Archive of Our Own ^beta

1. Telepathy

Spock’s report on the situation, while complete and accurate, is vague.

Ensign Jackson expressed interest in terminating their life. The Medical Team was alerted. While waiting for their arrival, I discussed the merits of suicide with Mr. Jackson. He chose to stand down, and surrendered his weapon to his colleague. Mr. Jackson is now in medical care, and is looking to renounce his commission due to health concerns.

Bones’ description of the situation is unhelpful.

“We got a call, Jim, for this poor kid, threatening to kill himself. So of course I go, run down to Engineering as fast as possible. When I get there, half a dozen people are standing around the guy as he sniffles about friends and being noticed, while Spock stands off to the side. He tells me it’s in my hands now and goes off to his next appointment! Not a word of sympathy, not one!

He doesn’t get the full story until he’s spending an evening with Scotty, three days later, and even then it’s second hand.

“So Jackson’s on the ledge, phaser in hand, shouting about how it doesn’t matter what he does because he’s going to die. And Spock appears, and everyone freezes, and he asks Jackson what’s going on. And Jackson goes off again, about how there’s nothing for him here, and he just wants to die, and Spock nods along to the whole thing, and when Jackson finishes, he tilts his head to the side and says, ‘You are of course aware that death will prevent you from finishing Hingrok.’ And everyone stares at him, and he explains that the group of them who watch that show every morning are doing it in the rec room he uses to grab his breakfast, and Jackson is always there. He goes on to list a bunch of other things Jackson wouldn’t be able to do while dead, with citations for where Jackson does them and who he does them with. Things like the Deck 17 duct work, which Jackson always volunteers for, and away missions to planets with non-green trees, which he made a formal log about a couple months back, and planning surprise parties for friends just because, which he does for someone nearly biweekly. And by the end of it, Jackson is crying, and Spock just looks at him for a long moment, then says, ‘Put the phaser down, Ensign. Please.’ And Jackson passes the phaser to his friend, who throws it across the room. And a couple minutes later, McCoy and his team show up and cart him off!”

It’s admirable. He tells Spock so when they’re grabbing lunch together between a bridge shift and a staff meeting. Spock, of course, brushes the compliment away.

“I did what was necessary,” he responds before taking a sip of his water. “The preservation of life is to be aimed for at all costs.”

“So you did mind control him!”

Both Jim and Spock turn to look at the person, a Junior Lieutenant from the navigation team. Jim frowns.

“That’s a mighty strong accusation there, Lieutenant,” he says. “Where did that come from?”

The Lieutenant quivers a little under the combined stares of Jim and his First Officer. “Well, it’s the word around the ship, is all. That Vulcans are telepathic, so it would make sense if Commander Spock could force Alan to hand the phaser over, then justify it by ‘preservation of life’ or some other Vulcan aphorism.”

Jim doesn’t really know how to respond to that. It’s stupid, obviously. No one in their right mind would think that, right?

“That is illogical, Lieutenant,” says Spock, and he’s got his piercing First Officer stare on, now. The Junior Lieutenant cringes even further. “That would be an unforgivable violation of Ensign Jackson’s autonomy by every legal and moral code in the Federation. Vulcan telepathy is also predominately touch-based, and as I did not touch Mr. Jackson at any point it is therefore impossible for me to have influenced his mind in any way. Furthermore, my telepathy is not mind control, and is not capable of overriding instincts such as the ones Mr. Jackson was experiencing without extreme, visible effort from all involved parties. Thus, your conclusion, and the ship’s rumor mill, have no merit.”

Jim sighs as the Junior Lieutenant nods hurriedly and scurries away. He will likely need to gently push some more cultural sensitivity training to the crew in the near future. But that’s a problem for later. He disposes of his empty tray and walks with Spock out into the hall.

“That was a bit harsh, don’t you think?” he says as they wait for a turbo lift. “It wasn’t really their fault.”

“They are the one who chose to repeat the rumor without considering it carefully,” Spock responds, turning to look at him as he speaks. “I will not allow such lack of critical thinking to progress.”

“Most people on this ship probably know little to nothing about telepathy, Spock,” Jim argues. “In situations like this, people want to feel like the person who solved the problem had some skill they didn’t that makes them best suited for the job. The fact that you’re telepathic and they’re not is going to be the source of discussion until something else interesting happens.”

