The Preserver - Part I
You once said being a starship captain was my first, best destiny… if that’s true, then yours is to be by my side. If there’s any true logic to the universe… we’ll end up on that bridge again someday.
-deleted Shatner scene from Star Trek (2009)
Spock was dead. His body lay five feet away, where it had remained for the past hour.
Whoever said that the dead look like they were just sleeping was either delusional or had never seen a dead body. Jim had seen his fair share of death in the two years since he became captain, but even then he'd never had the time or the inclination to study the deceased. Stuck in a cave with a broken leg and the Enterprise several minutes away, he had few other options for occupation.
The biggest difference between the living and the dead was breathing. Stupidly obvious, but also horribly accurate. Nothing moved. You don't realize how much a person moves until they can't anymore. In sleep, the chest will rise and fall, fingers will shift, the mouth can part, or the eyes may dart back and forth, in REM sleep. If you touch someone who is sleeping, their body will naturally react to the stimulus. When Jim had held Spock in his arms, he hadn't reacted to Jim's frantic shaking and pleas to any god that might be listening to intervene.
An hour had passed since the attack. The rest of the landing party had been beamed up before the Enterprise was forced to leave orbit on sighting a Klingon battle cruiser. Jim had broken his leg on a two-story drop after being chased to the edge of a cliff. He’d tried to make Spock run on ahead without him, but Spock carried Jim to the cave, angry natives shooting crude arrows at them from far away. They had been so close. Jim had only known that something was wrong when Spock fell to his knees, closed his eyes, and collapsed backward. There hadn't been time for goodbyes. Jim had barely seen the wound before Spock grabbed Jim's face and without opening his eyes or moving his head, mumbled a single word, and then went slack in Jim's arms.
It had only taken a half hour for Spock to turn pale, blood no longer circulating through his body. Jim couldn't see where the arrow had pierced Spock's heart, but he knew that there was a wound on the other side of Spock’s torso and his uniform was stained dark green, blood long dried and leaving the lingering acrid stench of copper in the restricted air of the cave. Jim only vaguely knew about what happened to the body after death, and what he knew was enough to rack his entire being with morbid torment.
The man he loved was decomposing. Jim had never told him how he felt.
He’d only known himself for a few weeks that he felt more than just a deep affection and passing desire for his friend. He'd been terrified of it, had tried to distance himself from Spock, explain it all away as a crush that was getting out of hand. When that plan had failed, he'd come to grips with it and even found a sort of peace with his illogical feelings. He'd thought he'd have time. Time to see whether Spock might feel the same, time to make plans to test the waters, time to find the right words and the right moment, all the time that the ignorance of youth believes that it's due, years.
A scattering of rocks at the foot of the cave tore him from his musings. He straightened, alert but helpless against an attack, then slumped when he saw that it was Bones and a couple of security guards. Bones noticed Spock first, hurrying over to check him over, but stopped abruptly when he got a clear view of him. He stood utterly still for a few moments, as if all the breath had been sucked from him. He turned to Jim.
Bones' face was filled with grief, worry, sobriety, compassion; it was the look of a man who knew that there was nothing he could do to help his best friend, nothing he could say that would ease the pain.
Jim turned his head away from Bones, knowing that it would do no good and he’d never forget what he saw in his friend’s expression. Abruptly, the thought made him recall what Spock had mumbled before he died.
Remember.
*
Spock keyed in the commands for landing, allowing the computer a few moments to locate a prime landing area. When it locked onto a site, Spock prepared to land the Surok on the surface of the time vortex planet. As the ship descended through the atmosphere, Spock reflected on the events that led him here.
Three months ago he had awoken in the middle of the night from a dream. Spock did not remember images or events in this dream, only that Kirk had been calling out for him. Spock had dreamed similar dreams during the first few years after their bond was severed, but his subconscious had since stopped seeking his lost bondmate out and the last dream of that nature had been decades ago. What was unusual was the fact that he was left with a familiar spark in his mind-faint, no more than a gossamer thread, but it felt like the smallest ember of a fire that had not burned in ninety-six years-his bond to Jim Kirk. Believing that he was finally going through the onset of senility, he rose and went through the motions of his day, performing his duties as a librarian in the newly-erected monastic library on the outskirts of the New Vulcan capital of Uzh’Shi’Kahr. Days and then weeks passed, and still the ember smoldered, never fading yet never blazing to life. For weeks he puzzled over its presence until another fire began to burn, this one far less desirable.
Spock had not undergone a Pon Farr in ten years. His last had been eased by meditation, having been nowhere near the intensity and madness his first several Times had been. But here he was, at this advanced age, feeling his blood begin to burn as if it were his first Time all over again.
There was nothing for it. Spock could seek help from the Elders on the matter, find a mate, but this was not his reality. The planet he lived on was not Vulcan, and even if Vulcan had never been destroyed in this universe, it would still not be the home world he had known. In the end, he decided that he had lived long enough-far too long. He would emulate Zefram Cochrane’s own solution for any one being’s intrinsic mortality-die in space, where he belonged. He spent all the credits he had accumulated on renting a small ship, carefully neglecting to inform the proprietor that his trip was to be one way. He sent a low-priority subspace message to alert them of the shuttle’s location, and in a few weeks’ time they would send for the vessel. He had no destination in mind, no preferred direction, so he did as his captain had done so many times, and simply chose whatever patch of stars felt right.
The Surok neatly landed in a large clearing. Spock keyed in the command to open the rear hatch of the shuttlecraft and, donning a traveling cloak for the harsh wind the ship’s computer warned against, Spock stepped foot on the deserted planet, the ruins of a city as old as one millions years. As he traveled, Spock inexplicably felt the broken remnants of the bond grew stronger. He had felt no particular surprise when the magnetic pull of his seemingly awakened bond had led him here, to the planet that hosted the Guardian of Forever. Indeed, there was almost a poetic symmetry to his connection with the Guardian. Edith Keeler and the jealousy she roused in Spock, leading Spock to discover that his feelings for his captain far exceeded those of friendship. Now here he was, at the end of his life, and though time and circumstances had changed him, the theme of love and death had come full circle.
Spock clambered unsteadily over a felled rock, straightening to see that the Guardian was now in sight. He pulled his traveling cloak close, attempting to control the shivers that wracked his body, the wind unable to cool the fever raging inside of him. His vision blurred from the intense burn of his blood. His breathing labored in the heavy atmosphere of the planet. Finally, he reached the foot of the Guardian, peering dimly into brilliant lights as it stirred to his presence and possibly his mind. Images of his own past played out before him, and he tried not to get lost in them, a barrage of firsts and lasts, of loved ones lost years ago, everything he had gained and lost.
“We meet again,” the Guardian intoned. “What is your purpose here?”
“I was led to this planet. Do you know why I have been summoned?”
“I do not have the answer to this limited question. I am the gatekeeper and do not control what is.”
Exceedingly vague and mildly insulting. As Jim had said countless times, some things never change.
“Is it true that your technology can only send one into the past?”
“I am the Guardian, and I am more powerful than your mind can imagine. Time is not linear; it exists on different planes, and all that was, all that is, and all that will be exist simultaneously.”
Spock considered this-a multiverse, accessible through a single gateway. Theoretically, Spock found it easier to believe that the Guardian acted simply as an ancient time machine. He also noted that it only did not know why Spock was led here. He remembered Kirk’s words from when they had first gazed upon this alien technology many years ago: Strangely compelling, isn't it? To step through there and lose oneself in another world.
“Can you take me to the presence that led me here?”
“The place is ready to receive you.”
A curtain of mist stole over the ghosts of Spock’s past, the Guardian prepared for entry. For a moment he hesitated at the threshold, the precariousness of his immediate future, the notion that he might be taken to a universe that could not sustain life, caused him to remember when he volunteered to shoot red matter into the supernova that later destroyed Romulus and how the other ambassadors had tried to talk him out of going on what was undoubtedly a suicide mission. The logical thing to do was to return to New Vulcan, seek relief for his condition, and eke out an existence that contributed positively to society.
Jim.
Now that the gateway was open, the bond pulsated in his mind, and it felt as if Kirk was waiting for him on the other side. Spock felt that mind, once so dear to him, sing in his own thoughts once again, and all doubt and fear left Spock. He was so very tired of being alone. There were worse deaths.
Spock closed his eyes, smiled, and stepped through the gateway.
*
A large portion of the crew was gathered in the main conference room, decked out in their formal uniforms, milling about the room, shaking hands and touching shoulders. Jim was braced to the left of the raised dais at the front of the room, supported by metal crutches, staring blankly at the small table someone-most likely Uhura-had set up. On it was a framed picture of Spock, his harp, a vase of flowers that were presumably cut and arranged by Sulu, and Spock’s dress uniform adorned with all the medals he had ever received in the service.
Spock’s body was in the ship’s morgue, mercifully unnecessary for the informal memorial service. Jim had insisted that Bones tell him about everything they did to Spock’s remains, which was probably not healthy, but Jim was beyond caring. Another doctor on staff doubled as the ship’s mortician, so while Bones himself had no part in the actual procedures, he kept himself up to date for Jim’s benefit. Bodies were usually kept in a stasis field for preservation, but Spock had been ritually embalmed in the traditional Vulcan manner, under Dr. M’Benga’s careful instruction. It would be a two week journey at maximum warp to New Vulcan; Sarek wouldn’t even receive the news that his only son and last surviving family member was dead until they were two days away.
