Chapters:

Chapter 1

He wasn't tired until he tried to stand up.  Which was illogical; he had necessarily been tired all along and only realized it upon attempting to stand.  Being unaware of his physical state was a failing he preferred not to tolerate, thus the initial impulse to deny it.

Spock often thought that being human must be exhausting.  They had so many conflicting reactions to basic information.  Attempting to reconcile or even prioritize those reactions would require a large part of the brain's processing potential.

He was willing to admit, if only to himself, that his opinion was partially a result of personal experience.

The occupant of the bed mumbled again.  Spock stepped closer in an effort to distinguish the words, still slurred by sleep or something else.  Jim's eyes were open, if unfocused, and he would assume the sounds represented an attempt to converse until proven otherwise.

Jim's mouth moved, and Spock could read his own name on those lips.  The words that followed were both audible and comprehensible: "We have to do better."

McCoy had recently upgraded Jim's prognosis from, in his own words, "probably not gonna die again, the stubborn bastard," to "might walk out of here under his own power if someone doesn't keep an eye on him."  Jim's lucidity was increasingly reliable, yet Spock still found himself unable to make sense of more than sixty-two percent of his remarks.

It was closer to the eighty-three percent he had formerly achieved than it had been since Jim died, but the gap remained vast, frustrating, and unnavigable.  For the fifth time in the last twenty-four hours, Spock resisted the temptation to bridge that chasm with a touch.  Jim had once granted blanket permission for telepathic intrusion in the event of an emergency, but this situation was unlikely to qualify.

So Spock was forced to make a verbal request for clarification.  "Better at what, Captain?"

Something that might have been a smile preceded the reply.  "Everything."

The echo of their exchange with Khan was troubling, though he could not justify the reaction with fact.  McCoy's complaints aside, there was no medical basis for personality transfer via blood transfusion.  If anything, Jim indicated he believed a certain amount of overlap had existed prior to his treatment.

"I am uncertain of your meaning," Spock told him.  "There are a number of activities you already perform with superiority."

"Compliments, Spock?"  Jim's voice was stronger now, smoother, and the expression on his face was unmistakably amused.  "This means you missed me, right?  I died and you totally missed me.  Bones owes me a drink."

Spock considered this.  To miss someone: to desire their presence when that presence was unlikely or impossible.  It seemed an inadequate phrase to describe the tearing psychic pain that had accompanied the loss of Jim's consciousness - forever, he had thought at the time - and neither did it seem relevant to the discussion.

"I do not understand," he said at last.  The confession seemed straightforward enough, and he was not functioning at optimum efficiency.  He would need to preserve his concentration for more important matters than outlining the shape of his confusion.

Jim didn't sigh, but he made a face that often accompanied that reaction.  "Of course you don't.  So tell me, how'd you draw the short straw?"

He was familiar with the expression, but he had no more idea how it related to "doing better" than references to acumen or being missed.  Impatient with a conversation he had waited seven point two hours to continue and still could not grasp, he said, "There are no straws here, Captain, but I could obtain one if you are in need of a drink."

"Babysitting, Spock."  Jim's more focused gaze traveled around the room before returning to him, though Spock noted the absence of the hand gesture that would typically accompany it.  "The short straw.  How'd you get stuck sitting by my bedside?"

"I am not stuck here."  Sitting was the preferable position, however.  If Jim had no immediate need of assistance, there was no reason not to return to his chair.  "I choose to work from the hospital."

"Can't blame you for that," Jim said, staring up at the ceiling while Spock edged his improvised workstation closer.  "Sucks to visit a patient who keeps falling asleep on you.  Bones bribe you to keep me from sneaking out while he's gone?"

"I have received no compensation from Dr. McCoy."  He hesitated before sitting once more.  Jim had called for McCoy or a nurse three of the last five times he woke.  "I will get you some water.  Is there anything else you require?"

This time Jim did sigh.  "Yeah," he said.  "Trip to the head.  Call a nurse if I don't make it, okay?"

Eight hours ago, Jim had been capable of sitting without assistance.  It seemed unlikely that he had improved so greatly since then that he could stand and walk on his own.  McCoy believed he would try, though, and Spock had seen Jim achieve many implausible physical feats against medical advice in the past.

"I will assist you," Spock told him.  "I am capable of carrying you, should you require it."

Not a sigh, this time, but Jim made a huffing sound that wasn't entirely a product of exertion as he forced his body into a sitting position.  "No offense, Spock, but I really hope I don't."

Spock stayed where he was.  Previous experience indicated that efforts to render physical aid before it was blatantly necessary would be scorned, even to the point of impeding progress rather than abetting it.  He watched Jim struggle with the sheet, with the bed, with his own body, and he did nothing.

When Jim's feet hit the floor, though, he put out a hand and Spock stepped into it without another thought.  Fingers curled briefly on his arm before clenching hard when Jim stumbled, off balance and too disoriented for the activity he was attempting.  Spock pulled him in, held him up, and waited for Jim to slide a foot forward before matching his step.

The room was small.  A private recovery at Starfleet Medical meant space for a bed and not much else.  It still took effort and concentration to maneuver Jim from one side to the other.  The strength necessary to support him was insignificant, but he wore less and looser clothing than usual and his still-healing skin was fragile.

"Thanks," Jim grunted when he braced himself against the door to the attached bath.  It was equally cramped, and Spock deemed it safe for him to attempt the necessary functions alone.  "For not carrying me."

Spock watched carefully as he navigated the door and the sink directly adjacent to it.  "Your thanks are premature.  You have not made it back to the bed yet."

Jim closed the door in his face.

Spock used the time to procure a glass of water and order a light meal.  Jim had been increasingly active since the removal of secondary life support, and his caloric intake had not risen accordingly.  Spock discarded the idea of requesting something for himself as well, reasoning that he would eat when McCoy returned in the morning.

Jim was leaning against the wall beside the bath when Spock returned.  "Just catching my breath," he said, in a tone that added not waiting for you and gave the lie to it all at once.

Spock told himself that he understood the meaning because he was familiar with that tone, not because prolonged skin contact made him telepathically vulnerable.

Either he was wrong or Jim was more observant than his physical state made him appear.  They made it back to the bed, Jim awkward and embarrassed by his weakness and trying not to show it when he asked, "Spock, how long have you been here?"

"Since you were moved to this room from Intensive Care."  Spock was preoccupied by his hands and his shields.  Specifically, the attempt to remove the former and maintain the latter.

"You mean that literally," Jim was saying.  "You've actually been in this room… what, the entire time I've been here?"

"In the ward."  He was no longer touching Jim, but the damage had been done.  His concentration, his studied indifference, his ability to walk away had suffered a terminal blow.  "My absence from the room itself was requested on six occasions."

Instead of protesting or expressing disbelief, all Jim said was, "No wonder you feel like hell.  How do you look so good when you're dead on your feet?"

Spock had no answer for that.  His shields were weaker than they needed to be, and distance would restore them most efficiently.  Distance was the one thing he would not accept.

"Sit down," Jim told him.  "You're making me tired just looking at you."

That seemed unlikely, given Jim's exhaustion as a result of crossing the room.  Nonetheless, it was tacit permission to stay close and Spock took it.  "You said we must do better," he reminded Jim.  "I will require clarification."

"Us," Jim said.  He ignored the sheet on his bed, stretching his legs out over top of it and sinking back against the pillows.  "The ship; everyone on it.  We gotta get better at our jobs."

Jim had never expressed doubt in their abilities before.  "I have not found anyone among the crew to be lacking in competence," Spock said.  "Is there some manner in which you feel we've failed?"

"It's not their fault," Jim muttered.  His eyes were closed now.  "We're fresh out of the academy, all of us.  No one to show us the ropes."

"Jim," Spock said.  "In what way have we failed?"

"Brace for impact," Jim said.  "I heard you give the order.  We didn't do it.  Abandon ship, you said.  We didn't do it.  We suck at following orders, you know that?"

Spock raised an eyebrow.  "It's my understanding that the crew obeys your own example in that regard."

"So maybe we're giving them the wrong orders."  Jim's eyes were moving behind closed lids.  Spock wondered if he wasn't falling back to sleep at all, but rather reliving recent experience.  "If we give them orders they can follow, maybe they won't question us so much."

Jim seemed to be missing a fundamental part of the equation.  "Captain," Spock said, and the address was deliberate.  "The crew follows your orders without question."

Blue eyes opened, studying him.  Waiting.  "You don't."

"It is my function as First Officer to ensure that you have considered all aspects of the situation," he said.  It sounded stiffer than he had intended, and he knew Jim would not approve.  But it was true and it was logical, and Jim's opinion could not be put before those two principles.  "I do not question your authority."

"Just what I do with it," Jim said.

That wasn't entirely inaccurate.  "If necessary," he agreed.

There was more to it than that, and Jim was still waiting.

"As you allow it," Spock said at last.  "You encourage the crew to think for themselves.  You have expressed impatience with our opinions in the past, but you have never required military obedience of anyone."

"It's not a military ship, Spock."  Jim wasn't looking at him any longer.  "And you didn't see me shout Scotty down over those torpedoes."

"They argue with you because they know you will listen," Spock said.

"Abandon ship," Jim said.  "That's not an order you argue with."

Spock watched him stare at something he couldn't see.  "You didn't follow it."

Jim scoffed, the pensive look gone and derision hard on its heels.  "I'm not ditching our ship, Spock.  Why would I even do that?"

If any emotional reaction were appropriate, certainly affection wasn't it.  Yet Jim's refusal to see the irony of his own argument was, at the very least, less aggravating than usual.  "Of course," Spock said.  "How short-sighted of me to assume that you would hold yourself to the same standards as others."

"I have standards," Jim grumbled.  "High standards.  Higher than yours."

"That is unlikely," Spock told him.  "You do not expect us to follow orders; therefore this is not a failure.  Where else do you wish to see improvement?"

Jim stared at him for a long moment.

Six, Spock thought.  What consequence it held he didn't know, but this was the sixth time today he had wished to understand Jim's motivation with more clarity than the spoken word allowed.  He tested the boundaries of his shields and found them sufficient.

"Safety protocols," Jim said at last.  "Where were the radiation suits when I was climbing into the warp core?"

It was no doubt the prolonged exposure to Dr. McCoy that made his first impulse sound very much like the doctor: where was your ability to reason when you were climbing into the warp core?

His second thought was more relevant.  "In the storage unit marked 'protective gear,'" Spock said.  "Directly to the left of the door you died behind."

"Really?"  Jim frowned in a way that made Spock doubt he had even looked for it.  "Huh.  Learn something new every day."

"Weapons training," Spock said, in lieu of something that would have sounded too much like anger.  "Your form with a phaser is unacceptable."

"My form is awesome," Jim retorted.  "You and that rifle, now, that's something else."

His training with a rifle was limited, so he let the judgment pass unchallenged.  "What else?"

"What, are you making a list?"  Jim squinted at him before seeming to conclude that yes, he was making a list.  "Okay."  The frown was gone but his gaze was no less intent.  "Okay, off-label tech use.  Scotty's modifications.  Your ice cube.  We gotta find a way to test that stuff before it's someone's life on the line."

Before losing a shuttle engine to an ash cloud meant snapping someone's tether and dropping them into an erupting volcano.  Time permitting, a preliminary flyover could have provided valuable data for a shuttle stress test.  It was unlikely that they would be able to perform a similar trial of the fusion bomb, making it more unfortunate that the most proximate sensor records had been lost.

"Mr. Scott receives his authorization for such tests directly from you," Spock said.  "Does he not?"

"Right, yeah," Jim said, as though he had voiced the entirety of his concern rather than just the first example.  "We'll need some kind of procedure in place for approvals.  You think the department heads would do it?"

Spock nodded once.  "They are the logical choice, having as they do the background to understand new proposals and the field experience necessary to judge their likelihood of success."

"Field experience," Jim repeated.  "That's where we're at a disadvantage."

Spock raised an eyebrow.  "You and many of your crew received field promotions upon which your current rank is based.  Please explain how this is a disadvantage."

"It's a disadvantage because we don't know what the hell we're doing.  We were promoted because there wasn't anyone else.  We got lucky, Spock."

The door chimed, and Spock briefly considered the benefits of getting up versus simply raising his voice.  But meeting a visitor at the door was the more secure response, and Jim had a surprising number of enemies.  Spock stood up.

Nurse Michi had brought the tray he'd ordered, along with an extra that was presumably for him.  He raised an eyebrow and she mirrored his expression.  "Good morning," she said.  "May I set up your trays for you?"

"I requested one," Spock told her.

"I brought one," she said.  "I also brought another."

"Hi," Jim called.  "Ignore him; he's being logical.  Did you bring me food?"

Spock didn't move from the doorway, and the nurse seemed to realize an explanation was required.  "Since you usually visit the commissary yourself," she said, "I assume the meal you requested is for Captain Kirk.  Given the lack of visitors after Dr. McCoy's departure, I further assume you haven't eaten since yesterday morning."

"A situation which is neither unhealthy nor unusual," Spock said.  "Why would you take it upon yourself to address this?"

"Because she's a nice person," Jim called from his bed.  "Let her in, Spock."

He stepped aside.  It was of little consequence, after all.  One wasted meal of the thousands served here each day was statistically insignificant.

While Jim's bed was being adjusted and his food set up, Spock wondered about his sudden humility.  It didn't keep him from engaging in constant flirtation with Michi, so it clearly wasn't pervasive.  But the uncharacteristic admission that he didn't know what he was doing had come twice in as many weeks - and Jim had been comatose for most of that time.

"Just put it next to the chair," Jim was telling Michi.  "If he doesn't eat it, I will."

Jim didn't get the chance to substantiate his claim.  He gulped down half a bowl of soup, saying little while he did it, and then dozed off between one breath and the next.  Or so it seemed: Spock didn't realize he'd lost time until he got up to remove Jim's tray and readjust his bed.

There was a marker next to Jim's plate and a note scrawled on his napkin.  About time you got some sleep, it said.  See other side for notes on our master plan.

The other side consisted of a numbered list:

1 - give better orders
2 - safety review
3 - weapons refresher
4 - enhanced tech trials
5 - airlock overview
6 - what the hell happened to auxiliary power?
7 - memorize ship layout
8 - run faster

Spock glanced at the nearest chronometer.  Almost an hour had passed, and he recognized it as soon as he knew it was gone.  Not before.  His performance was failing, hampered by too many sleepless nights and - loath as he was to admit it - improper nutrition.

He should eat.  He should sleep, but that was impractical, and eating was the higher priority.  Spock untangled the sheet on Jim's bed, moved the half-empty glass of water within reach, and covered the windows where the sun would come in.  Then he sat down and pulled the unsolicited tray across the chair in front of him.

He made certain to fold the napkin away where it would not be mistaken for trash.

Chapter 2

"I don't believe this.  It's like I've got two patients instead of one.  Jim, you gotta reconsider that reckless streak of yours; you'll do us all a favor.  Because your boyfriend apparently loses his goddamned mind when you die."

"He's not my boyfriend," Jim mumbled, barely managing to swallow the cereal in his mouth before he flashed a grin.  "Besides, you like seeing him lose his mind.  It's all for science, Bones."

Leonard McCoy was a good friend and an even better doctor, which was why he didn't listen to starship captains.  Especially ones that made a habit of provoking their mostly Vulcan First Officers into a violent rage.  "He's gonna go off the deep end someday and none of us are gonna be able to stop him.  You want that--"  He waved a scanner at Jim's head.  "On whatever passes for a conscience up there?"

"He'll be fine."  Jim brushed it off like he'd been dead the last time Spock went on a berserker tear, which, oh right.  He had been.

"You're an idiot," Leonard told him.  "You know what's wrong with you?  Other than everything?  You think people tell you the truth.  Well let me break it to you: they don't.  Spock's not fine.  You're not fine.  This whole charade is gonna come crashing down the first time one of you doesn't come back."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Jim said.  "Can I get some more cereal?"

"Can you get some more--"  He snatched the bowl away from the tray table.  "For God's sake, Jim.  There's a man sleeping in your scrub room because when he closes his eyes in the lounge they tell him to go home.  I tell him to go home, but he just looks at me like someone kicked his puppy and says he hasn't got one.  What am I gonna say to that, huh?"

"Aw, you old softie."  Jim looked way too pleased with himself for someone who couldn't get his own damn breakfast.  "I should have tried that years ago."

"You have plenty of homes," Leonard snapped.  "You have a new home every week.  You need to stop sleeping with people in your chain of command.  We're not running a generation ship."

"Everyone's in my chain of command," Jim said.

"Exactly."  

"When do I get out of here?" Jim wanted to know.  "I could be getting this kind of abuse pretty much anywhere else and it'd be easier to take."

"Easier to run away from, you mean.  And never, if I have anything to say about it.  Which I do, since I had to fake half your test results and explain away the other half.  There's no treatment option check box for 'brought patient back from the dead,' you know."

Jim still had juice, and he finished it before he answered.  "You could add one for 'invented resurrection serum.'  That's gonna look great on the resume."

"There's no serum," Leonard informed him, reaching for the glass.  "You must be high on regenerated cells.  Standard radiation treatment, that's what you got.  Leaves everyone a bit woozy."

Jim raised his eyebrows.  "Standard radiation treatment brought me back from the dead?"

"Barely dead," he stressed.  "Clinically, sure.  Nothing to write home about."

"Uh-huh," Jim said, eyeing him.  "Hey, you know, this whole thing's kind of hazy in my mind.  What with the fighting and the falling and all.  Maybe you'd better refresh my memory."

"Oh, I'd be glad to."  He'd be glad to give Jim a smack upside the head, but re-educating him would have to do.  He loaded up the antigrav tray with dishes and shoved it out of the way.  "Near as we can figure, you didn't seal that suit you were wearing when you foolishly decided to jump into a hot warp core.  You knocked out the only person with you, so who knows what you were thinking.  Not a lot of recoverable data after all the damage the ship took."

Jim looked like he found the story hilarious.  Which was probably the right reaction, all things considered.  "Keep going," he said.

"Maybe you didn't have time," Leonard told him.  "Maybe you did it on purpose because you needed the movement to climb; how should I know?  We had to pull you out of it to fit you in the cryotube.  Stone Age technology slowed the decay enough to prevent major organ failure, but we've been pumping you full of anti-rads and fresh blood ever since.

"You're welcome," he added.  "You’ve got an entirely new layer of skin by now.  You should keep your boyish good looks."

"About that recoverable data," Jim said.

"No power, no cameras," Leonard said.  "No cameras, no data."

"What about reports?"  Jim gave the door a significant look.  "You're not the only one who saw me afterward."

"Oh, did I forget to tell you about that?"  It didn't answer the question, which was mostly why he said it.  "New option on mission reports: Ops set up a pool for peer review.

"Basically a copy editing service,” Leonard added.  “Totally voluntary, of course.  You just get some help with grammar, formatting... little oversights.  Things you might have forgotten.  Makes it all look more professional."

"Bones," Jim said after a long pause.  "Did you tell Spock he needs someone to check his work?"

It was with no small amount of satisfaction that he informed Jim, "It was his idea."  The first time he'd shared this with someone, Spock had suggested, politely, that he shut the hell up.  And he had replied, much less politely, that pigs would fly.

"Turns out he feels bad about the whole demotion thing," Leonard continued.  "Might be willing to take some direction when it comes to not hanging us out to dry."

Jim looked incredulous.  "He said that?"

"No, he said your inability to communicate basic information threatens the efficacy of the command structure on the Enterprise.  What he meant was, he can't read your fool mind and he'd rather not be called a backstabbing traitor just for telling the truth."

"I told the truth," Jim objected.

Leonard snorted.  "About what?"

