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Chapter Text

The uneasy feeling surging in her stomach and the tingling sensation all over her skin could only partially be attributed to the transporter beam that had long become part of her usual routine—she was practically buzzing with anticipation, and for good reason, or so she thought.

She appreciated every opportunity that dragged her away from her desk. Not that she had anything to complain about, her job was everything she could have wished for: steady and peaceful and—unlike most positions in Starfleet—very much non-life-threatening, but with a wide variety of cases every day, ensuring that she’d never worked a shift she would have labelled as boring.

Still, somewhere along the line, every one of her colleagues had been reduced to data in her eyes: their serial numbers, their stations, their places on the promotion list, the amount of shore leave they had taken. She never would have thought so before her own promotion that had made her relocate to HQ permanently, but she’d started sorely missing the day-to-day contact she used to have with her shipmates.

Not even mentioning that her current assignment brought her aboard the Enterprise, one of the most famed ships in the fleet—infamous or illustrious, depending on who you listened to, but undoubtedly famed. What she definitely had not anticipated was being greeted by the even more famed captain of said ship as soon as she stepped down from the transporter pad.

It was evident that she wasn’t what he’d expected—the slight raise of his eyebrows, his mouth dropping open as he looked her up and down—but his gaze did not linger and he recovered admirably quickly. She was more than aware of the impression she must have made; most people assumed a Starfleet personnel officer would be considerably more Human in appearance.

Beyond that, she’d also noted a correlation between those whose eyes seemed to be glued to her legs upon introduction and those who ended up with citations for disrespecting their fellow crewwomen or causing minor diplomatic incidents. The more obnoxious ones, however, did not stop there. As if her appearance was an invitation in itself, they felt entitled to comment on her looks, which in the milder cases involved comparing her to various foodstuffs or species of flora.

Unfortunately, her records weren’t detailed enough to provide exact statistics, but in light of them, she was eager to observe how the notorious Captain Kirk might measure up to the precedent set by his species.

“You must be Lieutenant O’Dora,” he said in greeting, his lips curling into a warm smile as he gestured around the transporter room. “Welcome aboard.” He went on to introduce himself and the crewmembers present, only to remark, “I admit, we’re not sure to what we owe the pleasure of your company—not that we’re complaining, of course.”

O’Dora could appreciate the polite phrasing, though she was unwilling to answer the implied query. “That will be revealed at the appropriate time,” she deflected, inwardly impressed as she noted that the captain’s charming smile did not fade. “I wish to conduct a few interviews with the bridge crew first thing, if you can spare them.”

She was positive that, as a man in his position, Kirk was well-versed enough in Starfleet regulations and procedures to know what the presence of an exterior personnel officer on board might entail. She wanted to get to work as soon as possible in order to avoid interference—she’d experienced first-hand how protective a crew could be of one of their own, and she had no desire to stir those sentiments before it was absolutely necessary, let alone give them a chance to get their stories straight.

It did not escape her notice that Kirk exchanged a wary glance with the operator standing behind the control panel. An innocent gesture that presupposed a certain degree of amicability, regardless of their differences in rank. The operator flailed his arms helplessly in response when he thought O'Dora couldn’t see.

Turning his attention back to her, the captain nodded. “Of course. I will forward you a copy of the duty roster right away. Feel free to talk to anyone who is off-shift at the moment. Otherwise please alert their direct supervisors in advance.” he gestured vaguely with his hands. “We will compensate them after your… business here is concluded,” he added pointedly.

She had been determined to keep an open mind, as she always strived to, but she reluctantly had to admit to herself that she had a hard time reconciling the two wildly different images in her head: the jovial and helpful—if a little forthcoming—host before her, and the man who had accumulated an impressive the pile of citations for varyingly grave offences over the years.

***

“Please bear in mind, Mr Sulu, that it is not my intention to question the captain’s command abilities,” O’Dora started as soon as she’d managed to track down the first off-duty crewmember, cornering him in the botany section, surrounded by plants of all shapes and sizes. “Which is undoubtedly unparalleled, based on the innumerable successful missions and subsequent commendations under his belt.”

Sulu’s shoulders sagged somewhat, visibly relaxing at her words as he crossed the room to water a bed of ordinary-looking roses—except for the fact that they smelled faintly of rotting meat. O’Dora wrinkled her nose, but followed in his wake, not bothered by the distraction as long as the helmsman was listening to what she had to say.

“Neither do I wish to comment on the interpersonal relationships the captain seems to have cultivated with his crew,” she went on, recalling how at ease the captain had seemed to be with his crew. Some of her colleagues might have disagreed with her on that, but in O’Dora’s opinion, no one should be expected to spend five years in self-imposed isolation, and luckily, Starfleet regulations supported her view. “I do ask you, however, to try and remain impartial when evaluating his behaviour.”

Sulu gave her a jerky nod.

“I see,” he replied curtly, moving on to the next flower bed. His eyes lit up as he passed a particularly bright-coloured succulent that proceeded to spit the water back at him. The man just laughed it off, reaching for the towel that had been deposited nearby.

Frankly, O’Dora was left puzzled by his adoration for these plants that clearly went beyond plain scientific curiosity—he had caressed one of them. Then again, she might have been compared to a shrinking violet one too many times to be able to fully appreciate them. She glanced at the insurmountable number of minor violations and misdemeanours listed on her PADD. She could at least do herself a favour and start with the easy ones.

“For instance,” she said, picking a fairly common and hopefully harmless issue that had been brought to her attention. “Some have noted the captain’s tendency to disregard general uniform regulations.”

She could understand not being overly fond of those rules in particular—the red dress she was assigned to wear clashed horribly with her violet complexion—but she had suffered through enough lectures on the sense of unity that the fleet’s coordinated attire was supposed to symbolise that she’d made her peace with them.

Normally, she would have thought twice about including this topic in an official inquiry, but the sheer number of complaints made it impossible for her to dismiss them. Seven of them had voiced hygiene-related concerns regarding a shirtless officer exercising in the gym, nine of them had claimed to have spotted the captain walking around half-naked in commonly used areas, while twenty-one of them had included evidently self-drawn illustrations depicting Kirk in various states of undress—from wearing an impossibly tattered tunic to only being covered in a towel. Not even mentioning the recurring reports filed by a very upset quartermaster who’d been diligently noting every time the captain had exhausted his allotted clothing replacement allowance.

“Who said that?” Sulu snapped at her, his expression suddenly blank and cold.

O’Dora might have underestimated just how deep interpersonal relationships on board the Enterprise ran. “I am not at liberty to disclose that, Mr Sulu, and in any case, it’s hardly the point—”

Sulu put the watering can down with a loud clatter, thirsty flowers all but forgotten. “On one occasion, I stripped off my tunic, walked to the bridge, then proceeded to threaten my colleagues with a sword,” he recounted, deadpan, his eyebrows raised in challenge. “Will I be reprimanded for that?”

O’Dora opened her mouth. Then closed it.