The constant headache Jim had carried for the past two days intensified as the low, somber murmur of the gathered crew members filled the room. He hadn’t slept well since he’d been rescued from the cave and confined to sickbay for his broken leg. He knew that the crew was worried, unused to their captain’s silence. He knew Bones was worried too, even though he wasn’t calling it post-traumatic stress disorder or trying to get Jim in touch with his feelings. As soon as he’d set Jim’s leg and put the cast on, he’d broken out his illegally procured bottle of Andorian rum and poured Jim a shot, right in the middle of his sterile sickbay, and let Jim drink in silence. He didn’t think he’d have been able to get up again had Bones not been there, handing him alcohol and roughly grousing at him to not let the admiralty know about the bad influence Jim had on him when the atmosphere grew too strained.
Jim noted the time and was uncomfortably aware that he was a minute late. It was the captain’s duty to preside over funeral services and memorials. He knew that not a single crew member would blame him had Jim declined the eulogy, but, despite the slight shaking in his hands and a lead weight of dread resting in his stomach at the finality of the gesture, he couldn’t dishonor Spock by wallowing in his quarters and hiding from his duty to memorialize the life of his friend. He hobbled awkwardly to the edge of the dais and Bones was at his side in an instant, holding Jim’s arm as he went up two steps, crossed the stage, and leaned heavily on the podium. He nodded at Bones, and was left alone in the middle of the stage, a sea of colorful, bright uniforms woven with fine material and trimmed in gold, gathered for so shadowy a purpose. Jim hadn’t planned on what he was going to say, unable to bring himself to dash out some notes for this, but if there was one subject he knew without study, it was how much Spock meant to him.
“I thank you all for attending this memorial service for Spock, our departed first officer, science officer, and friend.”
Jim paused and looked down at the metal podium, momentarily unable to continue under the weight of all those grieving stares, echoing what he himself was feeling. His eyes alighted on the array of medals on the breast of Spock’s empty uniform, drawing inspiration from the vestiges. He eventually raised his head and continued.
“How can you even begin to honor everything a single man or woman has achieved in their lifetime? We all knew Spock to be the finest officer in Starfleet. While arrogant in regard to his staggering intelligence, Spock would willingly follow any order he gave himself, never believing in his superiority, even as a virtual genius and senior officer. But aside from being a great officer, he had an amazing soul. Two years ago, Spock lost more in a single day than most of us lose in an entire lifetime. You would think that would make him bitter, angry, unable to see the good in others. So many have accused him of having no heart. They couldn’t have been more wrong.”
Jim paused at the bold statement. He locked eyes with Uhura. Her face was worn and tired, but her eyes were resolute, strong. When he continued, his voice softened.
“Spock was a Romulan apologist who refused to believe that the entire race should be punished for this one group of rogue Romulans for a reality that wasn’t even our own. With the death of Nero came the death of Spock’s human want of revenge. Spock was also a pacifist. Only Spock could join a military organization, go on a mission in which a deadly monster is killing people, and then give the order to ‘capture it, if you can’. But when it tried to attack me or any other crew member, Spock would not hesitate to kill. Spock was loyal. We toss that word around a lot. We use it to describe a dog’s behavior. But the definition of loyalty boils down to faith. Spock had faith-faith in me, faith in this crew, faith in the soul of any lifeform to do better than what is expected of it. As you and practically everyone in the Federation knows, Spock and I didn’t get off on a good foot. Even if it was for a worthy cause, I effectively manipulated him into handing over the captaincy of the Enterprise, callously hurting him to do it. Most people would hate that person, would hate me. Spock came back on that bridge an hour later, willing to follow my lead. Even after the mission was over, when he could take any position, captain any vessel, travel to the most exotic locales Starfleet had to offer such a fine officer, he chose to stay. When Spock decided to give his loyalty, to have faith in you-”
Jim broke off, trying not to let out a wracking sob. A few of the crew gave him sympathetic looks. He continued shakily, forcing the words out past the lump growing in his throat.
“-it was for life. Spock would give everything for what he believed in. He gave his life two days ago to protect mine. I didn’t ask for it; god knows I didn’t want it-duty to the captaincy be damned. Given the choice, I would have given my life for his a thousand times over. He was worth ten of me. He was the best part of me, the best of all of us.”
The entire room was silent with the exception of a couple of people openly crying. Jim nodded shortly and left the stage. Uhura took his place, asking everyone to observe a moment of silence. Jim couldn’t bring himself to stay, wishing for solitude where he could nurse his broken spirit alone. As Jim headed to the door, Lieutenant Riley stood and approached him, reaching an arm out as if to place it on Jim’s shoulder but retracting it just as quickly.
“Sir,” he said in the quietest underdone. “I didn’t want to interrupt your eulogy, but there was a private emergency message sent to you from Commodore Mendez.”
“I’ll take it in my quarters, Lieutenant.”
The trip to his quarters was mercifully short, as they were on the same deck as the conference room. His decision to have Spock’s quarters sealed had been a good one; he almost unconsciously went into them as if they were his own. He shook himself and kept moving towards his rooms, thankful that the doors opened automatically.
Jim immediately switched on his terminal and sat in his chair, propping his crutches against the bulkhead. It took a moment for the commodore to come into view, as they were at least four parsecs from the nearest starbase and the further they moved from the starbase, the more difficult it became to lock on the Enterprise’s signal. Mendez was probably the highest-ranking officer stationed out here in deep space.
“Captain Kirk,” Mendez greeted, seated in a cramped-looking, standard office. He was middle-aged and thus pretty young for a commodore, which might account for the look of anxiousness on his face. “As flag officer of this sector, I am under authorization to relay the orders given to you from Admiral Komak. While Komack is unaware of the tragic loss of your first officer, I am certain he would offer his sincerest condolences as well as allow you and your crew to take an extended leave if circumstances allowed it. However, there is an unexpected emergency and the Enterprise is needed.”
Jim stiffened, wincing when the strain sent a shot of pain through his leg. “What kind of an emergency?”
Mendez relaxed. Clearly he was more comfortable talking about a mission rather than feelings.
“Two Federation starships, one Starfleet and the other Andorian, were involved in a science survey in Sector 21305. A black hole was being investigated. The last logs we received from the mission are garbled, but they indicated that a powerful object was attacking them, the words ‘planet-killer’ clearly heard.”
Jim raised his eyebrows and slowly repeated, “You believe that this could possibly be another doomsday machine like the one that destroyed the Constellation two months back?”
“We believe so,” Mendez said, raising his own eyebrows, clearing saying ‘I can’t believe this either.’ His face was grave, however, as he continued. “As you are the closest ship to this sector and have also encountered and destroyed one such machine, it falls on the Enterprise to travel to this sector and head off the machine before it reaches planets with lifeforms.”
Jim nodded shortly, eagerly. “We will be en route within the hour at max speed.”
“Your service will be honored in this crisis. Once again, I am sorry for your loss.”
Jim turned off the terminal then spent the next ten minutes giving the order to Sulu to turn around and sending the orders to Chekov to be announced to the ship, almost fiercely glad of the challenge. It was something to keep his mind from his increasingly dark thoughts and unpredictable mood swings. He would have to let Scotty lead the ship over the next three days until the cast came off, but at least now he had something to do.
He was still strategizing a half hour later when Bones came in to check Jim out. He spent the entirety of one minute perfunctorily running a tricorder of Jim’s injury, then seated himself in the chair across from Jim, regarding him in an affectingly casual voice.
“You know, you should be laid up in bed instead of sitting here fretting.”
“Lay around while there’s an emergency? It’s like you don’t even know me.”
“Oh I know you all right. Look, I know you have to follow orders and this is a bona fide emergency we got here, but I can see from a mile off that you’re pleased as punch to go hurtling into danger again.”
“Yeah, and water is wet. I’ve heard you complain about this almost every day you’ve known me.”
“Jim,” Bones sighed, and Jim tapped his fingers anxiously on his desk, knowing that he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. “Spock just died two days ago. You gave his eulogy an hour ago.” Jim flinched. “You were about to collapse from the weight of the world in front of most of the crew an hour ago. Now you’re keyed up and almost looking forward to jumping into the jaws of hell. I’m not exactly an expert in psychology, but I know avoidance when I see it and you, kid, are about ready to do anything to avoid thinking about the pain you’re obviously in.”
“Well, thanks for that therapy session,” Jim said, deadpan. “I think I’m doing pretty damn good, all things considered.”
“Jim, I don’t know what the hell is going on in that mind of yours. I’ve known you for over five years and I still can’t predict what you’ll do on a good day. All I’m sayin’ is that you might be biting off more than you can chew right now. That thing is several light years away; you could have talked Starfleet into letting you at least wait for back up before it got too far. I’m thinking you don’t want backup. You want to ram something down that thing’s throat, go out in a blaze of glory.”
“You think I’m suicidal, Bones?” Jim asked, scathing. This was like any other mission, and Jim was handling himself just fine.
“Most days, yeah,” Bones said with a trace of good humor before that vanished and he was blustering, “Except this time I don’t know if you’ll be able to pull yourself out of harm’s way. Or if you’ll even want to.”
Jim stared to the left of Bones’ ear, fists tightening on instinct. “If that’ll be all, Doctor-”
“No, that won’t be all, not until I’m losing air in my lungs-”
“Dr. McCoy. You will cease to pry into my personal matters. The captain has dismissed you.”
