Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

May

Most days, Jim could compartmentalize while he shaved. He could focus only on his stubble, and otherwise ignore his reflection. After all, he didn't need the mirror to tell him he was recovering. He knew he was doing better. He felt like he was doing better. He felt stronger, and he was faster than he'd been even a few months ago, and he was gaining weight like Bones wanted. He was running and biking and swimming again and feeling more like himself. It was a good thing, a positive thing, that he hung on to.

But for some reason, his reflection was beckoning to him now, and even though he knew nothing good would come of studying his still-recovering self, he caved.

Yeah, he looked like a completely different person from the irradiated corpse of a man who'd woken up from cryostasis nearly a year and a half ago, but he still didn't look like his old self. Not fully. His complexion was still slightly gray, and his hair was darker and shot through with silver, and the lines on his still-thin face stood out to him in stark relief. Looking in the mirror--really looking--only served to remind him of just how far he still had to go. It was disheartening.

The days were getting longer, and each one brought him one day closer to his fitness for duty evaluation. Every time he thought about it--like, really thought about it, every time he spent longer than three seconds letting the idea of it rattle around in his brain--a spike of anxiety would shoot through his chest and he'd have to pause whatever he was doing to sit and breathe. And he wasn't sure why.

He didn't think it was the physical aspect of his evaluation that was freaking him out; his physical therapist was the best of the best, and he'd worked his ass off in every single session they'd had. Bones was the best doctor in the fucking fleet, and he'd monitored every aspect of Jim's recovery with an almost obsessive attention to detail.

And Jim truly didn't think it was the psych eval part, either. Though she didn't know the entire story--to that day, she had no idea he'd actually died--he spoke to Madeline often enough that he felt like he'd been pretty well prepped for whatever the counselor assigned to his evaluation could throw at him. Even the idea that it would be a doctor and a counselor performing his evaluation who weren't Bones and Maddie, had stopped fucking with his nerves.

He wanted his commission back so badly he could taste it. He wanted to be back out there, with Spock and Bones and their friends. He wasn't done exploring the galaxy, he wasn't done pushing the boundaries of the frontier--but every time he stumbled in physical therapy, every time he had to stop to catch his breath, every time he had a flashback to the warp core...the impact of each failure fractured his confidence a little bit, like sharp rocks cracking and ricocheting off the glass windshield of his father's old convertible.

The cracks in his confidence were slowly spiderwebbing out, and the more Jim leaned into the windshield analogy, the more terrified he became that, one day, his confidence was going to shatter completely. 

He didn't know what he'd do if he wasn't found fit for duty. Ride a desk job until he retired? The fuck I will. Leave the fleet? But what else will you do? Maybe he really could move to Macon and let Elenora fuss over him for the rest of his life, like he'd daydreamed about doing once upon a time.

No. He belonged in outer space. He was an explorer. And that meant he had to pass his evaluation. There was simply no other option. If he didn't, he wouldn't just be letting himself down. He'd be letting down the McCoys and his friends and his crew--and he refused to let that happen. 

Change the record, Jim, Madeline's voice in his head reminded him. You've dedicated yourself to doing everything you can to make sure you're fit for duty, and what you've done is more than enough. Recognize when you're ruminating, and then give your brain a break. Direct your attention to something else--distract it.

He gave himself a mental shake, then ran his fingers over the rough, silvery stubble on his face. He'd contemplated just letting it grow into a full beard while he had the chance--while Starfleet couldn't quote a single damn regulation at him to stop him. But then he'd have to square with just how much of it was actually silver, and he just didn't have it in him yet.

The silver was a discouraging reminder that he just wasn't the young man he'd been, once. Not anymore. And he was still mourning for the loss of who he'd been. Shave, it is, he thought. He turned on the sink faucet and, as the water heated up, he tried to think about the evening ahead. Directing my attention to something else, as ordered, he mentally told Madeline. See? I can follow directions. 

Something else, my ass, he imagined Madeline's reply. More like someone else. Nice try, though. Solid B- for effort. He shook his head and mentally stuck his tongue out at her, while silently acknowledging the hit her imaginary voice scored.

Because her imaginary voice in his head was right. What was he looking forward to about the next few hours of his life? Not the dinner he'd made, not the wine he was going to drink, not the holovid he knew he'd watch. No, he was most looking forward to Carol--her smile, her laugh. Her quick wit. The way she met his eyes knowingly when he was trying to bullshit her. The way she listened to him, fully focused on what he was saying; the way she lit up when talking about the things she was passionate about. Her presence in his space.

He was looking forward to having dinner with her, to doing the dishes together. Watching a holovid together. Sharing dessert on his couch. Watching her instead of the holovid, as she drifted off to sleep on his couch next to him, her head eventually landing on his shoulder--wondering just what would happen if he pulled her closer, wrapped his arms around her, and let himself drift off to sleep, too...wondering what would happen if he didn't wake her up to go back to her apartment, but instead spent the night curled up with her on his couch. Wondering if--how--things would change between them.

He didn't need Madeline to coerce him into admitting that he was smitten. 

He’d never been smitten before. He'd had plenty of one-night stands and a few short relationships. And he’d truly cared for Gaila; he'd loved her the best way he'd known how at that point in his life. But none of those previous experiences had felt anything like this blushing, stammering way that seemed to come over him whenever Carol was around. And he didn’t know what to do with that.

He absently rubbed shaving cream over his stubble and picked up his razor, running it under the hot water, contemplating the evolution of their friendship; from her first visit to him in the hospital and the way she hadn't known how to react to Elenora's genuine affection, he'd felt something for her that went beyond the fraternal affection he felt for Nyota and Madeline. He hadn't recognized it for what it was at the time, but looking back on it now? His heart had gone out to her then, because couldn’t he relate to not knowing how to deal when someone showed him kindness? Hadn’t he felt bewildered and uncertain around Elenora and Horatio at first, too?

He had realized then that it had been a very long time since Carol Marcus had been touched with affection, by someone who expected nothing from her in return. Maybe since she had been touched at all. And that realization had hit too close to home for him to ignore.

After that first visit, she’d started coming by the hospital more and more frequently, and he had started looking forward to her visits almost more than he looked forward to being discharged. She'd often asked to hear stories from his and Bones’ adventures at the Academy, or of things he’d done before he joined Starfleet. She would bring him new reading material and, once, after he’d complained how his feet were always cold, she had shown up with thick woolen socks. Neon green wasn’t really his color, but he’d worn them with enthusiasm all the same. When he’d realized, later that night, that they glowed in the dark, he had laughed so hard that his nurse heard him and came to check on him, convinced he was finally losing it.

And that was his relationship with Carol–-how their friendship sprouted out of what was otherwise a really dark time in each of their lives. They'd laughed together, at a point when they both desperately needed someone to laugh with. 

If Bones had noticed how much Jim enjoyed Carol’s visits while in the hospital, he hadn't said anything, but Jim had the sneaking suspicion that he and Nyota were behind Jim's assignment to this particular apartment. And Jim still didn’t know if he was grateful for their foresight or irritated by their presumption. But that foresight--presumption?--had allowed his and Carol's budding friendship to bloom and grow into this thing that existed between them now, that felt like so much more than simple friendship or platonic affection. So much bigger. He sighed a little to himself. 

A polite knock on his door startled him out of his reverie.

Shit. He'd been woolgathering so long that she was standing at his front door. Maybe it's Bones, who won't give a shit that you're dressed in a towel and shaving cream, he told himself. But he shook that thought away almost as quickly as it had crossed his mind; of course it was Carol. He could tell from the knock. Carol was the only one who knocked like a civilized person. Spock and Bones typically just let themselves in, and everyone else had apparently confused dead with deaf, if how loudly they pounded on his door was any indication.

And he was standing in his bathroom in just a towel, with shaving cream smeared all over his cheeks and chin. Bones wouldn't have thought anything of it if he answered the door looking like this, but Carol was a different story.

He briefly wondered what she would do if he answered the door in nothing but the towel wrapped around his waist. Old Jim would have gleefully found out; but the Jim he was now, the man he'd become over the past year and a half, couldn't put her on the spot like that. So he shut off the water and hurriedly swiped the shaving cream off his face with his towel, dropping it on the tile floor and quickly changing into comfortable pants and a clean academy shirt. He gave himself one last glance-over before shrugging at the stubble on his face.

Oh, well. It's nothing she hasn't seen before, he thought, though the thought did nothing to make him feel any better about...anything, really. He sighed as he made his way through the apartment to his door. 

He swallowed hard before opening it, a sudden burst of nerves flaring to life in his stomach. And what the hell is that about? It's just Carol, he reminded himself. You’ve never needed to be anyone but yourself with her. She likes you for you--she likes this version of yourself you've become. He nodded to himself and slid the door open. “Hey,” he greeted her. “Come on in.” She smiled shyly up at him.

“Hullo, Jim,” she replied. She held up a bottle of wine and an opaque container. “I come bearing desserts and drinks,” she added as he stepped aside and gestured for her to come in. She smiled and inhaled deeply as she stepped inside and let the door slide shut behind her. “It smells delicious in here.”

“Thanks. It’s one of Elenora’s recipes, and I made her bacon brussels sprouts, too.”

Her smile widened. “Excellent. Those brussels sprouts were amazing.”

“Don’t get excited just yet,” he warned as he took the container from her and set it on the counter. “We’ll see if I did her recipe justice." 

“I’m sure it will be wonderful, Jim. But no matter how it turns out, thank you for cooking, for having me over to eat.”

“I’m happy to have you,” Jim reassured her. She paused and studied his stubble for a moment before reaching long fingers up to his face.