Jim didn't even look awkward about it.  He just looked stubborn.  "About the part of the survey that was uneventful."

"There was no part of that survey that was uneventful!"  Honestly, it was like talking to his daughter.  Only worse, because he knew full well Jim would never grow out of it.  "It was like all the surveys you think are too boring to finish, except this time the bomb you dropped to stir things up was an actual bomb!"

"The bomb wasn't my idea!" Jim protested.  "Spock came up with that all on his own!  I think he's been watching too many action movies; can we take away his choice on movie nights?"

"You know why he picks those holovids," Leonard said.

Jim paused, like he got that this was suddenly important but he had no idea why.  "Because Uhura's bribing him with sex?"

"Because he's trying to gain insight into your psyche.  You're the action hero, Jim.  Spock's trying to figure out what the hell you're doing."

Jim dropped his head back against the pillow.  "Well, if he ever does, tell him to let me know."

"Check the pool," Leonard advised.  Not because he thought Jim would do it, but because this was important.  "We can't say we stole someone's blood.  It's not worth killing for; that's how this whole mess started."

Jim stared blankly at the ceiling for a second longer than Leonard expected, but then he was frowning again and all was right with the world.  "Wait, what?"

"The guy who blew up Section 31 had a daughter.  She was terminally ill, he exploded the building, she magically recovered.  He said Khan made him do it.  Doesn't take a genius to figure out how."

He could see comprehension dawn: not about the Harewoods, though if it took Jim the rest of the day to find them he'd be surprised.  It was the creation of the serum he didn't want to divulge, and maybe now Jim understood why.  He couldn't make more without source blood anyway, and "resurrection serum" was a secret better frozen with Khan.

"Standard radiation treatment," Jim said, with something that might have been a nod.  "Got it.  And this is in the pool?"

"They're trying to put it all together."  The "pool" was a mess if you didn't know what to look for, and he guessed about half the people using it were counting on just that.  "Attack, structural failure, power restoration.  Without the computer connecting accounts between departments, it's just a whole lot of folks talking to each other."

"Well, if there's one thing we're good at," Jim muttered.

"It's not this," Leonard said.  "Look.  Jim.  Do you have any idea how long that First Officer of yours has been sitting by your bedside?"

"Since I was moved here," Jim told the ceiling.  "Minus the six times someone made him leave."

"Try since he brought Khan down with his fists," Leonard said sharply.  

Jim didn't move.

"He told you that, did he?  That the first thing he did after whatever goodbye speech you gave him was to chase Khan through the streets of San Francisco and pummel him within an inch of his life?  Did he tell you he would have stopped if Khan's life couldn't have saved yours?  Because I'm not so sure."

Jim rolled his head to one side and caught his eye at last.  "I'm not really in a position to judge, Bones."

"Use your brain," he said.  "Or what's left of it.  You lost it, you made a bad call, and Spock brought you back.  He lost it, he made a bad call, and you were dead.  No one to bring him back.  See where I'm going with this?"

"We make a lot of bad calls?" Jim suggested.

Leonard rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, no one's arguing that.  The point is, you're in each other's pockets and it's getting serious.  It's getting psych eval serious."

"I can pass a psych eval," Jim said.  He didn't sound surprised or worried.  He sounded bored.

"Anyone good enough to need a psych eval isn't stupid enough to fail it," Leonard said.  "I'm warning you, not threatening you."

"Warning me about what?" Jim demanded.  "That I do stupid shit for Spock?  I do stupid shit for everyone, Bones; that's not news."

"Spock doesn't," Leonard told him.

"He beamed down to a planet that was imploding; he damn well does!"

There was no arguing with the man.  Leonard tried, often, but it was more out of a perverse sense of masochism than any real hope of success.  He'd learned to work around it.

"The way I see it," he said, "you have two good options."  And a dozen bad ones, but no one named Jim Kirk needed to be lectured on bad options.  "Cut it out or make it work."

"It's working," Jim insisted.  "We're fine.  How are we not fine?"

"How are you not--look around you!" Leonard exclaimed.  "You died!  You died and he tried to kill someone!"

"Pike died and I tried to kill someone!" Jim snapped.  "I'm not about to throw stones!"

"He stopped you!  He only had all of us to stop him, and without you we weren't enough."  He glared at Jim, because sometimes the hairy eyeball could shut him up long enough to get in another sentence.  "The two of you are somehow, weirdly, magically balanced for all I know, but alone you're unstable as hell."

"Oh, please," Jim scoffed.  "That describes half the senior staff.  We're all a little crazy alone; that's what it means to be human.  Or whatever.  Alive, maybe.  That's why we have each other, right?"

"Captain?"  It was Uhura's voice, and her tone said that she knew exactly what she was interrupting.  Of course she did; she'd probably been chatting with her... Spock, while he and Jim yelled at each other.

"Sorry to interrupt," she added.  "We can come back later?"

Yeah, because wild horses could pull Spock away from this room.

"No, hey, Uhura," Jim said, waving a little in her direction.  "Good to see you.  Come in.  Spock with you?"

"I am."  Spock was at her shoulder when she came in the rest of the way.  "I trust you are well this morning, Captain."

"Bones thinks we're too emotionally invested in each other," Jim said.  "I want you to tell him he's wrong."

"It seems more likely that Dr. McCoy is correct," Spock replied.  "However, as I do not foresee the situation changing, the goal of his observation is unclear."

Leonard folded his arms.  "Spock, what have I told you about agreeing with me?"

"You have made several comments about our hypothetical agreement in the past.  Given the infrequency of these occurrences, I have not given any of them serious consideration."

”Uhura,” Jim said. “Do you bribe Spock into picking action vids on movie nights?”

”What?”  She seemed surprised.  He didn't know why; it wasn't like any normal person could follow Jim's train of thought.  “What does that have to do with anything?”

”Humor me,” he said.

Leonard watched with interest when Uhura glanced at Spock before answering.  "No, of course I don't."

But Jim was watching Spock.  Spock, who was crap at reading humans, yet still managed to figure out that a question Jim asked Uhura was really meant for him.

"It is true that I often request Nyota's input," he said.  And wasn't that interesting: when Spock was talking, she was "Nyota" to Jim as well.  "I rely on her knowledge of a variety of human cultures to inform my decision."

The triumphant expression Jim sent his way was the look of a man who didn't understand what he was hearing.  "Told you so."

Leonard folded his arms.  "Spock," he said.  "Exactly what kind of information do you request?"

Spock must be tired; his irritation was showing.  "I request guidance when it comes to an entertainment medium with which I have little interest and less practical experience.  As you have made it mandatory that we participate, I have sought the advice of Lieutenant Uhura in selecting titles that will benefit my understanding of your behavioral norms and rationale."

He hadn't gotten this far by backing down when he was challenged.  Especially not by a supposed scientist who couldn't even extrapolate where this line of questioning was going.  "Excuse me, Mr. Spock. My behavioral norms?"

"Your behavior, aggravating though it may be, is relatively clear to me."  Spock sounded positively frosty.  "I am less familiar with the background and motivation of other members of the senior staff."

Then, all unaware, he added the words Leonard had been waiting to hear: "Most notably the captain."

"Wait, what?" Jim said.  "You're actually trying to learn about me through--"  He didn't finish, instead staring at Leonard like he was someone else.  "How did you know that?"

"That every movie Spock picks is about you?"  Leonard smirked at him.  "Well, let's see now.  I'd say it's a combination of my finely honed powers of deduction, and the fact that it's blindingly obvious."

"As I have repeatedly explained to Lieutenant Uhura," Spock interjected, "the captain's cowboy style of diplomacy has its roots in a culture with which I am unfamiliar.  I am simply trying to address this deficit."

"If it's any comfort," Uhura told Jim, "he watched a lot of romantic comedies when we started seeing each other."

"Actually," Jim said, "I do find that comforting."  He grinned at her, and Leonard saw Spock open his mouth before deciding against it.  Clearly two hours of sleep wasn't enough.  He wondered what it would take to get Spock to nap on an actual bed.

"Hey," Jim added, and there was a glint in his eye that made sane people run and crazy people gather round.  "You're all-knowing, right?  Can you recommend a movie that’ll help us understand Spock better?"

Leonard raised an eyebrow.  Uhura must be feeling crazy today, because damned if she didn't smile.  "I think I can do that," she said.

”When’s the next one, anyway?” Jim wanted to know.  “What day is it?  Where’s everyone else?”

"The crew is on rotating leave while the ship is in dry dock."  Spock took the question seriously, but he didn't say "remaining crew" or "grief leave" which was more tact than he usually managed. "Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Chekov are visiting family, while Mr. Scott purports to be touring a variety of disreputable drinking establishments."

"Holed up reading," Jim said, and Spock acknowledged the correction with a tip of his head.

"It's Tuesday," Uhura added.

"You're not gonna be cleared to leave here by tomorrow," Leonard said.   "So don't get any ideas."

"Looks like we're meeting here," Jim announced.  "Tell everyone, tomorrow night at seven.  My choice.  Don't be late."

He was looking at Uhura again, Leonard noted. But he was talking to Spock.

Chapter 3

He probably shouldn't lean on Spock as much as he did.  Not that it looked out of place here.  Starfleet Medical might be the one place where he could be as touchy-feely as he wanted.  He was the patient, dammit; he could hang onto an offered arm if he wanted to.

Spock had finally stopped asking if he was sure he was well enough for "physical therapy" the third time Jim snapped at him for it.  It was less therapy and more a way to get them out of Bones' hair, but he'd take it.  He was as tired of being in that room as they were.

Or maybe he wasn't.  He'd been unconscious for most of it.  On the other hand, he was the only one who still couldn't get up and leave whenever he felt like it, so there was that.

"Hey, Spock," he said suddenly.  They'd made it to the end of the corridor, down two levels, and all the way out to a balcony garden 63 stories up.  Looking away from the Academy, and he was sure that wasn't an accident.  "You want to play hooky?"

"In what sense?" Spock asked, and it wasn't a no.  He was holding the door, supporting Jim through it, and looking perfectly calm all at the same time.  Sometimes Jim wondered what Pike saw in him that he hadn't seen in his own First Officer.

"In the sense that I want some food," Jim said.  "Real food.  Not the stuff you get in sickbay."

"Dr. McCoy has anticipated your request," Spock said, "and he has warned me against indulging it."

"Bones is pissed at me for dying," Jim complained.  "He's punishing me."

"Which is why I took the liberty of informing Lieutenant Sulu," Spock said, as though Jim hadn't interrupted him.  "I expect him to bring samples of local cuisine when he joins us later this evening."

"Spock," Jim said.  "You're a godsend."

"Perhaps."  Spock was gently steering him away from the only other people in the garden.  "Will you enjoy the view?"

It wasn't what he'd expected Spock to say, but then, not much was.  "Sure," Jim said.  "If you answer a question."

"I do not believe it is advisable to leave the premises in your current state," Spock told him.

Yeah, whatever.  It was like Spock knew him or something.  "Why are you here?" Jim asked bluntly.  "And don't give me a bullshit answer."

They came to a halt in front of the observation wall, a place that let in the weather and revealed the city spread out below them.  There were chairs.  Neither of them sat down.

"I do not know," Spock said at last.

"Huh," Jim said.

They were both staring down, but he could feel Spock raise an eyebrow.  "Is my answer unsatisfactory?"

"No," Jim said.  The wailing sound of an emergency vehicle, invisible from where they stood, whispered up and down the audible range.  "Just didn't expect you to admit it."

"You should sit," Spock said.

"You should tell me if me leaning on you is annoying," Jim countered.

"It is not."  Spock didn't hesitate, and Vulcans supposedly didn't lie, so Jim took him at his word.

They were still standing there when the wind gusted and Spock shivered.  Actually shook, the arm under Jim's trembling, and it was hard not to feel like a bastard.  Spock hadn't even looked cold on Delta Vega.

"You know what," Jim said.  "I think I will sit down.  You want a jacket or something?"

"The garden climate is not uncomfortable."  Spock didn't go for it, no surprise there.  But stepping away from the observation wall let the climate control take over, and he didn't shiver again.

Spock hovered even when they sat.  But he wasn't quite close enough to touch, and that loss of connection was more profound than it had any right to be.  Jim tried to remember when he'd stopped expecting Spock to leave.

"You don't have to stay," he said.  Because Jim had always been self-destructive, but stress made him stronger.  It was kindness that pushed him back into the old patterns.

"I am aware," Spock said, and that was it.

Except of course that wasn't it.  "You can't really be doing all your work from here," Jim said.  "Starfleet's gotta be breathing down your neck."

"I was ordered to report last week."  Spock was watching a patient in a wheelchair make her way across the balcony toward the observation wall.  "I declined."

"You declined?" Jim repeated incredulously.  "What does that even mean?"

"It means I chose not to comply with orders as they were issued," Spock said.  "An action with which you are intimately familiar."

"You can't get yourself grounded now," Jim protested.  "We need you!"

"I have been temporarily relieved of duty," Spock said.  "I expect to return to it when my family medical leave is exhausted, or when you leave this facility, whichever occurs first."

"You're using family medical on me?"  Jim tried not to smile, but as he relaxed it was a lost cause.  "Spock, I'm touched."

Spock did something that was almost a frown.  "It is possible that this decision... implied something, to certain parties, that is not strictly true."

Jim's smile widened.  "Implied something about us, you mean?"

"Indeed."

He shrugged.  "Doesn't bother me."  And to his surprise, it didn't.  

There were worse things than being that important to someone like Spock.

"Have you been on the ship's boards recently?"  It sounded like a non sequitur, but this was Spock.  If that question logically followed, then Jim figured he knew why.

"Does it bug you when the crew gossips?"  He knew the answer to the question he'd asked: it depended on what the gossip said.  What he'd meant was, when they gossip about us, and he couldn't guess the answer to that.

"The spread of useful information is efficient," Spock said.  "Wild speculation is impractical and counterproductive."

And they were back to bullshit answers.  "That's not what I meant," Jim said.  Which Spock knew perfectly well.

"I believe it answers your question," Spock said calmly.  "Crew speculation on the nature of our relationship is more likely to impair performance than enhance it."

"You think?"  Jim considered this.  "I dunno; everyone loves a good story."

"You think it improves crew morale for them to believe you and I are in a romantic relationship?"

He just said it, like it was something they could discuss logically.  Somehow that made it okay.  Less awkward, at least.  Almost easy.

"Probably doesn't hurt," Jim said.  "Keeps 'em from turning on each other, anyway."

There was silence for a moment.  Jim watched the woman in the wheelchair rest her arms on the low wall.  Maybe close enough to overhear, maybe not.  She probably had other things on her mind.

"That presupposes they will gossip about something," Spock began.

"They will," Jim said.

"And you feel that we are least likely to be harmed by being the object of their storytelling."

Which, okay, that was a good point.  "You have a girlfriend," Jim said.  "If Uhura doesn't like it, that's a problem."

"I'm sure she will comprehend your reasoning more easily than I."  Spock sounded amused, even fond, neither of which Jim was feeling at the moment.

"I'm not so sure," he said.  Uhura liked him, he got that, but she liked Spock better.  "I don't want to come back from the dead just to have her kill me."

"That is unlikely," Spock said.

Jim snorted.  "Have you met her?"

Spock didn't sound testy or confused when he replied, "I assure you, I was acquainted with Nyota before you were."

"Really?"  Momentarily diverted, Jim asked, "You know we met in Riverside, right?"

"She mentioned your encounter, yes."

He grinned.  "So you talk about me?"

Spock was unperturbed.  "It would be illogical not to, given the relationship we share as officers of the Enterprise."

"What do you say about me?" Jim insisted.  "Do you talk about how hot I am?  How brilliant?  How lucky you are to serve on a ship with me?"

"All of those topics have come up," Spock agreed.  "Though not usually in a complimentary fashion."

"That's more like it."  A lot of people on the ship weren't so lucky, after all.  "So you're saying she won't be mad about the rumors because there's no way she'll believe them?"

"Nyota has no reason to be swayed by unfounded speculation," Spock said.  "Whether she would be angry if she were is another matter, and one I am not qualified to comment on."

"You're here on family leave; it's not unfounded," Jim said.  "And how can you not be qualified?  You're the one dating her.  You don't know if she'd be pissed to hear you're dating someone else?"

"My loyalty has never been in question."

That was all Spock said, and it was all he had to say.  Obviously.  Because Spock had never--

A trick I learned, he heard Spock say again.  From an old friend.

"You cheating bastard," Jim said.  When he realized he'd said it aloud he added hastily, "Not you.  Well, kind of you."

"My future self," Spock said.

Jim nodded, but he'd made that leap pretty quickly.  "Yeah.  How did you--"

"He is frequently in your thoughts," Spock said.

"Not you," Jim repeated.  "I mean, not him, specifically.  Just what he represents.

"You snowed me," he added, because that wasn't the point.

"Perhaps you heard what you wanted to hear," Spock said.

"You know you never asked about her?" Jim asked.  He'd recognized Scotty immediately and he'd asked about the Enterprise, but he hadn't pressed for details about anyone else.  "Not once."

Spock didn't answer.  He'd tell Jim to shut up if he was tired of the conversation.  Jim probably wouldn't listen, but at least he'd know.

"Perhaps," Spock said, just as Jim was about to be more obnoxious and suggest they start a threesome rumor, "in that reality, I met you first."

Jim closed his mouth.

He thought about it, but it didn't get any less pointed in his head.  "Did you just imply that we might--"  He tried but he couldn't blurt it out.  "Wait, what did you just imply?"

Spock didn't look at him.  "I think you know what I meant."

“I think I have no idea,” Jim told him.  “You can tell me, or we can pretend this conversation never happened.  Your choice.”

Spock didn’t say anything, and Jim changed his mind.  “No, you know what?  It’s not your choice.  You need to tell me what you meant.”

The woman at the observation wall was moving away before Spock replied, "I am not unfamiliar with the expression of emotion in a romantic context."

"Obviously," Jim said.

Spock turned his head, and Jim looked over in time to catch his eye.  "An interesting choice of words, given how many people believe the opposite to be true."

"Nah," Jim said before he could think.  "If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that the people who don't know you don't matter."

"You once accused me of not feeling," Spock said.

"Only to piss you off," Jim protested, and how sad was it that he knew exactly what Spock was talking about?  "I knew it wasn't true."

Spock hadn't looked away.  "Did you?"

"Fresh out of a mind meld with your future self, yeah," Jim said.  "I had a pretty good idea."

Spock was studying him the same way old Spock had stared at him in an ice cave on Delta Vega.  "Emotional transference is an effect of the meld."

"Yeah," Jim said.  He didn't think about that.  Just as a general rule.  "You said."

Which of course meant he thought about it all the time.  He'd told Spock flat out--his Spock, the one sitting next to him--that telepathy was fine by him.  Use it whenever you have to, he'd said.  Do what you gotta do.

It didn't come up as often as he'd been led to believe.

"And what you took away from it," Spock said slowly, "was that I am not... unfeeling."

"Sure," Jim said.  Loneliness, yearning, loss; those were feelings, right?

“I require a more detailed answer,” Spock told him.  “If I am to explain a meaning I thought you understood, I will need to know where the gaps in your comprehension lie.”

Just like that it was a game, and Jim was tired of it.  “Fine, I get it,” he said.  “You won’t give me a straight answer because you think I won’t give you one.  I will, though.  I just didn’t think you’d want to hear what I was gonna say, and I actually care what you think, sometimes, so I kept my mouth shut.”

“I speculate,” Spock said, “that I didn’t ask about the well-being of my romantic partner because he was standing in front of me.”

It was weird to hear him say it, but it wasn’t shocking enough to derail Jim’s indignation.  “I think you just admitted that if you met me first, you’d be dating me instead of Uhura.”

