Captain Malhotra was fairly certain that events had transpired thusly:
The Klingons had somehow discovered that Pyrius IV contained heavy deposits of dilithium. These dilithium deposits had likely been located too far underground for any cursory scans of the planet to detect, particularly since it had been several decades since anyone had really bothered to look. At this discovery, they had begun illegal trade with the Irri in order to obtain the dilithium. The Irri, clever as they were, eventually devised a weapon to bring down several Klingon ships. At some point after this, however, the Klingons offered them further trade enticements in order to obtain the weapon. The Enterprise and the Nelson had then offered convenient targets for them to test this new technology on.
Captain Kirk was pretty sure shit had gone down more like this:
The Klingons had been planning a strategic strike against the Federation by targeting the new Vulcan colony. However, while they were doing reconnaissance for that strike, they'd needed to set themselves up in temporary orbit around another planet. In the process of finding a suitable one, they stumbled on Pyrius IV, and its dilithium deposits. He was running on his own theory that nuclear radiation reacted differently with the Irri's terrain and either created a substance which sensors misread as dilithium, or else actually made dilithium. Mostly that was just to be contrary, though. He figured the Klingons had started sending away teams down to the planet to steal the dilithium – because if they were going to do something illegal, they probably wouldn't both to do it by halves. When the Irri started noticing the ships in orbit they took their experimental weapon, rigged it up, and brought them down. So, naturally, another group of Klingons had come to investigate, figured out what had happened, and sent another away team down via shuttle this time to steal the weapon instead of the dilithium for a change of pace.
Either way, once the Klingon ships met the Federation ones, the vessel with the Irri weapon onboard had opened fire on the Enterprise. The crew of the Nelson had been pretty sure they were going to be a very dead flagship in a matter of minutes, and had opened retaliatory fire, engaging the Klingon vessels. But the Enterprise had held itself together – to everyone's shock – modulating her shields, sending out a jamming signal on every available frequency, and venting their warp nacelles (thank you, Scotty, who'd thought of that before Jim had). Apparently the barely-visible energy beam created by the Irri weapon didn't react well to having warp plasma shoved in it. The weapon had overloaded, as far as anyone could tell, and blew off half the Klingon vessel's bridge.
It was probably inappropriate to derive as much satisfaction from that as he did. Fortunately, Jim had never been too concerned with what was appropriate, particularly within the privacy of his own mind.
The Nelson had then easily destroyed the crippled Klingon cruiser, as well as another of the vessels, and had managed to damage the third to the point of actually capturing it. Which either meant the Klingons onboard were feeling particularly not-Klingon, or that their self-destruct mechanism had failed. Jim was banking on the latter.
All of this was well and good and enlightening, although whether they'd be able to get anything out of the captured Klingons was questionable. The problem really came in as they were discussing where to go from there.
"Your ship's damaged, Captain," Malhotra said in her same patient – and now somewhat exasperated – tones. "You're in no fit state to proceed in any investigation."
Jim was frowning, leaning against Bones' desk and trying to look less tired than he was. "I'm aware of that, thanks," he replied. "But my crew's invested in this mission. We can't back out now." Malhotra was of the opinion that the Enterprise should return to Vulcan II – they wouldn't be able to get much further with the state of their engines – and begin repairs on their ship. Which was fine with Jim, except he wanted to do a patch-up job to see them through for now, carry on with the investigation into the Irri situation, and then head for Vulcan II.
Both of them were running out of their already fragile patience with each other. "Alright," Malhotra said at length. "We'll compromise – the Nelson will proceed with the mission, and the Enterprise will return to Vulcan II. But. We'll trade several crewmembers in order to keep a presence from your ship established in the process," she offered, spreading her hands diplomatically. "We're within communications range, so I'll keep you well appraised of our findings. Will that satisfy you, Captain?" she asked.
No, Jim thought. He knew, however, that it was the best he was going to get – and to be honest, he wanted to see to his ship's status pretty urgently as well. Still, it was a bitch to lose a mission.
"…Alright," he conceded, wondering who he should send over. "Select some possible candidates from your crew compliment, and I'll do the same."
Malhotra relaxed a little, as if she'd expected him to continue being belligerent about it, and offered him a pleased smile. "I'm glad we're agreed," she said. "Now – I'm sure both of us have more on our plates than we'd care for. I'll let you rest and see to your ship, and I'll send my list as soon as I may." She rose from her seat, then, and even though it would have been polite, Jim didn't quite have the energy to stand with her.
"Captain?" he did ask as she was leaving, however. With a pause Malhotra turned back to him, her expression inquiring. Jim gave her a slightly bitter smile. "I'll hold you to your promise to keep me appraised."
