Reconciliations

by R4v3n Kn1ght

Truths come to the surface when the crew of the Enterprise submit their new personnel forms. Kirk, Spock, and McCoy discuss concerning points, and recommend psychotherapeutic sessions. In some cases, something more is required, something much harder to do than therapy. Sometimes people simply have to learn to offer forgiveness. (Seventh in "Metamorphosis to T'hy'la" Series.)

Author's Note: As always, I do not own Star Trek, or any recognizable characters, locations, etc. They all belong to Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. My playing with the characters is not intended as disrespect for the characters or the actors that give them life.

This story is seventh in the "Metamorphosis to T'hy'la" Series, and directly follows "Personal Revelations." Certain points in this story may refer to those previously in the series; in other words, it is recommended to read previous stories in the series prior to this installment. Thank you!

I had this done and ready about 2.5 weeks ago, when my computer crashed and I lost so many of my files. Two days away from a scheduled full backup. Lost about three quarters of this story because of it, and the entire next chapter of Traitors' Sons. Lots of rewriting to do, while I attempt to fix the computer or get a new one. Either way, there is a lot of maintenance coming up in the tech world for me. Meanwhile, I only have a limited amount of time to lurk about in the library working on these off of my thumb-drive, when not at work. I apologize for the delay, but this one was completely out of my control. Hopefully, this rewrite isn't terrible. Now I'm off to rewrite the next chapter of Traitors' Sons. In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy this installment of Metamorphosis to T'hy'la! ~ RK

Reconciliations

He didn't know exactly how he'd managed to win the argument about the manner in which they would all return to the Enterprise, but somehow Leonard McCoy found himself sitting on a rather uncomfortable bench in a semi-busy transport center awaiting his shuttle number to be called for departure. And he wasn't alone. Beside him sat his best friend and his captain, James T. Kirk. And beside him was the quiet Commander Spock.

McCoy glanced at Spock quickly before returning his attention to his padd. Since their discussion three days ago, the Vulcan barely spoke to him unless it was only to demonstrate politeness, and only in Kirk's presence. Except for that moment. At that moment, McCoy was quite tempted to use one of Spock's neck pinches against him. He glared at the Vulcan as he spoke to his best friend.

Spock pointed to a certain phrase on the padd he held in his hands. "Captain, for what reason is it necessary for anyone to possess the knowledge of 'activities I enjoy'? As a Vulcan I do not enjoy activities. I simply perform my duties as demanded of the situation at hand."

Kirk looked only slightly annoyed as Spock's question forced him to pause abruptly in his reading. He brought along several antique bound books from his apartment, with the intention of reading them between this stop to Earth and the next occasion that would bring them back to Headquarters. He kept his finger between the pages and closed the book on his impromptu bookmarker. "That's not true, Spock. You enjoy playing chess."

Spock's eyebrow went up. "Chess is an activity in which one participates in order to improve one's concentration, tactical or strategic skills, and maintain mental excellence."

Kirk dramatically frowned at Spock. "And yet you let me continue to think that we played the game because you might like my company."

Spock's reply was quick and lacking in all humor. "As I had remarked in the past, 'like is not a verb in our vernacular.'"

McCoy couldn't resist his input. "In other words, Jim, Spock is incapable of liking anything, including you." Even as he said it, though, the doctor knew the statement was completely false.

He was woken up by the beeping and flashing on his padd he took to keeping on the bedside table. It lit up the darkness in his room, and it completely disturbed his sleep. Considering the night he'd had with Spock and the discussion during their dinner, he was tired. Convincing Spock to just go to bed and wait to talk to Jim when he came back or to wait indefinitely until whenever the moment was right to talk about how disturbing both of their childhoods were was quite the verbal battle. But that was not what was disturbing him at the moment. "What the hell?" he grumbled to the flashing padd. "What?"

He flung the covers from his body and flailed for the padd angrily. He touched the screen and it activated, the brightness of it forcing him to quickly and instinctively close his eyes against it. "Lights at fifty percent!" he mumbled. The room's soft lighting powered up and made the brightness of the padd a little more tolerable, even at the unspeakable hour its flashing and beeping disturbed him.

He had one new notice from Jim. Correction. He had one new notice from his captain. This was definitely not personal. It was ship's business. "What now, Jim?" he asked the notification as though he were talking to his friend.

He opened the missive and then quickly skimmed it. Then, once he began to comprehend the gist of the thing, he groaned and flopped back onto the bed. "You've gotta be kidding me!" He held the padd over his head and reread the last paragraph.

This documentation is to be completed and submitted by all crew members no later than the day on which the U.S.S. Enterprise departs Earth to resume its mission. Submit completed document to either Commander Spock or Doctor McCoy.

McCoy closed his eyes with a small groan. That was bad news. Everyone was going to submit this thing to either him or Spock? He made a mental note to thank Jim later with random hypos for things he didn't even need for the indefinite future for this little stunt. It just was not fair that he had to suffer the entirety of the documentation backlash this thing was about to create.

He sighed to himself. 'Well!' he thought. 'Better get mine over with.' But he was certainly not going to submit the thing to Spock. The answers he was going to be giving on this thing were none of the hobgoblin's business. He probably would not even raise a slanted eyebrow at his answers anyway, but still. Over his dead body was Spock going to know some of these things about him. No. He was sending this right to Jim.

He struggled to stand up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he let out a massive yawn. Snatching the padd up in his hand he shuffled his way across the room to the door, which opened as he approached allowing him to pass without impacting a wall or door into the hallway that led him right to the kitchen. The lights over the main areas of the kitchen lit at one quarter intensity when the sensors picked up his presence. McCoy glanced at the padd again.

He was going to need some coffee for this.

It took him only a moment or two to remember where the coffee was kept and how to work the machine. Things like that happened to him when he didn't get enough sleep. He was tired. Very tired. Hopefully, this coffee would work.

He had it finished, in a cup and sitting next to his padd at the table for about a half hour by the time there was movement other than himself in the apartment. The main door to the apartment slid open to reveal an exhausted-looking Jim Kirk. Leonard suspected that it was because he had ordered the lights back off and because he was sitting completely still that Kirk didn't even notice him there in his chair, the padd lighting up his face.

Kirk didn't even look in his direction – not even a glance. Instead, the younger man made a direct, albeit staggering, path to his temporary bed. For a moment, McCoy wondered if maybe he should have made it for him, on the expectation that he would return that night. Granted, he had dumped Spock there last night, but once he'd regained his sobriety and been given a crash course on Jim Kirk's kitchen, the Vulcan – in his obsessive compulsive, everything-in-its-place way – folded all of the blankets and carefully set the pillow on top of the pile. And so the bedding remained, neatly folded and piled, when Kirk half-collapsed and half-hurled himself onto the sofa.

He waited for a few minutes just to make sure Kirk was soundly asleep before he turned his attention back to the padd. List a skill in which you want to become proficient. McCoy wondered if Jim had contacted Spock in order to get that wording. He thought about it. If Spock had said this, how would he translate it? What would you like to learn how to do? He nodded to himself, and used his stylus to answer the question.

He'd finished his third cup of coffee by the time he heard something moving in the room. This document turned out to be much harder than he thought it would be. He figured an hour…hour and a half maximum…this thing would keep him awake. It must have been much longer. He looked up toward where Jim had passed out—

—and almost fell off his chair! Spock had woken up and was lurking near the sofa, almost creepily standing over Kirk. McCoy started to stand up as Spock reached out his hand toward Jim, but he stopped mid-stand when Spock aborted the action. McCoy froze as well. His curiosity overruled his protectiveness toward his friend. He doubted Spock would hurt Kirk while the man slept…on his sofa no less. Granted, the way Spock looked back toward his and McCoy's bedrooms did not necessarily reassure him of that.

What Spock did next shocked McCoy so much that he had to sit back down. Spock reached for the pillow he had set aside earlier in the day. While he held it in one hand, he reached toward Kirk again, cradling his head in his hand and lifting it just high enough in order to slide the pillow underneath Kirk's head. Gently, he slid his hand free, letting Kirk's head sink into the pillow. He stood quietly over Kirk for a long moment before he reached for the blanket. He silently unfolded it before he draped it over his own arm, apparently realizing that something else needed to be done first. With glacial pace but utmost care, Spock rearranged Kirk's legs on the sofa and brought the arm that was hanging off of the cushions onto his chest. He seemed satisfied with his work.

McCoy was stunned speechless and motionless as he watched Spock drape the blanket over Kirk, before the Vulcan observed Kirk sleeping for a moment, to be sure he did not disturb the human's rest. Then, with the litheness of a feline, Spock turned and went back into his temporary bedroom.

When Kirk woke up the next morning while Spock and McCoy were in the middle of breakfast and thanked the human for putting him to bed, McCoy didn't feel the urge to embarrass Spock and decided to take the credit for the Vulcan's handiwork. And Spock did not correct him.

And that was three days ago. McCoy knew that he majority of the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise had submitted their answered form. His padd had been constantly flashing and beeping for the last several days. He was amazed he didn't develop epilepsy. He was reviewing his own answers and getting ready to disturb the man sitting next to him by submitting it to him when that very same man spoke.

"Spock, once we get on board, I want you to forward all of the form submissions to McCoy. Bones, once everyone turns in their files we should talk about them."

"Captain," said Spock before McCoy could even try to reply. "When you use the word 'talk,' do you imply that you will gossip and otherwise ridicule the answers submitted by your crew?"

McCoy huffed. "Of course he doesn't mean that, Spock!"

Kirk rolled his eyes between them, but turned away from Spock to face his best friend, his tone professional. "We need to see if any psychological red flags come up in any of them."

Due to the way he was sitting, Kirk couldn't see that Spock stiffened next to him. But McCoy did. "Alright. Later tonight?"