“There was also that time on Salus VII,” Sulu continued, not bothering to wait for her response. “Upon arrival, we thought we were offered traditional garments, but it turned out to be a mirage, we were only covered in holographic images. The whole landing party was technically naked.”

“Were you uncomfortable during that assignment, Mr Sulu?” O’Dora asked gingerly. No matter how important the mission objective, being exposed in front of their co-workers was not something anyone should be put through.

Sulu shrugged nonchalantly. “No, we thought we were wearing clothes, we couldn’t tell the difference.”

O’Dora frowned, even more perplexed by Sulu’s seemingly genuine dismissal. “In that case, I fail to see the relevance of your story, I’m afraid,” she admitted.

An undeniably smug smile spread across the helmsman’s face. “If you’re after breaches of uniform regulations, you should start with that, I think. I have a few more examples. I’m sure the captain will be glad to provide the appropriate logs for you to cross-reference what I’m telling you.”

From then on, the interview definitely wasn’t going according to her plans.

About an hour and a dozen increasingly alarming stories later—interrupted by frequent reassurances that the crew had not been traumatised by any of the disastrous turns of events—she retreated to her temporary office. Soon she was delivered thirteen tapes by a yeoman to uphold Mr Sulu’s testimony, accompanied by a small cactus plant covered in purple spines.

***

“Aye, there’s only one lady in the captain’s life.” Montgomery Scott’s laugh was pleasant, if a little tinged with nervousness.

O’Dora almost missed what he’d said between trying to decrypt the chief engineer’s thick accent and being lost in her own thoughts—she’d been mentally searching for a form she could submit as a recommendation to enforce mandatory downtime on all crewmembers. Which would never have occurred to her, had she not been forced to practically drag Mr Scott away from an impulse engine while he’d officially been on his break and, by his own admission, no piece of equipment had required his immediate attention.

“Does Captain Kirk have a girlfriend?” she asked with thinly veiled eagerness as soon as her brain processed the information. It wouldn’t excuse the captain’s behaviour, of course, but it might be considered a mitigating circumstance that in the meantime he had entered a committed relationship, rendering a good number of the accusations against him unlikely to be repeated.

“I reckoned we’ve been talking about the Enterprise,” confessed Mr Scott sheepishly, bursting O’Dora’s bubble. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed.

She attempted to recall their conversation up to that point, trying to make sense of how any of that could have been said with an inanimate object in mind, but failed. In the end, she shook her head to chase those thoughts away, electing only to say, “I apologise for the confusion.”

She went on to explain the charges brought up against Captain Kirk, particularly his treatment of female crewmembers, treading carefully and choosing every word—going by Mr Sulu’s example, she wanted to avoid sounding overly accusatory.

She was about to finish covering one of the more serious offences when Mr Scott cut in, vehemently shaking his head, “I don’t believe any of that for a second. And neither should you, lassie.”

O’Dora continued to admire the crew’s loyalty, but the patronising tone skirted the edge of outright offensive. Unable to completely ignore it anymore, she scoffed.

“Mr Scott, I couldn’t care less if your captain made a move on a Gorn, or wanted to become a Denobulan’s concubine.” She saw the engineer recoil a little at the harsh words, so she lowered her voice. “But this happened in-between missions, with only Starfleet personnel present on board, meaning it’s my responsibility to make sure that whoever was with him wasn’t forced to do so.”

O’Dora could only hope that the fact that the reports had either been secondhand accounts or anonymously submitted indicated that they were closer to hearsay than reality, not that the women involved had been discouraged from stepping forward.

There was always a chance that some of the allegations that made it to her desk had been filed by overzealous but misguided ensigns, or lieutenants hoping for a shortcut on the promotion list. This was even more likely when it came to people in prominent positions, such as the captain. But she couldn’t simply turn a blind eye and dismiss them all because Kirk’s subordinates evidently liked him.

“When did this happen?” Mr Scott demanded, pulling up his own PADD with a database O’Dora couldn’t make much sense of, fervently seeking some piece of information once she provided the corresponding stardate.

He stopped in a minute, letting out a triumphant yelp.

“Just as I thought, the captain’s recording computer was acting funny during that time,” he told her, as if that cleared everything up. “You see, it was repaired on Cygnet XIV.” Probably sensing O’Dora’s lingering confusion, he decided to elaborate, his cheeks flushing a little as he went on, “After they tinkered with it, it sounded much like a… very affectionate lady. It giggled and moaned for weeks on end.”

O’Dora—either thanks to her years of practice at keeping a straight face during meetings, or her recent exposure to Mr Sulu’s whimsical mission reports—did not burst into a fit of laughter.

“You suggest a fellow crewmember assumed that Captain Kirk engaged in very loud and public displays of affection with someone under his command because his recording computer had malfunctioned?” she repeated, in part to make sure she’d heard him correctly, in part to test whether he would find the notion just as ridiculous as she did, and retract the statement.

“Aye, lassie, you can check the maintenance logs, if you’d like,” the engineer confirmed, transferring the relevant files to her PADD without further ado. “Captain Kirk is not one to start hochmagandy with people in his chain of command.”

Choosing not to comment on the latter half of that statement, O’Dora took the device back, her knuckles turning pink as she gripped it in an attempt to steel herself. But if Mr Scott called her lassie one more time, she couldn’t be faulted for snapping the stylus in her other hand in half.

***

With an odd sense of déjà vu, O’Dora stared at the PADD in front of her with open bemusement. She found herself doing that far too frequently since she’d been beamed aboard the Enterprise.

“I have received the extensive essay you’ve sent commending Captain Kirk’s achievements since he assumed command of the ship.” She glanced up to meet the Vulcan’s unfazed expression. “I must confess, I’m not sure what prompted you to do so, Mr Spock.”

If she had to hazard a guess, it had everything to do with the questioning of Mr Sulu and Mr Scott, and whatever conclusions they had drawn for themselves regarding her job here. And yet, people still tried to claim that being an incorrigible gossip was an inherently female trait.

“I was under the impression that Captain Kirk would be the topic of this inquiry.”

She returned to her PADD, eyes trained on the document. It was fifteen pages long. The first officer could only have had a couple of hours to prepare it, provided that Mr Sulu went running to him the moment his own interview had ended. His dedication was admirable, but completely uncalled for.

“This isn’t a court-martial, Mr Spock. I can’t just demote your captain,” she began, hoping he would detect the hint of reassurance in her voice. “People have made certain statements that I have to verify to the best of my abilities. Based on my findings, I might be forced to reprimand him in addition to making recommendations on how to avoid these sorts of situations in the future. If he fails to comply with those… That would be a different situation entirely.”

His shoulders did not relax the way Mr Sulu’s had, but he did acknowledge her words with a curt nod.

Hoping they didn’t get off on the wrong foot, she offered him a comforting smile, only belatedly realising that Mr Spock might not appreciate her flaunting her emotions. To be honest, she’d been looking forward to talking to him, anticipating that the Vulcan would be more straightforward and cooperative than his colleagues had been so far. Without realising it sometimes, Humans tended not to say what they meant, even in everyday situations, let alone when they felt threatened.