After a moment, the other captain nodded. "I'm sure you will, Kirk," she replied, and Jim couldn't tell if she was amused by him, antagonized by him, or impressed by him. Maybe all three.
He kind of did that to people.
With another nod, Malhotra left, and Jim finally slumped over his CMO's desk and clenched his eyes shut. Not five seconds later Bones was there, muttering darkly under his breath about how being a captain must transmit a contagious form of idiocy, because every damn captain he'd met was clearly deficient in common sense, and injecting him with something else despite his protests against it.
"I was like this before I was a captain," Jim pointed out.
"You've always been a damn captain," Bones muttered. "You just didn't have a ship before." Then he checked his bandages, and with an approving nod, moved off to other patients. Jim took a moment to appreciate the fact that the man was probably dead on his feet by now. The Nelson would be sending over some of their medical personnel temporarily, until Scotty could confidently get them Warp One and let them head for Vulcan II.
Damn. It felt retreating. And he'd have to get the remaining Irri back to their world, which would be simultaneously a relief and a tragedy.
Standing, he decided to go check on Spock. Then he'd get back to business.
When he got to the alcove, however, he found that he wasn't the only one who'd had that idea. Spock looked to be sleeping again, but Uhura was there. She had one eye on him, and a relieved look to her face. But then she saw Jim, and it closed off a little.
"Captain," she said formally.
"Lieutenant," he replied, wondering why he was getting the cold treatment. He'd thought she was starting to – well, warm up to him, more or less. At least ceasing the subversive (and not-so-subversive) hostility.
She frowned a little bit at him.
Jim decided he wasn't up to playing detective. He had to use code to decipher enough of Spock's actions and motivations, he wasn't about to extend that effort for every person he knew. "Why are you all pissy again?" he asked.
Her eyes narrowed at him a little bit. "Why didn't you say anything on the bridge?" she asked back.
…Huh?
"You're going to have to be a little more specific," he informed her. "Because I remember saying a lot of things on the bridge, so I sure as hell can't remember what it is I didn't say."
She folded her arms. He was starting to notice she did that when she was about to verbally give him the business. "When I told you his condition was stable. You didn't even bat an eyelash!"
Jim looked at her for a long minute. He was debating on what to say to that. On the one hand, that whole period of time was starting to become something of a disjointed blur in his memory now, because he'd been in such a weird state of mind for it. But he guessed, looking back, it could seem that he was just being an uncaring asshole. On the other hand – fuck this shit. He took a breath.
"What was I supposed to do?" he asked. "Cry? Fall to my knees and start thanking every deity I knew? Smile? We were in the middle of a crisis, Lieutenant."
"But you didn't even-"
"I couldn't," he insisted. "It's like you said when I was all geared up to carry him to sickbay. I couldn't leave the bridge – that counts mentally, too, and if I'd done it for five seconds, I didn't know if I'd get it back. I…" at that he trailed off a little, losing some steam.
Uhura's frown eased up some. "Just to be clear – you were worried about him?"
The response flew out almost defiantly. "I was fucking petrified over him, alright?"
He was a little surprised at the shift in her demeanor when he said that, her pleased smile and the way her shoulders relaxed. After all, he'd just yelled at her. That wasn't the usual reaction, even if she approved of his answer.
"I know," she admitted. "It was easy to figure out."
…He didn't get it. Stumped, Jim just stood there as she walked over to him, and patted his arm. Then she turned back towards where Spock was lying.
"Are you sleeping yet, Spock?" she asked, and if Jim hadn't already frozen up, then he would have.
"I am not. It is a difficult state to achieve when people are antagonizing the captain into raising his voice – an occurrence which seems peculiarly common over the past hour," he noted, and Jim looked at him to see that he'd woken, and his eyes were regarding him carefully now.
Uhura gave Jim's arm a second pat. "Sorry, Captain. I just wanted to make sure he knew," she said, and before he could formulate a response, she'd already walked off on her way.
He was still having trouble figuring out what was going on when Spock addressed him, and his attention was immediately drawn back to his first officer. "I believe Nyota was attempting to manipulate you into admitting to your concern over me. It is likely she is of the opinion that you would not have done so of your own volition," he said. "If I had known that was her intention, I would have made her aware of her actions' lack of necessity."
Pausing, Jim swallowed, and then walked over so he was standing directly next to Spock, on his less damaged side. "I was worried," he said. It wasn't like he'd have made a huge secret of it – at least not to Spock himself. Maybe he would have glossed it over a little, but he liked having some dignity, thanks. Well, most of the time anyway.
Spock looked at him. "I am aware of that fact," he said.
Given that Jim had just shouted about it, he was pretty sure half of the ship was aware of it now. That cat was entirely out of its bag. If it ever even had been in a bag to begin with – he was pretty sure they'd been 'discreet' more than necessarily secretive.
