The Edge

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Part V

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Jim was on the Bridge when the Enterprise dropped out of warp.

There were only so many duties or things to be monitored while in orbit, even fewer of which could not be left up to someone else, he knew this. But the alternative was seeing Spock off the ship.

A large part of him wanted to. It would, after all, be the last time he would be seeing Spock as his own, to say whatever needed to be said. Spock would surely not want to discuss it -- them -- upon his return. It would be inappropriate once he was married to someone else and Spock was always appropriate.

The other part of him -- just as large -- wanted to stay as far away from the situation as possible, for fear of being unable to hold back some embarrassing display. Here, in command, he was just that, but down there with Spock, he would not consider himself above begging. There was an image, in his mind, of him clinging to Spock's knees by the transporter pad. It was neither flattering nor productive.

Kaiidth.

He wondered if this was the sort of thing where he was expected to go down. Would the waiting Vulcan party be expecting to see him? Or was this such a private matter that they would be offended by a Human presence? Worst of all, was he expected to hand Spock over officially, considering what they were to each other? Did they even know about that? Would he have to tell them?

Surely not. They had never bonded.

Would Spock expect him to be there? Perhaps he wanted the goodbye scene; he could be somewhat sentimental for someone so allegedly against emotions. Of course, surely Spock would understand if Jim did not.

Would understand if Jim could not.

They had been in orbit an hour, with three hours still to go on alpha shift, when the turbolift doors opened and McCoy stepped on the Bridge. Jim tensed in his chair immediately. He knew why the doctor was there, and he was not ready for it. Not here. If the personal bled into this room, there would be no coming back from it.

McCoy did not even pretend nonchalance. He approached Jim, gripped the back of his chair, and leaned down to his level. "He's ready to go," he said in Jim's ear. "I think you should come with me."

Jim shifted in his seat. "I'm on duty," he threw behind him.

McCoy's hand migrated to his shoulder. "Jim," he said, "I don't want you to wish you hadn't stayed up here."

Jim swallowed, eyes fixed on the viewing screen. McCoy's fingers squeezed.

Jim rose to his feet before he could stop himself and turned toward the lift without glancing at his friend.

"Mister Sulu, you have the conn."

He did not wait for a response and the doors slid shut. McCoy did not say anything until Jim did.

"Where is he?"

The doctor glanced to him, watching Jim not look at him. "The transporter room. Says Sarek has everyone waiting. Including T'Pau -- did you know that?"

"Someone mentioned it when she was onboard during the Narada incident." The corner of Jim's lips tilted up in a wistful smile before he could check it. "I remember being pissed. Wasn't enough that he was perfect, the asshole had to be important too."

McCoy snorted a laugh.

Jim's smile faded. "Hey, Bones?"

"Hm?"

"How did you do this?"

McCoy looked at him again and Jim purposely still refrained from meeting his eyes, afraid he was asking to see pity in them. McCoy sighed. "I didn't," he said. "I was ready for the break when it came -- hell, eager. Afraid I can't give you advice for this one, kid. You're just gonna have to wing it."

Jim scoffed. "Wing it."

"Yeah." McCoy slapped at his shoulder again. "Lucky for us," he said as the doors opened, "s'what you're best at."

---

Spock was beside the pad, back to the door when they arrived. He did not turn when they entered.

Jim heard McCoy clear his throat. "Hey, Scotty," he said, not at all subtly. "I got something to talk to you about. Out, um... in the hall." He gestured back the way he and Jim had come.

Scotty caught Jim's eye for a moment. "O' course," he said. "In the hall." Like this was a normal occurrence. He stepped away from the control pad and followed McCoy out, door automatically shutting behind them.

Neither Jim nor Spock moved.

"You feel all right?" was the first thing Jim could think to say, because maybe he should not be getting too close. "I mean, not... but the fever's still..."

Spock's shoulders were all that moved. "I have spent my time off-duty in meditation," he said. "The fever has not come yet."

Jim had not seen Spock at all in a day and a half. It was not unheard of, given their jobs, but hardly customary. Now he would be gone for two weeks, and even his return would not be joyous.