Spock didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as change position or look anywhere but right at Jim.  “That is an accurate summation of my intended meaning.”

For the first time in months, the stare was a little surprising.  “Okay, so.”

And he had no idea where to go from here.  He’d thought this was the thing, the thing they would never talk about, the thing he knew and Spock would deny.  He’d thought ignoring it was the best shot any of them had at keeping the Enterprise.

He’d thought being Spock’s friend was the best thing he’d never deserved, and if Spock let him flirt like he did, then they were going to have the best working relationship in history.  Because Spock was safe.

With one sentence, Spock had become something he could lose.

He didn’t realize he was staring at the wall again until he said, “I don’t know what to do with that,” and he couldn’t see Spock’s reaction.

“Nor I,” Spock agreed.

Well, then they were screwed.  Jim didn’t do this relationship crap, and his best friend was defined by the end of one.  The only person he knew who had a successful long-term commitment to anyone was Spock’s girlfriend.

“This changes nothing,” Spock said, which, no.  If it didn’t change anything they wouldn’t be screwed, but it did and they were.  “Yet I see that lack of change very differently now.”

“I liked how things were.”  He didn’t know why he said it, except it was so important that he’d known it.  He’d known it even while it was happening: that the year after the Enterprise’s commission was the best year of his life.  “I know it sucked for you, it’s hard--it’s still hard, I get that.  But it was so great for me.”

“Jim,” Spock said.  “They will give the Enterprise back to you.”

“I wouldn’t,” he said, and it was as honest as he’d been since he’d woken up.  “I almost destroyed her, and for what?  To start a war with the Klingons?  To get half our crew killed?  I don’t deserve that ship.”

“Be that as it may,” Spock said.  “We need you.”

There were clouds on the horizon, thin and wispy and glowing bright over the observation wall.  Like the sun had nothing else to do but light them up.  He wondered about the Federation flagship in spacedock, if the starlight was as kind to her broken wings.

“It’s not a choice between you and someone better,” Spock said.  “There is no one better.  If you will not fight for the Enterprise, then you consign her to someone who cares less, and that is unacceptable.”

He had to smile, glancing sideways in acknowledgement but still unable to meet that gaze directly.  “What’d I do to win your loyalty, Spock?”

“You offered yours.”  It wasn’t clear whether that was an explanation or a counter-argument.  “You said you liked how things were.  You also saw how they might have been.  Were they worse?”

“No,” Jim said.  “No, of course they weren’t.  No Nero.  No Romulan War.  We still had Vulcan; of course it was better.”

“I was not referring to the direction of galactic events,” Spock said.

He looked at Spock, mostly to make sure that yeah, he’d really just said that.  “Then what were you referring to?”

Spock was watching him.  For all he knew, Spock had been watching him the whole time.  “I would like to know that our relationship did not displease you.”

“No,” Jim said, startled.  “It's cool.  I mean--”

He hadn’t been hiding his surprise when Spock said he could express romantic emotions or whatever.  He wasn’t surprised.  He knew, right?  He’d heard Spock tell Uhura things in public that most guys couldn’t say in bed.  But he’d never expected to be having those conversations with Spock himself.

“Look,” he said.  You were single there, he thought, but what he said was, “I was a good guy in that reality, okay?  I was better.”

“I find that unlikely,” Spock said.

Jim eyed him.  “You’re being really nice to me,” he said.  “I’m not actually dying again, am I?  Did Bones make you promise not to tell me?”

Spock raised an eyebrow.  “I am not the one who pressed this issue.”

“You’re the one who brought it up.”  Jim stared at him, but Spock didn’t look away.  “What do you want me to do, Spock?  Ask you out?  Challenge your girlfriend to a duel?  She’ll win, you know; Hikaru’s been coaching her.”

Spock didn’t look impressed.  “Such a strategy would be counterproductive, precluding as it does the possibility of the desired outcome.”

“What is the desired outcome?” Jim wanted to know.  “Where do we even go with this?”

“I would like to know you better,” Spock said.

Jim snorted.  “Well, all you have to do is ask.  You don’t have to break up with anyone for that.”

“I think,” Spock said, quieter all of a sudden, “that is not my decision to make.”

Chapter 4

She stopped by the gift shop on her way in.  Not because Kirk deserved anything after dying on them, but because she heard Pavel's voice and that was enough.  He and Hikaru had been on the other side of the world for the last four days, and she still didn't know if they'd intended to come back today or if Leonard's message had changed their plans.

"He doesn't need balloons," Hikaru was saying by the time she walked through the door.  "He's getting discharged tomorrow; what's he going to do with them?"

"Eweryone likes balloons," Pavel insisted.  "Uhura!  Do you not think ve should get the keptin balloons!"

"Hey, guys," she said with a smile.  "I think he'd love some balloons.  Maybe those pink ones.  With the teddy bears on them."

"No teddy bears," Hikaru said.  "That's where I draw the line."

"I'm not sure he vould enjoy pink," Pavel said doubtfully.

"Oh, no, he would," Nyota told them.  "He likes pink a lot.  After purple it's his favorite color."

Pavel brightened.  "Ve could bring him purple balloons!"

"As long as they don't have teddy bears on them," Hikaru agreed.  He gave her a calm look that nonetheless said, you are a terrible person.

She smiled again.  "How was your leave?"

"It was good," he said.  His expression didn't change.  "We saw all the great Russian landmarks."

Nyota heard what he didn't say, which was anything about Pavel's mom, and this time she knew better than to ask.  "Well, you had the perfect guide," she said.

"Yes," Pavel agreed.  "I am promised a tour of ze great state of California in return."

"Oh really," she said, not bothering to hide the smirk she gave Hikaru.  "That's so nice of you, Hikaru."

"Shut up," he told her.

"It's wery nice of him," Pavel said firmly.  "Ve vill wisit his family zis veekend.  Ve spoke to zem on ze comm and zey seem wery kind."

"You'll be the first friend I've had in years that they actually like," Hikaru told him.  "My brother's going to be disappointed."

"I could pretend to be horrible, if zat vould help," Pavel offered.

"Get some balloons," Hikaru told him.  "The longer we stand here, the more Uhura's going to laugh at us."

"She is a bad friend," Pavel agreed.  "How many should ve get?  Von from each of us?  Mebbe two from her; ve vould not vant ze keptin to zink she doesn't care."

"I don't know why we're friends," Nyota told them.

"Neither do we," Hikaru said.  "What are we watching, anyway?  I heard the captain made you pick."

"Wings of War," she said.

He frowned a little.  "Is that the one where angels use the sun to fry the planet?"

"Unprecedented solar flares overwhelm the magnetosphere and disable the planetary power grid," she said.  "People who didn't exist before the flares appear and integrate into the population.  No one knows if they're good guys or bad."

"So it's apocalyptic," Hikaru said.

"Wery cheery," Pavel added as he took the balloons to the counter.

"There aren't any guns," she said.  "No broadside battles, no collapsing buildings, and no radiation poisoning.  Our 'avoid' list is getting longer."

"Are guns on it now?" Pavel asked over his shoulder.  "Zat is going to be difficult."

"No, guns are okay," she said.  "This one just happens to not have any."

"Is Dr. Marcus coming?" Hikaru asked, and she paused.

"You know," she said after a moment.  "I'm not sure."

They hadn't had a movie night since Carol Marcus had forged her way onto the ship.  As Science Officer--which was formerly, and maybe currently, Spock's de facto position--she would have been required to attend.  It hadn't come up, and now that she'd been suspended for falsifying her transfer Nyota wasn't sure she was invited.

Pavel joined them with a bouquet of seven purple balloons, and Hikaru picked up an academy duffel bag that probably held alcohol.  Unless he was trying to sneak unlabeled food past the nurses.  She supposed if she didn't ask, she wouldn't be complicit.

"Do ve need to ask vhere he is?" Pavel asked.  Watching him walk across the lobby with purple balloons was totally worth it, she thought.

"No," she said.  "I know where we're going."

"How's Spock?" Hikaru asked.  "How long did he stay?"

"Spock's still here," she said.

Hikaru just nodded, but Pavel looked at her in surprise.  "Commander Spock has returned ewery day?"

"He hasn't left," Nyota said.  "As far as I know, he's been in this building for two and a half weeks."

There was a moment of silence while they waited for the lift.  A wheelchair went by behind them, and a group of aliens chattering in something she didn't recognize passed in the other direction.  The lift beside them chimed.  They waited for someone in scrubs and two beings in street clothes to exit, and then they had the space to themselves.

"Floor 65," she told the lift.  The numbers above the door began to climb.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Hikaru said.  "Did you say he hasn't left?  Is that even allowed?"

Nyota let herself sigh, then, because he wasn't the first one to wonder.  "I think Leonard's smoothing it over," she said.  "He gets special consideration for the Vulcan thing."

"Uh," Pavel began.  "He is not listed on actiwe duty?  He is burning personal time, no?"

"Yes," she said, folding her arms.  "He put in for family medical leave.  And he got it."

"He got it?" Hikaru repeated.  "I thought they were pretty strict about that."

She shrugged.  "Apparently not."

"Mebbe because of Wulcan?" Pavel suggested.  "I mean, not its destruction, but.  I thought zeir legal definition of family was… more difficult to translate."

She laughed, but not because it was funny.  "Trust me," she said.  "If Kirk met the Vulcan definition of family, we'd know."  She wanted to say, I'd know, but she had a feeling the days of standing alone at Spock's side were over.

No one said anything else until the doors opened.  She led them down the hallway past the nurses' station without another word.  She didn't begrudge Spock his quiet but complete breakdown, and although it was technically Kirk's fault that he'd died she couldn't actually hold it against him.  Which she didn't appreciate, because who was she supposed to resent for disrupting the group's already tumultuous friendship?

"There's nae room for that, is there!"  Scotty must have gotten there before them, because his voice drifted down the hall ahead of them.  "Ye cannae just grab anything ye want; the dimensions of the room are fixed."

"The dimensions will admit this piece of furniture."  Spock didn't sound like he was arguing.  He also didn't sound like he was doing heavy lifting, but then, to him it probably wasn't heavy.  She caught Scotty's eye as Spock turned away, and she smiled at his exasperation.

"Hey, lass," he said, relaxing just enough that he looked friendly.  "How've ye been?  Lads," he added, nodding at Hikaru and Pavel without waiting for her to answer.  "Doin' the carryin', I see.  What are those atrocities?"

"For the keptin," Pavel said.  He tugged on the balloons helpfully, as though they needed to bob to draw attention.  "He likes the color purple."

"Is that so."  Scotty frowned at Hikaru, who held up his hands to ward off the glare, so he turned it on Nyota.  "This yer doin', then?"

"Everyone likes balloons," she told him.

"Aye," Scotty said.  "I see how it is."

"We require two more chairs," Spock said, coming up behind him again.  The chair must have fit.  "Good evening, Nyota.  Gentlemen."

"Sir," Hikaru said.

"Commander," Pavel said at the same time.  "Ve are taking zes to ze keptin, after vich ve vill be happy to help vith ze chairs."

"That is unnecessary," Spock said.  "Mr. Scott and I are capable of completing the arrangements."

"Can I help?" Nyota asked, looking around.  Hikaru was trailing after Pavel, glancing back at her before they went through Kirk's scrub room.  "Are we allowed to take these chairs?"

"We have obtained permission from the head nurse on duty," Spock told her.  "On the condition that we return them to their previous location before departing for the night."

"Oh, well, that explains your chair," she said without thinking.  She meant it to be funny, but as soon as it was out she wondered if she would just make things worse.  Were they supposed to ignore Spock's behavior, or try to make him talk about it?

He only lifted an eyebrow and replied, "Indeed."

"How are you?" she blurted out.  Because if she couldn't talk to him, then she didn't know who she could talk to.

"I am…"  He actually hesitated.  She heard Scotty grunt and bang into a corner as he tried to stealthily drag a chair away.  "Not functioning optimally."

"What do you need?"  They didn't baby each other, but they'd always been able to draw lines around the things that mattered.

Spock lifted his head, and she knew that look.  On anyone else it would have meant squaring their shoulders, but his spine was already straight.  The impression of a shift was a human affectation from before she'd met him.  She didn't know where it had come from, or if he was even aware of it.

"I would speak with you," he said.  "On a personal matter."

Nyota stared at him.  "Spock," she said.  "It's tacky to break up with someone right before a party."

He froze.  "Is it?"

She'd thought she was ready for this, but she wasn't.  She wasn't ready at all.  "Are you breaking up with me?"

"No?"  It came out like a question, and she didn't know whether to laugh or snap at him.

"Tell me the truth," she said.  "I don't care if it's tacky."

"No," he repeated.  "I do not wish to terminate our relationship.  I find it satisfying and mutually productive."

"Then what?" she asked.  She couldn't help noticing that Hikaru had come out to help Scotty get the chair through the doorway, but no one had come back for another one.

Spock put his hands behind his back.  "I wish to see someone else."

And they were breaking up again.  "Instead of me," she said.  Just to be clear.

"No," he said, but the tiny hesitation reminded her that someone was teaching him tact.

"Let's sit down," she said, because the other option was to throw up her hands and walk away.  If he'd been human, that hesitation might have meant yes.  It might have meant I think we should take a break.  Hell, it might have meant how do you feel about threesomes?

He wasn't human, and she wasn't sure if that made it more or less confusing.

He sat down when she did, next to her but at an angle. When she turned her chair they were almost facing each other, and she wondered--not for the first time--if his mother had taught him to look at people when they spoke, or if he had copied the manner from other human women.  The familiar curiosity let her breathe again.

"Is it Kirk?" she asked bluntly.

"Yes," Spock said.

She waited, but she wasn't sure which of them she was waiting for.  She didn't know what to say to that.  She'd always assumed that when they ultimately, inevitably parted ways, it would be a reasoned decision that could be explained and justified and most importantly, understood.

"What do you need from me?" Nyota asked at last.  "Permission?"

"I need you," he said slowly, "to… know.  I need--a redefinition of our relationship.  Based on new parameters."

"What parameters?"  The question came out sharper than she would have liked.

"Jim is amenable to consideration," he said.  "I would like to spend time with him.  With the intent of that time being to assess the feasibility of a romantic relationship."

"Amenable to consideration?" she repeated.  "Tell me what that means."

"When explicitly confronted with the possibility that our counterparts in the alternate reality were romantically involved," Spock said, "he was not displeased."

Nyota found herself waiting again, but he didn't continue.

"And?" she prompted.  "He wasn't displeased, as in, he was unbearably smug and made a rude hand gesture, or he wasn't displeased as in, he did his 'aw shucks I'm just a farmboy' routine and tried to hold your hand?"

"When I asked if the idea displeased him," Spock told her, "he said no."

She stared at him.  "That's what makes you think he's interested?"

He looked back at her, expressionless, and she'd barely finished speaking when she realized how awful it sounded.  "I'm sorry," she said quickly.  She reached out without thinking, putting her hand over his.  "I'm so sorry; that's not what I meant."

"It is true," Spock said, looking down at their joined hands, "that I find it difficult to follow discussions of an emotional nature."

"No, I shouldn't have said that."  It was just that Spock, reasonable Spock with his logic and his observations and his scientific method…  She'd never seen him want something so much that he would take an uncalculated risk.

Well.  Almost never.

"Look," she said.  "It's pretty clear he's interested.  He's probably wanted you since you stood up for him to Pike; he's got a thing about authority figures that listen.  I just wondered what happened today that made you suddenly notice."

Or care, she added silently.  Because she'd known he was fascinated by Kirk the first time Spock talked about him.  She was fascinated too.  Everyone was; Kirk just had that spark, that… whatever it was that made people look twice.

But there were plenty of fascinating people out there, and Spock had never come to her looking downcast and hesitant before.

When he spoke, it was so quiet that she leaned closer to hear.  "When I thought him dead," Spock whispered, "I regretted things I did not understand."

She didn't know what to say.

"I have felt such regret before," he continued, and she could just barely make out the words.  "But my mother is still gone.  Jim is not."

She nodded even though he wasn't looking at her, and then suddenly he was.  "I feel I must try," he said softly.

Nyota pressed her lips together, because there was pain, and there was heartbreak, and then there was the loneliness she saw in Spock.  She didn't know how to make it go away, but if he was willing to do something, anything, then she wouldn't stand in his way.  Of course she wouldn't.

"I want you to," she murmured.  "Tell me if there's anything I can do, okay?"  Other than threatening to kill Kirk if he messed this up.  Spock didn't need to know about that.

"You are doing it," he said, just as quietly.

She tried to smile.

Spock lifted his head, staring across the hall--at nothing, she thought, until she followed his gaze.  Leonard was standing there, arms folded, braced against the doorframe.  She wondered how long he'd been there.

"Hi," Leonard said, not moving.  "You get all that mushy stuff out of your system?  'Cause this is a team night, and last I checked, you're both part of the team."

"You wish to begin the holovid," Spock said.

"I want you to participate in your mandatory morale-building rest and relaxation," Leonard told him.  "Sitting in the hallway outside ain't gonna cut it."

"We'll be there in a minute," Nyota said, even as Spock's hand slid out from under hers.  "You're babysitting the wrong side of the door."

Leonard dropped his arms and pushed away from the door with an exasperated mutter.  "Be a doctor, they said.  Help people, they said.  My ass."

Spock stood, but he was looking at her as she got up to join him.  "I apologize," he said, still quiet, "for any disruption this may cause in your routine."

"Spock," she said, distantly amused though she was a long way from laughing.  "The whole point of being with someone is that they're worth disrupting your routine for."

He considered that.  "It seems a poor metric by which to judge a relationship."

"Subjectivity and science don't mix," she agreed, and it was so comfortable, so familiar, that she reached up to kiss him on the cheek.  "Are we good?"

"Yes," he said.  It could have been automatic, habitual, except that he brushed his fingers against hers when she pulled away.

Nyota did manage to smile at that.  "I don't know what's going to happen," she said, because maybe this was her last chance and maybe it wasn't.  "But I trust you to tell me what you know, all right?  We can go from there.  We always have."

"Indeed."  And he remembered, of course he remembered: the conversation they'd had their first night together.  "I trust that you will share what you find acceptable and what you do not."

"It's a promise," she repeated.  It hadn't worked out badly so far, after all.

No one in the room across the hall looked like they were waiting for the entertainment to start.  There was one empty chair by the door, and Spock leaned over it to remove the bottle from the tiny table by Kirk's bed.  The bed itself had been pushed around sideways, purple balloons in the corner behind it, but Kirk was the only one using it as a couch and he was paying enough attention to protest his drink's disappearance.

"You should not be consuming alcohol," Spock told him.  "I am surprised Dr. McCoy has overlooked this transgression."

Leonard was pointedly overlooking everything that happened in their vicinity, which was hard when the room was so small, and easy when it was stuffed to the gills with extra seating.  Pavel and Hikaru were sitting in the chairs directly in front of the bed--improvising a drinking game with recycled cups and a bottlecap--while Leonard heckled them and Scotty put his feet up on the shelf beneath the screen.  The screen itself was dark.

"I'm surprised you assume I'd violate doctor's orders!"  Kirk was doing a terrible job of feigning hurt, and she wondered if it was worth it to go back for another chair.  "It could be root beer in that bottle!"

"My bottle has root beer in it," Pavel volunteered.

"I am capable of reading the label," Spock said.  "Nyota, will you sit?"

She'd already made up her mind.  "No, you take it," she said.  "The captain won't mind sharing, will you, Captain?"

"What?"  Kirk seemed genuinely surprised--so much so that he forgot to leer at her, which she counted as a victory.  "No!  I mean, no, of course not.  Have a seat."

"Excuse me," she told Pavel.  He pushed his chair back as far as it would go, until he knocked it into the one Spock was claiming.   Hikaru made an effort to lean out of the way.

