenly deadly serious faces, he said, ‘So basically: don’t screw it up.’
There was more laughter.
‘Sir.’ He turned to an earnest cadet in medical blues towards the back of the auditorium. ‘Since your mission, there have been more studies on the effects of long term deep space missions on mental health and relationships. Between you both, yourself and Captain Spock still hold the record for the least amount of leave taken during an extended mission by a command team, and yet your performance was apparently unaffected. What would your advice be to other command teams seeking to emulate you?’
‘There's a record for that?’ Jim looked across to his former first officer. ‘Did you know that?’
‘I did not.’
Kirk huffed out a breath, said lightly, ‘I – honestly, I think my advice would be – take more leave.’ He paused, considering. ‘But more seriously, I’d say it’s not about how much leave you take as when you take it. You should know yourself well enough to know when you need to take a break, before your performance is impaired.’
He felt Spock readying to speak next to him, and added, ‘Or have a first officer who’s not above manipulating you into taking leave.’
Spock said quickly, ‘I would object to the term manipulate -'
‘You gave me a report on a crewman exhibiting signs of stress whose performance efficiency had dropped nine percent and didn’t tell me it was mine until after I signed off on the leave.’
Amused and expectant faces turned to Spock as he said, ‘And if you had been performing at optimum efficiency, you would have asked. Thereby proving my point.’
Kirk spread his hands to the hall, in a ‘you see what I had to put up with’ gesture, and there was more laughter. It occurred to him that he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying himself a little at this point. The obvious affection and respect in which he and Spock were held by their audience was worryingly seductive.
‘As for relationships. Now.’ He held up a hand. ‘I am aware that this is an area in which my reputation precedes me slightly.’ There were knowing smiles around the hall and Kirk grinned back, all easy charm and camaraderie, and the hall, which had been eating out of his hand for the last two hours, fell even further under his spell.
Only Spock, standing a little to his side, felt the sudden tiredness and weight the conversation had for his mate. He realised, then, that something had changed for Jim since Genesis. As the years passed, he had cared less and less for his playboy reputation. And now, after almost losing the love of his life, it was a burden he longed to cast aside. One that he carried only because he believed it pleased his bondmate.
To the hall, Jim was saying, ‘But despite that, I am deadly serious here. And this goes especially for those of you on the command track: do not sleep with anyone in your direct line of command. I know, you’re out there a long time, it’s tempting, but do not do it. It compromises you, it compromises them.’ The hall had fallen seriously silent again, taking in his words, so he added lightly, ‘And if I managed to refrain for five years, I’m sure you'll all have no trouble.’
There was burst of laughter, even as, next to him, Spock frowned slightly.
Kirk added, warming to his subject, ‘I won’t lie to you. It’s tough on relationships. I’m sure we’ve all heard the rumours that Starfleet is considering having families on board ships of the line. I think that's a terrible idea. The job is far too dangerous. But I understand where that impulse is coming from.
‘This life we’ve all chosen is challenging enough. If it also means there’s no-one to go home to at the end of it? That’s tough. But is it worth it? God, yes. Categorically, yes.'
He paused for a moment, taking in the riveted faces around the hall. ‘That being said, your career is important. Your work is important. You should reach for all the stars you’ve ever dreamed of. But if during your journey you find someone, the other half of your soul, your thousandth man, then don’t hesitate to pursue them with the same fervour. Your career won’t bring you comfort in your old age or give you the courage to do more than you dreamed. Never take them for granted.’
Spock felt a wave of love though their bond, amplified and equalled by his own love for this remarkable human. He looked down until he could be absolutely certain there was no evidence of it on his face. And then, after it, so quickly dismissed he almost missed it, a wistful feeling it took him a few seconds to pin down, rare as it was from Jim. I wish-
Spock straightened, his gaze travelling around the room. That sea of eager, responsive, sympathetic faces. He said clearly, ‘Your earlier statement, Captain, was technically untrue.’
Kirk smiled easily at him, then back at the hall. ‘Okay Spock, I’ll bite: where did I go wrong?’
To the hall, he added, ‘The only disadvantage of a Vulcan first officer: not indulging your love of hyperbole or fallible memory.’
This brought another ripple of laughter. Spock waited for it to die down before he said clearly, ‘You did sleep with a member of the crew under your direct command on our first five-year mission.’
There was an audible intake of breath, followed by a stunned, anticipatory silence through the room as Kirk turned to stare at him.