He flinched slightly at the unexpected movement, and her hand froze. "Sorry, you just--you have something--soap, maybe? Can I?" Her hand reached forward hesitantly again, and when he didn't flinch away from her, she swiped her fingers carefully over the stubble just near his ear. He swallowed hard at the gentle pressure and had to remind himself to breathe. "Shaving cream?" she asked, rubbing the texture of it between her fingers and sniffing it slightly with a small smile.

"Ah, right--I thought I got it all. Sorry, I ran out of time to shave," he managed. She smiled up at him.

"Oh, I don't mind it at all," she replied. "I--I rather like you, with a bit of a beard, you know," she added, and he wasn't imagining the slight pink rising on her cheeks. He swallowed hard again. Breathe, Kirk, it's just a compliment.

“Er--thanks," he replied. He gestured to the table. "Well, uh--make yourself comfortable. I’ll plate everything up.”

“Then I’ll pour and get the table set,” she offered, striding to the cupboard and pulling out two wine glasses. As he pulled their dinner out of the oven, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She tucked a lock of hair over her ear as she pulled the cork out of the wine bottle and poured, her gaze fixed intently on the glasses as she leveled off each one and resealed the bottle. 

He felt the heat of the pan through the potholders and realized that he had been outright staring—not good. They were friends, first and foremost, and though he was probably a besotted fool, he didn't want to do anything to jeopardize their friendship. Staring at her like a lovesick puppy? Yeah, that would probably jeopardize it. He was surprised she hadn't caught him staring yet--God knew, he'd caught himself doing enough of it since he'd been discharged. He hurried to set the hot pan on a trivet and set about plating the food. 

“Cruciferous vegetables aside, what exactly are we having tonight?” she asked as she brought their glasses to the table, then began to set out their place settings.

He smiled a bit at the sight of her fussing over their napkins and silverware; despite the fact that they'd been taking meals together nearly daily for months, the novelty of their mealtime routine hadn't worn off for him yet. Who would have thought--Jim Kirk, enjoying the novelty of domesticated routine. His smile grew and he shook his head. “Just baked chicken, the brussels sprouts, and mashed potatoes. Bones still wants me to put some weight on, so I’ve been eating a lot of them lately,” he added. She turned and smiled at him.

“You’ve put weight on, though,” she insisted as she stepped into the kitchen and picked up her plate. He shrugged.

“Apparently not enough, I guess.” He picked up his own plate and followed her to the table. “But then, Bones is never happy.” 

Carol chuckled as she sat in her normal seat, to his right; he took a brief moment to play with the idea that she had a normal seat at his dining room table. Domestic routine, indeed, he thought, as she held up her glass of wine to him. “Cheers, Jim,” she said with a small smile. “You look…content.”

He nodded. One way to describe it, he thought. “I guess I am,” he replied softly, clinking her glass with his and catching her eyes. They held for a moment that stretched heavily between them before he managed a quiet “Cheers, Carol.” They both sipped.

And he expected her to look away, shyly, as she normally did not long after making eye contact with him. But this time, she didn't. She kept eye contact with him as they both sipped deeply, and at the sight of the flush rising up her neck, he could feel a flush of his own creeping up his cheeks.

She was the one who broke eye contact a moment later as she set her glass down on the table. She bit her lip, picked up her cutlery and started cutting into her food. They ate in silence for a few minutes, and it was possibly the loudest silence Jim had ever experienced in his life. 

He was staring again, he knew, in between cutting pieces of chicken. God, but she is lovely, he thought. And then he briefly wondered what the hell he was doing to himself. Nothing had changed; all the reasons against starting something with her, the ones he'd been reciting to himself since Christmas, were still more than valid.

And yet...and yet, here she was, sitting at her spot in his apartment, eating food he'd prepared for her and drinking wine with him and blushing and he had to remind himself to chew. To breathe.

“It’s very good, Jim, thank you again,” she spoke up. He swallowed his own food.

“Thanks.” He took another sip from his glass. “The wine is really good. Nice choice.”

“I’m glad you like it.” She replied, picking up the bottle. “Would you like me to top you off?” He nodded. “I suppose we’ll have to tell Leonard that your glass magically kept refilling itself,” she added as she poured. "Again."

He smirked. “I don’t think he believes us anymore.”

Carol laughed. “I don't think he ever did," she replied. He grinned. "You know,” she added, “it’s rather hard to pick out a bottle when all you know you’re having for dinner is ‘a surprise’.” She shot him a playful look. His grin widened and he shrugged as she topped off her own glass.

“It’s usually chicken, though, right? So how much of a surprise was it, really?” he asked. She laughed. 

“Fair enough,” she allowed. “In any case, I’m grateful you moved into the building, you know. I’d’ve been living off tinned beans and string cheese for the past eight months if you hadn’t.”

“I’m grateful I moved in, too,” he replied. “I’m glad…I mean, it’s nice—I’m glad we’re...y'know. What we are.” He blushed a little over his fumbling delivery. "Friends," he added, even though the word didn't seem like enough to describe what she meant to him. He swallowed hard, but refused to look away from her. Her cheeks turned pink again, but she regarded him just as steadily. 

“I'm glad, too,” she agreed quietly. “So glad. And I’m even more happy to think of how far you’ve come in your recovery,” she continued. She smiled, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flash of a smirk on her face. “You’ve just about got yourself back to your usual devastatingly handsome self,” she teased. "And I really do like the stubble," she added, reaching out to score her fingers gently over it once--twice--and then she withdrew her hand. He felt himself shiver lightly. 

Nobody ever touched his face except her, and even then, it was a very sporadic occurrence. But he doubted it would feel as intimate if anyone else did. He hoped like hell he wasn't blushing too hard. “So, ah--devastatingly handsome, huh?” he replied, trying not to grin like an infatuated sap. After his disheartening perusal of his reflection earlier, to hear her describe him as handsome caused a pleasant twist in his stomach. 

“Oh, you know you are.” She rolled her eyes and smirked. “Honestly. People watch you walk by like you’re a giant, chocolate cookie or something. It’s quite amusing.”

Jim laughed louder than he’d meant to at the unexpected imagery, choking on a bit of spit in the process. He hacked into his arm as Carol started giggling into her hand. He met her eyes and started laughing again, which set her off into a whole new round of giggles herself. 

He cleared his throat a few times as the last of his laugher faded, a broad grin still stretched across his face. Carol’s giggles died down, and she propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand as she studied him. “It’s true, you know,” she added, her tone less playful and more pensive. “In the store yesterday, I saw four different people eyeball you from afar—they definitely liked what they saw.” His eyes widened.

“Oh. Um…should I be flattered?” He kind of was, if he was being honest. Carol studied him for a long moment, as the levity disappeared from her face.

“I suppose, if you enjoy feeling like a...a piece of meat.” She shrugged. She sat up and busied herself with her plate, then with taking a long draw from her glass.

She was definitely avoiding looking at him. He tilted his head as he watched her for a moment, suddenly feeling off-balance and unsure of himself. What had just happened? One minute, they’d been laughing together, and the next, she’d metaphorically shut him out. He swallowed. It didn’t feel like the right time to make a joke, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say; so, he did what he did best: he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. 

“I think I’d rather be a cookie.”

She choked on her sip of wine and shot him a bemused look as she set her glass down and wiped a few stray purple drops from her chin. “What?”

“A cookie. Not a…not a piece of meat. Well, you know what I mean—right? I mean…yeah.” He closed his mouth and picked up his glass, drinking deeply as he fought back the flush in his neck. He lowered the glass as she leaned close, as though inviting him into some sort of secret. He leaned in warily as she bit her lip. She looked like she was steeling her nerves.

“Do you know, I’ve always thought of you as more of a piece of...of bread pudding, to be honest,” she murmured.

He gulped, his mind going straight back to her birthday and her conversation with Christine. Is that what they're calling it these days? Christine's suggestive teasing hadn't exactly ruined the rest of Carol's birthday, but it had definitely affected things. It had sucked the hard-won ease of their friendship right out the window, and things had been awkward at best for the rest of the evening. And he and Carol had avoided Elenora's bread pudding like the plague afterwards.

Now, Carol met his eyes across the corner of the table and held his gaze steadily, despite the fact that her face was so red she looked sunburned. He saw her swallow hard; he inhaled deeply. His heart started to pound so hard he could feel it in his stomach.

“Oh, really?” he managed. She nodded, then bit her lip as she leaned back. She regarded her plate silently; he studied her profile, wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do next.

So, she’d thought about him…like that? Or was she just trying to make a joke, too? Did Carol even joke about her feelings? In the time he’d known her, he had never heard her turn her feelings into a flip joke. But there was a first time for everything, right?

But what if she hadn’t been joking? If she had thought about him like that, then what if she’d been bothered by other beings looking at him? He’d caught more than his fair share of beings admiring Carol, and even though it nagged at him like a toothache, he understood why they looked. She was beautiful; she moved with the easy grace of a confident, athletic woman, and it was obvious that she was intelligent and kind—obvious to him, at least. Of everything he was coming to realize that he loved about her, her quick mind and kind heart were what he loved most. 

So what, if he moved closer to her in those moments, when other beings watched her like…well, like dessert? It wasn’t out of some Neanderthal-caveman jealousy that he acted; he only acted…out of the Neanderthal-caveman desire to protect a member of his crew. A friend. That was it. He was trying to protect her—she'd been through so much the past year, who knew what those beings were really thinking when they watched her? Not that she couldn’t take care of herself, his stupid, Neanderthal-caveman brain knew she was fully capable of defending—

“Um, thank you for dinner, sir,” she spoke up, her voice even and tight, interrupting his reverie. She stood, picked up her plate without looking at him, and took it into the kitchen. He turned and watched as she set her plate in the sink before getting out storage containers and scooping the rest of the chicken out of the pan. She didn’t look up at him once. 

He didn’t know what he’d said or done, was confused as hell; but he was finally grown-up enough to know that if he was confused, he needed to simply ask instead of assuming anything. Carol was always honest with him, and she would never be deliberately cruel. He trusted her. 

