it ends with three

threes

The sun sets, and Jim feels Spock's hand as it finds his in the dark. He holds tight, anchoring Jim in his death. He holds on just as tight.

He wants to say so much—

I've missed you, Where did you go, It's good to see you, I love you.

—but the words won't come; he's held onto them for so long he's afraid to let them out, the words too close to his heart. He thinks about all the things he's wanted to say since he was a young captain commanding the first Enterprise, their first home, the one they made together; but in the end he can't bring himself to break the peace. So they sit together in the dark and watch the stars.

He sees all their adventures in them, the stories they tell—the hot sands of Vulcan; the library of Sarpeidon; the lonely planes of Eden. He sees the life they spent together, and the ones that brought them together. He sees it in the brown of Spock's eyes, and the lines on his face.

Still, even in his peace, he feels like something's missing. A piece carved out from his soul.

So quiet in the dark, he almost doesn't notice the footsteps behind them.

"Finally; I was beginning to wonder when you two would get here." The voice is one he hasn't heard in years, a country drawl as close to his heart as Spock's own timbre.

Illuminated by starlight, Bones smiles at them, looking younger than Jim's seen him in a long time.

His medical blues are navy in the dark, Starfleet medals glimmering, but his eyes—they shine brighter than the stars. When he speaks again, Jim hears all the love and affection Bones has held for them over the years.

"Took you long enough."

He comes to stand at Jim's side, hand sliding over his and Spock's like it was always meant to be there. It's warm and calloused, the hand of a doctor, as familiar to him as his own.

And like that, it's like the missing piece has clicked back into place.

It feels like home.