Star Trek AOS Fic: Letter Never Sent
Title: Letter Never Sent
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Jim/Spock pre-slash
Spoilers: Star Trek: Into Darkness
Content Notice: No warnings
Word Count: ~2,500
Summary: While Jim lay comatose for two weeks, Spock took the liberty of drafting the letters of condolence to the families of the Enterprise crew that were lost.
A/N: Yeah, IDK if this works. Title is an REM song (surprise!).
P.S.: IDK why, but this entry disappeared off my LJ, and I'm adding it back today, so if it shows up on peeps' Friends feeds, I did try to backdate it, so... sorry? And... enjoy again?
----
“Yeoman Rand.”
The petite blonde jumped and gave a small scream; Jim always delighted in sneaking up on her. “C-Captain!” She straightened her uniform and gave him a smart salute.
“At ease, Yeoman.”
“Sir, I wasn’t expecting you back for duty for another week.”
“Yes, well, Doctor McCoy may hypo me to death, but I couldn’t spend another day at home - I was going stir-crazy.” Jim gazed around at the cluttered and windowless office that would be his until the Enterprise was out of space dock in a year, and scowled. Maybe he should have stayed home.
“I was just getting the office all sorted out, sir.”
Jim took in the absolute mess and raised an eyebrow, then said, “Indeed,” in best Spockian fashion, then graced the yeoman with a smile. “Want some help?”
“Oh no, sir, you should be taking it easy.”
“I’ve been taking it easy. I want to be useful, Rand. So let me unpack a few boxes, yeah?”
“Sir, Doctor McCoy called ahead and warned me not to allow you to physically exert yourself.”
“Oh did he?”
“He threatened me with Rigellian Monkeypox if I didn’t, sir.”
“Well, I countermand his order.”
“With all due respect, sir, he’s a lot scarier than you.”
Jim barked a laugh, but then sat down on the edge of the work table in the outer officer, where they stood. “Then what can I do? I’m a tool, yeoman, I need to be put to use.”
She picked up a PADD and shoved it into his hands. “Then get tooling on this paperwork,” she said, blowing her bangs out of her eyes and adding a hurried, “sir,” to the end of the sentence.
Jim activated the device and whistled, low. There were literally over a thousand items in his Inbox, half of which blinked at him in red, indicating their urgency. “Paperwork, huh?”
“It appears to take a lot of forms to fix a Starship.”
Nodding, Jim wandered into the inner room that was his new personal office, took a seat on the battered couch he found there, and got to work.
----
“One more down, and onlyyyy,” Jim glanced at the total of unread files in his Inbox, “947 to go. Jeez.” He dropped the PADD into his lap and stretched his neck back against the couch, groaning.
“Coffee, sir?” Yeoman Rand said from the doorway, a mug in her hands.
He smiled. “You didn’t have to bring me coffee, Rand.”
“Oh, this one’s mine, I thought I’d show you where the kitchen is, sir.”
Several minutes later, with coffee in hand, Jim returned to his shoebox of an office and settled himself at his desk. He made steady progress until he noticed a long series of messages from Spock, each one with the subject line, “For your review” followed by a 16-character code Jim recognized as a Starfleet personnel registry number. “Yeoman, what are these?” Jim said to Rand, who had entered his office and was arranging items on the shelves.
She peeked over his shoulder. “The ones from Commander Spock?” she began, her tone light as she looked them over, until realization dawned. “Oh,” she continued, her voice lowering, “those are personal condolence letters, Captain, for the one hundred and eleven members of the Enterprise’s crew who lost their lives in the battle against the Dreadnaught.”
Jim could feel the blood leave his face - a day hadn’t gone by since he’d awakened from his coma that he didn’t think of each and every person who’d sacrificed their lives.
“The Commander thought he’d save you some work by drafting them first.”
“The Commander thinks of everything,” he said, his voice low, and appreciative. Of course he knew this to be his duty, he had just completely forgotten about it.
“If you just make whatever edits you need to, I’ll take care of sending them, sir,” Rand replied and went back to her work.
“Let’s see what we have, then,” he said, nearly inaudibly, and opened the first one.