“Can I assume that this is related to the fact that we have been forced to employ four different chief personnel officers during the past five months?” the first officer inquired.

O’Dora inclined her head. “That is exactly why Starfleet has sent me here, to clear the way, so to say. Until a new and hopefully more… resilient colleague arrives.”

Her predecessor had quit after merely a week of service, and if someone, then a personnel officer had to be aware of how difficult it was to arrange a transfer for an active duty ship on such short notice, which made the whole ordeal even stranger. The one before that had also requested a new assignment before their probation period was halfway through.

As first officer, Mr Spock had to have been working closely with them and was bound to notice how suspiciously short-lived their careers aboard the Enterprise were. He could probably recite the exact statistics in comparison with other ships by heart as well. O’Dora was tempted to ask.

Ignoring the urge, she turned her attention back to her notes on the discussion with Mr Scott. If Mr Spock would corroborate his testimony, they would be off to a good start and she might be able to wrap this thing up sooner than she’d dared hope.

“One of your colleagues seemed to be of the very strong opinion that there was no precedent to suggest that Captain Kirk ever engaged in public displays of affection with women, especially not—"

“That would be incorrect,” the Vulcan interjected immediately. “I myself have observed the captain take part in such activities numerous times.”

“Numerous times,” O’Dora repeated, stunned by the directness of the statement and mentally cataloguing the number of complaints she had received on the issue.

Mr Spock bowed his head in assent, adding, “Approximately seven.”

“Approximately,” she echoed dumbly. Seven was a strange figure to conjure up randomly, but perhaps Vulcans had different standards when it came to numbers.

“Seven point five, to be exact,” the science officer amended.

She started scribbling on her PADD, as it occurred to her that she’d forgotten to take notes. “How would Captain Kirk even go about making out with seven point five people?” she muttered to herself under her breath.

“Forgive me. In your previous statement, you had specified the gender of the participating individuals. Disregarding that variable, the number you’re seeking would be closer to eleven point five,” Mr Spock readily replied, completely missing the point and only increasing her bewilderment. “The point five accounts for a decidedly one-sided attempt on the other party’s behalf.”

O’Dora’s mouth fell open. At least one of the questions burning inside her had been answered.

“Captain Kirk is, of course, free to kiss whoever he wants,” she hurried to explain before the first officer misinterpreted her reaction. “I am only concerned in case it involves someone in his chain of command, or the act itself happens in public, disrespecting the boundaries of his co-workers.”

She had heard plenty of tall tales about Kirk wooing his way out of trouble—let that be causing offence to the Andorian ambassador’s son, or being captured by Klingons. That was none of her business, and she’d rather not even know about it for the sake of plausible deniability. It was arguably a favourable method of de-escalating a situation over engaging in armed conflict, after all.

The Vulcan cocked his head to the side, considering. “Significantly lower number of cases meet those criteria.”

O’Dora refrained from sighing in relief. That was a welcome revelation, but still troubling in light of Mr Scott’s insistence that it wasn’t an issue to begin with.

“However, if I may interject a note for the record, there have been extenuating circumstances in several of them that you might wish to be aware of.”

“Please elaborate, Mr Spock,” she motioned for him to go on, not wanting to risk being tangled up in another misunderstanding.

“During our mission to the Tantalus Penal Colony, I was witness to Captain Kirk openly displaying his affections for Dr Helen Noel,” he recounted, his tone even and factual. “You should probably take into consideration that at that point in time, he was under the false impression that he had developed strong romantic feelings for her. In actuality, this was no more than an idea planted inside his head by a memory-altering device we have discovered on said colony.”

O’Dora blinked, absorbing his words. She would have remembered having read that report, that’s for sure. Swiftly schooling her expression in an attempt to conceal how far-fetched the existence of such devices sounded to her, she asked, “Were you the only other crewmember present in this case, Mr Spock?”

“Affirmative.”

“Well, what about…” She tapped away on her PADD, recalling a since-then transferred yeoman’s complaint which had cited the entire bridge crew as eyewitness to the incident. “Dr Ann Mulhall? Was he brainwashed into kissing her as well?” she suggested, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

Mr Spock arched his right eyebrow at that, perhaps in annoyance, perhaps in disdain. There was no way to tell.

“No, Lieutenant,” he told her, and she could almost picture him on the bridge, using the same tone to give a damage report. “On that occasion, both the body of Captain Kirk and the doctor had been controlled by beings akin to—for lack of a more suitable term—deities who had also happened to be husband and wife.”

O’Dora couldn’t withhold a scoff of disbelief anymore. It sounded borderline obscene in front of the Vulcan, who continued to be the prime example of perfect composure despite the topic of conversation.

This was going to be a long day.

***

Ensign Chekov was a relatively new addition to the bridge crew, and a surprisingly clean slate when it came to his personnel file. His records showed a brief relationship with an ensign which must have been more serious than the time frame would have suggested, since there had been no significant difference in their ranks that would have warranted its disclosure. O’Dora couldn’t help but wonder what had gone down there, but she contained her curiosity as she waited for Mr Chekov to take the seat opposite of her.

Without prompting, the ensign spoke up first. “It is all fantasy, if you ask me,” he stated with a thick, distinctly Eastern European accent and a degree of confidence only a twentysomething-year-old could possess.

O’Dora smiled at him, a little too tightly to be considered polite. “I take it you’ve been read in on my not-so-secret agenda by your colleagues.”

“Yes, and I agree with them. It’s slander!” He sat back, folding his arms across his chest. “Most people don’t know, but Captain Kirk is misunderstood. Everyone thinks he’s Rasputin. Maybe he himself believes it. In reality, he’s much more like… Tchaikovsky.”

O’Dora’s eyebrows involuntarily shot up at the comparison. “I’m not sure I follow, Mr Chekov.”

The navigator grimaced, presumably frustrated at having to deal with her ignorance.

“Maybe you know Pushkin, then. Also fits.” He shrugged. “Point is, people saying these things don’t know him.”

O’Dora felt inclined to simply ask, ‘Could you come up with an explanation that doesn’t involve long-dead Russians?’ but as a professional, having spent years working on her communication skills at the Academy, she opted to say instead:

“Could you please elaborate further? I cannot be sure which of their no doubt admirable qualities you’re referring to.”

Which only earned her a passionate lecture on nineteenth-century Russian history, and it quickly evolved from there. How long it went on, she couldn’t say, because she zoned out around the part where Chekov explained how the Russians had won the space race.

She walked right into that one, there was no way around it.

***

If anyone, then Dr McCoy lived up to his reputation, namely that of a highly competent yet blatantly insensitive individual.

“Personnel officer, you say?” he repeated flatly once she’d introduced herself.

O’Dora nodded.

“As a personnel officer, I bet you can recite the exact responsibilities of a Chief Medical Officer.”

O’Dora nodded again. That had been part of her curriculum back at the Academy. She could probably list the tasks included in the job descriptions of every single crewmember on board, from warp coil maintenance checks to coffee making.

