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Spock of Vulcan, personal log. Stardate 2252.105. To Admiral Christopher Pike, C/o—Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco
It is my intention to retire from active service in Starfleet and act as Federation liaison to Vulcan in whatever capacity I am able.
Though it is true that Starfleet’s efforts against the yet-unidentified rogue vessel that destroyed the planet Vulcan are currently underway and that a state of emergency has been put into effect, it is also true that I cannot allow my life to be endangered on the frontlines, as it will be imperative that I contribute to the repopulation efforts of my species.
It has been my honor to serve with my fellow officers and under my superiors.
My resignation shall be effective once the paperwork has been processed.
This has been my final personal log.
*
Despite the best intentions of both Spock’s peers and colleagues in their efforts to understand his decision, it was evident in the days that followed that some were experiencing difficulty concealing their evident disappointment over Spock’s resignation.
‘A damn shame, is what it is,’ Admiral Pike said. He had never demonstrated any previous struggle expressing himself plainly, and this particular event was no exception. ‘Finest first officer I ever served with. Hell, and don’t spread this around—not that you would; you’re cagey even for a Vulcan—but you’re probably the best in the fleet.’
‘It would be appropriate to amend your appraisal to the more appropriate past tense,’ Spock informed him.
‘And I think I’ll miss our little talks most of all, Spock,’ Pike replied.
After Pike, there were the other members of the crew Spock had served with aboard the Enterprise, among them Leonard H. McCoy and Montgomery Scott, both of whom conveyed in their own ways that they could not imagine making a similar sacrifice. This, Spock refrained from mentioning, was likely due to the fact that Earth was still intact and its population as robust as ever.
It was a decision that had to be made as a result of an incredibly specific set of circumstances. Therefore, there was no one else who could truly comprehend Spock’s situation.
The apparent sympathy, at least, could be appreciated where the confusion was not.
‘I’ll be sure and keep an eye on th’ship for ye, Commander,’ Scott said.
‘That title is no longer accurate,’ Spock replied.
‘All the same,’ Scott said, ‘I think I’ll stick with the formalities.’
As a man who professed to be more comfortable with machinery than his fellow officers, this request did not seem out of the ordinary.
Last among the crew was Christine Chapel, who met Spock’s news with the same levelheaded grace she had utilized in talking him through his other personal complications. She informed him that she would be serving as a medical doctor in addition to her duties as counselor in the future, although she had not yet been assigned a vessel.
‘So we’re both moving on, Spock—in our own ways,’ she said.
It was common practice for humans to relate to one another’s conditions by sharing something personal about themselves. Spock understood this and could welcome the effort she had put toward creating effective closure for their time together.
There was one more person, though he had not served aboard the Enterprise, with whom Spock had cultivated a relationship of substantial intimacy. It would not be appropriate to leave the campus without addressing the state of their association with one another.
Just because Spock was leaving Starfleet without reservation did not indicate that he approached his necessary departure from Jim’s side with similar, straightforward determination.
They had not found occasion to spend much time with one another in the past month, as Spock’s attentions were devoted foremost to his mother and to his people, and Jim had continued to apply himself with admirable vigor to his schoolwork in order to support Starfleet Academy’s attempts at normality. They had separate duties, separate roles to play, and separate lives to lead, and were both intelligent enough to recognize that their preferences were no longer a part of the equation. While it was a departure from the same adherence to routine that structured the rest of campus life, they were busy enough that there was little time for regret.
Instead, there were battlefront reports arriving multiple times a day; meetings among top Federation scientists for the analysis and replication of the rogue ship’s technology; and a forum of Vulcan elders that met daily, devoted the development of a New Vulcan Initiative. These occupied Spock’s attention fully, as did his mother’s involvement therein, not just his own.
Jim did not neglect his attempts at communication. Spock’s PADD contained many messages inquiring after his health and informing him of day-to-day minutiae, to which Spock replied honestly, though he did not divulge any details that would break confidentiality.
Therefore, they were in contact, but it was not the same. It could not be.
As he had served in Starfleet, Spock was qualified to be—and accepted as—a member of the initial group set to arrive on the chosen planet for Vulcan colonization; he would depart in a cloaked transport for the classified location the morning of Stardate 2252.106.
Jim had expressed the desire—he had phrased it as a ‘need’—to see Spock in person before zero-six hundred on the appointed date, and Spock accepted. They met outside the Vulcan embassy at dusk, twenty-five minutes after the end of Jim’s final class that day, at which point Jim was not dressed in his cadet reds, but wearing a familiar leather jacket Spock had not seen on him in years.