“Accusations like those can see me brought up on charges,” Spock observes.

Jim sighs. “And there is no evidence in their favor. You’d weather the accusations just fine, and it won’t get that far anyway. Come on—let the crew have their gossip; we’ve got work to do.”

2. Genetics

It had been an annoying mission. An entire planet of people, dying because of a disease they’d accidentally engineered into their own DNA at birth. Most of the bridge crew had been planet side in one capacity or another over the past few days, trying to convince these people that genetic engineering was causing their problems, and more, worse genetic engineering was not the solution. And once that’d been established, the problem was working out what was the solution, which turned out to be a weird mixture of local flora and advanced medications.

Suffice it to say, everyone is tired. Jim is planning on dismissing the whole Alpha crew at minimum, and most of Beta as well, for rest for the day, resuming normal duties tomorrow. But first they have to leave the planet and drop back into a safe warp for their next mission. They’re crossing a large swath of the sector, so it’ll be an easy trip once it’s started.

And, of course, the informal morale-boosting debrief.

“It’s ridiculous,” Sulu says as he flicks a few buttons and frowns at a monitor. “They had to have seen that their offspring were getting sicklier and sicklier. How could they not have seen the problem earlier?”

“Bio-engineering of infants is tricky work, Mr. Sulu,” Bones replies from his spot just behind the Captain’s Chair. “One false move and you’ve lost a whole living, breathing organism.”

“It makes me wonder why anyone does it at all,” Mr. deSalle said from the Engineering station. “It’s got such a high failure rate, the stuff they were trying to do, and it doesn’t really add anything.”

“Yeah,” Bones responds, and Jim can hear the grin, even if he can’t see it. “It’s not particularly logical. Spock, you were bio-engineered, weren’t you? The only way to keep a hybrid alive at the moment is to control for some of the genes. Do you think this whole bio-engineering thing is logical?”

Jim sighs a little. He’s not particularly interested in listening to a debate between the pair right at this moment, but he knows they both need to let off some steam.

“I am by definition a biased source in this instance, Doctor,” Spock responds without looking up from his monitor. “I am therefore unable to help you with your inquiry.”

A wave of quiet giggles ripples through the bridge, a sign of everyone’s exhaustion more than anything. Jim smiles along with them. Of course Spock thinks the Doctor’s questions are so ridiculous as to not be worth examining.

“What, not going to argue in favor of logic?” Bones asks. “I was expecting something along the lines of ‘Vulcans are logical by definition, so anything that creates a Vulcan is logical.’”

More giggles ripple across the bridge, including Jim this time. He turns back to Science to see how Spock responds to Bones’ ribbing.

“Arguing for or against the logic of my own creation is in and of itself illogical,” Spock responds. “I am, and there is no discussion that might change that.”

“Damn,” Bones says, “are you sure?”

The bridge outright laughs this time, and Jim exchanges a grin with Lieutenant Uhura. He’s glad that he’s here, with these people, even if some of their missions are awful.

“There are over one million peer reviewed words written in six languages about that very question, Doctor,” Spock says, and suddenly Jim realizes how tight his voice has gotten. He finally straightens to look at McCoy, his expression as impassive as always. “I imagine someone has expressed an argument that you will find compelling. If not, your dedication to emotionalism may provide you a unique insight to add to the conversation.”

“What, about whether you specifically existing is logical?” Bones asks, incredulous and a little indignant. Jim agrees with him; that’s a bit horrific.

“You all found it amusing when you suggested it,” Spock pointed out. “Why does it upset you to find out the discussion exists? That, more than my existence, is illogical.”

People are avoiding the gaze of others, now. The cheery atmosphere is definitely gone.

“All right, you two,” Jim cuts in before Bones can snap out his retort. “You’ve had the emotions are illogical debate before, and now is not the time to rehash it. You can do it when we’re all on break for the next day.”

Chekhov cheers, and deSalle grins at him. Bones huffs a little. The atmosphere around him lightens. Jim sighs in relief.

Spock goes back to his monitor without comment.