Through their bond, Spock heard, as clearly as if it were spoken, Spock, what the hell?
Spock kept his face a careful study in total neutrality. Even Kirk, a long-term student of all Spock’s subtlest expressions, was getting nothing.
You slept with me ten point five hours before the Enterprise docked. Eleven before we were officially relieved of duty.
Eleven hours? You're disputing with me for eleven hours?
Not disputing T'hy’la, merely clarifying. And now Jim felt, beneath the bare words, and Spock’s carefully neutral expression, the depth of affection. And love. And over all, a thread of amusement at Jim’s utterly dumbfounded expression.
Oh god. We’re really doing this? You’re outing us as a couple? Here? Now?
I have merely corrected your erroneous statement.
Wow. You – You really pick your moments.
I would have you have that which you desire.
Spock gently reflected back to him his unspoken desire from earlier.
Kirk swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. You’re sure? I mean, you’ve never – I thought you preferred to keep things -
I am proud to call you my bondmate. I would like to do so in public. You are the finest being it is my privilege to know. And you are mine.
Spock’s expression under Kirk’s examining gaze had not changed. Kirk was sure his every emotion was writ large on his face. Tears pricked his eyes and he blinked them back, running a hand across his mouth as he turned back to the hall.
The hall. Which was enveloped in a silence so profound it was as if two hundred plus occupants were trying as one to render themselves invisible.
Every eye met Kirks and he was suddenly aware that neither he nor Spock had spoken for - what? A minute? More? He cleared his throat.
‘As Captain Spock has helpfully reminded me, I was – intimate with - an officer under my command eleven hours’ – he shot a side eye to Spock- ‘before the end of our five-year mission. So. Yes. I suppose - that does count.’ A fierce, intense whispering filled the hall.
‘Regretting it now though,’ Kirk added dryly, sending a nudge of affection through the bond.
He raised his voice slightly over the sotto voce speculation, ‘And my previous statement about the inadvisability still stands. Although I feel my authority on that score is somewhat diminished.’
There was another ripple of laughter which was almost immediately drowned by the susurration of sound. Jim heard names being bandied around and sighed. The list of original Enterprise officers was famous. And short.
We're going to need to spell this out for them. I’m not having people thinking I slept with Bones.
The ripple of amused horror through the bond was so strong he glanced quickly to the side to glimpse one of Spock’s almost-smiles before it vanished.
Actually, Commander Uhura is the prime suspect.
Ah yes. I’m a lady's man. I forgot.
‘Who?!’
The inevitable call was from the back of the room, one of the cadets, braver than her fellows, despite being hidden by most of them. Unusually, her identity remained concealed by dint of the fact that no one turned to look at her, eschewing embarrassing a fellow cadet in favour of staring expectantly at Kirk.
Jim felt the need to clear his throat again, swallowing against a mouth gone suddenly dry. He was saved from the need to speak by movement to his left. Spock raised his hand to Jim’s, fingers extended. Kirk released a breath he hadn't known he was holding and gazed gratefully at his bondmate as he trailed his fingers against Spock’s, a gesture as familiar and loved as breathing.
There was a sharp intake of breath from multiple directions, followed by another fierce susurration of whispering as cadets too raw to recognise the Vulcan ozh'esta had the gesture explained by their more experienced colleagues. The words ‘Vulcan kiss’ were audible even to Kirk. He pulled his gaze from Spock and lowered his hand.
‘Does anyone have any more questions?’
A forest of hands shot up.
‘That aren’t about myself and Captain Spock.’
Most of the hands lowered sheepishly. Kirk rolled his eyes and looked at Spock, gesturing to the hall. ‘You see what you did? We're not going to get a single sensible question now.’
He looked back at the hall. Technically the time for this presentation was over ten minutes ago, but the atmosphere in the room was even more rapt than when they began four hours previously. Eager faces met his gaze, bursting to ask more questions.
He sighed. ‘Okay, we’ve got twenty minutes before your other tutors come looking for you. Captain Spock will be answering the questions from now on, since he’s in a such a revelatory mood today.’ He leaned back against the desk at the front of the hall and crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows at Spock.
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow in turn and faced the hall. A voice on the front row said in fascination, ‘How did you keep it a secret?’
Before Spock could answer, Kirk said with a slightly irritated sigh, ‘We weren’t exactly doing it on the bridge, cadet.’
A frisson through the bond made Kirk’s eyes widen slightly. Spock! Don’t you bloody dare contradict me on that. She was in dry dock, half dismantled, and we were almost fully dressed. It doesn’t count.
