Title: In Theory, a Great Escape
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: In the midst of leading busy lives, the former bridge crew of the Enterprise receive a call from their ex-captain.

Montgomery Scott is in the middle of subjecting everything within reach to a barrage of sensor probes when the personal comm attached to his belt gives a little whistle. He flips it open without thinking, making a noise of greeting mostly muffled by the wrench between his teeth.

“…Scotty?”

The engineer pulls the wrench from his mouth. “Jim, by gods. It’s been ages!”

“Too long,” comes the agreement, followed by a slight pause. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, no,” the engineer insists, propping his upper torso against the panel behind him as best he can, given the height of the engine tube he’s currently housed in. “Just doing a wee bit of repairs on our favorite gal.”

The soft sigh through the communicator is no surprise to Scott. He understands what lies beneath it, having felt the loss of the Enterprise keenly since the ship docked above Earth on the last day of her deep space voyage. The crew, himself included, went their separate ways, for Kirk had already broken the news of his decision to join the Admiralty at long last.

This isn’t the same ship as then but at the heart of her, Scott feels, she will always be home, no matter the shape of her hull or whatever ship class they remodel her after.

He goes on, “Someone had the bright idea to install that new Daystrom A.I.—what a disaster! So ‘course I’ve been commissioned here full-time until the circuitry is patched up. Command doesn’t want the maiden voyage delayed like last time. Bad publicity and such.” And no one knows this ship quite as well as he does, barring the man on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, I’ve heard similar rumblings.”

Scott scratches his cheek with the head of his wrench, bemused. “You aren’t at Headquarters?”

This time Kirk’s sigh is full-bodied. “Mandated vacation.”

“Ah,” Scott mumbles, “that’d be Dr. McCoy’s doing.”

“Doctors know best!” Kirk chimes back.

Both men snort.

Jim asks, “Any word on her captain?”

It surprises Scott that he doesn’t know. “Supposedly a Frenchman. He’s not as young as you were when they offered you the gig, I’ll wager that!”

Kirk hums thoughtfully for a moment.

“We’ll wish the lad the best of luck, shall we?” Scott chuckles lowly. “I’d say our crew had more than our fair share of adventures in uncharted space, especially in that second five-year mission, but truth be told there will always be the unknown to welcome newcomers.”

“I know.”

Wistfulness forms a shared silence between them. Then Scott shakes himself out of his reverie and back to his present problem. “Better find this blown fuse. Dinnae be a stranger.”

“Likewise.”

Scott hears a screech through the communicator, at first mistaking it for a blip of interference across the open channel. But the noise quickly coalesces into Standard, at a very familiar pitch: McCoy, yelling, “Where the hell are my socks! Damn it, Jim, where’d you put my—”

“—Annnd, that’s my cue,” Kirk cuts in, sounding both dismayed and amused. “Catch you later, Scotty.”

“Bye, Jim.”

The call ends on a near-click, leaving Scott to huff and chuckle.

“Some things, even time cannae change,” he remarks to the empty tube, and returns to work.

By the curved bar in his quarters, Pavel Chekov holds up a glass for both himself and his guest to see, appraising its contents. Though a tiny figure in the distance, Kirk hardly looks surprised, being long since familiar with Pavel’s penchant for judging the quality of drinking establishments across the quadrant by the scotch they serve. On the shelf over the bar area, he has one liquor bottle as a mento from every favored establishment.

“Keptin—da, sorry, Admiral,” he amends, grinning, “do you know? I think I’m starting to get those extra senses you always seemed to have. I chose right, switching back to ze command track.”

“Ah, you must have had a good day.”

“And an excellent mission!” Pavel adds cheerfully. “Captain Terrell said I am ze best first officer he’s worked with.” He stops, blinks, then hangs his head somewhat sheepishly before putting his celebratory glass of scotch aside. “But of course ze second-best first officer in Starfleet.”

“Spock won’t mind if you take first place,” Kirk tells him warmly. “Terrell’s a good man and a solid captain. Tell him I said to take care of you.”

“I will. Thank you, sir.” Pavel trails back to the vid-screen in the wall by the bar, asking, “Did Mr. Spock take the assignment on New Vulcan? Where is Dr. McCoy?”

“Yes, and you know Bones. Busy. Both of them, actually.”

Chekov offers, “If they’re too busy, you can come back to space. I would like that.”