3. Emotion

Jim hated working with empaths. The fact that his emotions weren’t private no matter how much effort he put into it made his skin crawl. These particular empaths—a non-Federation allied party near the Romulan Neutral Zone that had requested Starfleet assistance with a blight on their crops—took it one step further: since everyone knew what you were feeling at all times, it was therefore impolite to not simply express that emotion.

Friction springs between his away party and the empaths nearly immediately.

First is a forced outing of a relationship between two of his ensigns. He’d sort of known they were dating, knew it was something he couldn’t prevent happening on a starship that spent months in deep space without contact with the rest of the galaxy. But now the pair were feuding over an “improperly expressed love declaration,” which will be a nightmare for their department scheduler if it doesn’t clear up soon, and Jim will have to intervene.

Next follows a Lieutenant with an anxiety disorder accidentally offending an entire group of the empaths over a half suppressed fear reaction. He is back on the ship now, his worst nightmare having come true of messing up a mission because he couldn’t control his anxiety. Jim trusts that Bones will sort him out in time.

The reports keep coming in, and coming in, and coming in. Jim gets used to inserting himself into groups of several empaths and one trembling human with the words “hello and I am sorry that there is a disturbance and I am frustrated that this keeps happening.” At least six crew members very obviously expect a disciplinary mark on their record in the coming days.

Jim forgives all of them. As far as he is concerned, as long as this mess ends with a cure for the blight and zero dead bodies, he doesn’t care.

It comes to a head on the last day. With Spock, of all people.

Jim had considered trying to keep Spock on the ship. He knows Vulcans have a hang up about their emotions, and further knows that Spock puts a lot of time and energy into being as Vulcan as possible. To that end, Jim wondered if perhaps the culture clash between Spock and these empaths would be too strong, that his First Officer would for once be a detriment to the mission instead of an unequivocal asset. But Spock is the First Officer and the Chief Science Officer. His presence on the mission is nearly non-negotiable.

To his credit, there are no issues for the first week of being there. Somehow, the empaths seem to skate over him, never really noticing when he’s present or if he’s feeling anything. With the number of times various members of the crew are accused of being curious Jim expects at least a passing comment, but one never comes. Spock even plays his part, expressing his gratitude to his team much more often than usual. It has the effect of making them flustered, in a good way of course, and they work harder because of it, chasing that praise.

And then Lieutenant Rodgers slips and nearly drops a vial of the blight cure she’d been synthesizing. She hits the ground with a thud, causing many of the surrounding crew to turn towards her, some running to help her up and make sure both her and the vial are okay. She waves them off as she gets up, muttering about exhaustion. Jim can sympathize. None of the senior crew members have really eaten or slept in the past few days trying to stay on top of this nonsense.

Which is the excuse he will use later when asked why he didn’t notice that every single empath had whipped around to look not at Rodgers, but at Spock.

“You are shielding,” one of them observes. “This upsets me because it implies you do not trust me.”

Spock blinks. “In my culture, shielding is an act of responsibility,” he says. “To not shield is to inflict one’s thoughts on those uninvolved in them. It has nothing to do with my trust for you.”

“I felt your worry, Commander, for your subordinate,” another empath says. “It was but a flash, quickly suppressed. Is she not worth your emotion?”

Spock stiffens. “Lieutenant Rodgers is worth any emotion one may feel about her. She is an exemplary officer.”

Lieutenant Rodgers turns bright red. Several of the empaths glance at her, but quickly turn back to the showdown between Spock and the surrounding group.

“I always assumed your kind was defective,” the leader of the empaths said. “It saddened me to know there was an entire race of people who would never know joy, or trust, or community. But now I am learning that it was not a lack of emotional ability, but a constant, disrespectful shield. This saddens me more than before, and it also angers me. How dare you keep your joy from me?”

Jim’s stomach turns. He signals to the surrounding security team to start moving Enterprise people out of what he suspects is about to turn into a hostile area.

“I apologize for any offense,” Spock says. He’s seen Jim’s signal, but he doesn’t move.

“Allow me to feel your sorrow,” the leader says. “Lower your shields.”

Spock’s brow furrows. “I cannot,” he says. “That would negatively impact my health, and the health of those around me.”

“You are a guest here. You will do as you are told.”

Jim looks away to see how the quiet evacuation is going. Only a handful of people are left, a single transporter’s worth including Spock. Because of this, he misses Spock’s response.