John and Rita Clemons
674 114th Street
New York, New York
North America
EARTH
Mr. and Mrs. Clemons,
By now you will have received from Admiral Nogura the news of the death of your son, Crewman First Class Broderick Alan Clemons. As the unfortunate event that led to his untimely demise occurred within the confines of the Sol system, Starfleet will, I am assured, remit his remains to your attention with all possible haste.
Jim winced; Spock’s manner in correspondence was as direct and unemotional as it was when he spoke. He thought he’d have his work cut out for him in editing these.
While it is not within my ability to divulge the circumstances or the mission the Enterprise was engaged in at the time of Ricky’s death, I can share with you my impressions of a young man who, I am sure you undoubtedly already know, was a singularly forthright and enthusiastic individual. Though Ricky worked as a chef, second grade in the officer’s mess, I assure you his contributions to the daily welfare of my staff were in all ways exemplary and he was a vital and popular member of the crew, taking it upon himself to organize social activities that provided necessary diversions for all involved. My second in command, Commander Spock, in particular found his contributions to be an important contributor to overall morale.
It is with extreme regret and sadness that I convey my sympathies for your loss. Your son shall always be remembered fondly by all who knew him.
Yours most sincerely,
Captain James Tiberius Kirk
USS Enterprise
Jim stared at his screen, his mouth hanging slightly open. So, this was the letter Spock had drafted about the guy who maintained the salad bar in the officer’s mess, organized the monthly poker tournaments for the enlisted crew, and somehow had an in with the ‘fleet Quartermaster that led to his being able to secure even the most hard to acquire items, including plomeek roots for Spock’s favorite soup as well as the Kentucky bourbon Bones favored.
Shaking his head, Jim opened up the next letter.
Kristina T. Stenkowski
c/o Princeton University
Princeton, New Jersey
North America
EARTH
Dear Kiki,
“Kiki?” Jim said aloud.
“Sir?” Rand said, looking up from her filing.
“Nothing,” he said, waving a hand as he read the message.
It saddens me that the second time I am communicating with you has to be on the occasion of your mother Anna-Marie’s death. It seems like only yesterday we were introduced at the Interplanetary Symposium on Transgenic Crops on Risa.
Suddenly, Jim recalled meeting Lieutenant Stenkowski’s family as she - with Spock and two other researchers from the Enterprise- were about to present their paper on high yield quadrotriticale strains and their impact on certain ecosystems. Stenkowski’s family, including her teenaged daughter, had come to cheer her on. Jim recalled a short, green-eyed girl with spiky, dyed-pink hair who had wanted to study Classical Literature, much to her scientist mother’s consternation.
Your mother’s passing is tragic and sudden and you will grieve. But know too that those responsible have been brought to justice, and while that may be small comfort now, in the long run it will matter.
Given that your mother was in a section of the ship that took a direct hit from a phaser blast, it pains me further that your family will have no body to bury or honor in the traditions of your ancestors. It is a hard thing not to have this, a site where it might be said her spirit resides, or that you and your descendants may visit to pay the proper respect. This is a hard thing to bear, but bear it you must, and honor her in your mind and in your deeds as she honored and loved you.
Jim stopped reading there, the words blurring before his eyes on the screen. He didn’t think he’d have to make any edits to that one at all.
He moved on to the next letter on the list, to the parents of a young crewman who’d been among those who maintained the weapons aboard the ship, which read, in part:
I know, Mr. Fujikawa, of your reluctance to permit Kenji to join Starfleet, and that it pained him to have done something to earn your displeasure. He spoke often of the values you instilled in him as a child, and you should be proud to know that he conducted himself, always, with understanding and respect for others, and that he did so as a way of honoring you and your traditions.
Jim didn’t know whether to be more surprised that Spock seemed to know each and every one of the deceased crew personally, or that he had so obviously poured such an abundance of personal emotion into the writing of these letters. One after another of them featured some intimate detail of the subject’s life, their goals, dreams, and accomplishments, from the lowliest crewman working in the ship’s laundry to their head of security, Lt. Giotto, who had been lost in the Engineering Section when it had flooded with radiation. Jim would have some of his own recollections to add to that one, but the letter would have stood alone if necessary.
