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Spock’s departure is slow, quiet, and bittersweet. He leaves on a Sunday night, hoping to spare Jim the reality of a weekend alone. It is illogical, emotional, and surprisingly appreciated. In the warm glow of their house, Jim feels safe.
Later, he will find it impossible to think about his husband’s farewell, their life together reduced to a single raised ta’al. Later, he will drink enough to make himself sick, probing pointlessly at the wounds left by their fading bond. And later still, when he feels tired and old, Jim will find solace in Spock’s arms once again.
But for now, they hold each other in the doorway, frozen breath mingling beneath the porch light. They are wrapped so close their cheeks can touch. While this is a goodbye, it does not feel like an ending, and they are at peace with their decisions. After all, in every universe, they know they are meant to find one another. Sometimes more than once.
--
At this point in his life, Jim doesn’t know how to be a Captain anymore. His senior staff have all retired, or accepted new assignments. He can’t imagine a life in space without them. But, after ten years on the Enterprise, he doesn’t know how to be an Admiral either. He feels pitifully lost, dirtside, always waiting for a mission or a crisis. Always looking over his shoulder, reaching for a friend who isn’t there.
So, when the bond finally breaks, it shatters Jim’s heart. Losing his friend, his lover, his trusted officer, leaves the Admiral drowning. Spock was his universal constant, his soulmate. After two years, the isolation is agony, a rejection of everything he is or ever will be. Without the brush of that beautiful mind against his own, Jim just feels superfluous and empty.
Alone.
Deep down, beneath the rapidly building horror, Jim knows he will adapt. Leaving the Enterprise was difficult for everyone, even those who were ready to retire, because none of them knew how to live apart. But slowly, they are learning, and some day, he will too.
Jim doesn’t know how to be a Captain anymore, and that’s okay. The bridge crew is a family, and they will always belong to each other. But as he lays on the floor of the living room, head pounding, shirt stained with sweat and puke, one thing becomes increasingly clear. He doesn’t know how to be a person without Spock.
--
When he finally recovers from the week long bender, it’s difficult to piece together a timeline. He knows he drank a lot, and he broke a few things, judging by the cuts on his hands. Thankfully, Starfleet doesn’t send him a reprimand, so he must have requested sick leave before smashing the communicator to bits.
Either that, or being an Admiral really is as pointless as he suspects.
Still, Jim does remember this- Bones, his platonic life partner, is the first person to pick him off the proverbial and literal floor. The good doctor appears unannounced, hypos in hand, claiming Jim called him at three am looking “like a goddamn Halloween prop in the sun.”
And so, from there, Jim builds a life. He gets a therapist, and moves forward with his career. He makes new friends, meets with colleagues, and spends time with the crew. He finds every photo of Spock in the house, every piece the man left behind, and hides them in the attic. He thinks about Ambassador Selek, and his own counterpart, who never knew what it was like to be together. Sometimes he envies them.
Sometimes he doesn’t.
--
One of Jim’s new companions is, thankfully, a capable assistant.
When he decides to teach a few courses on the side, the Academy assigns Cadet Anita Juarez as a TA. They are tall, brilliant, and remind him eerily of both Uhura and Number One. No matter how funny or charming he tries to be, Jim will never be able to fall behind in his work.
In other words, Juarez is terrifying. As far as Jim is concerned, they are bound to have their own ship one day. Their ability to manage him is qualification enough
Inside the safety of his own mind, he decides to adopt them immediately.
--
When Jim falls in love again, he feels like the hero of a cliché holovid. It’s been four years, since he last spoke to Spock, and much of that time has been spent learning how to be Admiral Kirk, the single middle-aged man. So he doesn’t expect Daniel to change everything, just by knocking on his office door.
Captain Daniel Evans arrives in the middle of the afternoon, while the Admiral is looking at an essay from his current favorite student, a new Klingon recruit by the name of Kerla. Juarez is in the other room, fielding a call from a particularly exhausting student, and Jim has already placed an order for curry, knowing they will demand something for the sacrifice later.
He’s surprised, but happy to see Daniel. Jim had heard the news of Captain Evan’s retirement, and was admittedly shocked, but their relationship was only professional. Beyond working together to teach a few classes, before Evans took to the black, they barely spoke.
He didn’t expect Evans to visit him, much less ask for advice on handling the transition. Perhaps Daniel is better prepared for this, emotionally, than Jim ever was. Still, even if it is a choice, learning to be planetside was a difficult task, and Jim recognizes the odd look on the man’s face. It’s going to be awhile before Evans can sleep on a soft mattress, surrounded by the sounds of a city.
Maybe it’s this thought, this moment of comradery, that sparks Kirk’s honesty. Maybe, he’s finally ready to move on. Either way, Jim laughs in surprise, teasing as he says:
“Well, I’m not sure I’m the best source of advice for that.”
“Why’s that Sir?”
“I ran off and married my first officer”
--
Reconciliation begins slowly, and like this.
