The Unexpected Return
I.*
Enterprise was approaching Earth. From the outside, it looked the same as it had five years ago, but inside, it was different—it carried the stories, memories, and scars of its crew. And now, it was about to be emptied. Cleaned, repaired, and prepared for a new mission.
Starfleet had ordered a thorough overhaul—a general refit to prepare the ship for a new era. For the next few months, it would remain in dry dock, in the hands of mechanics and engineers who would tend to every detail.
But it wasn't just the technology that would change, be upgraded…
The crew was required to leave the ship. For a few weeks, maybe even longer. Even those who were staying had to depart because when they returned, nothing would be the same.
Many officers were leaving for good, having accepted new posts and new challenges. Others were returning to their families on Earth, on other planets, or in the colonies—to the homes waiting for them.
And then there were those who would return to the ship—but under a new captain.
Enterprise would never be the same again.
Enterprise would never be the same again.
Enterprise would never be the same again.
Spock's stomach tightened. Unexpected. Illogical. Yet real.
"We're entering the solar system. Switching to impulse," Ortegas announced.
The blue clouds of Neptune flickered on the screen before vanishing into the distance. Mars, a red dot against the black backdrop, shifted in their trajectory as they made their way toward Earth.
Spock stood on the bridge at his science officer's console, hands clasped behind his back. His gaze was fixed on the screen, but his mind was elsewhere.
Eleven years, four months, and four days. That was how long it had been since he had first stepped aboard Enterprise under the command of Christopher Pike.
Tomorrow would be the last day.
The atmosphere on the bridge was unusual. There was more laughter than usual, but also an undertone of sadness.
Uhura couldn't suppress a smile. "Imagine it—fresh air, real sunlight!"
"And I'm finally getting street tacos, not replicated ones!" Ortegas added, nodding toward Jeana, who smiled and nodded in agreement.
People were excited to go home. Five years was a long time.
But not for everyone.
Spock did not lift his gaze from the screen. He wasn't _going home._
While the others counted down the hours until they could return to their planet, he had nowhere to return to. Vulcan? It hadn't been his home for years. Earth? It was familiar, but not truly his.
Enterprise was his home.
He caught a brief glance from Una Chin-Riley. She sat quietly, watching the screen with a neutral expression. The two of them were the only ones on the bridge who didn't share in the euphoria of returning home.
Spock wondered if she, too, knew what it was like to have nowhere to go back to.
Sixteen hours after dropping out of warp near Neptune, a massive ring of the space dock emerged before them, orbiting Earth.
Dozens of ships were docked—some preparing for new missions, others undergoing repairs.
Pike sat in the command chair. "Lieutenant Ortegas, take us home," he said calmly.
"With pleasure, Captain," Ortegas replied with a grin, smoothly guiding the ship toward the dock.
USS Enterprise was moored. The docking clamps of the space station locked around its hull, and the gravitational stabilizers synchronized with the station's systems. After five years in deep space, the ship was once again firmly connected to something larger than the void between the stars.
Silence fell over the bridge. The main screen displayed Earth, bright and vivid, its blue-and-white atmosphere slowly rotating beneath them. It was a welcome sight, familiar yet strangely distant for some.
"The ship is docked, Captain," Una reported formally, though everyone could see it on their panels.
Pike nodded. He leaned back in his chair, watching the view before him for a moment before glancing around the bridge. He knew they felt the same way he did.
"Good work, everyone," he said at last, his voice breaking the quiet hum of the instruments. "That concludes today's shift. Tomorrow is our last day. The final official shift under my command."
No one spoke, but the silence wasn't empty. It was filled with unspoken emotions.
Pike sighed and straightened. "Beta shift is on its way; they'll take over the ship. So make sure you pack properly—don't let anything surprise you in the morning. And tonight," he glanced at everyone, "don't forget—you're all invited to dinner in my quarters."
Dinner with the captain was a tradition, but this time, it had a special meaning. It was the last shared dinner of this crew under Pike's command.
The turbolift doors opened, and members of the beta shift began arriving on the bridge. Ortegas smiled, Uhura nodded. The others acknowledged them, even Una, who usually didn't react much to such transitions.
"Go on. Get some rest," Pike added when he noticed some were still hesitating.
People started getting up, slowly leaving their stations. Their fingers brushed over the consoles one last time, as if saying goodbye. Spock stood up as well.