Jim heard his voice echo off the walls from the icy coldness of words he almost couldn’t control. Bones was staring at him with the oddest expression. The wind had left his sails, however, and he sighed before getting to his feet.
“I’ll check back in a couple of hours. Tomorrow I want you in for a psychiatric exam. Stay off that leg.”
Bones left. Jim buried his head in his hands, feeling the onset of another headache.
*
The first thing Spock noticed upon his arrival was that he was alive and in good health. This led to the second thing he noticed; his blood fever had abated. He was once again in full control of his body, the Pon Farr seemingly lifted. It was a welcome relief, despite the fact that it should be impossible. The third-and most important-thing he noticed was that his severed bond had almost felt complete again, like Kirk was standing right next to him. He had not felt this fulfilled and healthy since the day the bond was broken.
Spock surveyed his surroundings. He was standing on a dirt path in the middle of a stretch of grassland that closely resembled one of Earth in its vegetation and atmosphere. It was night, or a vague approximation of night, the sky an unending blackness with no stars or moon, yet the ground was lit up as if there was a full moon overhead. Most notable was a cabin that stood just over 100 meters from Spock, every light burning inside and pouring from the windows, washing everywhere it touched the darkened ground in a yellow light. The cabin stood alone on top of a small hill, possibly constituting the only man-made structure for miles. While the setting was familiar to Spock, the physical environment itself was quite unnatural. There was no wind, no trilling of insects, and no sounds emanating from the cabin beyond. The hairs on Spock’s arms and neck rose with unease.
He walked to the cabin at an accelerated pace, anxious to leave the disconcertingly quiet landscape. As he came within just a few meters of the cabin, he finally heard noise. A song was playing, muffled from inside the cabin. Spock couldn’t readily identify the song, but it recalled some of the music Kirk might have listened to on a lazy afternoon.
You know I can’t smile without you
I can’t smile without you
Footsteps echoed across a hardwood floor, which indicated that the structure was indeed occupied. Spock reached the door, discarding the notion of knocking in favor of a discreet surveillance, opening the door. Inside was a cozy living room, currently empty. A fire crackled merrily in the stone fireplace. Lanterns lit up the rest of the room, decorated in earthy greens, blues, and browns. The music was much clearer now and was emanating from another room.
You came along just like a song
You brightened my day
Who'd believe you were part of a dream
That only seemed light years away
There was water running, presumably from a sink, alerting Spock to the location of the occupant. He followed the noise, keeping close to the walls, edging toward an open doorway that led to a kitchen. He peered around the corner and felt a wave of intense vertigo. Kirk was standing with his back turned to the door, apparently washing dishes.
For a moment, Spock forgot logic, forgot his surroundings, and forgot his tenuous safety. For ninety-six years he had lived without his t’hy’la, and now his eyes drank in the sight of those broad shoulders, the graying hair, the mere sight of what he never imagined he could have in his life again, and he was lost.
“Jim,” Spock said.
Kirk whipped around, dropping the dish he had been holding.
“Spock,” Kirk said wondrously, staring at him in stunned amazement. “How did you find me?”
Still in shock, Spock could not answer. Jim seemed to forget the question, smiling brilliantly before his face morphed into slight bemusement. “You look different, though. Are you older?”
Spock did not respond, an impression occurring to him. Kirk had certainly not aged. He looked exactly as he did the last time they had parted. Spock knew that Kirk had been lost in the Nexus for seventy-eight years, so he wouldn’t have aged there, but if Picard had somehow been mistaken and Kirk had survived, there would have been eighteen years of aging, enough to at least have turned his hair completely gray, clearly enough to have worn away his Starfleet uniform. With a sinking heart, Spock accepted that this individual could not possibly be Kirk. Perhaps he was in yet another alternate universe, no matter that his bond was practically singing from being so close to what it perceived to be Kirk. Not-Kirk stepped forward, and Spock unconsciously took a step back, distancing himself. Kirk frowned, and Spock felt the illogical urge to move closer, to ease that devastatingly familiar expression from his captain’s face.
“What’s wrong? It’s like you’ve seen a ghost. Has it really been that long? At least say hello,” Kirk said, trying to ease the sudden tension in Spock.
Spock solemnly raised his hand in the ta’al. “Greetings, image of Jim Kirk.”
Kirk reacted as if he had been slapped. “I can’t believe you just called me that. As if I was Lincoln or Surak or the god damn Easter Bunny!”
“I have no reason to believe that you are the same Jim Kirk I knew for many years. You have not aged and it is likely that I am in a wholly different universe than I have ever visited.”
“Well, if you want to go by that logic, how do I know you’re really my Spock? I don’t know how long I was in the Nexus, only that Picard was the new captain of the Enterprise. You could be younger or dead by now, for all I know.”
“Then we are in agreement.”
“Indeed,” Kirk said, turning around and switching off a small, old-fashioned radio. Spock was both crestfallen and relieved that the soothing, jaunty music had ceased. “Except that I’ve felt pretty damn good for the last few minutes, and now that I’m paying attention, I feel the faint stirrings of that pesky Vulcan bond again. You know, we could argue and play the ‘is it really me’ game again, or we can just mind meld. It solved that problem when Janice paraded around in my body.”
Spock thought about it for a moment, then reluctantly nodded. “I was successfully able to differentiate between alternate Jim Kirks two years ago.”
“Hey,” Jim said, affronted. “Have you been melding with other men?”
“It was quite shallow, and he was you. Mostly.”
Jim pouted, but it was playful, and painful for all that it reminded Spock of how much he had missed this, even if this was not his Jim Kirk. Just being able to have hope again brought joy to Spock.
“I bet he was young and pretty. I knew you’d leave me one day for some young floozy. I didn’t quite know it would be me. I suppose you always had good taste.”
“Jim,” Spock said, gently admonishing. “You are the ‘pretty’ one in this room. I am an old man now.”
Jim smiled and sauntered over to Spock, reaching up and lightly touching the silver strands of his hair. Then he looked at Spock with eyes that were hazel, not blue, and said, “I see no difference from the man in front of me and the one who stood by my side through the best years of my life. Meld with me, pore through every memory I have, and you will know, like I know, without doing any of that, that you are the right Spock.”
“That is not logical.”
“Nevertheless, I know who you are. And so do you.”
Spock thought over the facts. This Kirk had met Picard, which gave credence to his authenticity as it was Picard who had buried him on Veridian III. His bond was alive with this Jim Kirk when it had not come alive when he had met Kirk’s young counterpart after the destruction of Vulcan. Where logic ended, intuition began. The shape of Kirk’s words, the weight of his stare, all of the physical, mental, and emotional factors that identified this man as his bondmate were all in place.
Spock smirked. “I am 96.7% convinced that you are Jim Kirk.”
Jim gasped mockingly. “3.3%? That’s a fairly high margin for error.”
Then Jim grabbed his hand and placed Spock’s fingers on his meld points with perfect accuracy. Spock hesitated briefly, not entirely wanting to know the truth, but then gently eased into Jim’s mind.
It was the precise opposite of the meld he had shared with Jim’s younger counterpart. While that had been a storm of two dynamic minds clashing and merging all at once, going into Jim’s mind now was akin to having an arm removed for years and suddenly having it back and in working condition. The weak, fledging bond was instantaneously healed. There were no words to describe the feeling of being a part of Jim again, to exist together in one mind. Their situation was a virtual impossibility, a one in a billionth chance, and yet here they were, overcoming the impossible. When Spock removed his hand, Jim reached up to him and wiped something from his face. Tears, flowing freely down his face.
“Spock,” Jim said, softly, his mouth parted in wonderment, the entire universe surprising him tonight. His mouth curved slightly, and he put his hands on Spock’s shoulders.
“Now you better give me a kiss right here, mister. I don’t care if a whole choir of Klingons beam in to watch.”
Spock was never so glad to follow his captain’s orders.
*
“Come on in,” McCoy called to the door of his office. Lt. Uhura walked in, and McCoy turned around and picked up a PADD he didn’t need so she wouldn’t see the panic on his face like he wanted to just run out the door. This was going to be a conversation from hell-he just knew it. Either she wanted to talk about Spock or she was joining the several crew members who had come to him with increasing frequency to talk about Jim since Jim repeatedly stonewalled every attempt the crew or even McCoy made to talk about his feelings. Both subjects would require no less than two shots of good Southern Comfort, and he was currently on duty.
“Doctor,” she said formally, not choosing to sit down. Probably about Jim then. “Leonard,” she corrected, voice softening. Fuck, Spock it was; she’d never called him by his first name.
“What can I do for you, Uhura?” he asked, walking around the desk to pull a chair out for her. It was an old reflex and he worried momentarily that she’d take offense to the admittedly antiquated gesture, but she simply sat down. McCoy sat across from her and winced a little at how tired she looked, sitting there like a doll propped up at a children’s tea party.
“Today was my first day back at my post,” she began.
“How did that go?” he asked.
“Not great at all,” she said, transferring her gaze to the floor, her hands held tightly in her lap. “It’s hard looking over at Spock’s station and seeing someone else there. I kept pretending that he was supervising experiments in the lab so I wouldn’t lose it on the bridge.”
“I’d think less of you if it wasn’t hard on you. How are you holding up? You’ve refused counselors, but I don’t really blame you for that either.”