But he would return. Sarek would see to it.

Jim's breathing was going funny, he could feel it, frightening like the burst of nausea before vomiting. He took a questioning step forward. "Can I touch you?" Touching Spock fixed everything, a perfect anchor. As long as he could take advantage of that, he would.

Spock still did not turn. "Perhaps unwise," he eventually said, "... but not impossible."

Jim wanted to run, but he walked, and rather slowly at that. Spock tensed further with every step, but for once, Jim did not believe it had anything to do with the pon farr. Spock was standing too closely to the pad to step around, so Jim reached for his shoulder and urged him to turn.

Jim did not let go when he did. He brought his other hand to Spock's other shoulder, spreading his fingers and feeling as both drifted up and along Spock's neck. It took Jim nosing along his cheek to get Spock to reach for him, and when he did, he drew Jim closer, as close as possible, grip near painful. Jim could feel handfuls of his shirt being grasped at his back and he tightened his own hold, unsure what else to do.

Jim wondered inanely if he would ever be close enough to smell Spock again. He would miss that too, if not.

"I, uh..." He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed down a sob. "God." He turned his nose into Spock's ear. "I need to say some things to you, okay? And you'll just have to forgive me if it makes you uncomfortable."

Spock's fingers twisted in his shirt, nose warm against Jim's neck.

"First, I'm, um... sorry. For the way I treated you at first."

"Jim-"

"Don't do that. Let me finish and then I'll give you a turn."

He felt Spock's lips twitch against his skin.

"I don't just mean how I got command anyway, I mean all of it. I was a jackass to you for... well. A long time. Even after we started working together. A lot of that was just that you're so fun to annoy, but, uh... still sorry."

He felt Spock swallow. "Apology accepted."

"I figure you've taken enough shit over the course of your life without getting it from me, so... just so we're clear here... you are... the best person I know." Jim stared at the wall over Spock's shoulder. He had no speech to make, he said what came to mind and nothing more. He would surely discover later that he had missed something and regret it, but that could not be helped. "And maybe considering the people I grew up with and that the crew is mostly Human, you're not going to take that as much of a compliment, but..." He smirked. "I figure you at least value my own opinion by now. And it's not about following rules for you, like I thought it was at first, or like it is for all the rest of them; you're just... actually that decent. And that's made me a better captain and a better man. Made me want to be a better man. I'm glad I'm at least not losing that.

"As for the part I am losing..." Jim sighed and gathered himself again. "I know I told you I've spent my life avoiding it, and that's sort of true. But mostly... I just didn't think this existed. And now I know... I don't feel so alone anymore. I can't tell you what that's meant to me." He trailed his thumbs along the tips of Spock's ears. "There's never going to be anyone like you again."

"Jim." He felt Spock's fingers cup the back of his head. "You owe me no such promise."

"Wasn't a promise," Jim said. "I just know."

"Well, then," Spock replied. "... Likewise."

Perhaps the correct reaction would have been tears, but it was just so like Spock, to let Jim make a scene and then give nothing more than a monosyllabic response which somehow managed to convey just as much, and he wound up chuckling instead. He rubbed his forehead against Spock's shoulder, the velour pleasingly smooth.

"Have I said something humorous?" Spock inquired, sounding genuinely confused, and it simmered Jim down to a fading grin.

"No," he said, hands sliding down to Spock's chest. Spock's hands were still at his waist and in his hair. "No, just... nothing." He lifted his head and took a step back, though Spock did not release him. "Your father's waiting," Jim made himself say. Spock's eyes dropped down. "You, uh... just you, or should we..." Hadn't the ambassador said that himself and McCoy had accompanied him?

Spock shook his head. "Preferable, but not necessary," he said. His fingers moved against Jim's scalp. "I would not ask it of you."

Jim gave a brief, bitter smile. "Good." He glanced at the transporter pad and his tongue felt heavy.

Spock's hand moved to his jaw, drawing his eyes again. "... May I kiss you?" he asked with such innocence it made Jim's chest ache. But he could feel nothing but gratitude that Spock currently felt in control enough to allow them that.