II.
Spock sat at the table, his hands folded in his lap, watching them. Watching them laugh, exchange memories. Watching how the mood shifted—laughter, nostalgia, sorrow, acceptance.
Captain Pike sat at the head of the table, his face softly illuminated by the gentle light of his quarters. It was his last dinner with the crew, and yet he seemed at ease. The table was set with food he had prepared himself—a mix of human and alien dishes, from traditional steak to Vulcan roasted roots. It was more than just a meal. It was a gesture.
Spock realized this was a moment he should remember. And yet, he found himself wishing he wouldn't.
At that moment, Uhura spoke quietly. "It won't be the same without you, Captain."
Pike looked at her, then slowly nodded. "It won't."
La'an rested her chin on her hand. "Are you staying on Enterprise, Uhura?"
"Yes," Uhura replied. "At least for now."
"Under Captain Kirk," Pellia added. "Sam Kirk's brother."
Ortegas chuckled. "That must be strange. Serving on the same ship and then watching your brother take command."
"You think that'll be weird for him?" Uhura asked.
"Probably," Una said. "But Starfleet officers have to be able to handle it."
"And you, Spock?" Uhura turned to him. "Are you staying on Enterprise?"
Spock looked at Pike, but he said nothing. He simply watched him, as if he, too, was waiting for the answer.
"I don't know," Spock finally replied.
"I am unsure if I will remain on Enterprise."
Una looked at him in surprise. "Where would you go?"
"I am considering a transfer to Earth. Perhaps to a Starbase. Or somewhere else where my abilities could be effectively utilized."
"In other words, somewhere Pike will be," Pellia noted and took a sip of wine.
A tense silence settled over the room. Pike sighed.
"Spock…" he began.
Spock looked at him. There was no need for analysis or deeper examination—the answer was obvious, yet he could not fully accept it. Pike had been his anchor, his steady point in the vastness of space, grounding him in ways he had never fully acknowledged before. And now, that anchor was slipping away.
But it wasn't just Pike.
Hemmer had been the first to go. The first fracture in his reality. The first loss that disrupted the stability of the crew. Now Pike was leaving. And so was Una. One by one, the faces that formed the core of the crew he had known were disappearing. The crew that, whether consciously or not, he had built a sense of stability upon.
And him?
He was supposed to stay. Alone.
Logic dictated that change was inevitable. But logic had never accounted for the strange, unnameable weight settling deep in his chest.
"Spock," Pike repeated quietly, setting down his utensils. "I've recommended you as Enterprise's first officer."
Spock raised an eyebrow. "Captain, the incoming commanding officer has the right to select their own first officer. Captain Kirk will undoubtedly choose someone else."
"Maybe," Pike acknowledged, meeting his gaze. "But I don't think so. Whatever you may think of him, Kirk isn't a fool. He knows what Enterprise needs. And what you need."
Spock remained silent.
"You know we've talked about this before," Pike continued.
Spock didn't move, didn't respond, but Pike could see that the words hit their mark. Yes, they had talked about it. Not just once. And yet Spock kept returning to it, as if hoping that this time, the answer would be different.
"I already told you—you can't come with me," Pike said calmly. "And you know why."
Spock narrowed his eyes slightly. "Because it is time to move forward."
"Exactly," Pike nodded. "And not just for me. For you too. You can't spend your life in someone else's shadow, Spock," he continued. "Not even mine."
Spock lowered his gaze. Pike didn't want to push him. He had to accept it on his own.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then Pike lifted his glass.
"To Enterprise."
"To Enterprise," the others echoed.
Spock hesitated for a fraction of a second before lifting his glass as well.
Enterprise would never be the same.
And perhaps, neither would he.
III.
Pike stood at the bar in his quarters, refilling his glass. He was tired—not just physically, but mentally as well. The dinner had been pleasant, but beneath all the laughter and shared memories, the weight of the coming changes lingered. It was strange to think that in just a few hours, he would no longer be the captain of the Enterprise. And that in two years…
Una sat in the chair across from him, arms crossed over her chest. She watched him with an expression Pike knew well—the look of a first officer analyzing every detail, searching for an answer.
"Spock is still hesitating," she said quietly. It wasn't a criticism, just an observation.
Pike sighed. "Yeah. And I understand why."
