1. Part 01

While ejecting the warp cores had saved their lives by enabling them to clear the event horizon of the black hole, it did mean that they were crawling towards the nearest Starbase at a snail's pace. Without the deuterium-antideuterium combination – and without the dilithium crystals used to regulate the reaction – warp travel was impossible. While they were travelling faster than, say, the aeroplanes of Earth's 21st century, they were nowhere near the velocity befitting a Federation vessel – and the newest one at that. Scotty could be heard bemoaning this very fact, and so the crew of the _Enterprise_ learned to walk very quickly in the other direction once they heard the Chief Engineer's brogue.

The prospect of having no warp drive was particularly draining seeing as all the 'excitement' of fighting was long over. No lives were in danger, all crises were averted – all they had to do was get back to Starfleet. Back to Earth.

To one unique and easily recognisable crewmember, said planet was to be his new home. The only home he had left.

Spock was not a social creature. Even though Vulcans did have gatherings and such – certainly not parties like Terrans! – being half-human was something that was never overlooked on the desert world. Although Vulcans quite proudly spouted – and that description is rather inaccurate when applied to Vulcans, I do apologise – the concept of IDIC, Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations, respect was not the same as emulating. They found Terrans complex and intriguing, but that did not mean that they thought their own way of life in any way lacking that they would embrace that of humans.

Digression aside, the point was that being ostracized for what Vulcans saw as a failing meant that he kept to himself. Even after being accepted into Starfleet, graduating and then lecturing, he was seen as something different, untouchable. He had done nothing to dispel that reputation, not feeling lonely, as he faced respect in San Francisco and not the years of contempt he'd had on Vulcan.

Now, though, whenever Spock ventured along the hallways to and from the bridge, everyone – with the exception of certain bridge crew and the Elders of the Vulcan Council still aboard – stared at him with equal parts fear and awe; the former because of the – likely exaggerated – accounts of what he had done _to_ their now-captain, and the latter because of the – equally over embellished – story of what he had done _with_ their now-captain. Had he been fully human, he might have been unsettled. However, Spock being who he was, he merely noted the fact, and continued about his duties.

He did have a friend, though. One human had been brave enough to step forward and attempt to further their relationship from that of lecturer and student. That Nyota was genuinely intelligent and exceptionally skilled in Xenolinguistics helped their companionship along. He had been wary at first, but had eventually come to accept her as his only friend.

Spock was not so ignorant of human behaviour that he didn't notice that said friend was avoiding him.

Curious.

For the first time in his life, Spock found himself wanting to seek company. He would not have been averse to debating with Nyota on the nuances of pre-warp English or some such thing – however she seemed to have memorised his schedule and managed to not be where he was. The Vulcan could not do something similar to find her – he quickly deduced that with humans being so unpredictable (and Nyota being a force to be reckoned with) it was not a solution to his problem.

Luckily enough, then, that their shifts ended at the same time. She was not quite quick enough to get to the turbolift today; mostly because the Captain had stopped her to deliver some sort of witty comment. He did not try to understand the nature of their banter.

"Oh, better hold the 'lift for Spock, Lieutenant," said Kirk. He grinned at Spock as he passed, and the Vulcan acknowledged it with a nod of his head.

Once the turbolift doors closed soundlessly, he stopped it. A tiny flare of amusement cropped up at their reversed positions.

"You have been avoiding me."

She didn't meet his gaze, not immediately. He could see Nyota's shoulders slump just slightly, before she looked up. "I needed to talk to you."

He raised an eyebrow. "You would find, I think, that talking to me would be somewhat facilitated with my presence."

She let out a huff of laughter. "What I meant was that...I needed to talk, but I wasn't sure _how_. I'm still not."

"I will attempt to comprehend anything you try to convey."

"I..." Nyota sighed, and then eyed the turbolift controls. "Do you mind if we continue this somewhere else? My quarters?"

"If that is comfortable to you."

She smiled faintly at his respect for her privacy and restarted the 'lift. It took less than a second to reach the appropriate deck, and slightly more than a minute to reach her quarters. Uhura offered him the only chair, and when he informed her that he preferred to stand, took it herself. She sat leaning forwards, with her elbows on her knees, looking at her clasped hands.

While his attention was primarily on Nyota, he was able to formulate a tentative method of boosting impulse power to be put forward to Mr. Scott – though dealing with the man would most likely prove a trying task – in the time she remained silent.

"I...I'm sorry, Spock." When he made no move to comment, even to ask what she was feeling responsible for or to tell her that such sentiments were generally useless (perhaps he was getting used to human social interaction after all), she continued. "I may have…taken advantage of you."

A single raised eyebrow, which he would no doubt mean to convey the command "Explain", though she knew that it was his version of a "_Huh_?"

Nyota rested her chin on her entwined fingers and surveyed him. Instead of clarifying her previous statement, she instead said, "We're friends, right, Spock?"

He seemed to know that she wanted confirmation, as opposed to him elucidating what he thought 'friend' meant – my, he was being perceptive today – and so simply said, "Yes, Nyota, we are friends." (When she just knew he could've – would've – said something along the lines of, "In my limited experiences with humans, and based on the fact that we have interacted well outside of a strictly professional relationship for [insert painfully exact measure of time here], while not exactly a friendship by normal Terran standards, I do concede that our association can be termed a [insert scientific jargon that basically amounts to 'friendship'].")

She sighed. "Then I hope that survives this." Before he could ask her to clarify (or raise his eyebrow again), the Xenolinguist continued, "Kissing, for humans, can carry certain connotations – especially between two people who aren't related."

Spock's countenance, as usual, betrayed no clue of what he was thinking, which didn't help her. "What do you mean by 'connotations'?"

Nyota met his eyes. "It's like touching hands among Vulcans."

He was silent as he digested this information. Had she been anyone else, she would've quailed under his stare. But, being Nyota Uhura, she merely awaited his reply.

"Then you kissed me for amorous purposes?"

"Y – no. Not at all, Spock. I kissed you because I was trying to comfort you."

The tiny line between his eyebrows was practically a brow wrinkling frown.

"You did not kiss me to change the parameters of our relationship?"

"Well, not primarily, but I… I…" Temporarily at a loss as to how to explain her reasoning, she instead fired a question back at him. "You don't have any romantic interest in me?"

There was no hesitation. "No."

A part of her – the realistic part, which was quite large – already knew that. But it still hurt. "Oh. To answer your question, though, Spock; I was trying to comfort you. I would've rather confessed my feelings to you under better circumstances." Namely, when he hadn't just lost his planet and his mother in a megalomaniacal revenge plot by a time-travelling and crazy Romulan, but she didn't say it out loud, because she wasn't as tactless as Jim Kirk. "I should've kept it friendly, but I guess I… lost control. I'm sorry I forced myself on you."

"I do not find you at fault. You are human."

If anyone else had said it, it would've sounded like he was saying it was pretty impossible for _anyone_ to resist him – he would've sounded like their Acting Captain. But, being Spock, what he meant was that he didn't blame her, because humans were impulsive and impetuous. He could hardly fault her her nature.

Nyota smiled at him. "So…still friends?"

He inclined his head.

"Okay." She rose to her feet. "Though…could you give me a few days? As you said, I am human, and we need awhile to collect ourselves after having our advances rejected."

The Vulcan now tilted his head to the side. "I will endeavour to, as they say, 'give you space'."

Her laugh was lovely. "Thanks. And, uh…Spock?" Her voice was tentative, as if she was unsure of whether she was going to overstep her bounds, and it was enough to get him to stop. "One last thing… could I have a hug?"

And because they were friends, Spock saw no reason not to give her one.

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"Ah, Spock! Just the Vulcan I wanted to see."

Though it was more likely that he was the _only_ Vulcan the Captain was familiar enough with to have business with, Spock merely said, "How may I be of assistance, Captain?"

Instead of answering the question, Kirk enquired, "You eaten?"

The Science Officer shook his head, no, he had not.

"Come on, then; join me for lunch – I'm starving. We can discuss it over some food."

Despite the fact that he was hardly enamoured by the prospect of spending time with this man, he followed Kirk down the hallway and towards the Officers' Mess. As usual, Spock's steps were precise, a little faster than usual to catch up with the Captain, with his hands folded at the small of his back. In sharp contrast, the human's arms swung loosely around him, not quite in sync with his uneven stride. They weren't even constantly swinging; sometimes he would gesture to explain a point, or touch his face or hair, or wave at a familiar crewmember. It was a testament to how different their styles of approach were to, well, everything.

"– so, anyway, Pike's finally stable, though it doesn't look like he'll be able to walk anymore. But it's amazing; he managed to shoot down two Romulans while he was in that state! God knows what that _thing_ did to him."

Spock wondered if Kirk was using the term 'thing' as a substitute for 'Nero' because he felt genuine disgust for the madman, or in deference to the Vulcan's apparent hatred towards the being – hatred enough to be willing to let him die painfully in a crumbling ship than face fair trial. It wasn't important enough for him to give it more than a passing thought.

"Dr. McCoy apprised you of his condition?"

The blue-eyed man shook his head, rather violently, like a dog shaking off excess water. "Nah. He's asleep. It was that Head Nurse – Chapel, I think. D'you know her?"

He did, in fact. He had met her twice – once in Starfleet Academy and once on the Enterprise, after he had lost his mother. Though the former could hardly be called a meeting; she had dropped a PADD, and he'd wordlessly picked it up and handed it to her. Her response had been a stammered thank you – or what he'd assumed was a thank you, seeing as it'd been hard to decipher the words – and he'd merely nodded and continued on his way.

During the latter, of course, it was understandable that recognising a familiar face was hardly noteworthy in the face of what had happened. Therefore he found it unnecessary to reply to Kirk's question.

He took it as annoyance.

"I'm not, uh, disturbing you, am I?"

"Captain?"

"You don't have, like, other plans? Date with Uhura, that kind of thing?"

"If you are referring to the act of partaking in a shared activity to strengthen emotional bonds and ensure compatibility –"

"Yes, I am –"

"– then no, seeing as Lieutenant Uhura and I are not engaged in a romantic relationship. We never were."

Spock had to stop, because Kirk had. He boggled at the First Officer, the action causing his already large blue eyes to seem larger. His jaw was agape, rather unattractively. He recognised the expression as one of shock.

"What? Then what about that kiss I saw?"

He merely raised an eyebrow, to which Kirk laughed. An odd reaction. Most humans – with the exception of Nyota and his late mother – were frustrated whenever he answered – or rather, did not answer – their queries with the action.

"Man, who'd've thought Vulcans were into the whole friends with benefits thing?"

This time the other eyebrow joined its fellow. "What do you mean by that term, Captain?"

But Kirk chose to flap a hand at him dismissively, wry smile on his lips. "Nah, never mind. Let's get to the Mess. And we're off duty, Spock, call me Jim. Or Kirk, if that's too informal for you."

They continued walking. "You are currently Acting Captain, whether or not we are on duty. Furthermore, I assume that you wanted to speak to me, not for personal matters but on ship business. Is this not true?"

He sighed, and seemed to give up on trying to change Spock's mind about calling him by his first name, and nodded. As they entered the Officers' Mess, the doors swishing open and closed, he asked, "Vulcans are vegetarians, right?"

"That is correct."

"Ah, good. I just wanted to know if it was possible to get some of your men working on updating the personal replicators – so that, you know, the other Vulcans onboard don't have to come out to the Mess to get food."

Spock merely stared at Kirk, who had his tongue peeking out from between his lips as he programmed his preferred meal into the replicator and didn't seem to be bothered with being responded to, quite frankly amazed. The same man who had cheated on the Kobayashi Maru for no more reason than wanting to be the first to pass it, was now showing compassion to Vulcans he hardly knew – _didn't_ know – Vulcans that were the perfect example of the Terran misconception that they had no emotions.