Spock shot him an innocent look as the questioner flushed to her hairline and laughter echoed around the hall. Taking pity on her, Spock said, ‘There was no deliberate attempt at secrecy. The Admiralty was informed of our change of status.’
Kirk muttered under his breath, 'And wasn’t that fun.’
‘However,’ Spock continued, ‘We have made, and continue to make, efforts at discretion - ’
‘Until today,’ Kirk interrupted wryly, ‘Captain Chatty.’ There was another ripple of laughter.
Spock carried on as if he hadn’t spoken, ‘- due to the level of public interest in the activities of the Enterprise and her crew, particularly following the events on Genesis, and the retrieval of the whales.’
Up to this point, Starfleet had cause to be proud of its cadet cohort. Despite severe provocation, and desperate curiosity, they had, as instructed, kept their questions confined to the first five-year mission, and avoided all mention of Spock’s reported death, the Genesis project, the stealing and destruction of the Enterprise, and the addition to San Francisco Bay of George and Gracie. But at Spock’s mention of the most famous, speculated about, and closely guarded sequence of events in Starfleet history, discipline broke down entirely.
Questions were shouted from all over the hall.
Kirk snapped, ‘Attention.’
Everyone in the hall straightened, and the silence was instant. Keeping his face straight against their chagrined expressions, Kirk said, ‘One at a time cadets, or no-one at all.’
Spock nodded at a young Vulcan cadet on the second row whose hand was raised.
She said seriously, ‘Sir, is it true that you died at Genesis and that the fal-tor-pan ritual was used to bring you back?’
Kirk felt a cold hand touch his heart. He lowered his eyes briefly against the quick stab of distress the question generated. He heard, Ashayam, we need not continue with this line of questioning. We were advised not to speak of it, and our time here is technically over.
No, it’s fine. That just – got personal fast.
Do you wish me to answer? Her curiosity is understandable, given the rarity of the ritual, but we need not discuss it.
I’m okay. Go ahead.
He heard Spock say calmly, ‘It is true, cadet.’
She said, almost disbelieving, shock not quite successfully hidden behind the serious exterior, ‘Sir, there is no recorded successful attempt at that ritual in Vulcan’s history.’
Spock said mildly, 'Indeed. Before three years ago. It was, as your human colleagues would say, a long shot.’
This earned him smiles around the riveted auditorium and a quiet huff of laughter from Kirk, who muttered, ‘A long shot. Dear God.’
The questioner continued, with a hesitant glance at Kirk, ‘And you were bonded to Captain Kirk at the time?’
Kirk felt the protective flare the question generated, and before Spock could shut down the line of questioning, he said simply, ‘Yes. He was.’
She looked directly at Kirk, ‘Then I grieve for thee, Captain.’ The obvious sympathy in her gaze took him by surprise.
‘Thank you, Cadet, but all’s well that ends well. Captain Spock is still with us, and he saved the ship.’
She nodded, her expression still grave. Next to her, an earnest young man in the uniform of the command track, who was following the conversation with rapt attention, blurted out, ‘Did you-’ As Kirk’s eyes flicked to him, he broke off, then swallowed and asked, ‘Did you order him to, sir?’
Kirk said quietly, but the sound echoed clearly through the absolutely silent room, ‘No.’
Spock said, ‘The Captain was preoccupied with defending the ship from direct attack. I took the decision upon myself as the person most suitable to undertake the necessary repairs to the plasma conduits surrounding the warp drive.’
Kirk shifted against the desk, laid his hands down to support himself. ‘I don’t think that was quite your question though, was it, Ensign?’ He looked back at the young man. He can’t remember being that green, but he knows what question the young man is trying to ask. The day every commander prays will never come. The young man looked grateful, ‘Not exactly, sir, no. I wanted to know, if Captain Spock hadn’t - would you have - ‘ he tailed off under Kirk’s hollow gaze.
‘Would I have ordered my bondmate to his death?’ He knows the answer, of course. They all know the answer. The theoretical answer, at least, is always yes. To save the ship, yes. For the needs of the many, yes.
Sensing his preoccupation, Spock began, ‘The question - ‘
Kirk said, ‘No.’
There was an audible intake of breath around the hall.
Spock stopped, and stared at him. ‘I’m sorry, Captain?’
He looked back at his bondmate, whole and healthy and alive, and said again, ‘No. I would have ordered Captain Spock to remain on the bridge, and attempted the repairs myself.’