That got him the saddest smile he’d ever seen from her; it looked more like a grimace. “Not good. Not good at all. And that’s why I came here.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve decided to open up about Spock’s dea-”
“I didn’t,” she said flatly, cutting him off. McCoy swiftly shut up, fingers itching toward the liquor stashed in his drawer. “I’m here because of Captain Kirk.”
Great, one bad subject after another. McCoy grabbed his PADD again, opening his records on the captain and adding a new file entry.
“So what observations have you made, Lieutenant?” he asked.
“This isn’t for the record. I wanted to just talk about him.”
McCoy raised his eyebrows in slight surprise, but dutifully put the PADD back on the desk. “Well, I’m all ears.”
“Kirk’s been on duty for the last two days, ever since he regained use of his leg and was medically cleared. I know that people handle grief in different ways. Some people need time alone, some need to talk about it, some need to be distracted. I’m a little of all three, and Kirk is definitely one for distraction. But sometimes people do things that they don’t really need, and if there was ever a poster child for that, it would be Jim Kirk. He shouldn’t be on that bridge.”
“Look Uhura, I know that. You know that. The whole damn crew knows that. But his efficiency rating is through the roof and he passed the official post-trauma psych evaluation. All these reports of Jim ‘acting really weird’ are not grounds for certifying him unfit for command.”
“The crew members who have been coming to you are obviously looking out for their captain. I’ve been hearing the real gossip on the ship, and it’s too close to mutiny to officially report.”
McCoy blanched at the word ‘mutiny’. He had no idea things were getting that bad.
“What are they saying?”
“That Jim has completely lost it. There’s talk of how to get him out of command without going through official channels. The worst part? I’m not entirely against the idea. Kirk has been acting more than just a little strange. The science team has had no luck finding any evidence of a doomsday machine of any kind, nor have we found evidence of any destroyed planets or ships. Kirk is not even considering other possibilities. It wouldn’t be the first time we received a fake distress message. He is determined, too determined, almost obsessed with finding this doomsday machine. He just blanks out sometimes on the bridge, goes completely still, and I don’t need to tell you how odd it is to see Jim Kirk not fidgeting or ambulating around the bridge.”
“So what you’re saying is that it’s possible that Jim is off his rocker?”
“All I know is that the evidence is mounting. It’s not his fault if it’s true; he’s going through just as much as any of us. More than any of us,” Uhura said, voice quiet on that last part. McCoy wondered if Uhura had suspected anything. Then he decided that she probably knew more than what he did, given that she had known how to read Spock better than he did and she had a god damn degree in reading body language. “But we’d be stupid to let a mentally impaired captain lead the Enterprise. We didn’t let Decker.”
“But this is Jim. No one’s used to going against his orders,” McCoy deflated, leaning back heavily in his chair and rubbing his brow. “As much as I argued with him, Spock was good for Jim, always arguing and laying out the facts when most of us were too caught up in outright panic to think clearly. Jim listened to him, and we listened to them because they balanced each other out.”
“Go up to the bridge,” Uhura said. “Just watch him for a while, see for yourself. I know he’s your best friend, but I also know that you’ll do the right thing for this ship. You’re probably the only one who can reach him at this point.”
McCoy nodded. “All right, I’ll go. But you’re going back too. I need someone to pretend they’re not holding their shit together so he won’t suspect I’m there for him.”
Uhura snorted inelegantly. “Who’s pretending?”
The first hour McCoy was on the bridge was pretty unremarkable. He’d told Jim he was there to subtly watch over Uhura on her shift, and then spent the hour talking about upcoming physicals and their health concerns as he watched Jim.
He hadn’t watched Jim for such a length of time since Spock’s death, what with Jim becoming a self-imposed hermit and brushing McCoy’s company off at every turn. Half an hour in, he started to see exactly why the crew thought the captain was losing his mind. It wasn’t that Jim was just acting differently. Odd behavior was expected with all the grief on Jim’s shoulders and no time to process it. What worried McCoy was that Jim didn’t settle on any one set of behaviors. Sometimes he would be like his usual self when emergency situations occurred; serious, circling the bridge, checking on all stations, generally incapable of sitting still. Then it was like a switch was flipped and Jim would sit ramrod straight in the captain’s chair with an uncharacteristic blank mask, eyes raking over the crew and incoming data and staring out the viewscreen in deep thought. When he bothered to speak in one of those trances, the changes in his demeanor were terrifying. A hapless Yeoman had fumbled a PADD, and Jim had cut a look over to her and said, “If you cannot manage a simple PADD transfer, Yeoman, I insist that you modify your duty roster.” The girl had left quickly in mortification, and McCoy suddenly knew what was off about Jim.
He was acting like Spock.
It made sense according to textbook psychology and the strangeness of Jim Kirk. Jim had just lost his first officer, his friend, and (god help him) whatever the hell it was they’d been for the last few months-all the flirting and lingering glances that meant they were more than just your average pair of fishing buddies. Jim’d gotten rid of his physical crutch, and now he was finding other things to serve as psychological supports; a mission rife with imminent danger and a case of burgeoning schizophrenia.
McCoy left the bridge, deciding that the evidence was still inconclusive. Over the next week he decided to interview crew members who hadn’t come to him, crew members that were either new to the ship or weren’t on the best of terms with Kirk.
Ensign Barges, Records Officer. “It was gamma shift and I was the only one in the mess hall. Captain Kirk came in, got his meal, and started to eat it. After a while, he started mumbling to himself. Then he threw his hamburger back to his plate and tossed the meal in the recycler, tray and all.”
Lieutenant Richards, Botany. “I passed him in the corridor and stopped him to talk about the mission findings. He looked sort of sad, so I reached over to touch his shoulder and he jerked away, hands shaking like he was on something.”
Dr. M’Benga, Ship’s Mortician. “He was outside the ship’s morgue at around 0200, leaning against the wall. There’s usually no one but me down there, being that most of the crew likes to pretend the morgue doesn’t exist, but there the captain was, leaning on the wall. I let him stay there, as I imagine he was just mourning, but when I came back out an hour later, he was still there. I asked if he was all right, and he said that he was fine, just wanted to be close to his body.”
“Close to Spock’s body?” McCoy asked the doctor, pausing mid-sentence as he jotted down notes.
“No, he said close to ‘my’ body. Like he had a claim on it.”
McCoy recorded them all, anticipating a line being crossed soon.
The anticipated moment came a week later. McCoy got the call in the middle of stitching up an idiot who got his arm stuck in a pipe in engineering. Captain Kirk was behaving ‘erratically’ and his assistance as chief medical officer was needed. McCoy handed his patient off to a nurse and hurried to the bridge.
When McCoy arrived, it was chaos. Currently there seemed to be a standoff between Jim and Scotty of all people, though in hindsight it made sense as Scotty was currently the acting first officer.
“Captain,” Scotty said firmly, clearly gone past his argumentative stage to his outright ‘I’m putting my foot down and that’s that’ stage. “You’re not of right mind at all. You need to stand down, sir.”
“I am not standing down when there’s something going on in my ship!” Jim yelled, a wild, feral light in his eyes.
“What’s going on?” McCoy asked gruffly, pushing past a couple of rubbernecking engineers.
“Bones!” Jim called in relief, brushing past a couple of security officers. He put his hands on McCoy’s shoulders, beseeching. “They’re not listening to me. I don’t know if it’s this area of space of if there’s some kind of intruder on board, but someone on this ship changed our course.”
“You gave the order!” Scotty said, arms waving wildly in front of him. “Just two hours ago. You sat right in that chair and told Mr. Sulu to take us back on course to New Vulcan.”
“This is true, Captain,” Chekov said, eyes sad and face downcast like he was witnessing the downfall of a hero. “We have all told you same thing. You asked for ETA to end of sector and went crazy when I said we were going to New Vulcan, like you ordered.”
“I would remember if I had given any such order, Ensign,” Jim bit out, making Chekov’s face fall just a little more. “Bones, tell them they’re being affected by something, because this is ridiculous. Why would I leave in the middle of a mission when I was given no orders to leave yet?”
“Lieutenant Sanders,” McCoy said hesitantly, hating what he was about to do with every fiber of his being. “Please play back the security footage from two hours ago when the captain gave the order.”
It took the lieutenant about a minute to queue the video and put it on the viewscreen for the bridge to see. The video showed Jim on the bridge, and McCoy grimaced in resignation when he saw that Jim was clearly in one of his Spock trances. McCoy watched Jim beside him instead of the screen when the audio of him giving the order played. Jim stared at the screen in horror, all the blustering and surety of before melting off of him.
“Fast forward the video,” Jim ordered in a small voice. The lieutenant did, and Jim watched the footage, eyes darting back and forth like he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.
“I don’t remember any of this,” Jim said in disbelief. “Not until I got up from the chair. I thought it had only been five minutes between getting that cup of coffee and asking Chekov about our location.”
McCoy stared at Jim. Two hours. Jim had been in that other state of mind for two hours without noticing a thing. With a heavy heart, McCoy touched Jim’s shoulder.
“Jim, you have to give command to Scotty. I’m relieving you of command under Regulation 121, Section A.”
For a moment Jim looked ready to rebel, to maybe risk court martial and refuse to back down, but he looked at McCoy hard, then transferred his gaze to himself on the viewscreen, staring coldly at them all. He deflated at whatever he saw there.
“Take care of her, Scotty,” he said roughly, walking to the nearest exit, shoulders slumped. McCoy set off after him, steps heavy.