Una tilted her head, leaning back into the chair. "I suppose I do too. But still, he's reliable. Precise. Loyal. So why is he hesitating now? Accepting the position of first officer on a ship he knows better than anyone?"
Pike studied her for a moment before setting his glass down with a sigh. "You see him as an officer who has grown over the past eleven years, who performs his duties flawlessly. But, Una… he's still growing."
For a moment, an image flashed in his mind—Spock standing before him, shoulders tense, hands clasped tightly behind his back. It was his usual stance, yet this time, it had seemed stiffer, more rigid than ever.
"I am still in the process of learning," he had said then. He had offered it as a logical argument, a reasonable justification for why he should go with him.
But it hadn't just been an argument. It had been a plea.
In that moment, Pike had understood—Spock was searching for a way to avoid making the decision on his own. A way to delay the moment when he would have to be the one leading…
Pike looked back at Una. "And I think that's exactly how he feels. Like he's still preparing for something. But we're asking him to already be prepared."
Una crossed her arms, shaking her head. "I still don't get it. We all keep learning. Thirty-five isn't too young to be first officer. If anything, it's the perfect time. He'll keep learning as first officer. No one expects him to be perfect, just to grow into the role. This is an opportunity for him."
Pike met her gaze and offered a small, tired smile. "Of course. But for him, it's not that simple."
Una hesitated.
"We still see him through our perspective," Pike continued. "But just because he's spent the last eleven years with us doesn't mean the same rules apply to him. On Vulcan, at his age, he'd still be living at home with his parents. He'd be working, yes, but only in a role without significant responsibility. It would be part of his education—not a career advancement. And only a few years from now would they begin to discuss whether he was ready to truly stand on his own."
Una frowned. "So if he were following Vulcan tradition, he'd still be guided by his parents and elders?"
Pike nodded. "On Vulcan, thirty-five is something like… twenty-one for humans. But the comparison isn't perfect. They mature differently, learn differently. They take on responsibility later. And only around forty, maybe fifty, do they start being expected to fully stand on their own."
Una nodded slowly, but the skepticism hadn't entirely left her expression. "Maybe. But still, don't tell me Spock didn't know what he was signing up for. He knew what Starfleet was. And he knew what a career in Starfleet meant."
Pike sighed. "Of course he did. But maybe he's only just now realizing what it actually meant for him. Maybe he's starting to understand that he left home too soon. That he had to grow up faster than was natural for him. And now, when he's being asked to take another big step, he's instinctively pulling back."
Una considered that. "But he can make decisions. He can face challenges."
"Yes," Pike agreed. "But this isn't about a mission or a complex operation. This is personal. And in that, he's still uncertain."
Una studied him carefully, her expression unreadable, then slowly, deliberately, she asked, "Then why don't you take him with you?"
Pike raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"If you know we're pushing him more than we should… if you know he needs stability, why not let him have it? Why not take him with you?"
Pike opened his mouth to respond, but then stopped. That question struck something deep. Because if he was honest, he would have wanted to take Spock with him. He would have wanted to keep him by his side.
But what good would that do, when it was only for two—just two years? And then he would vanish from his life overnight?
Better for Spock to separate now than later. Better to stand on his own before the moment came when Pike wouldn't be there for him at all.
Pike sighed and shook his head. "Una… do you know how that would look?"
"This isn't about how it would look," she countered. "It's about what's right."
Pike poured himself another drink and took a sip before finally setting the glass down. "This is about Starfleet," he said at last. "This organization isn't built for nuance. I can't go running from admiral to admiral explaining the specifics of Vulcan psychological development. And even if I tried, it would hurt him in the long run."
Una shot him a questioning look.
"If I vouched for him—if I explained that he needed more time—they'd remember it," Pike continued. "And years from now, when he wanted to be promoted to captain or some other command position, they'd use it against him. They'd say: Why should we give him a command when even his former captain admitted he wasn't ready for responsibility? Why should we trust him with a ship when he needed special treatment?"
Una frowned. "But this can't be the first time this has come up. Vulcans have been in Starfleet for decades. Someone must have run into the same issue before."
"They have," Pike admitted. "But they were all much older. I searched the database on purpose. I couldn't find a single Vulcan who applied to the Academy and entered Starfleet before the age of forty-two. The problem is, humans don't see it. When you meet a Vulcan in Starfleet, they're often a hundred years old but look forty. People assume they're at the same stage of life as we are. That if a Vulcan looks like a seasoned officer, they must be ready for command. But Spock, at thirty-five, is still at the beginning."