There is a shout, and Jim whips back around to see the leader pressing his hands to either side of Spock’s face. Another of the empaths is holding Spock’s hands behind his back. Jim starts to run to his friend’s rescue, but he is grabbed and held back.

Pain clouds Spock’s expression as his face scrunches up. A slight whine rises from his throat. The leader growls, eyes closed, pushing his way into Spock’s mind. Suddenly, Jim can feel soft waves of pain, sadness, fear, embarrassment, regret. They flit through his mind, cause his body to shiver against his will. He doesn’t like the sensation.

“Let me go,” grinds out Spock.

The leader’s face contorts. “Never,” he growls back. “Not until you have learned respect.”

“So be it,” Spock whispers, and a moment later Jim feels a piercing shot of abject fear. His whole body tenses. One of the remaining security agents actually scrambles back, away from Spock and the empath, who is suddenly reeling away from Spock, eyes blown wide. Shouting rings out from across the area. Spock slumps to the ground, breathing hard. The fear vanishes from Jim’s mind, along with the soft waves of emotion from before. He rips himself out of the grip of his captor and runs to Spock’s side.

“Are you alright?” he asks, grabbing Spock’s shoulder. Spock nods briefly, still breathing too fast. Jim hauls him to his feet and drags him away from the growing crowd around the leader.

“Kirk to Enterprise,” he shouts into his communicator. “Five to beam up!”

They get into formation, and a moment later shimmering takes them.

Later, Nurse Chapel berates Spock as she patches him up. Apparently, the psychic contact has given Spock a migraine, and treating psionic damage is complicated on a ship full of psi-null humans.

“Really, though, Mr. Spock,” she is saying as Jim enters sickbay to check on his friends. “All he wanted was some evidence of a happy emotion. Was that too much to ask?”

“He was asking for much more than that,” Spock returns, and his voice is tight but even. He is in pain, but he will recover.

“We had almost made it through the whole mission without any problems, and then you had to go and commit a slight against their society! You are usually much more culturally sensitive than this!”

Spock’s eyes drift to Jim’s. Something in his temple tightens.

“Shielding is a necessity in Vulcans, especially ones as telepathically sensitive as I am,” Spock says quietly. “I will not endanger myself or others for what ultimately amounts to a temporary issue.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to admit to being happy once in your life, Mr. Spock,” Chapel snaps.

Spock stands abruptly, pulling away from her hands. She looks up at him, mild surprise coloring her expression.

“I would appreciate if you would refrain from commenting on aspects of my culture you do not understand, Ms. Chapel,” he says. “Now, if you are finished, I must check up on my crew.”

Chapel stares at him for a moment, then nods, gesturing towards the door. Spock walks towards the door.

“Obstinate little…” she mutters as she packs away the last of her supplies.

“He’s had a long day,” Jim offers, with a smile. “Cut him some slack.”

Chapel returns the grin. “But he doesn’t feel frustration, Captain. He’s fine.”

Jim laughs. The sound of the door swishing closed echoes behind him.

4. Family

The Orions have been dealt with. Jim, Spock, and Sarek have all been released from sickbay, all warned to “take it easy” in a vaguely threatening tone. Of course, it’s still a few days before they arrive at the conference and disembark all of the diplomats. Which means that he’s still playing referee between people with more authority than sense.

Not that he’d ever say that out loud.

They’re at another dinner, mingling with the diplomats and keeping an eye on the tensions that have sprung up between them. Jim will be shocked if there are only the two assassination attempts by the end of the mission.

Spock appears by his side, the glass in his hand containing exactly the same amount of liquid it had over an hour previously when he picked it up. Jim smiles at the sight.

“Enjoying yourself, Spock?” he asks. Spock is tense, overwhelmed by the number of people if Jim had to make a guess. As much as his First would like to claim that he is recovered, Jim knows he’s still tired from the transfusion.

“Of course, Captain,” Spock responds, the rote sentence he uses every time Jim asks him in front of witnesses who would take offense at his disagreement. The sarcasm in the words is probably only audible to Jim himself. Spock is staring across the room, and Jim looks over to where Spock is watching, finding Ambassador Sarek and Lady Amanda standing together with a small group of diplomats. Amanda laughs at a comment one of them makes.

