1. Chapter 1

**Remedy Chapter 1**

The sound of the bell reverberated throughout the mostly vacant parlor, unusually loud and piercing in the hazy silence.

Hesitantly tearing his gaze away from his PADD, Jim eyed the stranger that had entered, from his place behind the bar's wooden counter. Due to the storm, the normal rush of patrons had declined to a mere handful: the few familiar faces that visited regularly, the ones that were more than content to sit in secluded corners and drown in their sorrows. Frankly, Jim didn't even know why the bar was open and was more than a little crabby at having to drag his sorry ass out of his warm bed. Despite his general irritableness, the slow business and general lack of something to do was not unwelcome for him. Jim had taken full advantage of the situation and had been catching up on his reading. He loathed stopping midway, but then again he was not being paid to read articles from _Pioneering Space: Building the Future One Warp Core at a Time_, as sad as that was.

With a thud the door slammed shut behind the stranger, cutting off the sound of the whipping wind and the steady pitter patter of rain. The man shivered slightly, pulling the folds of his coat tightly over his body. His collar was turned up, a shield against the wind, the dark black a nice contrast against his slightly tanned and flushed skin.

Pushing himself up and away from where he'd been leaning against the counter, his body slightly bent over it as he had read, Jim stood straight. As the man began to make his way to the counter instead of one of the empty tables, he threw a wistful glance at his PADD. Internally sighing, he picked it up and placed it under the counter and grabbed a cleaning cloth in its stead. Picking up the nearest glass in his reach, he wiped it clean, something that had become second nature to him.

'He looks like the brandy type,' Jim thought aimlessly, backed up by years of experience, as he took in the damp brown hair with its barest signs of whitening, plastered to the man's forehead, and the knowing green eyes with their soft edges as the man made his way to the counter.

Nodding in acknowledgement, he sat down on one of the barstools, placing his hands on the marble top of the counter and shaking his head as if to shake the water off. Underneath his coat, Jim could spot his black outfit.

Something twisted in his gut, a familiar feeling of apprehension, but Jim pushed it away. Just because the man was wearing black didn't mean that he was one of them; and anyway, they didn't get those kinds around here. There were no ship ports near the city of Baxley, Georgia, and the nearest recruitment center was cities over, facts that had been deciding factors in Jim's decision to settle down there.

He was overreacting.

"'Ya'll a dramatic bastard, Jim.'" his best friend's gruff voice rang through his mind. At the time Jim had vigorously argued with Bones, having felt the need to protect his pride, but in the company of his own mind, Jim would admit that there was _some_ truth to the statement.

"It's hell outside." The man offered for a greeting; his voice firm but slightly breathy from having just wrestled his way through the stampeding winds.

Jim's lips quirked upward, as he finished polishing the glass and set it aside.

"It's supposed to get worse later tonight."

A groan.

"Hard day?" Jim asked sympathetically. Up close, he could see the lines of exhaustion on the man's face, the light bags under his eyes.

"That's one way to put it." The guy chuckled as he reached for a menu. "You have ginger root tea?" He asked a bit incredulously, eyes skimming over the list.

Jim shrugged, "The sign says 'Frontier bar' but we got pretty much everything." Baxley was a small town, with a handful of eating establishments, and even fewer cafes and exactly two bars. According to Jim's boss it was a smart move to have a place that served everything from tea and coffee to food and alcohol. He wouldn't have been too sweet on the idea if it weren't for the fact that on a normal day the place was packed.

"I should bring my future first here, he would love it ... well as much as he loves anything, I guess. Though, I'm pretty sure he'd rather stay at the recruitment center, working. After all, taking time off to relax when one could be being productive would be illogical." The comment was made absentmindedly, a form of small talk, but the implication behind it made Jim's heart clench and his gut twist. The fingers that had mindlessly been tapping on the countertop, stuttered to a stop. Instinctively, his posture went rigid, his face blank.

Placing the menu down, the man looked at him. If he'd noticed the change, he didn't mention it. "I'll have a Four Score,"

Jim nodded stiffly to show that he'd heard and went about his business, turning his back to the probable Starfleet Captain and forcing himself to relax.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The Four Score was created by Joe Gilmore for Winston Churchill's eightieth birthday

1, 2, 3,

Winston Churchill was born in 1875 and was Prime Minister of the UK for most of World War II

Three parts brandy

4, 5, 6,

Pi is a mathematical constant that is the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter.

It is an irrational number and approximates to 3.14159

Two parts lillet

7, 8,

The square root of pi is 1.77245385091

One part Yellow Chartreuse

9,

If x^5/2y is the variable that represents the mass to gravity ratio then x^5/2y*4k^.001, where k is the gravitational pull of other celestial bodies in a radius of 350,000+ kilometers, would be the comparative weight of the planet in the space it occupies.

Stir, strain, garnish,

10

Breathe.

Squeezing his eyes shut to block out the rampaging swirl of memories that had ambushed him, Jim steadied his shaking hands. It'd been years, centuries even, since he'd thought about that part of his life.

He didn't appreciate the reminder.

Making sure to keep his face blank, Jim finished prepping the drink and turned back to the customer. If a wave of nausea rolled over him when he saw that the man had shed his coat and was indeed supporting Starfleet's regulation black uniform for the higher-ups, he didn't show it. The insignia stood out to him, sharp and bright, salt to the wound.

Damnit, damnit, damnit,

'Why didn't brains have off switches?'

"One Four Score," he needlessly announced, glad that his voice came out smooth, as he placed the drink in front of the man.

"Thanks," green eyes twinkled at him, wise from years gone by and friendly in their laid back manner. Jim suspected that under different circumstances he could have brought himself to like officer.

Instead of responding, Jim glanced around the room, taking comfort in the dim yellow light that highlighted the wooden floor and mahogany tables, the way it swept over the pale green of the walls. Making sure that everything was in order, his electric blue eyes skimmed over the few occupants of the room. There was Mr. Rogers, slouched against the table nearest to the door, face crumpled into a frown as he stared at his empty glass. Lorena McKenzie was sitting in one of the booths, shuffling through papers, no doubt working, raven hair curtaining her face, her left index finger aimlessly tracing the rim of her glass. Darwin was drinking his way through his third helping of Jack.

'I should really put a stop to that before he gets shit-faced.'

Jim _hated _dealing with drunken patrons; his own escapades still too fresh despite the years that separated Jimmy Kirk from Jim Kirk. Assuring himself that his attention wasn't needed at the moment, he turned to the Starfleet officer, a bit relieved to find that his attention was diverted by a PADD.

Jim's fingers twitched, his mind drifting back to the article he'd been reading. The patrons were all occupied after all, it wouldn't hurt to slip his own PADD back out again.

'James,' he scolded himself. 'Well, he's busy' 'What happened in taking pride in being a professional' 'I'm full of crap and we both know it.'

When he couldn't think of a counter-argument, Jim decided that he'd won the debate.

Deciding that no harm could be done, it wasn't like he was so lax on the job all the time – today was an exception - he retrieved his PADD. Opening up the file he'd been reading, Jim quickly found the place where he'd left off.

After a while, the tension in his shoulders and spine bled away and he lost himself in a cloud of variables and formulas.

"What're you reading?"

Jim's head snapped up, blue eyes meeting amused green ones.

"Just some article," he mumbled, the man's gaze making him feel like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

He internally groaned, hating the feeling of uncertainty that settled under his skin.

Automatically, Jim stashed his PADD away. One glance towards the officer and he knew that he'd made the wrong move.

Damnit all to hell.

Jim wanted to get angry and yell at the man who sat in front of him, clearly amused, but he pushed it down. He almost laughed out loud then for lack of anything else to do, as memories long forgotten and buried, whizzed past behind his eyes, overwhelming him with emotions. His old professors would be proud of the way he was keeping it together.

It took a moment for Jim to realize that the Starfleet officer was watching him, steadily. Under his gaze, Jim felt as if he were taking a test, a test he'd failed. He hated being scrutinized; being dissected and analyzed as he felt he was being now. It made him feel inadequate and flawed.

"Problem?" He asked, living up to a ditched reputation. Crossing his arms over his chest, Jim glared at the man; professionalism: go to hell.

Laughter bubbled in the air and he couldn't help but feel that he'd failed again.

Not that he had to prove anything to the officer in front of him.

'Why didn't I just kick him out, again?'

'Cuz he's a fricken Starfleet captain and would've had your ass handed to you before you could blink.' Jim's mind supplied helpfully.

"No," the man's eyes crinkled at the corners and Jim knew that he was being laughed at. "I was just wondering what you thought about the development of using Giyori plants essence in the fuel for the new engines, since that's the main topic in this week's issue." The officer continued, offhandedly, gesturing to where Jim had placed the PADD with his glass. If he'd seen what Jim was reading, why ask?

Stupid bureaucrats.

When Jim continued to glare, taking a second to thank god that his boss wasn't there or he would have been fired for being rude to such a _prestigious_ costumer, the man continued speaking.

"I personally think that using something that's valued highly in another species' society, something that has a high spiritual value, for the sake of a cheap alternative to a depleting fuel source is …" he paused, looking or the right word.

"Odious? Stupid? Offensive? Cause for conflict?" Jim couldn't help inserting his two cents; old habits died hard after all.

"To say the least. It's not a problem, yet, since the Giyori is abundant on Kallos II and it's easy to grow but for how long?"

"Until they find some other new species to harass,"

Kallos II was a recently discovered planet, the U.S.S Everett having stumbled upon it on its latest mission to map an uncharted part of the Alpha Quadrant three years ago. Jim had heard of its immense beauty and of its serene inhabitants. With its lavender sky, large waterfalls, and lush forests and plains, it was _the_ place to go for a relaxing time. The inhabitants - a species called the

Verde that, in Jim's opinion, resembled sloths except for the fact that they were taller and came in assorted colors – were welcoming and friendly, eager to please. They had discovered warp travel and were working out the minor bugs when the U.S.S Everett landed on their shores. Under normal circumstances, the Federation would have been in no real hurry to negotiate membership with the planet. Its position in space was of no tactical advantage and the species, despite the ability of having warp travel, were a bit behind technologically. That all changed when it was discovered that Kallos II possessed many natural resources that very very similar to the ones on Earth and could be used as replacements. Thus, the process had been sped up and negotiations had been made; the Federation now having a right to harvest a crop that was a very large part of the species culture. It wouldn't have been so bad, Jim thought, if it weren't for the fact that the Federation had begun plans to colonize the planet. The Verde were a peace loving people but a major part of their religion was respecting all life. Jim doubted that they would appreciate humans tearing down forests and polluting their land to build homes. And anyways, Kallos II was (with the help of a few hyposprays) adequate for temporary human occupation not for colonization, not to mention that shit always hit the fan when Starfleet began to get greedy.

Somewhere along the lines, Jim realized that the captain had _agreed _with him. Maybe not all Starfleet personnel had their heads up their asses, after all. A piece of the tension bled away from his posture, and he lowered his hands to his side.

The former amused air returned, and this time Jim could tell that it hadn't come at his stake.

He almost felt at ease.

Almost.

"You don't have much faith in the Federation, do you?"

Jim didn't bother answering. A moment passed and he found himself the object of the captain's gaze, his eyes unwavering. Hadn't they guy's parents taught him that staring was rude?

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Jim glanced around the room to avoid looking at the man. Coincidently, that was the moment Darwin had chosen to stagger to his feet. Without even looking towards the counter, he turned towards the door, slightly wobbly on his feet.

As he began to walk, Jim sighed, running a hand through his unruly golden hair. He was so not in the mood for a showdown. Why did he even let Darwin in anymore? He knew that the man always got drunk and getting him to pay was like pulling teeth.

'You got a heart big enough to swallow a black hole' Jim hadn't bothered pointing out to Bones that that no cardiac muscle could be that big (_You should know that, Bones, you're a doctor)_ and even if it were, it swallowing a black hole was a technical impossibility.

Quickly moving on his feet, Jim reached Darwin just as the man's hand closed around the door handle. Firmly gripping the guy's shoulder, Jim lightly pulled him a step back.

"Mr. Carter, you have to pay." He spoke using his professional no-nonsense voice.

When Darwin tried to move away, Jim tightened his grip.

"Mr. Carter," he warned.

Jim had not expected the right hook that came his way. Caught off guard, he stumbled back as the fist contacted his face with surprising strength. Darwin Carter was a forty three year old man who came up to Jim's chest and spoke only when he was under the influence of some alcohol. He had a hunched back and no matter how drunk and obnoxious he got, he always ended up paying.

Therefore Jim concluded that he was having a really bad day.

Well, so was Jim.

The contact had caused something in him to burst and once he'd regained his footing, Jim didn't hesitate to return the gesture. It'd been years, _years_ since he'd gotten into a fight. For a moment, everything was a flash of fists. It would have been embarrassing really, how easily Darwin was able to land a few blows on him, if Jim hadn't been too caught up in the blood pounding in his ears, the fire raging though his body to notice. A familiar rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins and Jim basked in it. Kicking out to trip Darwin, Jim grabbed his arms forcefully as the man stumbled and pinned him against the wall.

A sudden wave of rage crashed down on his, because shit, he didn't ask for this stuff, and just as Jim was about to twist Carter's arm just so, bad enough to sprain something, maybe even break, the reality of the situation came hurtling towards him. He could feel the gazes of the other patrons on his prickling skin, and he forced himself to take a deep breath.

I don't do this anymore.

Jim quickly stepped back, loosening his hold on the man.

"You have two options," he said, his shoulders sagging in defeat, his voice coming out steadier than he felt. "You either pay and leave and never come back here or I call the cops."

All Jim had wanted to do was peacefully read his article.

Had that been too much to ask?

Well, apparently.

Darwin mumbled something.

"What was that?"

"Wallet's s'in my back pocket," his words were a bit slurred, his voice hoarse.

Letting go of the guys arms, Jim waited as he fumbled to retrieve his credit chip.

"You had ordered two bottles of Jack, that's 91.56 credits." He informed the man as he grabbed the chip and strode back to the counter to scan it.

He pointedly averted the captain's gaze.

When all was said and done and Darwin had stumbled out of the bar, Jim found that he wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed; preferably with a cup of coffee. He'd lost control, relishing in the moment of rage and now that it was over he felt lifeless, an ache forming at the base of his skull.

Glancing over at the antique grandfather clock in the room, Jim groaned.

He still had an hour of his shift to go.

So Jimbo (yes, he referred to himself as Jimbo occasionally, god, what'd he have to do to catch a break, you're overreacting, Jim, aw, go to hell, I'm going crazy: I need caffeine), what was that about wanting to move on? About starting over? Why are you working in a bar again if you wanted to run far far away?

For a second Jim thought that all the people that had ever called him a dumb hick could possibly be correct.

Well, those people could go screw themselves.

The work was easy and the pay was generous enough. It was an added benefit that he didn't have to interact (much) with other people out of filling their drinks, that his boss didn't ask for a past history, and that the work didn't require a degree.

He had also been in desperate need of the money at the time of employment, and well, over time Jim felt that he just melded into the role.

"Does that happen often?" A curious voice jerked Jim out of his thoughts.

He looked up from the screen that was embedded into the counter, tearing his gaze away from the report on the day's sales.

The captain was staring at him questioningly.

A muscle twitched in Jim's jaw. Why was this guy talking to him?

Opting not to reply, Jim retrieved a hand towel and began to clean the counter, focusing on the circular motions of his hand.

He could feel those green eyes on him.

It took all of Jim's willpower not to slam his palms onto the counter. He couldn't understand the anger and irritation boiling in the pit of his stomach, and the man sitting across from him was just making it worse.

"No." He gritted out, not moving his eyes away from the counter.

Most of the time Jim shared his shift with Gary and he was the one that took care of the few kerfuffles that popped up. Jim mostly kept to himself - HAH! Who would have thought the day would come, shut up you self-deriding mind! - happy to let Gary deal with the problems while he mixed drinks. It was fate's cruel game that Gary had called in saying that he couldn't make it in today, a tree having landed on his car and public transport being suspended.

A beep sounded and Jim instinctively looked up, seeing that the message light on the captain's PADD was blinking.

It was Jim's turn to watch the man, the way his eyes skimmed over the message.

"Duty calls," he informed, startling Jim.

So much for being discreet.

The captain's shoulders slightly sagged and he looked up at Jim, his eyes bright and …

sad?

Why the hell was he sad?

Great, Starfleet started admitting lunatics.

"I never introduced myself, did I?"

Jim wanted to interrupt, say that he didn't give a damn, but something in the man's voice made him clamp his mouth shut.

"Pike. Christopher Pike."