Una exhaled and looked down. Pike was right. Starfleet was practical, efficient, performance-driven. No one paused to consider what was natural for a Vulcan. Spock was an officer—and officers, good officers, had to advance.
"So he just has to figure it out on his own," she said quietly.
Pike gave a small, silent nod. And maybe, for the first time, he truly realized just how hard it was going to be to let him go.
Then he let out a breath, leaning back in his chair. "Hopefully, Kirk can handle him."
Una raised an eyebrow. "You think that'll be easy?"
Pike shook his head. "No. But he's the youngest captain in Starfleet. Maybe he'll have a different, unorthodox approach. And maybe that's exactly what Spock needs."
Una sighed and glanced toward the door. "Well… then all we can do is hope that Spock can handle it."
Pike took another sip and stared at the empty seat where Spock had been just moments ago.
He has to. Because Enterprise would never be the same.
IV.
It was his second day in San Francisco.
Spock sat at the small table in his temporary Starfleet quarters, staring out into the darkness. This part of the city was quiet, peaceful. But in his mind, there was neither silence nor peace.
The days after Enterprise's return had gone exactly as expected—handing over the ship, a formal ceremony, awards.
Admiral April had personally presented him with a new medal for the best science officer in Starfleet.
"A well-deserved recognition, Lieutenant," he had said. "Under your leadership, Enterprise has brought countless scientific discoveries. Whatever you decide, Starfleet needs you."
And yet, Spock still did not know.
His assignment on Enterprise remained unconfirmed. He had not accepted the position of first officer, nor that of science officer.
He still did not know.
He felt a strange weight inside him. Something undefined, something he could neither logically analyze nor suppress. And so, instead of sleeping or meditating, he sat at the table, staring at the computer with the communication unit.
Did it make sense to call?
His hand moved before he could logically consider it. He activated the connection and entered the frequency.
For a moment, the screen remained black. Then Amanda appeared.
"Spock," she greeted him with a gentle smile.
Spock nodded.
Amanda sighed and rested her chin on her hand. "Now I'm really curious why you're calling me at this hour."
Spock straightened slightly and folded his hands on the table. "Captain Pike is leaving Enterprise."
Amanda smiled softly. "Yes, dear. You already told me. In our last conversation. Four days ago."
Spock was silent for a moment before continuing. "He does not want me to leave with him."
"And what do you want?"
She watched him patiently, but he could not give her an answer. He could not say what he truly wanted. Because the truth was simple. And illogical.
He wanted Pike to stay on Enterprise.
He wanted nothing to change.
In the end, he only clenched his fingers on the table. "I do not know… but I know that I do not want him to leave without me."
Amanda remained silent for a moment. "Do you think he could have taken you with him?"
Spock lowered his gaze. "If he wanted to, he would have found a way."
"And he did not," his mother noted gently.
Spock lowered his head even more and remained silent.
"So does that mean he could not arrange it… or that he did not want to?"
Spock looked away. "He said it is time to move on."
Amanda studied him for a moment before asking quietly, "And you do not know how?"
Spock did not answer.
Amanda felt a tightness in her throat. For years, she had watched Spock distance himself from Sarek's influence, trying to build his own path, to be independent.
But now… now she realized that he had found another anchor in Pike. And he had grown attached to him—too much.
As if he no longer wanted the independence he had fought so hard for against his father.
Maybe it was not about believing Pike could offer him a better future.
Maybe he simply did not know how to move forward without him.
Amanda exhaled slowly. If she had known then what she knew now… if she had known that her son could succeed in Starfleet, but that it did not mean he was ready to be alone…
She would never have let him leave at eighteen.
But now, she could not take it back.
Amanda leaned back in her chair. "Spock… if you want to stay in Starfleet, you do not have to stay on Enterprise. You could request a transfer to another ship. Or take a research mission at a starbase. Starfleet is not just Pike and Enterprise."
She watched him for a moment, then asked, "And when do you have to confirm your position? Starfleet cannot hold the spot for you forever. What happens if you do not accept it?"
Spock lowered his gaze slightly. "Starfleet will assign me another role according to its needs."
"And until then? Can you take a leave of absence? Give yourself time to decide?"