To his knowledge, Spock hasn’t spoken with either of his parents since they were all released from sickbay. As much as he’d like to push, he knows that here and now is not the time and place.

“Ah! Captain Kirk!”

The voice is unknown to him. He turns and finds one of the newest arrivals, the Ambassador from Exculsin, a man named Shyrix. He smiles, digging in his mind for the correct greeting. By his side, Spock bows slightly, and Jim remembers, copying the motion but not quite as low, to account for his status.

“Welcome, Ambassador. I hope you are settling in well?”

The Ambassador grins. “As well as I can with all the rumors circling about!”

Internally, Jim sighs. Of course there are rumors.

“Word among the royalty is that your First Officer almost allowed his father to die in the name of duty!”

“The circumstances of my father’s collapse were part of a tense situation,” Spock responds evenly. “My choices reflected my responsibilities both to my father and to the other diplomats aboard this vessel.”

The Ambassador laughs kindly. “Yes, yes, you’re the logical one, all right. I am sure your teachings of… what was his name? Syrok? The old one, from when you were all crazy. Anyway, I am sure they have something to say on the situation.”

Spock doesn’t react. “You are thinking of the teachings of Surak, and he does have a relevant aphorism. ‘The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.’”

“Yes, of course,” the Ambassador says. “We wouldn’t want to feel any emotion like loyalty or companionship, after all.”

Jim glances sideways at Spock. He stands in perfect parade rest like always, hands clasped behind his back. His fingers are pressing a little hard into his skin, but Jim isn’t about to begrudge him that in these circumstances.

“Spock’s loyalty is something I am grateful to be able to rely on,” Jim says. This makes the Ambassador laugh again, and Jim files away the fact that he seems to be a jovial fellow.

“You know, I’d always admired the Vulcans for their dedication to their family structure,” he says once he’s finished laughing. “You know your commander’s family line can be traced back hundreds of years? Hundreds of years of filial piety to the matriarchs. My people could stand to take lessons from you lot.” He takes a sip of his drink. “It’s a pity that Commander Spock here is throwing all of that away out of spite.”

Spock tenses beside him, and Jim frowns. “How do you mean?”

“Oh, it’s obvious that there’s tension in the House of Sarek,” the Ambassador says. “He brings that human of his with him everywhere, but never mentions his son. The rumors about you, commander, are a delight. Did you know some people think you’re hiding in the desert trying to find God?”

For some reason this makes Spock tense further. The Ambassador doesn’t seem to notice.

“We all thought it was because he was disappointed in his kid for not being full Vulcan, which is, well, illogical. How would you expect a half human to conform to Vulcan conditioning? But then I heard from Ambassador Shras, who heard from… mmm, I think it was Consort Hingsom, who heard from Security Commander Lex, who overheard some ensigns of yours gossiping.”

Great.

“Rumor has it that Lady Amanda Sarek was seen exiting Commander Spock’s quarters in a fury. Ten minutes later, Commander Spock is seen entering the medical bay of this ship with a bruise forming across his face!”

Jim hasn’t yet heard this rumor. He looks sharply at Spock, but his First is impassive as ever.

“Obviously there is more going on in this relationship!”

“I am sure Mr. Spock and his parents get along just fine,” Jim says, trying to inject his voice with his command authority while still coming across as polite.

The Ambassador laughs once again. “Yes, yes, I’m sure it’s all fine. Those damned Vulcans probably have it all figured it, perfectly logical like. I just think it’s amusing, is all, that Sarek lords his Vulcanness over us while his son demonstrates the exact alternative.”

“Be that as it may,” Jim says, “Commander Spock is an asset to this ship. I expect Ambassador Sarek will demonstrate the same ingenuity and drivenness when the time comes.”

The Ambassador chuckles once again and bids them farewell, drifting away from the pair. Jim turns to Spock, brow furrowing when he finds his friend’s lips thin and hands tight.

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly.

Spock nods. “I apologize, Captain, but I believe I am due for another supplement from Doctor McCoy.” Without waiting for a response, Spock turns and walks out the door, disappearing from sight. Jim sighs. It had been over an hour. Spock wasn’t coming back. Bones had bailed out already, as had Scotty and Sulu. He was in this alone.