The next one wrenched his breath from him like a punch to his solar plexus.
Lt. Philip Gr’ma’ni
USS Defiant, NCC-1764
Dear Lt. Gr’ma’ni,
I know you recently received news from Admiral Nogura of the death of your fiancé, Ensign Steven Nemeth. As a Starfleet officer, you know, of course, of the unfortunate events that led to his untimely death; I hope it will provide you and your family some relief to know that his body has been recovered from space and will soon be returned to Earth.
I am unsure if Adm. Nogura provided you with many details of Steve’s last moments, but in case he did not, I wanted to inform you personally that he acted with the very highest degree of bravery, sacrificing his life as he assisted medical personnel in the evacuation of the injured from Deck 12 in the moments before the hull in that section was breached. It has been said the needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few, and Steve’s selfless last act was to manually engage the airlock in the section where he was, so that others might be taken on to safety. His actions saved thirteen lives that day.
I know your loss is profound. I know to lose one you hold so dear even before you have had the chance to begin your lives together or to explore the depths and heights your love might have reached seems like the cruelest of fates. I cannot begin to comfort you at a time like this. The loss of one’s soulmate is an immeasurable tragedy...
Jim had to stop reading there.
“Yeoman Rand, can you tell me where I can find Commander Spock?”
----
“Spock!” Jim called to his first from the doorway of a now-empty classroom at Starfleet Academy, where the Vulcan had taken up teaching a course in xenolinguistics to fill the time they would be stationed dirtside while the Enterprise was being repaired.
Spock looked up from his lesson plan, his eyes taking in Jim’s appearance with a raised eyebrow. “Captain. You are disheveled.”
“What?” Jim looked down on himself and noted that his uniform jacket was unbuttoned and his hair was probably sticking out in all directions. “Oh. Sorry - just ran out of my office.”
“How goes the moving-in. I was given to understand that Yeoman Rand would have everything stowed away before your return to duty.”
“It goes… messily. I came back early.”
“Doctor McCoy gave strict instructions that you were to take two weeks’ leave to recuperate, Jim,” Spock admonished.
“So I came back a week early, does that really surprise anyone? That’s not why I came here.”
Spock regarded him expectantly; after several moments, he prompted, “…why did you come here?”
“Oh, right! This.” He waved his PADD in the air. “I reviewed the letters of condolence you wrote.”
“I am sure Yeoman Rand can handle any edits you may have.”
“Yes, I’m sure. But that’s not what I want to talk about. Spock! These letters - they’re amazing.”
“You are amazed I can write a letter?”
“Well, yeah!” At Spock’s affronted expression, Jim backtracked. “I mean, of course you can write a letter but these letters - Spock, my God.” He paused. “They’re beautiful.”
“They are words on a page.”
“Yeah, but -“
“Did you not wish for me to draft them for you? I thought that, since you were incapacitated and in a coma, I would be doing you a favor by -“
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend to get your drawers in a wad rather than admit that you were able to channel some of your emotions into writing some of the most affecting condolences ever written. They were thoughtful, and heartfelt, and beautifully done, Spock.”
Spock, flustered, could only manage, “Th-thank you, Jim.”
Jim smiled down at him, then sat himself on the edge of the desk. “Would you have written one for me?”
“I did not need to write one for you.”
“But still?”
“It would not be my prerogative, for I am not your commanding officer.”
Jim slid the PADD, with the letter to Lt. Nemeth’s fiancé still open, across the desk for Spock to see. “You kind of already did.” Jim kept his eyes affixed on Spock’s face as he spoke. Spock kept his eyes on the PADD. “I would have thought you’d have chosen not to feel anything at a time like that.”
“I find I am no longer able to repress my emotions ‘at a time like that.’ Or willing.”
“Why?” When Spock looked into Jim’s eyes, Jim was struck, as always, by the humanity he saw there.
“Must I say it?”
“I think you must.”
“You would force me?”
Then Jim felt like a shit. “Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“You know, I meant love-love, not I-love-you-bro-let’s-get-hammered love?”
“I did.”
“Were you going to say anything?”
Spock pushed the PADD back over the desk toward Jim. “I believe I already have.”
----
Thank you for your time.