His breath escaped him in a rush and he nodded jerkily, jaw trembling.

Spock pressed their mouths together, Jim's bottom lip fitting between both of his, supple and perfect. No, it had not been a promise. Nothing would ever fit like this again.

Spock's fingers, either instinctively or nostalgically, found the meld points, and when Jim felt only the brush of his skin and not his mind, he could not breathe. He pulled back, fingers clenching in the collar of Spock's shirt, chest giving a violent heave that it took all of his attention to suppress.

"Scotty," he called, and he was far from ready, but he was never going to be, and there was only so much he could endure. He stepped back again and Spock let him this time.

Jim stared at the floor and the doors whooshed open again. There were two pairs of slow footsteps.

"All ready t'go, then?"

Spock turned and slowly stepped up onto the pad and Jim felt a hand settle on his shoulder as Scotty made his way to the controls.

"Well, Mister Spock," McCoy said, almost right in his ear. "Good luck."

Spock regarded them for a moment. "Both wishing and the concept of luck are illogical, Doctor."

Jim felt McCoy's smile. "My mistake," he said. He shifted at Jim's back. "I guess we'll see you in a few weeks."

"Indeed." Jim knew his eyes had turned to him then, but he did not meet them. Spock stood straighter and looked to Scotty. "Energize."

McCoy's fingers squeezed as they had on the Bridge and Jim shut his eyes against the blue light.

---

Jim had never had a staff meeting without Spock.

He hated them anyway; he liked touching base with the senior staff, but many complaints had already been made to him personally by the time they made it to the table publicly. Were his crew the common sort, Jim would no doubt have been bored to tears weekly. As if the paperwork were not enough.

He glanced to the lieutenant seated at his left, studiously taking notes and Jim resisted the urge to pry the stylus from his hands. Jim had gone into Spock's quarters last night, absolutely not to see if he had left him anything, and had returned to his own with only the data discs the Vulcan had mentioned before his departure. This Lieutenant Munroe had been near the top of the list of potential science officer replacements.

Not that that mattered now. Spock was coming back.

"Jim," he heard McCoy say and it was only once Jim turned from Munroe to him that he realized he had the attention of the table, that McCoy's prompt had most likely come after someone else's, perhaps more than one. Jim was rarely distracted for official business, and yet not one person looked surprised. He hated close quarters now; no better than small towns.

He cleared his throat and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right. Uh... how long will it take to repair that turbine?"

"Turbines, Captain," Scotty huffed, though surely at the situation, not at Jim's attitude. "And a week longer, with th' science department eatin' up my staff."

Eyes turned to Lieutenant Munroe and he looked up, much as Jim had a moment ago, as if surprised at suddenly being the center of attention, and more importantly, like he did not know what to do with it.

He glanced from the rest to Jim. "We need those people, Captain."

Jim waved him off. "I know."

Scotty leaned forward. "Shouldn't repairs take precedence over th' labs? We need this now -- not th' research."

"The research is why we're even out here, Scotty." There was little conviction in Jim's voice though, just a statement of fact. He stared at the table.

"With all due respect, sir," Scotty said, "tell that t' th' decks that can currently only do sonics."

Jim snorted a laugh in spite of himself that McCoy, in the corner of his eye, looked pleased to see. "Fine," he said. "Munroe, divert anyone you've taken from Engineering in the past month, at least those from Hydraulics, back to Mister Scott for one week. He takes any longer, you can complain again."

Munroe looked decidedly displeased, but he merely bent his head to scribble another note.

Jim waited. No one said anything.

"Is that it?" he asked, slightly surprised. They had only been at it an hour. He hoped people were not withholding issues in deference to his perceived mood. They all glanced around like children in a class room who had been asked who had caused the trouble; waiting for anyone else to speak up. Jim shrugged. "All right," he said. "ETA to Altair VI, Mister Sulu?"

"Uh..." Sulu twiddled his own stylus. "When we left the Bridge, twenty hours, so seventeen point five? Early alpha shift tomorrow. The, uh..." He glanced warily to McCoy, "the other two ships arrived day before yesterday."

