Ambassador Spock read the communiqué without any outward sign that he was, in one sense, reading his own obituary. It was brief and to the point: Lt. Commander Spock had died as the result of an unfortunate encounter with a venomous life form on a remote Federation outpost. There would be no service.
He clicked off the viewer and sat silently for a moment. There was no deep sense of loss as he might have expected. Not for himself, of course, but for Jim. Jim, left without the friend who should have been his other half. And yet--
He'd realized it during the meld on Delta Vega, but hadn't wanted to believe. This universe, this reality, was so close to the one he had known. So close and yet so far, as the human expression went.
This Jim was not his Jim. This Jim had been fatherless, abused by a stepfather, left without guidance and purpose, wounded in a way his Jim had never been. He was as willful as his Jim, as strong and charismatic and as worthy, but he needed someone who could help him grow into a strong and healthy personality.
In his reality, Jim had been whole and strong and had helped Spock become the person he was now, secure and comfortable in his dual heritage. In return, Spock had helped temper an impulsive personality, mold him into a more thoughtful being who had commanded respect from a plethora of worlds.
This Spock was the same sort of-- damaged goods-- he had been in his youth: never Vulcan enough and never human enough to fit in, not a child of two worlds but an eternal stepchild who had no place at either table. And definitely not suited to help a Kirk who needed more than this Spock would be able to give at this stage of his life, with so many inner demons of his own.
So many things were altered. Small things, it had seemed at first, but with profound consequences. He wondered briefly what had changed Pike from the near-father figure he had known-- the man for whom he had dared the death penalty-- to mere colleague.
Mere colleague for Spock, he corrected himself. Pike had indeed been a father figure in this reality, but for Kirk, not Spock.
McCoy. Again, minor changes. This McCoy was a classmate of Jim's, with a long history between them and an already firm friendship. The nearly boundless compassion was there, the need to help and to heal, but it had already found a sharp focus in the scarred young man he'd smuggled about the Enterprise. His McCoy had a captain who was capable of taking care himself, leaving the good Doctor free to ply his psychoanalytic talents more broadly among the crew in general and Spock in particular. He'd always prodded, needled, and sniped at Spock as this McCoy did, but his objective was more to force Spock to examine and ultimately embrace his human side. It had been a game at the end, continued from habit and arising out of genuine affection. This McCoy saw Spock as--what? Not an enemy, exactly, but as a threat. Someone who would challenge, question and ultimately undermine the young captain by invoking all the buried self-doubts.
Then there was Uhura. Alike and not alike. Just as strong, just as competent, just as beautiful, but this Uhura was more driven, more intense, more controlled than the woman he had called friend. An Uhura who had chosen him and not Kirk--
He straightened abruptly. An Uhura who had the many of the same qualities he had provided.
The trinity would be fulfilled in this reality, but it would be Kirk, Uhura and McCoy. He had also sensed Kirk's strong attraction to the young woman, and in this world as in the other, eventually Jim Kirk would get what he wanted. He was a force of nature. Yes, it would be Kirk and Uhura in the end, with McCoy to watch over them both.
A feeling of relief came over him. Jim would be all right in this world too.
Oddly, an old, long buried memory suddenly appeared. He was a small child, being taunted by his Vulcan classmates. He could hear one of them--had it been Stonn?-- saying, "You are neither human nor Vulcan. Therefore, you have no place in the universe."
Stonn had been wrong in that reality. Perhaps he had been right about this one.
Perhaps he'd been right about both Spocks, in fact. Who knew what inadvertent damage the Ambassador was doing now? His intention was to help, but that had been his intention with the Romulans and that had been beyond disastrous for all concerned.
It might be that there was no place for any Spock in this universe.
Wearily, he arose from the chair and turned toward his chambers. He would meditate on the matter.