"Thank you," she told them as she climbed past.

"Fried rice?"  Hikaru handed over a box with chopsticks in it, and she reached for it after she'd settled on the bed.

Kirk moved a carton of steamed vegetables off the table into the space between them.  "Drink?" he offered.

"Is there wine?" she countered.

"Why do say that like it's a question?"  Hikaru pulled out a cooler bottle and passed it over his shoulder.  "No complaints until you've tried it."

Unlike Spock, she knew better than to trust Hikaru's labels, so she took it without a word.  Kirk passed her a napkin, and she glared at him.  "Give me a marker," she said.

"Start the show," Leonard was telling Scotty.  "Or we'll be here all night."

"This okay?"  Kirk held out a marker, and he was being too nice to her.  Which meant Spock wasn't wrong; they really had talked and she wished there were any way she could have heard that conversation.  

She snatched the marker out of his hand and laid the napkin flat over her knee.  I assume you talked to Spock, she wrote, and when she looked up he was watching her.

"Zat should count for two," Pavel was saying.  "Ze ricochet is a skill vorth measuring."

"Only if we score for splash," Hikaru said.

Kirk had taken the napkin, scribbling same while Scotty asked, "Wings o' War, is that the one where they kill the power grid?"

Don't fuck him up, Nyota wrote.

"Joanna saw this movie."  Leonard sounded happier than he had for weeks.  "Her mother hated it.  I'm planning to like it just on principle."

Kirk circled the word same and she decided he was all right for now.

Chapter 5

Base housing was set up for extended use. Not everyone returning from deep space had other places to go, and spending time in a natural atmosphere was supposed to be good for you. Besides, the shuttle run from spacedock wasn't as convenient as the transit in downtown San Francisco. And that was saying something.

The door chime he'd hoped was his imagination came again. The benefit of staying in space was that there weren't as many people wandering around with nothing to do: bad when he was looking for company, much better when he just wanted to sleep. Maybe if he ignored it they'd go away. Who even knew he was here, anyway?

Something pinged his communicator, and Jim turned his head to glare at it. This was Earth. He wasn't supposed to get stupid summons on Earth, because no one cared about his opinion here. "I'm sleeping," he told it.

The alert came again. Jim reached out and triggered the device, because at least if it was coming on an official channel he knew it wasn't press. He muttered, "Kirk here," in as surly a tone as he could manage.

"Where the hell are you?" Bones' voice made him open his eyes the rest of the way. If he'd seen that coming he wouldn't have winced away from the ID. "I just saw your nurse getting on a Starfleet shuttle, which means you're violating the terms of your parole."

"Are you at my door?" Jim demanded. "You're stalking me, aren't you. I knew you cared."

"Get out of bed," Bones told him. "You're awake, you're cured, life goes on."

He pushed himself up on his elbows and rolled out of bed, relieved when his feet hit the ground and his balance held. He felt tired, but not weak or dizzy. It was a vast improvement over… everything, really.

"I thought I wasn't under observation anymore." Jim checked his reflection in the dark screen on his way past, figured he was more presentable than Bones sometimes saw him, and hit the lock by the front door.

"Well, I didn't think you were alone," Bones was saying when the door opened. He raised an eyebrow, looked Jim up and down, and snapped his communicator closed. "Where's Spock?"

Jim frowned at him. "The hell should I know?"

He got a snort and a roll of the eyes for this. "Sure, the man keeps a vigil over you for two and a half weeks, including several days of actual consciousness during which you're practically joined at the hip, and the second you're free he disappears."

"Pretty much," Jim agreed, stepping out of the way of the door. "You coming in or what?"

Bones eyed him. "You eaten yet?"

"Yeah, I visited the boxers bar." Jim waved a hand that was supposed to mean, like this? "I haven't exactly been grocery shopping."

"Well, you're in a mood." Bones pushed past him, glancing around the apartment like he expected to find someone else. Spock, maybe. Like Jim would hide him.

"I'm not allowed on the ship," Jim said.

"You're on medical leave." Bones gave him a look that said he was stupid more effectively than any words could have. "You shouldn't be allowed into space at all, but they can't revoke your transit access."

"When am I off medical leave?" Jim wanted to know.

Bones folded his arms. "When you can feed and dress yourself, for starters. You really didn't have company last night?"

Jim just glared at him.

"Huh." He actually looked surprised. "I figured that whole conversation the lovebirds had was about him moving in with you."

"Spock?" Jim huffed in exasperation. "Haven't seen him since yesterday."

"They discharged you to his care," Bones said. "Which was my job, by the way. You're welcome. I hit my limit on cockblocking three days ago."

"He was coming back here anyway," Jim said.

"All evidence to the contrary," Bones said, looking around again.

"Here, to his apartment." Jim was tired of the conversation already. "Look, I'll get dressed, we'll get something to eat. You already have breakfast?"

"Did you fight?" Bones demanded. "I thought you were getting better at not pissing him off."

"I died," Jim said sharply. "He's pissed."

"Oh, please." Bones followed him when he turned and headed for the bedroom. "He's scared, not angry. You have that effect on people."

"I scare them?" He didn't bother with a uniform, because if Starfleet didn't want him then he wasn't going to advertise for them. With any luck he'd be less recognizable in jeans and a t-shirt anyway.

"I've been terrified since I met you," Bones said dryly. "You're like an adrenaline magnet. You can't even hold still without being unconscious."

"You keep up." Jim pulled the fresh shirt over his head and messed up his hair in a way that was maybe a little more symmetrical.

Bones was leaning against the doorframe, bracing his shoulders against it while he folded his arms. "Yeah, well, we're inured to your particular brand of crazy. Or infected with it. The Jim Kirk contagion. That sounds about right."

His jeans were too loose, and yeah, maybe Bones was right. Not eating wasn't going to make him any less tired. He looked around for his shoes, found socks instead and figured that was a start.

"You know you can't actually fight like this on the ship, right?"

"We're not fighting," Jim said without looking up.

"He dumped you here after weeks of pining at your bedside to go… what, back to work? Where the hell is he?"

"Why should I care!" Jim snapped. He stood up and headed for the door, because his shoes were out there somewhere and he needed them before he could get out of this conversation.

"Denying it doesn't make it untrue!" Bones didn't get out of the way, so Jim shoved past him and kept walking. "You care! And call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure giving him the cold shoulder constitutes a prejudicial effect on command structure!"

Jim stopped where he was. "I'm not in command now."

"Aw, don't give me the pathetic voice," Bones told him. "They'll put you back on the Enterprise, and they'll give you Spock because you never leave without him. But if you fuck this up because he's a coward, there's only so long they're gonna look the other way."

Spock wasn't the one who was a coward. Jim tried not to think about all the ways Spock had told him he was wanted, that it was possible, that everything Jim remembered when he looked at a too-young husband he'd never married was something Spock wanted to remember too. Or at least know about.

And that was the part that stuck: what if Spock learned about it, knew everything and then changed his mind? Jim was no Nyota Uhura. He wasn't even a hero of the frontier. He was just a guy who stood in front of psychopaths and dared them to shoot at him.

"Do you yell at Uhura like this too?" Jim asked the far wall. "Because if you do, let me tell you. It doesn't work."

"Of course I don't yell at her," Bones said. "I yell at Spock. He's the senior officer."

When prejudicial to good order or discipline, Jim thought, or of a nature to bring discredit on the service, personal relationships between officers that are unduly familiar and do not respect differences in grade or rank are prohibited. Starfleet frat regs were based more on custom and complaints than they were on objective standards.

"Both parties are responsible," Bones said, "but the senior officer is in a better position to enforce objectivity. Don't lie," he added, "I know you memorized the handbook."

"Though both parties are accountable," Jim corrected. "The responsibility for preventing inappropriate relationships rests primarily on the senior."

"Just out of morbid curiosity," Bones said. "Do you pretend you don't know the rules to drive everyone crazy? Or is it Spock in particular you're trying to push over the edge?"

"Side benefit," Jim said, kicking his shoes out from under the table.

"Which one?" Bones countered.

"What's he scared of?" Jim managed to get them on without sitting down: one at a time, probably good enough to run in if he had to. Not that he expected to be dodging bad guys at breakfast, but there were reporters out there. He might as well be ready.

"What am I, your counselor?" Bones scoffed. "I don't know. Scared of losing you? He didn't stare at you for two weeks straight because he was waiting for you to wake up. He was waiting because he wasn't sure you would."

"And yet here I am," Jim said. "Not dead."

"And not the one with a history of serious relationships," Bones said.

"Which makes me more available, not less," Jim told him. "I'm not the one who has a girlfriend."

"No, you have twenty-seven," Bones shot back. "You're fresh out of the hospital after an actual-death experience; he probably expected you to bring someone home."

Jim pointed at him. "You expected it to be him."

"Obviously he didn't," Bones retorted.

"You think he'd go for that?" It wasn't like he'd never considered the idea. Jim watched Spock like it was his job, and by now he had a pretty good idea what made him react and what didn't. Uhura had been an unwitting accomplice, and he thought he could turn Spock on if he had to.

"What, sex with you?" Bones made a dismissive sound. "Everyone else does. Don't think that's what he's looking for, though."

"Why?" Jim wanted to know. "Because he's not here?"

"Because you let him not be here." Bones was giving him the appraising look that always made him squirm. "You know damn well who you can get and who you can't, and you know you can get him. But you haven't. There's gotta be a reason."

He tried to shrug it off. "I'm guessing 'I'm not interested' isn't gonna fly," he muttered.

"Sure, lie to your doctor," Bones told him. "That's a great plan; why didn't I think of it?"

"Because he likes me," Jim said, exasperated. "He likes me now, the way we are. If we change…"

"Oh, you're kidding me." Bones looked more smug than incredulous. "You won't sleep with him because he might not respect you in the morning? Isn't that the karma coming home to roost."

"You just said you don't think he wants sex," Jim protested.

"And neither do you," Bones said. "Or you wouldn't have let him leave."

"He has a girlfriend!" Jim exclaimed.

"Whom he broke up with for you!" Bones glared at him. "Look, love's a bitch. Maybe that's what's going on here and maybe it's not, but what matters is what you're gonna do about it."

"I don't do love," Jim told him. "Waste of time."

"Like you have to tell me that," Bones said. "But you have to tell him something, because no one healthy goes from a round-the-clock bedside presence to total radio silence in a single day."

"Some people like their space," Jim said. "That's not against regs."

He was allowed to hunt down his sunglasses and his wallet in silence. When Jim turned back to him, though, Bones shook his head. "Listen," he said. "They're gonna make you report as soon as your medical leave is up. And you're gonna go in there and tell them that you did the best you could, and your command team is gonna rally around you.

"What's not going to happen," he continued, "is you and Spock standing side by side, not looking at each other. Acting like you're uncomfortable, like there's something, anything you can't talk about or admit to while the admiralty is in the room with you."

"There's plenty I can't talk about with the admiralty in the room," Jim said.

"Like violating the Neutral Zone?" Bones said. "Killing Klingons on their own homeworld? Firing on another Starfleet ship? Because if you look awkward that's all they're gonna think about. You need Spock to back you up, not make it worse."

"Bones," he said. "When have I ever looked awkward?"

Bones rolled his eyes and shooed him toward the door. "Get out of here," he said. "Eat, don't eat, see if I care. Just don't let your Vulcan love story mess up the mission."

Jim paused by the door. "You really think they'll send us back out?"

"You're the only one who doesn't," Bones told him. "You just have to be special, don't you."

There wasn't really any answer to that except to smirk at him, so Jim did. He didn't hear another word about Spock from the time they stepped into the hallway until after breakfast when he arrived back at the apartment. He also didn't hear dire warnings about his food choices, so he knew the Spock thing was serious. When Bones concentrated all his nagging on one subject, Jim either listened or he crashed and burned.

There'd been enough crashing and burning lately.

If there was anyone he'd been expecting to see at the table in his apartment when he returned, it wasn't Uhura. Bones had ditched him as soon as the food was gone--like he had real work to do or something--and Jim was still too tired to wander around San Francisco alone. He came back with no plan other than to remember which floor he was on, but his door wasn't locked and he was sure it had been when he left.

"Hello," Uhura said. There was a PADD on the table in front of her: no Enterprise mark in the corner, which meant either a personal device or a loaner. "You might want to try using a different lock code once in a while."

Jim didn't move from the door. "How do you know my lock code?"

"I called Spock's apartment this morning," she told him. "He was there."

He stared at her. "So?"

"So where were you?" Uhura demanded. "He's been sitting with you for weeks and now suddenly it's separate rooms?"

"Oh, not you too." Jim rolled his shoulders, shifting a little away from the door but not getting any closer to her. "I don't need a babysitter, okay?"

"You didn't seem to mind a couple days ago," Uhura said.

"Is there something you want?" Jim asked. "What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be…" He waved a hand at her as obnoxiously as he could. "Communicating, or something?"

"Funny you'd say that," she told him. "You know everyone thinks Spock broke up with me?"

He'd thought he was clear on how quickly this conversation could go bad, but this was a whole new cliff he hadn't seen coming. "Sorry?" he said, squinting at her.

"He didn't," Uhura said. "I asked him, explicitly, if we were breaking up. If he was replacing me with you. And do you know what he said?"

Jim thought maybe he should worry about the crazy woman in his apartment, but if he did that he would have to worry about having her on his ship too, and he'd built a whole policy around ignoring insanity on the Enterprise. "No?" he guessed.

"He said no," Uhura told him. "So as far as I'm concerned, that means you and Spock are my business. And I want to know what you think you're doing."

"Uh," Jim said. He was mostly not doing things right now. Not commanding a starship, not on active duty, not talking to anyone who made sense. Not sleeping, which was sounding like the best option. "Not… much?"

"Not enough," she corrected. "He's worried and he thinks he's not supposed to be. He's doing both your jobs, and Starfleet is breathing down his neck because someone's gotten it into their head that he messed you up."

She held up her hand when he frowned. "Don't ask me," she said. "I would have said it was the other way around, so who knows where they got that from. You should talk to him."

Apparently this was where they were honest with each other, so he asked, "Can I? You know what I'm gonna say."

Uhura folded her arms. "I really don't have the faintest idea."

"I'll ask him out," Jim said. It sounded weird, childish, and he didn't like it. He didn't like having to care this much about someone's answer. "On a date, or… whatever people do."

"Whatever people do," Uhura repeated with a sigh. "This should go well. Do you want some advice?"

Jim eyed her. "Probably not."

"Don't try to pick him up," she said. "I mean, he's not here, so obviously you didn't. But don't. Just be his friend. Be smart and be… you. I think that's what he wants."

"Did you sleep with him?" Jim asked bluntly. Because he had no filter, and also, she was practically throwing it in his face. It wasn't a ridiculous question under the circumstances.

Not to mention the assumption everyone seemed to be making: that Spock would sleep with him if he asked. Jim hadn't expected quite so much agreement on that point. Or any.

"Yes," she said. "Literally. Not colloquially. And I'm only telling you this because it's your business. I don't expect you to make it anyone else's."

"Literally," Jim repeated. "You mean you slept in the same bed, but you didn't have sex?"

She glared at him. "Why didn't you ask him to stay over last night?"

He stared back at her. "Why would I?"

"Because you would," she said. "If he was anyone else."

"I'm not asking you to stay over," he said. Then he realized what he was saying and reconsidered. "Unless you want to."

He said it because it was true, not because he thought she'd ever take him up on it, so her smirk came as a surprise. The reply was almost civil. "You know, Kirk, you're not a total loss."

Jim snapped his fingers at her. "That's what my resumé's been missing! The 'Not A Total Loss' section."

"Good luck with that," Uhura said, standing and gathering up her PADD. "I guess I'll be seeing you. More than usual, I mean."

He scoffed, because that was a really optimistic way of looking at the repair process. "This year, if we're lucky."

She just shook her head. "Let me know how it goes."

He moved farther out of her way as she headed for the door. He didn't think a comm officer needed him to tell her what was happening on their own ship, but it was a nice thought. "You too," Jim said.

Uhura let herself out.

Chapter 6

The Enterprise looked very different than the last view he'd had of Jim's ship.  The one Jim insisted on referring to as "her," and "ours," and Spock tried to see as more than a mechanical conveyance because he did.  Spock had yet to succeed in this effort, but he did find it encouraging to see the activity swarming around the ship in spacedock.

"She's a sight, our lassie."  Scott had joined him at the observation window, and Spock turned his head slightly to acknowledge his presence.  "Got a lot o' company, though."

He was aware of the ship's status.  But Jim valued Scott's opinion, and Spock expected he would ask the next time they were together.  So Spock asked, "How are the repairs progressing?"

"Warp core's realigned," Scott said, rocking back on his heels.  "Inertial dampers are back online.  Artificial gravity's due for testing tomorrow.  Life support's got the green light, but all the internal crews are working behind bulkheads and airlocks until structural integrity's restored.

"That's nae an easy task," he added.  "Another two weeks at least, and then they'll have to recalibrate every system she's got."

"That will take some time," Spock said.

"Aye," Scott agreed.  "Spaceworthy date's still a fantasy, but we'll see her fly again.  Starfleet gave her priority on the build list.  The only ones ahead of her are ships come limpin' back from the border.

"Poor bairns," he added, and Spock ignored it with the ease of long practice.

"Your personal oversight is appreciated," he told Scott.

"Ach, I owe her," Scott said.  "Lettin' her go into enemy space without me.  There's nae excuse for that, is there."

"I am fairly certain your attempted resignation absolved you of responsibility," Spock said.  "Unofficial though it may have been."

Scott's paperwork had never gone through.  His resignation was largely rumor, even among the Enterprise crew, and his service record would show no such interruption.  Spock was under no illusion that Jim had forgotten, any more than he had accidentally misremembered events of the Nibiru survey.

"Aye, it's Jim's fault," Scott agreed.  "You'll get no argument from me.  But until he's recovered enough to sign a work order, I'll be the one makin' it up to her.

"How is he, by the way?"  Scott looked sideways at him.  "The doctor have to sit on him to keep him on Earth?"

"He has been discharged from Starfleet Medical," Spock said.  "Though still plagued by fatigue and weakness brought on by prolonged inactivity, he is no longer experiencing symptoms of radiation sickness and is expected to make a full recovery."

"That's a miracle, that is."  Scott seemed cautious, which was not characteristic.  "And yerself?  If ye dinnae mind me askin'."

Spock raised an eyebrow at the observation window.  "I am uncertain as to the nature of your query."

"Been a bit preoccupied lately, that's all."  There was a pause, then Scott added,  "Forget I said anything.  Can I give ye a tour o' the timetable?"

"I would be interested in hearing your thoughts on it," Spock said, "but I am expected elsewhere.  Perhaps another time."

"I'm sendin' Jim some notes," Scott offered.  "I'd be glad to include ye on the list."

"That would be agreeable," Spock said.  He stepped back, inclining his head.  "Thank you, Mr. Scott."

"Sir," Scott said.  He nodded without coming to attention, and Spock wondered again if the man's pseudo-exile on Delta Vega had led to his disregard for authority, or if that was the cause instead of the effect.

The San Francisco shuttle was crowded this time of day, filled with local dockworkers going home and orbital personnel taking the evening off.  No one spoke to him beyond the mumbled human courtesies of "excuse me," "thanks," and "good day."  He was aware that other members of the Enterprise crew were experiencing a resurgence in notoriety as a result of recent events, but ignoring such attention seemed more effective in turning it away from him than them.

No one wants to make a Vulcan angry, Jim had joked when he mentioned it.  Except me, I guess.

Only then had it occurred to Spock that his physical altercation with Khan would have been visible to some portion of the San Francisco populace.  Jim might well be correct: they feared his lack of control and didn't wish to provoke him.