Kirk waited with his lasagne – Spock threw the plate a distasteful look; he did not like Terran pasta – and once the programmed ratatouille was done, they sat at a nearby table, facing each other.

The human took a few hurried bites of his meal, using only a fork, which made the plate quite messy. Sauce and cheese and minced beef and mushrooms and sheet pasta – wheat, oddly enough. Spock saw no reason to follow his example, as his mother had drilled into him proper etiquette while eating.

"So, what? Think it's worth doing? I mean, we do have quite a while before we get to the Starbase 1." Which was the one orbiting above the continent of North America.

He swallowed his mouthful before answering. "Certainly, Captain. I will oversee the changes myself, seeing as I will know which meals are suitable."

"Yeah, thanks Spock." He rubbed at his eye, and then used the same hand to pick up his drink.

"Was that all you wanted to discuss?"

"Oh, no, no. I also wanted to ask if you've made any progress with the firearm I...procured."

Ah. It was a fascinating weapon – outwardly it looked crude, and it was clearly a type of disruptor pistol, but the technology far surpassed their own. While it was unlikely that it would replace the phasers Starfleet employed, it would no doubt contribute greatly to nanotechnology and even bring about significant advances in medicine.

Spock explained this to Kirk, with considerably more examples than I gave, seeing as I'm hardly the Science Officer of a 23rd century flagship. Their conversation lasted throughout the meal, as Kirk could actually ask intelligent questions (surprisingly) which Spock could elucidate, as he was in charge of examining said weapon and carrying out experiments on it.

There was a lull, in which Kirk played with the remaining liquid in his cup, and Spock noticed something he hadn't earlier.

"You look fatigued, Captain."

"Hmm? Oh." He smiled, but didn't meet Spock's brown eyes. "Well, being a castaway I don't exactly have quarters, so Bones and I have been doubling up. Anyway, he'd been in the OR for almost 50 hours, you know, since Dr. Puri…" Jim cleared his throat. "He was running on caffeine hypos, and since everyone's pretty much stable, I made him grab forty winks." He looked pleased with himself, as if the fact that he could now order his friend around was a novelty he couldn't wait to take full advantage of.

"Why would he want to seize a facial tic? For that matter, how would he do so?"

Jim snorted and chose not to answer, instead finishing off his drink. Spock was a little surprised that his plate was clean; his messy eating style would have suggested otherwise. As one they got up to place their scraps and their trays in the respective disposal units.

"Hey, you said that Vulcans and Romulans have similar ancestors or something, right?"

"Affirmative."

"And that made the meld-y thing you did easier?"

Unsure as to where this line of questioning was going, he merely nodded.

"So can you meld with humans?"

Spock tried not to look as startled as he felt (and he succeeded in doing so). Why would Kirk be interested in such a thing?

"In theory, yes. However, I have never melded with a human, so I cannot verify anything. May I ask why you brought the subject up?"

"No reason. Just curious." From the way his blue eyes slid away from the Vulcan's gaze, he just knew that it was a lie, but just then Kirk yawned, and Spock didn't need to be Vulcan to be able to hear the creak of his jaw. His eyes narrowed fractionally, in suspicion.

"When was the last time you rested, Captain?"

"Um…"

"The doctor would not be happy that you are neglecting your own health."

"Meh, he'll bitch for awhile and stick me with a couple of hypos when he gets up. It's no big deal."

"Even so, Captain –"

"Don't worry about it, Spock. It's not like we're having a crisis right now, right?"

Spock conceded the point, although he found himself wishing that he could be the one driving the hypospray into Kirk's neck. He dismissed the thought, as it was self-indulgent and unlikely to happen.

"Where you headed, then?"

"I will rest for a short while, and then continue with my experiments."

"Hmm. I think I'll go bother Scotty. He's sure to have some job for me. Deck six still needs some serious repairs."

"You would do well to rest instead of participating in manual labour, Captain." It was amazing that Spock was talking to Kirk as if he was concerned for his welfare, when only days ago they'd been at each other's throats – or, rather, Kirk had been at Spock's throat figuratively, while Spock had done so literally.

"That lunch will keep me going for awhile, don't you worry." He saluted lazily, grinning. "See you around, Spock."

"Very well, Captain."

He looked a little annoyed. "Jim!"

"Captain."

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"Ensign, if I may have a word?"

The young human looked nervous, but bobbed a nod and rose from his chair, walking over to where Spock stood. It should be obvious that Spock did not pander to the emotional needs of humans (well, not while on duty), and so although he was clearly going to dress down the ensign, he did not deign to take him to the side or out to the hallway to do so. At any rate, the point was rather moot, seeing as all subordinates under the Vulcan learned early on that he would know and wouldn't hesitate to point out when they weren't paying full attention to their allotted tasks. As he was now demonstrating.

"Ensign, you have made four errors since the start of your shift, two of which were committed in the last hour alone. Explicate why this is so."

He cleared his throat. "Eh…lack of sleep, I am thinking, Commander. I am sorry."

"I see. It would behove you to request an appointment with Dr. McCoy, as it is affecting your cognitive functions."

If Spock was reading the human's face correctly, his terrified expression had been replaced by abject misery. "Y-yes, sir."

In an uncharacteristic show of sympathy, the Science Officer offered, "I had thought you suitable for this post after your commendable efforts during the Nero Incident. However, should you desire an alternate posting; I would suggest you report to Lieutenant Uhura."

Curls bounced as he shook his head. "Zhat will not be necessary, Commander." A deep breath, possibly to calm himself. "I will not be making any more mistakes."

"As you were."

It was hours later, at the end of the shift, that Spock heard all but one human leave the room. Absorbed in his work, he didn't think much of it until Ensign Chekov came to stand by his chair.

True to his word, the seventeen-year-old had not made any more miscalculations. As a result, Spock had seen no reason to call attention to him as he had earlier. He could not come up with a viable reason for Chekov to remain behind to talk to him, and so merely swivelled his chair slightly to face the ensign, and raised an eyebrow.

"Commander. I… You said earlier zhat my efforts during zhe Nero Incident were commendable. I… do not thinking zhis is zhe case."

It was his tone that told Spock that Chekov was not merely fishing for compliments, as humans sometimes did. So Spock stated simply, "While manning the transporter controls, you managed to lock on to the Captain' and Lieutenant Sulu's signatures while they were in freefall, as well as those of the Vulcan Elders and myself. You were also responsible for correctly postulating that the magnetic distortion of Saturn's rings would render us undetectable by Nero."

By the movement of his arms, Spock could see that the Russian was twisting both his hands together behind his back. "I still…I lost…"

And suddenly, the Vulcan knew what it was Chekov was losing sleep over.

"Ensign, you are not at fault for what happened to my mother." The words were still slightly hard to say, but at least he was no longer fighting for control and in danger of snapping and killing anyone in sight. It was small comfort, but comfort all the same.

"How ken you say – Commander, if I was being a little faster –"

"I have meditated on this, Ensign. It took exceptional skill to beam all of us to the ship while the planet was undergoing such significant seismic activity." Spock took an almost imperceptibly deeper breath than usual. "It would take even more skill to have saved my mother, skill that no one on this vessel possesses."

Chekov made a frustrated sound. "I should haf! If I could haf rerouted zhe transporter controls to negate zhe interference of zhe planet's exposed core –"

"You could not. _Kaiidth_. Dwelling on the past will not change the present." _Unless you factored in time travel and alternate realities, of course, but those were hardly everyday circumstances._

If Spock had been standing, then he would have been able to see the top of Chekov's head since the beginning of their conversation, as he was significantly taller than the human. Still, he was now treated to the sight of those brown curls as the ensign seemed to be inordinately interested in the tips of his boots.

"Commander, I v… I am sorry, sir."

Spock considered his words carefully before answering. "It would be illogical of me to forgive you –"

The ensign's head snapped up, his mouth open and brown eyes glistening with moisture.

"– seeing as you were never assigned any blame. Understood, Ensign?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"I will speak no more on the matter." The Vulcan turned back to his console, considering the schematics on the screen. "Requesting a soporific hypospray from Dr. McCoy would be in your best interests."

"Sir."

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Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or its affiliates.

So. This fic is just basically my take on what happened in between the time of Nero's defeat, and the end of the movie. It's long (and as of posting this, actually not finished), so I figured I should break it up. Thanks for reminding me about it, Kelsey.

Review, guys. Please?

Anila.


	2. Part 02

"Please tell me you have good news on the comm. arrays, Lieutenant."

Nyota straightened her spine as the attention of the room turned to her. "Negative, Ki – Captain. At best we have a range of 19 petametres."

Approximately 2 light-years, which was also the maximum extent of the Sun's gravitational dominance – Earth's sun, at any rate.

"And let me guess; there're no planets – no inhabited planets – or starbases or starships in that range?"

Despite the sarcastic tone of voice, Nyota answered. "Negative, sir."

"What about subspace transmissions?" asked Lieutenant-Commander Hastings, an Andorian. "Surely _any_ message to Starfleet is better than none."

A glance at the PADD in her hands. "Repairs are underway, but we're short on manpower. If we maintain our current rate, subspace communication should be operable within 36 hours."

"Ah think ah may be able ta spare a few men for tha', Cap'n."

"Thank goodness for small mercies." Kirk seemed to catch himself slumping, and instead sprawled back in his chair. The lazy smile he gave the room seemed to lack something.

From the way the Captain's left leg was shaking under the table, unseen by everyone but Spock (who stood behind his chair and to the side slightly), and from the way Dr. McCoy was glaring at the human, Spock could deduce that Kirk still had yet to rest. Perhaps he would be able to convince the Captain that he was in need of respite, and that he would be setting a good example to his subordinates by doing so.

"Um…what else was on the agenda, Spock?" Kirk asked, glancing back at him and stilling the unconscious bouncing of his leg.

"The primary water reservoir sustained light damage during the first altercation with Nero. Following the ejection of the warp cores, the resulting impact with the shock wave ruptured said tank, causing leakage that was noticed 46 minutes after the incident. Despite the efforts of the crew, only 18 percent of the original contents remain. Combined with the secondary reservoir, the _Enterprise_'swater supply is calculated to last 87 days and 19 hours."

Kirk tapped his fingers on his lips. "Just about three months. And how long will it take us to get to Starbase 1, assuming we keep this pace?"

"Exactly eight Earth months, sir."

There were murmurs around the table. Even Kirk had sucked in a breath.

"Your figures, Mr. Spock. Do they take into account the current water ration?"

"Affirmative, Lieutenant-Commander. Had 21 percent of the crew not been injured, perhaps an additional four weeks could be added to that figure." Spock met the eyes of Dr. McCoy, who nodded and grumbled a confirmation.

"Still makes communication with Starfleet our number one priority, though." Kirk bit his lip, although Spock suspected it had less to do with an unconscious gesture while in thought and more like an attempt to stop a yawn.

"What about the water in the streams in the botanical garden? And the V.I.P. lounge?" Hastings queried. "We could use that, then freeze the fish in the cryo chamber for the time being."

"Fish," Dr. McCoy repeated flatly. "In my Medical Bay. I don't think so."

"Then would you suggest we jettison them into space? I would've thought you'd have more of a regard for life than _that_, doctor." Her antennae were quivering at about 12 Hz in agitation.

"They're fish!"

"Fortunately," Spock broke in, before the juvenile argument could continue. "Due to the haste in which we left Earth, no aquatic creatures were brought aboard. The water has since been repurposed. The figures remain the same."

Kirk tapped his forefinger on the table loudly enough that everyone turned to him. "There's nothing wrong with the oxygen supplies, right? Air recyclers still online?"

Spock wasn't hailed a genius for nothing. "I will ensure it is done, sir."