Kirk opens his mouth as if jumping at the chance to agree—only to close it a moment later, appearing a touch rueful. “I had my fun, Pavel. Don’t worry about me. It’s… relaxing… on the ground.”

He means boring. Poor Jim, thinks Chekov. At first Pavel had been concerned Kirk might turn into one of those kooky old Rear-Admirals who pop into Academy classes unannounced, terrifying young cadets and leaving a mess behind for the instructors to clean up afterward. But from Kirk’s tone, it sounds likely the man will expire before he ever makes it to the crazy stage.

All at once, the visual of Kirk does appear more relaxed as the man says, “So, tell me about that mission, Commander. It didn’t go perfectly according to plan, did it?” Jim’s blue eyes are alight. “Who did you have to chase? Fight in hand-to-hand combat? Woo, perhaps?” The possibility of each prospect seems to further delight the Earth-bound admiral.

Pavel tugs a stool over to the screen and perches there, glad to talk to someone interested in the exhilarating parts of the whole affair rather than settle for ordering him to write up a summary in technical report jargon. He launches into a vivid recounting, having perfected his storytelling voice over the years. On the viewscreen, Chekov’s audience leans forward, apparently more than ready to live vicariously through his comrade’s adventures in space.

The wide smile of the man on the terminal screen in Hikaru Sulu’s private quarters could power a nacelle. “Captain Sulu. How’s the family?”

“Admiral,” Sulu responds in his usual calm manner. Then he returns the smile briefly, admitting, “More settled in than I am, believe it or not.”

He looks around. Each time he considers his surroundings, he feels simply amazed, like he has ventured into a strange, new world. And ironically he’s done that plenty of times over his career, just never like this.

Perhaps something of that amazement shows, because the man whom Hikaru trained under for nearly a decade and a half—a great man who remains a close friend even now—looks at him all too knowingly. “You never forget your first ship,” Kirk says.

Sulu runs a hand across the desktop of his workstation, not for the first time. “The Excelsior is a beauty, sir.” And she’s all mine.

“No one’s more deserving. You earned her, Sulu.”

Sulu’s mouth tips up. “Am I the only one?”

Kirk laughs softly, then, a familiar sound. “Well, no. But I hear Uhura will be commanding her own vessel in a matter of months.”

Good, thinks Sulu. Always a friend, sometimes a competitor, Nyota Uhura is someone Sulu would want at the helm of a sister ship, standing with him against all odds. Not that he would hand over this particular one. Even with a six-month trial run, he has not had a chance to learn everything the Excelsior can do. “How long before she leaves New Vulcan?”

“I’d have to check with Spock.”

Sulu ponders the odd note in Kirk’s voice, but decides not to press the admiral for information when clearly Kirk won’t willingly share it. Instead, Sulu focuses on something he can readily address, a nuance in Kirk’s expression he recognizes now that he has felt that mysterious tug which originates from accepting the command of a ship and crew. Keeping his voice sympathetic, he says, “You miss it, don’t you?”

Neither of them have to specify what ‘it’ is.

Kirk’s chin dips slightly in acknowledgement, though the man says nothing.

Sulu sinks back into his chair. “I don’t know how you made the choice, Jim.” He wants to ask, After all this time, does it feel like the right one?

“I keep busy,” Kirk replies.

Like an entity seeing fit to denounce a bold lie, a voice rings out, though not in range of the viewscreen. “Jim! Are you at that monitor again? Don’t think I won’t force you into eye surgery if you go blind! For god’s sake, man, listen to your doctor.”

Sulu grins while Kirk flushes red. No one but Leonard McCoy references himself in the third person.

Kirk mutters to Sulu, “I stand corrected. Someone keeps me busy.”

Two someones, imagines the captain. “McCoy must be in high spirits.”

“Oh yes. With retirement on the horizon, he’s ecstatic,” counters the admiral in a dry tone.

“Who’s ecstatic?” the person in question wants to know, suddenly appearing within Sulu’s sight, just behind Kirk’s shoulder. McCoy squints briefly at him, the light frown of his mouth finally softening upon recognition. “Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”

Sulu honestly will never understand how McCoy comes up with his idioms. “Hello, Doctor.”

“After being cramped in a tin can together for over ten years, why can’t you call me Leonard?”

“How about Surgeon General?” teases Sulu.

