To Wish Upon a Star-ship

Yet once it also carried his heart and the other half of his soul.

As he stood before the window of the travel pod, Jim Kirk tried to cut that thought off quickly, but his traitorous mind refused to cooperate and he found himself remembering the final scene in his cabin, three years ago.

The Enterprise had returned from its successful five year mission to loud acclaim. Its crew were heroes. They had traveled farther than any other Federation ship, and survived their mission relatively intact. They'd brokered treaties and trade agreements, discovered new friends - and enemies; they'd charted new phenomena, even traveled back in time; but they'd lost some good people on the way and the crew was tired. They were also apprehensive about the future. They'd grown together as a community, an extended family, and now they would be moving on, some to take up promotions, some to a career change, but that meant a parting of the ways and leaving the ship and all they'd come to know as home.

Jim had been offered promotion to the rank of admiral, but he was undecided. Oh, he was proud and flattered, he admitted to having a big enough ego to think he deserved it, but... he wanted some down-time to think, to talk things over with friends he trusted.

He had been packing for a much needed vacation when his first officer entered his cabin.

Jim could sense Spock's tension and apprehension through their bond, and it unsettled him. He started to talk, blocking whatever Spock had to say and filling the silence. He couldn't remember half of what he'd said, only that it involved his plans to get Star Fleet to give him and Spock new, challenging roles that would allow them to live and work together.

That his t'hy'la might have other plans, never consciously entered his head.

It was Spock's softly spoken "Jim..." that halted the flow of words and Jim felt his heart stop. His lover only used his given name when in the heat of passion or in dire circumstances when Spock's Vulcan logic failed him.

"I'm returning to Vulcan," and Spock went on to talk about a ritual called Kolinahr, something about purging all emotion... but Jim didn't really listen to the rest of the words. He hardly heard them over the pounding of his heart.

He interrupted the flow of words. "You're leaving," he said flatly, trying to keep any disbelief, any whining, out of his voice.

Spock sat down on the bed, the bed upon which they'd so often made love. He pressed his hands together as though in prayer, the long fingers Jim knew intimately, forced tightly against one another.

"During the course of this mission," he began, quietly, "I've melded my mind and opened myself up to so many other minds, both alien and machine. I've shared their hopes, their horrors, their desires, and somewhere along the way, I've lost myself." He looked up at Jim. "You can not begin to imagine how it feels to wonder if your thoughts are truly your own, or belong to some alien that you've encountered, perhaps three or more years ago. For a Vulcan to not know his own mind, to feel invaded by their emotional legacies..." His voice trailed away. "I need to discover who I am, Jim, how much of a Vulcan I still am. I need to do this for my own sanity."

Jim knelt before Spock, his hands on Spock's knees. He knew shouting wouldn't do any good here. He had to use rationality and logic even though he was screaming inside. "I know how Vulcan you are, Spock, but by purging these other minds from your own, you will also shut me out, you will be cutting yourself from me," he said as gently as he could. "Is that what you want?" Jim swallowed against the lump in his throat. "To break our bond? Spock? Why fight so hard to be part of one world, why not fight to be the best of both?" He pressed on. "All the experiences we have - they change us. Didn't you once say that change is inevitable, even desirable?" He knew he was pleading, but Spock had to see this was wrong for both of them.

Spock was shaking his head sadly. "There is change and then there is... too much input, an over-load. Can you understand this? You are important to me. I do not wish to break our bond, but I want ... I need to return to Vulcan to discover for myself who I am."

Jim stood, his body radiating anger. "And what do you want from me? My blessing? I can't give you that, Spock; I don't believe you are doing the right thing!" He turned away so Spock couldn't see how much this hurt him.

He could see Spock in the mirror over the vanity unit. He was standing, formally, his hands clasped behind his back. "I am not asking for your blessing, Captain, but your understanding, your acceptance of what I feel I must do."

Jim spun around. "Damn it, Spock, I don't understand! This, this is what I understand." And he pulled Spock to him, kissing him almost brutally at first, only softening as Spock surrendered and wrapped his arms, slowly, hesitantly, around Jim.

Jim allowed his passion and desire to flood their link, hoping that his love would convince Spock to stay better than any of his words.

Jim remembered their final coupling with regret, sadness and guilt. He'd thrown everything into that act, trying to convince Spock that what they had was too precious to lose. They came together with an urgency, a desperation. Spock's strength of passion equaled Jim's, both men giving and receiving pleasure until, though he fought it with everything he had left, Jim fell into an exhausted, sated sleep. When he awoke from that sleep, Spock had gone. Left both the ship and Jim's life.

Slowly, over time, their bond faded, leaving a Spock-shaped void in Jim Kirk's heart and mind, a void nothing and no one could fill. He threw himself into his new life, hoping that his new job would offer him a challenge to blot out the ache in his mind. He married Lori Ciani hoping she would distract him from the pain in his heart. Neither worked for long.

He lost friends along the way, Leonard McCoy for one. Bones went as far as to force his way into the Admiralty HQ to try and persuade Jim that adding those stars to his collar was a huge mistake. Jim didn't listen. He allowed himself to be convinced that he could do more for Star Fleet by sitting behind a desk, by making public appearances, by being the legendary Captain Kirk for the press office. In the end, he'd lost his own identity as much as Spock felt he'd lost his.

Jim still felt angry and bitter at Star Fleet, and himself. He had been selfish and blind - he could see that now. After the gloss had worn off, his job at the Admiralty had left him too much time to think, to think about Spock, to think about the Enterprise, about everything he'd lost. He'd become stuck in a rut, depressed and apathetic.

Now there was a chance to at least regain his vessel and his captaincy because of a real and present threat to the Federation and to its heart. Should he feel guilty that he felt alive again?

He flashed on the nightmare images Star Fleet command sent to him via his implant, of K't'inga class Klingon ships and the Epsilon Nine outpost being erased from existence by something so powerful even the Klingon weapons seemed unable to slow it down. What was this hellish cloud made of? What power was behind its destructive force? Spock, he thought, I wish you were here to help me understand.

Then Scotty brought the travel pod around so that Jim got a proper view of the refurbished Enterprise. Jim gazed in awe at her beautiful and graceful lines and fell in love with her all over again.