He picked up his plate and joined her in the kitchen, scraping food scraps into the reclaimer as she lathered up his dish sponge and started washing the dishes. They worked silently, side by side, going through the motions of the now-familiar routine of cleaning up, until the last pan had been dried and put away. She sighed as she dried her hands and carefully hung the dishtowel on the oven handle.

“Thank you again, sir. It’s late, I should probably get going. I’m sure you’re tired of me falling asleep on your couch,” she said quietly. His heart sank at the conviction in her tone, and he was struck with the sudden certainty that if he let her walk away from him now, his world wouldn’t quite spin right. He had to get her to stay, to talk—something. Anything. 

“Not at all,” he replied. “My place is your place. I love that you feel safe enough here to let your guard down." He grinned down at her. "And you’re kinda cute when you’re sleeping.” Friendly teasing-slash-flirting. It had worked in the past. Kind of. Hadn't it?

She glanced at him and then quickly away. “Oh, sir—please. Don’t.” Shit. Abort. Abort friendly teasing-slash-flirting. Abort. He furrowed his brow. 

You're losing her. He swallowed hard. “So we’re back to ‘sir’? What happened to ‘Jim’?” he asked quietly.

She sighed, closed her eyes for a moment, and then turned to him. “Jim—Captain—Sir…I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn earlier, that comment about the bread pudding wasn’t in the least bit appropriate, not after that ridiculous conversation with Christine a few months ago. I…you’re my friend, yes, but you’re also my captain and I need to remember that. I think it’s best if I...if I take a step back.”

No. “Wait—Carol, what...?”

She sighed again. “In another two weeks, Starfleet medical is going to--rightly--certify you fit for command duty. You’re going to get the Enterprise back, and you’re going to be assigned the five-year mission. We all know this. And I…I can't be…,” she pressed her lips together and looked over his shoulder. 

“So… this,” he gestured to the space between them, to everything that existed between them that had mutated out of his control over the past year, “was just a...a temporary thing?” The thought of it stung. Her gaze snapped back to him.

“Oh—God, no-–Jim, please…I have very thoroughly enjoyed the time we’ve spent together, and I’m…I'm humbled and--and honored that you chose to share so much of your time–-your life, with me. It’s just…,” she trailed off, then groaned and sunk her head into her hands. She mumbled something unintelligible into them.

“What? Carol, I’m beyond confused right now—please, just tell me--?” He hated the pleading note in his voice, but he hated the idea of her walking away more, especially when he wasn't even sure what he'd done to make her want to leave in the first place. Tell me what to do, I'll stop the teasing, I'll stop staring, I promise--I'll lock our friendship in a box in my mind labeled Do Not Touch, just please, don't leave me--

She sighed, then lifted her head and looked him straight in the eye. “I am so sorry, Jim,” she whispered. “I’ve tried to keep a distance, I’ve tried to keep my feelings for you completely platonic, completely professional—but I’m afraid to say that I have failed miserably."

His brain ground to a complete stop and he forgot how to breathe for a long moment. Wait--what?

"The last thing I want to do is make things difficult for you," she continued. "And if I act on these…these feelings I have for you, then things will get difficult--the last thing you need right now is a former crew member, especially me, with a silly, unrequited crush on you--you've come so far in your recovery, you've worked so hard and I am so proud of you, but I--I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I became the reason that--," she paused and inhaled deeply, swallowing hard as she looked down at her feet. "I need to take a step back to remember that there are lines that I simply cannot cross," she whispered. "It wouldn’t be fair to you.” 

His brain struggled to process what she was saying, and as it did, an ache started in his chest. She’s saying goodbye, he realized. And not temporarily. And it...it hurt, goddamn it. She shrugged helplessly at him; her eyes were shiny with tears. He swallowed hard against the sudden moisture he felt in his own.

“I’m so sorry,” she continued as the ache in his chest started throbbing. “You’ve done nothing wrong, I just…I can't do this to you. I can't be the reason you don't get your ship back. I’m so sorry.” She swallowed and bit her lip. “I’ll see you around, Captain,” she added softly, turning and all but running for the door. It slid shut behind her a moment later; he didn’t move. He couldn’t move.

He was still trying to process everything she’d said; his mind didn’t seem to want to cooperate. It stayed oddly blank until his eyes settled on the dessert container that she’d brought with her, and then left behind in her hurry to get as far away from him as possible. He reached out for it and, when he opened it, the smell of Elenora's baking drifted out. He couldn’t help the twist in his chest when he saw what was inside.

The bread pudding. From her birthday. Wrapped in freezer paper--she'd saved it, all this time, even after Christine's blatant innuendo--

For some reason, that opened the floodgates—she just told you that she has feelings for you.

She was right, he was going to be her captain soon—but he wasn’t at the moment, and there was a clause written into Starfleet policy about relationships formed before one or both participants became commanding officers who served together.

After all, Spock and Nyota's relationship was fully documented, wasn't it? Sure, they'd slightly fudged how long it had been going on, to avoid the fact that they'd slept together while Nyota was still technically a cadet and therefore technically under Spock's command--even though, Spock had argued, technically, he'd been relieved of duty at the time.

Besides, technically, he and Nee hadn't actually begun a relationship until the night before the Enterprise launched after Nero, which was technically before he'd accepted his position on board and thus, the authority over Nyota that would have given them problems--but hadn't Jim been the one who cheerfully ignored the doctored date and the technicallys and signed off on their paperwork, anyway? He was pretty certain it had been one of the first--and most pleasant--things he'd signed off on on board the ship. 

Funny how he'd known this for as long as he'd been a commanding officer, but it had taken Carol admitting that she wanted him, too, to make him fully understand that that same clause could apply to him, as well. To understand that he'd been making excuses for the past year, because he'd been terrified to act on his feelings just to discover that they weren't reciprocated.

The realization hit him like a punch to the chest. Holy shit.

After the past five months of ruminating over what it would mean if he acted on these feelings her had for her, knowing now that she felt the same for him--that she wanted the same things with him? Knowing that she'd been harboring the same doubts, the same reservations about beginning anything together, knowing that she'd been more concerned for him and his commission than about how starting something with him would affect her career? It wouldn't be fair to you, she'd said. I can't do this to you. She'd said both those things, just minutes ago, right before she sprinted out of his life.

Holy shit, Kirk.

Knowing all of that made it suddenly clear to him, what Bones had been saying all these months: We didn't bring you back so you could be miserable and alone, kid. Because, truly--what was his second chance at life worth, if he couldn’t be with the people he loved? If he couldn't be with someone who loved him back, wholly and without reservation, loved him for everything he was, everything he'd overcome, and everything he was trying to become?

Unrequited.

He pulled up short. She’d said that her feelings were unrequited. That they were silly. And he was letting her walk away thinking that both of those statements were true. He put the top of the container back on and carried the bread pudding out the door and to the elevator. 

/*\

She exhaled slowly as her door shut behind her. A couple of warm tears slipped out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She gently wiped them away, to little effect; more simply followed. She couldn’t find the energy to move from the door, to turn on the lights, or even continue to wipe her eyes. 

He had looked so confused, so heartbroken, so vulnerable—she should have found a better way to broach the subject with him.

Idiot, she berated herself. After everything he’s done for you? You could have found a different way to remove yourself from his life. Don’t even pretend that you didn’t know it would affect him. You know he’s attached to you, that he might even fancy himself in love–- she stopped herself at that thought. “Peter, I am a world-class jerk,” she whispered to her spider. “And I just left him standing there in his kitchen. I’m an ass.” 

Peter said nothing in return, which was fine, because what would he have said? There was no arguing the fact that she was tactless. Heartless. Cruel.

A sudden, insistent knocking on her door made her jump. She inhaled deeply, wiped her eyes, and exhaled slowly as the person knocked again. She pulled up her security camera footage; and there stood Jim, in front of her door, dessert container in hand, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as though he were nervous. Her heart leaped at the sight and started racing in her chest.

“Carol?” he called through the door. “Carol, are you in there? Please—can we talk?”

If you open that door, you better be prepared for the fallout, Marcus, because there will be no turning back, she warned herself. You'll either have him or lose him forever. There's no in-between anymore, and no matter what you choose, there will be consequences.

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves as she opened the door. “Jim—Sir?”

“Can I come in?” he asked seriously. His eyes met hers. She nodded and stepped to the side; he strode in and stood in the middle of her dark living room for a moment, before turning and setting the container on her counter as the door slid shut. 

He met her eyes again; the quiet of her apartment was suddenly deafening. “Listen, I…about...about what you said,” he finally said; he trailed off, studying her in the dim street light filtering in through the windows. His blue eyes looked like they were positively glowing.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable--"

“I like you, too,” he blurted out, interrupting her apology. Her breath caught in her throat. What?  A thin tendril of something that felt like hope twisted in her chest, and she swallowed hard against it. “I have for…ages, now, it feels like," he continued. "I...I more than like you. And if you really do have feelings for me too, then we’ll figure out how to make it work—I’ll talk to Spock—but I really want a chance to…with you…I mean, I’ve crossed lines my whole life and things always work out in the end. I don’t see why this can’t be any different—right?” 

Her heart started to pound in her chest. He wants you, too. She had tried for months to keep how she felt at bay, hidden from him lest he find out and things turn awkward—but now he knew, and he wanted her, too. He wanted to be with her. He, who knew just how precious life was, just how important it was to cherish the people you loved—he wanted her.

"What about your commission?" she asked, her voice small. "You've worked so hard, I can't watch you lose it over me--,"

"I won't," he replied seriously. He swallowed hard. "I realize that when things seem too good to be true, they usually are--but this time...if Spock and Nee can do it, I don't see why we...," he met her eyes. "Unless--I mean, your probation--I would understand if you...if this...would be too much of a...a risk."