He had several appointments to keep at headquarters before he returned to base housing for the night.  It was during his final departure that he received a message from Jim.  Cryptic and presumably non-urgent, all it said was, You doing anything tonight?

Spock raised an eyebrow.  Nyota was straightforward in her correspondence, but he was aware that this was a common way of requesting someone's presence.  Jim himself had invited him to several events with the same phrase.

I am doing many things tonight, he replied.  Among them, I suspect, evaluating your suggestion for superiority.

If it were a voice connection, he might have heard Jim laugh.  The humor was apparent in Jim's blunt delivery: That your way of saying you'll come if the offer's good enough?

Spock considered the question, found the meaning to be acceptable, and replied in the affirmative.  He had spent too much of the day thinking about Jim, and the time spent was still far less than he'd become accustomed to.  The offer, as Jim said, would not have to be very good.

He was on the sidewalk when the next message came.  Bones thinks we're compromising the command structure, it said.  I'd like to know he's wrong.

Spock keyed the audio reply and lifted the device for easier access.  Jim didn't bother to identify himself, just said, "Should have known that would get me a phone call."

"I am not certain how to answer," Spock told him.

This time he did hear the laugh, and it might have been relief that he tried to ignore.

"Come over," Jim's voice said.  "Dinner, your choice.  I'll order."

It wasn't unlike instructions he'd heard Jim give to female companions in the past.  Women whose time was fast and fleeting, whom Jim pretended not to know the names of anymore.  Spock did not know all of them.

"I estimate my arrival in 17.3 minutes," he said.

At 17.4 minutes, he received another message.  This one said simply, You're late.

Given that this was obvious, Spock did not reply.  It seemed more expedient to acquire food prior to his arrival, rather than wait for it once he was there.  He felt confident enough in his knowledge of Jim's tastes to select something suitable for them both.

Nineteen minutes had passed by the time Jim's next message arrived.  Chicken out?

It was a phrase with a variety of possible interpretations.  He presented the relevant facts.  I am collecting food.  I can obtain a chicken dish if you prefer it.

The pause was insignificant.  No, whatever you get is fine.

So he arrived at Jim's assigned apartment with two containers of food and no messages beyond those he had already received.  He was unsure what type of reception to expect.  The invitation had been ambiguous, colored by both provocative and professional overtones.

Many of Jim's invitations fell into this category, of course, but in the past he had been confident that Jim respected the monogamous nature of his relationship with Nyota.  Without that certainty, and given his own role in removing it, their potential interaction seemed unpredictable.  Perhaps he should request clarification from the start.

"Hey, Spock."  The door was open and Jim was waving him in and he was caught up in the observations of the moment before he could speak.  "Thanks for bringing dinner; you didn't have to.  Let me cover it, okay?"

Jim was wearing civilian clothing.  His complexion had lost the lingering pallor of the day before.  He appeared active and energized, but his fingers brushed Spock's when he went to take the food and finally Spock remembered to speak.

"You are aware that I am a touch telepath," he said.  It was not a greeting, nor any other diplomatic way to start a conversation.  He thought Jim might be uncomfortable with the reminder, but instead he received a grin as Jim put the containers down on the counter.

"Yeah, why?" Jim said over his shoulder.  "Did I give something away there?  I told you you're allowed in my head whenever you want; it's only fair.  I've been in yours enough."

He didn't recall Jim saying "whenever you want."  He also didn't remember any indication of guilt associated with Jim's view of the alternate timeline.  "Do you feel you owe some kind of recompense for the actions of my alternate self?"

"I dunno," Jim said, apparently searching for standard-issue dishes in cupboards with which he was unfamiliar.  "Maybe.  I learned a lot about you pretty quickly.  You didn't get the same chance."

"I have had the opportunity to obtain such information in the intervening time," Spock told him.  "We are hardly unacquainted now."

"Yeah," Jim said, coming up with plates.  He said yes in the way that most of the bridge crew meant no.  "I saw a little more than that."

Spock considered this and found it unsurprising.  Their minds would have had to be very compatible to transfer a large amount of unintended information, but that was a premise he could accept.  "You did not mention it before now."

"It wasn't awkward before."  Jim paused by the sink, frowning at the counters to either side before pulling open a drawer Spock knew would contain utensils.  The furnishing of similar apartments was identical.  "Now I've got you not talking to me, Bones warning me we're compromised, and Uhura breaking into my quarters to drop cryptic hints about whose business is what.

"I still don't know what she was talking about," he added.  "And I'm pretty sure she told me several times.  Does that make her a bad comm expert?  Or does it just prove that I'll never be one?"

Having a conversation with Jim was largely a matter of prioritizing.  All of his questions could be answered, but experience suggested that attempting to do so was more likely to diminish clarity than improve it.  "I am talking to you now," Spock told him.  "It is not awkward, but you exhibit symptoms of nervousness.  Why?"

"Because I'm bad at dating," Jim said.  "You want to serve your own food, or watch me make a hash of it?"

"I will serve it."  Spock joined him at the counter and Jim stepped out of the way.  "In what way are you bad at dating?"

"I'm good at picking people up."  Jim was watching him transfer the food from container to plate.  "Like Uhura says, I know how to get people in bed.  I'm not so good at the whole getting to know you part.  Long term, I mean."

"You have been 'getting to know me' for a year," Spock pointed out.  "I have not noticed any deficiencies in your technique."

"Why does everyone think you'd sleep with me?" Jim asked.  "Everyone I've seen today has acted surprised that you and I weren't getting it on last night."

"Everyone?" Spock repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Everyone from the ship," Jim said.  "That I've seen.  Bones and Uhura."

"Nyota expressed a similar surprise to me this morning, on finding me alone in my assigned apartment."  Spock nodded at Jim's plate.  "Was the invitation for me to serve your food as well?"

Jim followed his gaze and then straightened, fumbling for one of the utensils.  "Uh, no.  I got it."

Spock transferred his own dishes to the table and sat down, assuming mess hall custom would override whatever social ritual they were imitating.  Jim used ship terminology even here, where it was inappropriate or outright incorrect.  It seemed reasonable to expect that other familiar liberties could be taken.

"Are you surprised?" Jim asked at last, setting his plate on the table and taking the chair opposite.  "I mean… why do they think that?"

"The assumption is not erroneous."  Spock studied his food, perhaps with more intensity than it warranted.  "Romantic relationships among both your people and mine often include a physical component, to which I am not opposed."

The lack of reply made him wonder if that was too far.  Perhaps he had crossed some human boundary of politeness or decorum, though Jim did not seem overly concerned with such things.  Perhaps he had simply worded it in a way that was unacceptable: awkward, as Jim said, or somehow incomprehensible in the context it was intended.

"Okay," Jim said at last.  "So this is like the telepathy thing."

Spock was forced to admit that staring at the table didn't make the connection any clearer, so he looked up.  Jim looked as pensive as he sounded, but the additional data was not helpful.  "In what way?"

"In the way that sometimes you remind me about it before you say something personal," Jim said.  "Like you think I've forgotten or something.  Which believe me, I haven't.  Mind meld," he added, pointing back and forth between them.  "Me, you… well, kind of you.  Future you.

"I saw a lot more than he was planning to share," Jim repeated.  "And when I say 'a lot more' I mean, I feel like I know stuff about you that you wouldn't have told me.  That you wouldn't tell me, even now."

Like the whispers Spock detected when they touched each other.  From most people it was noise, an irritant, a distraction if he let it be.  From Jim it was certainly a distraction, but it felt more like insight than irritant.

"As you would not have told me you were nervous," Spock said.  "Had you not touched me, I would not have known."

"Well, I might have told you," Jim said.  He was smiling, though, and he added, "But yeah, that's what I mean.  Only way more than that."

"You are about to tell me something about myself that you think will make me uncomfortable," Spock surmised.  "I assure you, I have lived with myself far longer than you have, and I am well aware of the many ways in which this can be accomplished."

Jim blinked, and then his smile widened and he leaned back in his chair.  "All right," he said.  "So in the other reality, you weren't like this.  I don't know which was worse, talking to you about sex or talking to you about relationships.

"It was a year before I even knew you had someone," he added.  "I didn't meet her until the day you gave her up."

T'Pring.  He sat very still.  He tried not to think of her and he failed.  He tried not to speak of her and he succeeded, but he didn't believe it would last.

"Yeah, see."  Jim sounded rueful.  "Way more than he meant to share."

It was another topic, no matter how similar.  "I am not so sure," Spock said.  He was careful and calm and nowhere near as controlled as he might wish.  "Despite claims to the contrary, he seems determined to influence our course."

Jim looked like he was thinking about this, which at least meant they weren't talking about his bondmate.  It was likely a temporary reprieve.  If he told Jim he didn't wish to discuss it, he had no doubt the request would be honored.  But at what cost?  

"He's trying to get us together," Jim said at last.

"Yes," Spock agreed.

He received an amused look for that.  "What, no 'probably'?" Jim asked.  "No, 'that seems likely', or 'the evidence suggests'?"  

"I understand that as one ages, one comprehends the regrets of their life with more clarity," Spock said.  "It is reasonable to speculate that one also sees how they might have been avoided."

"Reasonable to speculate?" Jim repeated.  "It's not his life, Spock.  It's yours."  

"I took his advice once," Spock told him.  "I am prepared to do it again."

"No, wait."  Jim sat forward again, leaning over the table with no attention to his plate.  "It's not reasonable to speculate, okay?  I don't know about you, but I have plenty of regrets.  I have no idea how to change any of them, and if I did, I might not be here."

Knowing what he did of Jim's past, he didn't expect him to say, "I like how it turned out, Spock.  No matter what I wish I could have avoided."  

Spock held his gaze.  "I apparently will not."  

"You will," Jim insisted.  "Or he does, for whatever that's worth.  He likes it.  He looks back on his life and he's glad, okay?  Ask him; he'll tell you."

"And yet," Spock said.  "He continues to interfere."

"He's not trying to get us together because of what happened in his own life," Jim said.  "He's doing it because he's afraid he messed ours up."  

This was not implausible. Were it true, however, it should make him more likely to follow his own advice. Not less.

"I was promised to someone as a child," he said abruptly. "She perished with our people in the destruction of Vulcan."  

Jim looked unsurprised.  "I'm sorry," he said.  He sounded sincere, and Spock didn't tell him there was no need. Expressions of sympathy were a way to express concern. Nothing more.

"We were not close," Spock said.  "I became aware that she did not want me after I rejected the Vulcan Science Academy's offer of fellowship."

"She doesn't know what she's missing," Jim said.

Spock frowned. "No," he said. "She does not."

"Sorry," Jim repeated, and the lightness that had touched his tone was gone again. "Poor choice of words.

"It's an expression," he added. "It's supposed to mean… I don't know. It's a compliment. Like, someone made a mistake by letting you get away."

"Indeed." Spock thought that several mistakes had been made, and the most recent of these was the turn their conversation had taken. "What was the nature of Dr. McCoy's complaint?"

Jim looked bemused. "Which one?"

"You indicated that he believes we are compromising the command structure," Spock said. "Most likely due to the emotional investment he mentioned while you were at Starfleet Medical."

"Oh," Jim said. "Right. No, he thinks we're fighting."

There was a significant pause here, and Spock raised an eyebrow. "We clearly are not."

"Right," Jim said again, but this time he smiled. "Obviously."

"Is it possible that the doctor--"

"Just to clarify," Jim interrupted. "Was this ever awkward? I mean, were you ever not speaking to me? Or was that just my imagination?"

"There has been a great deal of time recently when I have not been speaking with you," Spock said. He watched Jim's smile widen, and he knew the response would not be misinterpreted when he said, "Your imagination is well documented."

Jim laughed aloud. "Can't argue that," he agreed. He leaned forward, turning his plate slightly for no apparent reason. "And hey, sometimes it's good to be wrong."

Spock allowed himself to consider that the contradictory Nibiru reports were no longer a source of tension. "If you truly believe that," he said, "then this must be a moment of personal growth for you."

Jim let go of his plate and pointed at him. "Says the man who claims he doesn't joke."

"A joke is told primarily for humorous effect," Spock said. "My observation stands."

"The humor is secondary?" Jim guessed.

"I am not sure where the humor lies," Spock said.

"I'm not sure why we don't have drinks," Jim said. "You didn't bring any and I didn't offer, I guess. You want something to drink?"

"I do not require a beverage," Spock said.

"Suit yourself." Jim got up from the table to retrieve a bottle, which he popped open on the counter, and a glass which he filled with water. "So Bones saw you heading upstairs this morning; you see the ship?"

Spock raised an eyebrow when Jim placed the water in front of him but didn't comment. "Yes."

"And?" Jim prompted, sitting down again.

"I spoke to Mr. Scott, who appears to hold you responsible for the ship's condition," Spock said. "Until such time as you return, he has promised to 'make it up to her.'"

Jim lifted his bottle in what might have been a toast. "He's a good man."

"He is," Spock said slowly, "as you say, in good company."

Jim leaned over the table again, tapping the neck of his bottle against the rim of Spock's glass. "Here, here."

Chapter 7

He'd once tried to calculate what percentage of his life was spent banging on Jim Kirk's door.  Not just hitting the chime, not just waiting for the man to crawl out of bed, but actively making noise in an effort to make him care.  When the time spent started to seem like an actual measurable proportion, Leonard had decided he was too drunk to do math and given up.

Sometimes, though, he still wondered.

He was about to get out his communicator again when the door in front of him opened.  It wasn't Jim standing there.  He wasn't sure whether he should be surprised to see Spock or not, so he decided not.  It was early.  He still didn't know how much a half-Vulcan slept.

"About time," he grumbled, pushing his way past Spock with an elbow and his hands tucked safely behind him.  "We have a serious problem.  Where's Jim?"

"In his bedroom," Spock said.  That was one thing Leonard appreciated about Vulcans, not that he'd ever tell them.  They didn't get all offended if you skipped the bullshit.

"Well, he needs to be out here."  Leonard strode across the combined eating and living area, raising his voice in warning.  "Jim!  Get the hell out here; we have a problem!"

He stopped long enough to rap his knuckles against the bedroom door, because god forbid there was one door between the two of them that he didn't have to break down himself.  "Wake up; I'm coming in.  Are you wearing clothes?  Spock, is he wearing clothes?"

Spock only raised an eyebrow when Leonard turned around to glare at him.  "I have no information on Jim's state of dress."

No, but he was still saying "Jim," not "the captain," so that meant Spock hadn't heard what was going on yet either.  Which was ridiculous, because he had connections where Leonard just had fellow delinquents.  Why was he the one in the know?

"You've been at the Academy how many years," Leonard said, "and you haven't made any friends?  What do you do in your off time?  Study?

"No," he continued, hearing footsteps on the other side of the door.  "Don't tell me.  Of course you do."

The door slid open, and look at that.  Jim hadn't stopped at underwear.  For once he was wearing actual sweatpants and a shirt.  Maybe Spock had stayed overnight after all.

"I am unclear on how my extracurricular activities are relevant to Jim's current attire," Spock said.  The second best part was that he was completely serious.  Leonard's favorite thing about it, though, was the expression it put on Jim's face.

"Wow," Jim said.  "Sorry I missed the beginning of this conversation.  I think."

"Jim."  There were a dozen hilariously uncomfortable things he could say to Jim right now, but they didn't have time.  "You were retroactively removed from medical leave.  Effective yesterday at 1800."

Jim stared at him.  Leonard just waited.

"They'll make me report," Jim said, which was calmer than he'd expected.  Either Jim was high on endorphins, groggy with sleep, or both.  He'd even skipped his usual what the hell that doesn't make any sense routine.

"Your medical leave was scheduled to end--"  And hey, there was Spock, doing it for him.  If in an annoying cool and collected way.

"This weekend," Jim finished for him.  "So they could make me come in first thing Monday morning; they must be trying to--"

"It's worse than that," Leonard interrupted.  "They're calling everyone in.  All the department heads, simultaneous debriefing.  Separate rooms."

Jim's face went blank.  "When?"

He knew what that meant.  "0800."

"Spock," Jim said.  "Time."

Spock didn't hesitate.  "It is 0537.  They will likely send the summons at 0600."

"We need everyone here now," Jim said.  "Before the summons.  For a friendly crew breakfast; everyone brings their uniform, personal PADD, and a hard copy of the report they turned in after the Kronos mission.  Preferably in a bag cameras can't see through."

Leonard folded his arms.  "Do you actually have a plan, or are you making this up as you go?"

Jim's expression had relaxed enough to be cocky.  "Does it matter?  Can you get Hikaru and Pavel here?  How do you know this, anyway?"

"No," Leonard said, "they're your wonder children, and Christine.  Turns out she likes me more than she hates you."

"Huh," Jim said.  "That's useful.  Get 'em anyway; I'm calling Scotty and Carol.  Spock, tell Uhura to get here as fast as she can."

"Dr. Marcus?"  Spock didn't move.  "What purpose will her presence serve?"

"Depends whether the person in charge of the inquiry was friends with her dad or my dad," Jim said.  His tone was light enough that the bitterness screamed.

"There is no inquiry," Spock said.

"Yet, Spock.  Let's keep it that way.  Bones, you'll need a uniform.  Spock, you're fine.  Let's go."

Jim took the apartment comm while Spock retreated into his bedroom--without asking, Leonard noticed--to contact Uhura.  So Leonard went to the far end of the room and dialed up Hikaru.  Who answered immediately, and he probably didn't want to know why.

"Sulu here," the voice on the other end of the comm said.

"It's McCoy," he told the device.  "We have a problem.  Can you get to Jim's apartment in the next twenty minutes?"

"If I run."  Hikaru didn't sound as incredulous as he should, but then, he did serve with Jim.  "What do you need?"

"You," Leonard said.  "Pavel if you can find him.  Jim and Spock are tracking down the rest of them."

"He's here," Hikaru said quickly.  "Pavel, wake up."

Yeah, he definitely didn't want to know.

"Bring your uniforms," Leonard said.  "We're gonna be debriefed in a couple of hours.  Jim wants a hard copy of the reports you wrote on the last mission and your personal PADDs, not ship issue."

"Zey can get a varrant."  Pavel sounded terrifyingly young, even over the comm where Leonard couldn't see his face.  "Ze personal PADDs vill not be safe either."

"That's why the reports have to be hard copy."  Hikaru's voice was distant now, barely in range of the voice pickup.  "Pavel, did you disconnect this?"

"I vas fixing the audio input," Pavel answered.  "You must--"

"Just get here," Leonard told them.  He closed his communicator before either of them could start narrating their clothing choices.

Jim was already talking to Carol.  Leonard was sure his entire conversation with Scott had consisted of the words "code red," "my place by 0600," and "you know what to do."  Spock seemed strangely jealous of Carol when it was obviously Jim and Scott who read each other's minds.

"Well, where are you?" Jim was asking.  "We can come get you."

No they couldn't.  Why did Jim promise these things?

Leonard could just hear her saying, "No, that's not it.  I'm being monitored."

"So what, we all are," Jim said.  "Put your stuff in a bag.  Look, your dad's cronies will roast me, and my dad's cronies will roast you.  We might as well stick together."

"That's terrible logic," she told him.  "Besides, your staff doesn't even like me."

"I'm taking lessons," Jim said.  "And believe me, we're not doing you any favors.  You throw your lot in with us and we could all go down together.  So far my record's maybe fifty-fifty."

"And when it goes bad," Leonard added, moving to stand by his shoulder, "it's fire and brimstone bad.  We're hoping he's due some good luck, but no one's holding their breath."

Jim craned his neck to glare up at him.  "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bones."

Leonard patted his shoulder consolingly.  "Any time, Jimmy."