“Aye, sir. Always.”
Next
-deleted Shatner scene from Star Trek (2009)
Spock was dead. His body lay five feet away, where it had remained for the past hour.
Whoever said that the dead look like they were just sleeping was either delusional or had never seen a dead body. Jim had seen his fair share of death in the two years since he became captain, but even then he'd never had the time or the inclination to study the deceased. Stuck in a cave with a broken leg and the Enterprise several minutes away, he had few other options for occupation.
The biggest difference between the living and the dead was breathing. Stupidly obvious, but also horribly accurate. Nothing moved. You don't realize how much a person moves until they can't anymore. In sleep, the chest will rise and fall, fingers will shift, the mouth can part, or the eyes may dart back and forth, in REM sleep. If you touch someone who is sleeping, their body will naturally react to the stimulus. When Jim had held Spock in his arms, he hadn't reacted to Jim's frantic shaking and pleas to any god that might be listening to intervene.
An hour had passed since the attack. The rest of the landing party had been beamed up before the Enterprise was forced to leave orbit on sighting a Klingon battle cruiser. Jim had broken his leg on a two-story drop after being chased to the edge of a cliff. He’d tried to make Spock run on ahead without him, but Spock carried Jim to the cave, angry natives shooting crude arrows at them from far away. They had been so close. Jim had only known that something was wrong when Spock fell to his knees, closed his eyes, and collapsed backward. There hadn't been time for goodbyes. Jim had barely seen the wound before Spock grabbed Jim's face and without opening his eyes or moving his head, mumbled a single word, and then went slack in Jim's arms.
It had only taken a half hour for Spock to turn pale, blood no longer circulating through his body. Jim couldn't see where the arrow had pierced Spock's heart, but he knew that there was a wound on the other side of Spock’s torso and his uniform was stained dark green, blood long dried and leaving the lingering acrid stench of copper in the restricted air of the cave. Jim only vaguely knew about what happened to the body after death, and what he knew was enough to rack his entire being with morbid torment.
The man he loved was decomposing. Jim had never told him how he felt.
He’d only known himself for a few weeks that he felt more than just a deep affection and passing desire for his friend. He'd been terrified of it, had tried to distance himself from Spock, explain it all away as a crush that was getting out of hand. When that plan had failed, he'd come to grips with it and even found a sort of peace with his illogical feelings. He'd thought he'd have time. Time to see whether Spock might feel the same, time to make plans to test the waters, time to find the right words and the right moment, all the time that the ignorance of youth believes that it's due, years.
A scattering of rocks at the foot of the cave tore him from his musings. He straightened, alert but helpless against an attack, then slumped when he saw that it was Bones and a couple of security guards. Bones noticed Spock first, hurrying over to check him over, but stopped abruptly when he got a clear view of him. He stood utterly still for a few moments, as if all the breath had been sucked from him. He turned to Jim.
Bones' face was filled with grief, worry, sobriety, compassion; it was the look of a man who knew that there was nothing he could do to help his best friend, nothing he could say that would ease the pain.
Jim turned his head away from Bones, knowing that it would do no good and he’d never forget what he saw in his friend’s expression. Abruptly, the thought made him recall what Spock had mumbled before he died.
Remember.
*
Spock keyed in the commands for landing, allowing the computer a few moments to locate a prime landing area. When it locked onto a site, Spock prepared to land the Surok on the surface of the time vortex planet. As the ship descended through the atmosphere, Spock reflected on the events that led him here.
Three months ago he had awoken in the middle of the night from a dream. Spock did not remember images or events in this dream, only that Kirk had been calling out for him. Spock had dreamed similar dreams during the first few years after their bond was severed, but his subconscious had since stopped seeking his lost bondmate out and the last dream of that nature had been decades ago. What was unusual was the fact that he was left with a familiar spark in his mind-faint, no more than a gossamer thread, but it felt like the smallest ember of a fire that had not burned in ninety-six years-his bond to Jim Kirk. Believing that he was finally going through the onset of senility, he rose and went through the motions of his day, performing his duties as a librarian in the newly-erected monastic library on the outskirts of the New Vulcan capital of Uzh’Shi’Kahr. Days and then weeks passed, and still the ember smoldered, never fading yet never blazing to life. For weeks he puzzled over its presence until another fire began to burn, this one far less desirable.
Spock had not undergone a Pon Farr in ten years. His last had been eased by meditation, having been nowhere near the intensity and madness his first several Times had been. But here he was, at this advanced age, feeling his blood begin to burn as if it were his first Time all over again.
There was nothing for it. Spock could seek help from the Elders on the matter, find a mate, but this was not his reality. The planet he lived on was not Vulcan, and even if Vulcan had never been destroyed in this universe, it would still not be the home world he had known. In the end, he decided that he had lived long enough-far too long. He would emulate Zefram Cochrane’s own solution for any one being’s intrinsic mortality-die in space, where he belonged. He spent all the credits he had accumulated on renting a small ship, carefully neglecting to inform the proprietor that his trip was to be one way. He sent a low-priority subspace message to alert them of the shuttle’s location, and in a few weeks’ time they would send for the vessel. He had no destination in mind, no preferred direction, so he did as his captain had done so many times, and simply chose whatever patch of stars felt right.
The Surok neatly landed in a large clearing. Spock keyed in the command to open the rear hatch of the shuttlecraft and, donning a traveling cloak for the harsh wind the ship’s computer warned against, Spock stepped foot on the deserted planet, the ruins of a city as old as one millions years. As he traveled, Spock inexplicably felt the broken remnants of the bond grew stronger. He had felt no particular surprise when the magnetic pull of his seemingly awakened bond had led him here, to the planet that hosted the Guardian of Forever. Indeed, there was almost a poetic symmetry to his connection with the Guardian. Edith Keeler and the jealousy she roused in Spock, leading Spock to discover that his feelings for his captain far exceeded those of friendship. Now here he was, at the end of his life, and though time and circumstances had changed him, the theme of love and death had come full circle.
Spock clambered unsteadily over a felled rock, straightening to see that the Guardian was now in sight. He pulled his traveling cloak close, attempting to control the shivers that wracked his body, the wind unable to cool the fever raging inside of him. His vision blurred from the intense burn of his blood. His breathing labored in the heavy atmosphere of the planet. Finally, he reached the foot of the Guardian, peering dimly into brilliant lights as it stirred to his presence and possibly his mind. Images of his own past played out before him, and he tried not to get lost in them, a barrage of firsts and lasts, of loved ones lost years ago, everything he had gained and lost.
“We meet again,” the Guardian intoned. “What is your purpose here?”
“I was led to this planet. Do you know why I have been summoned?”
“I do not have the answer to this limited question. I am the gatekeeper and do not control what is.”
Exceedingly vague and mildly insulting. As Jim had said countless times, some things never change.
“Is it true that your technology can only send one into the past?”
“I am the Guardian, and I am more powerful than your mind can imagine. Time is not linear; it exists on different planes, and all that was, all that is, and all that will be exist simultaneously.”
Spock considered this-a multiverse, accessible through a single gateway. Theoretically, Spock found it easier to believe that the Guardian acted simply as an ancient time machine. He also noted that it only did not know why Spock was led here. He remembered Kirk’s words from when they had first gazed upon this alien technology many years ago: Strangely compelling, isn't it? To step through there and lose oneself in another world.
“Can you take me to the presence that led me here?”
“The place is ready to receive you.”
A curtain of mist stole over the ghosts of Spock’s past, the Guardian prepared for entry. For a moment he hesitated at the threshold, the precariousness of his immediate future, the notion that he might be taken to a universe that could not sustain life, caused him to remember when he volunteered to shoot red matter into the supernova that later destroyed Romulus and how the other ambassadors had tried to talk him out of going on what was undoubtedly a suicide mission. The logical thing to do was to return to New Vulcan, seek relief for his condition, and eke out an existence that contributed positively to society.
Jim.
Now that the gateway was open, the bond pulsated in his mind, and it felt as if Kirk was waiting for him on the other side. Spock felt that mind, once so dear to him, sing in his own thoughts once again, and all doubt and fear left Spock. He was so very tired of being alone. There were worse deaths.
Spock closed his eyes, smiled, and stepped through the gateway.
*
A large portion of the crew was gathered in the main conference room, decked out in their formal uniforms, milling about the room, shaking hands and touching shoulders. Jim was braced to the left of the raised dais at the front of the room, supported by metal crutches, staring blankly at the small table someone-most likely Uhura-had set up. On it was a framed picture of Spock, his harp, a vase of flowers that were presumably cut and arranged by Sulu, and Spock’s dress uniform adorned with all the medals he had ever received in the service.
Spock’s body was in the ship’s morgue, mercifully unnecessary for the informal memorial service. Jim had insisted that Bones tell him about everything they did to Spock’s remains, which was probably not healthy, but Jim was beyond caring. Another doctor on staff doubled as the ship’s mortician, so while Bones himself had no part in the actual procedures, he kept himself up to date for Jim’s benefit. Bodies were usually kept in a stasis field for preservation, but Spock had been ritually embalmed in the traditional Vulcan manner, under Dr. M’Benga’s careful instruction. It would be a two week journey at maximum warp to New Vulcan; Sarek wouldn’t even receive the news that his only son and last surviving family member was dead until they were two days away.