“Fine,” grumps McCoy. “Doctor will do. Captain.” With a wink to lighten his jab, McCoy places a hand on Kirk’s shoulder. “How’s that smart little girl of yours?”

“Not so little anymore.” Sulu’s tone turns rueful. “Demora’s determined to apply for the ‘Fleet’s shadow program next month. Becoming an ensign-in-training seems to be part of her plan to jump ahead of her classmates when she finally starts courses at the Academy.”

“Good for her,” Kirk says approvingly.

Sulu may be of a different opinion, mainly because: “Ben says she’s already started practicing various tactics to remind me to use her title instead of her first name.”

“Lord!” cries McCoy, but both men on the screen are obviously struggling to subdue an urge to laugh.

Sulu sighs. Starfleet knew there would be a price to pay in welcoming family units on starships, but nobody thought to point out to him that he might have to hand over his captain’s chair to his kid someday. Some warning would have been appreciated.

Following that thought, Sulu’s heart skips a beat. Strange but the image forms in an instant: his daughter, in command of a vessel as large or larger than the Excelsior, perhaps even sleeker.

As a parent, he both longs to see the day and dreads it.

McCoy seems to pick up on his emotional turmoil, for the doctor glances at the top of Kirk’s head, saying fondly, “Kids grow up fast.”

Kirk rolls his eyes, though his back is to McCoy. It has been years since McCoy gave up calling his captain (and eventual husband) ‘kid’, but apparently the sentiment lives on, at least between the pair.

“Good to see you again, Sulu,” McCoy says, then more firmly, “Jim, c’mon. Dinner. Eat something, and put this old country doctor at ease.”

For a parsec, Kirk studies Sulu with the intensity of a boy receiving his first bedtime call. Then the man huffs, shakes his head, and tells Hikaru, “Thanks for the chat.”

“Anytime, sir,” Sulu says, meaning it.

Kirk ends the transmission.

After a moment, Sulu reaches out to his Chief Communications Officer, asking him to open a channel to New Vulcan.

Sulu wasn’t imagining things, decides Uhura while she studies the too-innocent visage of the man on her PADD.

“Commander, how are you?”

“Doing well, Admiral,” the woman responds respectfully, subordinate to superior. Then, her voice gaining its familiar sharp edge, she tacks on, “Kirk, do you know what time it is on New Vulcan?”

Kirk’s gaze widens. “I… was just curious if you’ve settled on a departure date.”

So that’s a yes.

She sighs internally. After working with Jim for so many years, Nyota is under no illusion they’re going to have to proceed the hard way. She moves from her apartment couch to its computer terminal, making certain to angle the PADD so Kirk can see her destination. “Knowing Spock, he hasn’t left his lab yet. I’ll just patch you in—”

“No!”

Ah, gotcha. Nyota turns the PADD back to full view of her face again, narrowing her gaze significantly. “All right. Spill.”

James Kirk is, by any definition of the term, tough. He has more self-control than even the most stone-faced Vulcan once he decides to make use of it. Uhura has seen that self-control in action countless times: under enemy fire, through hours of interrogation, after major loss, even in the face of imminent destruction.

But Jim’s mask cracks now, like it only needed a singularly hard nudge at the right spot. Uhura worries about what she sees beneath it. “What’s wrong?”

“Has… Spock been very busy lately?”

Uhura experiences a moment’s guilt. She hasn’t had the time to track Spock down and prod him into working less, eating more, and occasionally sleeping. In a way, she turned that duty over to others long, long ago (although McCoy had already started his own version of Vulcan-herding without prompting from anyone, much to Spock’s dismay and her amusement), only tending to jump in when McCoy and Kirk (the next in line for Champion Vulcan-herder) are out-of-pocket. She still cares deeply for Spock, wants him to be happy, as she knows he in turn wishes happiness for her; but keeping a distance is sometimes necessary, if not for personal reasons, then at least professionally. That doesn’t mean the two of them do not take comfort in knowing each other as well as they do. In fact, she and Spock shared a meal together soon after his arrival on New Vulcan, catching up on a decades-old friendship and re-establishing their rapport. Unfortunately, since then their individual projects have kept them too occupied to meet up.

Uhura made a home on New Vulcan years ago, having found kinship with Spock’s people—in some ways, feeling closer to them than perhaps Spock himself does. So being busy with her career in Starfleet and being in demand as a talented linguist, whenever she does return to the planet, she always has a list of people, places, and news to catch up on.