There is no risk I wouldn't take for you, she thought. She shook her head. "No," she whispered. "It wouldn't."

The smile that touched his lips was so earnest, so hopeful; she felt her last reserves crumble and she took a hesitant step towards him. When that hesitant step didn’t bring immediate chaos and mayhem with it, she took another, and another, until she’d all but flown across the room, straight into his waiting arms. 

He really was almost fully recovered; he lifted her up as though she weighed no more than a feather, his arms secure around her waist as he hugged her close, her feet dangling off the ground. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her face into the side of his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. 

He buried his face in her shoulder; she could feel his warm breath and his whiskery stubble through the thin material of her shirt as he pulled his arms even tighter around her waist, as though he couldn’t hold her close enough. They were silent for a long moment as they simply held each other in the dark; she felt his broad chest rise and fall against hers, felt the steady pounding of his heart against her own.

Tears came to her eyes, unbidden, at the memory of how still he’d been in death; she tightened her grip around his shoulders and tried to force the memory away. He was there with her now, and he felt warm, and solid, and alive. And that was what really mattered.

He finally set her gently on her feet. He kept one strong hand curled around her waist as he cupped her face with the other. “Carol,” he whispered, studying her face intently. A small, sweet smile tugged at his lips as his thumb brushed reverently over her cheek.

“Jim,” she breathed back. She smiled up at him, then stood on her toes to press her lips hungrily to his. He returned her kiss just as eagerly, his stubble scratching enticingly at her lips; she let herself get swept away by it, by the sensation of finally, finally being held by someone who would never willingly let her go.

We’ll deal with the consequences later, she told herself as they stumbled rather urgently towards her bedroom.

/*\

The dim, early morning light was a familiar shade of dusky indigo, and she thought back to that fateful April morning a year ago, waking up to similar light in her window after suffering through the old nightmare about her father and Jim--about bolting from her apartment only to stumble across Nyota in the park. And she never would have imagined it at the time, but that morning--that dim light, that nightmare, that decision to try to run away from her nightmares--that morning had been a turning point in her life. 

That chance meeting with Nyota had led to her first visit to Jim in the hospital. Visiting Jim then, had led to where she was now: Jim curled around her in her bed, fast asleep, his heart beating steadily against her back, his arm holding her close as though he were loathe to let her go, even in sleep.

If she hadn't woken up to such similar light, that morning a year ago, she wouldn't be here with Jim now. It was a sobering thought, and she snuggled closer to him.

"Morning," he whispered sleepily. She grinned to herself.

"Good morning, love," she whispered back.

"You okay?" he asked. She nodded.

"Contemplating fate," she murmured. She sighed and glanced at her chronometer. “I’ve to meet Nyota for breakfast in a bit,” she added. Jim tightened his arm around her waist; she felt him bury his face in her hair.

“But that would involve getting out of bed,” he murmured back. She smiled and nestled back into his arms. 

“It would,” she agreed. “And believe me, I’m not happy about it.” He loosened his grip and she felt him shift in the bed behind her. She turned her head to face him; he’d propped himself up on his elbow and was looking down at her, an intent look in his eyes. His eyes caught hers and held them for a moment; she reached up and met him halfway in a sweet, gentle kiss. 

“And you’ve got work today,” he replied. 

“Also not happy about it,” she quipped. He smiled down at her. “You’ve got physical therapy in a few hours.”

Jim groaned. “Speaking of not being happy about it.” He sighed. “And I had such high hopes for this morning.”

“Oh?” Carol asked with a laugh. She shifted so her whole body was facing him, then reached out a hand to the firm lines of his chest, his abdomen. He shivered minutely at her touch, and his muscles twitched; she could feel his heart thumping in his chest, and his skin was cool and satiny. Goosebumps rose on it in the wake of her touch. She looked up at him; he was watching her steadily, his eyes dark and intense.

“Yeah,” he replied softly, lifting a hand to her face and cupping her cheek in his hand again. She wondered if he enjoyed it as much as she did-–how her jawline fit just so in the palm of his hand; how his thumb brushed gently across her cheek, how his fingers carded through the hair at the back of her head, and how his fingertips gently rubbed small circles on her scalp-–it was her turn to shiver as she closed her eyes and snuggled close to him.

He didn’t hesitate to take her into his arms; the sweat on her skin from the night before had long since cooled, but where the bare skin of his chest and his abdomen met the bare skin of hers, she felt the most comforting warmth. With his arm wrapped around her waist and settled on her back, hugging her close in the confines of her bed, she felt a sense of peace engulf her. She snaked her arm around his waist in return and pressed him close, splaying her fingers out on his back, trying to touch as much of the bare skin as she could reach. He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly.

She could feel against her thigh, just how their moment of quiet touch was affecting him, but he made no move to act on it. He seemed content to simply lie with her for the moment, to touch and be touched, to breathe in her scent and commit the moment to memory, just as she was doing.

“Any regrets?” he whispered a long moment later.

“Not a one,” she whispered back. He smiled. “You?”

“None,” he whispered. His smile widened. “God, Carol…I’m just…”

“I know,” she replied. “Me, too.” She closed her eyes as he leaned his forehead down to meet hers. 

“Since Nyota’s stealing you for breakfast, maybe I’ll return the favor and steal her boyfriend for the morning, after PT,” he said after a long moment, before pulling back from her. “He and I’ve got a lot to work out.”

And with his words, a flare of doubt crept into her consciousness. “Jim, are you sure...is this something you really want to do? This risk, with me?” After all, if things went south, they both had a lot to lose. He would be raked over the metaphorical coals for getting involved with a subordinate of her rank, risking his commission after the impossible odds he’d overcome in the past year. She was risking dishonorable discharge. It was…daunting. 

Jim met her eyes seriously. “I’m sure,” he replied. 

"But what if the brass uses this," she gestured to him and then to herself, "against you? Assigns you command of a different ship?" She met his eyes seriously. "Jim, there's nothing to say right now that either of us have to be assigned to the Enterprise. We all assume you'll be reassigned because it was your last commission and you gave so much for it--Jim, what if--,"

"Carol," he interrupted quietly. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "It's going to work out. I'll meet with Spock today. And we'll work out how to handle the brass. Okay? Trust us."

"But what if he doesn't approve of--,"

"He will," Jim replied confidently. He offered her a small, reassuring smile. "He'll recommend that we exercise discretion, suggest that we keep this to ourselves until the crew manifest is official--not because he'll think we're doing anything wrong or because he doesn't approve of us together, but because he won't want to give anyone any ammunition to use against assigning either of us to the ship." He cradled her head in his hand again. "And then he'll file the paperwork documenting our relationship as soon as it's official that we're both assigned to the ship." He pressed another gentle kiss to her lips. 

He made it sound so easy. Maybe it can be, she thought. Maybe everything doesn't have to be so complicated. She swallowed hard. 

"You're certain?" she asked quietly. He nodded.

“I’m sure of Spock's support. And I'm sure of me, and I’m sure of you. And I’m sure that, if things ever didn’t work out between us, we’d be mature enough to handle our shit without letting it affect our work.” He leaned forward and pressed a little kiss to her nose. “But I’m also equally sure it won’t ever come to that.”

Carol thought back to her parents, so miserable together, clearly unsuited for each other and hating each other by the time her mother had passed away. “How can you be so sure?” she whispered hesitantly.

“Because you’re amazing, and I’m the luckiest bastard in the galaxy, for a whole host of reasons–-not the least of which being, I’m the person you are choosing to do…this…with,” he replied, gesturing broadly to the room around them. He took a deep breath. “Carol, I should be–-I should be dead…God, I don’t even know how many times over, now. But I’m not, and this last time--Bones brought me back, and in his words, he didn’t bring me back to live a miserable life.” He half-shrugged shyly. “You make me happy, Carol. You make me laugh. I trust you. You’re brilliant and–-and I…” he trailed off and glanced away.

He looked so very earnest, and for all he said he trusted her, she trusted him, too. A hundred times over. And even if he didn’t love her like she loved him, he loved her in his own way, wholly, and he would never use her feelings against her. You--your feelings--are safe with him. It is safe to love him. Everything will work out--you are allowed to be happy and in love with him.

“I love you, Jim,” she whispered, surprising herself. His eyes snapped back to her, and he could only blink at her for a long moment before a smile started to cross his face.

It wasn't one of his electric, beaming smiles, but something softer. More heartfelt. Tender. He swallowed hard and cupped her jaw again, leaned in for a lingering kiss before pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “God, I love you, too,” he whispered back fervently. She could only grin as he leaned back in for another long, deep kiss.

One that was interrupted a moment later by a frantic pounding on her apartment door.

/*\

Leonard fought back a growing wave of alarm.

Everything was fine. It was fine.

Right?

So what, Jim wasn't answering his door? So what, he wasn't answering his communicator, either? No big deal. Maybe he'd turned off the ringer and taken a sleeping pill. Maybe he'd forgotten that they were supposed to get breakfast together this morning, and he'd gone out to Riverside before his physical therapy session. Maybe he'd gone grocery shopping and simply forgot his communicator. Despite the transfusion of Khan's super-blood, Jim was only human. The man was allowed to forget things, right? 

Except Jim didn't usually just forget things. That damn stupid brain of his remembered almost everything, even before the transfusion. Leonard pounded on the door again. "Damn it, Jim, if you're in there, I swear to God--you better not be ignoring me, you better be dead," he hollered through the door. He pressed his ear to it and listened intently.

Nothing.

If he's not already dead, I'm gonna kill him. Leonard pulled out his communicator and tried Jim's once more, pressing his ear back to the door and listening carefully; he heard it chirping faintly from somewhere in the apartment. That's it. Leonard entered his medical override and the door slid open before him. He stormed inside--

But there was...nothing.