The constant headache Jim had carried for the past two days intensified as the low, somber murmur of the gathered crew members filled the room. He hadn’t slept well since he’d been rescued from the cave and confined to sickbay for his broken leg. He knew that the crew was worried, unused to their captain’s silence. He knew Bones was worried too, even though he wasn’t calling it post-traumatic stress disorder or trying to get Jim in touch with his feelings. As soon as he’d set Jim’s leg and put the cast on, he’d broken out his illegally procured bottle of Andorian rum and poured Jim a shot, right in the middle of his sterile sickbay, and let Jim drink in silence. He didn’t think he’d have been able to get up again had Bones not been there, handing him alcohol and roughly grousing at him to not let the admiralty know about the bad influence Jim had on him when the atmosphere grew too strained.
Jim noted the time and was uncomfortably aware that he was a minute late. It was the captain’s duty to preside over funeral services and memorials. He knew that not a single crew member would blame him had Jim declined the eulogy, but, despite the slight shaking in his hands and a lead weight of dread resting in his stomach at the finality of the gesture, he couldn’t dishonor Spock by wallowing in his quarters and hiding from his duty to memorialize the life of his friend. He hobbled awkwardly to the edge of the dais and Bones was at his side in an instant, holding Jim’s arm as he went up two steps, crossed the stage, and leaned heavily on the podium. He nodded at Bones, and was left alone in the middle of the stage, a sea of colorful, bright uniforms woven with fine material and trimmed in gold, gathered for so shadowy a purpose. Jim hadn’t planned on what he was going to say, unable to bring himself to dash out some notes for this, but if there was one subject he knew without study, it was how much Spock meant to him.
“I thank you all for attending this memorial service for Spock, our departed first officer, science officer, and friend.”
Jim paused and looked down at the metal podium, momentarily unable to continue under the weight of all those grieving stares, echoing what he himself was feeling. His eyes alighted on the array of medals on the breast of Spock’s empty uniform, drawing inspiration from the vestiges. He eventually raised his head and continued.
“How can you even begin to honor everything a single man or woman has achieved in their lifetime? We all knew Spock to be the finest officer in Starfleet. While arrogant in regard to his staggering intelligence, Spock would willingly follow any order he gave himself, never believing in his superiority, even as a virtual genius and senior officer. But aside from being a great officer, he had an amazing soul. Two years ago, Spock lost more in a single day than most of us lose in an entire lifetime. You would think that would make him bitter, angry, unable to see the good in others. So many have accused him of having no heart. They couldn’t have been more wrong.”
Jim paused at the bold statement. He locked eyes with Uhura. Her face was worn and tired, but her eyes were resolute, strong. When he continued, his voice softened.
“Spock was a Romulan apologist who refused to believe that the entire race should be punished for this one group of rogue Romulans for a reality that wasn’t even our own. With the death of Nero came the death of Spock’s human want of revenge. Spock was also a pacifist. Only Spock could join a military organization, go on a mission in which a deadly monster is killing people, and then give the order to ‘capture it, if you can’. But when it tried to attack me or any other crew member, Spock would not hesitate to kill. Spock was loyal. We toss that word around a lot. We use it to describe a dog’s behavior. But the definition of loyalty boils down to faith. Spock had faith-faith in me, faith in this crew, faith in the soul of any lifeform to do better than what is expected of it. As you and practically everyone in the Federation knows, Spock and I didn’t get off on a good foot. Even if it was for a worthy cause, I effectively manipulated him into handing over the captaincy of the Enterprise, callously hurting him to do it. Most people would hate that person, would hate me. Spock came back on that bridge an hour later, willing to follow my lead. Even after the mission was over, when he could take any position, captain any vessel, travel to the most exotic locales Starfleet had to offer such a fine officer, he chose to stay. When Spock decided to give his loyalty, to have faith in you-”
Jim broke off, trying not to let out a wracking sob. A few of the crew gave him sympathetic looks. He continued shakily, forcing the words out past the lump growing in his throat.
“-it was for life. Spock would give everything for what he believed in. He gave his life two days ago to protect mine. I didn’t ask for it; god knows I didn’t want it-duty to the captaincy be damned. Given the choice, I would have given my life for his a thousand times over. He was worth ten of me. He was the best part of me, the best of all of us.”
The entire room was silent with the exception of a couple of people openly crying. Jim nodded shortly and left the stage. Uhura took his place, asking everyone to observe a moment of silence. Jim couldn’t bring himself to stay, wishing for solitude where he could nurse his broken spirit alone. As Jim headed to the door, Lieutenant Riley stood and approached him, reaching an arm out as if to place it on Jim’s shoulder but retracting it just as quickly.
“Sir,” he said in the quietest underdone. “I didn’t want to interrupt your eulogy, but there was a private emergency message sent to you from Commodore Mendez.”
“I’ll take it in my quarters, Lieutenant.”
The trip to his quarters was mercifully short, as they were on the same deck as the conference room. His decision to have Spock’s quarters sealed had been a good one; he almost unconsciously went into them as if they were his own. He shook himself and kept moving towards his rooms, thankful that the doors opened automatically.
Jim immediately switched on his terminal and sat in his chair, propping his crutches against the bulkhead. It took a moment for the commodore to come into view, as they were at least four parsecs from the nearest starbase and the further they moved from the starbase, the more difficult it became to lock on the Enterprise’s signal. Mendez was probably the highest-ranking officer stationed out here in deep space.
“Captain Kirk,” Mendez greeted, seated in a cramped-looking, standard office. He was middle-aged and thus pretty young for a commodore, which might account for the look of anxiousness on his face. “As flag officer of this sector, I am under authorization to relay the orders given to you from Admiral Komak. While Komack is unaware of the tragic loss of your first officer, I am certain he would offer his sincerest condolences as well as allow you and your crew to take an extended leave if circumstances allowed it. However, there is an unexpected emergency and the Enterprise is needed.”
Jim stiffened, wincing when the strain sent a shot of pain through his leg. “What kind of an emergency?”
Mendez relaxed. Clearly he was more comfortable talking about a mission rather than feelings.
“Two Federation starships, one Starfleet and the other Andorian, were involved in a science survey in Sector 21305. A black hole was being investigated. The last logs we received from the mission are garbled, but they indicated that a powerful object was attacking them, the words ‘planet-killer’ clearly heard.”
Jim raised his eyebrows and slowly repeated, “You believe that this could possibly be another doomsday machine like the one that destroyed the Constellation two months back?”
“We believe so,” Mendez said, raising his own eyebrows, clearing saying ‘I can’t believe this either.’ His face was grave, however, as he continued. “As you are the closest ship to this sector and have also encountered and destroyed one such machine, it falls on the Enterprise to travel to this sector and head off the machine before it reaches planets with lifeforms.”
Jim nodded shortly, eagerly. “We will be en route within the hour at max speed.”
“Your service will be honored in this crisis. Once again, I am sorry for your loss.”
Jim turned off the terminal then spent the next ten minutes giving the order to Sulu to turn around and sending the orders to Chekov to be announced to the ship, almost fiercely glad of the challenge. It was something to keep his mind from his increasingly dark thoughts and unpredictable mood swings. He would have to let Scotty lead the ship over the next three days until the cast came off, but at least now he had something to do.
He was still strategizing a half hour later when Bones came in to check Jim out. He spent the entirety of one minute perfunctorily running a tricorder of Jim’s injury, then seated himself in the chair across from Jim, regarding him in an affectingly casual voice.
“You know, you should be laid up in bed instead of sitting here fretting.”
“Lay around while there’s an emergency? It’s like you don’t even know me.”
“Oh I know you all right. Look, I know you have to follow orders and this is a bona fide emergency we got here, but I can see from a mile off that you’re pleased as punch to go hurtling into danger again.”
“Yeah, and water is wet. I’ve heard you complain about this almost every day you’ve known me.”
“Jim,” Bones sighed, and Jim tapped his fingers anxiously on his desk, knowing that he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. “Spock just died two days ago. You gave his eulogy an hour ago.” Jim flinched. “You were about to collapse from the weight of the world in front of most of the crew an hour ago. Now you’re keyed up and almost looking forward to jumping into the jaws of hell. I’m not exactly an expert in psychology, but I know avoidance when I see it and you, kid, are about ready to do anything to avoid thinking about the pain you’re obviously in.”
“Well, thanks for that therapy session,” Jim said, deadpan. “I think I’m doing pretty damn good, all things considered.”
“Jim, I don’t know what the hell is going on in that mind of yours. I’ve known you for over five years and I still can’t predict what you’ll do on a good day. All I’m sayin’ is that you might be biting off more than you can chew right now. That thing is several light years away; you could have talked Starfleet into letting you at least wait for back up before it got too far. I’m thinking you don’t want backup. You want to ram something down that thing’s throat, go out in a blaze of glory.”
“You think I’m suicidal, Bones?” Jim asked, scathing. This was like any other mission, and Jim was handling himself just fine.
“Most days, yeah,” Bones said with a trace of good humor before that vanished and he was blustering, “Except this time I don’t know if you’ll be able to pull yourself out of harm’s way. Or if you’ll even want to.”
Jim stared to the left of Bones’ ear, fists tightening on instinct. “If that’ll be all, Doctor-”
“No, that won’t be all, not until I’m losing air in my lungs-”
“Dr. McCoy. You will cease to pry into my personal matters. The captain has dismissed you.”