"_What_ is done?" asked McCoy sharply.

Kirk waved a hand at Spock, letting him explain.

"We have onboard the facilities to manufacture water. Doing so will increase the reserves, as well as put the unused hydrogen to use."

"Aye. Since there're no warp cores, all tha' deuterium's still in tha' storage tank." Scotty's grin graced his face for all of two seconds before he scowled. "Cap'n, we're –"

But everyone in the room had heard a variation of this speech. Quite a few people outside the room had had to as well. So no one complained when Kirk said, "I know, Scotty. But we don't have the warp cores or the crystals, and moaning about it isn't gonna help. Anything else? No? Dismissed."

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"Captain, I must urge you to rest."

"Oh, god, not you _too_."

The Vulcan tilted his head slightly. "Captain?"

"You sound like Bones," Kirk explained, still sprawled in his seat. Now that the other heads of departments had left the briefing room, he seemed to allow himself to show his fatigue. "You know: '_You can't run on adrenaline forever, Jim_' and '_Dammit, don't come crying to me when you collapse in the hallway_'."

Though he did not think the comparison was apt, he said, "Should you not follow the advice of your friend?"

"You talking about Bones or yourself there, Mr. Spock?" Kirk asked, grinning roguishly.

Uncertain to his meaning, Spock didn't reply, and the human sighed.

"I don't need sleep. I don't feel like sleeping."

"If there is any wisdom in depriving your body of rest, I do not see it."

"'Course you don't. You probably follow a rigid sleeping cycle because you know exactly how much sleep you need. Vulcans need less than humans and all that." He yawned, just barely getting a hand to cover his mouth.

Vulcans did not yawn, for exactly the same reasons Kirk had just mentioned. They had a hormone similar to epinephrine, but they were able to regulate the effects of such hormones in their bodies. A logical race such as theirs would not give into whims such as "I don't feel like sleeping", because they knew that productivity decreased as the body tired. It didn't make sense to deliberately invite inefficiency.

"I just…" Kirk said, voice low, almost a mutter, seemingly to himself. "I need to keep going, I can't slow down. Can't stop. Don't wanna have to think about –" He cut himself off, only just realising that Spock was still in the briefing room with him.

The Vulcan could not make head or tail of his ramblings, and so chose to remain silent.

"Tell you what, Spock. If I do go to bed like a good little boy, you'll have to owe me a favour."

There were very many definitions of the word 'favour' – and Spock knew them all – and half of them could be disregarded since Kirk's use of it suggested that it was a noun rather than a verb. He did not think that Kirk wanted approval from him; it was more likely he wanted Spock to promise to fulfil a particular request if Kirk agreed to rest.

"I am not convinced that it would be in my best interests to make such a bargain with you, Captain, seeing as it is hardly guaranteed that you will uphold your end."

Kirk looked shocked speechless, then threw his head back and laughed. "You keep surprising me, Spock. I knew you had a sense of humour. Tell you what; you programmed the Kobayashi Maru, it shouldn't be so hard for you to program the doors to Bones' quarters to tell you who goes in and out. Oh, and you could also shut off the terminal in there; he never uses it anyway, the technophobe. That good enough for you?"

Spock mulled it over, going over the pros and cons. Being Spock; this took a second, at most. "It is acceptable. I will owe you a favour."

"Right." The Captain actually looked a little apprehensive, though why he would be so was inexplicable to the Vulcan Science Officer. "I'll see you in about eight hours, Spock."

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"Alright, what did you do to Jim?"

"I have done nothing to the Captain. What is your meaning, Doctor?"

The man looked a little antagonistic, though to be fair, for as long as Spock had known him, it seemed to be his default expression. That being said, he couldn't help but again be struck with a sense of déjà vu; this was, after all, the second time Dr. McCoy had turned up on the bridge to discuss Kirk.

"I've been trying to get him to sleep since you two defeated Nero – and it takes one measly conversation with you to get him to do it? I'm not buying it. What did you threaten him with? Or did you use that freaky Vulcan death grip?"

"There is no such thing as a 'Vulcan death grip'; I utilized the nerve pinch, Doctor, which as you very well know, does not kill. At any rate, I will reiterate. I did nothing to the Captain."

The man crossed his arms over his chest, looking decidedly unimpressed – and unconvinced. "Pardon me if I don't believe you."

"There would be no point in lying to you, Doctor."

Spock thought that that was the end of the conversation, and was surprised when the CMO slapped his hand onto the console. His voice was hushed, but the annoyance was clear. "Look. I know you probably don't understand, 'cause you Vulcans probably don't have friends, but Jim is mine. I know that kid as well as I do myself, and I know exactly how stubborn he can be. He wouldn't have just bowed down to you without a fight. You saw what he did on the bridge when he thought you were wrong. What. Did. You. Do?"

The Science Officer felt irritated, acknowledged the feeling (as much as he disliked rhetoric, who wouldn't be frustrated when faced with McCoy?), and let it simmer away. "I have done nothing to the Captain. I merely accepted a request he put forward."

McCoy's eyes were still narrowed. "What request?"

"I believe such things are, as they say, none of your business."

"Goddammit, it _is_ my business when it has to do with Jim and his idiocy! Do you want me to pull rank on this? 'Cause I damn well will."

Spock, with sudden and remarkably accurate insight, knew that he would.

"I agreed to grant him a favour, which he will specify at a later date, in exchange for his compliance when told to rest."

The CMO's expression did not lighten, and he raised a hand to rub tiredly at the bridge of his nose. "Good luck with that." He looked like he was finally going to leave Spock to his work, but paused, looking truly curious. "And how'd you know if he actually did what you asked?"

"I will assume, Doctor, that your presence here and the conversation we just had will attest that he is resting."

McCoy's lips thinned, and he stalked out. He was muttering curses under his breath, and possibly slurs towards Spock, all the while, only silenced by the closing of the turbolift doors. Spock's superior hearing would have enabled him to easily pick out what the ship's ill-tempered CMO had said.

If he'd wanted to.

OoOoOoOoOo


	3. Part 03

"Captain Kirk. I trust that I am not disrupting your schedule."

Jim looked up from his replicated breakfast – or lunch, really – recognising the voice from the first and only time he'd heard Spock's father speak. Since that had only been one word, Jim felt rather proud of himself for doing so. Or he would have been, had he not been more preoccupied with thoughts of the circumstances of that incident and the logical (for him) conclusions of why Sarek would want to seek him out.

Jim wondered if pure Vulcans were stronger than part Vulcans.

"No, Ambassador." His voice didn't shake.

"Then you would not mind if I were to speak with you?"

"Uh, no, not at all. Pull up a chair."

Being ambassador to Earth, as well as being – or having been – married to a human meant that Sarek didn't have to ask for clarification. He slid smoothly into the chair opposite Jim, face blank. It was hard to believe that anyone's face could be more devoid of emotion than Spock's, but there you go.

"I hope you don't mind me eating while we talk, Ambassador."

Sarek didn't even glance at Jim's plate. "No, I do not mind."

He continued watching him intently, enough to make Jim a little uncomfortable as he picked up and ate a French-fry. The human already knew that Vulcans were vegetarians; it made him even more aware of his half-eaten beef burger.

Finally the Vulcan said, "I would like to know your reasoning behind provoking Spock."

Jim suppressed a sigh and resisted the urge to run his not-clean fingers through his hair. He'd expected to have this conversation, but not with Spock's father, of all people. He'd expected Bones to ask him about it (but he'd been too busy trying to get Jim to stop being stubborn), or Uhura (though that'd be more of an interrogation than a conversation, with high probability of bodily harm _if_ Kirk wasn't technically her superior officer), or even Spock himself.

"I had to. It was necessary. If we'd run back to the Laurentian system, Nero would've destroyed Earth, and more Fed planets, and we probably wouldn't have been able to stop him at all."

"Could you not have put forward this argument to my son?"

Jim huffed a laugh. "No offence, sir, but when I tried he had me marooned on Delta Vega."

Though Sarek betrayed no reaction, his pause suggested that Spock had not informed him of that particular development. It gave Jim a sense of childish glee…though, in retrospect, it wasn't very likely that Sarek took a Bones-like approach to discipline. If he did find it necessary to discipline his full grown son. Although the image of a Vulcan chasing another Vulcan with a hypo through the hallways of the _Enterprise_ was amusing, Jim put an end to his digressing thoughts as the Ambassador spoke.

"I see. While I do not condone his actions, neither do I yours. During the course of my posting as Ambassador, I have encountered several Starfleet captains. None of them have had less respect for authority and regulations as you."

Jim bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from responding immediately. He was starkly reminded of his academic hearing, in which Spock had essentially accused him of the same thing. But he'd learned from that incident that there was no point getting angry.

"With all due respect, sir, you can't tell me that following the regulations would've defeated a time-travelling Romulan."

"You are arguing the case of the ends justifying the means?"

"Well, yeah. I'm not saying I'm proud of what I did, but it had to be done. Spock was in no condition to take command; I have it on good authority."

Sarek seemed to straighten. "And whose might that be?"

He sucked in a breath, only just realising that his mouth had run off without him (par the course). He was quite sure that although the older Spock had only forbidden him from revealing his identity to this universe's Spock, his – their – father shouldn't be informed either.

"A…traveller. Someone I met on Delta Vega who helped me get back on this ship."

"What is the identity of this traveller?" Sarek asked straight out. It would have been impatient, if there was any inflection in his tone.

"I can't in good conscience say, Ambassador. It's not my secret to tell."

"Curious that such a thing would be a secret." The Vulcan held up a hand when Jim opened his mouth. "However, I will not make any more inquiries on that particular matter."

Again, the blue-eyed 25-year old suppressed a sigh, though this time it was supposed to be one of relief. He had handled that – well, not capably, but at least he hadn't let anything slip. That counted as a victory, small though it was.

"Was there anything else, sir?" he asked, hoping that there wasn't, but too realistic to put much effort behind that hope.

"Yes. What are your intentions towards my son?"

"…_pardon_?"

"While I was not informed of Spock's marooning you, I was told that your first encounter with him was at your academic hearing. I am hardly ignorant of human thought processes and emotions, Captain Kirk; doubtless you would have resented Spock for that. My question is; do you still harbour ill-will towards Spock?"

Jim found that he was staring at his plate. He couldn't look at Sarek's severe face. "I did resent him a bit, yeah. It's understandable. But – now, after all we did together? We were a good team, Ambassador. I really do hope we get to work together, even though it might be implausible." He met Sarek's gaze. "However rocky our start was, I like him." _Sort of_, he added silently, rightly deducing that it would detract from his little speech.

Sarek scrutinized him for awhile, making Jim feel like a specimen under an electron microscope. "It is a pity you will not have the chance to meet Amanda – my wife. She would have enjoyed your company." He rose to his feet and bowed his head slightly. "Thank you for your time, Captain. Peace and long life."

Numbly, Jim went back to his lunch, finishing it despite his suddenly absent appetite.

OoOoOoOoOo

"Captain?"

Jim turned and smiled. "You're off duty, right, Lieutenant?" At the nod, he continued, "Then you can call me Jim. What's up?"

Sulu rubbed the back of his head with his right hand. "I wanted to thank you. For saving my life."

He felt a little embarrassed, but being who he was, didn't blush. Instead Jim grinned. "You already did, though. On the transporter pad. It was nothing."

"Yeah, but you jumped off after me without a thought. A complete stranger."

"You're a crewmember, Sulu. Don't mention it, seriously. I'm sure you'll have an opportunity to save my ass one day – if I don't get thrown out of Starfleet first." Despite the bravado in his voice, this was actually a very real concern to Jim. He'd provoked his direct superior into a fistfight on the bridge, which wasn't exactly exemplary. Plus how was he supposed to explain the older Spock's presence – if he was even supposed to in the first place. They'd sooner chuck him in Starfleet's asylum than believe that story.