He took out his credit chip and placed it on the counter.

Without meeting the man's – Pike's - gaze, what the_ hell _was wrong with him today, Jim quickly scanned it.

"I'll be seeing you around." Pike collected his coat and threw one last small smile his way, before turning around and walking out the door.

Jim almost called after him, asking if he wanted to wait till after the storm.

Maybe he should take up Bones on his offer for a psych eval.

For a long time after Pike's back had disappeared, Jim stared at the door, sad bright green eyes swimming in his conscience.

* * *

"So yeah," Jim finished recounting his meeting with Captain Pike two days ago, lamely, punctuating it by taking a swig of his beer. Letting his head fall back onto the head of Bones' couch, he looked at the man out of the corner of his eyes.

The two of them were currently sprawled over the sofa in Bones' living room, drinking away the built up tensions of the week. Thank god for Saturdays: the only day Bones' had a shortened shift at the hospital.

"I don't see why you're so worked up over this, kid." His best friend replied, not even sparing him a glance, his eyes focused on the holovid they were watching.

Jim scrunched his eyebrows. If it were anyone other than Bones' he would have been pissed at the use of the, what was in Jim's opinion, derogative term. Instead, he settled for being annoyed.

"Not a kid," he mumbled as he allowed his head to fall on the older man's shoulder. "I mean, for god's sake, I'm 25 and you're 31. That's six years older than me. I don't get why you go around calling me a kid."

"Ya got the mentality of one, that's for sure."

Jim opted for throwing a kennel of popcorn at the elder man; it hit his cheek and bounced off.

Running a hand over his exhausted face, Bones turned to face Jim, his expression serious.

Well, he'd brought it upon himself, Jim thought as he straightened up.

"Jim,"

"I know, I know, mountain out of a mole hill and all that razzle-dazzle." He really wasn't in the mood to listen to another of Bones' lectures.

A pause.

"Razzle-dazzle? Christ, kid, I don't know why I even put up with you."

Jim's lips quirked into a smile. Turning away from Bones' he grabbed a fistful of popcorn and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Bejuazeyhouhlurveme."

"God damnit, Jim! How many time have I got ta tell you ta swallow and then speak? If ya start chokin' 'cause of your own stupidity, I'm not gonna save ya."

A laugh escaped Jim and sure enough he began coughing as a kernel or two got stuck in his throat. Bones thumped him on the back, muttering about how Jim was going to make his hair turn white before its time.

"I said, because you love me." He spoke once the couching subsided, a grin still plastered on his face.

"So God help me,"

A surge of affection ran over Jim and he lunged at his friend, wrapping him in a tight hug. Bones obligatorily shoved him off, as was their routine.

"Keep your grubby paws to yourself, man."

Chortling, Jim turned back to the holovid, his focus elsewhere. For the millionth time in the four years that he'd known the man, Jim thanked whatever higher entity was at work, if there was such a thing, for Bones (not that he'd ever tell him). The two had met at a tense time: Jim had been on his way away from everything, running from the weight on his shoulders, a name he didn't want, memories he'd willingly forget if he could. Anger fueled his decision, his desperation to get away, away, away, giving him the adrenaline rush he'd needed, and Jim had boarded the first shuttle from San Francisco to Riverside. He'd been wrong, wrong, wrong, to think that he'd have a home, or the closest thing to it he ever had, to go back to. His future looked bleak, the tiniest ray of hope had betrayed him and he had been so tired, so very tried. The only thing that kept had Jim going was that he knew that if he'd stop he would never start back up; and that had never been an option. Jim T. Kirk had always been a fighter, even when he was running, running, running.

Trying to get away from it all he'd boarded the first shuttle he'd come across, to god knows where. It was on that shuttle that he'd met Bones.

_He'd barely sat himself down and buckled up, when the sound of arguing voices filled the air. Like everyone else, he looked up curiously to see a haggard man arguing with one of the attendants. _

"_For your own safety, sir, sit down or I'll make you sit down," the attendant snapped at last._

_The words seemed to register in the man's head for he nodded and made his way to the empty seat next to Jim._

_Seated and buckled, the man turned to him. _

"_I may throw up on ya,"_

"_I think these things are pretty safe," Jim looked the man up and down, recognizing a brother soul when he saw one._

"_Don't pander to me, kid. One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. Solar flare might crop up, cook us in our seats. And wait'll you're sitting pretty with a case of Andorian shingles, see if you're still so relaxed when your eyeballs are bleeding. Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence."_

_Jim hesitated for a second, before deciding that he'd rather just nod. He couldn't bring himself to call the guy out on calling him a kid, finding that he didn't mind it quite as much._

_Jim watched as the man took a flask out of his jacket and took a swig._

'_He might be a bit crazy, but he's my type of guy'_

_Seeing that Jim was watching him, the man had offered the flask to him._

_Taking it, Jim introduced himself before drinking._

"_Jim Kirk,"_

"_McCoy. Leonard McCoy." _

After having gotten over his initial shock, Jim had decided McCoy was a keeper; so that when he'd gotten off at the Baxley stop, Jim followed. He'd been 21 at the time and a good four years later, Bones was the closest thing to family he'd ever had; closer than his own brother had been.

A faint smile curled on Jim's lips as an entirely new flood of memories washed over him, pleasant and soothing, a relief from days of reliving the worst years of his life. When Jim had gotten off at the Baxley station with Bones, the man had given him a strange look, not saying anything as Jim trailed after him. Over the course of the next few months, Jim had bunked with him until he'd found a job and had saved enough to afford a small apartment. Before he had time to realize what was happening, Bones had become an essential part of Jim's life, a parent, brother, and friend. He was the anchor that kept Jim stable when he drank himself into a stupor, that pulled him out from the pit that was his life when things became too much to bear. Jim hated being dependent on people, but he never thought twice about leaning on Bones, the only person he trusted – most of - himself with. Jim buried a sad laugh deep within him when it threatened to rise, as he recounted the catastrophe that was Bones divorce, the event that'd led to his nickname.

_Jim was waiting impatiently outside of Leonard's apartment, tapping his foot restlessly, pacing up and down the corridor. He occupied himself by cursing out Jocelyn, McCoy's wife, and the universe in general. Karma was shit. Good things didn't happen to good people. Horrible things happened to good people. At the first sound of heavy footsteps, Jim jerked to face the stairwell, dizzy with nervousness. All it took was one look at his best friend's face and he'd had known that he'd lost the case, and badly._

"_Come here," he grabbed the keys that Leonard had been fumbling with with one hand, the other gripping his friend's arm. He'd hastily opened the door and shoved the man in, settling him down on the couch before running into the kitchen and bringing out the drinks._

_For the next few hours they sat in silence, Jim on the floor by McCoy's feet making sure that he didn't get alcohol poisoning as the elder man curled up on the couch, drinking away his sorrows. Worry wracking through his body with every passing glass, Jim forced himself to keep his mouth shut, knowing that his friend needed a little space. He contented himself by trying to radiate reassurance. _

"_She took everythin', Jim," McCoy croaked out, a while after midnight. "The house, a big chunka my inheritance, and … and" a strangled sound escaped from him and in a flash, Jim was next to him, leaning his chest against the elder man's side, one arm slung over his shoulders. He'd always been a touchy-feely person, knowing that he could express himself much better by his body language than words._

"_We can appeal, right? We'll get a better lawyer. Give the evil woman what's coming her way." _

_His heart cracked when McCoy solemnly shook his head._

"_She got full custody over Joanna. Her old man was never home, ya know? Too busy workin' shifts at the hospital, savin' lives." McCoy punctuated the statement with a dry laugh. "He's also a drunk and no little girl needs that influence in 'er life." Jim felt the shuddered breath that raked his friend's body. "All I got left is my bones," _

_Despite himself, Jim grinned. "Your bones, huh? Well then, Mr. Bones, I don't see what you're sulking about. You still got me. We'll pull through." He poked Bones' side._

"_Bug off, you brat," _

_Jim wasn't fooled. Some of the despair had ebbed away from his friend's face and his Southern accent had bled through, something that only happened when the elder man was feeling particularly affectionate._

"_Aw come on, Bones, you know you love me."_

"_Don't call me that!"_

"_Don't call you what, Bones?" Jim gave his friend his best doe eyes. _

_The man in question glared at him before quickly deflating._

"_I don't know why I put up with ya, kid." The miserableness had faded from the lines of McCoy's face completely, and Jim saw the visible effort he put into composing himself._

"_Don't worry, Bones," he said as he leaned away, sliding his hand from one shoulder to the other and squeezing it gently. "We'll figure something out," _

_Nodding, Bones let his body sag and closed his eyes. Jim didn't bother to drag him to his bed; instead he went and retrieved two pillows and blankets. _

"Earth to Jimmy, Earth to Jimmy," Bones only called him Jimmy when he was concerned.

Jim snapped out of his thoughts.

"Ah, yeah?" He turned to face his friend.

"Sill worryin' over the captain?"

Jim shrugged. "Was just thinking."

Bones sighed, and looked at Jim, his brown eyes piercing.

"Look, you've never told me what you were doin' on that shuttle, four years ago, and I never asked. S'none of my business. You barely talk about your life before you settled down here, and that's fine too. But, it's not healthy to keep so much caged and locked up; it can lead to a ton'a issues. I won't ask what's eatin' at ya 'cause you're about as stubborn as a bull and you won't tell me if ya don't want to, but Jimmy," Bones took a deep breath, stressing his next words. "I'm telling you that it can lead to some serious problems." He paused, letting the information sink in. "And I'm talkin' to as your friend, not your doctor."

Jim pointedly didn't look at him. He'd heard the same speech and variations of, countless times before.

That's why, when Bones continued speaking, he spritzed out his beer.

"I know that you got some personal history with Starfleet, went to the academy, graduated and all. Somethin' really bad must've happened for you to resign your commission after a year on a starship, but that doesn't mean that everyone in Starfleet is out to get you."

"How do you know that?!" Jim sputtered.

Bones' looked at him as if he couldn't believe that Jim had a brain between his ears.

"I'm your primary physician; I have access to all your medical records."

"You never told me!"

"No need to get you're knickers in a twist, Jim, calm down. You'd never brought it up so why should I?"

The last flame of anger burned out as he realized that Bones was right. Being his primary doctor and the mother-hen that he was, Bones would have looked through all his past medical records, and of course, obviously, the ones from his time at Starfleet Academy and on the U.S.S Spitfire would have been present. Why had he never realized that before? Jim pressed himself back into the sofa, glaring at the holovid, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

"So why bring it up now?" He asked after a few minutes, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Because somethin's botherin' ya and you've been awfully reserved about the whole thing, _and _you just finished tellin' me that ya met someone from Starfleet and freaked out."

Jim sunk further back into the cushion.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Bones groaned.

"Really, I'm fine."

"Your funeral, kid."

* * *

Jim never understood what it was about Monday mornings that put so many people off. He watched the crowd of people in the bar room, the normal morning rush of caffeine nuts, taking in their exhausted faces, the wariness in the creases of their skin, the slow movement of their limbs.

Jim, for one, felt better than ever, resting against the wall behind the counter, supporting his own cup of coffee in his hands. Taking a sip of the dark scorching liquid, he gleefully noted that a certain captain was missing. It'd been four days since he'd met the man and despite his words, Pike hadn't showed up again.

Four days. The recruitment process would have been done by now, and Pike and the sorry asses that'd decided to enlist would have left.

All things considered, Jim was having a fairly good morning.

"What're you grinning about?" Gary's gravelly voice reached his ears, and Jim felt his grin widen.

"Nothing," he shrugged nonchalantly, pretty sure that his grin betrayed him.

"Uh-huh. Who's the girl? Or was it a guy?"

"Gary, I'm offended! I have other reasons to be happy besides sleeping with people." Jim mockingly placed a hand on his chest; not mentioning the fact that the last time he had been with someone had been years ago.

"Yeah, but there's happy and then there's that," he pointed at Jim's face, "that's the 'I just had sex face,"

Jim burst out laughing. "I wouldn't be too sure about that, Gary. I'm just havin' a good day."

"Sure, Jim, sure. I'll believe that when pigs start flying." Gary rolled his eyes and began to wipe off the counter.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a customer wave to him. Putting his coffee on the counter (I'll be right back, darling), Jim clapped Gary's shoulder and walked over to the customer's table.

As he took down the patron's order, his mind registered the sound of the bell dinging, the door opening and closing.

"Okay, give us five minutes." Shooting the woman a bright smile, he strolled back to the counter.

"One latte macchiato and half chicken salad sandwich." he announced to Gary.

"One espresso," came his response, as he went off to the kitchen to find Rand.

Humming under his breath, Jim went about his work brewing coffee, not noticing the man who sat in a previously unoccupied barstool. Finishing his work easily and quickly, he grabbed a cup in each hand and turned back towards the counter, his eyes landing on an all too familiar face. His jaw hit the ground but at least, to his credit, Jim didn't drop the cups in his hands.

Forcing himself to walk steadily back to the counter, he placed the latte on the tray that Gary had prepped and pushed the espresso towards Pike.

"_Why_ are you still here, man?" He asked, happiness quickly fleeting him.

"I don't believe that's any of your business." Jim knew when he was being mocked.

"Here," Gary came up next to him, shoving the sandwich plate into his hands.

Glad for the distraction, Jim delivered the tray, walking as slowly as he could to and from the table; as if it was going to change anything.

Anxiety crawled over his skin as he returned back to the counter. His gaze was immediately drawn to Pike, who was busy scrolling through his PADD and didn't acknowledge him.

A few more minutes of fidgeting uneasily and Jim couldn't take it anymore.

"What do you want?"

Pike looked up slowly, his eyes boring holes into Jim's soul.

"I already gave my order."

Jim barked out a laugh.

"You know that's not what I meant."

Pike put his cup down and leaned back on the stool, eyes assessing.

"Enlighten me."

Holding back a growl, Jim forced himself to keep his voice steady.

"What do you want with …" he hesitated for a moment, suddenly not sure what he was doing. Maybe Bones had been right and not everyone in Starfleet was out to get him.

Yeah, and the Klingons were going to make him their emperor.

"What do you want with me?"

"Why would I want anything from you?"

It took all of Jim's willpower not to strike out. Instead, he clenched his hands into fists, his nails biting into his palms.

"Why else would you be here? Baxley's not anywhere near a recruiting center. People that want to enlist go to the centers, Starfleet personnel don't come here and seek them out."

Pike cocked his head to the side, the steel in his eyes melting away.

"Is that why you chose this place?"

Jim's heart skipped a beat.

"What?"

"Baxley; there's nothing here to even remotely link it to Starfleet."

Regaining his footing, Jim took the opening.

"Exactly. So, what are you doing here?"

"I'm not here to get you to convince you to come back, if that's what you're asking."

If he was bothered by the fact that the captain knew of his previous history with Starfleet, he didn't let it show.

"Then?"

Instead of replying, Pike continued to stare at him, his gaze unwavering.

'At least blink, god damnit.'

"I think you miss it."

"Miss what? 'Fleet? Get your head out of your ass."

"_Space_. You miss space, but you're too scared to come back."

Jim's knees went week, his hand shooting out and gripping the edge of the counter.

'Calm down, Jim. Inhale. Exhale.'

"Yeah? And you know me so well, right?" He sounded stronger than he felt.

Leaning forward, Pike rested his arms on the counter and clasped his hands together. For a ridiculous moment Jim noticed that when dry, his hair was a light brown.

"I only know what I need to,"

"And what's that?"

"You joined Starfleet at 17, your aptitude tests were off the charts and you graduated in three years instead of four, got commissioned on the U.S.S Spitfire as helmsmen and were heading towards a really successful career when you resigned a year later, and then disappeared."

"What are you? Some sort of stalker?"

"If that's what you want to think, go ahead."

"I …'

"Hey, is everything alright here?" Gary's voice cut him off.

Jim felt himself deflate as he turned towards him, forcing a smile on his face.

"Yeah, s'all fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, Gary; everything's under control" Jim let go of his death grip on the counter, and composed himself, straightening his shoulders.

Gary stared at him for a minute before nodding and walking away, shooting Pike a suspicious look on the way.

"Look, I'm going to ask you one last time. What are you doing here?"

"The tactics professor at the Academy just retired and we need a new to find a replacement before the semester starts."

"And what? You want me?"

Jim didn't know if he wanted to cry or laugh.

"Yeah,"

"Okay, you're crazy." Jim backed away from the counter, not quite believing his ears. Him? A professor at Starfleet? The world was laughing at him, he was sure.

"You guys must be really desperate," he said when Pike didn't reply.