“In that case, if based on your evaluation, being interviewed by you is a more productive way to spend my time than what I usually do, you’re welcome to return when I’m less busy,” McCoy drawled, a lopsided smile spreading across his face. “In any other case, find someone else to help you dig dirt up on Jim, Plumcake.”

With that, he disappeared into the sickbay before her brain caught up with her lips, leaving her no chance to at least admonish him for the moniker.

***

On the other hand, Lieutenant Nyota Uhura was nothing like the demure communications officer she’d had in mind.

She promptly answered all of O’Dora’s queries, somehow managing to simultaneously talk about Captain Kirk at length and avoid saying anything of substance. She’d just finished going over a diplomatic event during which they only realised the captain’s condition was due to an allergic reaction to a centrepiece after the planet’s leader had graciously offered to execute the cook as a gesture of goodwill—and by that point, O’Dora herself couldn’t remember what her original question had been.

Then, Uhura leaned forward, her eyes squinted in suspicion. “Would you mind if I asked you something for a change?” Encouraged by O’Dora’s nod, she went right ahead: “You don’t have any history with him, do you?”

O’Dora choked back a laugh at the mere suggestion and had to clear her throat before answering in the negative.

“Good.” Seeming satisfied with her response, Uhura tilted her head to the side, her golden earrings dangling. “You never know. Wouldn’t be the first time he was prosecuted by an ex. They can get a little jealous.”

Part of O’Dora really wanted to address that first bit, but this since this was the first statement she’d got out of Uhura that actually had anything to do with the captain’s personal life, she decided to press, “Jealous of whom?”

“Us,” the lieutenant replied easily, and she must have seen the surprise written across her interviewer’s face because she chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s an incorrigible flirt, but that’s not the main problem. He’s too devoted. To his job, his ship, his crew. Dare I say, his friends. Everyone else comes second, and that’s hard to swallow for most.”

“I think I know what you mean,” O’Dora hummed thoughtfully. “He’d tried to make that tribble business go away for you, burying it under a pile of paperwork.”

To his credit, he almost got away with it. But bringing specimens of alien flora and fauna aboard was strictly regulated for a reason—as made evident by the trouble the single tribble acquired by the lieutenant had caused—and the violation had to be logged. Kirk had just made sure to do it as inconspicuously as possible, so that it didn’t show up on Uhura’s personnel records. It seemed that he looked out for his officers just as much as they looked out for him.

O’Dora felt a little vindicated that, if nothing else, she’d managed to make Lieutenant Uhura blush at the mention of the incident.

“That’s nothing compared to what he’d done for Mr Spock,” she deflected, waving one hand, and immediately bringing up an example of Kirk outright disobeying an order by redirecting the ship to Vulcan.

O’Dora was about to interject that she might not be the best person to be told all this, but she soon found herself too caught up in the story to do so.

***

In spite of her failed attempt at approaching Dr McCoy, she returned to the sickbay a second time, only to find Nurse Chapel in charge. She was at least kind enough to indulge O’Dora, listening intently to her summary of the situation while she busied herself with preparing hypos for the patients.

“I might not be a doctor, but I am just as bound by confidentiality,” she said sternly, placing the loaded hypos on a tray. “No matter how important your investigation is, I don’t think you’re privy to medical records.”

“I’m not,” O’Dora admitted easily. “I am only interested in how the captain usually conducts himself. Or any complaints you might have heard, anything… inappropriate you might have witnessed.”

“I, for one, don’t think anyone should be judged by their behaviour between these four walls.” Chapel turned to the medical cabinet, rifling through colourful vials and oddly-shaped containers. “Besides, I’d wager the captain spends more time in here visiting his first than as an actual patient. And that’s saying something—Mr Spock is rarely indisposed. The captain is simply horrible at sitting around idly if it’s for his own good.”

She paused, her bright eyes growing distant, almost wistful, but then a loud, rasping cough coming from the direction of the biobeds snapped her out of her reverie.

“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” the nurse added, not sounding sorry at all.

O’Dora decided not to press the issue any further. She moved to leave, but stopped in the doorway, calling back, “Your records state that you’ve reapplied for medical school.”

Chapel’s head jerked up at that. “Please don’t tell the doctor,” she pleaded, hushed, as though McCoy could materialise out of nowhere at any moment. “He’d throw a fit, then mope inconsolably, thinking I’d leave.” Her voice turned dry. “Or worse, stay and question his decisions.”

O’Dora considered making a point of the fact that she wouldn’t do that for the sake of salvaging whatever remained of her reputation, but decided against it, not wanting to take up any more of the nurse’s time. “You could submit a request for a shift schedule that would better accommodate your studies,” she informed her. “Form 5278-LH. The captain could approve it for you, no need to involve the CMO.”

Dimples forming on her cheeks, Chapel replied with a grateful smile. “I’ll think about it.”

***

The process of conducting interviews with randomly selected crewmembers went more seamlessly than O’Dora had expected. Due to the lack of a closer working relationship to Kirk, they weren’t as overly protective of him as the bridge officers had been—it was nice, having people actually answer the questions she’d asked for a change. No distracting mission reports or futile attempts to take the blame.

Unfortunately, it also meant that most of them were in no position to confirm or deny the colourful stories she had heard so far. The tapes and computer logs at her disposal, however, supported every single one of them. Even the ill-fated incident with the holoprojected ceremonial garbs provided by the Salusians.

She really shouldn’t have been surprised when a certain Lieutenant Shaw—the ex that Lieutenant Uhura had referred to, by all signs—contacted O’Dora and informed her that she'd been romantically involved with Kirk in the past and was at no point coerced by him. But O’Dora was once again amazed by the efficiency with which Starfleet personnel seemed to operate when it came to spreading information they really shouldn’t know about.

As much as she appreciated the gesture, Lieutenant Shaw was the least of her worries. At no point in her career had she been in the captain’s chain of command, and frankly, O’Dora was more troubled by the fact that she’d taken on the job as Kirk’s prosecutor despite the glaring conflict of interest.

During the past couple of days, O’Dora had effectively spent her waking moments discussing, thinking about, or writing reports on the captain of the USS Enterprise. Despite that, she didn’t feel as though she were any closer to puzzling out the walking bag of contradictions called James T. Kirk than she had been when she’d first stepped aboard.

Heaving a tired sigh, she picked up her PADD as a last resort to read Commander Spock’s unsolicited essay on Captain Kirk’s formidable accomplishments. She fell asleep around the fifth time she’d come across the word ‘fascinating’, which apparently could be interchangeably used to describe almost anything, from a peculiar nebula to Kirk’s decision-making process.

***

“May we join you?” came a lilting voice over the white noise of the officers’ mess.

O’Dora’s head snapped up to find the captain and the first officer of the ship standing in front of her, waiting idly with trays in their hands.

She allowed herself a cocky grin before responding, “Only if you’re confident I won’t be swooned by your charms.”