"Well, when you put it like that."  Carol smiled out of the screen at them, and she looked about as convinced as Leonard felt.  "I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Great," Jim said.  "Bring your uniform and your report, hard copy.  No ship PADDs."

"My Enterprise equipment was confiscated," Carol said.

"One less thing to worry about," Jim said.  "See you in ten."  He closed the link and looked up at Leonard.  "You get my wonder kids?"

"They're on their way."  He decided not to mention that at least one of them had been waking up with the other.  "Scotty?"

"He's coming," Jim said.  "Open question whether Keenser shows up with him or not.  Pretty sure they haven't been to bed yet."

Leonard didn't ask.  Plausible deniability was important to medical professionals.  Especially when it involved the amount of explosive capability Scott worked with on a regular basis.

"Go get your report," Jim added, pushing away from the comm.  "We're gonna do some speed-reading, have a little debriefing of our own.  Or a pre-debriefing briefing.  Spock should like that."

Leonard looked at the bedroom door, but it was still closed.

"Yeah, I don't know either."  Jim was looking in the same direction.  "She says they're still together.  He says he's free to date me.  I'm hoping that if I ignore it long enough it'll start to make sense."

Leonard glanced at him.  "How often has that worked out for you?"

"Sometimes if I ignore it long enough I forget about it?" Jim offered.

"No you don't," Leonard said.

The door opened, and Spock looked from one of them to the other.

"She in?" Jim asked.

"Hold it," Leonard said.  "You."  He pointed at Spock.  "I can't believe I have to say this, but Jim here is a special snowflake.  Mess with him and I'll make your life hell.  Are we clear?"

"Bones, you don't have to," Jim said with a sigh.  He didn't bother to finish the sentence, so Jim probably knew damn well that yes, he did.

"Do you mean to imply that you could be more disrespectful to me than you already are?" Spock inquired.

"Boy, you ain't seen nothing yet," Leonard told him.

Spock's eyes flicked to Jim and then back.  "I take your warning seriously," he said.  And that wasn't exactly what he'd expected, but he'd take it.

"Good," Leonard said.  "Just so we understand each other."

"That would be an overstatement," Spock said.

"Yeah, yeah, kiss and make up," Leonard muttered.  "I'm gonna get my stuff.  And some food; I bet you still don't have anything to eat here.  We should have warned the others."

"Scotty's bringing something," Jim said.

Leonard rolled his eyes.  "Well, then, we definitely should have warned the others."

He had bagels in his kitchen, and bananas, and that was probably better than anything Jim had.  He stuffed them into a bag with everything else, then slapped a medic tag on it because all their bags were going to look the same.  Which was the point, of course, but it was also a pain in the ass.

By the time he got back, the only people missing were Carol and Scott.  Jim still wasn't dressed, but to be fair, neither was anyone else.  Except Uhura, who didn't count because she probably slept in designer clothes like that, and Spock, who didn't count because he had slept in those clothes.  If he'd slept at all.

Hikaru and Pavel were dressed in sweats that could have passed for exercise clothes.  Huddled around Jim as they were, heads together while Jim showed off some new hack on his communicator, it was hard to remember why they were the wonder kids and he was The Captain.  Leonard had to assume it was luck: good or bad, he'd probably never know for sure.

The door chimed while he was putting the bagels and bananas on the kitchen counter.  Someone had brought muffins, and there were hard boiled eggs sitting next to the sink.  Who'd had time to make eggs?

"Bones," Jim called.  "Can you get that?"

"I'm not your butler," Leonard grumbled, taking a muffin as payment.  When he opened the door, Carol Marcus stood on the other side.  She was holding a box with "joe" scrawled across it at every angle.

"Bribe?" she said, holding it up with a fixed smile.

"Believe me, they've gotten farther with less," he told her.  "Come in.  Breakfast on the counter, such as it is.  Help yourself."

"Thank you," Carol said, and her smile looked a little more genuine.

"Here," Uhura said, swishing around the room in her shiny pants and embroidered shirt.  "Let me help you with that."

"Oh, thank you," Carol said.  Leonard watched Uhura do absolutely nothing to help other than not being actively hostile.  "If you have any mugs…?"

"Probably just what comes standard," Uhura said, but she did pull open the cabinets to check.  "No, look at that: Kirk rates four place settings instead of two.  How fortunate for him."

"For us, you mean," Carol said.  "Care for some coffee?"

"I would," Uhura said, passing her one mug and then another.  "Thank you."

"Coffee over here too," Jim called.  "We need coffee on the couch.  Spock, you want coffee?"

"I'm sorry," Uhura said before Carol could answer.  "Did anyone offer to bring you coffee?  Because I didn't hear that happen."

"I can do it," Carol offered, awkward as she looked back and forth between them.

"Don't serve him coffee," Uhura told her.  "It'll only encourage him.  Get it yourself, Kirk, you have legs."

There was another chime at the door.  This one was followed by a thud that sounded like a kick.  Then another.

"That'll be breakfast," Jim said, leaving his communicator with his fan club when he broke away.  He passed Carol just as she got the first coffee poured, reaching out to pluck it from her hands.  "Thank you," he said with a grin.  "Good to have you back."

There was another thud just before he opened the door, and Scott glared balefully at him over the top of a warming crate.  "Ye take yer sweet time about it, and that's a fact.  Where do ye want this lot?"

"Table," Jim said.  "Thanks, Scotty.

"Thanks, all of you," he added as he closed the door, "for coming so quickly.  You're about to be summoned for debriefing on the Khan incident, and Bones says it's gonna happen at the same time in separate rooms.  They don't want us hearing each other's reports."

"Wait," Carol said.  She was handing Uhura another mug of coffee.  "I thought you were still on medical leave."

"I thought so too," Jim said.  "Bones says I was just removed, effective yesterday."

"So zey can spring ze interrogation on you," Pavel said.

"Friday," Leonard muttered.  "No one's ready for anything on Friday.  They're doing this on purpose, mark my words."

"We have to assume it's deliberate," Jim agreed.  "They're trying to catch us off guard; that's why they're splitting us up."

"Isn't it a little late for that?" Hikaru asked.  "Everyone submitted their report to the pool; I've read all of them already.  Well, except for Dr. Marcus'."

"The pool?" she repeated.

"Section of the ship's boards," Jim said.  "Proofreading help on official documentation.  It's new."

"Spock set it up," Leonard added.  He smirked at the look Spock gave him.  "He's real thoughtful that way."

"My access was revoked," Carol said.  "I wouldn't have been able to use it even if I'd known about it."

"That's why we all brought copies," Jim said.  "How's everyone's speed-reading?"

Every communicator in the room went off simultaneously.

"Hey, look at that," Jim said.  "We're being summoned.  This is such a surprise.  Everybody break for food; Scotty brought hot stuff so we might as well get it before it cools off.  You know where the dishes are."

"Do ve acknowledge zis?" Pavel asked, holding up his communicator like he had no idea what to do with it.  Spock was already putting his away.

"Yeah," Jim said.  He was shoveling something that looked suspiciously like bacon into an empty cover for one of the boxes from the warming crate.  "They're asking for us, they're gonna get what they ask for.  And only what they ask for."

"Is this a cover-up?" Carol asked.  She had both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, but she wasn't making any move toward the food.

"This is a pre-debriefing briefing," Jim told her.  "You're here now, you should listen.  You can decide afterwards if you're in or out."

"Okay," she said, looking over the rest of them.  She sounded wary, but she was new.  She hadn't been there when Jim threw himself off a mining platform to catch Hikaru, or when he flew the ship into a volcano for Spock.

No one else was looking at her.  Uhura had taken the entire collection of plates, bowls, and saucers over to the table, and Spock was following her lead with forks and spoons and the occasional knife.  Leonard checked his communicator--0800, as predicted--before putting it away and joining Carol by the coffee.

"I'll try some of that," he said.  "If you don't mind."

"Of course."  She stepped out of the way as he held the last of the mugs under the flip-down spout.  Behind him, Jim was talking with his mouth full.  As usual.

"Thanks, everyone," he was saying.  "This is really good.  Figure out whose reports you haven't read and swap around until you've been through them all.  First though--"

"Stop talking with your mouth full," Leonard snapped.  "For god's sake, Jim, that's disgusting."

Jim paused long enough to swallow.  "We have a deadline, Bones."

"No reason to abandon the trappings of civilization," Leonard said.  "And use a fork; you're offending Spock's delicate sensibilities."

"What, by eating meat?"  Jim let his makeshift plate hover over the table like he was about to set it down.  "You said it was fine if I--if we eat meat around you."

"Not with your fingers," Leonard said.

"Finger food was taboo in some parts of Vulcan."  Spock wasn't looking at either of them, and he didn't seem particularly pleased with the conversation.  Not that that was anything new.

"You never said anything before," Jim said.

"I would not have said anything now," Spock pointed out.  "This is irrelevant to our current agenda."

"Actually," Jim said, and this time he did set his plate down.  "There's a few things I want to clear up before everybody starts reading."

Scott and Hikaru looked up from the reports they'd just passed to each other, but no one else had hard copy in front of them.  Spock had probably read them all and memorized them because that was his new thing.  Pavel had probably read them all and memorized them for the fun of it.  And he was sure Uhura knew what they all said whether she'd officially read them or not.

Which left him and Carol and Jim.  He wasn't willing to bet on what Jim knew either way, but Carol would have a lot to catch up on.  If she decided she wanted to.

"Rumor number one," Jim said.  "Spock and I are dating.  That's true, it's the only one that's true, and we're not gonna dwell on it.  Say whatever you want if they ask you about it, just don't speak for anyone else.  Got it?"

There was a moment of quiet, and then Jim added, "Nod your heads if you're listening."

There were five nods.  Spock inclined his head.  Leonard waved impatiently for him to continue.

"Okay, number two," Jim said, catching his eye with a grin.  "They're false from here on out; remember that."

Pavel was writing something in the margin of Scott's report.  Leonard didn't know where the stylus had come from or whether Scott cared, but Hikaru was ignoring him.  Not passing notes, then.  Probably. 

"There's a rumor that we were acting without orders when we pursued Khan from Earth," Jim said.  "That's not true; my orders from Admiral Marcus included the authorization to recruit Spock, carry and launch untested weapons, and follow Khan to the border of Federation space."

As far as a cover-up went, Leonard wasn't impressed.  All of those things were facts, unless dating Spock was supposed to be code for sleeping with him.  And if pressed, Leonard would guess no.

"Next rumor," Jim was saying.  "We crossed into Klingon space in pursuit of Khan."

And there was the cover-up.  All of the department heads knew that Starfleet personnel had violated the Neutral Zone and opened fire on the Klingon homeworld.  Half of them had been there.

"There was never any intention of the Enterprise leaving Federation space," Jim said.  "Engineering records correctly show that the ship was hobbled before it even reached the Neutral Zone.  We did not beam into Klingon space, we did not fire missiles into Klingon space, and at no point did any Starfleet ship enter Klingon space."

Leonard raised an eyebrow.

"Those statements are misleading," Spock said.

"But true," Jim pointed out.  "I thought you'd like that."

Leonard rolled his eyes.  He might have gotten away with it if Uhura hadn't tried to hide her smile.  That Jim saw, and turned to glare at him for it.

"It would also be factual to state that no one in this room has any knowledge of current smuggling activity along the Klingon Neutral Zone," Spock said.

"Yes," Jim said.  Like he'd expected Spock's support all along.  "It would."

"I never did hear how Khan got aboard the Enterprise," Scott said.  He sounded more thoughtful than curious.

"I do not actually know zat either," Pavel offered.  "Officially.  I vas not part of zat discussion."

"We had bigger problems in Medical," Leonard grumbled, because that was true too.  Jim had shown up with Khan and none of his staff had questioned it.  They'd gotten the bad guy, hadn't they?

Leonard didn't like the implications of that, but he could see where Jim was going with it.  No one was looking at him anymore, glancing around at each other instead.  Was this the secret they were going to hide, he wondered?  Was it the one worth getting court martialed over?

Was it worth open war with the Klingons if they didn't?

"You're allowed to say you don't know," Jim was telling them.  "Especially when you really don't know.

"For example," he added, "I don't know what rumor says about our run-in with the Vengeance.  No one ever gets firefights right anyway, so the less said the better.  We were chased, we were fired upon, we defended ourselves the best we could.  End of story."

Because sometimes the worst enemy came from within.  Just like that, Leonard knew what he would say if anyone asked.  It was the same thing he would have said all along, of course, but at least now he could feel good about it.  

Jim Kirk had obeyed the letter of the law and the spirit of Starfleet when he brought Khan back to Earth for trial.  If it hadn't gone exactly the way they'd planned, well, nothing ever did.  In the end, it wasn't what you stood for that mattered: it was who you stood with.

"I was nae chased or fired upon," Scott pointed out.  "How do ye suppose infiltrating a Starfleet vessel will go over?"

"Ask Carol," Jim said flippantly.  It was probably the wrong thing to say, but Scott ignored it.  Because he didn't really care, Leonard thought.  Scott had just as much attitude as Jim and a lot less to lose.

"She's nae broken anything, has she," Scott said.

"Give it time," Carol mumbled into her mug.

She was almost hiding a smile, and Leonard thought, Attagirl.  

"One last thing," Jim told them.  "There's a rumor that I died in the warp core reactor during the fight and was magically resurrected, possibly via divine intervention, several hours later."

Anyone who hadn't been paying attention before was paying attention now.  Even Carol, who'd been in a considerable amount of pain herself at the time, and Spock, who knew every detail of every decision in exhaustive detail.  He hadn't been there for the big ones, but that just meant that Leonard had been grilled far beyond his Vulcan-tested tolerance.

"While I don't dispute the fact that the entire universe loves me and wants me to live," Jim said, "Bones assures me that I was only mostly dead.  The miracle of twenty-first century cryofreeze kept me from melting until he could start radiation therapy.

"Bad suit safety protocol," he added.  "We'll all be doing drills later.  Anyone who's even thought the words 'warp core' is gonna be able to put those things on in their sleep."

"Has it occurred to you," Hikaru asked, "that maybe you're the only one who can't?"  

"Everyone," Jim repeated, pointing at him.  "You'll get your chance to prove it."

"Looking forward to it," Hikaru told him.  And sure, Jim had leapt into the void of space with a suit, a chute, and a phaser.  But Hikaru had done it with a sword.

"Everyone's gonna say they could have done it better," Jim said.  He wasn't smiling anymore.  "They could have endangered fewer people.  Maybe avoided knocking a Starfleet ship out of the sky and straight into San Francisco.

"Hell, I hope there was a better way more than anyone," he added.  "I hope someday someone tells me what it was.  But right now we gotta deal with what we did and what we know.  Any questions?"  

"Yes."  Uhura set her coffee mug down on the counter behind her and folded her arms.  "Are you going to eat all of the bacon?"

Jim passed her the box top he'd been using as a plate.  "Eat," he said.  "Read.  We have an hour to get this done."

Chapter 8

When the doors closed behind her, Nyota allowed herself a small smile.  She kept walking, because there were cameras everywhere and she didn't want to be the one who looked relieved.  But really, that debriefing could have gone a lot worse.

Kirk's claim that he was following orders had more traction than she'd expected.  It turned out that Admiral Marcus had logged the mission as "recovery" and the purpose of the torpedoes as "defensive."  John Harrison had been labelled a traitor even before the Enterprise security footage was lost, and Black Ops wanted nothing to do with him.

Kirk had been sent after a defector.  The Enterprise had brought him back.  War with the Klingons seemed no more imminent today than it had been a month ago, so as far as Starfleet was concerned they hadn't fucked up.  The only admiral who would disagree was dead, a victim of his own terrorism, and with all the questions about misappropriation of Starfleet resources, no one could deny involvement with the Vengeance project fast enough.

From the outside, it looked like six dozen classified prototypes had been used to keep a bigger, meaner prototype out of enemy hands.  No one was disputing that a compromised Starfleet ship had posed a severe and present danger to both the Enterprise and to Earth, and Section 31 wasn't eager to draw more attention to itself by crying foul.

"Lieutenant."  The voice behind her made her slow her stride until Leonard could catch up.  "Good news?"

She held up her PADD, the "new orders" notification displayed prominently across the top.  "Posting," the notification said.  "Chief Communications Officer, USS Enterprise."

Underneath, she had her feeder scanning for Enterprise news: official and otherwise.  It hadn't picked up her assignment yet, but Leonard's had been flagged.  They must be the first ones done debriefing.

"Good," Leonard grunted.  He probably thought he was being subtle.  "Me too.  Now for the bad news."

Nyota looked at him sharply as they turned a corner.  "How bad?"

"Spock's debriefing was cut short," Leonard said.  "So he could be called in to Jim's."

She didn't bother asking how he knew.  Jim typed fast, and he made it look like checking reports.  She'd seen him write entire communiques under the guise of a thumbprint authorization.

"They'll be all right," she said.  She instinctively lowered her voice to match his.  "Their body language is fine."

"Yeah," Leonard muttered, in the way that meant if you're blind.  "When they're not thinking about it."

That was unfortunately true.  Make either of them self-conscious and it was instantly contagious.  Jim got louder, Spock got stiffer, and then Jim would start touching him: incessantly, obnoxiously, like he was just proving he could.

"Maybe it's not about that," she said.  "Maybe it's about--"  The moment she realized there was nothing else it could be about was the same time she remembered that suggesting anything else was just asking for trouble.

"Exactly," Leonard said grimly.  "Vulcan dispensation isn't gonna do shit for Jim, and they already think he's unstable enough."

One glance at her PADD while they waited for a lift showed two news flags for Enterprise activity.  Posting renewed, the first one said.  Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, USS Enterprise NCC-1701.  The feeder was lagging by a couple of minutes, then.

The second item read, Posting renewed: Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, USS Enterprise NCC-1701.

"Hikaru’s in," she said quietly, because that was all she had to offer.  Kirk had done what he could for them, and if they were lucky it would bring them all back.  They'd have to wait and see if he would fight as hard for himself.

Leonard snorted. "Oh, what a surprise.  Shows great improvement in parking and poker, I’m sure."

The lift doors opened, and even though it was empty of any other passengers, they rode to the ground floor in silence.  They crossed the lobby together and headed out into fog that was only just starting to lighten.  She felt like she'd been at work all day and the morning was only half over.

“Well,” Leonard said, when they both hesitated at the edge of the courtyard.  “We could lurk here conspicuously, in full view of Starfleet brass, until someone decides they’re not gonna hear anything new and let’s ’em go.”

“Or we could go back to work and trust them to tell us when they know something,” Nyota said.

“Right.”  He paused just long enough to raise an eyebrow at her.  “So, coffee?”

“Tea,” she said.  “The Student Gaffe, down by the water?”

“Lead the way,” he agreed.

That was where they were when Hikaru's message appeared: Keeping our jobs, it said.  You still planetside?

"Waterfront," she told her PADD.  "At the Gaffe with Leonard."

Hikaru's reply came back immediately.  We'll meet you there.

The Enterprise flag appeared at the top of her screen, and she tipped it toward Leonard so he could read it too.  Posting renewed: Ensign Pavel Andreievich Chekov, USS Enterprise NCC-1701.

"He and Hikaru are on their way," she said.  "Anything from Kirk?"

There wasn’t, but Scotty showed up with Pavel and Hikaru, so they were treated to his speculative re-enactment of the command debriefing.  His imitation of Spock was recognizable, but his Kirk was priceless.  As always.

“It’ll go like this,” he told them.  “Captain Kirk, why’d ye almost blow up yer ship?  And then Jim says, because I saved the whole fucking planet and also, I dinnae know if ye noticed, but we’re nae at war right now.  To which Spock says, the planet was nae actually in danger.  And Jim says yes it was, I think I know a global catastrophe when I see it, and Spock says, that is clearly untrue.”