He looked back to the hall. ‘And I would have failed. The ship would have been destroyed.’
Kirk took a steadying breath. Spock was staring at him now, as rapt the cadets around him. Jim -
‘And that is why the myth of the invincible starship captain is so much crap. You are only as good as your crew. Only ever as good as the people around you. The people you entrust your life to, every day. Pick them carefully, value them, and if you are even one tenth as lucky as I was, you’ll find they make you be even better than you thought you could be. They’ll fight for you, they’ll die for you, and you won’t deserve it. But the ship will. Your crew will. And it’s your job to bring them home. So you live with it.
‘Captain Spock walked into that warp core chamber of his own volition, knowing the outcome, so I wouldn’t be put in the position of giving that order. So there was no chance I would argue with him, and be wrong. So that I wouldn’t have to live with ordering him to die.
‘And he was right. Any human would have died in the attempt. But I didn’t know that for sure, not until afterwards. And we’ll never know for certain, but standing here right now -’ he looked at Spock, so vital and alive, and his treacherous mind supplied the image that Spock has never remembered: his radiation ravaged face against the plexiglass of the warp chamber, and he gave the honest answer, ‘ - I think I would have rolled the dice.’
The silence that followed was profound. Spock had turned to him, but was shielding their bond now, as he habitually did when his emotions were unexpectedly engaged, despite Jim’s objections, so Jim couldn't feel him at all as Spock said quietly, ‘Then, perhaps, it is fortunate you were not given the choice.’
Kirk looked at him levelly. ‘Maybe. But you still should have asked. My ship. My call.’ He realized as he said it that there was still a small part of him: an unworthy, ungrateful part, that was angry with his bondmate. For making that choice without him, when their professional and personal relationships demanded Kirk’s involvement. For everything they went through afterwards, and for all they lost.
Spock looked at him for a long moment, then dropped his gaze. Technically, Jim knew he was right, but in that moment that kernel of anger he hadn’t even known he was holding dropped away, and he was just an ungrateful, petty bastard, staring at a man he didn’t deserve.
He said quietly, ‘Spock, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -’
Spock looked up. ‘You are correct. The decision was yours to make, but Captain, you are wrong in one particular. I did not consult you because time and circumstance did not allow it. Not because I thought you would make the wrong choice. I believed then, and I believe now, that even knowing only what you did then, that you would have ordered me to fix the warp core. You have ordered me to risk my life in the past and although I hope that circumstances will never render it necessary, I have no doubt you would do so again.’
He was shielding less, then, and Kirk felt Spock’s absolute and unshakeable faith in him, in his command, and his decisions. And suddenly he no longer cared whether their relationship was shouted from the rooftops: he just wanted to have this over with, and be alone with his bondmate.
He turned to the hall. ‘Last question.’
There was a notable exhale of disappointment. He glanced over the audience, and picked an Andorian woman near the back, blue medical sciences uniform standing out amongst the red command shirts around her. ‘Yes, Ensign.’
She said immediately, ‘Admiral, what would you say was the effect on your working relationship of being bonded to your first officer?’
Kirk tilted his head. It was a good question, and one that probably required a serious and lengthy answer. He wondered idly if she was one of the new breed of proposed ships counsellors. In spite of the circumstances, he felt oddly free, as if a weight he hadn’t known he was carrying had been suddenly lifted.
He said lightly, ‘Well, for a start, you get a lot more back chat.’
At his side, Spock straightened and said archly, ‘That is not an accurate summation.’
Kirk said, ‘See?’
Laughter echoed around the hall.
*
In the dim glow from the distant stars, and the light from the bay, Jim sat and flicked through his - unexpectedly numerous - messages from the day. Astonishing how fast word had got around. Even Bones had heard about their lecture, and had sent him an amused message about ‘that damn Vulcan of yours.’
Kirk smiled and hit reply as Spock’s lithe form dropped into the opposite chair.
‘Bones thinks you’re getting sentimental in your old age. Outing us like that.’
Spock looked at him from across the table, eyebrow arched, ‘You evinced a desire for our relationship to be more widely acknowledged. We are neither in each other’s direct chain of command. Neither are we currently in active command of a front-line starship. There is no further need for discretion, even without tacit approval from Starfleet command. The doctor, as is typical, is ascribing emotional motives where none exist.’
Kirk grinned. ‘I’ll give him your love.’
Another eyebrow raised to join the first, but Spock voiced no complaint as Kirk composed and sent his reply.