Kirk gaped back at her, speechless, but he soon broke into a smile, eyes glinting with amusement. For a man of his reputation, it was all too easy to take a jab at him. She couldn’t help but feel he deserved it though, what with all the extra work he’d created for her.

His commander, on the other hand, looked about as uncomfortable as a Vulcan could get, with his right brow raised in confusion and his gaze flickering between O’Dora and Kirk.

“It was a joke, Mr Spock. A bad one at that.” She smirked again, hopefully conveying that she meant no offence, then gestured at the seats opposite of her. “You’re welcome to sit if you don’t make comments about my food. I know Humans find it unappealing, and I’m almost positive the sentiment extends to Vulcans.”

The officers did not hesitate to take her up on the offer.

“I had no idea the replicator could be programmed to do that,” Kirk remarked, eyeing her plate of squirming maggots and insects dubiously.

“It does serve to accommodate the diet of a wide variety of species,” Spock interjected, throwing his captain a pointed glance. “We shall refrain from commenting from now on,” he added, inclining his head towards O’Dora apologetically.

Kirk did not waste any time looking embarrassed, instead seizing the opportunity to change the subject. “A little bird told me that you seem particularly interested in me, Lieutenant.”

“Only one, Captain?” O’Dora asked wryly. “Your crew is admirably loyal.”

She lifted her fork, gesturing around the room to prove her point. She’d spotted several members of the bridge crew earlier, throwing them suspicious glances ever since their two commanding officers had sat down.

“That they are,” Kirk acquiesced easily; his hazel eyes, crinkling at the corners from the smile stretching across his face, moved to find Spock’s on his left.

For some reason, suddenly feeling as though she were intruding, O’Dora cut her gaze away.

Her head was still ringing with facts that sounded suspiciously like they had been directly quoted, either from a library tape on the Second Russian Revolution, or one of the captain’s logs detailing wondrous missions she’d never been on.

She huffed a small laugh, shoving those thoughts aside. “Honestly, I’d be more impressed if it wasn’t my job to interview them, but trying to get a straight answer out of them is like pulling teeth.”

As soon as Mr Spock opened his mouth to speak, Kirk cut in, “She means it’s difficult.”

“Present company excluded, of course,” O’Dora said, nodding in acknowledgment at the first officer; he had been by far the easiest to talk to.

The Vulcan either ignored her or did not seem to notice, resolutely turning his full attention to the soup on his tray without reacting.

Next to him, Kirk put his own fork down, as if he couldn’t afford to be distracted by his lunch. “Don’t you think it would be more… efficient to talk to me directly?”

“I will, Captain,” she said truthfully. “I simply don’t want to skew the results more than they already have been. And it’s almost over, I promise.”

With that reassurance, the conversation blurred into polite chatter as they finished up their meals, swapping stories of their respective days at the Academy and life aboard a starship. It turned out that they had more in common than she’d have thought.

Mr Spock was in the middle of expressing his disapproval over a certain admiral’s teaching methods—one who had happened to flunk O’Dora twice, for no rhyme or reason in her opinion—when Yeoman Nguyen came to join them. She brought them each a cup of coffee, gently reminding the commanding officers of the time. They quickly disposed of their trays and headed out, Kirk crossing the room with a few long strides, Mr Spock trailing right behind him with his hands clasped behind his back.

From the corner of her eye, O’Dora observed as the men stopped short. A yeoman she didn’t recognise ambushed them in the corridor, handing a stack of PADDs to Kirk. The captain only glimpsed the top one absent-mindedly. His whole body froze in an instant, and when he looked up again, his face visibly paled.

For a beat, O’Dora expected to hear the blaring sound of a ship going to red alert. Instead, Kirk grabbed the PADD and shoved the gadget against Spock’s chest so forcefully, that if the science officer had not been at least half-Vulcan, he would’ve swayed on his feet. Kirk turned on his heel and left, seemingly oblivious to the spectacle he’d caused.

Next to her, watching the scene unfold, Yeoman Nguyen quipped, “Trouble in Paradise?”

O’Dora blinked. As a Non-Human raised on Earth, she had encountered the occasional turn of phrase or cultural reference that inevitably went over her head. But as a personnel officer, she went out of her way to learn the smallest of semantic nuances when they concerned interpersonal relationships, so she knew exactly what the yeoman’s little jibe insinuated.

“Are they really…?”

“Oh, yes.” Nguyen nodded, grinning smugly. “I mean, I’ve only been here for a few weeks, but I’ve got eyes. They’re not exactly subtle.”

O’Dora watched in stunned silence as the captain disappeared at the end of the corridor, and then immediately headed to the temporary office assigned to her. Some of the testimonies already started to make a lot more sense, but she needed some time to consider her next steps carefully before confronting Kirk.

Chapter Text

Jim stared vacantly at the PADD Lieutenant O’Dora had slid across the desk. He opened his mouth to reply, because he was fairly certain that an answer was expected of him, but came up empty.

The personnel officer politely cleared her throat, spurring Jim to react.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, more brazenly than he’d intended.

She furrowed her brow. “Sign it, of course.”

He huffed in disbelief, but seeing O’Dora’s stern expression, his widening grin froze. He glimpsed the document again. Unfortunately, his eyes hadn’t deceived him; it still read Consensual Relationship Agreement in black and white, as it had a minute ago. He could already envision Bones breaking into a fit of laughter as soon as he got wind of this. Mentally, he reminded himself not to go near sickbay without a bottle of strong liqueur—or preferably avoid the place altogether for a while.

Ever since he’d joined Starfleet, Jim had encountered his fair share of unusual customs and even stranger courting rituals, so somewhere along the line, he had become quite attuned to recognising when he was being propositioned.

Even by those standards, this situation was, simply put, bizarre.

Luckily for him, Kirk also had years of experience in letting his prospective partners down gently. He flashed an awkward smile at O’Dora, briefly hesitating. Being used to it didn’t mean he was overly keen on it, but it usually was the lesser of two evils. The greater evil being the heartache he’d inevitably cause; either because he’d wanted them to be on the same page regarding the extent of their relationship, or they hadn’t seemed to grasp what Jim’s job actually entailed.

“Lieutenant,” he began, emphasising the rank and fidgeting with the stylus he’d been given. “I do appreciate the sentiment, but as a starship captain, I am more than a little busy. I spend most of my time on risky missions, and even when I’m on board…” He trailed off.

It occurred to him then that as a personnel officer, she must have already known all that, and briefly wondered how the hell she’d been able to keep her job for so long if she thought that this was in any way appropriate. But with her mysterious investigation hanging over his head, the last thing he wanted to achieve was offending her.

Fully aware that he was treading on thin ice, he tried a different approach.

“It’s not that I don’t find you pleasant company—” He started, the lines on O’Dora’s forehead only deepening as he went on, “—or aesthetically appealing…“ A part of his brain that sounded suspiciously like his first officer readily supplied. If he’d picked up one thing from Spock, it was that sticking to the truth was usually the safest course of action.