Shit, what if he really is dead? Leonard thought, fighting back the urge to hyperventilate as he took in the empty living area. It coulda been--coulda been some freak side effect, some freak accident or medical incident--the image of Jim, dead on a biobed in sickbay, would be burned inside Leonard's eyelids for the rest of his goddamn life, and for one heart-stopping moment, Leonard was sure he was about to re-live it in real time. The room started to spin around him.

He shook his head and steadied himself on the back of Jim's couch, then darted through the apartment. Jim's comm was on the dining room table, but Jim was nowhere to be seen. Nothing was out of place, and there was no sign of any kind of disturbance. Leonard forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply.

Call Spock. Call Sal.

Call everyone.

Release the hounds.

His racing, panicked thoughts were interrupted by a stern, commanding voice echoing through his head. It sounded like a cross between his mother, his sister, and Jim. You calm the fuck down right this instant, McCoy. Panicking will not help find him. Breathe. He forced himself to inhale and exhale slowly. Start with Spock before you raise the intergalactic alarm.

Leonard whipped out his communicator. "McCoy to Spock. Spock--come in!"

"Doctor?" Spock sounded understandably wary. He apparently wasn't accustomed to Leonard screaming at him at ass-o'clock in the morning anymore, a casualty of their year planetside that Leonard would mourn once they found Jim alive and well. "The tone of your voice suggests there is an emergency. Are you in need of assistance?"

"I'm in Jim's apartment and he's not here, but his communicator is. Have you heard from him today?"

"I have not." Spock paused, and Leonard could hear Nyota's voice in the background. She and Spock spoke for a brief moment before Spock addressed him again. "Nyota has not, either, but suggests checking with Doctor Marcus, as they likely had dinner together last night and, as such, she is likely to be the last person to have seen him."

Leonard nodded and relaxed minutely. Logical. "Right. She's right--Nee's right. Okay. Standby, I'll run up to Carol's place right now. I'll call you back after I talk to her."

"Understood."

Leonard snapped his communicator shut and darted for the stairs and up to Carol's apartment. He knocked, probably louder than he had to given the early hour and the fact that she wasn't deaf, but he'd apologize later. She would understand. She'd be worried, too--Jim going missing was a big fucking deal.

Except that, when her door slid open a moment later, Leonard's anxiety erupted into anger and he had to fight back the urge to strangle Jim with his bare hands. The punk had the audacity to look concerned. "Bones? What are you doing here? What's wrong?"

"You son of a bitch!" Leonard shouted. Jim drew back, bewildered, his brow furrowing.

"What the fuck?" He poked his head out the door and glanced at the doors of Carol's neighbors. "Get the hell in here before you wake everyone."

"Do you have any fucking idea how worried I was when you didn't answer your door or your goddamn communicator?" Leonard continued ranting as though Jim hadn't spoken.

Jim scowled at him and yanked him inside Carol's apartment, roughly, by his arm. "It is too early for you to be raising hell in the goddamn hallway, Bones," he hissed. "Get in here." The door slid shut behind Leonard as Jim rounded on him. "Now, calm the fuck down and tell me what's wrong!"

"I had no idea what happened to you, you fucking asshat! That's what's wrong!"

That stopped Jim short and wiped the annoyed look off his face. "What?"

"'What?' he says," Leonard scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You are fucking unbelievable--I told you I was coming by early today to pick you up so we could go get breakfast before your physical therapy session. And you weren't there. What the hell was I supposed to think?"

"Uh, that you're not my mom? And that I'm a goddamn grown-up?" Jim snapped back. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

"Leonard." Carol's quiet voice from across the apartment cut through their argument like a hot knife through butter. 

"What?" he snapped. He rounded in the direction of her voice; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jim bristle at his tone.

Carol was peering at them from the relative safety of her bedroom, her brow furrowed in concern. She stepped cautiously out of the bedroom and crossed the living area to them, drawing to a stop next to Jim; he visibly relaxed as she linked a few of her fingers through a few of his and squeezed, then turned to Leonard and studied him for a long moment.

Leonard could feel his anxiety and anger itching under his skin at her perusal, like he had an army of ants swarming all over. He clenched his hands into fists in an attempt to not scratch the hell out of his arms. 

"Jim, love, can you go put the kettle on for tea?" she finally asked, glancing at Jim. "Give us a moment." Jim's face softened as he met her eyes.

"Yeah." He glared at Leonard, but in that angry glare, Leonard could also make out a glimmer of bewildered hurt. He felt a brief flare of guilt, but Jim just squeezed Carol's hand, then stepped into the kitchen without a word to him. 

"Leonard, look at me," Carol requested calmly. Leonard closed his eyes and exhaled noisily. Do not take your anger out on her, he admonished himself. You are a better man than her father, and none of this is her fault. "Look at me, Doctor McCoy," she repeated, a firm thread of command laced through them that he hadn't ever heard her use before, let alone on him, one that his Starfleet training wouldn't let him ignore. Fucking Starfleet.

Leonard opened his eyes and met hers, which were sad with understanding. "He's not dead, Leonard," she said quietly. And just like that, his anger vanished and he felt himself deflate. "Whatever terrifying worst-case scenario you were picturing in your head...Leonard, it's not happening again. I promise. He's alive and well and making tea right now. Everything is fine."

Everything is fine. Leonard closed his eyes again, but this time, it was so she wouldn't see the tears that sprung to them. He had to take a few deep breaths before he could reply, but she just waited patiently, giving him time and space to gather himself. "I--I see him inside that goddamn body bag, every time I close my eyes," Leonard finally admitted hoarsely. He had to pause to swallow back his emotions. He cleared his throat roughly. "Every time--and I hear--in my sleep, all the time--I hear Scotty telling me not to come down to engineering--because there's nothing I can do--,"

"But there was, Leonard. And you did," she pointed out evenly. He could only nod. "Nope. Say it. There was something you could do, and you did it."

He swallowed hard again before opening his mouth. "There--there was," he managed. "Something I could do. And I...and I did it." He exhaled shakily. "I did it."

"There was, and you did," she affirmed. She reached out and touched his arm. "And thanks to you, and Commander Spock and Nyota, he is alive and well and not five meters away, right this moment."

"He's alive and well and five meters away." Leonard felt a few of his tears finally break free, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes against them. Patterns of light burst against the blackness of his eyelids as he struggled to take a steady breath.

A moment later, he felt strong arms wrap around his shoulders. "Bones, man." Jim's voice in his ear was quiet and repentant, all traces of anger and annoyance gone. And something in his quiet entreaty cracked Leonard's ability to keep the tears in; Jim just hugged him tightly and let him breathe out his shuddering sobs. "I'm sorry. Bones. I'm so sorry."

Leonard hugged him back just as tightly. "You scared the ever-loving shit out of me," he whispered roughly. He felt Jim's head nod against his shoulder.

"I know. I see that now. I'm sorry. I forgot you were coming over this morning. Things kind of...happened, last night."

"No--back on...back on the ship." Leonard swallowed hard. "You broke my goddamn heart, Jim." Leonard pulled back and looked Jim in the eye. Jim's eyes were just as red as Leonard imagined his own were, and suddenly shiny with tears at Leonard's admission. Jim pressed his lips together in an attempt to keep them from falling down his cheeks. "The idea that you were dead and there was nothing I could do...," Leonard continued. "I don't ever want to go through that again."

Jim nodded soberly. "Fair enough." He pressed his palms against his own eyes, before taking a deep breath and lowering them, and studying Leonard. "I guess we never really...we never really talked. Did we? About...about that day?"

An overwhelming wave of guilt swamped Leonard; it was an old, familiar feeling at this point. "I should have been there with you, when you..." he replied, and finally admitting it to Jim was accompanied by a rush of relief at finally giving voice to his guilt. "I--,"

"No," Jim denied vehemently, aghast. "No, Bones. Jesus, are you kidding me? It's bad enough, all the times you've had to deal with me near-dead in sickbay--it's bad enough that Spock and Nee and Scotty were there--I'm glad you didn't have to watch...that. Contrary to popular belief, I never had a death wish, and I never, ever wanted to put you in the position to have to--,"

Jim broke off with a huff and shook his head, his eyes trained on his feet. "I'm sorry I did that to you, man. I mean, I don't regret doing it, because...because otherwise you and everyone else would have been--but I never wanted to put you through something like that." He shrugged. "It would have killed me, if you had been the one behind the glass and I couldn't do anything," he admitted quietly. "I wouldn't have survived it."

"No, Jim--I'm sorry. I should have been there. With you. At the end," Leonard insisted. "You were dead and I had no idea until Scotty told me and--Jesus, Jim, you're the closest thing I have to a brother and the idea that you'd died and I wasn't with you when you...that I didn't get to say goodbye--and then after--with your recovery and everything--I'm sorry I haven't been there like you've needed me, Jim. I'm so damn sorry."

"Bones, what the hell are you talking about?" Jim looked at him as though he'd finally, well and truly, lost his goddamn mind. "Why would you even think...?" He shook his head. "Bones, you're my best friend in the fucking galaxy. You brought me back from the dead, man. And I know just how much it's worn on you, the stress of trying to keep me alive. I'm sorry for being such a burden on you this past year." He winced. "These past six years, really," he amended.

A flash of guilt crossed his face, and he sighed. "Bones, you've never, ever let me down," he continued. "Ever. Whenever I've needed you, you've been there." He shook his head. "Hell, you're there for me even when I don't need you. Usually with a fucking hypospray to jab in my neck." Leonard chuckled weakly as Jim met his eyes. "You went above and beyond doing your job as my doctor when you brought me back from the dead, Bones. And you've been going above and beyond as my friend since we met on that fucking shuttle. So just--just shut up about this not-being-there bullshit. Okay? You couldn't not be there if you tried, man."