This story has a sort-of sequel: Dead Letter Office
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Jim/Spock pre-slash
Spoilers: Star Trek: Into Darkness
Content Notice: No warnings
Word Count: ~2,500
Summary: While Jim lay comatose for two weeks, Spock took the liberty of drafting the letters of condolence to the families of the Enterprise crew that were lost.
A/N: Yeah, IDK if this works. Title is an REM song (surprise!).
P.S.: IDK why, but this entry disappeared off my LJ, and I'm adding it back today, so if it shows up on peeps' Friends feeds, I did try to backdate it, so... sorry? And... enjoy again?
----
“Yeoman Rand.”
The petite blonde jumped and gave a small scream; Jim always delighted in sneaking up on her. “C-Captain!” She straightened her uniform and gave him a smart salute.
“At ease, Yeoman.”
“Sir, I wasn’t expecting you back for duty for another week.”
“Yes, well, Doctor McCoy may hypo me to death, but I couldn’t spend another day at home - I was going stir-crazy.” Jim gazed around at the cluttered and windowless office that would be his until the Enterprise was out of space dock in a year, and scowled. Maybe he should have stayed home.
“I was just getting the office all sorted out, sir.”
Jim took in the absolute mess and raised an eyebrow, then said, “Indeed,” in best Spockian fashion, then graced the yeoman with a smile. “Want some help?”
“Oh no, sir, you should be taking it easy.”
“I’ve been taking it easy. I want to be useful, Rand. So let me unpack a few boxes, yeah?”
“Sir, Doctor McCoy called ahead and warned me not to allow you to physically exert yourself.”
“Oh did he?”
“He threatened me with Rigellian Monkeypox if I didn’t, sir.”
“Well, I countermand his order.”
“With all due respect, sir, he’s a lot scarier than you.”
Jim barked a laugh, but then sat down on the edge of the work table in the outer officer, where they stood. “Then what can I do? I’m a tool, yeoman, I need to be put to use.”
She picked up a PADD and shoved it into his hands. “Then get tooling on this paperwork,” she said, blowing her bangs out of her eyes and adding a hurried, “sir,” to the end of the sentence.
Jim activated the device and whistled, low. There were literally over a thousand items in his Inbox, half of which blinked at him in red, indicating their urgency. “Paperwork, huh?”
“It appears to take a lot of forms to fix a Starship.”
Nodding, Jim wandered into the inner room that was his new personal office, took a seat on the battered couch he found there, and got to work.
----
“One more down, and onlyyyy,” Jim glanced at the total of unread files in his Inbox, “947 to go. Jeez.” He dropped the PADD into his lap and stretched his neck back against the couch, groaning.
“Coffee, sir?” Yeoman Rand said from the doorway, a mug in her hands.
He smiled. “You didn’t have to bring me coffee, Rand.”
“Oh, this one’s mine, I thought I’d show you where the kitchen is, sir.”
Several minutes later, with coffee in hand, Jim returned to his shoebox of an office and settled himself at his desk. He made steady progress until he noticed a long series of messages from Spock, each one with the subject line, “For your review” followed by a 16-character code Jim recognized as a Starfleet personnel registry number. “Yeoman, what are these?” Jim said to Rand, who had entered his office and was arranging items on the shelves.
She peeked over his shoulder. “The ones from Commander Spock?” she began, her tone light as she looked them over, until realization dawned. “Oh,” she continued, her voice lowering, “those are personal condolence letters, Captain, for the one hundred and eleven members of the Enterprise’s crew who lost their lives in the battle against the Dreadnaught.”
Jim could feel the blood leave his face - a day hadn’t gone by since he’d awakened from his coma that he didn’t think of each and every person who’d sacrificed their lives.
“The Commander thought he’d save you some work by drafting them first.”
“The Commander thinks of everything,” he said, his voice low, and appreciative. Of course he knew this to be his duty, he had just completely forgotten about it.
“If you just make whatever edits you need to, I’ll take care of sending them, sir,” Rand replied and went back to her work.
“Let’s see what we have, then,” he said, nearly inaudibly, and opened the first one.