5. Friendship

It is a beautiful day out.

The starbase they’re currently docked in is orbiting a class M, previously uninhabited planet with a Federation sponsored colony to maintain the starbase. There’s a campus that’s available to them, but the sky is blue and the sun is high and there’s a pleasant breeze, so Jim, Bones, and Spock are all sitting out on the lawn under a tree, enjoying the fresh, non-recycled air. Spock is reading something on a padd while Bones and Jim discuss grav ball teams.

It’s nice, Jim thinks, to be able to just sit and relax with his friends. No missions, no diplomats, no hazardous substances and a time limit before it all goes to hell.

“Why, if it isn’t Jim Kirk!”

Jim looks up to see the Captain of the Excelsior striding towards them, grinning. It takes a moment for him to remember his name.

“Alex Farcross! Good to see you!”

Alex comes to a stop still standing above them. “I’d heard you were on shore leave, but I didn’t think I’d run across you!”

Jim smiles. “Just a day or so while they re-tune my ship.”

“For better or worse,” grumbles Bones beside him. Jim laughs.

Alex turns his eyes to Bones, then to Spock. He frowns. “I’d expect you to take the time off,” he says, turning his eyes back to Jim. “What’re you working on?”

Confusion clouds Jim’s mind for a moment. “What do you mean? It’s a beautiful day! I’m out with my friends, taking in the real sun for once.”

“Oh,” says Alex, still frowning for a moment longer before he clears the expression away. “I guess I hadn’t realized that Vulcans were capable of having friends. Well, learn something new every day!”

Jim laughs. “I enjoy being with Spock!” he says.

“Better you than me,” Alex says. “I can’t imagine being around a person that attains a higher standard than me in literally everything without even trying all day, every day.”

Bones huffs. “He’s not better at everything,” he says. “He’s just particular about rules, and that stresses people out.”

“I suppose,” Alex allows. He grins again. “I’m late for a meeting, actually, but I’m glad I could say hi. We’ll have to get together sometime! When you’re… available.” His eyes flick to Spock again.

Jim nods even though they both know the chance will never arise, and Alex trots off to his next thing.

“You’re not reading that,” Bones announces, staring over Spock’s shoulder. “You’ve been on the same page for five minutes now.”

Spock flicks the padd off. He doesn’t say anything.

1. Bravery

Jim stares into his coffee, hands wrapped around the mug. The room around him, which in days past would have been loud and cheery, filled with people taking a break from a long, hard day of space travel, is subdued. The few people present grab their food quickly and quietly, and once they’re finished they disappear for parts unknown.

Spock’s death has been hard on all of them.

He knows Bones is watching him. Starfleet has offered him time off, but he didn’t take it. Scotty’s been thrown into the position of First Officer somewhat suddenly, and he’s reeling as well, and Jim’s not going to let him take on more stress than he needs to.

He closes his eyes and regrets it immediately. The image of Spock’s body, splayed out in his quarters, blood pooling around him, knife still in hand, is apparently burned onto the back of his eyelids. He downs the rest of his drink, wincing as the heat of it burns his mouth, and stands. He has work to do.

The bridge is mostly silent for the whole shift, people only speaking when their job requires it. He doesn’t look at the science officer filling in for Spock, doesn’t comment when she stutters on her announcements, doesn’t stop her from fleeing into the halls the second her replacement appears. No one in blue looks stable, and he is formally and officially looking the other way about it. Spock’s crew had loved him, and he’d thought that Spock, in his own way, had loved them in return.

After his shift is over, he makes his way to Spock’s quarters. The security team has swept the room twice, as is regulation, and an additional four times out of desperation, looking for anything that might suggest that Spock’s death was coerced, forced, or otherwise not of his hand or of his own free will. The fact that Spock had locked his door for once is discussed at length, but ultimately the files on his desk outlining in explicit detail the next steps in his experiments, the current priorities in the department, and his suggestions for his replacements for Chief Science Officer are damning evidence. Now it’s just a matter of clearing out the room for whomever moves in next, a job that Jim has assigned to himself, and no one has argued.

(Scotty has already told him that if Starfleet makes him First Officer permanently, he’s not taking the room on pain of giving up his commission. Jim isn’t planning on letting Starfleet take Engineering away from Scotty, so it isn’t going to be an issue. However, he made sure Scotty knew he was heard and understood.)