Then again, his entire crew would be able to vouch for the (erstwhile) existence of a Romulan ship from the future. Even Captain Pike. Huh. So his chances of remaining in service weren't _completely_ shot.

His musings were cut short when Sulu held out something to him; brandished it, really. Jim hadn't noticed the helmsman carrying the tiny pot in his left hand earlier. By itself it was quite pretty – etched Plexiglas (an ancient material), judging by the way it sat lightly in Sulu's palm. The plant was even more so – pretty, I mean. For starters, it was bright blue. With a little green.

"Sulu, I couldn't –"

"Shut up and take it, Jim."

This startled a laugh out of the older man, who did obligingly accept the potted plant. "It's a…Venus flytrap?"

"Yep." Sulu looked pleased that Jim was able to recognise it.

"…I'm not knocking it or anything, but how come it's blue?"

Now Sulu's expression resembled Scotty's whenever he brought up the warp cores. Passionate, but also slightly indignant, like he couldn't comprehend why no one was as interested as he was. "I've modified it. I've always wanted to, ever since oka-san got us the _Akai Ryu_ when we were younger. That's more a dark red, almost purple. I wanted something more – vibrant."

It certainly was that. As mentioned before, it was almost completely a bright blue. The inner sides of the trap were green – as you would expect from a traditional plant – while the cilia of each trap was gold.

"The flowers are gold, too. And she's low maintenance – a bit like a cactus, I had a little trouble with that at first. Thanks to the botany lab here I managed to perfect her."

All the cadets had had mere minutes to get to the hangar and to their respective shuttles, and Sulu had managed to bring this aboard?

As if he'd read his mind, Sulu smiled sheepishly. "I couldn't _not_ bring her. She's my latest project. And I've perfected her."

"…her?"

"Oh, her name's Maria. Unless you want to rename her, of course, I wouldn't mind. Belongs to you now, after all."

"I don't mind Maria." Jim reached out with a finger and gently stroked one of the traps. It really was very beautiful, even for a carnivorous plant. "Isn't this the first of its kind, though?"

"That's what makes it a special gift. Anyway, I have a few seedlings, and tissue samples. Shouldn't be a problem cloning it, now that I've got the cell structure down pat."

Now that they were no longer in a crisis situation, Jim could take the time to acknowledge that Sulu had a nice voice. Rich. A voice that would be great in – he stopped himself from furthering the observation. He didn't think that Sulu would appreciate being propositioned to – although he was pretty sure the helmsman swung both ways – and it would probably be a black mark if a Captain slept with his subordinates. Even if he was only Acting Captain. Even though stowing away and mutinying and provoking a commanding officer were more than sufficient reasons to use against him.

Now wasn't the time for that. They needed to get to Earth first.

"_Thank you_, Sulu," Jim said warmly, making sure to project his sincerity. He couldn't remember the last time someone had given him a present like this – then again, before meeting Captain Pike, he hadn't exactly done things that would make people want to thank him.

"Hey, yeah, no problem."

They unconsciously started walking together, making small talk. If they'd been in the same year at Starfleet they'd probably have been friends. Jim managed to finagle a promise from Sulu to teach him the basics of fencing, while he himself gave his word to give the helmsman a crash course in fisticuffs.

"Hey, look, there's Spock! Spock! Over here!"

"Um, I'd better go, Jim. Stuff to do."

Since the Vulcan was still at the far side of the hallway, and definitely out of earshot (even Vulcan earshot), Jim said, "Don't you like him?"

"Don't get me wrong – he's a great officer. But he's a little lacking when it comes to personality, if you get what I mean." The Japanese man made a face, before stepping back a few paces. "I'll see you around, Jim."

Jim sighed and wondered for what seemed like the thousandth time whether he was making a mistake in wanting what older Spock had apparently had with his Jim Kirk. He put it out of his mind when his Spock stopped in front of him.

"Captain."

"Spock, I'd like you to meet Maria."

The Science Officer waited a full minute before coming to the conclusion that, yes, his Captain was indeed referring to the plant in his hand, and not to an actual person, which would have made more sense.

"You have named this curious specimen of _Dionaea muscipula_? Is this a Terran custom?"

"Well, actually, Sulu named it. But it suits her, don'cha think?"

"Captain, you are an intelligent man, and so should know better than to refer to plants as any particular gender."

Jim waved this away. "Whatever. Say hello to her, Spock," he said, holding Maria up to Spock's eye-level.

The flat look he got in reply was _hilarious_.

OoOoOoOoOo

Spock stood outside the doors. He had been told to wait, which he found rather distasteful. He could put this time to better use, but the CMO had seen fit to summon him right then. Although Spock's quarters were just beside the Captain's, he refrained from entering. He heard footsteps, and turned to find Kirk jogging up the corridor towards him.

"Hey Spock. You been in yet?"

"No, Captain. Dr. McCoy was quite adamant that he would tell us when Captain Pike would be ready to receive visitors."

"That'll take forever. Look, Spock, seriously; call me Jim. Or Kirk."

"Captain, it is unlikely that I will do so. It would be unprofessional."

Kirk made a frustrated sound. "Look, it's not just because I think it's too stuffy – and it is, by the by. Pike's Captain – I'm just Acting Captain. You can't keep going Captain-Acting Captain; it's too confusing. Face facts, Spock, Pike's not up for that right now. Just call me Kirk, no one else is going to know, and Pike sure as Hell isn't going to advertise it."

The urge to sigh was almost overwhelming. "And will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Advertise."

Kirk looked incredulous. "What? Of course not! Who'd I tell – and _why_?"

The retort 'Do not ask me' was on the tip of his tongue, but Spock merely said, "Then I will do as requested. In this instance."

"You're going to try your best to not say my name as much as possible, aren't you?"

Spock didn't have to come up with a reply, because the doors of the Captain's Quarters opened, revealing Dr. McCoy and Nurse Herrera, both grim faced.

"Right," Dr. McCoy said gruffly. "You've got half an hour, I don't care what he says. If he starts feeling tired before that, you two'd better skedaddle. I've got a medi-bracelet on him, so don't even think of getting him too excited." He waggled his finger at Kirk especially, and the two went on their way to the Sickbay.

"Shall we?"

"Yes."

Kirk grinned and flourished his hands elaborately. "After you, Mr. Spock."

The lights were dimmed; likely at 13 percent. Captain Pike was on the bed, propped up against several pillows. His skin was still paler than normal, but his eyes were as alert as they'd been before. The sheet covered him up to his chest, and the aforementioned medi-bracelet could be seen around his left wrist, which lay on the bed.

"Mr. Spock. Kirk. How long did McCoy say you could be here?"

"30 minutes, sir."

Captain Pike cursed under his breath, causing Kirk to snicker and Spock to raise his eyebrow noncommittally. "I can take longer than that and he knows it. Still. First thing's first; how's the ship, Spock?"

"We remain on impulse power, sir, due to the fact that the warp cores were ejected to prevent our being pulled into a black hole. We expect subspace communication to be operable within the hour. Life support stable, shields at maximum. We do not have the materials to repair hull damage; however, internal repairs continue as scheduled."

The Captain sighed. "Well, it's better than the ships that went before us. ETA to Earth?"

"239 days."

"That's eight months," Kirk added helpfully.

"And would any of you like to tell me what happened while I was…away?"

"Well, to sum up, I argued with Spock, he threw me off the ship, I got back on, emotionally compromised him, took command, went after Nero, and then Spock came with me and we kicked Nero's ass."

Pike looked like he would have dearly liked to rub his face, had he not been supplied with a muscle relaxant. He managed to shoot a dry look at Spock.

"Is that what happened, Spock?"

"Essentially, yes."

"So that means that you're back to First Officer…and _you're_ Acting Captain, Kirk?"

He grinned. "Yep."

There was serious conversation after that, including a more accurate and detailed summary of past events, as well as the commendations for various crewmembers of the _Enterprise_. Pike had even asked if they were fine with the current arrangement. Spock, not relishing command for the brief time it had been thrust upon him (though the reaction was rather illogical, as he shouldn't base his opinion on the circumstances that had befallen said incident), had basically said that he preferred current arrangements.

Kirk had said, "If Spock doesn't mind, I don't either."

"Good. Now, Kirk, I need to talk to Spock alone."

"Sure, Captain."

"Oh…and Jim?"

Kirk turned.

Pike had a soft smile on his face, a proud one. "You did good, kid."

Kirk grinned and saluted, properly. He left the room and Spock turned to survey the Captain, wondering why he had been asked to stay.

"Spock, you know that the admirals are either going to love Kirk or hate his guts, right?"

"It seems to be the common reaction to Kirk's presence and actions."

"Oh? And which category do you belong to, Spock?"

"Irrelevant. What matters is we were able to work together." _In the end._

"Marooning him is 'working well together'? Getting into a physical fight on the bridge is 'working well together'?"

Had he had less control than he did, he would have flushed slightly at the rebuke in Pike's voice. "I was emotionally compromised, Captain. I had just lost my planet and my mother." Spock straightened his shoulders when Pike's blue eyes (interesting that iris colour in humans was so varied, because Kirk's irises were far bluer than Pike's) filled with pity. "I maintain that he is brash and reckless. However, there is a method to his madness. His plan, although only having less than 4.3 percent probability of succeeding, did. His claim of not believing in no-win scenarios was true."

"Then, Spock," Pike said softly, not meeting the Science Officer's piercing gaze. "You will have to reconsider your decision of having him expelled." His right hand twitched as if he wanted to wave it dismissively. "But that's another thing. You know I'm not going to be captain of anything – I'll probably be in a hoverchair, stuck behind a desk. I want to know this; would you be willing to serve under Kirk?"

"Sir?"

"I know he's just a cadet. But there's no one else I want as my successor. Starfleet needs more officers like Kirk. But he's wet behind the ears – no, not literally." Pike rolled his eyes at Spock's eyebrow raise. "That's why I need someone to keep an eye on him. Someone who's not too cowed to tell him what's what."

"And you are of the opinion that I would be most suitable for said task?"

"Spock, my intuition's rarely failed me. When Number One got promoted and was assigned her ship – and thank God the _Dauntless_ is in the Laurentian system – I knew I wanted you as my First Officer. And you didn't disappoint. You did well under me…but you'd be even better with Jim Kirk. Mark my words."

The Vulcan was not as confident as Captain Pike, because there was no empirical evidence to support his theory. One incident did not a trend make. Spock didn't put much stock in making decisions based on instinct when there was more than enough time to consider all sides of the argument – and even then there hadn't yet been an occasion where he had had insufficient time to do so.

And one facet Pike had probably not factored into his wish…

"Captain, I am considering resigning from Starfleet."

The human was so flabbergasted he started coughing. Spock calmly waited for the fit to subside before helping him hold the straw and glass that had sat on the bedside table. When Pike settled back on the pillows, he suddenly looked older, though obviously it was fatigue taking its toll. Spock did have 3.3 minutes left, however.

"'Splain," Pike said softly. His voice wasn't a croak, but he was obviously not putting much energy into talking – which just went to show that Dr. McCoy's estimate was accurate and that Pike was among those humans who were stubborn about hiding their physical health – or lack thereof, rather.

"I estimate that approximately ten thousand Vulcans remain – with the exception of those who were off-planet during the destruction of the planet. It would only be logical for every living Vulcan to assist in the rebuilding of our race."

"No off'nce, Sp'ck, but repop'lation…"

He inclined his head. "Yes. As a hybrid I naturally will not be able to contribute in that area. Even so, a replacement planet for a colony must be found, buildings built, food stored and suitable crops planted; throughout it all our culture must be preserved. I am sorry, Captain, but it is unlikely I will serve under Kirk."