John and Rita Clemons
674 114th Street
New York, New York
North America
EARTH
Mr. and Mrs. Clemons,
By now you will have received from Admiral Nogura the news of the death of your son, Crewman First Class Broderick Alan Clemons. As the unfortunate event that led to his untimely demise occurred within the confines of the Sol system, Starfleet will, I am assured, remit his remains to your attention with all possible haste.
Jim winced; Spock’s manner in correspondence was as direct and unemotional as it was when he spoke. He thought he’d have his work cut out for him in editing these.
While it is not within my ability to divulge the circumstances or the mission the Enterprise was engaged in at the time of Ricky’s death, I can share with you my impressions of a young man who, I am sure you undoubtedly already know, was a singularly forthright and enthusiastic individual. Though Ricky worked as a chef, second grade in the officer’s mess, I assure you his contributions to the daily welfare of my staff were in all ways exemplary and he was a vital and popular member of the crew, taking it upon himself to organize social activities that provided necessary diversions for all involved. My second in command, Commander Spock, in particular found his contributions to be an important contributor to overall morale.
It is with extreme regret and sadness that I convey my sympathies for your loss. Your son shall always be remembered fondly by all who knew him.
Yours most sincerely,
Captain James Tiberius Kirk
USS Enterprise
Jim stared at his screen, his mouth hanging slightly open. So, this was the letter Spock had drafted about the guy who maintained the salad bar in the officer’s mess, organized the monthly poker tournaments for the enlisted crew, and somehow had an in with the ‘fleet Quartermaster that led to his being able to secure even the most hard to acquire items, including plomeek roots for Spock’s favorite soup as well as the Kentucky bourbon Bones favored.
Shaking his head, Jim opened up the next letter.
Kristina T. Stenkowski
c/o Princeton University
Princeton, New Jersey
North America
EARTH
Dear Kiki,
“Kiki?” Jim said aloud.
“Sir?” Rand said, looking up from her filing.
“Nothing,” he said, waving a hand as he read the message.
It saddens me that the second time I am communicating with you has to be on the occasion of your mother Anna-Marie’s death. It seems like only yesterday we were introduced at the Interplanetary Symposium on Transgenic Crops on Risa.
Suddenly, Jim recalled meeting Lieutenant Stenkowski’s family as she - with Spock and two other researchers from the Enterprise- were about to present their paper on high yield quadrotriticale strains and their impact on certain ecosystems. Stenkowski’s family, including her teenaged daughter, had come to cheer her on. Jim recalled a short, green-eyed girl with spiky, dyed-pink hair who had wanted to study Classical Literature, much to her scientist mother’s consternation.
Your mother’s passing is tragic and sudden and you will grieve. But know too that those responsible have been brought to justice, and while that may be small comfort now, in the long run it will matter.
Given that your mother was in a section of the ship that took a direct hit from a phaser blast, it pains me further that your family will have no body to bury or honor in the traditions of your ancestors. It is a hard thing not to have this, a site where it might be said her spirit resides, or that you and your descendants may visit to pay the proper respect. This is a hard thing to bear, but bear it you must, and honor her in your mind and in your deeds as she honored and loved you.
Jim stopped reading there, the words blurring before his eyes on the screen. He didn’t think he’d have to make any edits to that one at all.
He moved on to the next letter on the list, to the parents of a young crewman who’d been among those who maintained the weapons aboard the ship, which read, in part:
I know, Mr. Fujikawa, of your reluctance to permit Kenji to join Starfleet, and that it pained him to have done something to earn your displeasure. He spoke often of the values you instilled in him as a child, and you should be proud to know that he conducted himself, always, with understanding and respect for others, and that he did so as a way of honoring you and your traditions.
Jim didn’t know whether to be more surprised that Spock seemed to know each and every one of the deceased crew personally, or that he had so obviously poured such an abundance of personal emotion into the writing of these letters. One after another of them featured some intimate detail of the subject’s life, their goals, dreams, and accomplishments, from the lowliest crewman working in the ship’s laundry to their head of security, Lt. Giotto, who had been lost in the Engineering Section when it had flooded with radiation. Jim would have some of his own recollections to add to that one, but the letter would have stood alone if necessary.
The next one wrenched his breath from him like a punch to his solar plexus.