Kirk tried to smile. "You got any brandy left?"

McCoy did smile. "For you? Always." His eyes shifted to watch Spock over Kirk's shoulder. "We'll meet in the mess later, have dinner, and then head back to medical to talk." Kirk nodded to himself more than McCoy.

"Are you planning a date with the captain, Doctor?"

The three men all turned their attention to the woman that had seemingly appeared next to their bench. McCoy shot to his feet, a mannerism that was apparently hereditary from his Southern ancestry. Jim simply stared at the new arrival. It was Spock that was the first to be able to form words. "Did you enjoy your shore leave, Yeoman?"

Tonia Barrows swept her gaze throughout the docking station. "Aside from the funeral, you mean?" She nodded. "For the most part."

McCoy's expression fell with guilt. "Why 'for the most part?'" He knew he'd practically forgotten about her in the last several days, since the night of Sulu's party and Keenser's death, actually. He'd spent so much time worrying about Jim and dealing with Spock and trying to make friends with the stupid dog that he'd forgotten there even was an outside world from Jim's apartment. He almost didn't want to know the answer to his own question.

"Martha and Christine were supposed to go out last night."

"Really? Where?" asked Kirk with a little too much enthusiasm to be genuinely interested in McCoy's opinion.

Tonia didn't seem to notice. "We were going to go out dancing at a nicer sort of club Christine's been to a few times."

"Christine goes out to clubs?" Kirk was sincerely asking that one.

McCoy more mumbled to himself. "I didn't know she even danced."

She gave a look to McCoy that silently shouted he should have magically known this information already. "We all dance, Leonard."

Kirk shoved himself back into the conversation. "Did anyone else go with you?"

Tonia shook her head. "Were you listening, sir?" she said, the patient laugher evident in her tone. "I didn't go. I was a little disappointed. But, to be honest about the whole thing, I don't think I would have enjoyed myself anyway."

"Please clarify."

"Because Martha asked Pavel to go with us, and no one has ever asked their boyfriend to go with us before—"

Jim's laughter interrupted her. At times like these McCoy wondered how he'd ended up with Jim Kirk as his closest friend. "Good thing you didn't ask Bones, then. This man can't dance if he wanted to." And with that, McCoy was embarrassed. He actually wanted to hypo his friend into unconsciousness for that comment. He was tempted to ask Spock to do that neck grab he did to Jim once before he had him loaded into an escape pod and rocketed off to Delta Vega.

But he did neither.

Knowing that he had to have been expressing his embarrassment, and probably sounding desperate to change the subject, he blurted out, "So, how come you're not already beamed aboard?"

She gave him a sad smile. "Two reasons. I'm still mad at Martha about the whole thing, and because I knew you don't like the transporter. And considering I haven't heard from you since Keenser…I mean, we saw each other at the services, but…I knew you'd be here. And if you were here you'd be with the captain and Mister Spock. And if Mister Spock is here than I knew I could get two things done at once." Tonia fixed her gaze on McCoy's. "Avoid the girls while being able to spend some time before going back to the ship with you."

McCoy smiled softly back at her. "I'm sure there's room on our shuttle for you, Miss Barrows."

Their mood was shattered by Spock. "How did you come to the conclusion that your companions would not simply follow you here?"

Tonia's smile vanished. In its place was an emotion that Spock could not identify. But McCoy and Jim could. Sympathy. "Because they knew you would probably be here."

Jim looked to Spock and saw something in him close. Like his first officer, he heard what Tonia really said. Nyota knew you'd be here. Spock hung his head for only a moment, using the motion to pretend as though his intention the entire movement was to whisper unintelligibly to Planchet as he scratched his ears.

McCoy was about to say something to Tonia when the announcement was made. Their shuttle was ready for departure. Without hurrying or urgency, the group gathered what they carried with them and headed toward their shuttle. McCoy, with the confidence of a man with a woman at his side, did as he did before to her and offered his arm. With a soft giggle, she accepted and curled her own around his. McCoy led their little group away.

Spock followed the couple at a very sedate pace. Jim watched his Vulcan friend for a moment before he had to jog to catch up. "Planchet, come on!" he called, giving a short whistle. Planchet trotted up to him and slowed his pace to walk alongside Kirk. Spock walked alone.

Moments later when they were all settled on the shuttle, McCoy took out his padd again. He looked to a certain question and deleted his original answer so that he could change it before sending it to Kirk.

List a skill in which you want to become proficient.

In the blank section after the words, he keyed in his modified answer.

Learn how to dance.

Before he could think about anything else, he sent it to Jim.

~X~X~X~X~X~

"Would've thought you'd be with Chapel somewhere," said Hikaru Sulu to the Communications Officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise as they stood near the transporter controls and the man operating them.

Nyota Uhura barely turned her head to give the man a half-hearted glare. "No. I wasn't in the mood to go with her."

"Well, where'd she—"

Her patience was already wearing thin. "She went to the shuttle bay to wait for Tonia to come aboard."

Sulu's brows came together in confusion. "I didn't think she liked shuttles."

Nyota closed her eyes and shook her head, her long ponytail swishing gently with the movement. "But she does like Leonard McCoy."

If this was news to Lieutenant Kyle at the transporter controls, he did not even allow it to show on his facial expression.

Sulu turned to face her directly. "And if she's with McCoy, then he's probably with the captain, who's also probably with—"

"The commander, yes, most likely."

He studied her. He was not about to get into the discussion too deeply with her. They weren't on those terms just yet, but he knew that she and Spock at least at one point had been something to each other. They were romantically involved. He didn't exactly understand how or why, but it was there for everyone to see. And suddenly, seemingly without cause, warning, or explanation, it simply…wasn't there for everyone to see anymore. And so he just had to ask, "Are you avoiding Spock?"

For a moment, it looked as though she didn't breathe. Sulu noticed the silence, and wondered if Lieutenant Kyle was breathing. All he heard was the sound of the transporter. Finally, Uhura replied. "Did you get the captain's document request for all crew members?"

Lieutenant Kyle was apparently feeling so awkward that he was willing to welcome any other topic but the situation between Uhura and Spock. "Yes. I was confused why he sent it out. I mean, we've already all had our psych exams, right?"

Sulu was willing to play along with Uhura's evasion. "Well, yeah, but this isn't for anything psychological. At least it doesn't seem like it is, anyway."

Uhura stared at Sulu. "I still don't understand why he sent it out. I thought it was a joke at first."

"You asked Kirk, didn't you? If it was a joke?"

She nodded sharply. "Yes. He denied it. Then I started wondering. Why did he send this out now? What motivated that? And then I realized it was because—"

"Ve are ready to transport now, please," interrupted a very familiar youthful voice. "Come in please."

"This is Lieutenant Kyle calling transporter chief below for confirmation. I have two pads occupied right now. Is that right?" He fiddled with some dials and made some adjustments as Sulu watched in relative understanding, while Uhura stared at it, not quite sure what she was looking at. It was certainly not her communications console. Maybe she should try to learn the transporter.

"Confirmed, Lieutenant, and then some. Starfleet Heaquarters ready to beam up Ensign Chekov, Ensign Landon, and Lieutenant Commander Scott."

"Energizing," announced Kyle, as he activated the transporter's signal. As the trio began to materialize, he spoke to Uhura and Sulu without taking his eyes from his work. "I did do that form the captain sent. And it was much harder than I thought."

Sulu looked to Uhura interestedly. "Did you do it, yet?"

"The form?" He nodded, she snorted. "No. I'll get to it."

Sulu almost looked disappointed. "I did it. Took me hours to do, but I finished it."

She was visually growing more and more disturbed as the conversation continued. "It won't take me hours to do."

"Do vhat?" asked Pavel Chekov as he finished materialization and could hear their conversation. He wasn't sure what their topic was, but he knew he wanted to be a part of it.

"The extremely and unnecessarily personal form that Kirk sent out," snapped Uhura.

Kyle muttered to himself, "Wasn't that bad. They were good questions."

Uhura glared at him. Chekov wandered over to Sulu, Martha following him closely. It was only Scotty that lingered behind everyone. "Vhat did you put for the qvestion about something you dislike strongly? I vasn't sure vhat he meant."

"Yeah, it was a little vague," said Kyle.

Chekov's face twisted. "I hate the transporter."

Sulu was stunned. "What? Since when? You've always liked the transporter!"

Chekov seemed to realize what he said, and immediately closed himself off. "Not anymore, Sulu." Martha gazed at Chekov with a look that Uhura knew she wore often to those in pain. She looked at the young Russian with helpless compassion. There was little time to ask about Chekov's response, however, as he turned and quickly left the transporter room. Martha and Sulu were right behind him, asking him to, "wait!" and "slow down."

Uhura did not notice their departure, however. Her attention was focused on the Chief Engineer who seemed to be rooted to his place. In his left hand he held a small wire cage. And inside the cage was an orange ball of furr.

"Lieutenant Commander Scott," began Kyle. He had a job to do after all, and that was to beam crewmembers to the ship. And the engineer was in the way. "I have to ask you to—"

Uhura came around the divider of the transporter controls with a quick hand gesture to Kyle that was universally meant as stop talking. "Scotty?" she asked quietly to try to get his attention. She followed his line of vision. He was staring at the orange ball in the cage. He didn't even seem aware of his surroundings all that much. "Scotty," she tried again. "You can step down now."

He stayed where he was. Staring. "Giney hasn't purred in four days, ya know."

For a moment, Uhura wanted to ask who Giney was, but then realized it must be that thing's name. She still had no idea what the thing actually was, but it must be alive if it was in a cage. She froze in her place, not daring to continue approaching him, but unwilling to retreat either. Then, what he'd said truly struck her with the realization.

Keenser had died four days ago.