"It's the next best thing we can offer you, after serving on a starship."

"Okay, first off all: if I wanted to be serving on a starship, that's where I would be right now. Second of all: I didn't ask you to give me anything. And third: what happened to not convincing me to come back."

"I'm not persuading you, I'm merely informing you."

Jim snorted.

"Tomato, tomatoe, potato, potatoe"

"No one says potatoe,"

A laugh escaped Jim despite his efforts.

"You're … something, that's for sure."

"Human." Pike replied dryly, his eyes twinkling.

"God man, there's something wrong with you, that was the lamest joke ever."

A brief silence engulfed them, a small smile still gracing Pike's lips.

Jim glanced around the room, hoping some customer would be needing assistance … or not.

The world definitely hated him.

It was at that moment that Jim remembered his coffee and internally groaned. It would be stone cold by now. Great, his day kept getting better and better. My coffee, he though despairingly.

"For my dissertation, I was assigned the U.S.S. Kelvin." The words tore Jim away from his inner monologue, knocking the air from his lungs. Frantic blue eyes met soft green ones. "Something I admired about your dad: he didn't believe in no-win scenarios."

"Sure learned his lesson," he managed to get out, more for the sake of saving face than anything else.

"If anything in your file is to go by, you have more in common with him than you'd think."

"I'm not anything like him," words that haunted him relentlessly, endlessly, tearing at him, clawing into his soul.

"Is that why you're here? You think I'd make a good professor because of my dad?" Needless to say, Jim was more confused that he'd like to admit.

"You know that instinct to leap without looking, that was his nature too. And in my opinion it's something Starfleet's lost." Pike completely ignored his questions.

"Yeah? What makes you so sure I have that instinct? I don't know you, man, and you don't know me."

"I've seen enough,"

"Don- "

"Think about it. Starfleet could use you. If it were up to me I'd put you on a starship, but it's your choice."

Jim gaped at him as he got up from his stool.

Taking out his credit chip, Pike handed it to him and continued speaking.

"The semester starts on August 26th. You have till the 19th." That gave him two weeks, not that Jim was considering the offer. He'd decided that he would never go back, and he was going to stand by his choice.

"The board wants me to teach Tactics," he said anyway, the idea too ludicrous to leave alone.

Pike grinned, his eyes bright.

"I want you to come back. The board's flexible."

Exchanging his credit chip for a piece of paper, he turned briskly on his heel and left, Jim staring after him, his head swimming.

Looking down at the scrap in his hand, he saw the address for a comm unit.

* * *

**A/N: Phew, this was a long first chapter**

**So, this is my first Star Trek fanfic and I'm fairly new to the fandom so I apologize for any mistakes or OCC (I have a feeling I missed Pike's character by miles)**

**Commas are my biggest enemy and this hasn't been beta'd (would any one be interested? pretty please? *inserts Jim's doe eyes*) so sorry for all the grammar mistakes that crop up, I can only do so much.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**(P.S. Reviews make Jim and I very happy) **


	2. Chapter 2

**Remedy Chapter 2**

"What're you doin', kid?" If the distant voice sounded more exhausted than usual, Jim didn't notice.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, he opened his eyes.

"Just relaxing,"

He stood outside Baxley Hospital, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, face tilted up toward the sky. Waiting for Bones to finish his shift had become yet another routine that Jim had settled into; spending his time lounging against one of the hospital building's pillars and chatting up the people that walked by as Bones finished his work.

Tonight, however, he'd allowed himself to look up towards the sky.

It'd been four years since he'd let stars cloud his vision, that he'd seen planets swimming around in the black. It'd been four years since he'd looked, looked and saw the sky.

It still took his breath away, longing washing over him.

The knowledge that the novelty hadn't worn off, filled Jim with an ache he couldn't understand.

"Christ, you're shiverin'!" the gruff voice got closer.

"Yeah?" A small smile graced his lips as Jim mentally named the astral bodies he recognized. "Look, Bones, you can see Saturn this time of year," he pointed at the planet in the sky. "The rings are so beautiful, Bones. You see the pictures and you think 'wow, that's gorgeous,' but it has nothing on seeing the actual thing. We flew by it a couple of times on the Spitfire." He could feel the water in his eyes, startled by its presence.

A rough hand gripped his shoulder, trying to shake him. It was too bad for Bones that Jim was both taller and more built than his friend: if he didn't want to be moved he wouldn't be.

"Jim, what the hell's gotten inta ya!" The elder man all but yelled.

"It's so beautiful, Bones," his voice was barely above a whisper.

The hand on his shoulder tensed.

A sharp pain engulfed him and Jim's hand shot to his chest, curling around the fabric of his shirt. The smile gave way to a laugh.

"It hurts, Bones, it _hurts._"

"Jimmy-"

"It hurts so much, Bones … I … I feel like I'm about to … to break."

The elder man raised an eyebrow at the side of Jim's head, pushing his own problems to the back of his mind. The younger man wasn't drunk, he knew that for certain, and that made the situation all the more worrisome.

"Let's get ya home, Jimmy." Leonard tugged on his arm, trying to get him to budge.

Bright blue eyes turned to look at Bones, startling him with their intensity. "I thought I'd be okay."

"You'd be doin' yourself a favor by not thinkin' so much."

McCoy saw the exact moment that Jim snapped out of whatever fog had settled in his head. The vulnerability in his eyes froze to steel, his body going stiff.

"You're right," his voice had lost its breaking edge, but Bones wasn't fooled.

"Come on, Jimmy. Let's go back to my place."

The shit-eating grin McCoy knew so well lit up Jim's face, his eyes still cold and distant.

"Why, Bones, what happened to 'I don' swing that way, kid,"'

The elder man thumped him on the head.

"You're impossible."

"No, I'm not. I'm here after all. I think you meant to say that I'm improbable."

Bones' scowl deepened and Jim laughed. Only Bones could make scowling look endearing.

Relief washed over the older man upon seeing that the light, no matter how faint, finally reached the cerulean eyes of his friend.

"Let's go, Jim, before I decide ta drag yer ass inside for a check-up."

Jim cringed at the thought of suffering through the hours of poking and prodding he'd have to endure, of being stabbed with various hypos because his best friend was a sadistic bastard.

"Okay, okay, let's go."

* * *

Bones, bless his soul, didn't ask any questions. It was one of his redeeming qualities, he'd push when it came to shove but otherwise he let other people come to on their own terms.

It'd been three hours since they'd arrived at Bones' apartment, three hours of sitting on the hard floor of his living room sipping away at a glass of beer.

"So …" Jim spoke up, not being able to stand the silence any longer. "What's new?"

"You see me every day, Jim."

"Not _every_ day."

The silence stretched between them.

Pursing his lips, Bones decided to be the bigger man.

"Jocelyn called."

A wave of affection rolled over the older man at seeing how Jim snapped to attention, his eyes narrowing, agitated on his behalf.

"What'd she want?"

Shrugging, McCoy took a large swig of his beer: he was not nearly as drunk as he'd like to be.

"Money,"

"That bi- "

Bones waved the insult away.

"She got laid back from 'er job."

Jim scowled. "So what? Tell her to find another job. _Why _are you defending her? You already give her one-third of your paycheck as alimony, and then some whenever she asks for it. And anyways, it's not like the pay at the hospital's that good. You're barely managing to make ends meet yourself; with all the overtime work you do and don't get paid for, which is complete bullshit by the way."

"I've been considerin' my options," McCoy steeled himself for what was coming next, knowing that Jim wouldn't take his "options" well.

The other man snorted. "Yeah, what options?"

Bones hesitated.

"Starfleet Medical …"

* * *

Jim groaned as the insistent knocking on his door turned into banging.

Why couldn't Bones just leave him be?

He _wanted_ to wallow in his misery, tired of keeping himself together all the time.

Trying to ignore the banging, he threw himself onto the couch, hugging his knees to his chest.

"James Tiberius Kirk," god, even his mother hadn't called him by his whole name when she'd been angry, "You open up this door right now or I'll bang it down."

Not doubting the reliability of the statement, Jim buried himself further into the cushions of his couch. It'd been four days since Bones had told him of his plan to go work at Starfleet Medical, four days since Jim had left his apartment to do nothing more than run around the block, four days since he'd slept and eaten: four days of nothing.

He couldn't bring himself to be angry; Bones needed the job, deserved it even. He was the best there was and deserved more than a measly hospital job. Starfleet could offer him opportunities to expand his horizons, help people in ways he couldn't by being a small-town doctor.

Nor could Jim bring himself to be sad, disappointed, betrayed, hurt, happy, or anything really.

"So help me, Jim, I have a case of vaccines against viral infection from Melvaren mud fleas waiting for you if you don't open this door right now." Bones wasn't yelling anymore and somehow the forced tone of his voice, as if he were speaking through gritted teeth, was more frightening.

One thing that Jim had learned from his years with the man was that once the threats of being infected with some alien disease started flying, things were going to hit the fan really fast if he didn't get his way.

Wincing as his muscles protested the movement, Jim hauled himself off the couch and trudged to the door; hesitating momentarily.

"He- Argh!"

The door had barely opened an inch when something pierced the skin on his neck, painfully.

"That's for the insomnia," the hiss of the hypospray faded as Bones retracted his hand.

"Was tha- Shit, Bones!"

"Those were vitamins."

"Why the hell do I need vitamins?"

"You haven't been eatin'," pushing his way past him, Bones strode into the apartment, dragging Jim along with him.

"Computer, lights to 50 percent." Without sparing a moment, McCoy pushed the younger man onto the couch, placing the medkit in his hand on the coffee table and snapping it open.

"Is this really necessary?" Jim asked, despairingly, as Bones waved a tricorder over him and scowled at the readings.

"You've been calling in sick to work," came the gruff reply.

"Uh, yeah; I'm fine, though."

"The hell ya are!" Bones snapped, his head whipping up to look at Jim.

"What? Something wrong came up in the scans?" He asked, being purposely obtuse.

"Jimmy," Bones leaned forward, the worry in his eyes tangible. Jim was sure that there were many things the man wanted to say to him, his internal battle visible on his face. In the end, Bones settled for the lesser of the many evils.

"You need to eat somethin'"

"Not hungry," Jim shrugged.

He read the look on Bones' face as "does it look like I care?"

"I'm gonna replicate you some soup and when I come back you're answer me this question: is it worth it?"

On that happy note Bones walked away, heading for the replicator.

Jim didn't need to ask what he'd been talking about.

Was it worth it?

Of course not.

He'd never admit it but he did miss space. He missed the undiscovered wonders that awaited him. He missed feeling the hum of a starship under his feet, missed crashing into bed at the end of the shift and closing his eyes, reveling in the feeling of just being.

In an expanding universe, where balls of gases burned bright and planets dotted the black, a place that hundreds if not thousands of millions of species called home, where discovery lay around every bend; a universe so much bigger than him, than anyone, he, James Tiberius Kirk, existed.

The realization had made him giddy, tipsy even, a surge of immense joy coursing through his veins as he lay on his regulation bed; his body aching from exhaustion.

He'd never been so alive, so at peace with himself than he had been in space.

It was the only place where he truly felt he belonged.

So was it worth it?

Absolutely not.

Jim wasn't a fool enough to deny himself the truth, but he wasn't sure he could keep going any other way.

A clatter dragged him away from his thoughts and Jim turned to face the bowl in front of him.

"Tomato soup?"

"Can't give ya much of anythin' else, too much pressure on that delicate system of yours."

Making a face at Bones, he warily began to eat, knowing fully well that the elder man wouldn't rest until he was done.

"So," the older man spoke up when Jim's spoon clattered in the empty bowl.

"You know you can sit down instead of standing there and staring at me."

Bones didn't move.

Sighing, Jim leaned back into the couch and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"No, no it isn't worth it. Does that make you happy?"

The lecture he'd been expecting never came.

"You're dumber than a bag of rocks,"

"Yeah, love you too, Bones."

"Get some rest, kid."

* * *

When Jim woke up, Bones was still there.

Trudging into the living room, he sat down on the floor next to Bones' feet. Immediately, a tricorder was hovering over him.

"Happy now?"

"Very,"

Jim let his head loll onto the couch, turning it towards McCoy.

"Remember to comm once in a while, okay?" He began, his resolve cracking as he saw Bones start. "Don't go forgetting me just because you're making new doctor friends. And take care of yourself, okay? I won't be there to hull your drunken ass home. Don't over work, remember to eat, and try not to kill anyone."

Large brown eyes blinked back at him, overwhelming Jim with the raging emotions that lurked there.

"Come with me, Jim."

And Jim, for the life of him, couldn't say no.

* * *

"Look who's back," Gary paused from wiping the counter clean to look up at him.

"Good to see you too, Gary. Is the boss in?" Jim stood with one hand still on the doorknob behind him, hoping against all hope that his answer would be "no."

"In his office."

"Thanks." Jim's hand flopped to his side. Gathering up the last strands of his resolve (no he wasn't going to go and back out of this), he walked past the counter, through the kitchen, and paused outside of Mr. Craig's office.

'Last chance, Jimbo.'

"Come in," Craig's reply came after the second knock.

"Hey, Mr. Craig." Jim eased the door open and stepped inside, not allowing himself a moment to begin second-guessing his decision.

"Jim, good to see you; are you feeling better?" Craig was a stout old man with small rounded features, tiny black eyes and white hair that was combed over his bald spots. He'd given Jim one look and had hired him, never asking questions and only asking that Jim put his all into his work.

"Sir, I …" Jim hesitated and hated himself for it.

"I would like to resign." He spoke slowly, eyes not leaving the floor.

For a second there was no reply.

"Have there been any problems, Jim?"

"No," he shook his head, willing himself to look up. "I just … something came up."

"Ah," Craig nodded, his beady black eyes understanding. "Another job offer? Tell me Milton didn't rope you in to working at his place."

Despite the tension in his shoulders, Jim felt himself laugh.

"No, sir, I just … got a … um, teaching opportunity."

Mr. Craig didn't burst out laughing as Jim had suspected he would, but his eyes were twinkling.

"Teaching opportunity? What exactly are you going to be teaching?"

"Tactics at … Starfleet Academy."

If Craig was surprised, he didn't show it.

"About time,"

"What?" The words were so unexpected, the shock so abrupt, that Jim felt his jaw drop.

"Anyone can take one look at you, Jim, and say that you don't belong here. You deserve bigger and better. It's about time you embraced it."

Well, shucks; how was he supposed to respond to that?

Rubbing the back of his neck, Jim grinned sheepishly.

"Thanks, Mr. Craig. It's been an honor working under you."

* * *

Groaning, Jim crinkled the piece of paper in his hand.

He'd resigned from his job, had tied up all the loose ends, had even begun packing for crying out loud, and yet Jim couldn't bring himself to contact Pike.

Scenario after scenario ran through his head; how this could go horribly wrong and blow up in his face, how this could go perfectly right, how his life could be so much easier, how it could be worse than ever.

He wasn't teacher material, what the hell was he thinking?

He wasn't thinking. If he was, Jim would obviously see the flawed decision for just that: a flawed decision.

If he asked Craig, he was sure he could get his job back.

Bones would be just fine without him, after all.

Jim let his head hit the desk.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up his communicator and entered the address; it was best to get it over with before he could convince himself to stay put where he was.