"How do you feel?" he asked, deciding to just change topics.
"My physical status is less than optimal," Spock replied. "It would be advisable for me to rest. However, if my presence is required, I believe I would be able to function."
"Rest," Jim said immediately. "If you don't, I'll sic Bones on you. You have no idea how terrifying that man is with a hypo."
"On the contrary," Spock replied. "I have witnessed his effects on the human 'flight' reflex several times." Then he reached up a little, and to Jim's brief surprise, took his hand. It wasn't the usual 'kiss' gesture. It was more like what a typical human would do, clasping them together at the palms, firm and warm. "Do not be concerned. Unlike yourself, I am reasonable in acknowledging my own limitations."
Jim snorted, and felt himself relax in a way that made him aware of just how wound up he'd been. "Yeah, right," he said, knowing full well that Spock could be as much of a stubborn idiot as he was when he'd been given the proper motivation. The hand within his own sent a pleasant current up his arm, wonderfully familiar now and very welcome. But after a moment, Spock released his grip, and Jim let him, leaving him to his rest.
The next order of business was to escape sickbay.
"Bye Bones!" he said cheerfully as he casually made his way towards the exit.
"Yeah, bye Ji – oh, goddammit, get back here!"
Sometimes that actually worked.
He turned a bit towards the CMO, and shrugged, still walking backwards to the exit. "Sorry, but duty calls. I feel fine anyway." Now that he'd crashed and had a chance to recover a little, he was ready to get everything dealt with.
Bones knew it would be a losing battle at this point. So he grudgingly let him go – too busy to stop him, really – and Jim hoped that the relief from the Nelson didn't annoy his CMO more than they helped him.
His steps slowed once he was clear of the medical bay, but not by much. He made his way up to the bridge, passing through the still too-dim corridors, and noting a few panels which members of his crew had cracked open in attempts at emergency repairs. Some were being closed off. Others were being left open, either for further work, or simply because they hadn't been seen to yet. To think they'd been in peak condition when they'd left spacedock, and now they were in a substantial mess.
Still, the computer repairs they'd needed done near Earth had been primarily because of the memory damage. There hadn't been any way to fix and replace the lost data without going in for it. But he was fairly certain his crew could handle these issues, as extensive as they were, and he was inclined to do it that way. Especially given the 'additional upgrades' they'd gotten the last time they docked. He'd have to have a long conversation with Scotty about it to be sure, though. That could wait until they got to Vulcan II.
In the meanwhile, they needed to fix what they could, and he had to pick some crewmembers to stand in for the Enterprise with the Nelson. He was a little uncertain of how to proceed with this. On the one hand, he wanted to send people he trusted, more or less, so he knew what was going on. Then again, he didn't want to break up his team when there was such extensive damage to deal with. He toyed with the idea of sending Giotto, but Security had a particular animosity towards the Nelson, and besides, he didn't feel like sending any of that team straight into another mission after what they'd just been through. There would be memorial services to be held, and if he could give them something of a break to recover, then he'd do that.
These thoughts preoccupied him as he came onto the bridge, and he paused for a moment.
He'd forgotten how much of it had been gutted in his impromptu attempt to repair the sensors. It looked like an elephant had torn through the stations, and everyone seemed tired and worn down and exhausted. He took a long look around.
"Anyone with a non-essential station, take a break," he instructed promptly. "We'll be drifting for a bit while the Nelson sends people over to help. Of course, you probably already knew that. Get some sleep if you need it and go to sickbay if you're injured."
There was a grateful shuffle of movement as people complied with his order, but still too many tired faces hard at work afterwards. He had a feeling this was going to be one of those times everyone looked back on as a tiny slice of hell.
After a minute, Jim made his way over to the helm, where Sulu and Chekov were both still hard at work. "You too, guys," he said. "Go rest – we won't be flying anywhere or shooting at anything for a while."
"Aye, Captain," Sulu said gratefully. Chekov looked like he might have protested and kept going, but the helmsman closed a hand around his arm and all but dragged him from his station.
Jim watched them, considering. "When you've recuperated," he said as they were leaving. "Come find me, alright? I've got something I want to run past you two."
The pair shared a glance, but then promptly agreed, and the next thing Jim knew it was just himself, several people from Maintenance and Engineering, and his bridge. Which at least wasn't sparking and spitting like an angry cat anymore. He went to update himself on how rebooting the computer system had worked out for them, and assess his ship's status a little more thoroughly.
A few hours later found him overseeing the Nelson's aid via the repaired internal communications system. Scotty had momentarily relocated from his beloved Engineering to do a few repairs which were better managed from the bridge, and his heavily accented mutterings could be heard drifting up from underneath a nearby console as he did something which Jim was pretty sure would be considered crazily brilliant by other engineers. They bonded a little over swearing about Klingons in between swearing at cables or the Nelson's crew.