Without looking at anyone or saying another word, Montgomery Scott stepped off the transporter pad and left the room, leaving Kyle and Uhura to exchange a look of sad helplessness. Uhura sighed to herself before she, too, left the transporter room, wondering how to help the engineer in a way that she was unable to help Spock when he was grieving. She was determined not to make the same mistake twice.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Kirk and Spock stood awkwardly at a distance of approximately fifteen feet from McCoy and Tonia Barrows. The latter two stood in front of the door to her quarters, talking quietly. But while they were obviously not running short on discussion topics, Kirk was trying desperately to think of anything to talk to Spock about. He kept diverting his gaze from his first officer, to the wall, to the floor, to the scuff mark on his boot, to comparing his footwear to the shiny and clearly polished boots on Spock's feet. He came up with nothing. And he most certainly did not want to look at McCoy.

"Is it a requirement that we remain here and wait for the doctor to conclude his private discussion with his mate?"

If he hadn't been thinking so much on an opening sentence to say to Spock in order to begin conversation he would probably have come up with something much more intelligent than, "What?"

"Must we remain here until Doctor McCoy has amicably terminated his discussion with his mate before they resume their duties?"

That time he couldn't help it. Kirk burst out laughing. "Spock, humans don't usually put it like that."

Spock tilted his head in the way he did when he was puzzled. "Put what in what way?"

"Bones and Barrows…they're – um—" he floundered in his speech, gesturing with his hands to subconsciously broadcast his own difficulty. "Well!" he said, seeming to have come to a phraseology he thought would work. "Well, we don't say 'mates,' for example. I assume that's a Vulcan thing?"

Spock nodded. "It is. Individuals engaging in a…romantic and physical relationship are referred to as a mated pair."

Kirk got serious then. "So, when you and Uhura—" He began to backtrack when he saw the look in Spock's eyes. "I know, but I'm just trying to clarify here. Did you consider you and her a mated pair?"

Spock blinked. "I understand your query. And to answer it: No, I did not."

"Why?"

His response was immediate. "We were not physical in our relationship."

Kirk wondered what exactly Spock considered physical. He'd seen his first officer and communications officer on numerous occasions with their lips locked together, in various embraces. He had to assume that what they did in public was magnified drastically when they were completely alone. Then it hit him. He assumed that. Those touches and embraces was probably and quite likely only as far as things had gone between them. He almost commented on it, or asked about it, but what came out of his mouth was, "Huh!"

Before he could continue this discussion, Spock announced, "The doctor's conversation has concluded."

An instant later, McCoy stood besides Kirk. "What are you two talking about, anything exciting?"

Kirk opened his mouth to reply, but was beaten to it by Spock. "We were in the midst of determining whether or not you intend to engage Yeoman Barrows as her mate."

McCoy looked outraged. Kirk stepped in on Spock's behalf then. "Not like that, Bones! We were talking about the differences between how romance and relationships work with Humans and Vulcans."

This seemed to reassure McCoy. He sighed. "Well, fine." He glared at Spock. "Because I'm not that kind of man, Spock!"

Kirk smiled charmingly at his best friend. "We know, you're a true Southern Gentleman."

McCoy nodded. "Right." He realized they were having this discussion in the middle of the corridor. "Well, are we going to settle in again or just stand here all day?"

They headed off towards McCoy's quarters. Their progress was silent, but it was not entirely uncomfortable. They reached the doctor's door soon enough. Kirk turned to his friend. "Okay, so later, then. Have some brandy ready."

"Is that an order, Captain?" he said with a grin.

"I could make it one."

"Don't bother. You know I got it." He looked down at the beagle that stood between them. Figuring it was worth a try, he reached down to pet the dog. Planchet gave a whine and scurried out of his reach. "Oh, come on! I'm not going to hurt you, you little mutt!"

Spock stared at McCoy. "And perhaps your frequent loud vocal outbursts is one reason why he does not permit your touch, doctor."

"Listen, Spock—"

"Spock, leave him alone. Come on. We have to get settled, too." Shaking his head, Kirk started off down the corridor, calling for Planchet as he went. The beagle bounded after the Enterprise's captain. Spock and McCoy stared at each other in a silent battle. "You know," the older human said to Spock quietly, "I'm not even surprised that Jim got you to talk about how Vulcans mate."

Spock did not even blink. "On the contrary, doctor, it was I who initiated the discussion."

A moment later, McCoy was left standing in the corridor when he stopped in surprise at the Vulcan's statement. Spock simply continued to follow Kirk's lead. "Unbelievable," he growled as he entered his quarters.

Kirk, Planchet, and Spock arrived at Kirk's quarters shortly after leaving McCoy at his own door. And this time, he was a little more prepared for discussion. "So, Spock, are you glad to be back on the ship with the privacy of your own quarters again?"

He could not read anything in Spock's gaze except for his indulgent patience for his captain. "You provided me with more than adequate privacy in your home during our time away from the ship."

It was such a simple praise, but it was enough to make something tighten in Kirk's chest. He wasn't sure if it was pride in himself at accommodating Spock to the point of receiving praise in the disguised language of Vulcan-Standard, or if he was just that he was happy Spock was feeling a little more at ease with him to speak with the level of comfort he'd just exhibited. Either way, something tightened in his chest. With nothing else to say, Kirk turned to head into his quarters.

"Captain." His title halted his progress. He looked back to Spock. "You have not requested to act as my opponent in a game of chess since I was suffering from disagreeable sustenance."

It took him a second to figure that one out. "Are you saying that you want to play chess?"

Spock did not respond for a long time. They simply looked at each other. "Affirmative."

Kirk nodded. "Okay. After I meet with Bones, though. We do have to start going over those forms." He hesitated. "You could come, too, if you want."

Spock shook his head. "I do not wish to intrude on your time with the Doctor McCoy."

"We're talking ship's business, Spock. And as my first officer, you're more than welcome to stop by and put in your opinions."

"I prefer the term 'observations.'"

Kirk smiled to himself. "Of course you do. Either way, the invite stands." He approached his door which opened at his command. He began inside, then looked back for the little beagle…

…who was sitting right in front of Spock's feet, pawing at his boot-covered shin, softly whining. Kirk watched as Spock lowered himself into a crouch in order to stroke the dog's head and rub behind his ears. Planchet was in a state of pure bliss.

"Looks like he wants to go with you for a while. You want to babysit?"

It was one of the rare occasions in which Spock did not feign ignorance of a human expression. His attention was on the dog. "If you and Planchet do not object, I would appreciate his company."

Kirk nodded to himself. "Alright, but don't expect him to do everything you want like that pet you had when you were a kid."

"My sehlat, I-Chaya, Captain. She was very tame."

Kirk barked out his laughter. "Yeah, well, he's not!"

Spock thought Kirk was exaggerating.

~X~X~X~X~X~

But that was several hours ago. Spock did not think Kirk was exaggerating anymore. Kirk certainly had energy, but it was nothing compared to the amount Planchet had at his disposal. As soon as he'd cleared the doorway into his quarters, the beagle had not stopped running through the small living space, sniffing everything and anything he saw and even what he didn't see. And by this point, Spock wondered how humans managed to get anything accomplished when they either had to care for an energetic pet or a young hyperactive child.

He had just folded himself into his customary meditation pose when he felt something smash up against his leg. He opened his eyes and saw Planchet with a metallic device in his mouth. He reached for it, but Planchet scurried away – clearly indicating that he wanted Spock to chase him around the room. With patience he did not know he had, he held back a sigh and got to his feet again. It only took him a few moments to corner the beagle and grab hold of the jaw-clenched item before the canine released it.

Then, Spock inspected it.

It was a translation device.

And it was not his.

Spock froze as he looked at it. This belonged to Nyota Uhura. She had been asking his advice on how to modify it so that it could include certain new dialects their missions had encountered so that any Starfleet personnel would already be able to visit that system confidently and properly. He had been assisting her with the program for its modification.

His mother had once told him about the differences between Vulcan and Human mating customs, particularly that of courtship. While humans tended to date possibly several potential partners before deciding on the one with whom they wished to spend his or her life, Vulcans had their bondmates arranged from the age of seven. The messiness of awkward conversations and heartbreak – the latter term Spock was still a little uncertain of as to its meaning – was typically avoided. This was probably for the better in Spock's opinion. Especially since he now understood what his mother meant by "past lovers when you see them again after having had a relationship with them sometimes becomes a very awkward and uncomfortable situation."

It was indeed. What did he do with this? Did he return it to her nonchalantly? Did he engage the services of someone else to deliver it to her in his place to avoid an uncomfortable meeting? Did he not return it? If he did that, then when she concluded where her missing device was she would come to him and demand its return. He did not know what to do.

The simple truth was that he did not wish to face Nyota just yet.

A high-pitched whining caught his attention and brought him mentally back to his quarters. Planchet was pawing at the door to the facilities – a room that was positioned directly between Spock and Kirk's rooms. Of course this beagle would find his company lifeless when compared to Kirk's boundless energy.

Then, Spock's ears picked up the sound of movement in the bathroom. He decided that it would probably be best of he gave the dog what he wanted, and what he obviously wanted was Kirk. He tapped his knuckles on the door.

"Yeah?"

"Captain, it would seem that our resident canine would much prefer your company to mine."

Kirk laughed. "What is he scratching a hole through the door or something?"

Spock did not understand this man sometimes. It was not possible for this beagle to dig his way through the door…Then again, he had managed to destroy the water lines aboard the ship. Maybe it was possible. "He is rubbing his paw along the door, Captain."

"Let him in," was the response. Spock opened the door and Planchet bounded inside before it was opened one third of the way. "Hey, little guy!" Kirk greeted the dog enthusiastically, who returned that enthusiasm with a loud howl.

Then, the door closed again. Spock realized he still had Uhura's translation device in his hand. He went to his desk and set it down. Without the interruptions of the beagle, he refolded himself into his customary meditation pose, closed his eyes, and lost himself in his thoughts.