"Christopher Pike speaking,"

"Ah … hey, Captain Pike. It's me, Jim."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to everyone that added this story to their favorites/alerts and to those who commented **


	3. Chapter 3

**Remedy Chapter 3**

_Dark. _

_The dark: it engulfed him, caressed his face and body in its gentle grasp. _

_He should have been afraid._

_He wasn't. _

_He should have felt suffocated._

_He didn't. _

_He should have fought._

_He couldn't. _

_It was so dark, but he was used to it by now. It was like meeting an old friend:_

_Bittersweet._

_He'd learned to rely on his sense of smell and touch better now, so he'd be fine …_

_Just fine._

_He was fine._

_The smell of smoke reached his nostrils and he held back a coughing fit._

_Cold. _

_The cold: it seeped into his bones, washed over his body in giant waves, dragging him under, dragging him under, under, under. It would be so easy to close his eyes, to rest his fatigued body and just …_

_No!_

_He had to keep going._

_Going, going, going … going where? _

_Where was he going?_

_He stumbled, his hands shooting out to grasp at something solid. The rough and dried skin of his hand met a grainy surface and he didn't question it, straightening up and taking a breath._

_Time. He didn't have time. He had too much, not enough. It was moving too fast, going too slow._

_Tick, tick, tick, tick, _

_One second, two, three seconds, four, five, six, seven,_

_Tick, tick, tick,_

_He was dizzy, the edges of the darkness blurring._

_He was going, going, going, _

_Gone._

_A shrill scream brought him back with a start._

_His own?_

_He didn't know._

_The razor sharp edges of the black cut into his mind, water welling in his eyes. _

_Something was burning._

_Food. He needed food. Melissa was sick and needed to eat._

_Hunger, it gnawed at his insides, sharp claws and pointed teeth. His stomach howled, his knees giving out, and this time he couldn't save himself._

_Blood._

_His?_

_Maybe … probably._

_He needed to keep going._

_His body wouldn't move. _

_When was the last time he'd eaten? Days? Weeks? Months, maybe? _

_Who cared? The others needed him; he couldn't afford to think of himself. _

_Hugo was dead._

_Flames rose around him, biting at his flesh and doing nothing to fight the cold._

_He couldn't save himself._

_Couldn't save anyone._

_He was tired, aching, and broken._

_Something grabbed at his ankles, pulling at him._

_And he sank._

_Sank lower and lower, into the ground._

_He needed to fight._

_Did he want to?_

_Yes, no, he had to, needed to, didn't want to, needed to live, wanted to die, needed to continue, wanted to get away from the pain, away from the darkness._

_He didn't want to, didn't want to._

_Needed to get up. He needed to get up._

_He didn't fight._

_He couldn't. He wouldn't._

_He should've. _

_Instead, he went under._

_And he burned._

* * *

"You look pale, Jim, ya okay?" Bones' eyes skimmed over Jim's figure, eyes taking in the still sleep-mussed hair, the dark bags under his denim blue eyes, the downward curve of his mouth, and the skin of his jaw taut over muscle.

Jim titled his head away from Bones and looked around at the port station, gaze flickering over the hordes of people bustling around them. "I'm _fine,_ Bones. Come on or we're going to miss our shuttle."

* * *

"You're breathing too sporadically,"

"Do you ever stop being a doctor?" Jim's pupils flashed to the right, shoulders squaring.

The word DANGER flashed in the eye of Bones' mind, blinking red capital letters, but he soldiered on.

"What else can a man be around you?"

"Ha, ha, you're not funny."

"Jim –" McCoy began, leaning forward. He was cut off when the shuttle-wide comm system turned on.

"At this time it is requested that all passengers fasten their seat belts. We'll be departing for the San Francisco port shortly."

* * *

"We'll be arriving at the San Francisco port in ten minutes. All passengers please remain seated until the shuttle is fully docked."

"A man once told me that these shuttles are pretty safe. You're clenchin' your hands like you're about ta die."

"_Shut up,_ Bones." Jim clenched his jaw, fingernails biting into the palm of his hands.

* * *

"Take a deep breath, Jim."

"God, Bones, you're worse than my mother."

A smarter man than Jim would have quivered under the doctor's glowering glare.

"Deep breath."

Jim inhaled dramatically, puffing his chest out and exhaling when he couldn't hold in his breath any longer.

"Happy?" Never mind the fact that his nerves had calmed down some.

Not replying, Bones looked around the port station and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rearranging his grip on his bags.

"We need to find a cab or somethin'"

"Really? I thought we were walking all the way to the Academy."

The only thing that saved him from getting hit on the back of his head was the fact that Bones' hands were busy carrying his luggage.

McCoy didn't know whether it was worrying or comforting that Jim was attempting to joke again. He knew that the younger man was trying his best, trying to see the bright side to his situation. Trying and failing, from the looks of it.

* * *

Jim's shoulders slumped as the academy came into view, toes curling and uncurling in his boots. The sight of the large beige building, unchanged from the way he remembered it, made his breath catch in his throat.

As his eyes took in the length of the building, memories flashed before his eyes; all the meaningless kisses that'd been stolen in the shadows of the pillars in-front of the entrance, the time he'd fallen into the bay because he hadn't been watching where he'd been going, the times he'd run down the stairs chasing after someone and then again when he had been trying to get away from someone, the times he'd almost tripped, the one time he did, all the morning jogs he'd taken around the campus, exploring every inch of it. The three years Jim had spent at Starfleet Academy had been the best three years of his life - which was saying a lot, considering that they hadn't exactly been the happiest ones.

Jim couldn't remember why he'd ever wanted to leave, except that, of course, he could and did. At that moment, though, he thought that he could do to forget his demons for a while.

"I'm fine," and he was.

"I didn't say anythin'."

"You were going to ask."

Bones huffed.

"You're ooglin' the building like it grew three heads."

And for the first time, in a long time, Jim laughed with all his heart.

* * *

If he was fully human, he might have sighed,' Pike thought as he looked on at his (future) first officer.

The man in question opted for pursing his lips instead, the movement so slight that someone who didn't know him well enough wouldn't notice. As he walked towards the table where the Vulcan sat, Pike took the liberty of studying the man's face; amused eyes flickering over the way his eyebrows scrunched as he looked towards the PADD in his hands.

The Vulcan's control was impeccable, more rigid than steel, but sometimes, just sometimes, there were oh so small slips.

It was with great fondness that Pike observed his first, smiling to himself at the look of concentration.

"You should just open a shelter for strays," The voice of his previous first, Number One, resounded in his head.

"Hey Spock, sorry for being late; something came up." Chris explained as he sat himself and his tray down.

In a split second the relaxed posture (relaxed for Spock being the fact that his back was a notch under ramrod straight,) evaporated. The Vulcan straightened up and looked at him, deep brown eyes emptying of their previous expression of puzzlement.

"It is of no consequence, Captain, I made adequate use of the time."

Pike considered it a point in his favor that Spock didn't state exactly how late he'd been down to the millisecond.

"Adequately, you say? What'd you do?" Not like Chris didn't already know the answer. Picking up his spoon, he poked at his plate of rice.

"I enhanced the coding of the Kobayashi Maru."

The Captain held back a long-suffering sigh.

"Spock, it wouldn't kill you to stop working for once. Let your hair down once in a while."

Spock's eyebrows scrunched minimally. What really gave the man away, though, were his expressive eyes, confusion creeping back into the dusky brown.

"I don't believe I understand, sir, as I do not tie up my hair."

Pike wasn't a Vulcan, but at that moment he did a spectacular job of controlling the urge to smack his palm to his forehead.

"That's not … that's not … I didn't mean literally." Chris felt a grin slide its way onto his face: the Vulcan's reactions to unfamiliar human colloquialisms were always entertaining.

"I see," Spock's tone of voice made it clear that he did not, in fact, see.

"What I meant, Spock, is that you should take a break from always working and take time off for yourself to relax. Join the chess club, the xenoligusitics club, or something."

"As I am Vulcan, sir, I do not need to 'take breaks' from work to relax. Meditation serves the purpose well."

Holding his palms up towards the other man he, not so subtly, changed the subject. Pike knew which fights to pick and knew how to accept defeat when it was imminent.

"You're not going to eat?"

"I do not require sustenance at this time."

"So, the Kobayashi Maru you said. What'd you enhance?"

"I was able to find a patchwork in the code that would have allowed for the installation of a subroutine. I recoded the section eliminating the possibility of such an installation to happen. I will have to review the entire code, however, to make certain that no other problems as such exist."

"More work for you, the joy."

"Notwithstanding that such emotions are not felt by Vulcans, I fail to see how one as yourself would associate work with joy."

'Not felt by Vulcans, my ass.'

"Sarcasm, Spock, sarcasm."

"Ah."

As Pike swallowed the lump of rice - replicator food was terrible but better than nothing at all - a tall and lean cadet caught his eye. As the first day of the semester approached, cadets had started filling the campus and he wasn't surprised that she was one of the ones that came back early.

"How about Uhura? How are things on that front?"

It was amazing how Spock managed to radiate exasperation without moving the muscles of his face.

"Captain, as always I am not interested in any type of romantic affiliations: least of all with a cadet. Moreover, it would be unfair to Nyota, as I do not return her affections."

"Come on, Spock, she'll be good for you."

When he didn't receive a reply, Pike decided that since he'd brought the topic up he might as well go all the way.

"I mean, after your last trip to Vulcan it would make sense, you know? Didn't you say that bro-"

His communicator chose that convenient moment to beep.

"Pike here," he said, flipping it open and not missing the look of relief that graced Spock's face for a millisecond.

It'd only been a month.

Too soon?

Spock would deny it, Vulcans being unfeeling and all, but Pike knew better.

"Yeah, give me five minutes; I'll be right there." To Spock he said, "I have to go. The new tactics professor just arrived, have to go deal with a bit of paperwork and show him around. We'll talk about this later."

All he got in reply was a nod.

"See you later, Spock."

"Goodbye, Captain."

Yup, he definitely wasn't going to run into the stubborn Vulcan anytime soon.

* * *

"Is that all understood?"

Jim was sitting in Pike's office, Bones having gone off to 'Fleet Medical, looking over the information on the PADD in front of him.

The Captain had just finished explaining his duties to him, his schedule, and information about the course. Not that Jim had needed it; he'd taken tactics himself, of course.

"Yeah,"

Now that he was actually back, Jim pushed away the reawakening feelings and focused on his job. As a cadet, he'd loathed tactics. The ceiling had been so much more interesting than both his professor and his lessons. He'd known what he'd been doing, in those days; he'd been so sure of himself. Tactics was something that had come naturally to him, decision making under pressure having been his specialty. The skill had paid off on the Spitfire … nine out of ten times.

It being his turn to be the professor, Jim resolved to not put his students through the same torture he'd had to endure. Maybe his teaching style would be a bit unorthodox (he'd spent more time thinking about it than he'd be happy to admit), but it would pay off in the long run.

Scrolling through the list of simulations that the cadets in the command track had to take, Jim recalled his own endeavors with a detached fondness.

"This one's new … the Kobayashi Maru. I don't remember it."

He looked up to see Pike nod.

"The Maru is a recently established sim; it was implemented, I think, three years ago."

"Am I allowed to oversee it?"

"Cadets, other than the ones who have taken it, aren't supposed to know of the circumstances of the sim."

"Therefore, naturally, everyone knows."

Pike shrugged, hiding a grin.

"More or less, but we still like to think that some regulations are followed."

"I won't tell them, I just want to know what it's about; says no one has ever passed it."

"That would be correct,"

Curiosity gnawed at Jim's mind.

"So can I oversee it?"

"I'll have to ask."

Jim raised an eyebrow.

"_You, _the man who convinced the 'Fleet board to hire_ me _as a professor, have to ask someone if I can oversee a sim?"

Pike shrugged.

"If that's all, I have some work to get to. Are you staying in the dorms here?"

"Yup, it was too much of a pain to look for an apartment on such a short term notice."

"Just as well; if you have any questions, don't hesitate to comm me."

Taking that as a dismissal, Jim nodded and picked himself off from the chair.

"And Jim?" Pike's voice reached him as he approached the door.

"Yeah?" he turned around and found the Captain smiling at him warmly.

"Welcome back."

For all his worth, Jim couldn't fight off his betraying lips as they tugged up.

"Can't say it's good to be back."

The door closed behind him with a hiss but he could still hear the laughter.

* * *

"I can't believe this, Bones," Jim groaned as he put his pen down on the notepad and closed his eyes; leaning back into the wall the regulation bed - one aspect of Starfleet that he hadn't missed - was pushed up against.

McCoy had had a long day, tired from the orientation, and had planned to come back to the dorm to get some sleep. His plans were horribly ruined when the door had slid open to reveal Jim sprawled across his bed, staring furiously at the various papers spread out across the sheets.

"I can't believe it either, Jimmy. You're going to be a professor! If I had a religious bone in my body, I would pray for the sorry souls in your classes."

Bones easily dodged the flying pillow that came his way.

"That's not what I meant! I meant that I can't believe I have to lay out a lesson plan for a whole semester in a week." Reality had finally caught up with Jim when he'd reached his dorm and had finished reading the information on the PADD. He'd been provided with the general course syllabus but it was up to him to actually plan the lessons.

How the hell was he supposed to do that in a week?

"There's no turnin' back now, Jimbo."

"Don't call me that."

Bones looked at him, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, eyes widening, and gaped.

Jim clarified. "Only I can call myself that."

McCoy didn't argue the fact that despite his telling Jim not to call him Bones countless times, the kid still did.

"Sorry souls, indeed."

"I hate you sometimes."

"The sentiment goes both ways, kid."

* * *

Spock took a deep breath, filling his nostrils and lungs with the incense he used during his meditative trances. He sat on the floor of his dorm room with his legs tucked under him, back ramrod straight, as he took in the sight of his dimly lit room with its sparse furnishing before closing his eyes.

A world of black and white appeared before him, a fine gray line separating the two.

He let himself sink into the gray.

The memories came easily, thoughts moving fluidly through the threads of his mind, as he sorted through and compartmentalized the events of the day.

Advancement in finding a stabilizing agent for dilithium crystals: white. Rejecting an advance from Cadet Fields: black. Update on the Enterprise detailing the computer system: white.

Methodically, he worked his way through the day; nimble fingers repairing the dents in his armor that'd come from his lack of rigid control, the emotions that managed to seep through the stiches of his skin.

Fixing the patchwork in the Kobayashi Maru code: white. Lunch with Captain Pike: …

Spock hesitated, mulling over the memory more thoroughly than the others.

He'd loathed – no, he found it distasteful, less than agreeable, to admit that many emotions were tied to the topic of the conversation. But as was the Vulcan way, he had to acknowledge them before he could move on to ensure that they didn't come up again.

To the world, Vulcans were an unfeeling race. To themselves they could admit otherwise.

Regret, longing, anger, hurt, betrayal, shame.

He couldn't move on.

Shame.

He was ashamed.

"_Half-breed,"_

"_No matter what you do, know that you'll always have a proud mother."_

"_You agreed to follow the Vulcan way."_

"_He has human eyes."_

"_I grieve with thee."_

"_It was only logical."_

"_Don't they look sad?"_

"_It was because I loved her."_

Anger.

Pushing the thought of getting any work done on the code tonight to the back of his head, Spock retreated deeper into his mind, deeper into the solace of black and white. Finding and purging the source of the distress that gripped him would require more than his usual routine of meditation.

* * *

"I'm sleeping here tonight."

"What, why? Ya got your own room."

Jim shrugged, willing Bones to understand. An uneasy feeling had settled in the pit of his stomach and Jim couldn't make it go away. It was easy to control himself when he was conscious - he knew how to put on a brave face, make it seem like everything was okay - but how was he supposed to control himself when he slept?

Ever since he'd decided to come back, he'd been plagued by nightmares and now that his initial "excitement" at being back (yeah, he had actually been a tinny tiny bit happy) was ebbing away, he was left cold.

"I just am."

"Well, I'm not sleeping on the floor."

"Didn't say you'd have to,"

"Don't make a habit of this, kid."

* * *

"_RUN!"_

"_God, no, no no! Wake up, damnit! Come on, you can do it, wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!" _

"_No! Go on without me." _

"_You humans have a peculiar taste,"_

"_You'll die!"_

"_JIM!" _

"_Humans are exotic in their taste. I wonder if the same goes for the pleasures of their flesh,"_

"_They call you to The Fire."_

"_I … it's so cold."_

"_Where'd you take him?!" _

"_Sh … we'll be alright." _

"_He was of no more use. His strength failed him and The Fire claimed him." _

"_We're all going to die!"_

"_You're a foolish one, so naïve and trusting. No one's coming for you. Your precious Federation has abandoned you."_

"_I can … can't be … belie … believe they … they … they at-" _

"_SHUT UP! We're all going to be fine,"_

"_NO! Let me go!" _

"_Jim, do you really believe that?" _

"_STOP!" _

"_Yeah, I do," _

"_P … please." _

"_Live for me, Jim."_

"_Here I got some food, it's not much but it'll have to do for now." _

"_What did you do to her?" _

"_You're not leaving me just yet."_

"_Not much? It's a few fucking leaves." _

"_I'll kill you if I have to."_

"_They're not coming for us! If they were, don't you think they'd be here by now? They fricken left us here to rot!"_

"_I always loved the stars."_

"_No, they're going to come. They have to."_

"_I'm so hungry." _

"_I thought it'd be so perfect out here."_

"_Shh, I'll get you some food in the morning. Sleep for now." _

"_I was born in space,"_

"_Sometimes I wonder if anyone would miss me if I died."_

"_But it's dangerous in the morning." _

"_Don't worry, I'll be fine. We'll be fine."_

"_Why do I get the feeling you're lying to make me feel better?"_

"_Melissa." _

"_See, you look much better when you're smiling."_

"_Go to sleep."_

"_Hugo didn't wake up."_

"_Jim …?"_

"_Sleep," _

"_Goodnight."_

"_What's so good about it?"_

"_They're coming! Run!" _

"_Goodbye, Jim."_

"Christ, man! Wake up! It's just a dream, wake up! Jim! It's not real! JIM! Wake the hell up, man! JIMMY!"