It’s almost meditative. He pulls clothing out of the closet and folds it into stacks on the desk. He closes down padds, preparing them for the wiping process. He puts Vulcan artifacts into boxes to return to Spock’s parents back home.

Bones finds him at the end of his shift standing in the middle of the packed away room, staring at nothing. He doesn’t say anything as he drags him through the door and down the hall to his own room, and pushes him into the bed. Then he settles at Jim’s desk and pulls out something to work on, ignoring him completely.

That evening, the bridge crew all gets together. It’s just them in a rec room, and both Jim and Bones have made it very clear that this is an off the record, unofficial gathering, where anything that is said will not get back to Starfleet in any way. No reports, no medical holds, nothing. What Starfleet doesn’t know won’t hurt them.

Scotty and Bones both bring alcohol.

They sit in silence for a long time. Finally, though, Sulu breaks the silence.

“How could we not have seen it coming?”

And that’s the question, isn’t it? Spock spent individual time with all of them. He helped Sulu with his plants, Chekov with his extracurricular experiments, Uhura with her musical endeavors, Scotty with his tinkering. God knows how many chess matches he’d played with Jim, how many arguments he’d had with Bones. It was honestly shocking how well connected the fiercely introverted man had been.

How could they not have seen it coming?

“Spock prided himself on his emotional control,” Scotty points out, swilling his drink around his glass. “The only way we would have seen it coming was if he’d let us.”

“Yeah, prided himself so much that it blinded him to his own emotional turmoil,” Bones says with a dark chuckle. “Pointy-eared, green-blooded coward is what he is. Couldn’t handle the idea that he wasn’t perfect, or that he might have needed help, or that we might fucking miss him when he’s gone.”

Jim frowns as the others nod. “Did you ever tell him that?” he asks quietly. Bones looks at him, confused. “That you’d miss him. Because it seems to me that every interaction you ever had with him involved making fun of him.”

Bones splutters at him, not really saying anything coherent, but Jim is thinking now. He’s thinking, and he doesn’t like what he’s remembering.

“I don’t think he’s a coward,” he says, flinching a little at the verb tense. “If anything, I think he was brave for how long he lasted.”

“I don’t see how suicide can ever be considered brave,” mutters Bones.

“Spock spent every day of his life surrounded by people telling him he needed to be different to be worth anything,” Jim says. “Us included. Me included. I’m pretty sure the last thing I heard you say to him was that he was a green-blooded computer chip, and we all let you get away with it.”

Bones flinches. Jim bows his head. He doesn’t apologize. The table lapses back into silence.

“Why didn’t he ever stand up for himself?” Chekov asks. “If we were all… forcing him to be different?”

“He used to,” Uhura says. “Scotty, you remember that time, with Pike, after the Triskans.”

“The Triskans,” Scotty repeats, smiling. “Yes, he tore into Pike for that. Mitchell reprimanded him for it, but I think Pike expunged it from his record.”

Jim doesn’t know the story. He doesn’t ask, either. He’s thinking about quiet games of chess that used to be conversations about family and philosophy and friendship and home that had turned more and more towards ship’s business as time went on.

“That was when he was brave,” Uhura continues. “Not… not when he killed himself.”

“No one can be brave forever,” Sulu says, and he says it with a quiet lilt that makes Jim look sharply at him. He’s staring into his drink, a faraway look in his eyes.

“Can’t be helped now,” says Scotty, taking a long drink from his own glass.

There is another silence, and suddenly Jim wants to be left alone. He wants to go back to his room and not think about the fact that they’d all sat around the table without unconsciously leaving a space. Spock wouldn’t’ve joined them; he didn’t drink. Then again, did Jim remember ever inviting him to a group social? He must have, at least the first few times, right?

The next day, Jim spends hours going through Starfleet regulations. He reads about social dynamics on board starships. He reads about bullying. He reads about reporting procedures, anonymity, and consequences. He reads about cultural competency requirements and remedial trainings. He annotates them all and binds them together into one huge document. The next time he meets with the higher-ups, he will be prepared.

At Spock’s funeral, he praises him as the bravest man he ever knew.