Scotty remained tactfully quiet about the green smears he had to clear off of several sections. After a while, though, he put down his hyperspanner, clapped his hands against the side of his uniform, and declared, "Worst of it's done, now. I'll have one of the lads come up for the rest." Jim nodded, and found that the vast majority of scrambling through the systems had been repaired, so they were at least capable of reading the information they were getting now.
"Thanks, Scotty," he said absently.
A hand fell on his shoulder. "Come on, Captain," the chief engineer said. "Yeh know yeh've been at it far too long when ah'm taking a break. Let's go get something to eat," he advised. "I'd hang a man fer a sandwich."
Jim paused, hesitant, but after a moment he relented and followed Scotty down to the mess hall.
"How's Mr. Spock?" the engineer asked, and it looked like someone from his department had recently repaired the replicators, going off of a couple of open panels. Scotty spotted them, swore, and pulling a tool from one of his pockets, promptly began closing them up. "Bloody lazy. Ah know it's a crisis, but ah'm always telling 'em – close the damn panels, or else that job's not done…" he muttered, and Jim absently retrieved them both a few sandwiches from the system. The hall wasn't terribly full, but he supposed most people with a chance for a break would want to sleep. He certainly did.
"Spock'll be alright," Jim said, once Scotty'd finished grumbling and repairing and took a seat across from him.
"Glad to hear it."
That seemed to be that, then, as the two men ate in tired silence. Still, Jim appreciated the company. He was starting the think that his crew was making a combined effort to look out for him. It was… nice. It made him wish there was more he could do to look out for them, too. He supposed, in a way, that letting Malhotra take their mission from them counted for that a bit. Instead of pushing them, he'd give them a chance to catch their breaths.
Still, he was also certain that they could take any pushing he gave them. It was just hard to let go of a job, and a mystery. There were questions he wanted answered.
After a time, he found himself expressing his frustrations to Scotty, who was, surprisingly, as good a listener as he was a talker.
"Ah know what yeh mean, Captain," the Scotsman admitted at length, around several bites of chicken. "It happens to engineers all the time. Yeh get to workin' on something, an' yeh're really going somewhere with it, and then some stuffed-shirt from Resources comes an tells yeh, no, they're 're-allocating workforce ratios' or some other shite and yeh've got to up and switch projects mid bloody stream."
Jim gave him a considering look. "How do you deal with it?" he asked.
Scotty shrugged. "Well, ah've got this dartboard, see? And it's just the perfect size to get a good picture on-"
He was cut off, however, as a tired-looking young man in an ops uniform that looked like it had been better days staggered over, and apologetically started asking about what they should do with a failed power coupling down in engineering. A few minutes later Scotty was off, and Jim wandered back up to the bridge to keep with repairs until he was essentially dead on his feet. At which point he gave in, assigned a more rested lieutenant whose name he honestly couldn't remember to oversee everything, and headed for his quarters.
It felt like he'd only blinked and rolled over when the alarm he'd set was going off.
With a tired groan he levered himself up, and got ready for another very long, very unpleasant day.
The first order of business was seeing the remaining Irri over to the Nelson, so they could then be sent home. Once he was certain of his coherency enough to, he made his way down to the cargo holds. The Irri there were solemn and quiet when he approached, all slumped against the walls of their room, with eyes downcast and movements listless. Only Roon looked over at his approach.
There was so few of them now. It was kind of shocking to see.
"Captain Kirk," the Irri leader greeted him quietly, and though he didn't appear aggressive, gave him a horizontal blink.
Jim nodded. "Roon," he said. "We'll be sending you over to the Nelson soon. They didn't get hit with the weapon, so your people there are fine. They'll see you home," he said.
If his words were in any way consoling, he couldn't tell.
"This thing may be wise," Roon said at length. "But it is not hopeful."
No. He didn't suppose it would seem that way, not from their perspective. Not from his, either, really, but he couldn't think of a better way to solve things without breaking at least a dozen laws. "It's possible," he eventually said at length. "If you're planet is rich in dilithium, then considering your circumstances, there's a chance the Federation might be willing to set your people up on a colony on a different world." That would give them leave to mine every last ounce of the resource from the planet without worrying about the native population. It might very well work out best for the Irri, as well, given the damaged state of their home.
Roon tilted his head. "Another world?" he asked.
Jim nodded. "Yeah. There are several, although finding a suitable one can be tricky. But if they were going to consider something like that, they'd need to be certain that you wouldn't keep using the weapons you have against one another. It wouldn't be easy, and I can't really speak for them – but maybe."