Jim heard his voice echo off the walls from the icy coldness of words he almost couldn’t control. Bones was staring at him with the oddest expression. The wind had left his sails, however, and he sighed before getting to his feet.
“I’ll check back in a couple of hours. Tomorrow I want you in for a psychiatric exam. Stay off that leg.”
Bones left. Jim buried his head in his hands, feeling the onset of another headache.
*
The first thing Spock noticed upon his arrival was that he was alive and in good health. This led to the second thing he noticed; his blood fever had abated. He was once again in full control of his body, the Pon Farr seemingly lifted. It was a welcome relief, despite the fact that it should be impossible. The third-and most important-thing he noticed was that his severed bond had almost felt complete again, like Kirk was standing right next to him. He had not felt this fulfilled and healthy since the day the bond was broken.
Spock surveyed his surroundings. He was standing on a dirt path in the middle of a stretch of grassland that closely resembled one of Earth in its vegetation and atmosphere. It was night, or a vague approximation of night, the sky an unending blackness with no stars or moon, yet the ground was lit up as if there was a full moon overhead. Most notable was a cabin that stood just over 100 meters from Spock, every light burning inside and pouring from the windows, washing everywhere it touched the darkened ground in a yellow light. The cabin stood alone on top of a small hill, possibly constituting the only man-made structure for miles. While the setting was familiar to Spock, the physical environment itself was quite unnatural. There was no wind, no trilling of insects, and no sounds emanating from the cabin beyond. The hairs on Spock’s arms and neck rose with unease.
He walked to the cabin at an accelerated pace, anxious to leave the disconcertingly quiet landscape. As he came within just a few meters of the cabin, he finally heard noise. A song was playing, muffled from inside the cabin. Spock couldn’t readily identify the song, but it recalled some of the music Kirk might have listened to on a lazy afternoon.
You know I can’t smile without you
I can’t smile without you
Footsteps echoed across a hardwood floor, which indicated that the structure was indeed occupied. Spock reached the door, discarding the notion of knocking in favor of a discreet surveillance, opening the door. Inside was a cozy living room, currently empty. A fire crackled merrily in the stone fireplace. Lanterns lit up the rest of the room, decorated in earthy greens, blues, and browns. The music was much clearer now and was emanating from another room.
You came along just like a song
You brightened my day
Who'd believe you were part of a dream
That only seemed light years away
There was water running, presumably from a sink, alerting Spock to the location of the occupant. He followed the noise, keeping close to the walls, edging toward an open doorway that led to a kitchen. He peered around the corner and felt a wave of intense vertigo. Kirk was standing with his back turned to the door, apparently washing dishes.
For a moment, Spock forgot logic, forgot his surroundings, and forgot his tenuous safety. For ninety-six years he had lived without his t’hy’la, and now his eyes drank in the sight of those broad shoulders, the graying hair, the mere sight of what he never imagined he could have in his life again, and he was lost.
“Jim,” Spock said.
Kirk whipped around, dropping the dish he had been holding.
“Spock,” Kirk said wondrously, staring at him in stunned amazement. “How did you find me?”
Still in shock, Spock could not answer. Jim seemed to forget the question, smiling brilliantly before his face morphed into slight bemusement. “You look different, though. Are you older?”
Spock did not respond, an impression occurring to him. Kirk had certainly not aged. He looked exactly as he did the last time they had parted. Spock knew that Kirk had been lost in the Nexus for seventy-eight years, so he wouldn’t have aged there, but if Picard had somehow been mistaken and Kirk had survived, there would have been eighteen years of aging, enough to at least have turned his hair completely gray, clearly enough to have worn away his Starfleet uniform. With a sinking heart, Spock accepted that this individual could not possibly be Kirk. Perhaps he was in yet another alternate universe, no matter that his bond was practically singing from being so close to what it perceived to be Kirk. Not-Kirk stepped forward, and Spock unconsciously took a step back, distancing himself. Kirk frowned, and Spock felt the illogical urge to move closer, to ease that devastatingly familiar expression from his captain’s face.
“What’s wrong? It’s like you’ve seen a ghost. Has it really been that long? At least say hello,” Kirk said, trying to ease the sudden tension in Spock.
Spock solemnly raised his hand in the ta’al. “Greetings, image of Jim Kirk.”
Kirk reacted as if he had been slapped. “I can’t believe you just called me that. As if I was Lincoln or Surak or the god damn Easter Bunny!”
“I have no reason to believe that you are the same Jim Kirk I knew for many years. You have not aged and it is likely that I am in a wholly different universe than I have ever visited.”
“Well, if you want to go by that logic, how do I know you’re really my Spock? I don’t know how long I was in the Nexus, only that Picard was the new captain of the Enterprise. You could be younger or dead by now, for all I know.”
“Then we are in agreement.”
“Indeed,” Kirk said, turning around and switching off a small, old-fashioned radio. Spock was both crestfallen and relieved that the soothing, jaunty music had ceased. “Except that I’ve felt pretty damn good for the last few minutes, and now that I’m paying attention, I feel the faint stirrings of that pesky Vulcan bond again. You know, we could argue and play the ‘is it really me’ game again, or we can just mind meld. It solved that problem when Janice paraded around in my body.”
Spock thought about it for a moment, then reluctantly nodded. “I was successfully able to differentiate between alternate Jim Kirks two years ago.”
“Hey,” Jim said, affronted. “Have you been melding with other men?”
“It was quite shallow, and he was you. Mostly.”
Jim pouted, but it was playful, and painful for all that it reminded Spock of how much he had missed this, even if this was not his Jim Kirk. Just being able to have hope again brought joy to Spock.
“I bet he was young and pretty. I knew you’d leave me one day for some young floozy. I didn’t quite know it would be me. I suppose you always had good taste.”
“Jim,” Spock said, gently admonishing. “You are the ‘pretty’ one in this room. I am an old man now.”
Jim smiled and sauntered over to Spock, reaching up and lightly touching the silver strands of his hair. Then he looked at Spock with eyes that were hazel, not blue, and said, “I see no difference from the man in front of me and the one who stood by my side through the best years of my life. Meld with me, pore through every memory I have, and you will know, like I know, without doing any of that, that you are the right Spock.”
“That is not logical.”
“Nevertheless, I know who you are. And so do you.”
Spock thought over the facts. This Kirk had met Picard, which gave credence to his authenticity as it was Picard who had buried him on Veridian III. His bond was alive with this Jim Kirk when it had not come alive when he had met Kirk’s young counterpart after the destruction of Vulcan. Where logic ended, intuition began. The shape of Kirk’s words, the weight of his stare, all of the physical, mental, and emotional factors that identified this man as his bondmate were all in place.
Spock smirked. “I am 96.7% convinced that you are Jim Kirk.”
Jim gasped mockingly. “3.3%? That’s a fairly high margin for error.”
Then Jim grabbed his hand and placed Spock’s fingers on his meld points with perfect accuracy. Spock hesitated briefly, not entirely wanting to know the truth, but then gently eased into Jim’s mind.
It was the precise opposite of the meld he had shared with Jim’s younger counterpart. While that had been a storm of two dynamic minds clashing and merging all at once, going into Jim’s mind now was akin to having an arm removed for years and suddenly having it back and in working condition. The weak, fledging bond was instantaneously healed. There were no words to describe the feeling of being a part of Jim again, to exist together in one mind. Their situation was a virtual impossibility, a one in a billionth chance, and yet here they were, overcoming the impossible. When Spock removed his hand, Jim reached up to him and wiped something from his face. Tears, flowing freely down his face.
“Spock,” Jim said, softly, his mouth parted in wonderment, the entire universe surprising him tonight. His mouth curved slightly, and he put his hands on Spock’s shoulders.
“Now you better give me a kiss right here, mister. I don’t care if a whole choir of Klingons beam in to watch.”
Spock was never so glad to follow his captain’s orders.
*
“Come on in,” McCoy called to the door of his office. Lt. Uhura walked in, and McCoy turned around and picked up a PADD he didn’t need so she wouldn’t see the panic on his face like he wanted to just run out the door. This was going to be a conversation from hell-he just knew it. Either she wanted to talk about Spock or she was joining the several crew members who had come to him with increasing frequency to talk about Jim since Jim repeatedly stonewalled every attempt the crew or even McCoy made to talk about his feelings. Both subjects would require no less than two shots of good Southern Comfort, and he was currently on duty.
“Doctor,” she said formally, not choosing to sit down. Probably about Jim then. “Leonard,” she corrected, voice softening. Fuck, Spock it was; she’d never called him by his first name.
“What can I do for you, Uhura?” he asked, walking around the desk to pull a chair out for her. It was an old reflex and he worried momentarily that she’d take offense to the admittedly antiquated gesture, but she simply sat down. McCoy sat across from her and winced a little at how tired she looked, sitting there like a doll propped up at a children’s tea party.
“Today was my first day back at my post,” she began.
“How did that go?” he asked.
“Not great at all,” she said, transferring her gaze to the floor, her hands held tightly in her lap. “It’s hard looking over at Spock’s station and seeing someone else there. I kept pretending that he was supervising experiments in the lab so I wouldn’t lose it on the bridge.”
“I’d think less of you if it wasn’t hard on you. How are you holding up? You’ve refused counselors, but I don’t really blame you for that either.”