Her mistake, she thinks now. Because she didn’t keep in touch with Spock, he has obviously gone and done something he considers the opposite of problematic which by human standards is likely at best unsettling and at worst upsetting.

In what universe, the woman muses, becoming exasperated, would Spock think failing to keep in touch with Jim Kirk is not a recipe for disaster?

“Is Leonard there?” she asks in a grim tone. When Kirk just stares at her, she guesses, “So he is. Put him on.”

The man goes on staring at her as if her orders were in an indecipherable language.

“I don’t have the time or patience for this,” Uhura states matter-of-factly. “Fetch McCoy, or I swear on the five divines of Ferenginar, I’ll hack your house comm system and raise the alarm that you’re having a heart attack.” Which will give McCoy a massive coronary of his own.

Kirk’s mouth thins. “You still play dirty.”

Nyota just waits.

Kirk disappears, returning a minute later with a reluctance to his posture soon forgotten when Nyota takes note of the familiar figure trailing in Kirk’s wake.

“Hi, Leonard.”

McCoy, rumpled, probably dragged straight out of bed, rubs a hand against his breastbone, seeming undecided between a polite greeting and an angry one. “Nyota, do you know what time it is?”

“That’s what I said to your husband when he commed me.”

McCoy transfers his stare to Kirk, gaze narrowing.

Kirk folds his arms across his chest but doesn’t look at either of them. “I had a question.”

“Jim,” Kirk’s partner says, sighing. Leonard turns back to Nyota. “I’m sorry. He’s been on the horn with everybody and his brother lately.”

“Do you know why?” Nyota asks.

Kirk stiffens.

“I was thinking Jim missed Spock,” Leonard replies. “He sends us messages once in a while since he’s wrapped up in preparations for the mission to Romulus. Still, that ain’t the same as, you know, talking to him. I meant to ping the hobgoblin earlier and forgot. Wanted to see if we could arrange a vid call over the weekend.”

Nyota thinks that’s practical but she knows Kirk’s brain works differently.

So does McCoy. “Jim, what’s going on? If you wanted to talk to Spock, why not call him instead of Uhura?”

Kirk swallows, twisting around to look at McCoy briefly before his gaze finds Nyota. “I know he’s busy. I know she is too. Uhura, I apologize for waking you.”

Oh no, Nyota isn’t ending their little chat on that note. Now that McCoy looks less aggravated about being awake and moving toward concerned, she has no qualms about using the big guns. “Jim must be afraid Spock is avoiding him, or both of you.”

Leonard’s head jerks around. He stares. “What?”

“Uhura,” Jim says in warning, unraveling enough from his tense stance to lean in toward the viewscreen.

Nyota offers Kirk a sweet smile. “Kirk, do you think Spock isn’t coming back to Earth?”

Kirk pales.

McCoy curses. “That’s—why, that’s—Jim.” He looks like he wants to physically shake sense in Kirk. “I don’t believe it!”

All at once, Jim goes limp, slumping back against his chair. An expression of pain rises to the surface, concentrated and difficult to look at—and far more intense than the inkling Nyota had spied earlier. Kirk looks defeated.

Uhura simply can’t accept that, not from this man.

McCoy reaches for Kirk’s wrist, holding it a moment before slipping his hand into Kirk’s. “Jim?”

Jim’s throat works for a moment before he provides them with the explanation: “I know Spock is… his own person, but sometimes the difference is muddled… here.” Kirk indicates his head. “You both know about the images, the memories, left behind by the Ambassador.” Kirk’s pained look deepens as his voice softens. “Don’t you find ironic? We’ll be calling Spock that soon. Ambassador. Just like him.”

“It’s just a title, Jim.”

What memory has been haunting you, Kirk? Uhura lets her voice soften to match the admiral’s. “What could keep Spock from Earth?”

“Kolinahr,” Jim says.

McCoy frowns. “Kolinwhat?”

Uhura’s breath had caught on the word. Now she releases her surprise slowly, able at last to connect the dots. “I didn’t realize Ambassador Spock had undergone Kolinahr.” She has seen its effect at work, and the older Spock had displayed none of the characteristics of that practice. Quite the opposite, in fact. “What happened?”