And he didn’t lie per se; O’Dora had been charming during the little time he’d spent with her, and under different circumstances, he would have been the first one to admit she was easy on the eyes. Although, the way her eyes bulged at his words and her eyebrows shot up, disappearing behind her blonde bangs, was somewhat unnerving.

He let out a resigned sigh. “Even so, you can admit that this is hardly—"

“Do you think this is for you and me?” she interjected, her eyes even wider and cheeks flushed a bright purple, and then descended into a fit of giggles.

Even if her unabashed amusement at the mere suggestion stung a little, Jim was momentarily relieved he’d misinterpreted the situation.

As soon as she composed herself, O’Dora took the PADD, filling in the required fields with admirable velocity. More serenely, she murmured, “This might be the biggest communication blunder of my career so far.” Scanning what she'd written, she absently added, “This is for you and Mr Spock, of course.”

At that, Jim felt inclined to ask her to revise her previous statement about communication mishaps.

“I can sympathise with your wish to keep it secret for a while.” She handed the PADD back pointedly, and Jim’s eyes immediately darted to his and Spock’s name at the top of the page. “Especially if it’s a recent development. I know Vulcans famously value privacy. But you must understand my position as well; now that I’m aware of it, I cannot allow you to keep it under wraps.”

“But me and Spock… We’re not…” He paused as the implications of what she’d just said dawned on him. “Wait, did Starfleet send you to investigate my relationship with Spock?”

Jim’s head was reeling. He cared for Spock a great deal, naturally, any of his crew could attest to that. But no one in their right mind would read anything romantic into it, let alone feel the necessity to launch an inquiry on whether or not they were involved.

At least, he was more or less certain that he had never done anything to betray any of his—underlying, deeply buried, studiously ignored—feelings, which may or may not have skirted on the edge of friendship and something more. But even then, the idea of Spock getting it on with him was absurd. Hadn’t she said she’d talked to Spock? Jim knew she’d interviewed most of his higher-ranking officers. Surely, some of them must have testified that he’d shown no inclination to jump Spock on the bridge.

“No, they are unaware for now,” O’Dora told him. “I will, of course, provide you with an anonymised report of my findings, but let’s just say you’ve collected quite a few complaints under your name. Those are going to be pretty easy to dismiss now. As a bonus, I’m positive that Command will be glad to hear their wayward captain has finally settled down.”

Jim did not like the sound of that. “They’ll be easy to dismiss because I have ‘settled down’, you mean?”

“Well, yes, partially.” She nodded vehemently. “Partially, they’ve already been disproven during the interview process. But if I tweak the facts a little, make it sound like they’re all in the past, no one will throw them a second glance, I assure you. Though I have to admit, the fact that you haven’t disclosed your relationship doesn’t look good, but we can say that I’ve given you a refresher training on fraternisation regulations and you have immediately corrected this minor oversight.”

Jim mused that if Command didn’t know, there might be some hope to reverse it.

“What if I decide not to sign it?” he countered, scraping his chin distractedly with one hand.

If she found his line of questioning curious, she didn’t comment on it. “In short: that really wouldn’t look good. I would also strongly advise against pursuing a relationship with someone directly under your command without filing the appropriate paperwork. The regulations are in place to protect all those involved.”

It was one hell of a predicament. The way he saw it, he was forced to either play into a very much non-existent liaison, or blindly accept the fallout for whatever they were trying to pin on him.

“Right,” he muttered, a little frustrated with how helpless he felt. “Because that is indubitably what’s going on here.”

The lieutenant, probably misinterpreting the dry mirth in his voice, tilted her head in bemusement. “Even I couldn’t make that go away by burying it under a pile of paperwork,” she said. “Let’s say I did, and somehow succeeded… That still wouldn’t stop people from talking. Considering how many of your crew are already aware, you’re lucky none of them have issued a complaint.”

Her resolute tone gave him the not-so-distinct impression that he couldn’t dispute this, no matter how hard he tried. But if Jim had any underappreciated skills he prided himself on, it was his ability to stall for time—it had saved his skin more times than he cared to count.

And he desperately needed some time to think this over.

“As I’m not the only one involved in this, I couldn’t possibly make this decision on my own,” he excused himself, keeping his words deliberately vague.

O’Dora must have heard in them what she wanted to hear because her eyes softened in understanding.

“Take the PADD, I can give you two a few days to discuss it. There’s no hurry.” She glanced down at the other device in front of her, and, switching to what Jim assumed was her professional voice, she droned on, “Now that that’s out of the way, may I remind you of our general uniform regulations which you are to adhere to outside of your quarters, including the gymnasium.” She shot him a brief, disapproving look. “On an unrelated note, I would also like to advise you that Dr McCoy would greatly benefit from participating in a sensitivity training program, while Mr Scott should take his breaks regularly, preferably outside of engineering…”

***

Jim had been pacing, silently cursing Spock’s proclivity to punctuality as their appointment grew closer, yet the minutes seemed to crawl by. Despite the grace period of a couple of days, he couldn’t bear the thought of putting it off any longer than necessary.

He needed to find a way out of this mess, and if anyone, his first officer could be trusted to come up with something. The two of them had to be able to convince this personnel officer that she’d been barking up the wrong tree. For some reason, Jim doubted they could fool her with some made-up Vulcan custom, but perhaps they could claim that it was over. Or simply not serious enough to disclose.

The thought somehow rubbed him the wrong way. Surely, no one who saw them day-to-day would believe that he’d do something so irresponsible. But then again, as O’Dora had made it painfully obvious, she didn’t know him at all. Even disregarding the fact that it was untrue—did she really expect him to just get it on with his second-in-command, and then keep it quiet like a dirty little secret? Jim never was bothered by his reputation as a promiscuous individual—it wasn’t completely baseless—but he liked to believe he wasn’t that bad.

Just as he’d predicted, the door to the observation deck slid open, and Spock stepped in at nineteen hundred hours exactly, not a minute sooner. Arranging a meeting at one of their quarters felt a little presumptuous in light of the whole ordeal, and there were too many people in the rec rooms at this time of day. Although the deck was a popular location to take a break on occasion, gazing at the stars with a cup of hot coffee, or go for a short stroll between shifts, it was fairly deserted in the evenings.

“Thank you, Science Officer, for coming,” Jim said awkwardly, wringing his hands and internally wincing at his own words.

If Spock found the use of the title odd, he didn’t let it show.

Kirk mentally slapped himself in the head. Breaking the uncomfortable silence before it stretched on for too long, he said, “As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, Lieutenant O’Dora has finally graced me with her presence and decided to discuss the inquiry with me. Long story short, she practically ended up giving me an ultimatum to sign this form.” He gestured vaguely at the PADD the personnel officer had given him.

Spock stood still across from him, keeping a respectable distance, with his head cast down and eyes pinned to the floor. His face was completely blank, with no subtle change in his features to indicate he’d acknowledged the words, much less wished to take a closer look at the ominous document.

Had Spock already known what he was getting at? Was it possible that he’d got wind of it before the investigation was officially over?