It seemed he'd given the Irri something to think about, as Roon's expression turned contemplative. He'd do what he could to make the suggestion to Starfleet. Who knew? Maybe he'd even talk to Malhotra about it, see if she agreed. It was the best he could think of. In the meanwhile, he helped escort them to the transporter room, and wished them well – all things considered – as they beamed away.
It still felt someone had taken a weight off of his chest when they were gone, despite his apprehensions.
The crew seemed more relaxed afterwards, too, although he suspected that had more to do with the brief rests they'd allowed themselves than anything else. There was also a cessation of subversive hostilities between his people and the Nelson's, so far as he could tell. Apparently the Nelson's crew found it distasteful to condescend to people who'd nearly got their asses ripped apart, and his own were just too grateful for the help to care anymore. There were still some grumblings, but not too many.
He found Sulu and Chekov on the bridge. The former was testing the engines with an open comlink to engineering, while Chekov seemed to be helping with several of their computer difficulties.
"Do we have an estimate on engine repairs?" Jim asked Sulu. The helmsman was wearing a fresh uniform and looked as determined as ever.
"Two hours, sir," Sulu replied, glancing up at him. He remembered that he'd wanted to talk to these two, so he situated himself between them, a hand on either of their chairs. Both looked at him expectantly.
"Good to know," he said, and with a nod of his head, implied that Sulu should momentarily close his conversational link to the boys and girls downstairs. He thought he'd have to follow the gesture up with a verbal request, but to his surprise, Sulu figured it out immediately and complied. Damn but his crew was quick on the uptake. "Alright Lieutenant, Ensign. I wanted to talk to you about the situation with the mission, and the Nelson."
It was clear he had their complete attention and interest. Chekov looked like he wasn't sure why he was being included in this conversation, but was pleased anyway. Sulu got a look on his face which Jim was beginning to think meant he was getting ready to run through flaming hoops. With gusto.
Probably not a bad way of looking at it, all things considered.
He cleared his throat. "The Nelson's offered to take some of our crew onboard for the duration of the Irri mission, while they investigate the Klingon involvement and wait for further orders from Starfleet. I need to send people I can trust, people who'll reflect well on the ship and make sure nobody's bullshitting us," he explained.
Chekov's gaze lit up with understanding. "Ah, I see, Keptan!" he said. "You want us to recommend members of the crew?"
There were puppies that would have trouble competing with that enthusiasm. "Close," he said, leaning a little lower. "I want you two to go." After a beat, he quickly expanded on that idea. "You don't have to if you'd rather not, but I know you're both talented and trustworthy, and I think you can handle it. Obviously it'll be a tremendous pain in the ass. On the other hand, if you don't mind putting up with the Nelson for a while, you might even get a shot at seeing how a normal starship operates." Nobody was under any misconceptions that the Enterprise was normal, after all.
"Captain," Sulu said. "I'll do it." He followed this up with a determined nod, and Jim thought to himself that, at heart, his helmsman was a bit of a badass. Chekov seemed a little more nervous – he was young by their ship's standards, after all, never mind another's – but tossed in his own resolute agreement.
Jim was glad. If anyone would be able to drive his point home, it would be Chekov. After all, he really was fairly representative of the Enterprise as a whole, symbolically. That meant he just had to step back and trust in his ability to be awesome all over everything.
With that settled he only needed to decide who else to send on such an errand, and he was going through that process with one corner of his brain and focusing on the matters at hand with another when he got a call from sickbay. Uhura's face was solemn as she relayed him the message.
"Dr. McCoy has the casualties list ready, sir," she said, and a sort of grim quiet settled all around.
Jim nodded, and handed off the con as he made his way down to get the total of the bad news. The Irri's dead had been sent over to the Nelson to be buried on their homeworld. For the Enterprise's, Jim would need to go through their specifications for such things. Who was to be sent home, who wanted burial in space… who had people for him to send condolences to.
Worse, who didn't.
Still, even with these thoughts in his head, the first thing he did when he got to sickbay was take one look at Bones and ask, "Have you even slept yet?"
With five-o'clock shadow that gave him a decidedly caveman edge, Bones scowled and immediately changed the subject, handing him a datapad. "There's the list, Jim," he said, and he sounded solemn and exhausted. Even though it wasn't particularly cold, for some reason, it felt that way as he took it from him.
"Take a break, Bones," he said. "We can let the Nelson's CMO handle any major emergencies while you're out."
That suggestion got him the glare to end all glares, and he was treated to a rant about the general incompetence of Dr. Who-the-Fuck-Cares, and how Bones wasn't trusting his sickbay to some idiot CMO who thought having another ten years of medical training under his belt made up for the fact that he kept his brain in his ass. Jim listened to this for a few minutes. Then he moved over to one of the medical tables, and recalled his very basic first-aid training. While Bones was still ranting, distracted, he walked up beside him, patted him on the shoulder, and then injected him with a low dose of neurozine.
