Author's Note: Four days before Star Trek Beyond was released, Paramount announced that the fourth installment of the franchise would include Chris Hemsworth reprising his role as George Kirk and suggested that he would cross paths with his son. I'm excited to see how they bring him back, but until I find out, this is my idea for how it could happen.

Some housekeeping notes: this story begins with a piecewise chronology, jumping between the years 2233 and 2263 to give an account of George Kirk's last days and Jim Kirk in the months following the events of Beyond. Eventually the story converges into a single timeline, but I've tried to make it clearer by providing references throughout the story. I hope it's not too confusing. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the story.

Stardate 2233.02
0005 hours

"Eighty-eight bottles of beer on the wall, eighty-eight bottles of beer…"

"Jim, let it go. I know how to count," Dr. McCoy grumbled.

"I'm just passing the time, Bones," Kirk muttered. "Just passing the time."

"Well, the song is awful and you're a terrible singer. And get rid of that damn tooth."

"No," Kirk snapped, gently rolling the Romulan's tricuspid tooth around in his palm. "It reminds them not to mess with me."

"Well, I'm sure someone will come picking another fight with you before you know it," Bones said, looking around at the shadows in the dimly lit cell. "You didn't have to beat him unconscious."

"He started it," Kirk retorted, trying to keep his words from slurring together.

"Jim, look at me," Dr. McCoy insisted, gently slapping his face to elicit some alertness.

The bruise above his right eye stung and he winced.

"It's so hot in here, Bones," he mumbled.

"Yeah, I know," the doctor replied. "Here, loosen your boots some more. I'll go get some more water."

"Yeah, that sounds nice," Kirk agreed. "Hey, Bones?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful," Jim groaned, smiling pitifully. "They really don't seem to like us here."

"You don't say?" Dr. McCoy grumbled.

Kirk sat quietly, holding his bruised body rigidly and gazing across the poorly illuminated, makeshift prison. Being here was bad enough, but being in captivity with a dozen angry Romulans added an extra dimension of discomfort to the whole thing. This mission definitely hadn't gone as planned.

"Come on, Spock," Kirk whispered to himself. "Where are you?"

Stardate 2263.80
2145 hours

Spock turned his computer terminal off and stared ahead at the wall in deep contemplation. It took enormous effort to suppress the swell of emotion inside of him.

He had not yet fully accepted Ambassador Spock's passing, and he had just received a delayed transmission from his predecessor dated the day before his death. The door to his quarters swung open and Nyota walked in wearing a beaming smile that instantly faded when she saw him.

"Are you ok?" she asked, her tone indicative of concern.

"No," he confessed.

His truthfulness seemed to startle her, and she swiftly approached him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"What is it?" she insisted, resting her chin on his shoulder.

He did not immediately answer, which he knew would frustrate her, but the truth was he didn't know what to say. "I do not wish to discuss it at this time."

"Don't do this," she barked. "You always find some excuse to shut me out! We were doing better. Please not today of all days. I have good news."

"I received a final piece of correspondence from Ambassador Spock," he explained, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "It was delayed due to damage to subspace beacons." He stood, breaking her embrace.

"Oh," she breathed. "I know it's difficult. Spock-"

"I wish to meditate in private," he interrupted.

She sighed heavily and he did not have to look to know tears were forming in her eyes. She seemed to cry often, as of late. He picked up his PADD from the desk, walked into their bedroom, and shut the door. He closed his eyes thoughtfully and clicked on the device to reread the late ambassador's final message.

Spock,

I made a solemn vow to never disclose my history to you. Our present reality deserves autonomy, and your life is yours to live. I fear I am not long for this life. There is one thing I wish to atone for, and one final favor I feel compelled to ask of you…

Stardate 2233.01
2145 hours

"This has to be the worst mission I've ever been on," Lieutenant Hernandez groaned, rustling his hair and yawning.

"With any luck, we'll be back on the Kelvin in eighteen hours, if the repairs you made to the warp drive hold," Lieutenant Commander George Kirk said with a grin. "And that's a big if."

"Are you making fun of my engineering skills, sir?" Hernandez laughed.

"Yes, actually," Kirk teased. "But you're still better at taming a warp drive than me, and still a good geologist."

"Don't flatter me until we're back on the ship," Hernandez grumbled.

Hernandez might have a flair for drama, but he wasn't exactly wrong: this had been a bad mission from the start. Three days ago, they'd departed for a routine survey of a cluster of planetoids near a nebula. They'd had nothing but mechanical and communication failures ever since and had spent the last day limping back to the Kelvin.

The Kelvin had been deployed along the Klingon border to position listening posts three months earlier, and their mission was nearly complete. Unfortunately, the last phase was also the most dangerous, and that's how Kirk and Hernandez had ended up on this away mission, charting this nebula for possible interference.

Hernandez called it the "Bermuda Triangle," but Kirk didn't think that name was particularly fitting. According to the old Earth legends, the Bermuda Triangle was where ships went missing under mysterious circumstances. If they went missing, the only mystery would be whether it had been due to Klingons or Romulans.

Kirk wasn't a nervous man: he would be ill suited to Starfleet if that were true. But sitting at the nexus of the Federation, Klingon Empire, and Romulan Star Empire wasn't a comfortable feeling, especially in the current political environment.

Adding to his worry was the knowledge Winona could go into labor any day now. When the Kelvin received this assignment, he begged her to go home, but true to her stubborn nature, she'd refused. As the ship's first officer, he threatened to order her into taking early maternity leave, but he was smart enough to know he'd win the battle but lose the war if he took that kind of drastic action.

He noticed a shift in his screen and cocked an eyebrow. He told Hernandez, "I'm reading an increase of tachyon particles. Still on the low side, but-"

He watched the peak climb steadily and sat up in his chair. If the computer was correct, they were in the vicinity of a recently collapsed black hole or other similar phenomenon. With readings like these, they could be heading toward a temporal distortion.

"Sir, I'm picking up a transmission," Hernandez said suddenly.

"The Kelvin?" Kirk asked, shifting his focus.

They'd been out of communication with the ship for more than sixteen hours.

"No," Hernandez explained. "This is- this is something else."

"Go wake up McAvoy," he said.

Kirk pulled up the communications log on his own terminal at the operations station and scanned the data.

"It sounds like a distress signal. If the universal translator is right, it's in Romulan," Kirk said, dismissing the little nibble of anxiety in his throat.

"On our side of the Neutral Zone or theirs?" Hernandez asked, his face contorted into an uncharacteristically stern expression.

"Ours, if the computer's telemetry is right," Kirk replied.

"What's your order, sir?"

He rubbed his temples. They were barely in shape to get back to the Kelvin, let alone assist anyone else. And if the people they were assisting were Romulan, that added a layer of complexity he wasn't prepared, or armed, to deal with. Still, he had a duty to make an attempt.

"Sir?" Hernandez insisted.

"Lay in a course for the coordinates of the signal. I'll go wake up McAvoy."