* * *

**A/N: First order of business: thanks to everyone that added this fic to their alerts and favorites, and to those of you that reviewed! ****And a big big thank you to Muffy for betaing, the advice, and nice words! **

**Second order of business: it was brought to my attention that the fuel conflict mentioned in the first chapter wasn't accurate in regards to the Star Trek universe. Yeah, that's totally my fault - should have researched that - but, for the time being allow me to take some liberties in regards to the matter since going back and fixing it would kind of, sort of, ruin some of the story. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Remedy Chapter 4**

McCoy yelped, shooting out of bed when something cold drenched his body.

"Damnit, Jim!" He ground out through clenched teeth, steely brown eyes taking in the red bucket in the younger man's hands.

Where the hell did the kid get a red bucket?

Jim glanced up at him, wide crystal blue eyes peeking up through dusky gold eyelashes.

"What happened, Bones?" His tone was slow, deliberately so.

"I'll tell ya what the hell happened!" Throwing his covers off, Leonard lunged at his friend; ready for murder.

Jim easily side stepped him, reaching a hand out to steady Bones when he stumbled.

"You really shouldn't try to attack someone when you're still sleep groggy. It slows your movements and impairs your judgment of distance and time." The two men stood facing each other and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Jim smoothed the crinkles of Bones' shirt over his shoulders.

McCoy raised an eyebrow at the man in-front of him, but didn't comment. God knows what went on in that kid's head.

Close up, he could see the signs of sleep deprivation and Bones, feeling his shoulders square, and made a mental note to up the dosage on the dreamless sleep hypo he'd given Jim.

"Someone's getting ready for class." McCoy's eyes skimmed Jim from head to toe, cataloging all the symptoms of stress and bad health so that he could scold the younger man about them later.

"Speaking of which, you had to choose today of all days to sleep in, right?" Jim let go of Bones' shoulders and pushed him towards the washroom. "Get ready or we won't have time for breakfast."

"That didn't merit getting soaked in water; I had a late shift last night." McCoy grumbled, running a hand over his beat face and dragging his feet towards the washroom.

Jim smirked; lips pulled back, two rows of straight white teeth showing.

"You weren't waking up, what else could a man have done?"

As the door slammed shut behind the older man, Jim shook his head fondly. Bones was going to be grumpy about this one for a while.

"I'm going to wait in the mess. Remember to shave!"

* * *

Leonard rambled into the mess hall ten minutes later, shower-fresh and clean-shaven, eyes taking in the sea of red uniforms that crowded the usually empty place.

Or well, usually empty in his experience.

As the first day of the semester had gotten closer and closer, McCoy had watched the number of cadets on the campus increase. What was once a few red speckles spread over the green landscape had become a herd of red. Taking in the mess hall now - the sea of young faces (both human and alien) strolling about, more crowding around the circular tables, fervent chatter buzzing in the air - Bones finally understood the grand scale at which Starfleet operated.

He'd never been a cadet himself – aviophobia and all – but Starfleet had made an exception in allowing him to attend 'Fleet Medical. He did, after all, have all the required degrees and even if he were being modest, he was the best at what he did.

Pulling his gaze away from the cadets, Bones' tawny brown eyes landing on Jim, who stood out like a sore thumb; though, that was probably due to the fact that he was angled towards an Orion student, leaning casually against the wall and grinning from ear to ear.

'God damnit, Jim!" Bones quickened his pace and hurried over to the corner where Jim and the female student were standing. As he got closer, he caught a few strands of conversation.

"Why wouldn't you just override the original script?" The Orion student raised her eyebrow, leaning forward slightly with her upper body.

"It's more fun that way." Jim leered right back at her.

'What in god's name are they talkin' about?' Sighing internally, Bones cleared his throat when he reached the two.

"Bones!" Jim turned to face him, the leer giving way to a smile. McCoy felt the steel in his heart melt a little … just a little. "I got you coffee … it's black, like your soul." Jim held out a large styrofoam cup that Leonard graciously accepted.

"That expression's over-rated." He grumbled, taking a small sip of the scorching liquid.

"Not when it's true."

Not able to refute the statement, Bones tilted his head towards the cadet.

"Oh, that's Gaila! Gaila meet Bones, Bones, Gaila. She's on the engineering track and works in the computer labs."

Smiling sweetly at McCoy, Gaila turned back to Jim. "Hey, Jim, I got to go; my roommate's glaring at me. See you later?"

"See you later," Winking at her before she turned away, Jim turned to face Bones, leaning against the wall, grin still plastered on his face.

Bones' didn't turn around to watch Gaila walk away, but when he was sure that the cadet was out of hearing range he let the full extent of his anger seep out.

"What the hell do you think you're doin', Jim?"

Eyes widening and grin faltering at the snarl that came from McCoy's mouth, Jim lowered his eyes briefly and shrugged.

"We were just talking about computer codes." The younger man stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, leveled gaze back on McCoy's face.

"You were makin' a move towards a _cadet_!" It took all of Bones' self-restraint to keep his voice low.

Jim's lips turned down into a frown, his jaw clenching and chin jutting out.

"So? It's not like -"

"Jim, you're a professor; you can't flirt with cadets." Bones spoke slowly, letting the words penetrate the younger man's skull.

"I'm teaching Tactical Analysis and Training. I know you don't know much about Starfleet but those courses are for kids on the command course. She's not going to be in them, so it's not like there'll be a problem of favoritism or anything. And it wasn't like it was unwanted attention. What's the big deal?"

"So we're back to cocky bastard now, are we?' McCoy remembered in vivid detail his first two years with Jim, the iron wall he had around him, the arrogant and brash attitude. It'd taken countless drunken nights shouldering each other home, countless lectures and heated arguments, and months and months of building up trust to get that facade to dissolve.

And now they were back to square one.

Jim stiffened, back straightening and hands curling into fists.

"Stupid's not a good look on you, Jim." Bones cut right to the chase, skipping the part about dangerous sex with alien species whose pheromones could go haywire … which had been his point, but Leonard was smart enough to see the bigger picture. "You have an image to uphold, eyes watching you for slip-ups. These kids, not all of them but a lot of them, are going to be your students and your duty to them is to set an example as a Starfleet officer. You have responsibilities, learn to shoulder them. " McCoy didn't give the other man a chance to speak, cutting him off by holding his hand up between them, palm facing Jim. Okay, maybe he was being a bit too harsh but that didn't mean that he was in any mood to have an argument in the mess hall.

Gunmetal blue eyes narrowed at Leonard.

"Let's get some food inta ya before classes start." The subject change was abrupt, but neither of them complained. With one last lingering glare at the Jim, McCoy turned and headed towards the replicators.

Just when he'd thought things had been getting better, it all had to go spiraling down didn't it?

Leonard hoped that it was just the stress of the first day that fried all of Jim's brain cells.

* * *

"So, you have a choice to make: you can either save countless lives or stop a war. What do you choose?" Jim leaned the small of his back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the blank faces that blinked back at him.

Okay, not exactly the way he'd wanted to start off his first class (he'd been thinking more along the lines of "hey, kids! I'm Professor Kirk and I'm going to be teaching you tactics!"), but he wasn't exactly in the right state of mind at the moment. His head was still spinning from his _discussion_ with Bones, rage still swirling in his stomach.

'Oh, screw this.' Jim pushed away the need to punch a hard surface and forced himself to step up to the task he'd been given.

He'd do this and he'd do it right. Not for anyone else, but for himself.

He could have this one thing for himself.

"It's a slightly exaggerated example but accurate, nonetheless. Making quick choices and decisions, knowing what to do and how to implement strategies, how to use the limited resources you have to your best advantage, that's tactics." He had no idea what he was leading up to and let his mouth get away with it. "I can drill all the battle strategies, all the regulations into your brains, sear them into your memories, but that won't help you too much in space; space doesn't play by the rules."

A few interested heads perked up, students straightening in their seats, eyes slightly wider than normal, engaged and thoughtful. Well, he was doing something right after all.

"You're not going to be sitting on that chair in the bridge thinking 'what I learned in tactics class is …' You're not going to have the leisure to take your time. You'll have to make a choice, a really difficult one more often than not. In the middle of that, battle strategies and regulations aren't what save you. Your instinct, your knowledge, your ability to access the situation and draw your own conclusions, that's what saves you."

Jim pried himself from the desk and stood straight, eyeing each individual face in the large lecture hall, gaze moving up the rows as they slanted up on the steps.

They needed to understand, needed to know what they were up against; that it wasn't all wonder and beauty up in space. Most missions didn't turn into complete disasters, but it did happen. It did happen and they needed to know, needed to understand that one choice - one choice - was all it took to drastically change someone's life.

Jim would know.

"Yeah, you are going to be learning how to do things by the book, but that's not enough. You need to learn how to hone and follow your instinct, even if it goes against what's written in the book. That's what keeps you going. Your priorities, why you're there, the lives that depend on you; that's what's important, that's what keeps you going when shit hits the fan."

He, at least, had the dignity to inwardly cringe.

By now, Jim had the attention of everyone in the room.

"I'm not saying regulations shouldn't be followed; they're there for a reason, after all. But knowing how to manipulate them, how to use them to your advantage, when and where, that's tactics; not following them blindly. If you get stuck in enemy crossfire, you're not going to recall a lecture from Tactical Training about how to best react under that situation. You won't remember what formation your starship has to take, won't have time to think about whether everything is in the exact position it's supposed to be in for battles. Most of the time you won't be sure what you're supposed to do, but you'll always know what you can do."

Did any of that even make sense? It sounded like complete gibberish to his ears but hopefully some insightful cadet would have picked up on his meaning.

"So tell me. What would you choose?"

Not the most orthodox "welcome back, this is what we're going to do this year," speech, but hey, he was given responsibilities and he was shouldering them (in your face, Bones!). These were his students and he was going to make sure that they knew how to deal all the extremes; from the monotony of everyday life on a starship that made you want to bang your head against the walls to the HOLY SHIT! That came out of nowhere! Red alert! RED ALERT! To the Captain's gone on an away mission to a hostile planet and the universe sucks because of all the times to have an ion storm that'll scramble the communications and transporter systems it had to be now.

A tentative hand rose up.

"Yes, cadet …"

"Sulu, sir." The tanned cadet replied, sitting taller in his chair, chestnut eyes steeling themselves in determination.

"So, Cadet Sulu, what does your instinct tell you to do?"

"Both, sir."

Jim beamed at the student, whole-heartedly.

* * *

Lunch break came around and Jim was glad to let his shoulders slump.

So far so good; for the most part he held the attention of the class and the nods he'd received from the majority signaled that they understood context if not gravity.

Well, he'll have time to mold them to _his_ standards.

It'd been an introductory lesson more than anything. Jim went rambling on about how tactics was different from strategy, how the two worked in tandem, what it meant to make one second decisions, what a good assessment of the situation constituted, and anything and everything that came to his mind. He explained the cost of being in a leadership position, the unpleasant causalities, the consequences; thing's he'd never been told about.

In his time at the academy, it'd all been about battle formation delta 1768 and how regulation sector B clause 8 paragraph 13 applied to so and so. That hadn't saved him when he'd been lost, abandoned, and desperate; but what he was teaching these kids – or was going to teach when he actually planned it out – was going to save them if they ever found themselves in a similar situation.

Or, Jim hoped it would.

Collecting the PADDS on his desk and shoving them into his messenger bag, Jim placed his palms on the metal table and leaned over, resting his hips against the edge, and let his head hang.

'I can do this." He took a deep breath and straightened up, pulling at the hem of his shirt.

Damn, this thing was stifling.

Quickly throwing a glance at his watch, Jim decided that he had some time to make a coffee run and take a detour to Starfleet Medical (yes, he was still pissed about the altercation and about being called a cocky bastard – he had been acting like one which was beside the point – but Jim could be the bigger man once in a while) before his stomach decided that it couldn't wait any longer for the bacon cheese sandwich on the replicator menu.

* * *

_3 months later_

"The first Maru test is coming up soon, you still want in?"

Jim looked up from his plate of mashed potatoes and peas, and stared across the table at Captain Pike.

Why was he having mashed potatoes with peas for breakfast again? He _hated _peas. And why wasn't there any gravy?

'Why is it so fricken noisy?'

'You're in the mess, Jim.'

'Yeah, but it wouldn't kill people to shut up. It feels like someone's sticking needles into my brain.'

'Let's get back to the point, Jimbo.'

"What?" He blinked blankly at the Captain, his brain lagging, the last clutches of a hangover lingering over his mind.

It was entirely Bones' fault.

No screw that, it was all Jocelyn's fault. What was that woman's problem? Who invited their still heart-broken ex-husband to their wedding?

Bitches, that's who.

Bones would disagree - how he could still love that woman was beyond him - but Jim was Jim and he had this thing called free will.

'Focus, Jim.'

"The Kobayashi Maru; you said you wanted to oversee it on your first day here. The first run is coming up." Pike enunciated each word as if he knew exactly how discombobulated Jim's mind was, which he probably did.

Over the past three months, Jim had found himself turning to the captain when he'd needed a firm presence besides him and Bones was too busy at the med labs. Sooner rather than later, Jim found a guiding hand in Pike, someone who he could rely on and trust to show him the right path. The trust had come from weekends spent loitering in the captain's office for lack of anything better to do, much tolerance for his pestering and nagging, and many lectures (seriously though, Jim was beginning to think he had a thing for older men who lectured him) and many more shared meals.

"Oh yeah … that." The memories came slowly, meandering their way back into his mind. "The Kobayashi Maru, it's that sim that no one's passed."

"Yes, Jim." Pike regarded the younger man with twinkling eyes, lips curving upwards around the rim of his glass.

"When?" Holding back a yawn, Jim ran a hand over his haggard face.

How the hell was he supposed to teach like this?

'Note to self: getting shit-faced on Sunday nights … not a good idea. Next time, just let Bones drink alone.'

It comforted Jim a little to know that his friend was probably going through the same hell, if not worse; he was the one with the early shift at the medical labs, after all, and not Jim.

Groaning, Jim placed his fork down and decided that if he ate anymore he would throw up.

Distraction. He needed a distraction.

Picking up his fork again - the point that he was a restless bastard having been established a long time ago - Jim stabbed it forcefully into the peas rolling around in his plate.

"Next Wednesday at 13:30, it's one of your students so you're allowed to oversee it. I'm surprised that you didn't already know." And he was. Over the three months that Jim had been teaching, Pike had watched from afar as he grew exceptionally close to his students, taking less than a week to memorize the names of the few hundred kids he was in charge of for a few hours a day. Since then, Jim had honed his teaching style to accommodate for the group's weaknesses and strengths, keeping up with their lives when he needed to (and then some), and being a reliable person to turn to for the youngsters.

Leaning back into the plastic chair, Jim cracked his knuckles. Maybe if he banged his head against the wall the haze would go away.

"B … her name starts with a B. Bryan? No … wait, I got this. Um … Rachael Bryans?" He glanced at Pike for confirmation, his eyebrows scrunched together.

"Yeah, that's her," The captain shook his head fondly as the look of acute concentration on Jim's face, "Are you going to be there?"

"I have lunch with Professor Karen Collins that day at 13:45." Jim scrunched his nose and thought hard.

Ouch, he'd just leave thinking hard on his 'to-do later' list.

"Oh, is that what you kids are calling it these days?" Pike tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

Grinning, Jim continued terrorizing his peas.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Your reputation precedes you, Jim." He easily recognized the warning that was layered under the nonchalance.

Gazing up at the older man, grin still settled on his lips (he was doing that a lot these days, grinning, it was a wonder his cheeks didn't hurt like hell), Jim shrugged. He would never actually make an advance towards his students, harmless flirting aside. Contrary to popular belief, Jim did have morals and his students were off limits – big time. Sadly, that fact went ignored more often than not, being that people liking to assume the worst from him. As long as he kept it out of the classroom, though, the higher-ups had no problem with it. No one had said anything to him … yet, no reprimands, no official warnings, nothing. There was also the fact that test results and simulation results had increased by four percent in the command department, especially between the students that Jim taught. And, even if someone in the administration did have a problem with him, Jim was more than sure that Pike was keeping them at bay.

"I'll be there, wouldn't have missed it even if you hadn't told me." Eyes wandering around the room now, taking in familiar and unfamiliar faces, Jim forced away the blurry edges of his thoughts.