Pike pursed his lips, and after a pause, said, "M'sser Sp'ck, 'f you'd h'lp me lie down."

With one hand placed squarely in the middle of Pike's back, Spock managed to hold him up and rearrange the pillows so that they lay flat with the other. As the Captain had barely enough strength to lean forward by himself, Spock was somewhat surprised when a hand closed around his forearm. Granted, it was not a particularly strong grip, but it made Spock stop.

"Just…think about it, Spock."

"I will, Captain."

OoOoOoOoOo


	4. Part 04

Spock, as mentioned before, did not put much stock in intuition. Vulcans as a whole did not, and Spock even less so – he felt the need to prove himself, as irrational as it sounded. Intuition could not reign in a society ruled by logic.

And yet, despite years of upbringing, Spock found himself inexplicably outside Nyota's quarters.

There was no reason for him to be there; Nyota had not requested his presence, he had no motive to seek hers. He had not consciously made the decision to go there; his feet had brought him to the right deck as he walked back from the bridge. Spock debated simply returning to his room, but…intuition told him to ask for entry.

So he did.

"Who is it?" Nyota's voice was cool. Calm.

"Spock."

There was a pause, and then the door slid open. His friend didn't look any different than usual, other than the fact that she'd let down her hair. It was quite rare that she did so; Spock could, as they say, count the number of times he had been witness to this on one hand. Which was to say, less than or equal to five. Which was to say, three.

"What are you doing here, Spock?"

Since his intuition had gotten him this far, it seemed almost illogical that he not continue heeding it. "I am here to remind you that I am your friend, Nyota."

He was alarmed when she crumpled in on herself, and thanks to his superior reflexes, Spock managed to hold her up by the shoulders. He also decided to gently guide her back into her quarters, as it was statistically likely that some member of the crew would pass by – it was doubtful that Nyota would appreciate anyone seeing her in such a state, as she had taken pains to keep her control when she'd answered the door.

He sat her down on the bed, and joined her on it, seeing as it was improbable that she would let go of his shirt any time soon.

"What has happened, Nyota?"

The woman didn't answer; she merely curled up even more than she already was.

Spock was grateful for the layers of cloth between them, though he didn't have to be a touch-telepath to sense the anguish in the air – yes, he was reverting to rhetoric. Still, he was not so experienced in the art of comforting people, which explained why he still had his hands awkwardly placed on her shoulders.

"Tell me what is troubling you."

"It…Gaila."

He knew who Gaila was. He had met the Orion once, because of Nyota. Gaila had been an exceptional programmer, which meant that although she had taken one of his classes, he had had no reason to take her aside outside of lectures.

It followed, then, that she had been a cadet. That she had not been assigned the _Enterprise_. That she was dead.

"You grieve for your friend."

Nyota pulled back, glaring at him with tears in her eyes. "Don't say that. Don't say it like I'm such a great person, like I'm such a great friend. I'm not."

"Why?"

She looked down at her hands, which lay atop her lap. "I only remembered today. I only – I only remembered her today." A tear splashed onto the palm of her left hand.

Why did humans enjoy assigning blame to themselves? "It has been a stressful time for you."

"So what?" she demanded, hands curling into fists. "I should have remembered. She is my – she _was_ my best friend." Another sob. "And she died, and I'm alive, and…it's not fair."

Rather than point out that it was random coincidence and that life was neither fair nor unfair – which he rightly deduced would not be tactful – Spock decided to say, "I do not think that you are a poor friend. Far from it."

Nyota snorted.

"It is my opinion that you did not forget Gaila – you merely buried the knowledge in your subconscious because you were not ready to cope with the information. Now you grieve for her because you can devote your complete attention to it."

Spock let her collapse against his chest again. This time he put his arms around her, which was more comfortable for the both of them.

"It could've been me, Spock," she said, voice still thick with tears. "If I was still on the _Farragut_."

"It is good, then, that you insisted I reassign you." He touched her hair.

She laughed weakly, and Spock knew that she would be all right.

OoOoOoOoOo

"Well, everything looks in order, Captain. You're free to go."

Jim tried to explain that no, he couldn't, but all he managed to produce was a few muffled and unintelligible noises.

The _Enterprise_'s dentist seemed to have no problems deciphering it though – probably because she was used to it. "Oh, right, sorry." She removed the mini-tricorder from his mouth, where it'd been feeding information into the console of the dental chair – a touch of the screen brought the chair gradually to out of its inclined position. (Some things never changed.) "And there's no call for using swearwords on my equipment."

"Can I use them on you and your staff, then?" he asked cheekily.

"Sure. But we're the ones with the drills and things. Do you really want to?" She grinned wickedly as her Captain's smirk faltered.

"Yeah, I'll pass." As soon as he could, Kirk swung his legs out of the chair and onto the floor, but didn't rise. "Are you off now?"

The dark-skinned officer didn't look up from scribbling into her PADD, merely nodded. "Yes, Captain."

"Jim."

"Anila. Hi."

Jim raised his eyebrows (yes, plural, he'd figure out how to do just one like Bones and Spock eventually, just you wait). "…hi. You don't seem to be as much of a stickler for titles as most of the crew."

She signed off her report with a flourish and set down the PADD and stylus. Damn it all, she could raise one eyebrow. "I've just had my fingers in your mouth. D'you really want to stand on ceremony?"

He snorted.

"Plus I knew you back in the Academy."

"What, really?" He scratched his head. "I think I would've remembered."

"Okay, maybe I should've said I knew _of_ you. You used to date my friend, Alex."

Ah, Alex. His first year there – and Alex's fourth. Dark haired, handsome, funny. Utterly adorable, in some ways. "I do remember him," Jim said fondly. They'd parted on good terms, which was nice. And then something struck him. "Was he –"

Seeming to read his mind, she spoke quickly, "He's stationed on the _Dauntless_. In the Laurentian system. Safe."

Thank goodness for small mercies.

"So, yeah. He used to tell me about you and your prowess."

The smirk returned. "Impressed?" What? You couldn't suppress years of flirting.

"I would be, if I wasn't married." Anila laughed. "I suppose it's kind of ironic that my husband's first name is James as well."

Jim shrugged. He wouldn't have slept with her anyway. There was no telling how long they'd be in space on impulse power, and the stress of a relationship wasn't favourable. Even if they agreed to have a one night stand, there was that issue of Captains – even Acting Captains – not sleeping with their crew.

And she'd had her fingers in his mouth in a totally unsexy fashion just minutes ago.

"That's _not_ why I asked whether you were free, though."

"Oh?"

He grinned toothily. "I need someone to play poker with – besides Bones and Sulu. Most people I ask make excuses. I can't tell if it's because I'm Jim Kirk or Captain Kirk."

"Probably the latter."

"You don't seem to be, uh, affected."

A dry look. "I happen to know of a certain Terrence the T-Rex."

His face was warm. Damn. He willed it down. Usually he could stop blushing even before it happened, but some things transcended even his control. "I knew I shouldn't have had so much to drink that night. Alex is a blabbermouth."

"If it's any consolation, he'd downed a few shots before parting with that information. And I haven't told anyone, so your reputation is safe."

Jim shuddered at the thought of his well-worn soft toy becoming public knowledge. Luckily he – uh, it – was safe at the Academy back in San Francisco. All they needed to do was get back. "So, poker?" he prompted, changing the subject and getting the conversation back on track.

She removed her biofilm gloves and tossed them into the recycler. "D'you know Chinese poker? I'd prefer that."

"If you don't mind teaching it to the other two." Kirk stood, stretching. "And me."

"Oh, Leonard knows." At the curious look, she elaborated, "Sometimes the shifts at the Academy are dead boring. Literally nothing happens."

"You know Bones?" They were heading out of the Sickbay now – well, not Sickbay proper, but the dental bit that was on the same deck. Jim had gone for his follow up. Post defeating Nero it'd been discovered that among his many injuries (which were mostly superficial, really, he had no idea why Bones had made such a fuss, it wasn't like he'd never fractured a rib before) were several loose teeth. He'd not noticed because of all the adrenaline coursing through his body, and later he'd ignored it and his other wounds because – to quote one Leonard H. McCoy – he was a "stubborn shit".

"Yep. The medical officers mostly know one another. And even though I'm just a dentist, we still shared classes like Xenobiology and Anatomy."

"See, he doesn't share stuff like that with me."

"I bet you didn't even know there were dentists in Starfleet."

"Well, yeah. It's not something that immediately comes to mind…no offence."

She shrugged. "None taken. But you can see why I have my job."

"It'd be kind of hard to win a shootout with a toothache, yeah."

"I wouldn't know."

Jim raised his eyebrows. (One day…one day that would be in the singular.) "But, isn't weapons training compulsory?"

"Yeah, yeah, I can handle a rifle, no problem – I'd just…rather not. Y'know? I joined Starfleet 'cause then I'd be able to go into space _and_ use what I learned in uni."

Whereas he'd joined Starfleet on a bet with a friend of his dead Dad whom he wanted to one-up – yeah, there were other reasons mixed in there as well, but that had been the driving force behind his decision. When he and Bones and the other cadets had arrived at San Francisco, sobriety and sleep deprivation and lack of adrenaline had caught up with him, and the enormity of what he was undertaking – a normally four-year course in three, on the command track, with literally nothing but the clothes on his back and a credit chip in his pocket that would support him maybe a month. He'd cursed Pike and Uhura and Cupcake – but mostly himself.

Still, rather than say all that, Jim merely nodded. Not that he'd gone to university proper.

"So, you met your husband while working in Starfleet?" She'd mentioned him casually, so Jim supposed that he'd not been a victim of Nero, and therefore it was a safe enough topic to breach.

"Oh, no, no. He's on Earth; he's a writer and he's got several programs on the holonet." Her smile was wistful. "I miss him, but we both knew the consequences when I signed up."

"Well, the subspace transmissions are up – how come you haven't sent him a message or something? I mean, don't you want him to know you're still, um" – he didn't want to say _alive_, because that sounded horrible – "here?"

She shot him an odd look. "I'm only a Lieutenant. We don't get personal transmissions, especially if normal comms are down."

He, uh, he hadn't actually known that. "You can use mine," Kirk offered. Because, really, who would _he_ contact on Earth? There was a glaringly obvious answer to that, but he ignored it. His mother was not the best person to be brought up by – Winona Kirk wasn't in line to winning mother of the year, put it that way – but one thing she'd been clear on was that joining Starfleet was a _no_. The happenings of the – wow, had it only been a week since Nero? – were hardly going to endear her to him and his decision.

"Thanks for the offer."

Jim could hear the '_but_' that was coming.

"But…"

Was he good, or was he good? "But?"

"This might sound sappy, but. I want to be able to touch him. Y'know, the next time I see him. Not just a pre-recorded…thing. Even though it kills me that he doesn't know if I'm alive, and thank goodness he's not in San Fran, 'cause…" Anila trailed off, and made a face. "Gods, that was _sappy_. Gross."

"Most girls'd call that sweet."

"Ngh." She waved her hand dismissively. "What about you, then? Anyone waiting for you back on Earth?"

"Naw. Last relationship I had was –" Oh.

Oh, fuck.

"Jim?"

He realised that he'd stopped, that Anila was looking kind of awkward with one hand outstretched as if she hadn't quite decided whether she should put it on his shoulder or not. Not, because she let it drop to her side.

"You okay?"

He looked up and met her wide brown eyes. (They were dark, almost black – not quite the clear brown of Spock's, and where the fuck had that comparison come from anyway?) "She…she's dead. She wasn't assigned the _Enterprise_."

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry."

"No, no." He rubbed at his nose and shot her a tight smile. "It just hit me, you know? Just wish I'd thought of her earlier."