Spock nodded. "Yes. Several weeks, a month at most. After that, I will be assigned a new post."
"Then why don't you do that?" Amanda tilted her head. "You are in a transitional phase, Spock. You do not have to decide right away. Take your time, think about what you want. What is it that Starfleet actually gives you?"
Spock hesitated. "Starfleet has given me… opportunities."
"And were they the opportunities you wanted?"
Spock paused for a moment. "I cannot determine that definitively."
Amanda smiled. "Then work on it. You do not have to decide immediately."
Spock nodded, but she could see the weight still on him.
She changed her tone. "Spock… you know you can come back to Vulcan, right?"
Spock immediately looked up at her.
"If you do not feel ready to continue in Starfleet, the Vulcan Science Expeditionary Group would surely welcome you with open arms."
Silence settled for a moment.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Spock did not move, but his thoughts raced faster than he wished.
Return to Vulcan, return home…?
The idea struck him deeper than he was willing to admit. He could walk the halls of his childhood home again, sit in the garden beneath the orange sky, hear his mother's voice not through a screen, but right beside him.
But what would he find there?
Sathek had already taken the place that should have been his. Sarek had accepted him, guided him, raised him—the way it was once meant to be with Spock. Where would that leave him?
And even if he returned… would Sarek even want him home?
Would Sarek offer him water?
Or would he simply leave him standing at the door, like a stranger he once knew?
It was Spock who had defied his wishes. Spock who had left. Spock who had chosen another path.
And now he was supposed to return and expect Sarek to accept him?
He could not believe that Sarek would want him back. Just as he could not believe that the Vulcan Expeditionary Group would truly wanted him.
Spock locked the thought deep inside himself and remained still.
Amanda studied him for a moment before gently adding, "If nothing else… you could at least visit. You have not been home in two years, Spock."
Spock did not answer immediately.
Two years. A long time. But perhaps not long enough for anything to have changed.
Spock lifted his eyes to his mother and chose to challenge her words. "The Vulcan Science Expeditionary Group does not accept non-graduates of the Vulcan Science Academy. The probability that they would take me is negligible."
Amanda smiled. "That was certainly true before. But now, some believe it was a great mistake not to have you among them."
Spock looked at her, clear doubt in his expression, his brow raising slightly.
"Raken recently stated that their greatest loss in the last two centuries was not having you," she said calmly.
Spock's brow lifted slightly. "Raken? The current director of the Vulcan Science Expeditionary Group?"
Amanda nodded and noticed something shift in him.
Raken—the one who had always claimed that a half-human could never be a true Vulcan.
And now he had said something like this?
Spock's jaw tensed slightly.
"The rest of his statement was less flattering, as usual," Amanda added.
Spock tilted his head slightly. "How so?"
Amanda sighed. "He said that if you achieved such results with a team of humans, imagine what you could accomplish with a team of Vulcans."
Spock remained silent, but Amanda could tell the words had struck their mark.
For years, no one on Vulcan spoke of him. His name had been taboo. But now? Now it was appearing in discussions more and more. Scientists no longer avoided mentioning his success, even in front of Sarek.
Whether he liked it or not, Spock had become a significant figure. And Vulcan had begun to take notice.
"If you're interested, I could look into it," Amanda said calmly. "I think they would be glad to hear from you."
She continued without hesitation. "And not just there. You could teach at the Vulcan Science Academy. Work in one of the prestigious research centers anywhere in the galaxy. Spock, there are possibilities. You just need to give yourself time to figure out what you truly want."
Amanda smiled, though there was a trace of sadness in her expression. "You're a grown man, Spock. I know that. But sometimes… sometimes that doesn't mean you have to have all the answers right away. You don't have to decide immediately," she said gently. "Give yourself time. Whether you stay in Starfleet or take a different path… there's no need to rush."
Spock slowly nodded but remained silent.
Amanda continued with quiet warmth. "And if you truly don't know where to go… you can always come home. Vulcan will be your home, no matter what you choose."
At last, Spock looked at her. His expression was unreadable, but Amanda knew he was thinking about her words.
"Thank you, Mother," he said softly.
Amanda's smile grew a little warmer. "Anytime, my dear."
The screen went dark, and Spock was left alone in the empty room.
Enterprise would never be the same again.
Perhaps it was time for him to change as well.