As would they have, had they not diverted. Jim turned away so he would not glare at Sulu. "Good," he said, clipped. "Okay, then." He looked up. "Dismissed, everyone."

He and Spock usually lingered and then left together. Jim would be dining alone tonight. Yet he still found himself staying, remaining seated as everyone gathered their PADDs and effects and made for the door, a few chatting among themselves. McCoy placed a questioning hand on Jim's shoulder as he stood, and Jim politely shrugged him off, nodding his well-being at him.

Jim sighed and ran a hand back through his hair as the room cleared and when he looked up, reaching for his own things, Uhura was still present, now seated in the chair McCoy had abandoned. He jumped, involuntarily.

"Sorry," she said.

Jim regarded her warily. "S'okay," he said, moving to stand.

"Captain," she said as he did and he winced. He was in no mood to explain to her what Spock was doing back on the colony, and surely that was her goal. "Permission to speak freely?"

He was unsure why that was necessary for her question, but he sighed again and flopped back into his chair. "Granted," he said against his better judgment, hand already moving back to his forehead. He was so tired.

Uhura leaned forward, fingers lacing on the table. "Did you know," she began, and it drew Jim's eyes from under his hand because he had been expecting to share, not be shared with, "when Spock and I separated, we didn't intend it to be permanent?"

Though Jim again did not understand where she was going with this, he had indeed been aware of that. If something was relevant, Spock shared it, and that had been relevant. Actually that fact (when combined with Spock's decency) had been the bane of Jim's existence for a good three weeks of denial about a year ago.

"Yeah," he said, "actually."

She nodded, jaw tense. "After Vulcan, I could see it was too much. I offered to wait," she explained, like he did not know this, and maybe she thought Spock had not gone into details with him. "And I have to say, I didn't see you coming." She shook her head, more at herself than him, he thought. "Or maybe I did, I don't know."

Jim wondered if she was seeking an apology with this. He was in no mood and was not sure he quite knew how regarding such an old wound; she was going to have to ask outright, if that was the case.

"My point is, I spent a lot of time mad at you."

Jim stared at her. "Fair enough."

"So, you don't really deserve this," Jim had no idea what 'this' was. "But you are my friend, and I do realize you're not actually a complete dick, so I'm going to offer anyway."

"... Praise, indeed."

"I've been there, is all," she said, bypassing his sarcasm. "So, if you need to talk," And she met his eyes rather than glaring at her hands, "you can come to me."

Jim stared at her some more, duly impressed, and if he was honest with himself, more than a little touched. Especially considering he had been expecting quite a different conversation. He had with Uhura somewhat the sort of relationship McCoy had with Spock, affection veiled by a front of annoyance and tolerance. He was unaccustomed to lifting that veil. It was kind of nice. It hardly mattered that he would most likely never take her up on that offer.

"Uhura," he said, and he reached to place his hand over the closest of hers, "you're a far better man than me."

Thank you.

She smirked and rubbed her thumb over his fingers. "Damn straight."

You're welcome.

He released her hand wistfully and she stood, smoothing her skirt. "Dinner?" she offered.

Jim gave her a rueful smile. "Raincheck."

She nodded like she understood that he meant exactly that: not tonight, but soon. Then she left with the same pat to his shoulder McCoy had given.

Jim stared at the table, acutely feeling the empty seat on his left.

---

The inauguration was boring, but distracting, and that was really all Jim could expect from diplomatic missions. All of this was Spock and Uhura's department, not his; it was his job to show up and play nice.

Plus a grumbling McCoy in a dress uniform -- serious bonus.

"Someone, someday is going to have to explain to me," aforementioned doctor said to him, handing Jim a flute of champagne and sipping at his own, "just why exactly the Federation needs more than one ship present at events like this."

"Consequences of being the flagship, Bones." Jim downed half the glass in one swallow.

"Yeah? And when do we see the benefits?"

Jim smirked around the rim of his glass. "I don't know about you," he said, "but I don't mind my paycheck."