_Gaila_… Bad enough he'd practically _used_ her, but.

There was another life on his hands.

Not the time. Really, not the time.

"But, hey, we'd better get moving, or Bones'll be ready to bitch at us. More than usual anyway."

They continued on the rest of the way in silence – because, really, there wasn't much to say after a conversation killer like _that_. Plus he _had _only just met Anila, there was no way they'd be great friends after just a couple of moments. She was tugging at a gold hoop at the top of her right ear, and he was trying not to think of green skin and orange lipstick. Luckily enough that they didn't have long to walk.

"Anila."

"Hey, Leonard. We're playing Chinese poker."

The CMO made a face. "Whatever happened to good old fashioned poker?"

Sulu leaned forward, "I don't know how to play that. Chinese poker, I mean."

"Neither does Jim. Tell you what; Anila, you teach Sulu, I'll try to teach this blockhead." He gesticulated towards their Captain with a jerk of the head.

"Hey!"

The dentist nodded good-naturedly and sat beside Sulu (who grinned charmingly and introduced himself). Jim, however, felt an acute sense of trepidation as he took the last seat – the one next to Bones. It was obvious that the man had more on his mind than explaining a card game.

However, he didn't let on. "Right. Here's how it goes."

Jim duly listened, though he was wary for attack. Surreptitiously he tried to see if there were any hypos within reach of his best friend – he didn't find any, but it didn't stop him from scouting the area, and he managed to come up with no fewer than four escape routes by the time Bones was wrapping up his little explanation.

"…so you've got to put a triple if you start a new round with triples."

"Uh-huh."

"And if everyone else passes…?"

"Then I can put down any combination of cards, right?"

"Yep. And which card has the highest value?"

"Two of spades."

"Yep. And how long did you think you could avoid telling me what happened on Delta Vega?"

"If I manage to steer clear of – oh."

Bones was sitting with his upper body twisted in such a way that his back was to Sulu and Anila, who weren't paying attention to their Captain and CMO. If they had, they might have noticed the look of fear on Jim's face – though they wouldn't have known the cause, as – unlike Jim – they couldn't see the glare Bones was levelling at him.

"Jim, don't get me wrong, if you hadn't somehow gotten here we'd be dead – not to mention all the other Fed planets'd be destroyed. But I'm your best friend. And it's taken us this long to even acknowledge it?"

He winced. "We've all been busy –"

"Don't give me that shit."

"It's true."

He was given a _look_.

Jim wasn't swayed, though terror was still on his face. "Is this really the best place to do this?"

"You're good at runnin' away from things you don' like," McCoy said viciously, keeping his voice low.

The Acting Captain tried not to wince, and failed. "It's difficult, Bones. I…this is bigger than you and me."

"That's not an –"

"You guys ready yet? I though you picked up things quickly, Jim."

The smile on Jim's face was hardly genuine, but it was enough to fool the helmsman and the dentist who didn't know him as well as the Chief Medical Officer who probably wanted nothing to do with him now. "You'd better be ready to put your credits where your mouth is, Sulu."

His mood did brighten as the ship's 'night' progressed – it was nice to find that he got along and could have fun with some of his crew, and he hoped it would continue. But because his best friend hardly said two words to him…he found it easier to go beg Scotty for work than to return with him to the CMO's quarters.

OoOoOoOoOo


	5. Part 05

"What's wrong, Cap'n?"

Jim sighed. "It's hard keeping secrets."

"Ah." Scotty nodded sagely while scribbling something on a PADD. The different applications of his equation on transwarp travel, perhaps. "See, ah never have to keep 'em, a'cause ah usually forget."

"Delta Vega isn't exactly easy to forget."

"Ah wonder how Keenser's doin'. Tha' little bugger better no destroy my experiments."

The Captain perked up. Not literally, no; he was still sprawled on the floor, his legs propped up against the console Scotty was sitting at. There was only one entry point to the room, so no one would be able to see him unless they stepped behind said console. "Experiments?"

"Aye. Starfleet figured tha' ah migh' as well be o' some use while ah was there."

"And what kind of experiments were they?"

Scotty tapped his lips with the stylus. "Well, mostly simple things, y' ken. After what ah did t' tha' stupid beagle, they didn' want me t' be designing phasers or parachutes."

"Boring things, then."

"Ah wasn't exactly bouncin' around wi' energy when ah met you, Jim. Ho'ev'r, ah came up wi' this theory tha' a cold start wi' engines this size can actually turn back time."

A bubble of interest formed, but Jim popped it. "Haven't you had enough of time travelling?"

"Y' never know. Could be useful."

"_Useful_? I very much doubt that it'd be useful, Scotty. Confusing and paradoxical, maybe. Useful, no."

"An' what happens if it does end up being handy, Jim?" Scotty asked, nudging Jim in the hip with the toe of his boot.

"If you, Montgomery Scott, manage to reverse time with a cold start and in so doing achieve something constructive, then I, James T. Kirk will…kiss Spock full on the mouth."

"Ah accept tha' wager, an' if ah fail in any way, ah will kiss th' Commander meself."

Jim laughed, trying to imagine the Vulcan's face in either scenario. There was no way that he'd react as he'd done with Uhura – though, then again, knowing that there had been no romantic feelings on Spock's part put a bit of a different spin on things there. "Man, he'd kill us."

"Oh, ah dunno, he migh' no kill you."

Jim swatted Scotty's leg. "One: that implies I'll lose our bet, which I won't. Two: what do you mean he won't kill me? He hates my guts as it is!"

The Chief Engineer's smile was smug. "Ah have my reasons. Also, ah never said he wouldnae kill you, only tha' he migh' no."

He rolled his eyes. A silence settled between them both.

Jim liked that Scotty had understood what he'd meant without him having to spell it out. There weren't very many people that Jim confided in, mostly because there weren't very many people that he could call friend. Bones was one of them, but the gruff doctor 'didn't do' touchy-feely stuff like that. Not without a decent amount of alcohol in his system.

Another had been Gaila. No elaboration needed.

And as for his other lovers…no. They had been good company, but he'd never been inclined to share information about himself. They may have asked, but as Bones had pointed out, Jim was very good at running away.

But Scotty. There was something about the man. Something utterly trustworthy about him, and the fact that he was a genius and didn't give a toss about who did and didn't know it. Dependable and funny as well – did they still have sandwiches in the future indeed.

"D'you think tha' th' Commander will be annoyed if ah strap a couple o' th' shuttle cores together an' make a booster for th' impulse engines?"

That was incredibly dangerous, almost impossible and highly illegal.

"Probably. But you're going to do it anyway, aren't you?"

"Oh, aye."

"Mind if I help out?"

"Ah was countin' on it."

Scotty was his friend, he realised with wonder.

"We have to wait, though, a'cause –" Scotty cut himself off. Jim would've asked why, except he'd heard the footsteps as well.

"Where's Jim?"

"E's not wi' you, Doctor?"

"Obviously not," said Bones, and Jim could tell he'd rolled his eyes.

"Ah'm afraid ah cannae help you, Doctor – e' came in here earlier, but ah sent him away. 'E looked dead on his feet."

A sigh. "And you don't know where he went?"

"Nope."

There was a pause, as if Bones didn't wholly believe the Engineer. He probably didn't. Jim tried to stay as quiet and still as possible.

"Well, if you see him, tell him I'm lookin' for him."

"Aye. No problem."

Jim waited a full two minutes after Bones' footsteps died away. "I owe you one, Scotty," He said, relieved. He ignored the fact that he was still running away from the problem.

"If you could get some Scotch ah'll call it quits."

He couldn't get alcohol right now (and synthetol was horrible) – though that was potentially a good way to get information from the Chief Engineer in the future –, but he'd just thought of something better.

"Let's go to the transporter room."

"Why?" Scotty sounded suspicious, but he'd helped Jim to his feet.

"We can try and see if we can get Archer's beagle back."

OoOoOoOoOo

Jim found himself the centre of a throng of men and women and beings of no gender – not for the first time. Unfortunately, it wasn't for the reason most people would think.

"It's so cute! Where'd you get it, Captain?"

"Well, I –"

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Boy, duh, you can see its –"

"Does he have a name? Do you have a name, huh, boy?"

"It's –"

"It says on the tag – Reginald Higgins III. What kind of name is that for a dog?"

Jim sat back with a sigh. There was no point trying to get a word in edgewise with everyone's focus more on the dog than on him. Scotty and he had successfully managed to get the beagle back – Archer would be thrilled – and they'd brought him to the Mess so they could feed him. Neither of them had any idea whether molecules were adequately fed (or needed to be) but better safe than sorry. After all, arriving on Earth with a dog that had died due to neglect rather than technology would hardly be good for Scotty.

"Hello, Keptin."

"Chekov! Hey, buddy, take a seat."

The kid – and, yes, he was perfectly qualified to call him kid, though probably not as qualified as Bones was – beamed at him and did so. He didn't seem as interested in the beagle as the rest of the crew present, and Jim pointed this out.

"Ah, I know zhis dog. Zherefore I am being used to it. I am happy zhat Reginald is alive, but I will wait to say hello."

"How d'_you _know Archer's beagle?"

"Zhe Admiral used to walk his dogs past vhere I studied while in Starfleet. He liked me; he has say zhat I remind him of his son."

Jim gave him a disbelieving look. "This is the man who got Scotty shunted off to Hoth because he lost this dog."

Chekov shrugged. "I did not say I agree with his choice. Mr. Scott is a brilliant engineer. I am look forward to working with him."

For some reason, Jim's brain decided to furnish him with an image of Scotty and Chekov shacking up and making babies together – said children had the _worst_ accents imaginable. Jim decided to ignore his honestly sometimes worrying thought processes, and cleared his throat.

"So what brings you down here, anyway?"

"I am not being on duty. I come down to looking around zhe entertainment decks. I see zhe crowd and zhen I see you and Reginald. Zherefore I say hello."

"Well, if you want my recommendation, I'd go for the games station. Someone with your skills would definitely do well on that Tron 82 game."

"I vill be sure to 'check it out'."

Jim could almost hear the quotation marks, and hid his smile behind a hand.

"So what got you into Starfleet anyway?"

"My sister, she is encouraging me. I vas always wery good in school. I am taking szch – sko-lar-ship and getting into Starfleet. Now I am in final year."

"Hoping to serve on the _Enterprise_?"

"_Da_. I haf good chances, I am thinking."

He nodded, grinning. "If my word counts for anything, that's a definite, Chekov."

"_Spasiba_, Keptin."

The curly-haired ensign – there was no other word for it – squealed when Reginald Higgins III jumped into his lap. "Reginald!" He started cooing in rapid Russian, which was just one of the many languages Jim was not versed in.

He was, however, observant enough to notice the patches on Chekov's arm when he pushed up his sleeves to pet the beagle.

"You smoke?"

"_Da_." He shrugged, eyes on Kirk although his hands expertly scratched Reginald behind the ears. "But I cannot, now, because I haf run out."

"I didn't even know they still made nicotine patches."

He nodded, curls bouncing. "In Russia zhey still do. I am finding zhem more effectiwve." Pavel looked down, almost shy. "Keptin, I vould like to ask…"

"Hmm?"

"Vhat is Hoth?"

"What is – tell you what, Chekov, instead of you playing Tron, I'm going to introduce you to something called Star Wars…"

OoOoOoOoOo

Nyota let her eyes wander around the Mess as she waited for her food. She recognised a few faces, friends of hers from the Academy, but they were all invariably at full tables. Giving up, she started scanning the place for empty seats – she was good at making new acquaintances, it was practically her job.

She spotted a familiar face sitting alone, and picked up her tray.

"Is anyone sitting here?"

"Nope."

"May I?"

"Sure."