‘I was not aware that you had kept that jacket,’ Spock said. ‘Yet, as you once expressed your sentimentality for the garment, considering it once belonged to your brother, I should not be surprised to note that it is still in your possession.’
‘Yeah.’ Jim shrugged, upturning the collar up around his face. He had very recently been given a haircut. ‘Gotta hang onto it.’
‘Indeed.’
‘You have anywhere special you wanna go?’ Jim asked, rolling his shoulders beneath the old, cracked leather.
‘As you chose the time, I had assumed you also had a place in mind.’
‘Or maybe, since I chose the time, it’d only be fair if you chose the place.’ Jim sighed, continuing before Spock could supply a list of potential locations. ‘Might be nice to get off the campus, go for a walk. I’ve been sitting in lectures all day. Wouldn’t mind getting the chance to stretch my legs.’
‘Then we will go for a walk,’ Spock said. ‘However, an ultimate destination will be required.’
‘We can head to the waterfront, maybe,’ Jim replied.
That was not a specific terminus, but it would suffice. Spock turned to cross the campus green with Jim by his side, Jim’s silence pronounced between the heavy clip of his footfalls on the stone walkway.
‘Still can’t believe you’re bailing,’ he said finally, as they passed beneath the metalwork arch of the front gate.
‘“Bailing”,’ Spock repeated.
‘Leaving. Whatever. You know what I mean.’ Jim tapped his ID card on the scanner for signing out, then stuffed the card—and both hands—into his pockets. ‘You told me that I belonged here, I just figured you felt the same way.’
‘Whether or not you are able to believe it does not change the fact that I will be gone tomorrow morning,’ Spock said.
Jim huffed, and fell silent once more.
Though Spock had attended Starfleet Academy and had familiarized himself with the surrounding city, he did not often spend recreational time off the campus and in downtown San Francisco. It was crowded in a more diverse fashion than the academy campus; human fashion would forever remain anathema to Spock’s senses, as would their desire to rush across streets before lights changed to signal they should stop and wait at the corner, as though the thirty seconds they would gain would make a vital difference—or as though they had failed to memorize the streetlights’ timing schedule, so as to avoid the need to rush in the first place.
Jim stopped at one such streetlight with Spock. They were able to see the Golden Gate Bridge, alight in the darkness, over the rooftops. Though the city planning could at times feel haphazard, this choice in particular made visual sense.
‘You gonna get cold by the water?’ Jim asked.
‘I dressed appropriately.’
‘You gotta tell me if you get cold,’ Jim said.
‘If the temperature presents discomfort, I will not refrain from informing you.’
‘Just tell me if you do,’ Jim said, though Spock had already confirmed that he would.
It was cool on the cement walkway that ran alongside the water, as Jim had anticipated, but it was not unpleasant enough for Spock to mention it. Rather than claim a bench to sit upon, Jim continued to walk—which was sensible, as action would produce body heat, and prevent Spock from feeling the full brunt of the chill.
‘So,’ Jim said, without clarification or further incentive to reply.
‘So,’ Spock repeated.
Jim stopped and turned, offering no warning for his abrupt actions. Spock was swift enough to avoid a collision, noticing Jim had balled his hands into fists where they were hidden in his now-bulging pockets.
‘You know I’m gonna miss you, right?’ he asked, though it sounded more like a demand. ‘I just don’t know—I keep telling myself, of course you are—but are you gonna miss me?’
‘Whether or not I will miss you will have no bearing upon my plans,’ Spock said.
‘Jesus.’ Jim breathed out, creating a cloud of moisture in the air. ‘You’d think I wouldn’t miss that, but apparently I’m crazy.’
‘You have given no indication of having taken leave of your senses,’ Spock said.
‘Yeah,’ Jim said, ‘other than this little thing I like to call our entire relationship.’
On the topic of relationships, Spock’s knowledge was limited. It seemed to him that it was not desirable to have attained mental instability through the company of a cherished companion—but he was also acquainted with Jim and his quirks of behavior, and knew that Jim’s emotions were deeply felt. This did not preclude him from being prone to exaggeration.
It was a defense mechanism related to the art of humor.
Spock could not relate personally, as the human sense of comicality was something that had consistently eluded him. However, he had observed this trait on more than one occasion being displayed by his peers, and by Jim in particular.
They knew one another. In spite of their differences, they had reached an understanding that benefited them both. Because of this, Spock did not take offense at Jim’s inflammatory comment, in spite of the tone in his voice.
‘You are employing sarcasm,’ Spock said.