Nothing good, she answers herself, since Kirk has been letting the concern slowly undermine his faith in his Spock.

At McCoy’s questioning look, she explains, “Kolinahr is the purging of all emotion. It allows a Vulcan to mentally prepare himself to follow a path of pure logic.”

“Sounds awful,” murmurs the dark-haired man.

“The Ambassador left Starfleet,” Jim states quietly.

McCoy sucks in a sharp breath but shakes his head when Kirk and Uhura look at him.

“He planned to perform the rite,” Jim goes on, “but changed his mind at the last minute. Then he was called back to service by—that is, he was asked to return for a critical mission. He resumed his career in the ‘Fleet. The rest is history.”

Leonard pats the hand he is holding. “You have to give Spock some credit, Jim. Okay, he would have considered going that route—gave it more than a passing thought at some time in his life—” And McCoy sounds like he plans to ask Spock if that’s true sooner rather than later. “—but surely not after us.”

McCoy flicks a glance at Uhura but she simply nods, not uncomfortable.

Following an abbreviated sigh, McCoy issues a heartfelt “Damn”, warning Uhura that he has some ammunition of his own—and is about to obliterate what remains of Kirk’s doubts. “I wasn’t going to say anything because Spock asked me not to…”

Nyota crosses her arms, already shaking her head. Recalling a particular thread of conversation with Spock from their meal together, at the time she had been confused by what seemed like an unusual inquiry as to her acclimation among the Vulcans. She thought Spock had known she was where she wanted to be. However, if McCoy is about to say what she thinks he is, the question makes perfect sense.

Spock had been thinking of other humans possibly acclimating to the Vulcan way of life.

“What are you talking about, Bones?” Kirk questions the other man, seeming tense again.

McCoy flicks another glance at Uhura, and when she doesn’t rescue him, his shoulders inch downward. “Spock didn’t go to New Vulcan just to work on the Vulcan-Romulan treaty. He went to see about having us inscribed in his family register.”

“In his family…?” Jim halts his speech, blinking once, twice, before his eyes widen. “Oh.”

“He’s going to kill me,” McCoy despairs, “when he finds out I spoiled the surprise!”

“Wait, why didn’t Spock tell me instead of you?” Jim demands.

Crisis averted, thinks Nyota. “I should go.”

“One of us had to know to help out with the paperwork. I only managed to get a copy of our marriage license yesterday. Transmitted it to New Vulcan right away. Apparently to the Vulcans, you and I can’t just say we’re a package deal and that Spock wants to be part of it.”

Jim straightens, demanding once again, “And why didn’t I know?”

Leonard rolls his eyes. “Paperwork. Forms. Legal clap-trap.”

Uhura interjects again, “I’m going now.”

“I can deal with paperwork. Bones, I did it for years. I still have to do it as an Admiral!”

“Tell me with a straight face you wouldn’t have given up after the first week and paid a cadet to forge a license.”

That gives Kirk pause. But only for a second. When Jim opens his mouth to continue arguing, Nyota says succinctly, “Goodbye,” and hangs up.

Afterward, she presses her fingertips to her temples and tries to meditate just like her stress-coach taught her. When that doesn’t seem to work, she gives up and speed-comms the number at the top of her personal contacts.

Sarek answers promptly. “Nyota, are you well?”

“Yes, I am. Thank you for asking.”

“I see. You do appear in good health. However, it concerns me to hear from you during your normal hours of rest.”

She appreciates the fatherly gesture, but still takes a small measure of satisfaction in saying, “You can thank your son for that.”

Sarek’s left eyebrow shoots up. There’s wariness now in the Vulcan’s dark eyes, along with a hint of resigned amusement. Nyota finds it interesting that Sarek is lenient in his display of emotion with family and close friends, though ever full of proper Vulcan stoicism in public. Perhaps his behavior is a direct result of having a human wife for many, many years.

She laughs softly, imagining what Spock will be like after several decades of experience as the husband of two humans.

“What has my son done?” Sarek questions with an inflection tone of parental steel.

Uhura isn’t simply good at her work; she’s one of the best. Which is why, steel or not, she hears what goes unsaid: Sarek, lamenting that he must take responsibility for an errant offspring when he could have easily not answered her late-night summons.

Grinning, mood improved, Uhura returns to the couch to prop herself on a few pillows. She tells Sarek everything.

-Fini

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