~X~X~X~X~X~

He knew it was earlier than normal for him to head to the mess, but he knew that if he didn't get there before McCoy he would either have to endure a heated lecture on why whatever he'd chosen as his meal would help kill him faster than a hand-to-hand battle with a Klingon, or McCoy wouldn't even feel like going off on a diatribe and instead pick out Kirk's meal for him and watch with some sort of twisted glee as he grimaced the entire time.

But tonight he desperately wanted a good old-fashioned burger! "Planchet!" he called to the beagle as he was halfway out the door. With an excited yip, Planchet bounded after him.

Determined to beat McCoy there, and feeling rebellious about disobeying whatever rabbit-food-eating diet his friend tried to put him on, Kirk half-jogged to the mess. Planchet was right behind his feet as best as his little legs could take him. He got there quite early to his surprise. There were only five others already enjoying a meal. He wandered up to the replicator, mentally mourning the loss of his apartment's cook-it-yourself requirement, and keyed in a juicy burger. Then, looking at Planchet, whose tongue was lolling from his mouth, he decided to give the little guy a treat. He ordered another half of a burger.

They were seated and chomping contentedly by the time others began filtering into the mess. Planchet was devouring his burger – only the meat of course – with the enthusiasm of a creature starved. Kirk was not terribly dissimilar to him. He was halfway done with his meal by the time his attention was caught by something else. A conversation taking place several tables away between three of his most valued crewmembers. He could not help but listen in.

"I just don't like it anymore. Vhy is that hard to accept?"

Sulu exchanged a look with Scotty at the vehement response they got from the teenaged crewmember. "I just don't understand."

"I could not do it," Chekov almost said to himself. "I am not fast enough."

"Are you mad, laddie?" Scotty nearly shouted. "You are faster than anyone on that thing."

"Mister Scott," Chekov said, in a tone that masked his insecurities well enough. "You need a new assistant, yes? I do not mean to remind you of anything by asking it."

Scotty sighed and shifted uneasily in his seat. "I suppose I do, but—"

"Maybe I can transfer to Engineering for a bit. Learn things from you about vhat you do? So I can help if you need it?"

The Chief Engineer looked uncomfortable with this notion. "I don't know if it's—"

"Please, Mister Scott," persisted Chekov. "Being on the bridge is hard now. I can't ewen look at Mister Spock."

The other two men seemed to understand where Chekov's unease was coming from. But it was Sulu who tried to comfort him. "You can't hide from it forever, though. I didn't turn the damn parking brake off the ship but I'm still not nervous to be the helmsman on that bridge."

"I just—" Chekov hung his head and sighed in frustration at his own poor articulation. "I just need time to vork through it. And I can't do that around Mister Spock. It just makes it vorse."

Scotty had been studying him the entire time. When Chekov finally raised his eyes to meet his in a silent plea, he nodded at the youth. "Alright, lad. I'll plant the idea in the captain's head. We'll see what he says."

Chekov nodded gratefully to Scotty, who stood from their table. "Now I just have to figure out the way to put it."

Kirk watched as Sulu and Chekov returned to eating their meal in a somewhat awkward way. They both clearly wanted to talk about anything but neither of them knew exactly what they should say, which led them to saying nothing at all. Kirk decided instead on a different course of action. He reached down to pick up the plate that Planchet was scraping clean and rose to dispose of his utensils and dishes. Planchet bounded after him, this time without a yip.

Kirk saw Scotty heading back to his area of specialty, and – keeping sure to stay far enough behind him – followed him.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Spock had still not solved his dilemma. He held Uhura's translation device as he exited his quarters. He wasn't sure what he should do about the situation. He wandered to Kirk's quarters, and stood at the door briefly. He even activated the chime. It was not answered. He was left with no choice but to move on.

But to where?

He found himself walking directly to Sickbay.

The doors slid open slightly before he approached and he nearly collided with the blonde nurse from the department. "Oh! Sp—Sir! I'm so sorry!" she blurted as he avoided her in front of the door with an abrupt sidestep.

She stood and looked at him. Spock stared right back, slowly bringing his hands – and also the translation device – behind his back. "Is there something I can do for you, Nurse?"

"No, sir." Christine Chapel looked at him with an odd expression. Suddenly, Spock remembered that she was a friend of Nyota's. He began to grow uncomfortable.

The silence continued between them for far longer than it should have before Spock muttered, "Resume your duties," and then headed into Sickbay.

It was just as he went in that McCoy was on his way out of his office. "Spock!" he shouted more in surprise than anything. "Thought I was meeting with Jim tonight."

"And I believed that you and the captain would be dining together before your meeting."

McCoy sighed. "I went to the mess and saw him heading out of it in the opposite direction. Figured he had something to do before heading here, so I grabbed a quick something and got back as fast as I could."

Spock nodded his understanding. "And the captain has yet to arrive."

McCoy shook his head. "No." Then something occurred to him. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"The captain invited me to participate in your discussion."

McCoy turned and headed back into his office. "And of course you turned up early. That being the case, maybe we could start by going over your file."

"I do not believe reviewing my file as something that requires immediate attention," he protested despite following McCoy into the office.

McCoy had gone right for his supply of alcohol. He didn't even check to be sure that Spock had followed him into the office. "Can I get you anything to take the edge off, loosen your tongue?" He glanced over his shoulder, and when he saw the slight confusion on Spock's face, he seemed to remember. "Right. Alcohol doesn't cut it. It's chocolate for you."

Spock stood in his place stiffly. "I do not have any desire for alcohol or chocolate, doctor."

By this time, McCoy had poured a drink for himself and something else into another glass. He had done so with the speed of a seasoned bartender. "So what do want instead?" He wandered to a wall panel. "Jim had a replicator put into the office. Concerned I don't eat much when I get too busy with this place. That should ring a bell for you, you know." He sighed. "Wish he'd worry about the time between his meals as much as he worries about mine, but I guess that's just how Jim is. Always worried about food."

Spock approached the desk that was between them, uncertain if he was intending to sit in the chair in front of it, or if he was intending to key his own beverage into the replicator, not quite ready to place trust in McCoy since the man lured him into a false sense of security in order to stab him with a hypo when he had been suffering a hangover. He stayed close to the desk. "Doctor, from where does the captain's fixation on—"

"How's apple juice sound for you?" interrupted McCoy.

He knew an evasion when he heard it. It was as frustrating as it always had been. He restrained a sigh and looked to the floor. When he looked up, McCoy was holding a glass out to him. "Apple juice, Spock. If you didn't want it, you probably would have said something."

Spock accepted the glass and decided to sit down in the chair on his side of the desk. He sipped on his drink for a moment as he watched McCoy gather several padds on the desk before he, too, seated himself. The doctor picked up his glass without even glancing at it, raising it to his lips.

"Are we to begin our discussion?"

McCoy looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. "In a hurry, Spock? Got somewhere to be?"

Spock did not frown. "I do not have a prior engagement."

McCoy nodded at Uhura's device in Spock's hand. "Is that yours?"

Spock stared at him. "Where is the captain?" He could evade just as easily as the doctor.

"I don't know where he is, Spock! I'm a doctor, not a babysitter. I'm not his mother!"

Spock flinched, and he knew that McCoy did not miss it. "Alright, that's it!" Spock heard five small beeps before the man spoke again. "We're gonna start on your file right now!" He glanced down at the padd. Spock knew that he was not doing this the formal way, not now. "Alright, something interesting here on your file. For the question, 'Task(s) with which you have difficulty in completing,' you put in 'Understand the concept of human friendship.' But then you also put right after it, 'Forgive Lieutenant Uhura.'" McCoy looked up from the padd and met Spock's uncomfortable gaze. "The first part I can understand with Vulcans and Humans having different ways of relating to each other. Naturally you'd want to learn more about the Human aspect of it since you're around us so much, but…But it's that second part I don't quite get, Spock." McCoy pinned Spock with his eyes, but they had softened with concern. "What in the hell is making it so difficult for you to forgive Uhura? What did she do that bothers you so much?"

Spock was rigid. "I do not desire to discuss it."

McCoy snorted. "You might not want to, but the fact is that you need to discuss it, Spock. Something like that will make it difficult for you to work with her. Don't think I didn't notice that you only spent time around me and Jim while we were on Earth, or that even when we were all at Sulu's party you made a point of avoiding her."

Spock did not move. He refused to respond. He could not respond.

"Whatever she did that you can't forgive is the reason why you left her, isn't it?"

"I had no other options available to me. If I did not avoid her, I do not know what I would have said to her."

"What did she do?"

"She did nothing."

McCoy leaned toward him. "Then why do you need to forgive her? Someone's gotta do something to have someone having a problem forgiving them."

Spock shook his head. "No, you do not understand. She did nothing."

"What?"

Suddenly, the words poured from the Vulcan. "She did nothing to assist in the efforts during the attack on my home. She did not perform her duties at her post. When Ensign Chekov discovered precisely what was to happen to—to Vulcan, and I realized that I alone would be able to enter the Katric Ark and bring my parents and the planet's elders safely aboard the ship—" Spock's throat started to tighten and he struggled to finish speaking. "She stopped me at the turbolift doors. She asked me where I was going. She—"

Spock saw the understanding, the comprehension, register on McCoy's expression. It only made it more difficult to reach the crux of the matter. "She delayed my arrival to the surface, which delayed my arrival to the Katric Ark, which delayed me in reaching my mother, which delayed our departure from the planet where she would have been safely aboard the Enterprise. Had she not delayed me from leaving the bridge, my mother would still be alive."

He did not look at McCoy. He did not want to see the pity in his eyes. But he did accept the full glass of Saurian Brandy the man pushed across the table toward his hand. "I'll pour Jim another one." Spock tipped the glass back, and did not set it back down until the brandy was drained from it.