"I wouldn't mind yours either."

It was most likely said to get a laugh out of Jim, and it worked. Honestly, by this point, particularly with the fame the entire Enterprise crew had been endowed with (albeit himself and Spock more obviously), McCoy could no doubt plow his talents and degree in more fertile fields, and they both knew it. But Starfleet had become home, as had the Enterprise. As had Jim.

"Captain," Jim heard exclaimed off to his left, and they both turned to an approaching, and if Jim had to guess, slightly tipsy Kevin Riley. He grinned at them, lifting his own drink in greeting, and slipped an easy arm around Jim's shoulders. Jim grinned, amused, but weaseled the glass from his hand.

"I think that's enough for one night, Lieutenant," he said, hoping the smile he could not suppress was not undermining his authority. He handed the flute off to McCoy. "We're not here to embarrass ourselves."

Riley mumbled agreement, and then gestured off across the room with his now free hand. "Sir," he said. "You see that woman over there?"

Jim looked where Riley was pointing, toward the new president's table, where his wife, children, and several of his staff were seated. There had to be at least five women at the table, but one was discreetly watching them. Jim assumed Riley meant her.

"Yes," he said.

"The president's personal assistant," Riley explained. "She's done nothing but stare at you since we've arrived."

Jim's smile and curiosity both abruptly disappeared and he allowed Riley to hold himself up, taking another drink. "Kind of you, Lieutenant," he said. He nodded at McCoy. "But I brought my own wingman."

"Riley, why don't you come with me," McCoy suggested, stepping around Jim to tug him away. "We'll get you some water."

Riley seemed perfectly pleased with this idea and Jim did not have the heart to tell him that "water" in this scenario probably meant "hypospray." He allowed McCoy to lead him away and watched them go before turning to observe the woman. He would guess a few years older than himself, and she was Human, as far as he could tell, not unattractive. He moved through the crowd back to the table of refreshments to bring himself out of her line of sight.

He missed Spock. It was there all the time, in the back of his throat, inescapable, and all he knew to do was ignore it. He had no clue how to go about fixing it, no practice at a broken heart. He felt like a dumbass even calling it that, no matter how apt the term; he was clearly not suited.

But there it was, all the same. A phantom limb he constantly kept reaching to scratch. He had turned, looking for Spock's subtle amusement or advice more times than he could count in the Vulcan's absence, and it had not even been a week.

And sleeping alone was not the same anymore.

It was like it had been when, in his early teens, Jim had realized that Riverside did not really feel like home anymore, and yet had had no other to replace it with. At least not then. He was beginning to think that no home was meant to last. What was he going to do in three years when he not only did not have Spock, but the Enterprise? Return to San Francisco and rot behind a desk? Live in a one bedroom apartment, alone? Marry a nice woman and have kids? Maybe the thought would be pleasant one day, but Jim currently found it as nauseating as the assistant's gaze.

It seemed overdramatic to imagine he would never get over this, and he had begun telling himself so, daily. But the presence of the elder Spock in this timeline, his fated assurances and talk of destiny, made it difficult to believe. And even if Jim could, it would be impossible to get over Spock so long as he was seeing him daily, living right beside him.

Jim froze beside the Altair sandwich array. What if Spock insisted transfer was the only logical solution to that problem? He felt sick at the thought.

"Feelin' all right, Captain?"

Jim turned to Scotty, who was happily munching on a sandwich of his own. Jim smiled at that, thinking of their first meeting, but that only brought about thoughts of the ambassador. The phantom limb twitched again.

"Too much to drink," he said, lifting his empty glass and forcing a tight smile. It was an empty excuse; Jim was fairly evenly matched with the engineer when it came to holding his liquor and Scotty was well aware of that, knew mere champagne was unlikely to conquer Jim. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately at times, most of the senior staff had inferred the nature of Jim and Spock's relationship not long after they had discovered it themselves -- some sooner. Scotty would leave him his illusions.

And he did, clapping at Jim's shoulder as he went. He was getting tired of people who knew him too well doing that.