His first class started in another twenty minutes, if he'd estimated the time correctly, and he couldn't go give a lecture while he was still feeling hung over; responsibilities, shoulders, and all that.

Stroking his chin with his thumb and index finger, Jim let a small fond smile encase his lips as his eyes landed on Sulu. The cadet was sitting at a table not far from himself and the captain, wolfing down his breakfast roll and nodding along as another cadet talked. His smile widened even further when Jim recognized the familiar mop of curly golden brown locks.

Over the time he'd been teaching, Jim found himself getting attached to most if not all of his students; some of them more so than other. Favoritism and all that be damned, he was out right fond of a hand few: resisting Pavel Andreieich Chekov was _impossible_ - - the kid was too damn cute and a friggen genius to boot- and Sulu reminded Jim of himself a bit too much at times, for him not to like the guy.

Jim had never pinned himself for the affectionate type, but upon seeing the two cadets Jim decided that he didn't know himself as well as he had thought. An inkling of understanding for Bones' own affection towards Jim began to crawl into his conscience, being that that's what Jim felt when he looked towards Chekov and Sulu.

Which was ridiculous; he was turning into a mushy pile of goo.

Ugh.

Jim reined in his thoughts and forced himself to look away from the animated way Chekov's hands moved when he talked, his head bobbing up and down. From the lost look on Sulu's face, the Russian prodigy was no doubt rambling on about quantum physics and its application across dimensions and planes. Jim had made the mistake of getting roped into such a conversation and had only been able to follow for seven minutes – a record – before becoming utterly lost.

There had been a time when Jim had thought that _he _was a genius.

'Reality to Jim, Reality to Jim, do you copy?'

Bright blue eyes tore away from the two cadets and met muted green ones. "Anyways, I can always make it up to Karen later, so no big deal." Jim threw on a smirk.

Not being able to help himself, Pike chuckled.

"God help you, kid, god help you."

* * *

"And Gaila already works in the computer labs, so it won't be a problem. We just need permission from a professor to have access to the advanced programs that aren't usually available to cadets, alter some equipment, and to access the lab after hours." Nyota stood across from him, on the opposite side of his desk, eyes bright and pleading.

It would never cease to amaze Spock, how well put together Nyota Uhura was. Having been her professor for two years and the object of her affections (unwanted and one-sided as they were), he'd seen many shades of her personality: intelligence, determination, ambition, strength - and once one was acquainted with her well enough - warmth. A weaker part of him acknowledged that she was very aesthetically pleasing.

Nyota was not lacking in any way, not in intellect, in soul, or in beauty, but despite all reasoning stating that the two of them would make a compatible match, Spock felt nothing more than a friendly countenance towards the cadet.

Discarding his current train of thought, Spock nodded at her and went back to clearing his desk. He'd been about to leave, his class having ended, when Uhura had walked into the classroom to converse with him.

"I shall write up a request at my earliest convenience." He had twenty minutes before his presence was required at the science lab; and as he required sustenance, eight point fifteen minutes would go into travelling to the mess hall, waiting on line at the replicator, obtaining and eating food. The remaining time would be adequate for writing up a letter to the computer labs' head administrator requesting permission for Nyota and Cadet Gaila to use the lab for their project.

The distant sound of feet slamming into the ground reached Spock's ears.

"Thanks, Spock." He made no move to reprimand the informal usage of his name - Nyota was no longer his student and he did hold her in high esteem - and the act lit a light in her velvet brown eyes.

Uhura made no move to leave, instead averting her gaze towards the ground for a brief second before looking back up and smiling brightly. Spock classified the behavior to mean that he was about to be asked something of a romantic nature. He suppressed a sigh.

The sound got closer.

Noting that the cadet seemed to be waiting for him to say something, Spock complied.

"Is there anything else, Nyota?"

As she parted her lips to reply, Spock heard the sound of feet thudding past the open door of his classroom and halting. Slow footsteps replaced the previous hasty ones, the soft taps of rubber soles against the tiled ground coming closer and closer.

"Uhura!" An unknown male voice interrupted Nyota as she was about to speak.

Professor and cadet turned to face the door.

Not recognizing the man who was leaning against the door frame, bent over with his hands on his knees as he panted, golden blond locks tousled, face flushed and chest heaving, Spock raised a curious eyebrow. He did, however, recognize the regulation blacks required of all non-cadet Starfleet personnel – a fact that did nothing to ease his curiosity.

Despite the distance between them, the Vulcan could feel the joy, excitement, and eagerness that radiated off of the human male and the fact further intrigued him. Humans were a largely psi-null species and yet this one managed to radiate his emotions loud and clear, so clearly that Spock could feel them through his shields (did they need reinforcing? had he perhaps let them ease in Nyota's presence?) without there being any physical contact.

Occupied with seizing up the man, Spock missed the scowl that adorned Nyota's face and also failed to acknowledge that the rush of overwhelming glee coming from the man wasn't … unpleasant.

"Kirk," if he was surprised at the hostile tone, the man – Kirk – did not show it, "what do you want?"

"Have you … seen … Chris … tine?" Jesting electric blue eyes turned to stare at Nyota and Spock found himself taken aback at the vibrant color, breath catching in his throat.

'Eye color is determined by the pigmentation of one's iris and the scattering of light by the turbid medium in the stroma of the iris. There is no blue pigmentation in either the iris or the ocular fluid; instead, due to the presence of melanin, it is a brownish black. Blue eyes result when there are low concentrations of melanin in the stroma of the iris, and longer wavelengths are absorbed while shorter wavelengths are reflected and undergo Rayleigh scattering. This is also the same effect that causes the blue pigment of the sky.

In human genetics, blue eyes are caused by an inheritance pattern similar to recessive genes. Due to this, over the years, the occurrence of such colored eyes has decreased in the human population.'

Spock ran the commentary through his head, easing his control back and identifying his reaction as the human-half of his biology finding Kirk (or rather his eyes - not that the rest of Kirk wasn't als- ) very aesthetically pleasing.

As it were, Kirk hadn't seemed to notice Spock's presence in the room and Spock was – to use a human phrase – "more than happy" to keep it that way.

By now the man had straightened up, black uniform stretching over his firm muscles as placed his right hand on his left shoulder and rolled it under the grip. Turning away from Kirk, Spock stuffed the PADD in his hands into his bag and waited for the conversation to finish.

"Why are you asking?" Nyota crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at the man.

"Don't worry, after she subtly threatened me about slipping a virus for Tellarian chicken pox into my drink I've stopped hitting on her. Come to think of it, that was probably more of a result of spending so much time in close proximity working with Bones than anything else … which brings me to my point." For a split second the devil-may-care smirk turned into a genuine smile. "I just need you to tell her to tell Bones that I won't be able to meet up with him when his shift ends and that I'm going to be spending the night with Scotty … most probably."

At the look of absolute horror on Uhura's face, Kirk burst out laughing whole-heartedly, the sound reverberating in Spock's ears.

"I … oh god, Uhura … get your mind out of the gutter, cadet!" Kirk took a moment to compose himself. "Not that you need to know, but we're going to be working, and I really do mean working, in one of the engineering labs. Just pass the message on, okay? I would go myself but I'm kind of late and he never checks the messages on his comm while he's working." Then, as an afterthought he added, "Scotty's not really my type anyways. The man's awesome but too … nutty."

Winking in a form of farewell, the man took off and Spock could hear the footsteps get fainter and fainter as they pattered down the hall.

"Of all the …" grumbling under her breath, Nyota turned back to look at Spock.

"Sorry about that, he doesn't have this thing called respect."

Knowing from his time interacting with humans that the statement didn't require a response, Spock merely inclined his head.

"I ran into him in a bar and then a few times after that," she was clearly still irritated, "and I seriously have no idea how he managed to become a professor."

"He is new to the administration." It was spoken as a statement, but after the two years she'd known him, Uhura could hear the question loud and clear.

"Yeah; Jim Kirk: professor of Tactical Analysis and Training. He's arrogant, brash, highly promiscuous, and a complete douchebag." Noting her choice of words a second too late, Nyota winced.

Ignoring the lapse, Spock immediately placed the name as belonging to the male that Captain Pike had convinced to return to Starfleet. His curiosity peaked.

Captain Pike had not spoken much about the man he'd recruited into the position, but the little he did tell Spock constituted that Kirk was an extremely intelligent being, one with much potential.

Seeing as how the views of Captain Pike and Nyota conflicted, Spock pushed the matter away to the back of his mind. It was illogical to spend time mulling over a matter that did not regard him.

"I do not have sufficient data to support or refute your claim."

Letting her shoulders ease, Nyota smiled again.

"I was going to ask you this before: would you like to check out this new pre-warp style café that opened up a few blocks down? I mean, you are going on your lunch break, right?"

The _with me _was unsaid, but Spock, who was slowly learning how to decipher human speech, heard it loud and clear.

"I apologize, Nyota, but my presence is required shortly in the lab." Fourteen point oh eight minutes to be exact.

Vulcans did not lie.

A fond, if somewhat disappointed, smile coiled onto Uhura's lips.

"If that's what you prefer."

* * *

Days past and life went on, its same monotonous self.

Breakfast, lecture, reading reports, lecture, lunch if necessary, lab, finishing reports, grading papers, meditation, breakfast, lecture, reading reports, lecture, lunch if necessary, lab, finishing reports, grading papers, meditation, breakfast …

Somewhere in the haze of Spock's routine, Jim Kirk was forgotten - pushed deep under more pressing issues.

* * *

**A/N: ****About this chapter ... can't say I'm too happy with it; it turned out completely different than what I had planned. It's more like a filler/transitional chapter so bear with me. Up till now the plot's been building up slowly and subtly but I'm basically going to punch subtle in the face for the next few chapters **

**or at least, that's what I'm planning.**

**Does anyone find the (constant) changing of perspective disorienting/confusing? I'm still trying to make sense of the mess that is my writing style and more often than not my mind goes on autopilot and then the more I reread the chapters, the more I find things that nudge me the wrong way.**

**And, a****s always, thank you guys for all the comments, subscribes, and favorites!**

******And thanks to Muffy the Dough Slayer for betaing! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Remedy Chapter 5**

The buzz of chatter in the mess hall was a mere haze at the back of Spock's head, a light fog that he'd grown accustomed to.

Now, it was that same haze that took him in, caressed him in its gentle hold, and wiped all comprehensive thought from his mind. The nothingness in the back of his mind spread throughout his body and he was only distantly aware that his control was slipping, slipping, slipping.

The Vulcan Healers had informed him of the side effects, but as it were Spock never expected to be troubled too much. The bond between himself and T'Pring had never been strong; more of a ghost than anything else. When it had been present, its existence was barely acknowledgeable and once it was broken, Spock assumed that its loss would be just as meager.

However, the healers had begged to differ.

For caution's sake, they listed all the consequences - as if Spock wasn't well aware, but he was used to the treatment by now – stating that it was improbable that the more dire ones would manifest, but that the lesser ones might surface.

Disorientation, having been one of the lesser side effects, had made itself known not long after Spock returned from Vulcan. Over the course of a few days, it became something he learned to keep in check with rigid control. Sometimes, however, when Spock was otherwise unoccupied and his thoughts were a faint humming thrum, the mist would smother him in its thick veil.

"Spock …?" a concerned voice that Spock was barely able to cognize scratched the surface of the smog around his mind.

He blinked once, twice; the blurry edges of his vision clearing slowly.

"Spock?" The voice came again, more forceful, managing to cut through the haze. It latched onto the Vulcan and pulled him to the surface.

Like a cold burst of wind, Spock's surroundings came into sharp focus. His eyes registered the blended grain in the dull red bowl that sat before him on a metallic tray, the white circular table underneath, its legs resting on the tiled floor, the gray and white swirls of the stone dancing around each other.

The hazy background noise turned into din. The beat of feet thudding against the ground as cadets and officers moved about, the inconsistent tapping of an impatient foot, the clatter of silverware and trays landing on tables, the sounds of chairs scraping against the floor, all assaulted Spock's Vulcan hearing and he could feel a slight throbbing growing at the base of his mind.

From those projecting loud enough, emotions and detached fragments of thoughts came hurtling towards him; overwhelming and unpleasant as they rolled over his skin like perspiration.

"Are you okay?" The Vulcan did not need to look up at the Captain's face to see the concerned light in his eyes, the furrow in his brow, and the downward pull to his lips.

Opening his mouth to speak, Spock found it oddly dry.

"I am in good health, Captain."

Vulcans did not lie.

_Lub-dub … lub-dub … lub-dub_

His heart was beating too slowly, still trying to catch up to reality.

Inhale.

_Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub._

In quantum mechanics, the non-relativistic time-independent equation (founded by pre-warp scientist Edwin Schrödinger) for one particle in one dimension is H= p^2/2m +V(x) = (h^2/2m) (d^2/dx^2) + V(x)

Exhale.

_Lub-dup, lub-dup, lub-dup,_

Spock's back and shoulders straightened as he reestablished his control. Tearing his eyes away from his meal, he looked up to face Captain Pike.

"Right." A pause followed and Spock sat calmly, indifferent to the captain's steady gaze. "I wasn't going to mention it …" Spock noted that the superior officer's voice implied otherwise, "but … I'm getting a bit worried. You're staring at your bowl of 'not oatmeal' like it's a slug."

"The name of the dish you are referri-"

"Spock."

In another life, where Spock succumbed to his human-half, he would have sighed.

"I find that I am not in need of nourishment at the time."

Whereas he nodded to indicate understanding, the suspicion did not disappear from the lines of the Captain's face. He did, however, divert his attention back to his meal; leaving Spock to his own devices.

A beat of silence passed in which Spock planned out his day, running through the course material for the day's lessons, the paperwork to be checked, the progress of his latest project.

A sharp, clear, and heartfelt laugh sliced through Spock's train of thought, cutting it off abruptly.

With the barest incline of his head, the Vulcan located the source.

Officer James T. Kirk.

Kirk had entered the vicinity of the mess, arm slung across the shoulders of a man of slightly broader built and older age. Despite the fact that Kirk's weight seemed to be thrown onto the older man, being that Kirk was leaning into him, their gait was steady. He was talking animatedly, his free hand moving along with his words, eyes bright and facial muscles supporting a smile. Having meditated on his previous reaction to the man, Spock now regarded him with nothing but an analytical air, a detached curiosity.

When sensation somewhat akin to tingling started at the base of Spock's mind, he turned his attention back to his untouched bowl.

"So … have you thought about my offer yet?" Captain Pike swallowed the last bite of his replicated French toast, setting his cutlery and tray aside. Wiping his hands clean of a greasy residue that was not present (a curious habit of humans that Spock noted again again) the captain gazed at him with patient green eyes.

"I have considered the merits of such a position." In truth, Spock had spent countless hours mulling over the offer in his head. To become a Commander under Captain Pike would be a beneficial promotion; not only would he be able to explore and further his knowledge of space but he would be serving on –what was to be – the flagship of Starfleet: The U.S.S Enterprise.

A lesser, yet more compelling motivation, laid in the fact that the stars had always captivated Spock. Held in their grasp was wisdom gained from millions, if not billions, of years of life; the wisdom of life, of death, of the essence of being.

They burned bright, gazing back at him, knowing him, seeing into him.

Or at least, that was how it had felt as a child; the sky having been his only solace in the long years of his childhood. Later on in adolescents and early adulthood, they meant freedom and Spock had grasped at them, going against everything he was and wasn't for what had been the first time in his life.

Now that he was presented with a chance to be among them, Spock could admit to himself that the latter reason outweighed the more … logical ones.

"As it is a more than agreeable position, I accept."

Captain Pike snorted.

"More than agreeable?" His lips curved up, eyes twinkling as if they could see something that was hidden from the Vulcan. "Well, that's good." The Captain inhaled deeply.

Spock parted his lips to speak, but Captain Pike beat him to it.

"Don't worry about the paperwork; I'll get that out of the way. The only thing you'll have to do until the launching is going to the Riverside station and check out the progress." Leaning back into his chair, the captain scrunched his eyebrows in thought. "I think it's once, at every months end. I'll look up the exact dates and forward to you."

Spock nodded, having expected as much.

"Will that be a problem? The trips would last a week or so. Will you be able to manage that with your classes?"

"As I am not the only xenolingusitics professor, it will not be a problem. I will be able to forward the lesson plans to a substitute as to not disturb the course."

"Good, that's good." Captain Pike rubbed his hands together, a small smile curving his lips. "Pleasure to have you on board, Commander."