A chirp sounded. "Damnit! Sorry, Spock." McCoy picked up the communicator. "McCoy here."

"Lieutenant Uhura here." Spock met McCoy's eyes. He saw the guilt in the doctor's eyes. "I just…I noticed when Scotty came aboard today something was…He seems off. Can you check in on him when you can?"

McCoy fiddled with one of his padds. "Sure, Lieutenant."

"Thank—"

"But I just happened to notice that I seem to missing your submission of the new personnel form. When can I expect that?"

There was a brief silence over the communicator. "You'll have it in your records in one hour."

"Why, thank you, Lieutenant. I'll check on Scotty when I finish up my current consultation. McCoy out." He closed his communicator, and stared at it for a moment before looking up at Spock. "Alright, Spock. You need to talk to me about your mother."

"I cannot."

"Yes, you can." McCoy picked up his communicator again and deactivated it. "There. Now it's just you and me. So, you keep talking, okay?"

~X~X~X~X~X~

He knew it was wrong to spy on anyone, but he was concerned about his chief engineer. It was that simple. Scotty was tinkering with something while one third of his body was underneath a piece of equipment. Occasionally, his hand would shoot out from under the machinery and blindly search for the tool he needed. Sometimes, he would find it quickly, and other times he never would. With a loud and frustrated sigh he would manage to get himself free of his situation and crawl a few feet away to retrieve the missing tool, only to literally throw himself back into his work.

Jim found that odd. Scotty always knew the tools he needed.

Amazingly, Planchet was following his lead and simply observing the chief engineer.

Jim was distracted from watching Scotty when he saw something moving toward the seemingly chaotic pile of tools near Scotty's foot. What the hell was that? He almost said something, but found that he was completely unable to. He could only stare at this living ball of fluff as it made its leisurely way to the tool pile. It wasn't making any noise as it went, which alarmed Jim. Surely something that was silent could not have innocent intentions!

He was about to head toward it when this furry thing caused a small avalanche on the tool pile!

"What the—" shouted Scotty from his half-hidden location as he began to extricate himself hurriedly. "Keenser! How many times have I had to tell ya, ya can't just—" Jim's chest tightened when he saw Scotty's realization of what he'd shouted on his expression. With a nod to himself, the Scotsman tried to control his reaction and go back to his professionalism. He sighed deeply and then slowly went back to his work without even bothering to fix the tool pile.

As Jim watched, he began to realize just how much Keenser's death was affecting Scotty. He wondered how he would react if something were to happen to Bones. Then, he dismissed it. He couldn't bear to think about something like that.

As he was lost in this train of thought, he was just too late in reacting to Planchet charging toward the furry creature in the tool nest. "Planchet!" he hissed, half-knowing the dog would not hear him. "No!" The beagle whirled his head to face him, daring him. Jim pointed to the deck near his foot. "Get back here!" In response, Planchet turned his attention back to the tools. Jim huffed to himself.

Should he go and quickly grab the dog before it ate that…thing?

Suddenly, Jim had a horrible thought of Planchet scarfing down Scotty's silent pet like it was one of the sausages from the breakfasts in his apartment!

As he took one step forward, he discovered that this fuzzball could produce sound. And it was an irritated sound. A high-pitched, irritated sound.

When Planchet simply swiped at the thing with his paw, the sound it made was only louder and higher!

Jim only wanted that sound to stop. He had no choice but to start toward this disobedient dog. But Scotty had heard the little ball screaming and had emerged again, wielding his laser-welder menacingly. "Get yer paws away from Giney!" Jim saw recognition dawn on the engineer's face. "You!"

Jim came forward before Scotty did harm to the dog. He certainly didn't seem very happy to see Planchet. "Whoa, Scotty. It's fine. I'm sorry. Little guy just headed right for him, and—"

Scotty pointed the welder at the dog. "Is that thing's name Planchet, by any chance?"

Jim stared at Scotty. "Yeah. How—"

Scotty looked as close to emotional as he was willing to get while on duty. "That's the bleedin' mutt…the beagle…Admiral Archer's prized beagle! That beastie's the reason I was shipped to the frozen wasteland where I first met ya!"

Jim couldn't help it. He smiled. "Wow. Over a dog?"

Scotty looked at him suspiciously. "Thought I told you that story, captain."

Jim nodded. "You did, but it is a damn good story."

"Aye. Always had to tell it to—" Scotty's throat closed on the name, but Jim knew what he meant.

Keenser.

"Always thought it was one to tell on his bad days."

Planchet decided to smack the thing again, producing another loud shriek. "Planchet, knock it off! That…that thing is nice...I think." He looked at his older friend. "Scotty, what is that thing?"

"That, captain, is a tribble."

"A what?"

"A tribble. Cute lil' bugger, too." He turned his attention to the dog. "Play nice, now!"

Whether the dog was intimidated by Scotty, or recognized him as the person that had been responsible for causing his disappearance and consequent relocation, he obeyed. He no longer smacked it, but instead opted to touching his paw to it, as though testing the tribble's reaction to him.

While watching Planchet, Jim asked, "Where'd you get it?"

Scotty was silent for a moment. When Jim looked at him, he knew immediately that he had asked the wrong question. "She was…Keenser's."

Jim hung his head regretting the question. "Scotty, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Scotty had turned around and went back to the smaller collection of instruments and tools he had close to the area he'd slid himself under in order to work. He began to gather them up. "Don't ya mind that, now." There was silence except for the sound of Scotty getting his materials together for a long while. Then, the engineer posed a question softly. "Would ya like to know how we found her?"

Jim nodded and smiled encouragingly. "Sure." He crouched to assist him with his work.

This answer was the right one. "Well, it was the first week that we were on that terrible icebox, workin' on that shuttle we warped to the ship from, remember?"

"Of course I remember that thing." He remembered everything about Delta Vega, actually. It was an experience you couldn't simply forget.

"Well, there was a wee problem with the shuttle's engines, so he was goin' in there to work on it. Soon as he started we heard an odd high sound. Ended up needin' to take apart the thing. Ya can guess what he found in there." He gave Jim a knowing look. "Aye, the tribble." His expression turned sad as he remembered. "Keenser wanted to keep her. And since we found her in an engine, well, ya can imagine how she came to be called Giney."

Jim shook his head. "As in a pet name for 'engine'?"

Scotty nodded. "Aye."

Jim looked down where he'd last seen Planchet aggravating the tribble. He was stunned to see the dog on his side, his arm thrown across the tribble's body. It looked like Planchet was ready to take a brief nap next to the little fluffy thing. "Scotty," he whispered as he pointed to the two animals. At the moment that Scotty looked at them, Giney began to trill. "Is that tribble—"

"Purrin'." Scotty's face crumbled. "She…she hadn't purred since—since Keenser—" The engineer slowly lowered himself to kneel beside the dog and tribble. "Thought she was dyin' too. She's clever, ya know. Always helpin' him find problems in the small spots on the ship, so he can just dive in there and fix it. I'm not small enough for doin' small repairs like he was." He reached out to pet Giney's bright orange fur affectionately. "He always helped me do things here. Went in the small places that I just…that I just can't go." Jim had no idea what to do when he saw the first tear slide down Scotty's face. "How can I do this without Keenser? I got so used to him bein' here, and—" Giney purred as he stroked her fur. "And now he's gone."

In a fit of anger that he was showing this vulnerability to his captain, a reaction the other man very much understood, Scotty threw the welder. It hit a bulkhead, so Jim was not concerned at all that it had hurt anyone. But the sound of its impact did alarm him to the mental state of his crewman. He looked at his engineer in sympathy. The man had abruptly sat down and covered his face with one of his hands. Jim knew he was not that great at comforting others, particularly those who were grieving. He had trouble with it.

This meant he needed someone who might not be much better than him, but who at least knew what to do and say in these situations, even if it came out a little gruffly. "Kirk to McCoy."

There was no answer. "Doctor McCoy report to Engineering." Nothing. He looked down at Scotty and gently, hesitantly touched the older man's shoulder. "Come on, Scotty. Let's go see Bones."

All Scotty did was nod as he got to his feet. Jim helped him up and supported him all the way to Sickbay, Plachet following them protectively. At their departure, Giney ceased purring.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Spock had long finished his session of impromptu psychotherapy with Doctor McCoy by the time the captain had arrived through the door with a certain chief engineer leaning against him and looking emotionally exhausted. At the sight of the Scotsman, Spock rose to his feet and gestured for Kirk to bring him to sit in his just-vacated seat. Scotty collapsed into it. Doctor McCoy didn't say anything about the entire exchange. He simply looked at the engineer, looked at the captain, then after a few beeps from his padd later went into consultation mode with Montgomery Scott.

Spock almost wanted to remain to see if the doctor's tone shifted when he spoke to Scott versus when he spoke to him, but his elbow was being tugged by Kirk. Almost disappointed at the lack of opportunity for observation, Spock allowed Kirk to believe that he managed to pull him out of the room and into the corridor beyond Sickbay.

"Come on, Spock. I promised you a game of chess, if I remember."

Spock replied, but too late as Kirk was already several feet ahead of him in the corridor. "You did, captain." He followed.

As they neared their quarters, Spock remembered Uhura's translator. He did not wish to think of her now. And he did not wish to think of her while he required his mental cunning against his captain for the chess match they were about to begin.

He slid the translator into his pocket.

There would be time later to think about what course of action to take regarding the device. It was not now.

The chess board was set up with surprising speed by the captain. They had only played several times since the day Spock instructed him on the techniques required during the play of tri-dimensional chess. Spock recalled that he had been suffering from a case of severe upset stomach. Kirk had called it food poisoning, but he found that term curious. It was simply cuisine consisting only of meat. It was most certainly not poisoned. If it had been poisoned, he would have been one of many crewmembers suffering illness after returning from the planet. But he had been the only one affected by the food poisoning.