She sat neatly, noticing that beside his plate of pork chops and mashed potatoes was an orange. Her meal was simple today, just fish and rice. If she wasn't too full by the end of it she might just have some pie.

"S'that all you're having? No wonder you're as thin as a rake."

"I'm perfectly, healthy, Doctor." She smiled at him. "Besides, I always have heavy lunches and light dinners."

He made a noncommittal noise as he swallowed his mouthful of food. "Call me Leonard. Or McCoy, whatever. I don't need another Spock."

"Uhura."

He shook her hand. "Yeah, yeah, I know all about you."

"From the Captain?" Nyota asked, lips thinned.

McCoy gave her an odd look. "No. My nurses like to gossip, and one of them is married to Lieutenant Doohan in Engineering. I think the whole ship knows about you and Spock by now."

Nyota choked on her mouthful of water. "What?"

"Well, it's been a few days. Gossip travels fast." He smirked at her. "That line about monitoring his frequency? Classy."

"Not that it's anyone's business," she said, making sure to keep her voice level so that people who were listening in – and there were sure to be a few of those – could hear her, "but Spock and I are not dating."

The CMO raised his eyebrows, but did not deign to comment, which was odd. The confusion must have showed on her face, because he put down the forkful of mashed potatoes he'd been raising to his mouth. "What?"

"You're just going to take my word for it?"

"Well, you were there. I wasn't."

"Captain Kirk was."

A strange play of expression flitted across McCoy's face, then – it seemed to both clear and darken simultaneously. "Uhura, just because the Captain is my friend doesn't mean he tells me everything going on in that noggin of his – just like I don't tell him everything."

She considered him shrewdly. "Did you two have a fight?"

He didn't even look up. "That is none of your business."

Ooh, she'd definitely overstepped a boundary there. "Sorry, sorry." Nyota let the silence fall for about two heartbeats. "But if you want to talk…"

"I don't."

Ouch. Clearly the Captain had annoyed McCoy thoroughly. Hardly surprising, really.

Sometimes Nyota felt guilty for judging Jim Kirk the way she did. If she was really honest with herself, her initial annoyance when they'd first met had simmered and turned into grudging amusement as he'd proven himself in possession of more than two brain cells. Perhaps if his attempts to hit on her (which were doomed to failure) hadn't been interrupted, that would have been her only impression of him. Grudgingly amusing.

Then again, if he hadn't been interrupted, he would never have joined Starfleet and they would all likely be dead. Maybe.

But no. Her negative impression of James T. Kirk was only cemented as time passed and more and more instances of his promiscuity were spread among campus – and every time his and her paths crossed. He knew _exactly_ what to say and/or do to get under her skin, and never missed an opportunity to do so.

Nyota inwardly shook her head. Why was she even wasting her time thinking of Kirk of all people?

"So what made you decide to be a doctor?"

McCoy raised an eyebrow at her subtle-as-a-brick subject change, but mulled over the answer as he peeled his orange. "Don't really know. It was just something I've wanted to do since I was young; saving people, I mean. My ma always said it was rare for someone to figure out their future and stick to it."

Nyota made an agreeing noise. "Most kids change their minds several times. Hell, some adults still aren't sure of what they want to do."

"That's about the same thing my ma said." He chuckled. "I've never seen her happier than at my graduation."

She couldn't help but smile at that. "Do you come from a family of doctors?"

"Nah." He chewed on a piece of orange thoughtfully, and she took the chance to spoon rice into her mouth. "My ma's a retired mechanic. Dad was a lecturer."

Catching the past tense she asked, somewhat unnecessarily, "Was?"

"Kidney failure. We always did have a strong family history of diabetes."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "It's alright. How about you, then? What got you into languages, or whatever it is you do?"

"I was one of those kids who couldn't decide what I wanted to do. It took a visit from Starfleet recruitment officer to my high school for me to look through my options and Communications was the most interesting."

"Think you made the right choice?" The CMO had finished his orange by now, but he was polite enough to sit with her and wait.

"Well, I can't say there aren't times when I think I should've just gone and set up a bakery" – Nyota grinned at his raised eyebrows – "but at least this job is exciting, you know?"

McCoy snorted. "Exciting. Yeah, you guess could call it that."

A red-shirted crewmember walked up to their table and cleared his throat. "Sorry for interrupting, but I wanted to ask if you wanted to join us in the rec room, Nyota."

"Sure, John, I'll be right there." She smiled as he waved and left. "I guess I'll see you around, McCoy. Thanks for having dinner with me."

He nodded and made gruff grumblings as they both rose to dispose of their trays. The silence between them wasn't as awkward as she was expecting, but awkwardness was still there. They separated in the hallway, Nyota heading for the rec deck and McCoy presumably to his quarters.

"Hey, Uhura!"

Nyota turned, her long ponytail swinging behind her. McCoy smirked at her, hands in his pockets.

"You free for a physical tomorrow, 0800?"

OoOoOoOoOo

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or its affiliates.

A note on the last chapter: as a dental student, I'm in no way degrading dentists by referring to them as "just dentists". Also, sorry for the lateness in getting this out. Uni takes some getting used to.


	6. Part 06

"K-Captain. We're being hailed. There seems to be a ship stranded in this quadrant – Vulcan."

"Put it on the viewscreen, Lieutenant. And summon Spock from his quarters, or the lab, or wherever he is."

"Aye, sir."

"Greetings." The Vulcan held up his hand in the usual way his people did, and Jim found it somewhat odd that he could look so unfazed. He did know that it shouldn't be surprising, but he naturally expected a more human reaction to having one's ship stuck in the middle of nowhere. "I am Vorik, captain of the _Arie'mnu_."

"Captain James T. Kirk, U.S.S. _Enterprise_. How can we be of assistance?"

"Captain Kirk, our ship was damaged in the attack on Vulcan. However, this damage was only detected after the warp drive was engaged. As a consequence, our engines are inoperable. We would be most grateful if you would be able to provide us with replacement parts, and also technical assistance, should we require it for repairs."

"Uh, yeah, see…there's a problem, Captain Vorik…"

"Problem?"

"The _Enterprise_ is currently undergoing repairs of its own…we just got out of a major altercation, and we can't spare any spare parts or any of our Engineering staff. We can, however, give you a lift to Earth. And if that isn't where you're headed, I'm sure the Federation will arrange transport from there."

"It is fortunate that Earth is also our destination."

"Great! How many d'you have aboard? Oh, and I'm afraid you'll have to share quarters – we've got a few Vulcans onboard as well as our…mostly full crew."

"That will be no problem, Captain Kirk," assured Vorik. Though 'assured' wasn't the first verb that came to mind. 'Stated clinically' seemed more fitting. Really, he'd never ever complain about Spock being an emotionless space-Elf. Oh, fine, he would anyway.

A blue-tunic-ed figure came up beside Jim, and he grinned at Spock before returning his gaze to the viewscreen. "Captain Vorik, this is my First Officer, Commander Spock."

The Vulcan inclined his head. "I am familiar with Spock. There are thirty-six of us aboard, Captain – including eleven children."

"Okay. I'm assuming you'll want to keep the ship?"

"If possible, yes."

Jim turned to Spock, who was standing at attention. It made Jim feel kind of bad for lounging in the Captain's chair. Kind of. "Can we use the tractor beam?"

"Negative, Captain. If you will recall, among the damages incurred, the _Enterprise_'s tractor beam is now inoperable. This was detailed in the report I sent to you."

It was almost…chastising. Especially when compared to the way Vorik spoke. Jim would've liked to have more time to mull over this, maybe throw in an amazed smile, a few comments that would probably go sailing over Spock's head – but it was time to at least act professional.

"Right." Kirk smiled his best charming smile. "Captain Vorik, do you or your crew have anything against being beamed aboard?"

"No."

"Then we'll beam you aboard, and then tether your ship back into the shuttle bay. Sound okay?"

"Affirmative." He bowed his head, and the transmission ended.

"That went well."

Spock looked down at him and quirked an eyebrow. "By what definition?"

"Mine." Jim wasn't bothered to try to figure out whether Spock was being funny or genuinely curious. His fingers danced across the interactive arm of the Captain's chair almost instinctively – further proof that this was what he was meant to do. "Scotty?"

"Aye, Cap'n?"

"We've got some stranded Vulcans – about 25 of them, plus 11 kiddies. I want you to lock onto their signals and beam them aboard once they're ready."

"Cap'n," Scotty warned. "This isn't gonnae help our water shortage any. An' there's still th' issue o' our nonexistent warp cores!"

"We'll deal with it when we come to it, Scotty," Jim said sharply. He sighed, then softened it with, "'Sides, they shouldn't put too much of a dent in the water thing. They're desert people. Kinda like cactuses. Except more prickly." He glanced up at Spock as he said it, grin faltering only the slightest bit at the lack of reaction. (Though he did see Sulu smack his forehead in the background. And he was sure Uhura was glaring holes into the back of his head.)

"But –"

"No." Firmly. "Just do it. Kirk out." Another couple of flicks and he'd ended the comm. He stood. "Uhura."

"Yes, _sir_?"

"Inform the shuttle bay to send out the _Galileo_." Yes, he'd brought up and memorised the names of all four of the _Enterprise_'s shuttlecrafts (_Halley (1), Herschel (3), Copernicus (5), __and__ Galileo (7)__). And their specs. And their intended specialised functions. And the same for every active starship in the 'fleet. It was an effort to keep his mind off…everything else. So what? "You know the orders."_

_"__Wouldn't you rather give them those yourself?" The snide undertone wasn't apparent in her otherwise professional attitude, but it was there._

_Jim stopped with his foot on the first step leading to the highest level of the bridge, on his way to the starboard turbolift. He looked at Uhura. "I gave __you__ a direct order, Lieutenant." _

She didn't quite manage to mask the venom in her face. She wasn't Vulcan, after all. "Sir."

He shot her a smile – one very much unlike every single smile he'd ever given her in the past. The eyes of everyone in the room were on him, like they usually were, as he blithely continued on his way, adding a "Sulu, you have the conn." He entered the turbolift and turned on his heel, meeting Spock's eyes. What he said next was quite brave after the stunt he'd just pulled – even if Uhura wasn't his First Officer's girlfriend, she was quite clearly important to him.

"Coming?"

OoOoOoOoOo

Spock couldn't help the flare of anger that swept through him when he saw his people materialise on the transporter. It was not directed at them, no – even as a child and when he was ostracised for being _different_, he had not felt resentment towards his peers, only loneliness that was quickly ignored. Rather, he was angry at Nero, angry that he had caused such suffering to all the Vulcans, forced their race into running for their lives. Never mind that Nero was dead – that Spock had made sure he was dead. Killing the mad Romulan would not and had not brought back their consumed planet, or their murdered people, or their lives.

That didn't stop the dark feeling of satisfaction that the person responsible was indeed quite firmly deceased.

"Spock!"

Perhaps the exclamation mark is inaccurately used, as the young Vulcan did not shout as a human child would. She said it louder than Vulcan norms, deliberately pitched so it would catch the attention of everyone in the room, not just its intended target. All eyes were on her as she not-so-gracefully stepped off the transporter and trotted over to the _Enterprise_'s First Officer.

"T'Laria," stated Spock, surprise fizzling away into genuine pleasure that his cousin had survived. He obligingly leaned down to pick her up and settle her on his hip, and caught her wrist gently as she raised her hand towards his face. Had she been human, or any younger, then she would have pouted.

"_I wish to meld with you_."

"_It would not be recommended_," came a new voice.

Spock turned, lowering T'Laria's wrist as he did so. He met the eyes of a dark-skinned Vulcan female, who wore the structured robes that indicated she was a healer.

"_I am Maire. T'Laria has been in my care since she was separated from her mother and father. She has refused all efforts to assess the state of her mind. She is a child, and you are not a trained healer. I do not advocate a meld_."