Scotty was hilarious when he got going, and Pavel was staring at him with wide eyes.  Leonard just snorted into his mug.  Nyota knew he heard both of them in the enthusiastic story, but he'd only admit it if they were actually present.

"Meanwhile the bigwigs just want 'em to answer the question," Scotty continued.  "So they say, gentleman, and Jim says, well one of us is, and that's the end of anything productive that's goin' on in that meeting, I guarantee it."

Pavel opened his mouth but said nothing.  Hikaru shrugged, and Nyota had to sigh because it was true and they all knew it.  "He hasn't gotten himself fired yet," she said.  "Maybe Spock will be a calming influence."

"When was the last time you saw Spock do anything other than wind him up?" Leonard demanded.  "They're like fire and gasoline."

"How long have zey been, uh, together?" Pavel blurted out.  "It is not technically against regulations, but… are ve supposed to know?"

"Laddie, everyone knew."  Scotty didn't look at her and she didn't wince, but it was a close thing.  "First time I met the commander, I thought they were havin' a spat to end all spats.  Until the next day when they went and did it again."

"They haven't been together the whole time," Hikaru said.  He did look at her.  "That's impossible."

They were all looking at her now.  Even Leonard, his eyebrow raised as if to ask what she wanted to tell them.  He was Jim's friend, but he would back her up.  Probably.

"It's new," she said briefly.  "They weren't officially seeing each other until this week."

Scotty huffed his disbelief, an eye-roll making it clear what he thought of that.  Pavel didn't say anything, but Hikaru nodded.  Leonard was still watching her, though he lifted his mug and spoke around it before he took a sip.

"What about you?" he asked.  "They treating you all right?"

"Fine," she said.  She wasn't getting into it with half her best friends at a coffee shop table in the student quarter.  "I'm a big girl.  I can handle a little heartbreak."

She hadn't meant to say that, and Leonard didn't let it slide.  "No such thing as a little heartbreak."

"I said I'm fine," she told him.  "What did they grill you about in there, anyway?"

"The usual."  He let her change the subject, at least.  She saw the others looking at each other out of the corner of her eye, but she'd have to get used to that.  "Patient info, psych profiles.  Stuff I can't give out without a lot more paperwork than they had, I can tell you that."

Nyota wanted to know, whose psych profiles?  But he didn't volunteer the information, and she didn't ask.  No one wanted to be on Leonard's bad side.

"Some general stuff," Leonard added.  "If and when the allcall was activated, what it said.  How much we knew of what was going on while it was happening.  Which wasn't much; some of us were actually trying to do our jobs."

"Aye," Pavel agreed.  "I do not vant your position, Mr. Scott, but I believe I understand now vhy engineering has its own parties.  If you know vhat I mean."

"A little isolated down there?" Nyota guessed.  The comm board kept her connected to every part of the ship, but Science and Medical complained about the same thing.

"Ach, we make our own fun," Scotty said.  "Don't we, Mr. Chekov."

Pavel nodded enthusiastically.

"Keep it to yourself," Leonard told them.  "My staff doesn't need any encouragement."

"Wait, is this a real thing?" Hikaru asked.  "Does everyone on the ship have parties but us?"

Leonard scoffed just as his communicator beeped politely.  "Let's just say, the science department didn't mind reporting to Dr. Marcus instead of Spock for a couple of days."

She wanted to say something, but they were all waiting to see who was paging Leonard.  He knew it, but it must not have been Kirk because he glared at them in warning before he answered.  "McCoy."

"Hello."  The tiny voice was a woman's, and it might have been uncertain.  Not an official comm, Nyota thought, even before the voice continued, "I'm Rima Harewood.  This might sound crazy but... someone gave me this link and told me to call?"

Nyota saw Scotty make a face, and Pavel snuck a look at Hikaru, who shook his head slightly in return.  None if them recognized the name either, then.  It wasn't one she remembered from the Enterprise, but Leonard had a lot of friends on Earth still.

"Let me guess," he was saying.  "Jim Kirk?  He's in a meeting; he must have set it to bounce to me."

There was no immediate answer, but he continued without one.  "I'm Leonard McCoy," he said.  "You're Lucy's mom, right?  Jim heard what happened.  He wanted to make sure you're both all right."

"Harewood," she heard Pavel whisper suddenly.  "The agent at the archive."

Leonard waved at him irritably, a shushing gesture as he turned away.  Nyota could hear the voice reply, "That's... very kind of him."

"Yeah," Leonard said.  "Look, Mrs. Harewood.  I don't know what the doctors told you.  But I'll bet I can tell you more.  The only question is whether you want to know."

There was a long pause, and then the voice answered, "I know who I was married to, Mr. McCoy.  Do you?"

"Got a pretty good idea," Leonard said.  "You want to wait for Jim, though, be my guest."

"I can't," she said, after another hesitation.  "When Lucy wakes up, I'm afraid they're going to take her away."

That seemed to mean something to Leonard, who muttered, "Damn it."  Looking around, he caught Nyota's eye.  "They know," he said, not bothering to lower his voice.

Nyota shook her head, waiting for more, because she had no idea what he was talking about.

"Mrs. Harewood," Leonard said.  "Are you with your daughter now?"

"I'm at the hospital," the voice replied.  "Outside, in one of the courtyards."

"Go in and sit with her," Leonard said.  "Don't leave her side.  I don't suppose there's any chance you can get her transferred?"

"Your Captain Kirk recommended someone."  The woman was speaking faster now, as though Leonard's urgency had crept through the link to convince her.  "A Dr. Boyce.  He sent the paperwork, but I wasn't sure--oh my god."

There was a rush of indecipherable sound, murmuring in the background, and maybe Leonard could make it out because he asked, "Mrs. Harewood?  Is everything all right?"

"She's awake," the voice reported, breathless with joy or distress or both.  "My baby's awake.  They're going to move her--"

"Don't move that child," Leonard said.  "Don't let her go anywhere without you, do you understand me?"

"May I?" another voice asked, and then, "To whom am I speaking?"

"This is Dr. Leonard McCoy," Leonard growled.  "I'm the Harewoods' consulting physician.  Who are you?"

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Scotty whispered.  "Who's Lucy?"

"This is Dr. Karen Wilson," the voice replied.  "I work with Dr. Boyce.  Lucille Harewood is being prepped for transport as we speak."

"Transport to where?" Leonard demanded.

Pavel held up his PADD for Scotty to see: two faces, one a uniformed Starfleet officer labeled "Thomas Harewood" and the other a smiling little girl labeled "Lucille Harewood."  A graphic connected Thomas to the Kelvin Memorial Archive, while another put Lucille at Royal Children's Hospital.

"San Francisco," Leonard's communicator was telling him.  "She's being transferred to the care of Dr. Boyce until the side effects of her treatment can be alleviated."

"Treatment?" Leonard repeated.

"Radiation therapy," the voice replied.

They know, Leonard had said.  A saboteur's sick daughter was getting better, and Kirk was trying to protect her.  Which meant one of two things: either Kirk had suddenly developed a sense of paternal philanthropy, or something connected him to Lucy that he didn't want anyone else to know about.

"Scotty," Nyota said.  "If we needed to get a message to Kirk right now, without making any of the admirals suspicious, could we do it?"

"Lass," he replied, "I'm insulted ye even have to ask."

"Stay with her," Leonard was telling his communicator.  "McCoy out."

He didn't seem surprised to find them all waiting when he turned around again.  "They're lulling him," he said.  "Jim, the thing with Spock, no one cares.  They're gonna use it to goad him into a physical, a psych test, whatever they can do to prove he shouldn't be alive."

"Why do they need more tests?" Hikaru wanted to know.  "Haven't they done enough to last a year?"

"His recuperation records were locked by yours truly," Leonard said grimly.  "These won't be."

"So we have to warn him," Hikaru said.

"Can he refuse?" Pavel asked.  "Vhat good is a varning?"

"Better than nothing," Leonard said.  "If there's one thing I've learned, it's not to underestimate Jim Kirk."

"Leave it to me," Scotty said.  He took Pavel's PADD and began to type.  He was done before Pavel had finished asking Hikaru when the PADD shortage had become so severe that chiefs had to share.

"Priority for Commander Spock," Scotty told his communicator.  He had one hand curled protectively over the stolen PADD, and he tapped it as soon as the connection was live.

"Spock here," the familiar voice replied.  There was no indication they were interrupting anything at all.

"Commander, ye asked to be notified immediately on completion of the gravity testing," Scotty said.  "Afraid it went a wee bit sideways and took the carbon mixers with it.  We could use yer input on the algorithm when ye've a minute, sir."

There was a brief pause, and then, "Understood, Mr. Scott.  Spock out."

Scotty grinned triumphantly and held up the PADD.  There was one line at the top that said, No frat regs, they're looking for a miracle cure.  Underneath there were two more words, presumably from Kirk: On it.

“On it?” Leonard repeated incredulously.  “What does that even mean?  It’s not a tactical strike!”

“They can handle it,” Nyota said.  She had to believe that.  She did believe it, most of the time.  “What about Lucy, is she okay?  How did you even find her?”

“Didn’t take a genius to connect the dots,” Leonard grumbled.  “I didn’t think they’d go after her.  Jim obviously did.  Kid’s got a paranoid streak a mile wide.”

“Maybe he has a reason,” Hikaru offered.

“Oh, he has a whole list of reasons,” Leonard said.  “Some of them are even true.”

Scotty was talking to someone else, muttering into his communicator about artificial gravity and life support, and she wondered who he had on the ship.  How much of his team had been reassigned over the interim?  How many of them would be coming back?

She glanced at her PADD automatically, but there were no new notifications.

Chapter 9

Spock had set his PADD down when he walked into the room: square with the corner, perfectly aligned with the edge of the table.  He hadn't touched it since, and all Jim wanted to do was reach over and knock if off-kilter.  Seriously, who did that?

He saw his chance when Spock snapped his communicator shut.  If Scotty hadn't made up the misfire with the gravity test, then all of engineering was grounded for a month.  Still, Spock's algorithm, Spock's PADD.  Jim snatched it off the table and snapped it down on top of his own.

Spock gave him an odd look in the sudden silence.  Jim could feel it, but he didn't bother returning it.  He figured he had three seconds before someone asked and ten before he had to answer, and that might be just enough time.

He hadn't counted on Spock moving their chess algorithm out of the PADD's main space.  He was tracking it down when Komack interrupted him.  "Captain Kirk, is there something you find more pressing than this debriefing?"

"There are lots of things I find more pressing than this debriefing," Jim said without looking up.  "Admiral.  Right now, the fact that my chief engineer apparently can't tell the difference between artificial gravity and life support is, hmm, pretty high up there, actually."

Spock, he typed, because with Spock you couldn't be too clear.  We need to talk about this.  I want your thoughts to be my thoughts, you get me?  He handed the PADD back to Spock, chess algorithm on top.

"Share with the class, Kirk, or don't pass notes in my meeting," Komack warned.

Spock flipped the PADD around and held it up without a word.  The chess algorithm looked like a lot of nothing without defined variables.  To someone who didn't dabble in Vulcan math, it should pass as a gravity plan.

Jim put his hands behind his back and stared at the wall behind Komack's head.  "I figure if all you're gonna do is ask Spock questions, sir, I might as well fix that algorithm."

"Yes," Spock added.  When Jim glanced sideways at him, he was looking at the PADD himself.  "I see the problem."

"You want me to believe he solved your logic puzzle in the amount of time it took him to take and return that PADD," Komack said.

"I know a little something about math, sir," Jim told the wall.

"There is a flaw in your dispersion pattern," Spock said.

Jim looked at him incredulously.  Spock was offering the PADD back to him, cool as could be.  "Did you just challenge my solution?" Jim asked.

He took the PADD anyway, flipping the algorithm aside and staring at the note Spock had written in return.  All it said was, Do you?

"I do not believe you followed it through to its logical conclusion," Spock said aloud.

"Work while you walk, gentlemen," Komack told them.  "Report to Medbay in ten minutes or you're both suspended.  Psych clears you for duty together or not at all."

Jim saw Spock raise an eyebrow at that, but it didn't really matter.  They were dismissed, they had ten minutes sort of alone, and that would have to be enough.  He wasn't even sure Spock could do what Jim had in mind, but they were going to find out.

"Dismissed," Komack snapped.

Spock had already been at attention, and Jim didn't bother, so there wasn't much to separate their leaving from their staying.  Except that as soon as they were in the hallway, Jim muttered, "Can you do it?"

"We are no doubt being monitored," Spock said quietly.

"Yeah," Jim said, turning the first corner without so much as a sideways glance.  "That's why I asked."

"You wish to know my thoughts," Spock said, and the way he said it, just like that, somehow made it seem more impossible than it had before.

"Actually, I want you to know mine," Jim said.  "I'm not that fast a typist, and the damn things are networked anyway."

He could feel the look Spock was giving him as they strode down the hallway.  "You are a proficient typist, Captain."

"Wow, Spock, proficient?"  Jim smirked.  "Careful, my ego can't keep up."

"I am certain it will adapt," Spock told him.  "I do not believe your suggested course of action is the optimal one."

"Yeah, well, I'm the king of not optimal."  They'd probably tripped the motion sensors ten meters back, and a lift was waiting for them when they arrived.  "What do you figure," he said, following Spock inside.  "Eight minutes to Medbay?"

Jim hit stop as soon as the lift began to move.  "90 seconds," he said, before Spock could even start.  "Touch me."

Spock stared at him.  "If your plan involves stalling a turbolift until the building safeties override it, why not simply--"

"Because it's not what I say that's gonna get us cleared for duty," Jim said.  He knew what Spock was asking and he knew why Spock was hesitating, but fuck everything, they didn't have time for this.  "For once, just--just trust me, would you?"

Spock looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't.  He just held out his hand, two fingers extended, and Jim wished he didn't know what that meant.  He wanted to kiss Spock.  Spock was offering.  But Komack had said it himself: they did this together or not at all.

He made sure to brush their fingers together before he caught Spock's hand and lifted it to his face.  "Touch me," he insisted.

This time Spock didn't hesitate.  His fingers spread gently across Jim's face, soft in a way they hadn't been the first (last?) time.  It was so different that Jim only had a split second to brace himself, focusing on the words a heartbeat before he heard them.

My mind to your mind, he thought, and he saw Spock raise an eyebrow at him.  My thoughts to your thoughts.

He heard the words, but Spock's mouth didn't move.  The lift was silent except for the warning hum of the countdown: 72 seconds to override.  He could feel Spock thinking.

What he didn't feel was paralyzing grief.  No numbing sadness or overwhelming regret.  No ruthlessly suppressed emotion surging up to stagger him.  

There was a mild sort of surprise at the calm, and that was his--but it wasn't only his.

PSI 207, Jim thought.  He knew without question that Spock was getting every word.  Embassy training for non-psychics.  I did really well in my classes.

I am aware, Spock agreed.  And it was agreement: Jim could finally tell what he meant when he said things, and he was never going to not want this.

Been waiting for you to take me up on that telepathy invite, he said, because that was the downside of being in someone's head.  You couldn't always pick and choose, and sometimes they got more than you wanted them to have.

I do not engage in casual melds, Spock replied.  I assume you also received a message from Mr. Scott.

It could have been a rebuff.  If he'd said it aloud, Jim would have heard it that way.  But now, staring at someone he couldn't walk away from, he knew it for what it was: Spock's sympathetic attempt at easing his fear of revealing too much.

He says they're after the cure, Jim said.  Khan's blood.  They don't know what it is, but they're trying to prove Bones gave it to me.

This exam is not about our psychological fitness.  Spock said it like it was a given, but Jim could hear him waiting for confirmation.

Pretty sure it's about proving I'm more healthy than I should be, Jim said.  I know Vulcans have better biocontrol than humans, and I hear you can put that on people you're close to.

He didn't know why it came out as "close."  He didn't have time to fix it even if he’d had a better word, which he didn't.  Vulcans were notoriously private, and one mind meld with a Spock he'd just met couldn't change everything.

Spock didn’t object.  He just qualified it.  Very close, he said.

Can you do it for me? Jim asked.  He thought the answer was yes.  He wasn’t sure he would have dared to ask otherwise.

It is possible, Spock said.  There wasn’t any hesitation in his thoughts, but there was reluctance.  It wouldn’t have been Spock’s first suggestion.  It will not be pleasant for you.

Jim felt himself smiling, because Spock was going to do it.  He was the first to admit he didn’t really know what it meant, but if Spock was willing and he thought it was possible than Jim was all in.  Dying of radiation poisoning wasn’t pleasant, he thought.  You know what was worse?  Losing my ship.  I don’t want to go there again.

More than your physical well-being will be compromised, Spock warned him.  Our minds will be open to each other for the duration of the experience.

Jim was standing a foot away from him in an empty turbolift with the clock ticking.  Neither of them was yelling, threatening, or inflicting violence on the other.  He would have given them points even if they weren’t staring at each other with their hands pressed together on his face.

In case you haven’t noticed, Jim thought, I’ve been trying to get in your head since I met you.  I don’t want to take advantage or anything, but I’m not exactly against this.

Very well.  It was a phrase that made Spock sound exasperated when he said it, but when he thought it he just sounded pleased.  Alert me to any discomfort you can not tolerate.

I thought discomfort was the point, Jim thought, heard himself think, felt inside his head while the words came from somewhere else.  The hand holding his fingers against human skin squeezed.  Spock gasped.

“Holy shit,” Jim whispered.  He saw himself say it.  Everything was silent and calm and twice as big as it had been a moment before.  “I’m you.”

Focus on your own body, Spock told him.  Your thoughts will follow.

He didn’t want to.  He wanted to focus on Spock’s body, he wanted his thoughts to follow him there, he wanted to see the world through someone else’s eyes.  He wanted to stand outside himself and look back in.  He wanted to be inside Spock and look out.

Jim, Spock thought.  He felt careful, hot and thrilling and deep and so very calm.

Careful, Jim thought.  Careful.

Yes, Spock agreed.  You will broadcast this to every telepath in San Francisco.  Let me help you keep it in.

At first he thought the hiss was him, or his imagination.  Spock’s mind filled in the information as fast as he could register it: the almost inaudible shush of the lift sliding to life.  Their 90 seconds were up.

Keep what in? he asked involuntarily, then, No, sorry, not important.  Do what you have to do.

But Spock told him without telling him.  There weren’t any words, he just knew: the psychic connection between them would hum up and down the telepathic range, sparking with Jim’s every uncontrolled thought.  He was bright to Spock, flashy in his unpredictability.  His mind would give them away.

I’m losing it, Jim warned him.  It wasn’t the training; his focus was bad because his motivation was compromised.  He didn’t want to be separate from Spock.  He wanted to sneak in, he wanted to push on every unlocked door.  He wanted to see, to know, to feel.

You are not, Spock said.  There is no need to hold back when your entry is welcome.  As you do not need to restrain yourself, neither do you need to explore.  This will not be your only opportunity.

That’s what you say now, Jim thought, unbidden.  He wouldn’t have shared that if he’d had a choice.  He felt frustration, but whose it was he didn’t know.  He took it just to get it out of the way and he thought he saw Spock smile.

The doors opened and Spock pulled his hand abruptly free.  He didn’t force Jim to let go, just stepped aside and Jim walked out of the lift first because that was what he did.  The sense of following himself disappeared when their fingers came apart, overwhelmed by his own motion.

When he could bring himself to look, there was no sign of a smile on Spock’s face.

“It will get easier,” Spock said, only he didn’t.  He didn’t say a word, not out loud.

Shit, Jim thought.  I can still hear you in my head.