It only crossed his mind then, the commotion earlier in the mess hall, the stack of PADDs with the paperwork he’d completely forgotten about with everything else that had been going on.

“Wait, is this what that ridiculous request was about?” he snapped at Spock, raising his voice in a way that would’ve made anyone else flinch, but he couldn’t help it. He expected to be notified before receiving a transfer request from anyone, let alone his first officer. He’d half-assumed it had been some sort of practical joke that had gone awry, but that idea in and of itself was another level of absurd, but anything else was downright unimaginable. Internally, he admonished himself for allowing it to slip his memory in the first place.

Spock’s voice was a low rumble when he spoke. Jim had to strain his ears to hear him.

“You have failed to give me a chance to provide an adequate explanation for my actions, Captain.”

It was hard to argue with that, Jim had been so livid, he’d almost advised Spock where he could shove the stupid PADD. He’d been fuming during the entire afternoon shift, and then he’d been summoned by O’Dora, not leaving a whole lot of room for clarifications.

“Well, go right ahead,” he said tightly, spreading his hands, privately hoping his reluctance wasn’t obvious. He wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever had made Spock take such a drastic measure without consulting him first.

The Vulcan’s eyes barely noticeably widened, as if he hadn’t expected the permission to be granted. He began, his voice even as though Jim had asked for a sitrep, “During Lieutenant O’Dora’s questioning I have made an allusion to my observation that your sexual orientation diverges from the norm of your species, and—as Lieutenant Uhura was kind enough to inform me—this is generally considered a grave violation of one’s privacy.” He stopped talking, his jaw clenched shut, and Jim got the vague impression that he was waiting to be slapped.

Kirk fought back the urge to walk up to him and grab him by the shoulders to shake some sense into him.

“That’s it?” he demanded, huffing a small, incredulous laugh. “I know I don’t exactly advertise it, but it’s not like I’m trying to keep a lid on it, either! Why the devil would you ask for a transfer over this?”

He knew that under normal circumstances, this would have been Spock’s cue to call him out on his nonsensical idioms. The fact that he refrained from doing so was a warning sign in itself.

“I might have acted in haste, Captain,” his commander said instead, rather conspicuously evading the question. Especially for a Vulcan.

Jim broke into a laugh that sounded slightly hysterical even to his own ears. “I don’t know what’s harder to believe, Mr Spock,” he muttered, shaking his head. “That you’d do something without thinking, or that you’d admit to it.”

Spock lifted his right eyebrow, the way he always did when Jim hit the nail right on the head but he was too damn stubborn to admit it—on the rare occasion that Jim managed to prove that in some ways, he knew Spock better than he did himself.

But right now, he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Why was Spock so keen on removing himself? Was he that bothered by being associated with Jim? He might be able to pull the Vulcan card with others and get away with, but Jim wasn’t just anyone.

Kirk had repeatedly been confronted with the depth of the emotions Spock suppressed—beyond the glimpses of harmless amusement and endless devotion—the ugly ones that only surfaced when his iron resolve inevitably cracked, giving way to irritation, to shame, to despair.

What could it possibly be this time? Which one of them was strong enough to make him even consider leaving the Enterprise behind? To drive him away from Jim indefinitely?

Jim’s stomach sank to his boots as he pondered what exactly had changed between them over the past couple of days.

Taking a leap in the dark, searching the other man’s visage for the slightest hint of change, he tentatively asked, “Were you, by any chance, aware of this lovers rumour?”

As though from behind a mask, inscrutable and muted, Spock replied, “I don’t think I have ever behaved in anything but a professional manner towards you, Captain, nor have I deliberately given any indication to someone on board that would have suggested otherwise.”

“That’s not an answer, Spock,” Jim retorted, fed up with all his questions being dodged.

“I have encountered it numerous times,” Spock acquiesced, resolutely avoiding his captain’s gaze. “I have also found, however, that my attempts to dismiss it were not only futile but counterproductive in some cases.”

Kirk sucked in a breath in understanding. It was bad enough that such rumours had been going around, the last thing Spock needed was being pestered with them. Anyone would find that troublesome—someone as reserved as his first officer, doubly so.

“I feel like I have to apologise.” Jim smiled a wry smile to conceal the faint sting of hurt in his chest hearing the defensiveness in Spock’s words. “You should have told me, I’m sure the two of us could have halted the rumour mill before it spiralled into… this.” He gestured at the PADD between them.

At that, Spock finally—finally—looked back at him, if only to argue with him.

“It is illogical to apologise for something you had nothing to do with.”

“I think it’s safe to say we’re equally affected,” Jim protested reflexively.

“Perhaps. But not equally at fault for its formation,” the other man stated. “Which is why I am asking you to revisit my prior request. Now that these rumours have taken a toll both on your reputation and our professional relationship, it is only logical to remove its source.”

Kirk furrowed his forehead in confusion. “Its source? You’re not spreading them yourself, are you?”

“No,” Spock confirmed with haste. “But I do believe I have inadvertently contributed to the ‘rumour mill’, as you put it. Considering the fact that the hearsay continued to persist over time, the logical conclusion would be that our fellow crewmembers had not only observed but correctly interpreted instances in which I had been unable to regain complete control over my emotions, openly indicating my untoward feelings for you.”

Jim wouldn’t have been ashamed to admit that it took him several seconds to parse what Spock had just said.

He also wouldn’t have been ashamed to admit that his mind went blank for a moment once he did.

Oh.

Head spinning and heart pounding, he took a deep breath to centre himself. Because Spock not only suggested that he had been harbouring untoward feelings for Jim, he straight up thought he’d been the sole reason they’d apparently been regarded as a couple by a recently arrived personnel officer and who knows how many more gossips on board.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Jim whispered, still stunned, half-expecting to be pinched in the arm and awoken in sickbay with a certain doctor over his head grumbling about fever dreams.

“Contrary to popular misconceptions, Captain, Vulcans cannot read minds from a distance,” Spock declared, his expression carefully guarded. “We do endeavour to make ourselves clear. Due to a lack of sufficient information, however, it is difficult for me to determine whether I have succeeded in achieving that, since you have kept those thoughts to yourself.”

Jim, ignoring the jab and mustering all his usual self-confidence, stepped closer to the Vulcan, flashing his widest grin. “Are you sure you can’t tell what I think?” he accused, his anxiety dissipating. “Or are you so emotionally compromised right now that it keeps you from making perfectly logical assumptions?”

To his relief, Spock did not back away.

“Mockery, Captain?” he remarked in a flat tone, utterly unimpressed, and raised his right eyebrow.

“I would never,” Jim deadpanned, making the slanted brow climb further up the other man’s forehead. “May I point out a flaw in your usually-oh-so-flawless logic?” he asked softly, taking another step, even as his commander cut his gaze away. “You assume it’s only been you.”

Because Kirk, for one, had no doubt that there was a rather clear-cut solution to at least one of their problems now, even if Spock, for some reason, refused to see it. There was nothing else left for him to do but appeal to the infuriatingly logical, scientific part of that Vulcan brain.