Leonard felt a tension lift that he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying. Absolution. He managed a nod as the kettle whistled in the kitchen. He heard Carol putter around with cups. "Yeah. Okay." He met Jim's eye. "You're my best friend too, you fucking knucklehead. And nothing about you is a burden, no matter how much I complain." He sighed. "And I understand why you did it, y'know? I don't like it, but I get it, why you went into the reactor. But if you ever scare me like that again, every physical you have for the rest of your life will make you wish you'd stayed dead."

Jim huffed a laugh. "Duly noted."

Leonard swiped a few stray tears off his face, feeling calmer and more centered than he had since before Khan came crashing into their lives. And in his newfound calm, he really looked at Jim for the first time that morning.

He was clad in a pair of soft-looking joggers he normally hung around his apartment in. No socks, no shirt...nothing else. He hadn't shaved yesterday, so his face was covered in stubble, and his hair was sticking up all over the place; after three years as his roommate and four months as his attending physician while he'd been locked up in the hospital, Leonard recognized Jim's bedhead. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and had to fight back a knowing smirk. "So, you wanna explain to me why you're in Carol's apartment, shirtless, at 0630?" 

Jim's eyebrows met his hairline so quickly that Leonard almost laughed. "Uh--I mean--what do you--why do you think I'm shirtless?" Jim hedged, uncharacteristically flustered, as Carol walked in with a tea tray. And then, Leonard got a good look at what she was wearing, too, and realized what happened to Jim's shirt: he recognized the oversized academy shirt she was wearing, as the other half of Jim's typical hanging-around-his-apartment clothing, and it was so big on her that it fell to her thighs, over a pair of thin workout pants. She'd pulled her hair back into a ponytail, but it was a far cry from her normal neat look.

She looked just as disheveled as Jim did. 

Leonard couldn't fight back his smirk any longer. "Nice shirt," Leonard commented to Carol. "Looks familiar. And kinda big on you," he added. To her credit, she only blushed a little as she set the tray on the coffee table. "And, hey--I'm sorry for snapping at you, earlier," he added. Her cheeks were still pink, but she reached out and squeezed his arm affectionately.

"It's okay. I understand, and I forgive you this time--just don't make a habit of it," she replied. His smirk turned into a smile and he nodded. "Sit, boys," she continued, sitting on her recliner and pouring herself a cup of tea. "Have a cuppa. I take it you worked things out?"

Jim plopped down on the couch and reached for another cup, pouring from the teapot. "Yeah. I think we did," he said. He handed it to Leonard.

"Thanks." He took the cup and sat next to Jim, lightly blowing on the hot tea for a moment. "I take it the two of you worked things out, too?" he went on innocently. Carol choked on her sip of tea, and Jim just sighed. 

"They say you're a smart man, Bones. You have eyes. Do we look like we worked things out?" Jim asked dryly. Leonard snorted a laugh.

"I'm really, really happy for you both," he replied. "Congratulations. Sorry to barge in on your morning."

"No, you're not," Jim muttered petulantly, blowing gently on his own tea. "You couldn't have planned this better if you'd tried. I don't know how you do it, but your timing is extremely suspect."

"I've been telling you for years, Jim. Omniscience 101. It's a thing."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should have spent a little less time in Omniscience 101 and a little more time in Bedside Manner for Crabby Country Doctors 101."

They all jumped slightly when Leonard's comm chirped, interrupting his and Jim's good-natured bickering. "Spock to McCoy--come in, Doctor."

"Aw, shit. I was supposed to comm him back after I talked to Carol," Leonard said, reaching for his communicator.

"You called Spock?" Jim asked. Leonard shot him a look.

"You were missing. I thought you were dead. Again. You're lucky I didn't call everyone," he replied. "McCoy here, Spock," he continued into his communicator. "Sorry--he's fine. He's right here. He was at Carol's apartment the whole time. Apparently," he smirked at Jim, who rolled his eyes, and Carol, who shook her head and blushed slightly again, "things kind of happened last night."

And he, Jim, and Carol all winced at the loud, excited squeal that echoed through the communicator. It might have been words, but as it was approaching a pitch that only certain animals--and Vulcans--could hear, Leonard couldn't make them out. "...Er, apologies," Spock said a moment later, and Leonard smiled inwardly at the utter bemusement in his voice. "Am I to take it from Nyota's...reaction, that this is a positive development?"

Jim laughed. "Yeah, Spock. It's a positive development," he said, taking the communicator from Leonard. "We're going to keep it close to the chest until crew reassignments are official--and on that note, is there any chance you and I could sit down and make sure Carol and I won't be violating any policy if I'm reinstated?"

"When you are reinstated, Jim. Not if. But yes, I am available this morning."

"His PT session will be over around 0930," Leonard said. "We'll meet you on the ship shortly afterwards."

"Indeed. I will speak with both of you then."

"Thanks, Spock. Talk to you then," Jim replied.

They heard another loud squeal from the background. "Nyota says...," Spock trailed off and paused for a long moment. "Nyota extends our congratulations," he finally said, diplomatically. Leonard laughed loudly; he was pretty sure he'd heard Nyota say something more akin to it's about fucking time, but he wasn't going to call her out, given that he agreed with her wholeheartedly.

/*\

Carol couldn't help but blush at the catcalls that erupted from the corner booth as she and Jim stepped through the door of the diner, Leonard on their heels. She stopped short, then felt Jim's warm hand on the small of her back. He shot her an inquiring look, to which she just bit her lip and shrugged uncomfortably. "You okay?" he leaned down to murmur it in her ear.

She nodded, despite the fact that her face felt like it was on fire. People all over the diner were looking at them, now, their collective attention drawn by the ruckus her friends had made. She ducked her head instinctively, as had become her habit over the past year and a half--if she hid who she was, then people couldn't harass her. "Hey," he added quietly, still whispering in her ear, "I'm right here with you, and I'm not going anywhere. Everything's going to be okay. Okay?" She managed to smile up at him as his hand found hers and squeezed. 

"Yeah, I know," she replied. "It's just--people are staring," she added quietly. At them. At her, holding Jim's hand. She squeezed it once and then slipped her fingers out from his. Discretion, Marcus, she thought. If people see you holding hands, then they'll know. And if they know, then they'll invade your space and your privacy, and even worse, they'll invade Jim's space and Jim's privacy and he deserves better than that. And then the brass will find out and they'll kick you out of Starfleet and they'll use it as an excuse to assign him to some lesser ship--she could feel the familiar bubbling of her anxiety in her chest. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

Jim brushed his fingers against hers. "Hey--breathe, love," he whispered. "We're all here for you." She inhaled deeply. "And you and I--we're not doing anything wrong," he added. "Discretion because it's nobody's business, right? Not because we're doing something wrong."

She nodded. We're not doing anything wrong, she repeated to herself. She brushed her fingers against his, too. He's right. We're doing nothing wrong.

So go on, say something, she mentally dared the diner's other patrons. Even though it's none of your business--go on. Make an unsolicited comment about my traitor father or my hero boyfriend. Tell me I should be in prison. Tell me I'm not good enough for Jim, that he deserves better. You may be right, but he seems to think otherwise, and it's his opinion that matters, you bloody busybodies. 

Nobody said anything, though. A few people were still watching, mostly with amused, curious smiles on their faces. Most everyone had already gone back to their breakfasts. She relaxed minutely.

"See? They'll get over it," Jim said. 

"Fickle bastards," Leonard chimed in dryly. Carol huffed a laugh. Jim chuckled, too, and squeezed her hand one last time before letting go.

"You ready?" he asked. She nodded.

Because Nyota was waiting at the large corner booth for them, and she wasn't alone. "So much for discretion," Leonard said. "Word sure did travel fast." He sounded amused, as he gestured towards the table. Hikaru had Demora on his lap, and he was flanked by Ben and Pavel. Scotty sat next to Nyota, and they were all grinning like Cheshire cats. Demora clapped at the sight of them.

"She's not the best comms officer in the fleet for nothing," Jim agreed as he led them through the tables towards their friends. One couple gave her suspicious looks, but most who met her eye smiled, and otherwise paid them no more attention than they would a gnat. Carol felt herself relax a little more fully.

"Morning, everyone," Jim said as they approached.

"Listen," Hikaru replied in lieu of a greeting, "I am happy for the two of you, okay? Don't get me wrong. But I just want you both to know that I could have made some good credits if you'd just waited one more week to finally get your shit together." 

"You guys took bets on us?" Jim asked indignantly.

"Aye, of course we did," Scotty replied, as though it should have been a given, and that Jim was a bit of an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

Nyota raised an eyebrow at Jim. "Are you honestly surprised?" she asked dryly.

"I guess I shouldn't be," Jim replied with a roll of his eyes. "You guys need a hobby."

"Gambling ees our hobby," Pavel pointed out cheerfully. "We hev wery little entertainment otherwise."

"You guys need a better hobby," Jim clarified as Leonard slid into the booth next to Scotty. "And we also need you guys to practice this thing called discretion," he added as Carol slid in next to Ben. Jim slid in behind her. 

Hikaru had the nerve to snort. "You kidding me? Have you met us?"

"Seriously," Jim said. He shot Hikaru a significant look. "It's nobody's business, not until after crew assignments are final."

Hikaru kept one hand firmly on Demora and held the other up, resigned. "Fine, fine. Ruin my fun, but whatever." Ben elbowed him with a very obvious roll of his eyes, before turning to Carol. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed a hug. 

"You both look incandescently happy," he said quietly as he pulled back from her with a satisfied grin, as the conversation ramped up around the table. She bit back a smile.

"There's a lot to be incandescently happy about," she replied just as quietly. His grin widened as Jim rested a hand on her knee under the table and squeezed.

"So who won the pool?" Leonard asked, picking up a menu.