"Black or white?"

The question brought him out of his thoughts. He looked at Kirk who was seated and holding a pawn in each of his hands – one white, the other black. He was still asking the question with his eyes. "In deference to your lack of experience, I will claim black."

Kirk glared at him, the half smirk on his lips demonstrating to Spock that the captain was not offended or truly angry. He was, in fact, amused. "Are you saying that I need the advantage of going first?"

"It has been a long topic of debate as to whether or not the player manipulating the white pieces of a chess board does have the advantage in the game."

Spock saw that smirk grow. "And what side of the debate do you take?"

He would not allow himself to return the playful expression. "Undecided. I have not yet encountered an opponent with equal skill to my own in order to conclude the truth for either side of the debate."

Kirk laughed. "Give me some time. I'll get to your level soon enough. Then, science officer, you'll have to tell me which side you cheer for."

"Cheer for?"

"Prefer."

Spock nodded. "I do not prefer black to white or white to black. While it is believed that the player controlling the white pieces achieves victory an approximate fifty-four percent of played matches, it is highly possible for the player in control of the black pieces to earn victory if that person is clever and careful."

Kirk simply gave a short nod. "Right. So, you like the black pieces."

Spock resisted the urge to sigh. He may never be able to express his opinion on anything to this man clearly. Then, the thought occurred to him that Kirk may simply be unwilling to listen to it. Or he was being deliberately difficult. "Since you are playing white, I believe the phrase is 'It's your move.'"

Kirk shook his head and replaced the pawns in their respective starting positions. "In a hurry to get your ass kicked?"

Spock took his seat opposite of Kirk. "I do not believe there is to be any 'ass-kicking' involved. Simply a removal of pieces from the board when one of us makes a wrong move during the course of the game."

Kirk made his first move. "That was one of my answers you know."

Spock contemplated the board after Kirk's opening move for an absurdly long time before both moving his first piece and responding to Kirk's statement. "One of your answers to what?"

Kirk looked at his first officer. "One of the answers I put in on the personnel form."

Spock angled his head in a subtle display of surprise. "I was unaware that you had also completed it, captain. I thought that it was to be submitted by members of the crew."

"Well, I am part of the crew, too."

"But you developed the form."

"Yeah, and that means I shouldn't fill it out, too?" Kirk replied heatedly. "Pike came up with a few of those."

"I would be interested to know which."

Kirk's temper began to calm. In its place was a tight smile. "Well, I'm not gonna tell." He proceeded to make a supremely strange move with his queen side knight. Spock studied it for a very long time. After a moment or two of silence, Kirk filled the quiet with his voice. "It's something I'm always a little nervous about, Spock."

His comment pulled his attention from their game. "I do not understand."

Kirk's anger and tension melted into something Spock recognized. It was an emotional state that he had experienced often in his youth, and one that he sometimes continued to experience. Insecurity. "Sometimes when I'm on duty I wonder if the three year goal I set for myself wasn't too ambitious." Spock knew he was not supposed to respond just yet. Kirk did not look at him as he continued. "I mean, Pike is…was a perfect captain, and he took four years. They said he was the fastest before me, and—" He shook his head sharply. "Point is, he was the perfect captain and it took him four years."

"Not everyone progresses at the same pace, captain," Spock tried to interject, but he doubted if Kirk even heard him as he continued to speak.

"So, how can I possibly be even close to his caliber with one less year of experience? What if all the other admirals are right, that I'm just this green kid who's making shit up as I go?"

"Captain," Spock spoke firmly, this time successfully halting the human mid-rant. "I do not believe that Admiral Pike would have wanted his ship to be captained by anyone that was incapable of its command."

"Yeah, well, we both know he likes me."

"And the admiralty would not permit your captaincy and command of the Enterprise if they had evidence to support your being unprepared or otherwise unsuited for this vessel."

"Bet Nogura didn't permit it."

Spock barely even noticed that their chess game was being neglected for the current discussion. "He would be only one among many." Kirk finally glanced at him. "And it is well-known that you have an unusually accurate intuition, captain, particularly in dangerous or hazardous situations."

"Thank you?" he asked, his brows coming together.

Spock returned his attention to their abandoned game, making a move unrelated to the one Kirk made with his knight. He was still admittedly curious as to what exactly his captain had intended by that play. He was sure it would be something unorthodox and equally inventive.

Kirk studied his opponent's move before quickly making his own. Then, he stared at the Vulcan. "I just…I guess I just worry about it."

Spock met the bright blue gaze calmly after he moved his bishop into an attack position. "About what do you worry?"

"What if…what if I do something, or make an order, and…Spock, what if it's wrong? What if I'm wrong? I mean, I haven't been yet, but no one's luck lasts forever, right?"

Spock leaned forward, setting his elbows on the tabletop, and folded his fingers together, resting his lips against them for a moment as he contemplated his response. "Captain, I am your first officer. One of my higher responsibilities is to offer alternatives to the orders you may wish to give should I find that they are against regulation, morally flawed, or if your judgment is incorrect or otherwise impaired. I believe that I attempt to fulfill this purpose to the best of my abilities. It is my duty to ensure the safety of all aboard this ship, including that of her captain."

Kirk shook his head, with a small huff. "I know it is, and you do a great job."

"Thank you, captain."

Kirk glared at him. Spock realized he had not been finished. "But once in a while, I want you to stop pointing out that I am proposing something that might be a little against regulations or too risky or whatever."

He was now confused. "You wish for me to allow your actions and orders to endanger this ship and its crew?"

Kirk seemed to be getting frustrated. "No, just when we're on the bridge or where everyone can hear it just…tone it down or something."

Ah, he was seeing where he had gone wrong in his attempt at comfort. Perhaps he should stop using what his mother used to call flowery language – a term he was barely beginning to understand. "I may have been unclear, sir." He waited until Kirk raised his eyes to meet his own. "What I spoke a moment ago is true. They are my duties as your first officer. I embrace responsibility and duty. But you must understand this, captain. I do not desire command, nor will I ever likely come to desire it. Your position aboard this vessel is safe, and there is none other aboard that I would prefer to see as captain than the one across from whom I sit. You may possess less practical experience than your predecessor, but it is believed that experience is gained in its practice and not its theory. In gaining this experience you will rise to be a captain with equal or, perhaps, greater caliber than Admiral Pike." Finally, he saw that Kirk was understanding him. "I am your advisor, your second in command, but I am also your confidante and support." He lowered his folded hands to rest on the table, trying to seem relaxed yet maintain his seriousness. "Jim, please know this. I will not let you to fall."

Kirk's expression shifted constantly until it settled in one that Spock had never seen on the young man's face before. His lips were tight and thin, his brows came close together, but his eyes were wide and bright. But he did not look angry. It was something else. After a moment, this odd tension faded, but the bright blue eyes were still brighter than normal. They shined with moisture.

Spock realized that he had affected Kirk emotionally. He was not certain if this was a positive or negative situation. He hoped for the former.

But then, Kirk was speaking, and with the return of his voice came the return of his professionalism. "I overheard Chekov and Scotty talking in the officers' mess today. Got dinner early and ended up following Scotty back to engineering."

Spock realized this must be the reason that Doctor McCoy did not encounter Kirk in the mess.

"Chekov wants to transfer."

This was a shock to the Vulcan. He was unusually fond of the Russian boy, and made every effort to encourage him in his performance. "He wishes to leave the Enterprise?" This was unacceptable. His talents were needed here. Not somewhere else.

Kirk shook his head. "No, no. Just off the bridge for a bit. I think he's a little stressed there."

Spock considered this. He did notice that Ensign Chekov's efficiency had been slightly lower than normal, but he was not certain if it warranted a departmental transfer. But the youth was certainly tense lately. "Has he expressed an interest in another field for his temporary assignment?"

"I overheard him mention engineering to Scotty. Now that he doesn't have Keenser, Chekov asked if he could shadow him and learn a little more of that area. Get off the bridge and be able to help Scotty if or when he needed it."

Spock thought about this. "It seems sound." But something was still not right. "However, it is also unexpected. There must be something that has motivated Ensign Chekov into this course of action. One does not simply desire to become an engineering assistant impulsively."

Kirk tried to smile, but it did not brighten his face like his smiles typically transformed him. It was a mockery of a smile. It made Spock wonder if Kirk knew more than he was sharing with him. "I want to grant the request, but I want you to tell him. He looks up to you, you know. He's just wants to know you approve of him."

"But you are his captain."

"But you were his professor. That kind of admiration doesn't go away fast." He made his next move on the chessboard, setting up what Spock now realized was a rather elaborate trap. He was going to have to sacrifice one of his pieces in the next three moves. He needed to decide which of them to order into death. "Talk to him, Spock. Just talk to him. Approve his request, but…then talk to him."

Spock sighed and made a decision. He ordered one of his knights into a position that would guarantee his death. But Kirk did not look nearly as satisfied as he would have thought as he removed it from the board in his next move.

~X~X~X~X~X~

At first, he'd had the advantage in the damned chess match, but then managed to throw it away by being lulled into a false sense of premature victory and overconfidence. He was distracted by Spock discussing ship's business, or asking about Planchet and how Kirk planned to keep the dog entertained during their missions. Who would walk him about the corridors? Would he assign various crew members to act as dog minders? Would Planchet accompany him to the bridge like how Captain Archer had with his dogs? Then, while Kirk had been answering and thinking distractedly about all of these questions, Spock had taken the game for his own. Damn that sneaky Vulcan!

But during their talk at the beginning of their game, Spock had called him "Jim." It was a rare thing, for Spock to call him by his first name.