Lt. Philip Gr’ma’ni
USS Defiant, NCC-1764
Dear Lt. Gr’ma’ni,
I know you recently received news from Admiral Nogura of the death of your fiancé, Ensign Steven Nemeth. As a Starfleet officer, you know, of course, of the unfortunate events that led to his untimely death; I hope it will provide you and your family some relief to know that his body has been recovered from space and will soon be returned to Earth.
I am unsure if Adm. Nogura provided you with many details of Steve’s last moments, but in case he did not, I wanted to inform you personally that he acted with the very highest degree of bravery, sacrificing his life as he assisted medical personnel in the evacuation of the injured from Deck 12 in the moments before the hull in that section was breached. It has been said the needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few, and Steve’s selfless last act was to manually engage the airlock in the section where he was, so that others might be taken on to safety. His actions saved thirteen lives that day.
I know your loss is profound. I know to lose one you hold so dear even before you have had the chance to begin your lives together or to explore the depths and heights your love might have reached seems like the cruelest of fates. I cannot begin to comfort you at a time like this. The loss of one’s soulmate is an immeasurable tragedy...
Jim had to stop reading there.
“Yeoman Rand, can you tell me where I can find Commander Spock?”
----
“Spock!” Jim called to his first from the doorway of a now-empty classroom at Starfleet Academy, where the Vulcan had taken up teaching a course in xenolinguistics to fill the time they would be stationed dirtside while the Enterprise was being repaired.
Spock looked up from his lesson plan, his eyes taking in Jim’s appearance with a raised eyebrow. “Captain. You are disheveled.”
“What?” Jim looked down on himself and noted that his uniform jacket was unbuttoned and his hair was probably sticking out in all directions. “Oh. Sorry - just ran out of my office.”
“How goes the moving-in. I was given to understand that Yeoman Rand would have everything stowed away before your return to duty.”
“It goes… messily. I came back early.”
“Doctor McCoy gave strict instructions that you were to take two weeks’ leave to recuperate, Jim,” Spock admonished.
“So I came back a week early, does that really surprise anyone? That’s not why I came here.”
Spock regarded him expectantly; after several moments, he prompted, “…why did you come here?”
“Oh, right! This.” He waved his PADD in the air. “I reviewed the letters of condolence you wrote.”
“I am sure Yeoman Rand can handle any edits you may have.”
“Yes, I’m sure. But that’s not what I want to talk about. Spock! These letters - they’re amazing.”
“You are amazed I can write a letter?”
“Well, yeah!” At Spock’s affronted expression, Jim backtracked. “I mean, of course you can write a letter but these letters - Spock, my God.” He paused. “They’re beautiful.”
“They are words on a page.”
“Yeah, but -“
“Did you not wish for me to draft them for you? I thought that, since you were incapacitated and in a coma, I would be doing you a favor by -“
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend to get your drawers in a wad rather than admit that you were able to channel some of your emotions into writing some of the most affecting condolences ever written. They were thoughtful, and heartfelt, and beautifully done, Spock.”
Spock, flustered, could only manage, “Th-thank you, Jim.”
Jim smiled down at him, then sat himself on the edge of the desk. “Would you have written one for me?”
“I did not need to write one for you.”
“But still?”
“It would not be my prerogative, for I am not your commanding officer.”
Jim slid the PADD, with the letter to Lt. Nemeth’s fiancé still open, across the desk for Spock to see. “You kind of already did.” Jim kept his eyes affixed on Spock’s face as he spoke. Spock kept his eyes on the PADD. “I would have thought you’d have chosen not to feel anything at a time like that.”
“I find I am no longer able to repress my emotions ‘at a time like that.’ Or willing.”
“Why?” When Spock looked into Jim’s eyes, Jim was struck, as always, by the humanity he saw there.
“Must I say it?”
“I think you must.”
“You would force me?”
Then Jim felt like a shit. “Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“You know, I meant love-love, not I-love-you-bro-let’s-get-hammered love?”
“I did.”
“Were you going to say anything?”
Spock pushed the PADD back over the desk toward Jim. “I believe I already have.”
----
Thank you for your time.
This story has a sort-of sequel: Dead Letter Office