"Aye, it were close," Scotty admitted. "Yer parents verra nearly had it, Len, but in the end, it was wee Demora who came out on top, actually." Scotty grinned with a wink. "I took the liberty of placing a small wager on her behalf," he added as an aside to Leonard, who snorted. Carol laughed, both at the idea of Elenora and Horatio taking bets on her and Jim getting together, and at her ridiculous friends placing bets on behalf of Ben and Hikaru's eighteen-month-old daughter. 

"Actually, she tied with Spock," Nyota piped up dryly, "but he graciously conceded his winnings to her."

"You gambled on behalf of my goddaughter?" Pavel replied indignantly. "Scotty. We hev had thees talk, about not gambling een front of her! She ees too young--ees not setting a good example!"

"Aye, I am aware, Pavel. But I fronted her the credits to place the bet, and her fathers have agreed that her winnings are to go towards her savings, so don't yeh start judging me, y'wee Russian leprechaun," Scotty retorted. He wagged his finger at Pavel. "Yer barely old enough to be gambling yerself, mind." Pavel rolled his eyes.

And in the good-natured bickering and animated conversation that followed, Jim leaned into Carol. "Okay now?" he whispered in her ear. Her cheeks flushed at the feel of his breath on her neck, at the memory of his breath on her neck the previous night in bed--she smiled bashfully back at him.

"Very much so," she whispered back. His grin was tiny, contained--but so, so happy. His hand on her knee squeezed affectionately and Carol watched his eyes dart from hers to her lips and back. He wants to kiss you as much as you want to kiss him, she thought, biting back the rapidly widening grin that threatened to split her face in half.

"Christ, would you two quit making eyes at each other and look at your fucking menus already? I'm starving," Leonard said from across the table with a smirk.

If Carol had to guess, the Russian that Pavel mumbled was some sort of exasperated appeal to a deity, before he turned to the table at large. "...and there ees to be no gambling and no swearing around my goddaughter!" he added in indignant Standard. "Honestly!"

/*\

“Doctor Marcus." 

Carol sat up in her chair, the muscles in her shoulders stretching uncomfortably and the muscles in her abdomen screaming at her. She winced; between falling into bed with Jim the previous night–-her face flushed just thinking about it and she had to fight back a stupid little smile, she knew–-and spending the past few hours hunched over her desk, poring over schematics and tinkering with the guts of some outdated phasers, she was a bit sore. She straightened regardless and fully turned to the voice at her back.

Spock watched her patiently from the entrance to the lab. She glanced at her wrist chrono--and was shocked to see that it was nearly noon. He must have finished his meeting with Jim and Leonard. Is he only now finishing his meeting with Jim and Leonard? Surely not, she thought. What could they have been discussing for nearly two hours? A swell of nerves hit her in the chest. A two-hour meeting regarding her relationship with Jim couldn't be a good thing. Could it? "A word?” he continued. She nodded.

“Of course, Commander.” She glanced around; the armory's administrative office was empty. “Will the office suffice?”

“Indeed.” Spock crossed the space in a few long strides as Carol followed. The door slid shut behind them; Spock sat behind the desk and set down his PADD, and Carol perched on the chair opposite, trying to subtly study his face for any sense of anger, or disapproval, or disappointment. 

Because she realized that, at some point, earning and keeping Commander Spock’s regard had become rather important to her. Aside from the fact that he was her commanding officer, he had trusted her when he’d had every reason not to; he and Scotty had given her a second chance on board the Enterprise when most everyone else had wanted her thrown in prison. He’d been ready to fight against any unfair treatment of her during her disciplinary hearing. He was Nyota’s boyfriend and Jim’s best friend, and Nyota and Jim were both very important to Carol.

Spock’s regard mattered, on both a professional and a personal level.

Spock appeared to be studying her as well, but Carol thought it was more contemplative than stern. She relaxed just a little bit and exhaled slowly. “Um, is...is everything alright, sir?” she asked. Spock tilted his head. 

“Indeed. This is a bit of a preemptive meeting, Doctor. However, considering yesterday evening's developments, and after spending the morning in conversation with Captain Kirk, I believe it is necessary,” he explained. Carol felt another small blush up the back of her neck. Yesterday evening's developments, indeed, she thought. “The Captain has petitioned to officially file paperwork informing Starfleet that the status quo has changed with regard to your relationship to each other,” he continued, "pending the results of this interview with you, your agreement to file the paperwork, and the reassignment of you both to this ship."

As it usually did, her breath caught in her chest for a moment at the idea of being permanently assigned to the Enterprise, but she pulled her focus back to the issue at hand. She nodded. “Yes, sir,” she replied. "I would like to file the paperwork as well."

“Indeed.” He studied her again. “As I explained to both Doctor McCoy and Captain Kirk, I have a duty of care as your commanding officer to ensure that you and the Captain begin any romantic relationship on equal footing. He has explained his perception of the progression of your relationship, and I am convinced that he is entering into this relationship with you, under his own free will and of his own volition.” Spock paused. “And now, Doctor, I would have your thoughts as well.”

She bit her lip, hating that she didn’t know Spock well enough to know if his tone was because Vulcans typically lacked inflection, or disapproval of her as a partner for Jim. Just be honest with him, she told herself. After all, he did make a bet in favor of you and Jim's relationship, right? He has Jim’s best interests at heart, and so do you, and that makes you on the same side.

Still…his tone gave her pause. Tread carefully, though, because if he decides that you are not in Jim's best interests, then your relationship is dead in the water. 

But if a relationship with you isn't in Jim's best interests, then perhaps it should be aborted before it gets too far, she told herself, ignoring the feeling that they were both already in too deep. She exhaled and nodded, but then hesitated; now that she had to put it into words, she found herself uncertain as to how to begin explaining everything Jim had come to mean to her. “I…where would you like me to begin, Commander?”

Spock fixed her with a look that could only be described as wry, one eyebrow canted slightly towards the ceiling. “The beginning is typically considered a wise place to start, Doctor.”

She inhaled deeply and nodded. “Right. I…,” she trailed off under the weight of Spock’s eyes on her, and anything else she could have said went fuzzy in her brain. “I love him,” she blurted out. 

Good show, old mum. Lead with the emotions when your Vulcan commanding officer is trying to figure out if you’re manipulating his captain and best friend into a relationship. 

To his credit, Spock's eyebrow only canted slightly higher at her declaration. He said nothing. She exhaled and hastened to add, “I'm sorry--I mean–-well, I mean, I do love him, and I'm not actually sorry about that--but you said start at the beginning–-and I suppose I wasn’t in love with him, not at the very beginning–-but–-,”

“Doctor Marcus,” Spock interrupted. “Your rambling indicates that you are experiencing anxiety. Please understand, this is not an interrogation. Rather, I am attempting to ensure that you are entering into this relationship with Captain Kirk because you harbor feelings for him, independent of his feelings for you, and not because you feel obligated into beginning a romantic relationship with him due to the kindness with which he has treated you these past thirteen months.”

It took her a moment, but once she’d pared out what Spock really meant, a small, surprised smile tugged at her cheeks. He’s making sure Jim’s not taking advantage of you, not the other way around, she realized. He’s trying to protect you. Her smile grew.

“Oh," she breathed quietly. "I...thank you, Commander. Sorry, I--well. But, in any case--I do,” she replied quietly. “Have feelings for him. Independent of his feelings for me, that is.” She shrugged slightly. “I…I don’t know that I could place the moment when I started to...to fall in love with him, but…,” she trailed off again and let her smile soften and warm as she thought back on her and Jim’s long descent into this lovely thing they'd grown into together. “I suppose I was somewhere in the middle of it before I’d even realized it began.”

“Indeed.” Spock’s voice was still even, but she thought she heard a bit of something softer in it. “Please, then. Start at the beginning, Doctor. I would appreciate any relevant details that would support your declaration, as it will make filling out the requisite paperwork documenting this relationship much more straightforward once Jim is reassigned as Captain, and you are permanently assigned to this ship.”

God, the idea of being permanently assigned to this mad ship, with this mad crew, these mad people--the first group of people in her life she could call friends, with Jim...focus, Marcus. She exhaled slowly.

How to explain just what Jim had come to mean to her? 

Laughing together, surrounded by sterile white walls and beeping machinery. Glow in the dark socks and wordsearch puzzles and stories of easier times...

Meals together followed by late evenings on his couch, under his robe, and later, under newly-purchased blankets, watching holovids together...

Going places, together, the promise of his companionship and support the only thing lending her enough confidence, enough courage to venture out into the world again...

Georgia, and deep breathing through their emotional trauma, together, Leonard and Elenora and Horatio waiting nearby to catch them...

She swallowed hard. “He…from the very beginning, he was my friend,” she finally said. “When he would have had every reason to treat me with scorn and derision…he showed me compassion instead. He offered me his support, even though he clearly needed so much support himself.” She sighed and bit her lip. “I’d like to think it became reciprocal, that I came to offer him just as much as he gave me, but he’s given me so much that I've a feeling I fell short,” she admitted. “Falling in love with him was easy, to be honest, Commander. It was figuring out what to do about it that was the hard part.”

“Indeed, Doctor.” Spock tented his fingers in front of his mouth. “You said you were in the middle of your feelings for him before you realized you had them. Tell me more about that.”

She took a long moment to gather her thoughts. “I think…if I had to pin down an...an a-ha moment? It was this past winter. We went to Georgia with Leonard for Christmas.” She met Spock’s eyes. “He had a flashback to the warp core one evening while we were out with Leonard and his parents. Jim and I’d been separated from them by a crowd of people, you see, and…and for once, I got to be strong for him."