(Let it be said that despite this conversation – and, Spock imagined, despite the burning curiosity from his Captain – the other passengers from the _Arie'mnu_ had been beamed aboard. In fact, Captain Vorik was speaking to Captain Kirk, and while Spock was listening, his attention was primarily on Maire.)

"_We are blood relations_." On his father's side, obviously.

"_Have you melded previously_?"

T'Laria answered before he could. "_Yes_," she said authoritatively, the tone showing her age.

"_Successfully_?"

"_Yes_." This time there was impatience, which was picked up on by both Spock and the healer. It was worrying, because it showed that T'Laria had indeed been affected by the destruction of Vulcan and the loss of her parents. (It was statistically more likely that they had perished and were not simply separated from her.) And if this was the only way to gauge the extent of that damage…

"_A short meld_." Maire raised her hand before T'Laria could. "_But not now. Mind melds are private among our people – and your reaction to the meld is as of yet an unknown, T'Laria_."

"_This is acceptable_," Spock said quickly. "_I am currently unoccupied._"

"_Very well_."

As Maire left them, the Science Officer looked down at his young cousin, who had managed to school her expression into neutrality.

"_Have you injured either of your legs_?"

"_No. However, I sustained damage to my side when we were attempting to escape the collapsing atmosphere. The _Arie'mnu_ did not have intact medical facilities. I tire easily_."

That gave him more than enough reason to keep carrying her, then. He walked towards the Captain, who had managed to oversee the assignment of quarters of their new passengers without insulting anyone. He'd even recruited a few of the Vulcans to aid in the _Enterprise_'s repair efforts. "_I will take you to the Medical Bay shortly_."

She let her (presumably uninjured) side rest against his chest, though her posture was otherwise perfect. He wondered at the state of her mind – he could empathise with her, but where he had lost one parent, she had likely lost both.

"Spock! You know, the whole reason I asked you to come here was to help me out and make sure I didn't accidentally do something mortally offensive to a Vulcan." Kirk glared, which was in direct contrast to the smile on his lips.

"You seem to have managed, sir."

"Hmm." He didn't look particularly convinced, but in the style of most humans, lost interest as soon as something else caught his attention. His smile managed to crinkle the skin at the corners of his blue eyes. "And who's this?"

"I am T'Laria." Imperiously. Spock placed a steadying hand on her back.

"She is my cousin."

The crinkles were more apparent now, and Kirk had brought up a hand to cover his mouth. "Jeez, if I was a woman my ovaries would've exploded."

"Captain?" Spock asked, a little scandalized.

He flapped a hand dismissively. "Never mind, never mind. Who's she staying with?"

"It would be best if she shared quarters with my father."

"Sarek is onboard?"

"Yes," Spock answered, and he almost dreaded the question that would inevitably follow.

Except Kirk jumped in first. "You're off duty, right, Spock? You're free to go back to whatever you were doing."

"Captain." Spock inclined his head. Even though he'd been brought up to think it illogical and unnecessary, he felt grateful. But as Kirk smiled sadly at him as the two Vulcans left the transporter room, Spock found it difficult not to say 'thank you'. He had no real qualms about explaining to T'Laria that his mother was not aboard the _Enterprise_, that she was dead – no real qualms, of course, if he could do the explaining somewhere _other_ than the place he had lost her.

And sure enough –

"_What of Amanda_?"

"_Mother did not survive_."

T'Laria said nothing, even as they walked (well, Spock walked, and she was carried) down corridors and took a turbolift to the appropriate deck. Only when they entered the Medical Bay with its sterile, well, everything, and its pristine blue-and-red surfaces, did she speak.

"_I grieve with thee_."

Even though the place was currently empty, Spock was uncomfortable with showing outward displays of affection. So instead of touching T'Laria's temple like he wanted to, he instead nuzzled her forehead gently.

There was a squeak.

"Nurse Chapel. Are you unwell?"

She was bright red and had her hands clapped over her mouth. She shook her head, no. "I – I – I'm fine, Mr. Spock."

"Your face is flushed, which indicates that your facial blood vessels have dilated. Perhaps your core temperature is higher than is normal."

"I'm, I – it's nothing, M – Mr. Spock. I'll just, I'll get Dr. McCoy –" The tall blonde woman practically fled towards the examination room.

"What's all this racket?" A cantankerous McCoy strode out of his office (which, while also through a door leading off the area Spock and T'Laria were in, was not the same one Christine Chapel had disappeared through) and glared at the two Vulcans. "Why've you upset my Head Nurse, Spock?"

"I have done nothing." _Although…the Captain had said…_ "Perhaps her ovaries have exploded."

McCoy's expression was…well, it was hard to explain in just one word. His jaw was slack, his lips slightly parted, his eyebrows _slightly_ furrowed, his stare flat. He held the position for exactly three minutes before crossing his arms across his chest. "Really."

"It is merely a suggestion." Frankly, Spock was surprised that the doctor wasn't taking him seriously, and that the man was in no way alarmed that one of his own nurses could be critically internally injured.

"And what's the basis for this suggestion?"

"Earlier, when the Captain asked to be introduced to my cousin, he said, and I quote: 'if I was a woman my ovaries would have exploded'."

This time McCoy stared for thirty-seven seconds. Before bursting into laughter. Loud laughter.

T'Laria looked up at Spock. "_Are all humans like him_?"

Rather than chastise her for her rudeness, Spock merely said, "I have found, T'Laria, that no two humans are alike…and that their actions are rarely expected."

When McCoy had calmed himself – though he still grinned widely, which was quite disturbing – he approached Spock and T'Laria with a medical tricorder in hand. "So why're you clogging up my Sickbay, then?"

Spock let T'Laria answer, as she was perfectly old enough to do so herself. It did not take long for McCoy to do the necessary – the man was a professional when it came to his job, even if he was unprofessional in all else. He stood aside, only offering his assistance when T'Laria re-donned her tunic (it wouldn't be commonsensical to protest disrobing in front of a qualified doctor, or in front of one's family member. And the privacy curtain had been drawn beforehand).

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Nn." A short reply, and one that was not in Spock's repertoire of languages – which was quite substantial. Likely nonsense, then. McCoy's bedside manner _was_ quite, well, not present. He opened the curtain somewhat abruptly, and paused when he saw that there were other Vulcans – the passengers of the Arie'mnu – standing outside. He cursed, and Spock was sure he did not realise that his exhalation of "Damn hobgoblins," was actually audible.

T'Laria was the pressing concern. Spock picked her up again, heedless of the fact that she was technically no longer injured. Perhaps he would comment to the Captain that his CMO was a xenophobe. Hopefully Kirk would at least accept the information and utilise it, instead of blindly refusing to believe that his friend could be such a thing.

"_Where are your quarters_?"

"_Deck E. We will be there shortly_." And they would have been, had their way not been barred by a young Vulcan. Spock did not recognise him.

"_You are Spock_."

Though it was a statement of a fact – Spock was not exactly an unknown, the only half-human, the only Vulcan in Starfleet – he had been around humans for so long that he had to at least acknowledge it. "_Yes._"

The Vulcan gave him a short bow of the head, and Spock noted that he had his left arm in a makeshift sling. That would explain his presence in the Medical Bay. "_I am Stonn. I carry a message_."

Spock waited. There was no need to reply.

"_T'Pring did not survive_."

"_That is unfortunate news._" 

"_It is_."

"_How did you come by this information_?" Spock asked, curious. He had not had much opportunity – or inclination – to keep in touch with T'Pring after he had left Vulcan, and therefore had no idea about her – past – life and her contacts.

"_We were in my residence during the attack. The ceiling beams did not withstand the seismic activity. I managed to escape. She did not_." He offered no reason as to why T'Pring had been in his house, but he had no obligation to.

Even then, Spock had no doubt why she'd been there.

"_If that is all, I bid my leave_." Stonn inclined his head, and approached one of the medical personnel to get his broken arm taken care of.

Spock meanwhile, with a silent T'Laria still in his arms, turned and exited the Medical Bay. His eyes took in his surroundings, the gleaming silver surfaces of the _Enterprise_, his feet put themselves one in front of the other and took him on a route that was becoming familiar, to the turbolift, and then to his quarters. His mind was on none of these menial tasks.

T'Pring was dead.

_That is unfortunate news._ An understatement. The loss of a life was bad enough, but this was his wife and betrothed. Yes, they had not been close following his spurning of the Vulcan Science Academy and his moving to Earth, but there had been a bond there. There had to be – Vulcan children would need some degree of mental compatibility for their minds to be linked.

_Parted from me and never parted. _

They would never meet at the appointed time, or at the appointed place.

Although it was as of yet unconfirmed that Spock would undergo _Pon Farr_, he had still undergone the bonding ceremony as his peers had done. Even if he wasn't taken over by the fires of an ancient mating drive, the union of their two houses was logical. Prior to the bonding ceremony their parents had encouraged their socialising (well, his mother had not, not really), and Spock had found her to be intellectually stimulating company. Coming from someone who was a genius among Vulcans, this was high praise indeed.

_Never and always touching and touched._

They would never discuss their mutual dislike of Vulcan poetry again.

But.

He put those feelings away as the doors to his quarters slid noiselessly shut behind him. It would not be wise to let his emotions bleed into T'Laria's psyche during the mind meld.

"_Are you prepared_?" Spock asked, setting T'Laria down on his bed.

She looked up at him, even as he sat down beside her. Her slate-grey eyes were solemn as she nodded silently.

Spock raised his fingers to her face.

The first time he'd melded with his young cousin was to put across a mathematical concept she'd had trouble with. This was totally different from that.

T'Laria's mind was not in disarray as he had feared, but he could see that she was finding difficulty in dealing with the grief of her parents' loss. She could comprehend the 86.1% probability that they were deceased. The problem was in her not expecting the degree of sorrow she felt at acknowledging it.

-_It is not something you may anticipate-_

He didn't say it out aloud – you couldn't really _talk_ in a mindmeld. It was more, conveying.

A ribbon of green danced in front of his 'vision', accompanied by the taste of spoiled _forati_ sauce. Alarm.

-_I do not, I don't relish losing_-

Well, that was unsurprising. T'Laria had never lost control. It was slipping now, yes, but still largely in place.

He projected warm red and orange, to soothe her. The green receded, if only a little. A favourite music piece, which he'd played on the lyre, helped calm her more, enough to make her mind amenable to what he was going to try to get across.

-_Let me show you how I_-

His mind had been in disorder after his mother's death. So much so that he'd accepted comforting contact from Nyota – even worse considering the implications he now knew. So much so that he'd marooned Kirk for doing what he was supposed to do – granted, it was an extreme, and First Officers were supposed to defer to the Captain's final decision, but '_Get him off this ship_' was hardly one of his best moments.

Another one of his 'not-best' moments was also associated with Kirk.

Spock lowered his fingers from her face.

There was a sudden inrush of sound as the world filtered back to them; the flow of air from the filters, the footsteps from out in the hallway, the ever-present (and almost unnoticeable) thrum of the impulse engines.

"_I do not understand_."

"_I cannot instruct you on how you should deal with your grief_," he said, placing his fingers on the back of her wrists – they were so small that he only needed three. "_Moreover that I am half human_."

"_You are Vulcan_," T'Laria stated plainly.

Spock felt a fleeting urge to hug her. "_Yes and no_." He paused, choosing his words. (As a result, the pause only lasted about half a second.) "_Your mind is your own. Unique. And so your solution must be achieved by your own means_." A breath. "_However, I will tell you this – there is nothing wrong with mourning_."

The young Vulcan looked down at her hands, digesting this information.

He didn't hold back from stroking the hair on the top of her head. "_Come. Let us meditate._"

OoOoOoOoOo


End file.