As a Captain, Jim was known for his passion, his brilliance, and the ability to charm a whole universe with his brand of reckless insanity. As an Admiral, he is known for being steadfast and intelligent, charismatic and warm.
In other words, he is considerably less interesting.
Still, he is a federation hero, and according to the media, he is also a very attractive middle-aged man. So, the Fleet likes to trot him out from time to time, for a fundraiser or a speech. And for the most part, Jim doesn’t mind. He likes meeting veterans and new recruits, fans and detractors, even if it is a bit exhausting. Even if he still, occasionally, looks over his shoulder, expecting Uhura to be there with a glare and a reminder to behave.
But today, it’s the twenty-year anniversary of their first launch. The Academy is filled with people, young and old, survivors of Nero and Khan next to kids who don’t know the names yet. There are ridiculous decorations, gigantic banners with heroic portraits of the crew, their names and titles emblazoned above the crowd. There is even, surprisingly, a live band.
On a monitor, he can see the stage reflected back at him, recorded even as the speech is broadcast live. Scotty and Bones, Sulu and Chekov, Uhura and Spock are all there. Just like they never left. And it’s all a bit embarrassing, but this time, when Kirk glances to the right mid speech, Nyota Uhura is standing there. She’s smiling and glaring, just a little bit, just for old time’s sake, and Jim has to take a moment to breathe.
He doesn’t want to cry at the podium.
Especially when, for the first time in a long time, Jim experiences that rush of confidence he felt when he first sat in the Captain’s chair. Because it doesn’t matter that they’re older. It doesn’t matter that he will never Captain a ship again. He has Daniel and Juarez, out in the crowd, with the rest of his family behind him. Some bonds cannot be broken.
Honestly, he doesn’t plan to say it. He doesn’t notice how corny it is, or even worry if it will fit into his speech, although he finds out later that it does. And when he looks over his shoulder, and finally finds what he is looking for, he won’t hear the thunderous applause.
Without hesitation, the phrase just rolls off his tongue.
“Take us out, Mr. Sulu”
--
From there, Spock and Jim slowly rebuild the friendship they had lost. First with tentative messages, and then vidcalls, and eventually visits. It’s difficult at first. There is so much left unsaid, and while the years have erased much of the pain, they can’t forget their bond. And neither can their current partners, who both express, in their own way, some trepidation about the idea.
Unfortunately, Jim does not have the benefit of telepathy to assure Daniel of his pure intentions. They’re not proud of the arguments they have about it. Daniel, despite having more emotional intelligence than Jim, struggles to voice his insecurities. And Jim, who has never been great at this, struggles to explain why he wants to have a friendship with his ex-husband.
But eventually, Juarez decides to stop flying a ship, and settles in San Francisco with a beautiful Andorian. And when they decide to have beautiful kids, Spock becomes just another uncle among many, a member of Jim’s bizarre and adopted family. Amelia never learns the truth of their lives beforehand, and for that, everyone is thankful. Life is, for her, stable and perfect and bright.
In the end, it almost feels simple.
--
By the time they reach their 60th reunion, most of the bridge crew is gone. When Jim stands on the podium, before a considerably smaller crowd, his eyes are red rimmed. This time, he doesn’t care.
Truthfully, He never expected to be here now, among the mourners. He expected to die in space, like his father before him. But Daniel is gone. Bones is dead. Uhura, Sulu, and even Chekov are dead. The only one left, from the crew of the first Enterprise, is Spock.
And it hurts just to breathe.
By unspoken agreement, when the presentation is done, they take the first shuttle to Iowa. Neither of them have much in the way of luggage, and they don’t have anywhere else to go. Juarez won’t be home for another three days, at least, while they help Amelia move for college.
In a way, Jim is thankful for the privacy. This moment belongs to the two of them.
When Jim was crying on the floor, at age thirty-eight, he never expected to be here again. To find comfort wrapped in the arms of his friend, his lover, his Vulcan. But now, in a horrifying bit of symmetry, they’re on the front porch. They’re wrapped so close their cheeks can touch. And this time, instead of letting go, instead of watching Spock walk away, Jim leans in close. He stands on the tips of his aching feet, and kisses his companion, deeply and fully. He thinks hello, I love you still. He thinks hello, I love you again.
The fields are covered in a blanket of snow, fresh and undisturbed, untouched by the light of their one little lamp. Jim’s wrinkled hands press against Spock’s chest, gripping Vulcan robes, fragile with arthritis and psoriasis alike. He has aged more than the half Vulcan before him, and it kills Jim to know that his friend will be the last survivor. That he will be alone, as the Ambassador was before him.
Perhaps Daniel was a little more intuitive than Jim wanted to admit. Jim loved his second husband deeply, but a piece of his heart always sat on New Vulcan, a tiny flame that life could not extinguish. Crew belongs to each other, and they will stand together, until age claims Jim.
He hopes Spock will survive the weight.