She exhaled slowly and nodded. "I finally felt like I was able to meet him as an equal, if that makes sense?" she continued. "That I wasn’t just his charge, to be taken care of. And I realized, then, that I wanted to continue being that person for him. I wanted to continue being someone he could rely on, someone who would offer him that unconditional love and support that he gives to others so freely, someone who would take care of him as he deserved.” She shook her head and shrugged slightly. “I’d known I cared for him, as a friend with a bit of a crush on him, for some time. But helping him then…I wanted to be that person who stood by him for…," she trailed off and met Spock's eyes. She shrugged self-consciously. "Well, for as long as he'd have me.”

She sighed, thinking back to that eventful Christmas day in Georgia. “But with the terms of my probation, and our disparate rank, and how hard you all had worked to help him reclaim his life…I didn’t want to be the excuse the brass used to keep him from regaining captaincy of the Enterprise. So I did nothing. I maintained the status quo, as you put it.”

Spock nodded evenly. “Indeed.” He offered Carol the ghost of a smile. “And now? How would you describe your relationship with him?”

“He’s my best friend,” she replied automatically. “He’s…if his friendship were all I had, for the rest of my life, I’d have everything I need. I’m just…,” she trailed off and smiled to herself. An image of his sweet smile, and the memory of the feeling of his arms wrapped around her securely, engulfed her. “I’m lucky enough that I get both his friendship, and so much more, now.”

Spock nodded, silent for a long moment, and Carol began to wonder if she’d convinced him that she wanted Jim not because she thought she owed him anything, but because he was Jim. She felt a sudden prick of panic. What if she hadn't? She began to think over what else she could say to convince him.

“Thank you for your candor, Doctor Marcus. I believe I will have little difficulty filing the requisite paperwork documenting your relationship with Captain Kirk, upon final crew assignments,” he finally said, bringing her increasingly urgent train of thought to a screeching halt.

“So you-–you believe me?"

"I do," Spock replied simply. "And if your goal is to serve on board the Enterprise together, it will serve your best interests if you and Jim commit to a discreet relationship, until both the crew manifest and Jim's reassignment are made official. I understand that you two have come to this conclusion yourselves."

"Yes, sir. We have."

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Indeed." He set his PADD down and studied her for a moment. "May I share a confidence, Lieutenant?"

She sat back a bit in surprise. "Oh--of course, sir," she replied, her curiosity piqued. What confidence could her Vulcan commanding officer possibly want to share with her?

"I am aware of the event, which you have noted as the catalyst for realizing the depth of your regard for Jim," he began. It was Carol's turn to raise her eyebrows at him. "Doctor McCoy contacted me that night. From what I understand, neither you nor Jim would allow him to hover over you, and I believe the Terran phrase is that he needed to 'blow off some steam,' which is, as you can imagine, a frequent occurrence."

Carol couldn't help the bark of a laugh that came out. "Indeed," Spock agreed, and Carol chuckled quietly to herself. She realized that she had forgotten, briefly, that Spock was Jim and Leonard's friend above all. Of course, Leonard would comm Spock when something happened with Jim. "He was quite upset with himself, that he could not do more for Jim, or for you. But he did explain that you were with Jim while he suffered through his flashback, and that you supported him despite your own panic attack and the physical trauma you had endured earlier that day.

"A week later, when we were all returned to San Francisco, he came to speak with me regarding the feelings he believed existed between you and Jim. He and Nyota were convinced then, that you and Jim held each other in a high enough mutual regard to enter into a romantic relationship together, but I was not convinced."

"Oh," Carol said, somewhat taken aback. That was not where she'd thought--hoped--Spock's confidence would go. She bit her lip.

"Indeed. I did not know you well enough to determine if your feelings for Jim were due to gratitude for his friendship, or genuine affection and love. As I am Vulcan, I am certain you can understand how I struggled to distinguish the difference, particularly given that I had primarily interacted with you in a professional setting, without Jim's presence, until that point. I lacked sufficient data to form a reliable conclusion."

He was absolutely correct. She nodded. "Right. Of course, sir."

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement. "In the months since, as I promised Leonard I would do, I endeavored to watch you and Jim together in order to ascertain the level of your regard to each other. Nyota assisted me in making sense of what I observed, and with everything I have witnessed, and both Jim's declarations and yours, I see now that Leonard and Nyota were correct in their initial assessment of your feelings for each other."

Carol met his eyes and fought back against a sudden wave of emotion. "You do?" She whispered. He simply nodded. A huge weight that she hadn't even realized she'd been carrying lifted off her shoulders. “Thank you, Commander,” she said genuinely. Spock nodded again.

“You have nothing for which to thank me, Doctor.” He fixed her with a steady look. “I will add, however, on behalf of Nyota and all of our friends: please ensure that you do not cause Jim undue emotional distress,” he added. Her eyes widened.

“I--sir?”

“Jim cares deeply for the people he considers family. That care is multiplied many times over for you, as you have long held a singular position in his life. Please continue to give his care due consideration, and treat him accordingly.”

At the implied or else in Spock’s tone, Carol’s eyes widened further. “Sir, are you...are you giving me the--the shovel talk?” she asked hesitantly. Spock raised an eyebrow.

“The 'shovel talk'?”

Terran idiom, she realized. “Er–-yes. A conversation that a being’s friends have with a new significant other? Where they make clear that if their friend is hurt by the significant other, then they’ll exact due revenge?”

Spock considered her words for a long moment. “And of what use is a shovel, in this situation, Doctor?”

Carol swallowed hard. “I believe it has something to do with the, ah...the implied threat that they’ll bury the significant other’s body somewhere…remote,once they’re done with their revenge.” She winced. “Figuratively--figuratively speaking, of course,” she hastened to add. "Sir." Spock simply raised an eyebrow.

“Indeed,” he replied thoughtfully. “Then, yes, Doctor Marcus. I suppose that, as Jim’s friend--and not your commanding officer--I am giving you the figurative ‘shovel talk.’” He tilted his head. “But please know, Doctor, that our friends and I have had the same talk with Jim, regarding his treatment of you." His eyebrow took on a wry cant. "Indeed, I daresay most of them rather enjoyed the experience," he added dryly. "I have it on good authority that Doctor McCoy certainly did."

Carol felt her mouth drop open in surprise. "We none of us have a desire to see either you or Jim hurt, at the will of the other,” Spock continued. He stood and strode to the door, but paused on the threshold and looked back at her. He nodded to Carol once more. “Good day, Doctor Marcus.”

Carol, gobsmacked, managed a jerky nod. “Er--good day, Commander.” She stood as he exited. Once he was gone, she sank back down into her chair.

She'd never gotten the shovel talk before. And God only knew that nobody had ever given someone the shovel talk on her behalf before--unnecessary though such a talk was, as Jim would never purposefully hurt her. A smile stretched across her face at the notion that she had a family of friends who were willing to do so for her now.

/*\

June

Jim cut quite a dashing figure in his dress uniform, squinting into the mid-morning, late-spring sunlight as he delivered a much-edited-and-reviewed-and-obsessed-over speech from behind a very official-looking podium. Varying Starfleet and Federation officials sat in a row on the stage behind him.

She'd heard him practice his speech so many times that she was able to tune out the words and simply listen to the cadence of his voice, the timbre of it as it filled the space around them. He looked confident and at ease, healthy, standing tall and strong--and there was a certain gravity in the tone of his voice, a humble maturity in his countenance that radiated off him, that was so at odds with the brash, grieving, angry young man she'd handed forged transfer orders to a year and a half ago.

She watched his eyes scan the crowd, addressing every corner of it. He'd probably already spotted Horatio and Elenora in the crowd, sitting with Joanna, come for the rechristening ceremony and to see them all off on the five-year mission. Carol smiled softly to herself as Jim paused; he took a moment to look down at his PADD and take a steadying breath, before he looked up again. "Admiral Christopher Pike once told me, back when he was still a captain and I was still a civilian, that my father didn't believe in no-win scenarios," he continued. He nodded to himself. "And at the time, I couldn't understand it--but I've come to realize, as Admiral Pike explained, that it all depends on how you define 'winning'. And in that spirit--in memory of Admiral Pike, and of everyone who was lost in the Vengeance incident, and in honor of everyone who carried on through the pain and grief and rebuilding that followed--it's an honor to be here today, rechristening the fleet's flagship."

He cleared his throat. "We've all...it's been a hard time, these past few years. We've all lost so much. Homes. Livelihoods. Our health. Our sense of security. Friends, family...loved ones, whose absence never gets easier to bear." He straightened. "Perhaps it's a fanciful notion, but the idea that the rechristening of the Enterprise is symbolic of the beings of the Federation itself, overcoming adversity and nearly hopeless odds yet again...it gives me hope for our future. Hope for the Federation and all her citizens, and hope for the future of the galaxy, and all of the wonders she still holds, as yet undiscovered."

Jim's eyes settled on the row where Carol sat with all of their friends, the rest of the Enterprise's crew in rows in front of and behind them, and he paused a moment to make eye contact with all of them. He smiled soberly as he addressed the crew directly.  "The seasons of life don't pause to accommodate the capricious whims of the galaxy. We've had time to cry, to grieve. To mourn. But we've also had time to begin to mend, to laugh, and to start to heal. And it's my most fervent hope, as we are about to embark, together, on a mission that has never before been attempted, that we're embarking during a season of peace."

Next to her, she felt Hikaru shift and straighten in his chair, and Nyota snuck her hand into Carol's and gave it a gentle, supportive squeeze. Carol squeezed back with a small smile. "Undoubtedly, this mission will test us in ways we can't yet imagine," Jim continued, "but please know that it is the honor of my life and my career to serve as your captain for it." He paused and pressed his lips together, and Carol could see him swallow hard for a moment. "I can't imagine a better crew to undertake such an historic mission."

He straightened as a proud grin crossed his face. "Let's boldly go, to wherever the fates take us--where no one has gone before." He gave a small, decisive nod. "We'll get there together, just like we always have."

/*\/*\