“I can provide all the proof you need,” Jim murmured, clasping Spock’s upper arms to pull him down, and stretching his neck to close the remaining distance between them.

Kissing Spock was a lot like kissing a statue, his posture tense, shoulders rigid under Jim’s touch.

The thought that he had terribly miscalculated struck Jim like a lightning bolt. But when he tried to pull back, his eyes wide and air stuck in his throat, Spock moved with him, his lips suddenly eager not to let go of Jim’s, his arms snaking around Jim’s waist, enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug and a breathless kiss.

Jim’s eyes slid shut, his fingers digging into soft blue fabric, as though he needed to steady himself to withstand the unwavering onslaught. Feeling encouraged, he tilted his head to the side, gasping for air, then deepening the kiss, and Spock allowed him, mirroring Jim’s movements with graceful fluidity. It was easy to forget how strong Vulcans were, even as he was practically held upright by one, when Spock could be so gentle, making him feel impossibly sturdy and fragile and cherished at the same time.

A beat, a minute, an eternity later—in that moment, Jim wouldn’t have been able to read a chronometer if someone put a phaser to his head—Spock stiffened, stepping back and turning away all at once.

Jim stared after him, feeling a little dazed, much like regaining consciousness after being stunned, when his ears finally registered the giggling coming from the doorway. Mortified, heat rising to his face, he caught a glimpse of a couple of ensigns, tripping over each other’s legs to make themselves scarce. Equally embarrassed by being caught and his own reaction—he was the captain of the ship, for God’s sake, he had no reason to get all flustered in front of his subordinates—he stole a sideways glance at Spock, who appeared completely unperturbed both by the interruption and their recent activities.

“I believe this location is frequently used for private encounters of a romantic nature,” Spock informed him matter-of-factly as soon as the door slid shut again. “Especially among those who do not share the privileges of our ranks.”

“Is this your way of saying we should take this to our quarters?” Jim quipped and, as they held each other’s gaze for a second too long, he thought Spock might take him up on it.

Spock averted his eyes first, breaking the spell. “If I did, I would have said that,” he stated, prim and proper as ever. “I believe it would be unwise to leave here without resolving the issue at hand.”

“Right, the elephant in the room,” Jim conceded, reluctantly grabbing the PADD he’d set aside, all semblance of his previous cockiness escaping him. “I cannot possibly ask you to sign this. But now I really am at a loss how to explain to her that we’re not a thing.”

Spock leaned over his shoulder to examine the document, silently confirming Jim’s creeping suspicion that he’d had no idea what it actually said.

Despite that, his face remained impassive as he skimmed through it. “I fail to understand what the largest terrestrial Earth animal that clearly wouldn’t fit in this space has to do with our current discussion,” he said at last, and Jim couldn’t help but beam at him. “The solution might be more obvious than you realise. It would seem appropriate to inform you that if we were to enter a relationship, I would be uncomfortable with starting it off with a lie by obscuring the development from Starfleet Command.”

Jim mulled over the words once, then twice more, but concluded on both accounts that it would be rather difficult to misinterpret their meaning. Although, by all signs, they had a knack for doing that.

“If we do this, Spock, I can’t do it halfway,” he breathed, hoping Spock got at least the gist of what this confession encompassed.

Because Jim knew himself. There was no point in deceiving himself, he’d always been easily enamoured. He was like a phaser on overload—he had so much love to give, finding himself holding back most of the time. Whatever this was between him and Spock, it was more than simple affection, it was primal and inexplicable and constantly threatening to overflow, barely contained by the last of his self-restraint.

He was pulled from his thoughts as Spock picked up the stylus with intent, jotting down his name on the bottom of the page without a hint of hesitation.

“I know, Jim.” The corners of his mouth tugged upwards imperceptibly. “If I were fully Human and more prone to exhibiting emotions such as impatience or frustration, I believe my next sentence would be something along the lines of ‘sign the damn form’.”

Jim snorted. “Keep saying things like that and you won’t be able to keep denying that Bones is rubbing off on you.” But as he reached for the stylus, it slipped from his grip and dropped to the floor.

Spock got to it first, but instead of handing it directly back to Jim, he held out his hand with purpose, extending his middle and index fingers. Jim recognised the gesture from when he’d observed Spock’s parents during their stay on board. Mimicking that, Jim arranged his fingers the same way, touching their tips to Spock’s.

Jim hadn’t understood it, back then. He took it for a fleeting, distant way of displaying commitment to each other, void of the warmth and affection Humans in a similar situation would express.

But now, as he looked up at Spock who was failing to conceal the not-quite-smile dancing on his lips, his facial muscles softening, twisting into something that would have been unremarkable on anyone else, but on him, it was so blatantly fond—

As he caught sight of Spock’s twinkling eyes, reflecting the light of the stars flashing by, making him think of pools of ink used by long-gone poets who, just like Jim, would be struggling for words to describe the feeling swelling inside his chest—

…he was forced to reconsider.

Kirk signed his name about ten times on a good day, yet when he put down his signature now, it was scrawled and barely legible. Exhaling a relieved sigh, he looked around the room and declared, “This place is missing a couple of chairs.”

Unfazed by the non-sequitur, his ever-helpful first officer pointed at the construction on top of which Jim had just placed the PADD. “That sill is a perfectly adequate place to sit on if you are feeling fatigued.”

Jim had to disagree, “You can’t see the stars from there, that would be pointless.”

He jerked his head in the direction of the large windows that had been built in to allow a peek down at the flight deck, which ordinarily would have been quite interesting to observe. But not much was happening at this time of day, and the light filtering through was effectively blinding from that angle.

Taking all that into consideration, he proceeded to go through with the only logical option available and unceremoniously plopped down on the floor. With his legs outstretched, he leaned back slightly, using one arm to brace himself and the other to pat the ground in invitation, to the Vulcan’s moderately visible horror. 

“This is unsanitary,” Spock ascertained, looking down at the scene with his eyebrows arched in disapproval. “Approximately forty-seven point eight people walk on this floor on a daily basis, and sanitation is only scheduled—” The statistics died on his tongue when Jim grabbed his hand, dragging him down.

Begrudgingly, Spock sank down next to him, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. He pursed his lips, almost as though he were pouting, but Jim knew he wouldn’t have been able to move the other man an inch away, had that really been against his wish. He could feel the tension leave his body as Spock made himself comfortable, pulling his legs up to cross them.

“Just look at the damn stars, Spock,” Kirk instructed in a low voice, shifting closer and nuzzling his nose against raven-black hair.

They gazed out the viewport in comfortable silence for a few minutes, taking in the white streaks flickering past their ship as she wove her way relentlessly through countless star systems, until it was eventually broken by Spock.

“If it is not too late, I wish to retract my previous statement, asking permission instead to relocate to one of our respective quarters,” he said, even as he drifted closer, resting his head on Jim’s shoulder and giving absolutely no indication he had any intention to move in the foreseeable future.

Kirk hummed, mock-considering the request. “Denied.”