Jim laughed. It was similar to the laughter he had employed aboard the Enterprise, a sound more akin to restless desperation than genuine amusement. He doubled over as the sound went on, taking his hands from his pockets to wrap his arms around himself. There were few passersby on the walkway who observed Jim’s strange behavior. A lone boat passed by slowly in the harbor; above and ahead of them on the bridge, cars rolled by in a series of flashing headlights.
‘Have I said something amusing?’ Spock asked.
‘No.’ Jim straightened, wiping the tears from his eyes with his knuckles. ‘But also—yeah. I guess. You’re just… You, you know? I don’t know anyone else who says stuff like that.’
‘There are—’ Spock began, and then stopped himself. ‘You have not yet been given opportunity to converse with many Vulcans.’
‘You were just about to say there aren’t any other Vulcans in Starfleet, weren’t you?’
Jim’s gaze was keen, his bottom lip white around the edges of his teeth where he was biting it. It was evident that he was more troubled by Spock’s decision than Spock had allowed himself to be, even though it was not something that would affect the course of Jim’s life directly.
Indirectly, however, it would alter his routine and his patterns of socialization. It would certainly make an impact, though in time, Jim would come to appreciate his new routine and new patterns of socialization.
‘Yeah,’ Jim said. ‘I’m gonna miss you, and this. Especially talking to you, weird as it is. But I get it, too. I know why you’re doing what you’re doing. It’s just—it’s Starfleet’s loss, that’s all.’ Jim shook his head on a single word—loss—turning his gaze out over the water. The reflection of the distant headlights brightened his eyes. He ceased to bite his lip. His hands hung empty at his sides, as he was no longer clenching them into too-tight fists.
‘We will still be able to pursue one avenue of communication,’ Spock reminded him. ‘The text-based messaging program of which you are so fond will remain a viable means of conversation.’
‘Yeah,’ Jim said again. As his voice was hoarse, he was forced to clear his throat. ‘Of course. But you’ll be busy doing your own stuff, and I’ll be busy, too. Won’t be able to meet up for lunch or study after class or—all the usual stuff.’
‘Naturally, we will not.’
‘So it’ll be different,’ Jim said.
‘Change does not inherently possess negative or positive connotations,’ Spock replied.
‘Guess not.’ Jim shrugged. ‘Guess it probably, uh, possesses both.’
Spock nodded.
‘I get it,’ Jim repeated. He was prone to that now for reasons Spock could not grasp; they were in an emotional realm just outside of his reach. It was possible—highly probable, in fact—that Jim believed Spock’s certainty and determination, coupled with his lack of an emotional reaction, suggested that Jim would not also be missed. However, Jim had not demanded proof that Spock would be unhappy without him—and that was sensible, as in matters of affection, it would be contradictory to wish the object of said affection to experience distress.
‘I meant only to offer an alternative,’ Spock said, ‘in order to provide that which you would be…’ He paused. ‘…missing.’
‘I know, Spock. I gotcha.’ Jim’s mouth twisted, in a shape that was neither smile nor frown. ‘Only there isn’t any alternative. You or not you—those are the two options.’
‘I am leaving Starfleet,’ Spock said. ‘It is true that there may be difficulties and there will certainly be dangers. However, they will be no more or less severe, in their own way, than if I continued my post as an officer in the fleet.’
‘Just take care of yourself, okay?’
‘Considering the depleted numbers of my people, to do otherwise would be indefensible.’
‘I don’t mean like that.’ Jim’s arm swung, seemingly independent of conscious thought, back and forth by his side in an uncharacteristically obvious display of anxiety. With each swing, his knuckles narrowly missed brushing Spock’s fingers. The breeze that the motion caused, a disturbance in the air, was cool against the back of Spock’s hand.
‘Do you intend to clarify?’ Spock asked.
Jim’s arm stopped. His knuckles were half a centimeter—even less—away from Spock’s. After a brief pause, he allowed them to touch, each ridge resting in a corresponding valley. It was a physical connection that could not be denied, though it did not demand more from Spock than was decent or respectful of his boundaries. Jim did not rub Spock’s fingertips with his own, callused and strong as his fingers were, but Spock recalled the sensation nonetheless, a memory inspired by the simplest, gentlest of touches.
‘Sometimes,’ Jim said, swallowing thickly, ‘not all the time, but sometimes, when you’re not too busy and if you remember—and I know, you don’t forget stuff—but sometimes, think about how I’d take care of you, and do that.’
‘A peculiar request,’ Spock replied. ‘However, I will honor it.’
Jim’s smile was in his eyes. He blinked rapidly and nodded. ‘Yeah. Cool. Thanks, Spock. For everything.’
‘I am also grateful for “everything” that we have experienced together, Jim.’