That got him the saddest smile he’d ever seen from her; it looked more like a grimace. “Not good. Not good at all. And that’s why I came here.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve decided to open up about Spock’s dea-”
“I didn’t,” she said flatly, cutting him off. McCoy swiftly shut up, fingers itching toward the liquor stashed in his drawer. “I’m here because of Captain Kirk.”
Great, one bad subject after another. McCoy grabbed his PADD again, opening his records on the captain and adding a new file entry.
“So what observations have you made, Lieutenant?” he asked.
“This isn’t for the record. I wanted to just talk about him.”
McCoy raised his eyebrows in slight surprise, but dutifully put the PADD back on the desk. “Well, I’m all ears.”
“Kirk’s been on duty for the last two days, ever since he regained use of his leg and was medically cleared. I know that people handle grief in different ways. Some people need time alone, some need to talk about it, some need to be distracted. I’m a little of all three, and Kirk is definitely one for distraction. But sometimes people do things that they don’t really need, and if there was ever a poster child for that, it would be Jim Kirk. He shouldn’t be on that bridge.”
“Look Uhura, I know that. You know that. The whole damn crew knows that. But his efficiency rating is through the roof and he passed the official post-trauma psych evaluation. All these reports of Jim ‘acting really weird’ are not grounds for certifying him unfit for command.”
“The crew members who have been coming to you are obviously looking out for their captain. I’ve been hearing the real gossip on the ship, and it’s too close to mutiny to officially report.”
McCoy blanched at the word ‘mutiny’. He had no idea things were getting that bad.
“What are they saying?”
“That Jim has completely lost it. There’s talk of how to get him out of command without going through official channels. The worst part? I’m not entirely against the idea. Kirk has been acting more than just a little strange. The science team has had no luck finding any evidence of a doomsday machine of any kind, nor have we found evidence of any destroyed planets or ships. Kirk is not even considering other possibilities. It wouldn’t be the first time we received a fake distress message. He is determined, too determined, almost obsessed with finding this doomsday machine. He just blanks out sometimes on the bridge, goes completely still, and I don’t need to tell you how odd it is to see Jim Kirk not fidgeting or ambulating around the bridge.”
“So what you’re saying is that it’s possible that Jim is off his rocker?”
“All I know is that the evidence is mounting. It’s not his fault if it’s true; he’s going through just as much as any of us. More than any of us,” Uhura said, voice quiet on that last part. McCoy wondered if Uhura had suspected anything. Then he decided that she probably knew more than what he did, given that she had known how to read Spock better than he did and she had a god damn degree in reading body language. “But we’d be stupid to let a mentally impaired captain lead the Enterprise. We didn’t let Decker.”
“But this is Jim. No one’s used to going against his orders,” McCoy deflated, leaning back heavily in his chair and rubbing his brow. “As much as I argued with him, Spock was good for Jim, always arguing and laying out the facts when most of us were too caught up in outright panic to think clearly. Jim listened to him, and we listened to them because they balanced each other out.”
“Go up to the bridge,” Uhura said. “Just watch him for a while, see for yourself. I know he’s your best friend, but I also know that you’ll do the right thing for this ship. You’re probably the only one who can reach him at this point.”
McCoy nodded. “All right, I’ll go. But you’re going back too. I need someone to pretend they’re not holding their shit together so he won’t suspect I’m there for him.”
Uhura snorted inelegantly. “Who’s pretending?”
The first hour McCoy was on the bridge was pretty unremarkable. He’d told Jim he was there to subtly watch over Uhura on her shift, and then spent the hour talking about upcoming physicals and their health concerns as he watched Jim.
He hadn’t watched Jim for such a length of time since Spock’s death, what with Jim becoming a self-imposed hermit and brushing McCoy’s company off at every turn. Half an hour in, he started to see exactly why the crew thought the captain was losing his mind. It wasn’t that Jim was just acting differently. Odd behavior was expected with all the grief on Jim’s shoulders and no time to process it. What worried McCoy was that Jim didn’t settle on any one set of behaviors. Sometimes he would be like his usual self when emergency situations occurred; serious, circling the bridge, checking on all stations, generally incapable of sitting still. Then it was like a switch was flipped and Jim would sit ramrod straight in the captain’s chair with an uncharacteristic blank mask, eyes raking over the crew and incoming data and staring out the viewscreen in deep thought. When he bothered to speak in one of those trances, the changes in his demeanor were terrifying. A hapless Yeoman had fumbled a PADD, and Jim had cut a look over to her and said, “If you cannot manage a simple PADD transfer, Yeoman, I insist that you modify your duty roster.” The girl had left quickly in mortification, and McCoy suddenly knew what was off about Jim.
He was acting like Spock.
It made sense according to textbook psychology and the strangeness of Jim Kirk. Jim had just lost his first officer, his friend, and (god help him) whatever the hell it was they’d been for the last few months-all the flirting and lingering glances that meant they were more than just your average pair of fishing buddies. Jim’d gotten rid of his physical crutch, and now he was finding other things to serve as psychological supports; a mission rife with imminent danger and a case of burgeoning schizophrenia.
McCoy left the bridge, deciding that the evidence was still inconclusive. Over the next week he decided to interview crew members who hadn’t come to him, crew members that were either new to the ship or weren’t on the best of terms with Kirk.
Ensign Barges, Records Officer. “It was gamma shift and I was the only one in the mess hall. Captain Kirk came in, got his meal, and started to eat it. After a while, he started mumbling to himself. Then he threw his hamburger back to his plate and tossed the meal in the recycler, tray and all.”
Lieutenant Richards, Botany. “I passed him in the corridor and stopped him to talk about the mission findings. He looked sort of sad, so I reached over to touch his shoulder and he jerked away, hands shaking like he was on something.”
Dr. M’Benga, Ship’s Mortician. “He was outside the ship’s morgue at around 0200, leaning against the wall. There’s usually no one but me down there, being that most of the crew likes to pretend the morgue doesn’t exist, but there the captain was, leaning on the wall. I let him stay there, as I imagine he was just mourning, but when I came back out an hour later, he was still there. I asked if he was all right, and he said that he was fine, just wanted to be close to his body.”
“Close to Spock’s body?” McCoy asked the doctor, pausing mid-sentence as he jotted down notes.
“No, he said close to ‘my’ body. Like he had a claim on it.”
McCoy recorded them all, anticipating a line being crossed soon.
The anticipated moment came a week later. McCoy got the call in the middle of stitching up an idiot who got his arm stuck in a pipe in engineering. Captain Kirk was behaving ‘erratically’ and his assistance as chief medical officer was needed. McCoy handed his patient off to a nurse and hurried to the bridge.
When McCoy arrived, it was chaos. Currently there seemed to be a standoff between Jim and Scotty of all people, though in hindsight it made sense as Scotty was currently the acting first officer.
“Captain,” Scotty said firmly, clearly gone past his argumentative stage to his outright ‘I’m putting my foot down and that’s that’ stage. “You’re not of right mind at all. You need to stand down, sir.”
“I am not standing down when there’s something going on in my ship!” Jim yelled, a wild, feral light in his eyes.
“What’s going on?” McCoy asked gruffly, pushing past a couple of rubbernecking engineers.
“Bones!” Jim called in relief, brushing past a couple of security officers. He put his hands on McCoy’s shoulders, beseeching. “They’re not listening to me. I don’t know if it’s this area of space of if there’s some kind of intruder on board, but someone on this ship changed our course.”
“You gave the order!” Scotty said, arms waving wildly in front of him. “Just two hours ago. You sat right in that chair and told Mr. Sulu to take us back on course to New Vulcan.”
“This is true, Captain,” Chekov said, eyes sad and face downcast like he was witnessing the downfall of a hero. “We have all told you same thing. You asked for ETA to end of sector and went crazy when I said we were going to New Vulcan, like you ordered.”
“I would remember if I had given any such order, Ensign,” Jim bit out, making Chekov’s face fall just a little more. “Bones, tell them they’re being affected by something, because this is ridiculous. Why would I leave in the middle of a mission when I was given no orders to leave yet?”
“Lieutenant Sanders,” McCoy said hesitantly, hating what he was about to do with every fiber of his being. “Please play back the security footage from two hours ago when the captain gave the order.”
It took the lieutenant about a minute to queue the video and put it on the viewscreen for the bridge to see. The video showed Jim on the bridge, and McCoy grimaced in resignation when he saw that Jim was clearly in one of his Spock trances. McCoy watched Jim beside him instead of the screen when the audio of him giving the order played. Jim stared at the screen in horror, all the blustering and surety of before melting off of him.
“Fast forward the video,” Jim ordered in a small voice. The lieutenant did, and Jim watched the footage, eyes darting back and forth like he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.
“I don’t remember any of this,” Jim said in disbelief. “Not until I got up from the chair. I thought it had only been five minutes between getting that cup of coffee and asking Chekov about our location.”
McCoy stared at Jim. Two hours. Jim had been in that other state of mind for two hours without noticing a thing. With a heavy heart, McCoy touched Jim’s shoulder.
“Jim, you have to give command to Scotty. I’m relieving you of command under Regulation 121, Section A.”
For a moment Jim looked ready to rebel, to maybe risk court martial and refuse to back down, but he looked at McCoy hard, then transferred his gaze to himself on the viewscreen, staring coldly at them all. He deflated at whatever he saw there.
“Take care of her, Scotty,” he said roughly, walking to the nearest exit, shoulders slumped. McCoy set off after him, steps heavy.
“Aye, sir. Always.”
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