Throughout the rest of the meal, Spock and Captain Pike discussed the various tasks that needed to be completed in preparation for the maiden voyage of the U.S.S Enterprise, which was scheduled for the upcoming summer. All the while, Spock was vaguely aware of Kirk's presence in the hall as it faintly scratched at the edges of his conscience.

* * *

Grunting around the slender flashlight in his mouth, Jim shook his foot as he felt something tug at it. The movement caused the creeper to roll upward and it took all of Jim's will power not to let out a frustrated sigh.

Why he had let Scotty rope him into dismantling the '67 Impala he'd gotten from god knows where, was beyond Jim.

Why Scotty would buy an automobile from the 20th century was also beyond Jim, as was the answer to _what the hell _is Scotty going to _do_ with this_?_

There had been a brief moment where Jim wondered if the Scotsman was even allowed to use the engineering lab for his own private projects but he'd quickly dismissed the thought. This was Montgomery Scott they were talking about; it didn't matter what Starfleet said, he'd find some way around it.

Scotty'd been a high-up engineer; the best Starfleet had to offer. He was working on the construction of the latest wave of constitution class starships, when an "accident" ended up getting him demoted to professor at Starfleet Engineering.

The thing with Scotty was that he was the perfect example of an eccentric genius. While working on the new starships, he'd postulated his theory of transwarp beaming and had had a little debate about it with his instructor. To prove his theory correct, Scotty tested it on Admiral Archer's prized beagle, beaming him to god knows where.

Needless to say, Admiral Archer was very fond of his pet and didn't appreciate it when it disappeared.

Now Scotty kept his ingenious ideas to the borders of his lab; and it was probably that same propensity towards innovation and tinkering that landed Jim under the automobile.

Warily, Jim worked with nimble fingers, unscrewing the bolts from the splash shield. The polyethylene covering was coarse with age, and he already had scratches running up and down his hands from where the material rubbed against skin.

'This is a pain in the ass.'

Sure, Jim had told Scotty that he loved antique cars, and his passion for working with machines was even greater, but still ... he'd been thinking of spending his time at the engineering lab doing something more along the lines of observing (and helping) Scotty as he worked on improving the matter/antimatter containment chamber designs.

The fuel controversy was heating up day by day; the Kallos II solution only being a temporary fix. Well aware of this, the Federation had put its best minds onto the task of finding a solution.

Well, finding wasn't the most accurate word. The Federation already knew the true answer to the fuel problem: dilithium crystals. Unfortunately for them, dilithium crystals were rare, fragile, and unstable. Not to mention the conflicts that arose in their stead, the wars fought over mining rights, and the tangible tension with the Klingons that preceded many of those wars.

Despite their cons, dilithium crystals were an invaluable resource. If they could be stabilized even a little, then they could be used as a matrix to channel a matter/antimatter mixture throughout a starship as fuel.

The increased effort and resources put into figuring out a way to stabilize them and increase their efficiency had been successful for the most part. There were still some complications and formalities to go through, but the minds working at Starfleet to resolve the problem, were very close to a break through.

From what Jim heard (he'd been keeping up quite avidly with the whole affair), plans to fit the new warp cores into the new wave of constitution class starships were in the making.

Knowing that Scotty had been the chief engineer on the project before he'd gotten demoted (now he was more of a consultant), Jim managed to convince the Scotsman to let him in on the planning.

And now Scotty was off at the mess hall no doubt hoarding all the sandwiches he could get his hands on, while Jim was stuck under a black '67 Chevrolet Impala, trying to take the splash shield off.

The last bolt removed, Jim placed the plier in his hands down and gently grasped the edges of the sheet, tugging it off with gentle movements. Detaching itself from the frame with a soft scratching sound, the shield came to rest in Jim's hands and he slid it out from underneath the machine.

Scotty's motives for buying the car aside, why would he want to dismantle it? Sure, the car was run-down. It's bumpers were rusted, windows cracked, sleek black paint chipping, and metal frame rusty, but Jim was more than sure that it wouldn't take much work to return it to its previous glory.

Maybe he'd talk with Scotty when he came back.

The tug on his foot came again, a bit harder, and Jim flinched, his knee jerking up and hitting the end bumper of the automobile.

"Fuck!" Body arching upward in pain, his head shot up on its own accord and hit the metal above him. A stream of curses flowed out from Jim's mouth, his muscles tensing along with the fresh burst of pain.

'Someone is going to die,' he thought as he began to roll himself out from under the Impala.

"Keenser, if that's you, I'm going to fricken kill you." Bright white light assaulted Jim's eyes as the underside of the car disappeared. Groaning, he smacked a hand over his eyes, the grime from his fingers rubbing off on his skin.

'This just gets better and better, doesn't it?'

Pulling himself up into a sitting position on the creeper, Jim's squinted eyes found the short, dark green alien standing in front of him.

"I know you can talk, Keenser, I've heard you. It's not that damn difficult to just say 'Jim, come out from under there for a sec.'" He glowered at the alien, wringing his hands together.

Instead of replying, Keenser blinked at him, his large coal black eyes disappearing under scaly eyelids, and pointed to his right.

Jaw tensed and eyes narrowed, Jim turned his head to face the direction Keenser's stubby finger was pointing in.

His gaze came to rest on a pair of legs that went on forever, clad in black slacks. The tension from his jaw fading, Jim scrunched his eyebrows and stared at the legs before his brain reasoned that a body must be attached to them.

Slowly, Jim trailed his eyes up, taking in the narrow, slim hips that the slacks hugged so very nicely, the breadth of stomach, the broad chest and shoulders, the smooth expanse of pale skin stretched over the muscles of a neck, the chiseled chin and strong jaw, full lips, and angular cheekbones, eyes finally coming to rest on a pair of deep cognac brown eyes.

Next to the immaculate officer, Jim felt extremely filthy – which was probably more due to the fact that he was, than anything else. The white undershirt he'd adorned in place of his uniform was drenched in oil from when a leak had sprung out, and he was covered in grime and sweat.

It took a moment for the bigger picture to piece itself together, but when it did, Jim snapped out of his thoughts and chuckled bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"Hey, uh … sorry about … that …" Jim didn't exactly know what he was apologizing for. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Gaze still focused on the officer, Jim noticed the upswept eyebrows, ridiculous bowl cut, and pointed ears. With the realization that the officer was a Vulcan, a name immediately came to the forefront of his thoughts.

Spock.

Jim had heard the name quite often during the three months he'd been at the academy; it was spoken with both a high respect and deep loathing, depending on who was doing the talking. According to the rumor mills, most specifically Sulu, Professor Spock was a no-nonsense man with a stick up his ass, and cold demeanor. Ingenious as he was, that didn't dismiss the fact that the man was a robot.

As accurate as Sulu's description came to what little was known of Vulcans, Jim still suspected that the cadet was singularly biased in the matter. After all, Jim found him cramming over the latest assignment from Spock's class and muttering under his breath in the library, one too many times. Though, why a cadet on track to become a helmsman was taking xenolingusitics was another thing that was beyond Jim. But, he guessed that it had more to do with fulfilling required credits than choice.

Chekov, on the other hand, was in Spock's astrophysics class and idolized the man.

Then there was Uhura (she still refused to tell him her first name – he could look it up, but that would take the fun out of the whole thing). Jim didn't eavesdrop on people: it really wasn't his style. He was more of a "get them shitfaced" type of guy, but sometimes, people were talking too loudly and he was standing too close.

_Jim had been hanging around in the hallway outside of Bones' lab, waiting for his lunch break to begin. As much as their schedules coincided, the exact timings were a bit off and Jim's prep period started five minutes before Bones' lunch break. There had been a time where Jim considered using his prep period for its intended purpose, and then he found out that his lunch break didn't match up with his friend's. He ended up switching the two periods, not entirely sure if it were allowed, but completely positive that there was no way he was going to let Bones spend his lunch break alone. Jim knew all too well that if it were left to the man, he would work right through it. For all the talk about taking care of your health and eating, Leonard McCoy was a big hypocrite on the front. _

_So, there he was, pacing up and down the hall waiting for the bell to signal the end of the period, when he realized that the thudding of his boots against the floor wasn't the only sound in the hall. Jim had looked up to glimpse Uhura walking his way and immediately donned his devil-may-care grin._

"_Cadet." He greeted her as she approached._

"_Professor." _

_Without glancing his way, she continued walking until she reached the door to Bones' lab. More out of curiosity than anything else, Jim went and stood on the other side of the door._

"_Waiting for Christine?"_

_Not removing her eyes from the shut door, Uhura bit her her lower lip as if caught between the need to respect authority and reply, and the want to tell Jim to go shove it. _

_In the end, she opted for nodding._

_Jim loved being an authoritative figure; which was a fine example of irony and further proof that he was the universe's favorite plaything. _

_Five minutes up, the door slid open and out walked Christine, who looked genuinely surprised to see Uhura there._

"_Didn't ask him or he refused?" Were the first words out of her mouth._

_Uhura gave her friend a small smile and shrugged. "He was grading papers." _

_Jim's ears perked up and he decided that he should really remove himself from the premises; if only Christine would move out of the doorway. Well, Jim could always slide past her, seeing as that she wasn't taking up the whole doorway with her slim figure. _

_Jim made his move, his back against the wall and hands help up as he slid past the nurse._

"_Sorry," he mumbled just in case, before ducking into the lab._

_Despite his efforts, Jim could still hear Christine loud and clear when she replied. "Of all the fish in the sea, you had to go for Mr. Spock?"_

So the cadet had a thing for the exotic, Jim couldn't blame her – especially not now, as he was looking at the object of her affections.

He _really_ couldn't blame her.

But that was more of Jim's libido talking than Jim.

Other than a swift eyebrow that rose up, Spock's facial muscles remained in place. He stood a few feet from the entrance to the lab, back perfectly straight, hands clasped behind his back.

"I am looking for Mr. Scott."

"Scotty? He went out to the mess hall, you can check there if it's urgent." Getting up from the creeper, the fingers of pain still lingering over his mind and knee, Jim walked over to the cluttered lab table and grabbed a hand towel from the top of a pile of nuts and bolts.

As he wiped the grime and sweat off his hands and face (there was no hope for the white undershirt he wore), a thought dawned on him.

"Are you working on the fuel thing with him?" Jim was set on getting his information one way or another.

Placing the towel down, he turned to face Spock, leaning the small of his back against the desk and using one hand to grip onto the edge.

There was a beat of silence before the Vulcan answered.

"If you are referring to the work being done with the dilithium crystals, then yes."

"Awesome; what's the progress on it so far? It's still in the experimentation phase, right?" Jim rubbed his hand against his jaw as he spoke, wondering how someone could stand so straight and still for so long.

Spock's eyebrow rose higher, leaving Jim feeling as if he'd surprised the man with his interest in the subject.

Well, no doubt that he had; considering that the Vulcan probably heard his "reputation," and probably from Uhura of all people.

"That is correct."

"The stabilizing agent you guys are working on, how much of a difference does it make?" A slight throb began near Jim's temple and he let his shoulders slump, letting go of the edge of the desk and crossing his arms on his chest. He would need to ask Bones for painkillers later and no doubt have to suffer through another rant about how even the most harmless thing turned disastrous around him.

"Fragility would be decreased by 8.1253 percent and stability would increase by 6.245." The Vulcan's hands remained clasped behind his back, his posture screaming apathy. The intense light in his eyes, however, gave him away as more than a little interested in their conversation.

"Which means that efficiency goes up by, uh, 7.85, no wait … seven point one eight fi-"

"7.18515." By now, the Vulcan's upswept brows had disappeared into his hairline.

"Right." Jim chuckled. "Not the best of results, but better than nothing."

Spock nodded.

"So, rumor has it that the new starships coming out - the constellation class ones - are going to have dilithium cores. That true?"

"If all goes according to plan then the cores should be tested and ready by the upcoming summer."

A smile broke out on Jim's face, but didn't make its home there for long. His relief and joy quickly vaporized into dark clouds.

The Vulcan's face remained expressionless, but if Jim wasn't mistaken, his eyes brightened further.

"Great." Wringing his hands together, he straightened up and stretched his arms. "Do you want me to tell Scotty you dropped by when he comes back?"

"That would be acceptable."

"Okay, then."

Nodding stiffly, Spock turned around and walked out.

"Well, that was pleasant. Wasn't it, Keenser?"

Jim looked down at the alien, who merely stared right back.

"I'm still going to maim you."

* * *

Jim walked into the observation room, a second away from being late. He nodded in acknowledgement at the other officers in the room, his gaze flying over the familiar faces. For some reason or the other, all the higher-ups in Starfleet knew one another, if not personally then by name and reputation. In Jim's case it was the latter more than the former, seeing as that his greeting was returned with many furrowed brows and scrunched noses.

As Jim headed towards the glass window that overlooked the simulation room, his eyes landed on a pair of pointed ears. Taking a moment to dwell on the possible reasons why the xenolingusitics professor and science officer would be at a command sim, Jim came up blank. Pushing the matter to the back of his mind, he focused on the more pressing issues.

"Hey, Barry," Jim reached his destination and greeted the officer standing near him. Barry Moore was a stout man with olive skin, a round face, wavy, thick, black hair and an equally thick mustache on top of pale, thin lips. Being that Moore was the survival strategies professor, he taught many of Jim's students (yes, he'd begun to think of them as _his_) and Jim often found himself conversing with the man about them.

"Jim." The older man didn't avert his gaze from the floor of the sim room.

"Always the charmer, Barry." There would be a day that Jim learned to put a leash on his mouth, but today was not that day.

"It comes naturally," The older man replied dryly.

Grinning, Jim stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks. Turning his attention away from the man, he looked towards the room on the other side of the glass.

On the floor, which was assembled to look like a starship bridge, cadets and other Starfleet officers were settling into their positions. In the middle of it all, sitting tensely on the captain's chair, was Rachael Bryans. Her ginger hair was tied up in a bun, and Jim could clearly see the nervousness lining her narrow face and frame. Pale fingers tapped away at the armrests of the chair in an unsteady beat.

Knowing that he couldn't call out, Jim tried his best to telepathically communicate that he had arrived.

A moment later, the slender face with its small, sculpted features turned towards the window, and dark green eyes landed on him.

Jim smiled brightly, and mouthed [good luck.] He'd taken to attending most, if not all, of the simulations that his students took (damn, he really needed to find another hobby), and over time, Jim learned the routine well.

The tension seemed to ebb away from Rachael's posture as she shot a quick smile back before turning away.

For a fleeting moment, Jim felt someone's gaze on him and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The feeling was gone as abruptly as it arrived, and Jim could only connect that prickling sensation with one person.

"Hey, Barry?" Leaning his forehead against the glass, Jim looked at the older man from the corner of his eye.

"Yes?"

Jim hesitated, considering how his question would sound to the other professor. Deciding that the answer was ignorance and that he really didn't care, Jim soldiered on.

"Why is Spock here?"

"Mr. Spock is the one that programs the Kobayashi Maru."

Right, that explained a lot.

"Starting in 3 … 2 ..." One of the officers in the room – Jim recognized him as the chief that was in charge of the simulations – began to count down.

"1."

The lights in the sim room dimmed and the screen blinked on. Jim watched with pride as Rachael snapped into attention, her posture immediately straightening.

"We are receiving a distress signal from the U.S.S Kobayashi Maru; the ship has lost its power and is stranded."

Recalling the voice all too well, Jim averted his eyes from his student to take in Uhura at the communications' center.

"Starfleet Command has ordered us to rescue them."

Sitting in the chair, Bryans nodded and turned away.

"Proceed with the rescue." She spoke with full authority.

Jim knew that the parameters of the sim involved two options: rescuing the crew and provoking a hostile situation with the Klingon, maybe even full-on war, or abandoning them. It was made out to be a no-win scenario – much like the one Jim had talked about on the first day of the semester - but it wasn't impossible to rescue the crew.

Improbable: yes; impossible: no.

There were not many options at a captain's disposal in a situation such as the one that played out in the Kobayashi Maru – but that didn't matter; as long as there was something that could be worked with, there was a way to come out on top.

If anyone could top the sim, it was one of Jim's students, he was absolutely certain of it.

Unless …

"Captain, proceeding with the rescue would violate the Neutral Zone." A cadet that Jim didn't recognize spoke up.

Steely determination settled into Rachael's small features, and Jim looked on, feeling every bit of a proud father (a fact that he'd kindly leave out when recounting the story to Bones).

"I am well aware of that, officer Gustav. Communications, are you able to hail a Klingon border patrol vessel?"

"On it, Captain."

"Two Klingon vessels have entered the Neutral Zone."

"Communications."

"They aren't receptive of our transmissions, captain."