As Kirk set down the padd, Spock said meditatively, ‘I found today – fascinating.’
‘Oh?’
‘As we were recalling the events, my memories of them were – rekindled. More intensely than I have experienced since the fal-tor-pan.’
Kirk shifted in his chair to fully face his bondmate. ‘Spock, that’s great. Any in particular?’
‘You. In particular.’
Kirk blinked in surprise and offered a half smile. ‘Well, we did spend a lot of time together back then.’
‘Indeed. But the memories that re-occurred today were specifically in regards to my reactions to you, not the events we lived together. I believe I have remembered – falling in love with you.’
Kirk stared at his bondmate, as his heart leapt in his chest. ‘When - when did -?’
Spock said thoughtfully, ‘ I cannot identify the precise moment. For a long time I believed my feelings were simply- friendship. As I had not had so close a friend before, I thought such intensity of emotion was perhaps – usual in such circumstances.’
Kirk could feel a smile threatening to break across his face. ‘And when did you think – it might not be?’
‘I believe the first time the thought truly occurred was after your experience on Amerind.’
Kirk said soberly, ‘Miramanee.’
Spock nodded. ‘I was – distressed by your experience. I believed my feelings for you to be inappropriate as your second in command, and unbecoming of a Vulcan officer. I was ashamed and afraid.'
Jim said, compassionately, ‘Spock.’ And reached for his bondmate’s hand, clasping the long fingers in his. He shook his head and smiled. ‘You spent the entire final year of our mission fighting the idea that you were inappropriately attracted to your Captain? We were quite the lovesick pair.’
Spock raised an eyebrow. ‘No, Jim. I spent the final year of our mission fighting the growing certainty that I loved you. My desire for you predated that realisation by more than a year.’
Kirk stared at him. ‘Wait, what? When did you realise you – wanted me?’
Spock looked uncomfortable. ‘During - my time. I thought it was a symptom of the blood fever. I believed that my feelings of friendship for you had become confused with the feelings I should have had for T’Pring.’
Kirk gaped, ‘Pon farr? That first time? You wanted - me?’
Spock looked embarrassed. ‘I did. Until I believed I had killed you, and the fever broke.’
Kirk took a steadying breath. ‘I - I wish you’d said something.'
‘It would have been deeply inappropriate, given our relative positions and my supposed marriage. And your feelings did not then reflect my own. I would have risked your friendship and your regard for mere – gratification.’
It was Kirk’s turn to raise his eyebrows. ‘I’m not so sure about that - I don’t think I’d have taken a great deal of persuasion. I hated the thought of you marrying T’Pring.’
‘I found I also – did not relish the idea.’ He stopped then said suddenly, ‘Jim, I – I am sorry.’
Kirk looked at him in surprise, ‘Spock, for what?’
His bondmate’s expression was neutral, but Jim could feel sadness and guilt through their unshielded bond. Spock said, ‘Through my action – or inaction – I have cost us both a great deal of time. Time that we could have been together.’
Kirk stood, rounded the small table, and knelt beside Spock’s chair. ‘Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. It’s not - logical to mourn the past.’
Spock arched an eyebrow at him, and Jim smiled. ‘Especially not when we could be enjoying the present.’ He leaned forward, Spock did likewise, and they met in a gentle kiss.
As they drew apart, Spock said warmly, ‘As ever, I find myself persuaded by your – unassailable logic.’
Jim grinned. ‘That’s me. Always the logical one.'
He raised his bondmate’s hand and kissed it lightly. ‘Thank you. Thank you for today. For the lecture, for – all of it. It –‘ he swallowed. ‘It meant a lot.’
‘I hope you did not feel I undermined -'
Kirk smiled. ‘I think my reputation can stand some undermining. Although,’ he regarded his bondmate with amusement, ‘now that you mention it, I remember you told me you were delivering a lecture at the Vulcan Science Academy next month. Why don’t I come along? I can tell all your scientific colleagues how they too can spend five years pushing the boundaries of scientific understanding in the galaxy all whilst seducing their commanding officer.’
Spock looked at him with affection. ‘You may not. Now your weakness for science officers is well known, I intend to keep you away from all science personnel. To avoid temptation.’
Jim looked up at him. Sometimes it felt like his affection for his man was so strong it would beat his heart right out of his chest. He said with conviction, ‘You’re all the temptation I need.’ He rose, and tugged the unresisting Vulcan with him. ‘Come on. Let’s go make up for some of that lost time.’
*