He was staring straight ahead and he could tell when Spock raised an eyebrow.  If you expect me to directly influence your physiology, he said, we must be, as you say, close.

Yeah, when does that start? Jim wanted to know.  I feel fine.

As you should, Spock said.  Your medical leave was scheduled to end three days from now.

Good, right, don’t compromise an actual physical eval just to cover his miraculous recovery.  It was a fair point.  And he was really struggling to keep any kind of focus right now.  Just for the record.

I am capable of shielding my own mind, Spock told him.  You will not overwhelm me by letting your mind wander.

And how much of the wandering do you see? Jim countered.  Don’t lie to me, Spock, I know how deep this is.  We’re not just swapping idle conversation.

The connection is as deep as it must be, Spock said.  I assure you, I am not interested in violating your privacy.

Great, Jim thought.  Invite someone into your head and then yell at them for looking around.  He meant the reminder for himself, but if Spock couldn’t hear him then he wasn’t half as strong as his file hinted.

Sorry, he thought.  Just in case.

Your apology is unnecessary, illogical, Spock thought, and Jim could hear that.  He could hear Spock changing what he was about to say.

Hey, so, you don't really think things are illogical? he teased.  Do you just add that later?

Irrelevant, Spock thought.  He seemed amused, though.  He definitely wasn't annoyed, and being sure of that was worth a lot.  Will you follow your usual strategy of bluffing your way through the psych eval?

I think of it more as an intelligence test, Jim said.  It was easier to concentrate with Spock asking him questions, and that couldn't be an accident.  Not a very good one, either.

Perhaps if you let it serve its intended purpose, Spock suggested.

He tried not to smile.  They'd never let me into space if I told the truth, Spock.

Two cadets passed them, going in the opposite direction, and Spock nodded at their acknowledgement.  Jim tried to say something, but Spock was the only one who got it.  By the time he realized he hadn't spoken out loud, they were already past.

Wow, that turns into a habit fast, Jim thought, trying to cover his embarrassment.

"Your work with the algorithm was unexpected," Spock said, when the hall was empty enough that he could only be talking to Jim.  He didn't think, Practice, but Jim got the message anyway.

He cleared his throat first, just to make sure everything still worked the way he thought it did.  "Yeah," he said aloud.  His voice didn't break, and if the words came a little slower than he would have liked, at least they were still there.  "Well, you didn't help me by moving it like that."

"I do not generally organize my files for the convenience of others," Spock said.  Even with the distance between them, the way Jim was slowly getting his bearings, he could tell Spock wasn't irritated.

"Too bad," Jim said.  "Would make my life easier."

There was a flicker of something, and he turned on Spock even as they kept moving.  "Did you just consider it?" Jim asked.  He grinned at the eyebrow, walking backwards another few steps before turning around again.  "You did, didn't you!  You totally thought about changing your system."

"Do you expect me to believe," Spock said, "there is any system you would not rearrange to suit your own purpose?"

This time, Jim got out of the way of traffic and managed to reply at the same time.  "Did you just deflect my question with another question?"

"Do you find that amusing?" Spock countered.  He seemed more satisfied than surprised.

And, okay, Jim was still having trouble with his focus when he had his own and all of Spock's to deal with at the same time, but no way had that been unintentional.  "Spock, are you flirting with me?"

Not so much as a pause.  "Is this the first time you've noticed?"

Jim pointed at him without stopping.  They didn't have time to stop, which was too bad because this was now officially his favorite conversation.  "That's something I would say.  I must be a good influence; you're even starting to sound like me."

"You should consider the possibility that the reverse is true," Spock said calmly.

It should have meant, you’re a bad influence, but it didn’t and Jim could tell.  He knew that Spock meant Jim was starting to sound like him, not the other way around.  He didn't know how closely they were being watched, but he wasn't going to let that go.

"I like this," Jim said aloud.  "We should do it more often."

"The side effects are not as disconcerting as I anticipated," Spock agreed.

Jim didn't need a psychic connection to know that meant yes.

Chapter 10

"What on God's green earth did you do?"

McCoy had burst into the only pressurized lab area with a flair that must have been difficult to achieve when slowed by passage through an airlock.  Jim would likely appreciate such a dramatic entrance.  Spock was doing delicate work and did not pause.

"Please specify," he said.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about," McCoy snapped.  "I saw those test results.  All Jim will tell me is that you did some Vulcan mumbo-jumbo and I should ask you, so.  I'm asking!"

It didn't sound entirely like a request, but that was typical of the doctor.  "There was no mumbo-jumbo involved," Spock said.  "His immune system was suppressed and his recovery set back.  As you are no doubt aware, if you have already seen the results of his evaluation."

"How, Spock."  McCoy was glaring at him.  "They didn't find anything in his system except for the anti-rads.  What did you do?"

Spock considered the mechanism in front of him.  Jim had left the explanation to him deliberately, he knew.  What he could not predict was McCoy’s reaction.  Logic did not dictate emotional response, and as such was a poor indicator of its outcome.  In that, at least, the doctor’s behavior was remarkably consistent.

“Vulcans exert considerable control over their biological processes,” Spock said at last.  “You are aware that we can speed our own healing, of course.”

“The trance.”  McCoy looked unimpressed.  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“It is not only our own systems over which we may exert some form of influence,” Spock said.

McCoy snorted.  “You do a mean death glare,” he said, “but I’ve never seen you fake radiation poisoning with your mind, Spock.”

He gave up on the task he had hoped to complete before now, surrendering to the wish of Jim’s friends that he explain every detail of their relationship.  “That evidence is hardly conclusive, Doctor.  You have not seen me pilot a shuttlecraft, yet you are aware of my qualification.”

It was not a graceful surrender.

“Are you trying to tell me,” McCoy began, “that you can make people sick by looking at them sideways?  My god, man, if that were true you wouldn’t need war.  You could just cough each other to death.”

“The effect is limited to those we are in contact with,” Spock said stiffly.

“A killing touch?” McCoy demanded.  “That I believe, but only in the traditional sense.  I’ve seen you fight.”

McCoy had seen far too many of his capabilities in recent days.  It had only been a matter of time before there were questions, and it seemed that time was up.  The doctor could not abide knowledge he knew existed but did not have.

“It is not meant to kill,” Spock said.  Except in extreme circumstances, and he would withhold that information if he could.  Any doctor would follow what he was about to say to its logical conclusion, regardless.  “It is meant to strengthen.  A sharing of resources between compatible individuals.”

When McCoy looked ready to interrupt again, he added, “The necessary contact is not physical in nature.”

This prompted a frown, but the appropriate conclusion swiftly followed.  “You mind-whammied him,” McCoy said.  “He hates that, you know.  Took a whole class in how not to let it happen to him.”

That cast a different light on Jim’s motivation in the PSI department.  It was not relevant to the exchange, however, and Spock felt obligated to see the current conversation through.  “‘Mind whammy’ is an imprecise descriptor,” he said.  “I shared his consciousness long enough to be a detriment to his health and well-being."

There was something disquieting about hearing the words aloud, and McCoy seemed no more pleased than he felt.  “With Jim’s consent, of course,” Spock added.

McCoy was not appeased.  “Consent to what, exactly?”

“He knew what needed to be done,” Spock told him.  “He asked for my assistance.  Specifically my assistance in this particular manner.”

“Uh-huh,” McCoy said.  “And now that he’s passed the test, it’s all over.  No more assistance, no more... sharing consciousness?”

Spock hesitated and McCoy saw it.  As with most things involving Jim, it was clear he did not approve.  The difference was that this time, Spock knew he should agree.

He didn't, of course.  But he should.

“Does he know?” McCoy demanded.  “You can’t fuck with someone’s mind, Spock.  Especially not Jim’s.”

"We found the side effects to be useful," Spock said.  He wasn't protesting; he was only providing some manner of explanation.  "The experience could be repeated for future benefit."

"Repeated," McCoy said.  He seemed marginally less confrontational when he asked, "You're planning to do this again?"

"The captain was concerned that he might be unable to control his curiosity."  It was a private revelation, but if there was anything McCoy didn't know about Jim Kirk, Spock would likely never learn it either.  "I attempted to assist him by alleviating the urgency of the situation."

"Huh."  The uninformative sound was at least accompanied by a nod.  "Yeah.  I guess there's worse ways to calm Jim down than giving him what he wants."

Spock decided that no response to this statement was necessary.

Unexpectedly, McCoy leaned in and peered more intently at him.  "Are you okay?" he demanded.  "You're not staring at me as much as usual.  Is that a Vulcan way of being under the weather?"

"This room is pressurized," Spock responded automatically.  "There is no weather to speak of."

"Oh, you know what I mean."  McCoy didn't scowl at him, and Spock reflected that the doctor had chosen a particularly inconvenient time to be so perceptive. "Did helping Jim mess you up?"

The vagueness of McCoy’s queries made them alternately more and less difficult to evade.  "My physical health is unaffected," he said.

“What about your mental health?” McCoy persisted.  “Don’t play dumb with me, Spock; I’m your doctor.  I’m only trying to help.”

“I am suffering no ill effects as a result of sharing consciousness with Jim,” Spock said.  “His mind, while unpredictable, is relatively well-disciplined, and his physiology was responsive to my suggestion.  Your concern is unwarranted.”

McCoy scoffed, apparently amused by the reassurance.  “I’m sure he was responsive to your suggestion,” he drawled.  “What I’d like to know is how responsive you were to his.”

Spock only looked at him, aware that the comment was intended to convey some deeper meaning.  Some sexual connotation, perhaps.  This was not his area of expertise.

Instead of rolling his eyes, McCoy held his gaze with every indication of sincerity.  “Jim’s not gonna give up, Spock.  You said this was his idea, and I believe it.  I also know, from long experience, that this is the least of what he’s gonna ask you to do.  You need to be sure you want to do this with him, because if you make him let go, it’s all over.  You get me?”

It was the second time today someone had used those words when asking him a question.  This time Spock told the truth.  “No,” he admitted.  “I do not understand what you are asking.”

“There’s no controlling him,” McCoy said.  “Better people than you have tried.  And look, you’re good people, so I don’t say that lightly.  If you think you can make him into something else, I’m telling you right now: you’re wrong.”

Spock tilted his head, wondering what he had missed this time.  “It is who he is now that I find intriguing,” he said.  “Why would I wish him to be otherwise?”

“Well, you wouldn’t be the first,” McCoy grumbled.

The allcall intervened, preceded by a thin sound that Spock identified as rerouting.  “Kirk to all Enterprise personnel,” the voice said.  “Safety check, code 2, engineering level 6.  Emergency decompression rules apply.  Auto-acknowledge.  Kirk out.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.  Code 2 was one step below on-duty consumption of alcoholic beverages.  Jim was celebrating, and it wasn’t hard to guess what he might consider worthy of the effort.

“Code 2?” McCoy repeated.  “How many airlocks are there between here and wherever he’s making us go?”

“Seventeen,” Spock said.  The number was crucial, if contestable, as McCoy wasn’t wearing a pressure suit.  He would have to travel behind the bulkheads if he planned to participate.

Spock thumbed the auto-acknowledge on his communicator before shutting down power to the lab and collecting his helmet.  He was not surprised to see McCoy waiting for him.  They would go together, then.

“Doctor,” Spock said.  “I understand that you are concerned for Jim’s well-being.  I am as well.  Our goal would be better served if we work together, rather than issuing ambiguous warnings in the dark.”

McCoy eyed him for a long moment, but at last he nodded.  “Yeah,” he said.  “But you gotta work on your answers if you expect me to give better warnings.  I can’t treat what I don’t see, Spock.”

He inclined his head.  “I will take that under advisement.”

“Seventeen airlocks?” McCoy said.  “Really?”

“I believe the purpose of the safety checks is to familiarize us with exactly that information,” Spock said.

McCoy snorted.  “The purpose of the safety checks is for Jim to act like a little kid and throw parties on Starfleet’s dime,” he said.  “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

“That would be a departure from your norm,” Spock replied.

“Careful,” McCoy said.  “You’re not the only one I advise about workplace romance, you know.”

“Jim has not seemed unduly influenced by advice in the past,” Spock said.

"No," McCoy agreed.  "Bless his heart."

It was a sentiment Spock had heard many times with regard to Jim, and this day would be no exception.  The words did not always seem to be complimentary, but today there was no doubt that those who said them were pleased.  Even McCoy, who did indeed have to pass through seventeen airlocks on his way to Jim's impromptu party.

"Bones!" Jim declared on seeing them.  His voice came from somewhere up above, and Spock didn't have to look to isolate him from the gathered crew, officers, and workers they'd brought with them.  "Spock!  More heroes of the hour!"

There was collective applause, and Spock raised an eyebrow.  Their arrival had been anticipated, then.  This was a larger assembly than the last time, but he didn't have enough data to track trends in size relative to code level versus word of mouth.  Jim's "safety checks" invariably paged only Enterprise personnel, but as far as Spock knew no one else was turned away.

"Over here," McCoy said, striding into the crowd without waiting to see if he followed.  He did not.  The human propensity for close personal contact in a general assembly was not one he embraced.

Spock took time on the outskirts of the gathering to identify as many personnel as he could locate.  Senior officers were easier to pick out than crew, though this was the first time that had been true: in the past, they had mingled as one, but this time he found every one of Jim's department heads in some position of distinction.

Scott was on top of housing that was labeled "do not stand," and he was waving Nyota down from a catwalk to join him.  Sulu was perched on top of a cross rail between two sections, and it appeared that Jim had recruited Chekov to supervise the distribution of candy.  Code 2 was confectionery, an assignation Spock had learned only through observation.  Jim didn't publish his fictional and entirely arbitrary reward system, insisting that the mystery made people more likely to participate, but so far his numbers had been consistently applied.

"Mr. Spock."

He had received notice of Dr. Marcus' posting, of course.  He had followed the reassignment of the Enterprise's science department, as well as most of the command track and all of the department heads.  He shouldn't have been surprised to see her here.

"Dr. Marcus," Spock said, turning.  "I believe congratulations are appropriate after the lifting of your suspension."

She smiled a little.  He was a poor judge of human expression, but it looked awkward to him.  "Thank you," she said.  "Your Captain Kirk advocated for me."

He didn't particularly want to discuss Jim with Carol Marcus, but he supposed it was inevitable.  Jim had consulted all of them before approving her posting: an unusual move for the captain of a starship, and more unexpected given his outspoken support.  Jim wanted her on the ship, that much was clear.  Why he pretended he would allow any of his senior officers to veto her placement was less so.

"Commander," she said, and he raised an eyebrow.  "I'll be frank.  I don't think you want me on board.  But I'm aware of what your opinion means to the captain, and I don't think I'd be here if you'd spoken against my assignment."

"I have no cause to do so," he said.  "Your actions in the performance of your duties have been adequate."

"Adequate enough that I can continue to serve in your department?" she asked.  "I've been demoted, Commander, and I accept that.  But if I can't serve in your chain of command, then I'll gladly transfer out.  Mr. Scott has said he would welcome me in engineering."

"As First Officer," Spock told her, "the only person on this ship outside of my authority is the captain."

"And as Chief Science Officer you'll be my direct supervisor," she said.  "If you prefer not to have me reporting to you, then I understand that."

His initial impulse was to deny her implication, but logic dictated that he consider the offer.  She was a scientist.  She was not, however, ill-suited to the ranks of engineering, and her recklessness might prove less of a hindrance under Scott's jurisdiction than his own.

"Are you uncertain as to where your talents would be best applied?" he asked at last.

"Plainly, sir?"  Marcus held his stare evenly, without flinching, and he was aware that this was not the norm among humanity.  "I'm uncertain as to where my presence will be best received.  You and I did not work well together when you were seeing Lieutenant Uhura, and I'm concerned that we'll be even less compatible now that you're dating Captain Kirk."

"My off-duty relationships do not affect the performance of my duty," Spock told her.

"No," she said, taking a step back.  "Of course they don't, Commander.  I'm sorry I brought it up."

She was stiff and toneless and a much better example of an officer than the one who had just implied his workplace romance was compromising her professional advancement.  And just for a moment, he saw Jim standing there at the Daystrom Institute: The truth is, I'm going to miss you.

It was the truth, and Jim had paid for sharing it several times over.  But without it, Spock would not be here: not on this ship, not with these people, perhaps not even alive.  He found he valued his current situation over a model of Starfleet decorum.

"Doctor," Spock said.  "I believe I understand your concern, and I… appreciate your willingness to speak freely."

Marcus paused but did not relax.  "I appreciate that you allow it, Commander Spock."

"Your contributions to the science department will be welcome," he told her.  "If you find yourself uncomfortable there, I trust you will notify me so that we may seek a satisfactory solution together."

This time she smiled again, and he hoped that his message had been conveyed at least as clearly as hers.  "Thank you," she said.  "I will.  Sir."

"Bones says I shouldn't interrupt," Jim declared, sidling up to them in a way that managed to look almost accidental.  "Luckily I never listen to him, or I wouldn't talk to anyone.  Glad you both could make it."

"You knew we were on board," Spock said.

Jim grinned at him.  "Well, yeah.  Why do you think I waited until now before I called a safety check?  Starfleet renewed the posting of everyone I love the most!  I'm gonna celebrate the heck out of this."

"With pastries and candy," Spock observed.

"It's not a party without refreshments," Jim countered.  "Come on, come eat junk food with me."

"I think I'll just," Marcus began, gesturing over her shoulder in a way that indicated nothing Spock could discern.  Neither did she finish her sentence, apparently believing her meaning was clear.

"Bones is looking for you," Jim said cheerfully.  "Don't let him pass off harassment as southern charm; he got by me with that for years."

"Dr. McCoy asked for the details of our arrangement," Spock said as he was steered away.  And there was no doubt that Jim was steering him, with a hand on his elbow and no apparent concern for those around them.

"Our arrangement?" Jim repeated.  He didn't bother to lower his voice, and Spock was aware of several crew members turning to follow their progress across the deck.  "I told him to leave it alone, but.  He wouldn't be friends with me if he wasn't a nosy bastard."

"He said that you told him to ask," Spock said.  "He said you had described it as 'Vulcan mumbo-jumbo' and told him to get the details from me."

"What?"  Jim was frowning, but it didn't last long.  "Oh, that!  Yeah, I thought you were talking about something else.  I didn't call it mumbo-jumbo, by the way.  That was all him."

"He seemed anxious that the… contact be concluded," Spock said carefully.

"Yeah?"  Jim let go of him as he stepped around an ensign in command yellow, putting his hand on her shoulder instead.  "So you told him about that, huh?"

"No," Spock said.  He did not like how imprecise this conversation was turning out to be, and he was struck by the urge to reclaim Jim's touch.  "I only mentioned that we had not agreed never to repeat the experience in the future."

"Not agreed never to…"  Jim trailed off.  "Okay.  I definitely understood you better before.  How come it's different now?"

No one who was looking would miss the gesture, but Spock reached out and brushed his fingers against Jim's hand anyway.  It was at least more subtle than speaking aloud.  The connection is augmented by physical contact.

Jim turned around in the middle of the crowded engineering deck and grinned at him.  "You really just did that," he said.

Spock raised an eyebrow at him.

"You lied to Bones," Jim continued.  "He's not gonna be happy with us."

"I have survived his displeasure this long," Spock said.  "I believe I will continue to endure."

Jim laughed, and Spock wasn't the only one to stop and listen.  It was an unnecessary display of exuberance, perhaps, but it made everyone around them brighten.  Spock remembered Jim saying that it would serve crew morale to believe in a romantic relationship between their commanding officers.

Jim reached out to touch his hand in return, and Spock didn't pull away.  "I think we can do better," Jim told him.

Unbidden and undeclared, Spock felt the connection at the back of his mind hum.