'Shit.' The answer crashed into Jim, the pieces of the puzzle fitting together. 'That's just … utter bullshit.'

"They've targeted their weapons on us."

"Three more Klingon warbirds are decloaking and targeting our ship."

Rachael straightened in her chair and leaned forward, fingers clutching the arm rests and eyes unwavering from the screen.

"Engage all power in raising shields, an-"

All the sudden, chatter exploded on the bridge floor.

"They're firing, Captain."

"Our ship's being hit; Shields at sixty percent."

"Contact with the U.S.S Kobayashi Maru has been lost."

"Shields at fifty two percent."

Jim watched with dread in his stomach, his jaw clenched. He was able to pinpoint the exact moment Rachael realized that there was no way out, and saw her shoulders' square.

"Load photons and fire back. If we're going down, we're going down fighting."

'She gets credit for thinking about crew morale, above all things.'

It took less than a minute before the simulation screen blinked shut and the lights clicked on.

Gloomy eyes turned towards him, and Jim smiled reassuringly.

[You did fine.]

One shade lighter, Jim read the expression on Rachael's face as a proclamation of her failure. He shrugged.

[Technicalities.]

A small smile formed on Bryans' face, and Jim considered his job done.

* * *

"Hey, is this seat taken?"

Spock looked up from his PADD and came face to face with James Kirk. He stood next to the chair across from Spock, tray in hand.

"It is unoccupied."

An impish grin formed on Kirk's boyish features, his eyes brightening.

"May I?"

Spock stiffly nodded, momentarily wondering what purpose Kirk had in mind as to approach him. The two were acquainted having conversed briefly the one time, and there was no matter between them that Spock could think off, that would require additional conversation. Despite his confusion, the Vulcan found that he did not mind the company. From their previous interaction, Spock had concluded that Kirk possessed an above average intellect for humans, seeing as that not only had he been following along with the fuel plight, but that he had been able to calculate the approximate efficiency increase in his head.

As a Vulcan, intelligence was something Spock could appreciate, but it was more than that. Kirk, whose reputation was less than stellar, was not generally thought of as an ingenious being by the Starfleet body that knew him. Why one would want to hide the extent of their knowledge was something that was beyond Spock, and did nothing but induce curiosity in regards to Kirk.

"Thanks." The man sat down with a clatter, his tray nosily hitting the white table top.

Kirk winced. "Sorry about that."

"It is of no consequence."

The man's grin widened. "You don't use contractions, do you?"

Spock did not find the need to reply.

"So, anyways, uh … hey." He ran a hand through his hair, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Jim." Kirk did not reach out his hand as humans had a tendency to do. Spock looked upon the small mercy with gratification; refusing to shake hands with humans always seemed to offend them and Spock would rather avoid situations such as those.

"Officer Kirk." The Vulcan had no reason to consider himself on first-name basis with the other man.

The human replied with nothing but an expression of amusement. "Well, if you wanna go down that road: it's more like professor."

"I am Spock."

"Just Spock?"

"My family name is unpronounceable by humans."

"Fair enough." There was a pause in which Kirk continued to fidget in his seat. Finally, as if making up his mind, he leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, clasping his hands together. "You're probably wondering what I'm doing so uh, getting to the point … I actually wanted to talk to you about the Kobayashi Maru."

Spock looked at the human with renewed interest. "You have concerns?"

Kirk chuckled. "You could say that … I wanted to ask you something, actually." The man shifted forward in his chair. "It's programmed to be unwinnable, isn't it?"

"That would be correct."

"Doesn't that make the whole thing a cheat?"

"You're approach suggests that you do not believe in 'no-win' scenarios."

"I don't. No-wins don't exist; not in real life. They're a conception of the human mind."

"A conception of the human mind?" Spock raised an eyebrow.

Kirk nodded vigorously and unclasped his hands. "You know that whole thing with 'you are your worst enemy.' Well, it's true. If you give up on trying to find a way to survive, then it's all over. If you think you're dead, then you are. But if you keep going, even if the odds aren't in your favor, you'll come out on top … one way or another." He spoke in a casual manner, but the way his hands moved along with his words, and the fire burning in his eyes betrayed Kirk's air of detachment.

Spoke considered the premise. "That is an idealistic way of thinking; especially for one such as yourself."

The intensity behind Kirk's eyes dulled, and Spock could see the walls come up in the way that his irises sharpened. Kirk pulled back, sitting ramrod straight in his chair.

"One such as myself?" He narrowed his eyes, his voice losing its open tone, and being replaced with one much more hostile. Kirk's hands, which were splayed on the table top, clenched into fists.

"Your father, Lieutenant George Kirk, assumed command of his vessel before being killed in action, did he not? I fail to see how he 'came out on top,' as you put it."

Spock noticed the almost unperceivable stiffening to Kirk's already tense shoulders. For a moment he wondered if the human had been thinking of something else.

"The _point _is that the test is bullshit. There were many different scenarios that could have played out and resulted in a win on either front. What's the purpose of making it unwinnable? Other than being a waste of time, I mean."

"The purpose is to experience fear." Spock could clearly see the knuckles under the white skin. "Fear in the face of certain death. To accept that fear, and maintain control of oneself and one's crew. This is a quality expected in every Starfleet captain."

Kirk snorted, simultaneously letting his hostile demeanor ease and raising his walls higher. "Expected in every Starfleet captain, huh?"

Spock could not discern why the latter of his explanation had a greater impact on the human than the former.

"Accepting fear and maintaining control," the human continued, "okay I get that. But why does that have to mean failure?"

"Fear in the face of certain dea …"

Kirk let out a frustrated groan and pushed his chair back, the legs scrapping loudly against the floor.

"Because you would know so much about that, right?" There was such ferocity in Kirk's tone, so much venom, that Spock started, and - in his surprise - his shields momentarily lowered.

Rage, resentment, frustration, and pain all came flooding through, blurring his vision and tainting it a depthless black with the barest swirls of gray and splotches of blood red. Pins and needles came flying his way, the pain tangible in its tight hold, and it was a testament to his Vulcan upbringing that Spock did not double over.

Regaining himself, the Vulcan parted his lips to reply, but was interrupted before he could.

"Girls, girls, you're both pretty."

Spock turned to face Captain Pike. The older man stood a few feet from the table, smiling. "Now, if you don't mind, Jim, I need to borrow Spock."

"Go right ahead." Picking up his untouched tray, tension still evident in the lines of his jaw and shoulders, Kirk stood up and briskly walked away.

"What'd you do, Spock?" Captain Pike turned towards the Vulcan once he saw Kirk deposit his tray in the recycler and leave the hall. His earlier smile faded into pursed lips, the lines of his aging face unusually visible.

"Professor Kirk raised a question about the Kobayashi Maru and I merely answered."

The Captain pondered over Spock's response before arriving at his conclusion.

"You brought up his father?"

"That is correct."

The little light that had been left in the captain's green eyes, diminished.

"Bringing up deceased parents is always a good way to make friends, Spock."

The Vulcan doubted that that was the only card at play, but let it go unsaid.

* * *

"So yeah, the tails are sexy and all, but you really don't want to feel that thing running up your leg." Jim shuddered. "Just thinking about it is giving me chills, and not the good kind."

Pike heaved a sigh and set his PADD down on his desk. Looking at the younger man through exasperated eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back into his chair.

Jim was currently sprawled on one of the chairs in his office, feet thrown over one arm rest and head hanging off the other. Pike considered reprimanding him, but he figured that it would be a waste of breath; Jim had taken to lodging in his office when he had nothing better to do and the meetings were far from formal.

"Just because I allow you to stay here, doesn't mean I want to hear about your escapades, son."

Jim smirked up at the ceiling. "Talking about alien anatomy, did you know that even though Ardanans are humanoid they have – "

"Isn't there anyone else you can bother, Jim? Contrary to your belief, I do have work I have to get done." There were some things that one couldn't forget no matter how hard they tried, and Pike suspected that whatever Jim had been about to say was going to be just that.

Jim swung his legs off the arm rest and planted them on the floor, straightening up into a sitting position.

"Well," he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands. "Bones is currently experimenting on a tribble and I'm not allowed to be in the lab while the surgery or whatever is going on. Scotty's also in his lab, having another stroke of genius; it's best to leave the man alone when he's rambling on about particle physics. Sulu's studying for a piloting sim he has to take in two days, and Chekov's studying for an astrosciences test he has coming up. Uhura's in the communications lab and if I go anywhere near there, she's going to sic the guards on me and Gaila's with her, so yeah."

"Oh! Also, I'm temporarily banned from the gym. At least, I hope it's temporarily. I'll have to talk to Giotto about that."

Pike opened his mouth and then after a pause, clamped it shut. Shaking his head and deciding that he rather not know, he went back to his work.

"What? It wasn't my fault. Well … okay, I guess it was; partially, though. I mean, I didn't purposefully rip the punching bag of its ring, now did I? The thing was already coming apart and I may have been a bit more forceful than necessary but hey, I didn't know that it was going to break off. And anyways, I was having a bad day and isn't that the whole point of punching bags? To relieve stress or whatever? The next thing I know, the bag's flying across the room and hitting Giotto in his face."

"I'm not even surprised."

Jim grinned bashfully. "I wouldn't bother you if I could help it, you know? It's not like I enjoying being a pain in the ass."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you."

The younger man chortled. Letting his head fall back onto the top of the chair, he stared unblinkingly at the ceiling. A moment of silence passed and Pike knew that it was too good to last.

"Why does everyone have a lab? Like seriously, where's my lab? Does Command even have a lab? What would they do with one? Well, I guess that's why they don't have one."

Pike completely ignored Jim's rambling. "Why don't you join a club? The chess club, for instance. Or hell, since you're so interested, go to the xenobiology lectures."

"Clubs?" Jim's head perked up. "Starfleet Academy has clubs?"

Pike looked up and raised a questioning brow. "You didn't know that?"

Jim shook his head.

"You went to the academy for three years."

"Yeah, well, you try compacting a four year command course into three while working a couple of jobs to afford it, and then come and tell me if you have any free time between all of that and staying up all night to study."

"Study study, or your use of the word study?"

Jim grinned from ear to ear. "Study study and you don't have to look so skeptical."

Pike continued to gaze at the man with disbelieving eyes, his hands clasped in front of his lips.

"Well, it was only when midterms and finals came around."

"See, now that I can believe."

Jim chuckled. "Thanks for having so much faith in me."

"Someone has to."

Another pause.

"So … you said chess club?"

"I did."

"And if someone were interested in where this club was held …?"

"Lecture hall B-2 on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1615 to 1445."

"Great, if anyone asks I'll pass that on."

Letting a small smile grace his face, Pike shook his head and turned back to his PADD.

* * *

"It was botherin' you?" Bones asked, not looking away from the petri dish under his microscope. He'd come out of the surgical room to find Jim leaning against the wall next to the door way, a furrow in his brow. Reading the younger man's distress clearly, Bones waved goodbye to the hours of silence he'd thought he'd be spending by analyzing the bacteria gathered from the infected tribble.

Now, the two men were in one of the med labs: Bones bent over the lab table, scrutinizing the bacteria in the petri dish under a microscope while Jim sat on one of the empty counters and griped about his meeting with the Vulcan professor.

The younger man shrugged. "You know the feeling when you have an itch on your back and you can't reach it and it gets really really annoying?"

Bones hummed in agreement, slightly twisting the knob on the microscope. Paying attention to Jim's ramblings while working was a skill that he'd honed over time, and now he was able to do both with upmost efficiency.

"It was like that. I couldn't stop thinking about it; it was annoying me, and pissing me off." Bones didn't have to look at him to know that Jim's hands were moving along with his words, expressing his frustration with their wild gesticulation. "I mean, think about it. What's the point?" He was beginning to get riled up again. "Feeling fear? That's bullcrap; complete bullcrap. I mean, shouldn't we be teaching them how to fight to survive? It doesn't make sense to me … at all." Jim paused and took a deep breath. "The only reason I went up to him was because I couldn't let it go."

"It all sounds like Greek to me, kid."

"What?"

Sighing, Bones turned away from his microscope and straightened up. A crack sounded and McCoy noticed Jim wince.

"You're getting old."

"And it's entirely your fault."

The younger man grinned impishly. "Yeah, I know, I know. I'm the reason for the white in your hair – which doesn't exist by the way."

"Listen, Jim," Bones steered the conversation back on track, "You're gettin' worked up over somethin' that's not a problem at all."

"It is a pro – "

"This isn't about the test anymore, is it?" Bones gazed levelly at the younger man.

Jim averted his eyes and licked his lips. "What else would it be about? I'm not some petulant brat that's going to throw a tantrum every time someone brings up my father."

Rubbing a hand over his face, McCoy closed his eyes and decided to spend his day off sleeping.

"You approached the guy and then went down like a lead balloon, but really, what else did ya expect? I don't know the man, but Vulcan's aren't exactly known for their tact." Aching from the long hours spent bending over first the surgery table and now the lab table, McCoy leaned his hip against the edge of the desk. He really should stop Jim from intruding on his work hours, but – as the younger man had said one too many times – he wore his heart on his sleeve. And anyways, technically Bones was on break right now.

It was another matter entirely, that he was somewhat of a workaholic. He wouldn't go so far as to say that he loved his job – there were too many bad memories, burdens he could live without, and too many unnecessary deaths – but he was devoted to what he did with a burning passion. If he could save just one person by putting in some extra hours, then the aching bones was worth it.

Jim scrunched his nose. "Stop with the metaphors and similes, would you?"

"You're hopeless, kid." Shaking his head, McCoy turned back to the lab table. Removing the petri dish from under the scope, he gently placed it aside; time to move onto examining the vials of blood.

Smile not reaching his eyes, Jim jumped off the counter and leaned against it instead.

"Yeah, I know that now. I just … that's not even the problem here, Bones." Jim crossed and uncrossed his arms over his chest.

"Really, Jim? 'Cause I think it is." McCoy went about resetting the microscope.

"And I'm telling you that it's not. Not a petulant brat, remember? … I just wish he'd at least considered what I was saying."

"If wishes were starships, we'd all have our own armadas." Taking out a slide from the supply box on the table, Bones placed it aside and then took out a pipette. Reaching for a vial of blood, he took the cork off and filled up the dropper.

Groaning, Jim straightened up and began to walk around the lab. "I should've just hacked the thing."

It was only due to years of handling delicate tools and situations, and years of knowing Jim that McCoy didn't drop the vial in his hands; not out of surprise but rather frustration.

Slide prepared, Bones slid it under the scope. Instead of examining it, though, he gripped the edge of table and turned his head towards Jim, shooting him the best glare that the doctor could manage.

"What?" Jim continued pacing.

Bones didn't avert his eyes.

"I did consider it, but then I thought about the pros and cons, and decided it wasn't worth it. I mean, if I were taking the sim, then I wouldn't think twice about it; but as a professor it doesn't directly affect me. Furthermore, it's not hurting the grades of my students, since it's not technically graded. I decided that talking to the person who programmed the Maru would be much less hassle." As he walked, the younger man began to tug at the lobe of his right ear.

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm only getting half of the story from you?"

Jim stopped in his tracks, eyes widening almost unperceivably. "Half of what story?" Playing dumb was always safe.

"Why the Maru bothers you so much." Bones' glare turned analytical.

"Think about it, Bones!" Jim threw his hands up in the air. "I mean, really, you're telling me that you're okay with this whole 'no-win' thing they're implanting?"

"Jim –"

The younger man cut him off abruptly.

"Are you hungry? I'm hungry. What time is it?"

Suppressing a sigh, Bones shot a quick glance at the PADD that was placed on the table. "2016."

"Damn, no way." Jim took a quick step towards Bones. "Really? Wow, you're on break right? I mean, your shift ended what, only three hours ago. Let's get something to eat."

Grasping onto the older man's arm and ignoring his protests, Jim dragged him out of the lab.

* * *

**A/N: I just wanted to thank everyone that reviewed! Especially the guests :) **

**To the one person that said that they were surprised that Spock didn't reprimand Nyota, I figured that he wouldn't have found it necessary in the situation. I'm still working through somethings in regards to characterization, so thanks for bringing that up. Really gave me something to think about xD **

**So, as Sapere said, getting closer to Spirk! (does the ship name bother anyone else, or is it just me?) **

**Anyways, I have no idea where I want to go from here. Well, that's not entirely true, I know where I want to go but I'm not exactly sure how I'm going to get there. That and the fact that my classes started on Monday means that it might take me longer to update. Just giving you guys a heads up, so please bear with me if the updates have wide gaps between them. **

**And thanks a ton to the awesome Muffy the Dough Slayer for betaing! **


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