A/N: so I lied about this being ten parts- it is now eleven. I added this part on a fantastic whim because I really wanted to write this for some reason? I made myself sad doing it, though…..well, anyway, carry on.

Making Good

Jim visits an old friend.

"It's been a while, sir."

The words came awkwardly to Jim and he cleared his throat self-consciously, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Sorry about that. Shore leave procedures are a pain in the ass." He paused, contemplating the white gravestone with not a little helplessness. "I didn't bring any flowers or anything, if that's okay with you. You probably weren't into that kind of thing anyway, right?"

The cemetery was silent, other than a couple of enthusiastic birds in the distance. Jim sighed heavily and crouched down, resting his arms on his knees. "I'm not very good at this," he informed the gravestone wryly. "To be honest, I almost didn't come, but...well, someone convinced me."

There was an unfortunate lump in his throat that he battled valiantly, swallowing around the damn thing before he could talk again. "You made a good call, appointing him as first officer. A real champ, that Spock." He gave a small chuckle, the corner of his mouth raising ruefully. "He's too good for me, really."

There was a weed encroaching against the gravestone. Jim pulled at it absently, uprooting it and shredding the leaves between his fingers. "She's doing real good, our ship. Well, it was your ship first. The crew misses you, I think. Can't say I blame them, with me in charge now." His grin faded slightly. "I miss you, too."

The damn lump was back again.

"I miss you," Jim repeated, not knowing what else to say. "You...you were the closest thing I had for a dad, you know? And if it wasn't for you...that night...I wouldn't have- Well. I wouldn't be here now, I guess. And I wouldn't have met Spock." He took a deep breath. "So, thank you. For everything. I think...well, I like to think that my life started when I met you. I know you're an Admiral now, but...you were always the captain, to me."

He coughed, unsettled by the prickling sensation behind his eyes. "I just wish you could be here, you know? To see all this. Did you know Chekov was only seventeen? You cradle robber. He's doing great, though- they all are. Sulu and Uhura and Bones and, well, I guess you don't really know Scotty. You'd be proud of them. And...I hope you'd be proud of me, too. I'm trying, sir. I'm trying to be better, I-" His voice cracked and he stopped abruptly, taking another shuddering breath.

"I want to make you proud." The silence was deafening. Jim hesitated, then cleared his throat again and pushed himself to his feet. He reached out and patted the gravestone gruffly. The white stone was cool beneath his hand, the rougher flecks scraping against his palm.

"He makes me a better person," Jim told the stone quietly. "A better captain. And that's all I ever wanted to be." He suddenly wondered if Spock would come visit him like this when he died. It was an inevitable thing; they were always going to have to part like this. In a way, he was relieved that he would go first, because there was no life without Spock. Not anymore. And Spock would be fine without him, he knew. He would grieve, certainly, but he would move on because it was the right thing to do. Spock had always been stronger than Jim, after all.

A shadow fell across him, and he was still for a moment before sighing. "I thought you weren't going to come."

"I changed my mind." Spock moved forward to stand beside him. Shoulder to shoulder, they gazed down at the grave of Christopher Pike, Jim unconsciously leaning over until his arm pressed against Spock's.

"I believe that he would have been proud of you," Spock said finally, and shifted so that the back of his hand bumped against Jim's. It was little things like this that made Jim love him even more, small touches and gestures that showed that he cared. "As I am proud of you."

Jim glanced at him sidelong. "Yeah?"

"Yes." Spock bumped his hand again, fingers reaching out blindly this time and clasping Jim's palm to his.

Jim raised an eyebrow at that, but tightened his grip all the same. "Someone's in a good mood today," he murmured, feeling Spock's thumb brush over his knuckles in a brief caress.

"Appreciative," Spock corrected, gazing down at the grave solemnly.

Jim was quiet as he realized what Spock was saying. Or not saying, rather. He scratched at the back of his head with his free hand, feeling utterly lost and out of his depth. "You know….you do know that I'm planning to live to one hundred and thirty, right?"

"That is improbable."

"Shut up, let me have my moment." He squeezed Spock's hand gently. "What I'm saying is, you'll have me for the rest of my life. And beyond. If you want." He finished lamely, puttering out a bit by the end of the sentence.

Spock was silent as he contemplated this. When he turned his head to look at Jim, there was a softness in his eyes that only appeared when they were alone. Jim prided himself ridiculously on being able to bring out that expression. "I would like that," he murmured, almost to himself.

"Good. It's a deal, then."

And it was one he swore he would make good on.