He barely had time to enjoy the doctor's flabbergasted expression before he toppled, and Jim caught him to keep him from hitting the floor.
"I believe that would qualify as retribution," he heard Spock's low tones say from nearby, and then his first officer was helping him haul Bones onto the nearest medical bed.
Jim shrugged. "Probably. He still needs the rest," he reasoned, settling his friend down so that he looked more or less comfortable before he turned his full attention to Spock.
The bandages were gone. Spock straightened, going a little still as Jim's gaze moved over the left side of his neck, and his ear. It wasn't as bad as he'd thought it could be. Modern medicine being what it was, scars were exceedingly rare, and Jim supposed they would only last a few years. Unless half-Vulcans were different about that than humans – which they could be. Mostly it was just several spidery lines of paler, greener skin, looking more or less like the fiery bloom of an electrical current as it ran across his neck and up along the bottom half of his ear. The entire area in general was a little discoloured, but that was normal for an injury so recently healed. Otherwise Spock still seemed a bit tired, but more like his usual self.
Apart from the barely-visible apprehension.
"It is irrelevant," he said preemptively, when Jim's gaze moved from the scars to his face.
He paused, looking at Spock, and wondering if he honestly thought Jim would give a shit about some scars. Can't have that, he decided immediately, and then extended a pair of fingers. The gesture was met, but it still didn't seem to be enough, somehow. So – with a quick glance around to make certain he wouldn't be embarrassing his first officer to hell and back – he took a step forward, and leaning, closed his lips very carefully around the bottom of his freshly-healed ear. "Scars are hot," he whispered, shooting a wink at the dark gaze which followed him when he stepped back again.
Spock swallowed, and after a time, seemed to relax a bit. And hell, maybe Jim had been wrong. But it never hurt to err on the side of caution.
"A curious assessment," Spock said. "Disfiguration is not typically noted as a positive feature in most species."
Jim gave him a look. "'Disfiguration'?" he asked skeptically. "I've known people who would've paid for tattoos that looked like that. Don't exaggerate, Spock."
His first officer blinked. "It was not my intention to exaggerate," he said. "That is merely the appropriate term-"
"Hey, I just don't think you can qualify something that kickass as a disfigurement. I'm sorry. Not buying it," he insisted. Then his lips curved into a wicked smirk. "Think you'd let me lick it later on?"
A sudden flush flooded his first officer's skin, and his gaze darkened, although he otherwise remained seemingly unmoved. "…I do not believe that would be advisable," he said, sounding just the tiniest bit strained.
Pointedly, Jim sighed in disappointment. "Alright," he replied. "I'll wait. But if you change your mind, let me know."
"… I shall… endeavor to keep you appraised," Spock assured him. "In the meantime, Captain, I wish to return to duty. I believe I am fit." The way he said 'captain' told Jim he was requesting they adopt a certain level of professionalism now, please.
He considered. Instinctively, he simultaneously wanted Spock around, and would have liked to have kept him squirreled away in sickbay until he was operating at one-hundred-percent capacity again. But he knew what it was like to sit and do nothing in a medical facility for too long, and if his first officer was on the bridge with him, he could keep an eye out to make sure he didn't push himself too hard. "If you can get one of the nurses to clear you, I don't have any objections," he decided.
Spock inclined his head, and left to go do just that. Jim watched him for a moment. It was funny, he almost felt like something should be different… and nothing really was. He'd made a resolution, but, he was starting to think it was more like acknowledging a resolution that had pieced itself together all on its own while he wasn't looking. The castle had been built. He'd just put the flag on top.
But after a moment he knew he couldn't distract himself any longer (not that he'd planned it, but it certainly didn't hurt that Spock's appearance had taken his attention) and turned his eyes to the datapad. He scrolled through.
Eight names.
God, it was less than he'd feared and more than he'd hoped. He'd make the arrangements once they got to Vulcan II.
It tore at him. He was responsible for this ship and the people on it. His decisions directly affected their survival, so when people died, it felt like it was his fault. It wouldn't destroy him or anything, because he knew that this was just what happened, but it was still a pretty heavy weight. He remembered having his crew make preparations so that they could carry the majority of Irri passengers. At the time, it had seemed like the prudent decision, and he couldn't have predicted otherwise. Now, he knew for a fact that it had gotten some of his people killed.
That was it. Cold fact, even though his intention hadn't been getting people killed, and unless he somehow developed the ability to see the future, no one would blame him for things like that.