He smiled to himself, thinking about it as he put the chess pieces away in their little box. This was mainly to save them from the dangers and destruction of Planchet's teeth. He set the board on the shelf behind his desk, also in safety from the troublesome little beagle. The beagle that had somehow managed to haul himself onto Jim's bed and spread himself out asleep. He sighed. "Hey," he whispered to him, running his hand along the dog's head. "Wake up. Gotta take you for a walk before we both pass out, you know." Planchet barely opened his eyes, blearily looked up at Jim, then let his head fall back to the bedding. "Oh, no you don't. You will not be waking me up in the middle of the night because you're whining." He struggled to lift the dog's dead-weight and drop him on his feet to the floor. "Let's go." He opened the tiny wardrobe door to search for one of his boots. Somehow he always managed to lose just one boot.

In the instant that his paws hit the floor, Planchet seemed to recover his energy. Jim had gotten his boots on, and looked for him. Then, he noticed Planchet had his face buried in his pile of dirty laundry. "Hey, get out of there!" Planchet completely ignored him. He clapped his hands loudly in the room. "Planchet!"

The sound got the beagle's attention, but when his head turned so quickly toward Jim, the fuzzy, fluffy sock he had in his mouth flew right out of the grip of his teeth and into the middle of the floor. There was a moment that dog and human stared at each other. Jim wondered fleetingly if Spock would have the expression that Planchet had if he were to walk into their shared bathroom and caught the Vulcan stepping out of the shower unit before he'd had the chance to cover himself with a towel or to dress.

But the frozen moment was over abruptly when Planchet tackled the obscene sock. As quickly as he'd jumped at it, he jumped backward and rested his chin on the ground between his paws, hindquarters in the air, and tail wagging excitedly. He whined at the sock, then gave a gentle nudge with his nose before retreating a little bit. Suddenly, Jim realized that Planchet was waiting for the sock to react.

He couldn't believe that these stupid socks that Bones had once given him as a joke for "surviving your first year at this space-training place" would prove useful in a way other than foot comfort.

Then, he started laughing as he got a brilliant idea.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Pavel Chekov didn't have many personal belongings in his quarters yet. They had been on various missions and everything, but he was still uncertain of his place among this crew. He was still a unique case. He was seventeen, a member of the alpha shift bridge crew, and sometimes surpassed the skill and intelligence level of cadets far older than himself. It was why he was permitted duty aboard a ship so early. He was just that good.

Although lately, ever since that fateful mission to Vulcan…what used to be Vulcan…he was beginning to doubt himself in a way that he had never doubted himself before. He sometimes wondered if everyone felt as he felt on their first ship posting, if they all felt as completely alone as he did on most days.

He often thought with certainty that Commander Spock still felt that isolation. He must have felt alone when he joined Starfleet, and once Vulcan was destroyed, that solitude must have become suffocating. He had been the only Vulcan in Starfleet – an organization dominated by humans. And now, he was one of the few Vulcans left, but still in Starfleet. Chekov knew – he could see it in the commander – that Spock was torn between his duty to Starfleet as an officer and his duty to his ancestors, to his people. In either decision, he would disappoint someone.

Chekov had been one among many cadets in Starfleet that had suddenly been called to active service when the distress signal came from Vulcan. Suddenly everything changed at the insistence of James T. Kirk's explosive and firm shouting match with the then Captain Pike and Commander Spock about stopping the Enterprise mid-warp while en route to the planet. Because Pike had trusted Kirk, trusted Kirk's instincts about flying into a death trap, Chekov found himself among only four hundred classmates left of those same cadets that hours earlier had been pumped with adrenalin and excitement for their first mission.

And all of them were now dead. He'd barely had time to understand that the debris that Hikaru Sulu had been frantically flying the Enterprise safely through was not something like an asteroid field. It had been pieces of starship hulls, engines, crewmans' quarters, their personal effects, their data padds…

…their bodies.

Chekov had been chosen by Captain Christopher Pike for his crew aboard the Enterprise because of his skill. He was exceptionally brilliant, a scientific genius, quick with solving problems, and unequaled in the use of the transporter. He remembered being summoned to Pike's office to receive his after-you-graduate-posting-assignment. He had arrived thinking they were going to discuss his last paper.

"Have a seat, kid," Pike had said, motioning to the chair across from his desk.

Pavel was still a little skittish around his professors when he was with them one on one. In classes he was completely calm, but not like this, in an office with only an intimidating official-looking desk between them. He lowered himself into the seat slowly, as though approaching a rabid animal.

Pike's smile was welcoming. "Relax, Chirpov, you're not in trouble or anything."

Pavel was so tense he couldn't even find his voice in order to tell Pike that his name was Chekov and not Chirpov.

Pike was tapping on his padd calling up something. Pavel was sure it was his last assignment. He'd rushed through it, and barely got it in on time. It was not his best work and he knew it. "You know after all the talk about this genius teenager I kept hearing from all the staff professors, I had to actually meet you." He glanced up at Pavel. The young Russian could feel the heat of his own blush on his face. Pike looked back at his padd like he was trying to hide his amusement at Pavel's embarrassment at the praise. "Commander Spock speaks very highly of your achievements." This time, when he looked at him he was expecting a reply.

"Ve verk wery closely sometimes in classroom…sir."

Pike nodded. "You've taken quite a few classes with him. Mainly in computers and physics." He consulted the padd again, his expression showing that he clearly liked what he was seeing. "And scoring higher than some third and fourth year cadets."

Pavel was only then finally beginning to understand the he was not here to discuss his last assignment.

"Would you like to continue to work closely with Mister Spock, cadet?"

Pavel nodded. "Yes, sir. It vould be an honor."

Pike made a notation on the padd immediately. "Glad you feel that way. Because I've decided to take Commander Spock's suggestion." He set his padd aside and stood from his chair. Pavel took his example and shot to his feet. Pike held out his hand. "I'm snatching you up for my ship as soon as you're available. Welcome aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise, Ensign Chirpov."

Staring dumbly, Pavel took Pike's hand and let the older man take over from there. Distantly, he was aware of Pike releasing his hand and a quiet, "Dismissed." Still staring stupidly, he turned to leave the office.

"And Ensign?" Pavel was back in the present at the sound of the new title. He faced his future captain with wide eyes. "You don't have to be afraid to correct me about your name."

Pavel nodded. "I vill keep it in mind, sir."

"See that you do, Chekov."

Pike's smile put him at ease as he headed to his door.

Pavel smiled to himself as he remembered the moment on the bridge of the Enterprise. He had been so nervous. And he knew that Pike had noticed it when he decided to tease him and get him to relax with a simple remark. "What's your name – Chenko? Chirpov?" It was the permission Pavel needed in order to assert his place – to let everyone know that despite his young age that it was no accident that he was there – on the bridge as they answered the distress call from Vulcan. He had remembered Pike's words from his office, spun around without hesitation and corrected his commanding officer. "Ensign Chekov, Pavel Andreivich."

But that confidence disappeared with one mistake on the transporter.

When he could not save the acting captain's mother.

When he could not save someone that mattered so much to the individual that had practically convinced Pike to have him on his ship.

He'd failed Commander Spock. He'd failed his champion.

The chime to his quarters sounded, drawing him from his darker thoughts. Pavel looked to the door and sighed. Whoever it was it must have been urgent, he thought, as it sounded a second time. "Come in," he called.

When the door slid aside, Commander Spock stepped into his quarters.

And Pavel Chekov could barely breathe through his terror.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Spock thought it was curious that Chekov looked at him with complete fright before standing so quickly he almost fell over. He had announced himself with the door chime…twice. It was not as though he had barged into the ensign's quarters unexpectedly. Then, again, he had noticed that Chekov had seemed a little skittish around him lately. His brows came together as he had this realization. It was certainly odd behavior for the young man.

"It has come to my attention that you have requested a duty transfer from your position from the bridge alpha shift. Is this correct?"

Chekov nodded, swallowed thickly, then found his voice. "Yes, commander."

Spock studied him for a moment. Chekov refused to look at him directly. This, too, was not his normal behavior. Chekov usually never averted his gaze from him. Spock tilted his head in curiosity.

"The captain and I have discussed your request. We have decided to grant it."

Chekov nodded, his gaze still stubbornly avoiding the Vulcan. "Thank you, sir. I—"

"I have not finished, ensign," Spock interrupted. Chekov's teeth coming together as he abruptly snapped his jaw closed was audible in the little room. "I chose to deliver the approval of your request in person as opposed to a missive because there is something I do not understand. Why did you make this request in the first place?"

Chekov stiffened. "Sir?"

Spock barely paused. "There has been high satisfaction from both the captain and myself in regards to the competency of your performance on the bridge at your station. You are an exemplary member of the alpha crew, and have maintained a constant state of efficiency and proficiency while on duty. It has only dropped recently, and within an acceptable range." He shook his head at his own confusion. "Typically, when one requests a transfer from their current duties, it is because they feel they are not performing their tasks adequately. You continue to maintain consistency in your efforts. Therefore, your reason for your request is not of the normal parameters. Why have you made this request?"

Spock had not expected the stillness in Chekov at the question. The Russian barely breathed, let alone moved. "I am…I feel like I can be better help to Mister Scott in Engineering."

"He has more than sufficient assistance in his department. I ask again, ensign, why did you make this request?"

Finally, Chekov shifted his weight on his feet. It was a sign from humans. Spock knew this one. Chekov was a slightly nervous, perhaps even scared, but doing his best to keep it hidden. "Because I am nerwous on bridge."

"What is making you uneasy?"

Again, Chekov hesitated. "Nothing."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Those two statements have contradicted each other. The truth, ensign."

Chekov's reaction was as close to violent as he'd ever seen the teenager. The young man usually managed to keep a tight rein on his temper at all times. He was rarely stressed, and it was even rarer to see him angry. Spock was on the receiving end of a glare from Chekov for a second before the youth nearly shouted at him. "Because of you, commander!"