‘Yeah?’ Again, Jim cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, me too. I already said that, but it’s true. Some things need repeating, just so you know it’s not a one-time deal. Something that could happen again, even.’
‘Even if you do not intend to remain “in touch” and it is no longer within my purview to “keep tabs” on the cadets and officers in Starfleet, I will attempt to remain current with your career,’ Spock said.
‘You mean you’re gonna check up on me?’ Jim did not sound displeased. In fact, despite his meticulously cultivated privacy, this possibility caused him to sound hopeful.
‘As I suggested that you apply yourself to this particular course of study, I believe the proper phrase would be: I have a vested interest in the results.’
‘Don’t worry. I’m not gonna let you down,’ Jim said.
‘That is not a matter with which you must concern yourself.’
‘Still,’ Jim said, ‘I’m gonna graduate, and I’m gonna get an assignment to a ship, and if they haven’t been tracked down yet, if nobody’s caught up to ‘em—then I’m gonna get the bastards that did this. I’m gonna get ‘em.’
His hand shook, and Spock wondered if this was due to the cold. Though Jim’s body regularly emanated warmth from a raised temperature, Spock had not yet considered the possibility that he might suffer from the distinct chill in the damp air.
‘An embrace, at this time, would not be inappropriate,’ Spock said. It was both indicative of a farewell and a logistical means of sharing body heat.
‘Oh my god,’ Jim said.
This, Spock recognized, was an expression he most commonly used in times of distress or frustration. Jim was clearly reacting to the influence of both, although it did not seem to be a direct result of Spock’s statement.
When Jim threw himself at Spock it felt more like an assault than an embrace. His body collided with Spock’s chest as though it was his intention to knock Spock off-balance—although their understanding of each other permitted Spock to comprehend that this could not be Jim’s intention. His arms wrapped hard around Spock’s shoulders, and even though there was still a notable difference in their heights, that distance was shrinking week by week.
If they were to see each other again, it was possible that Jim would not have to look up in order to meet Spock’s eye. It was unlike Spock to deal in uncertainties; however, at this time in his life, he believed he could allow some atypical behavior to pass unchecked.
He could feel Jim’s thumbs digging into the space between his shoulder blades, reminding Spock that the proper thing to do in such an instance was to contribute to the gesture. He lifted his arms to put them around Jim’s waist. There was no remaining distance between them to bridge, yet Spock tightened his hold on Jim’s body, providing him with the security of a firm hold returned.
There was something wet against the side of his neck, separate from the typical damp that hung over the harbor. It was not cool, but touched with a distinctive, human warmth.
‘Are you crying?’ Spock inquired.
‘What?’ Jim asked.
‘You are shedding tears,’ Spock said, ‘as the result of your emotional state.’
‘No.’ Jim’s reply was vehement, his breath a gust of hot air against Spock’s throat. He moved his mouth against the thin skin of Spock’s neck. He had not worn a high collared shirt for the occasion, a decision that at the time had seemed arbitrary, but now served a greater purpose. ‘It’s just—it’s allergies, Spock. It’s nothing.’
While it was true that Jim’s immune system was what McCoy had referred to as ‘a tricky bastard’ during their shared correspondence regarding Jim’s well-being, it seemed unlikely that he would have spontaneously generated a sudden allergy to Spock or the fibers of his clothing.
‘You are not allergic to me, Jim,’ Spock pointed out.
‘I’m allergic to goodbyes,’ Jim said.
‘That is not what this is.’
‘The wind,’ Jim said.
‘Currently you are protected from the wind by my person,’ Spock replied.
‘It’s a lot of things,’ Jim said. ‘Everything. Just let me—’
His cinched his arms more tightly around Spock’s shoulders instead of finishing his sentence verbally. The action appeared to convey, to Jim’s satisfaction, all that he had not said. For Spock, intuiting the exact definition of the intention was not so simple. If he had the opportunity, he would meditate on the meaning of the moment further, though it was unlikely the opportunity would present itself for some time.
Jim turned his face against Spock’s throat, breath warm, his hair a faint tickle at Spock’s skin. Though Spock would not have requested the embrace for himself, he discovered that it was not as intrusive or as uncomfortable as he would have predicted. He did not prefer to be held; he did not seek close physical proximity with others. Yet Jim was warm, the smell of his leather jacket distinct and the smell of his skin and sweat even more so, as his fingers clenched the fabric at Spock’s collar. His chest was broad; the breeze shifted his hair to brush the underside of Spock’s jaw.
There they remained until the cloud cover that misted the city night-lights opened and it began, faintly, to rain, at which point they departed together, then parted from one another.
*