He had to do better next time. He wasn't about to reign in their explorations and start asking for diplomatic missions, hell no, but from here on out he was keeping a closer eye on what he let aboard his ship. And he was setting up a redundant security lock system, so if the first one went down, there'd be more than one back-up. He was surprised no one else had done that yet.
They'd handle that along with the repairs. It was as good a time as any, really. He took a moment to deposit the datapad of casualties on his desk, and updated his Captain's Log, before returning to the bridge. By the time he got there Spock was at his post – sitting, even though he usually preferred to stand and move around more – and, thankfully, going slow. Which may or may not have had something to do with the fact that Uhura kept shooting him concerned looks, and probably had something to do with the fact that a lot of his station was still in tiny pieces.
"How are we doing, Mr. Spock?" Jim asked, taking his chair and checking the readings in the armrest.
"Mr. Scott is confident he will be able to get us warp drive within the hour," Spock replied. "Given his propensity for over-estimating his timeframes, I would venture to say that it will be less than that. Communications is fully operational again. Life-support and transporter systems are also functioning to normal standards. The sensor array suffered considerable damage..."
Jim listened to the rest of the run-down. Essentially it boiled down to a lot of work left to be done. When Spock had finished, he spoke. "We should start sending the Nelson their people back soon, in that case." He checked, and found that Malhotra's list of crew candidates had been forwarded to his chair. Settling on the last of his own, he replied with it, and then went over the people she wanted to give him.
All older, experienced officers, most of them in ops or security. He supposed that made sense – both in keeping with her tendencies, and in the fact that they had a decided gap in security. Ops, too, actually, since they still had people at the colony working on equipment repairs.
Why did he feel like this was some kind of weird school exchange program?
Well, either way, if they weren't on the bridge that suited him fairly well, and he was confident in Scotty's ability to shit-kick people into submission not matter how much experience they had on him. He approved of them, and hoped this wasn't going to be as awkward as he thought it was.
It probably would be.
"Mr. Spock, make a note," he said. "If anyone from the Nelson's crew transfer calls me 'son', 'sport', 'young man', or anything other than 'captain' or 'sir', I won't be held responsible for my actions."
"Duly noted, Captain," Spock replied without missing a beat, although he did quirk an eyebrow at him. There was a general drift of amusement across the bridge, then, taking the edge off of things a little. He turned his attention to the helm.
"Mr. Sulu, Mr. Chekov. It seems we'll be heading out soon. You'd better get ready for your temporary assignment," he advised, before turning towards communications. "Lieutenant, mind going through the list I just forwarded you and letting those crewmen know as well? And tell them I'm very sorry, and I'm sure they'll do the Enterprise proud?"
She shook her head at him a little, but did as asked. Relief arrived for Sulu and Chekov, and Jim knew he'd feel a little strange without his normal bridge compliment for the next while.
Still. Spock was back. That counted for a lot.
The rest of the hour passed without incident, the crew exchanges going over smoothly, and Jim speaking briefly with Malhotra to assure her he'd take good care of her people, and elicit a similar response from her. The captain did not seem terribly impressed with his decision to send the 'prodigious seventeen-year-old' over. He figured she'd get past that once she saw what Chekov could do. Hopefully.
Jim would throw his crewmembers some kind of 'welcome back' party in the mess after all this was over either way.
Finally, engineering gave the go-ahead for their return trip to the colony, and with one last thought that none of his crew had better die on the Nelson, the Enterprise set course for Vulcan II.
Even in warp, though, it was some time before Jim actually had the opportunity to catch his breath again. They'd reached the colony by then, and between managing his ship, filling out the necessary information to update Starfleet, and dealing with the complications of actually docking a constitution class vessel at Vulcan II's station, he wasn't expecting this day to end much differently than the last one had – him falling over onto his bed, followed swiftly by a lot of unconsciousness.
He was, therefore, both pleasantly surprised and a little daunted to find his first officer waiting in his quarters for him after shift, the chess board already set up. Daunted only because he was quite tired, and knew full well that he wouldn't be able to turn Spock down.
Pleased because, well, if his mind had any say in it, he didn't want to.
"I think you might be hinting that you'd like to play chess, Spock," he noted as he came into the room. A few hours ago he'd sent his first-officer to sickbay, when it seemed that the trials of performing his duties was starting to wear on him. He hadn't gone back there himself – he was more or less avoiding the shit he knew he'd get from Bones – but they must have cleared Spock, or else he probably wouldn't have been in Jim's quarters.
"That would be an accurate assessment," Spock agreed, his eyes narrowing a little on Jim as he made his way over to his desk, and all but fell into his chair. "If you require rest, however, we may play another time."
Jim waved him off. "Nah, it's fine," he insisted. "Just don't expect me to be brilliant right now."
"I am also not yet at peak capacity. We should still be well-matched," Spock replied, and Jim decided he liked that assessment.
"Of course," he agreed. "We're always well-matched." Then, impulsively, he made the first move, and felt a little more at ease when Spock replied in kind. It was a quiet game, sleepy and yet somehow also bold in that sleepiness, and Jim found that winding down with it was actually something of a welcome process. He felt less like a tightened ball of exhausted stress and more like a human being by the time they'd reached a stalemate.
Looking at the board, he kicked back, shifting himself so he was more comfortable and letting out a deeply satisfied sigh. "Damn, I love this," he confessed.
A moment later he blinked his gaze over to Spock, who was looking at him with an inscrutable expression.
"I also find myself appreciative of these games," his first officer replied, and Jim smiled a peculiarly enigmatic smile at him.
Because, really, the game wasn't the important part – even as much as he enjoyed it.
"I think this is the part where I usually try to talk you into having sex with me," he mused.
After a moment, Spock inclined his head. "I will understand if you do not feel inclined towards expending such energies," he replied.
Jim laughed. "There are some things, Spock, which I'm never too tired for. But I think I'll let you go – unless you've reconsidered that whole me-licking-your-neck idea?"
"Good night, Jim."
"Damn. Oh well. Good night, Spock," he replied, not particularly feeling up to standing, but figuring he should make the effort. He saw his first officer to the door, and wasn't expecting much beyond some finger-on-finger action, which seemed both welcome and also distinctly inadequate, all things considered.
That in mind, he decided to throw caution to the wind and instead moved forward, winding his arms around Spock's back, resting his head against his shoulder and savoring the warm wash of his body heat. For all of a moment, Spock stiffened, and he figured it would be better to step back and give him some room again. But then the tension lessened, a little, and a pair of blue-clad arms came up around him.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Moving his head, he kissed Spock's ear again, causing the hands against his shirt tightened their grip momentarily. Spock tilted a little, and Jim was surprised that he went so far as to meet his lips with his own – not intense, but warm and slow. He didn't want to let Spock leave. He really didn't. He had a feeling he would sleep a lot better if he could press his ear to his first officer's chest and listen to him breath, as incredibly sappy as that was. But he also knew that if he got Spock to his bed, Things Would Transpire, and he still needed to convince Spock that he was commitment worthy.
Kind of a daunting task, especially since he didn't know how. The longest relationship he had any frame of reference for was his mom and the step-dad he'd had until he was six, which didn't help much.
Their mouths broke apart, then, and Jim trailed a hand up to Spock's neck, running his fingers against the discordant textures of his scar. Spock's hands decided to go a little lower, resting on his hips as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Jim's jaw, just below his ear, and murmured something against his skin.
"What?" Jim asked, not quite making it out. The word hadn't sounded like it was in any human language he knew.
Spock paused, then, stilling for a moment, and Jim thought that perhaps he hadn't meant to say anything at all. Which only made him more curious about what it was that had been whispered so softly to his flesh. He opened his mouth to ask again, moving to pull back a little – and then Spock pointedly, and with clear intent, distracted him, catching his mouth with his own and winding their tongues together, hot and intense and very direct.
It worked like a charm. Jim's brain went happily sailing away as he met the kiss with equal ferocity, and when they broke apart, his breathing was ragged and his hands hopelessly twisted in Spock's uniform. Not quite ready to relinquish the contact yet, he planted a third passionate, meaningful press against his first officer's mouth, shifting his body and bringing them together and almost going far further than he meant to because it was so warm and fiery and Spock and he'd started it again, so dammit, self-restraint could go to hell…
Spock's hands moved up, pulling them apart, unwinding Jim's hands from his shirt and then pressing their fingers and palms together.
Another surprise – it looked like he was getting some more of his self-control back. Or maybe he just had it right then, although so far as Jim knew, it had been a while since he'd meditated. Their hands were still touching as Spock disconnected their lips.
"Good night, Jim," he said again, and before Jim could reply, turned and left.
He stood there for a moment, panting for breath and hopelessly aroused, and then with a growl banged a fist against the nearest wall. He was seriously contemplating just walking up to Spock and saying 'hey, I want to marry you! So let's do that', but if he did then Spock would probably think he was only doing it for the sex, and then he might not trust any of Jim's assurances that he wanted to do this whole 'together' thing afterwards.
Still.
Abstinence was hard.
Kind of like Jim. Dammit.
---
Author's Note: Not as long as I'd originally planned it to be, but then I got here and this actually seemed like an okay place to stop for now. The last arc is 'Vulcan II' – after all, Spock got to meet Jim's only living parent. Turnabout is fair play.
Also, anyone who's interest should check my profile for links to 'Home'-related stuff involving other people. And if you've got anything 'Home'-related you think should be on there, let me know where it is, and I'll link to it.