"Why do I offend you?"

Chekov threw his arms up in frustration…or anger…or helplessness. "Not you, sir! You do not offend. I look at you on the bridge and I remember that I failed you!"

Suddenly, Spock understood a little more. "You are guilty."

Chekov stared at him. "Being on the bridge makes it hard because you are there. And I feel like failure vith you there. I can't—If I had been faster—if I vas just—"

He looked at the stricken young ensign differently with this knowledge. "You have endured this guilt since the destruction of Vulcan." It was a statement, not a question. The grief-laden look Chekov gave him told him all he needed to know. "Since my mother's death. This is why you have avoided the controls of the transporter, is it not?"

Chekov nodded. He was struggling to maintain his composure, but it was clear that he was losing the fight. "I did not do my job good enough. I had gotten the keptin and Sulu back and they vere falling, not still at all, but I got them back." He aborted a sob. "And then you vent down for your parents, and I could not. I lost her." He looked to the floor. "I lost her."

Spock was not good at comforting others. Nyota had often criticized him for his lack of understanding human emotions. He did not know if what he would say would be at all helpful, but he was determined to try. "If it were not for your efforts—" That was not the way to begin. "You are one of the most intelligent students I have taught at the Academy, Ensign Chekov. When I recommended you to Admiral Pike as a potential member of his crew, it was because I…felt that your skill and intellect would be best utilized aboard his ship. If I had not recommended you to him, you would have been assigned to a different vessel, and because all others did not delay in their approach to Vulcan, you would have been lost among the wreckage in which we had arrived. Your skill and brilliance would have been wasted."

Chekov shook his head and turned away from him. Spock knew he was failing in his attempt to comfort him. But he had a point to make. He just hoped the youth would understand what he was trying to say. "Because you were aboard this ship, because you knew that your abilities with the transporter were unmatched, you were able to save the lives of the captain and Mister Sulu from certain death when they were plummeting to Vulcan's surface. Because of you the elders that I had retrieved from the Katric Ark lived. The Vulcan culture is preserved in them. You rescued my people's culture. And for that, I thank you."

Chekov was shaking his head. His shoulders had begun to shake. Spock suddenly felt uncertain of himself. Was what he was saying even helping the situation, or was he making it worse? "I was standing beside my mother when the ground collapsed beneath her. I was less than one arm's span away from her, and when I saw the ground give beneath her feet…" His throat tightened at the memory of her death. He was seeing it all over again. "I could do nothing but watch. I could not react. In that moment I knew I was about to witness her death. I had never experienced paralyzing fear until that moment when I realized she was going to die in front of my eyes. I tried to reach for her, to pull her to me, to where the ground had not been compromised. But I was too late."

He did not even notice the Chekov had turned to face him during this confession. He was seeing his mother's fall. "I can still hear her screaming." He closed his eyes against the sudden moisture in his eyes.

It took him a long time before he could open his eyes again. Before his mother's dying scream faded from his immediate memory. He fixed his gaze on Chekov. Then, what he had attempted to say to him the entire time suddenly became so simple. "I was beside her and I could do nothing to save her. If I was unable to do so, how can I hold you responsible for failing where I could not succeed?"

Chekov began to sob and his tears fell.

Spock stood there and watched him grieve, watched him release that guilt. For the first time when observing this display of emotion, he did not feel as though he were intruding. And for the first time, he urged him with completely human terminology. "You must forgive yourself for whatever fault you feel is yours in these events. I assure you, they were not within your power of control." He took a breath. "The last thing my mother said to me was, 'It's okay to be scared.' I pass this onto you. It is understandable and acceptable that you are anxious of controlling the transporter after those events. However, you will overcome this fear. Your skill is too great to waste in the possibility of failure. During your transfer to engineering as Mister Scott's assistant, I expect you to work beside him on the transporter to reestablish your confidence in its control. This transfer will remain in effect for as long as you require in order for you to restore yourself to your previous standing and greater potential."

Chekov looked up at him then. He did not even bother to wipe his eyes. He looked as though he had been newly beaten, but struggling to rebuild himself. "I vill try. Thank you, Commander Spock." Spock knew that Chekov meant much more than simple gratitude.

It was an oath.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Jim and Planchet bounded down the corridor with identical energy. They were about halfway to engineering, when Jim realized it may not contain the person he was seeking. He had no idea if Bones would have sent Scotty back to work or if he would have decided the man needed some time to just relax. But if Scotty was anything like himself, Jim knew that working might actually be what relaxed him.

Work and cooking. Jim loved cooking. He might have to use his rank once in a while to clear the galley of its staff and go crazy in there and make an honest, non-replicated meal. He knew that Bones would be easily convinced to join in. Maybe Spock would even go for it.

He shook himself out of this idea as he approached a wall-comm. He tapped the large screen and voice command activated. "Computer, locate Lieutenant Commander Scott." A moment later, his location appeared on the screen, complete with a visual walking route he should take from his own location to Scotty's if he decided to travel the most direct route.

He shook his head. Some people would be nervous that it was so simple to find another person like this. Sometimes he wasn't even sure how comfortable he was with it. But, at least this didn't work for everyone on the ship. He'd had Scotty make sure of that one. Some petty crewmember with a grudge should never be able to find out where the person with whom they were angry was at all times of the day. It would only make it very simple for them to get their revenge. No. Or a young or newly transferred crewmember should not be able to track down their commanding officers at all hours of the day. Definitely not. Or a stalker should never be able to keep tabs on their obsession every minute of every day for the duration of time they spent on board. Completely unacceptable. But, rank hath its privileges, and a captain should be able to find any of his crewmembers when he needed to find them.

"Come on, Planchet. We went the wrong way."

He turned and actually listened to the computer's suggested route. In less than three minutes he was standing in front of Montgomery Scott's door.

Maybe this wasn't the best plan he'd had. He looked down at Planchet, who stared happily back at him, his tail thumping on the deck rhythmically. It might not be the best plan, but it was worth a try. He signaled the door chime.

He heard the gruff sigh on the opposite side of the door. "Hang on!" There was a slight commotion.

"Scotty?"

"Captain! Come on in!"

Jim came through the door to see Scotty on his knees, his head craning to look under his bunk, and his arm reaching under it. He had his entire arm under the bunk, all the way up to his shoulder. "Scotty, what are you doing?"

"It's Giney," the Scotsman groaned. "I went to put her in her cage an' she just won't go!"

Jim crouched down next to Scotty, refusing to stick his hand under that bed for now. He hoped it wouldn't come to it. You just shouldn't ever learn what was kept under people's beds. "So, she ran under there?"

Scotty sighed. "Aye."

Planchet had wiggled himself between Jim and Scotty and had his face right there next to Scotty's as they looked under the bed. Planchet sniffed and then gave a short little whine. Then he joined Scotty's hand underneath the bed until the only thing visible was his wagging tail and his hindquarters. Jim laughed. "Looks like he's got it under control, there."

Scotty sat down on the floor staring at the dog. "As long as Giney's not eaten then the lil' beastie can do what he wants."

Jim and Scotty shared a smile. He watched Planchet for another moment, then looked at Scotty. He thought of something the other man had said earlier in engineering as he looked back at Planchet. Nodding to himself, he decided to go ahead with his proposal. He figured it was a good idea after all. He wasn't so sure on his way to see Scotty, but this image convinced him that his intuition just mightbe correct. As he opened his mouth to speak, he heard a soft purring coming from under the bed. Planchet found Giney.

"You know, Scotty, Planchet can go all sorts of places in this ship. Remember when I found him in my wall chewing the water lines? Not many people can get to those places."

Scotty gave him a calculating look. "What exactly are ya sayin', captain?"

Faced with the look of disapproval from Scotty suddenly made him a little nervous. "Well, I was thinking that maybe he can help you?"

Scotty didn't move a muscle.

"Maybe?" Jim asked. This was a bad idea. Maybe this idea was one of the stupidest he'd ever had. "Or not, I mean, maybe he can just keep you company while you do your thing."

Finally, Scotty moved. His brows came together. He was thinking. Jim was hoping he wasn't about to get yelled at for being insensitive. It wasn't at all how he'd intended this to sound. What Scotty said was not what he had expected. "Giney purred for the first time since Keenser's death around him." At that moment, Planchet emerged from under the bed, nudging a purring orange tribble along with his paw. "So, that's one hurdle avoided." Then, Scotty's expression changed to something Jim liked to think of as his scheming face. "O'course I'd have to train him a bit to sniff out trouble, but…aye…" Jim wasn't sure if Scotty was thinking what he'd been thinking. From the look of his face, though, the Scotsman was at least along the same general idea. "Giney finds all the wee problems here…If he follows her 'round…"

Sometimes, Jim thought, it was better to let the other person believe they had the idea first. "What are you thinking, Scotty?"

Scotty looked at his captain with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I was thinkin' that the bridge might be an awful dull place for an energetic puppy, sir."

He decided to play along. "I don't follow."

"Well, he'd have to stay there next to ya the whole time. If he went over to Mister Spock or someone while they were on duty, he'd just get in the way. But…down here…" He trailed off.

"Are you saying you want the dog?"

Scotty blushed. "Well…" He hesitated. The tribble purred loudly as Planchet curled around her for a nap. "Look how they get along. Animals need friends, too, ya know. And it is somethin' to hear her purrin' again." He looked right at Jim, and nodded firmly. "Aye. I am, sir."

Jim just watched him closely. This was working out better than he'd hoped.

"As I said, I'd have to train him a bit first before he can go roamin' down there."

Jim nodded to the two animals curled into each other. "I bet Giney will take care of most of that. You said she finds small issues with things?"

"Oh, aye. Don't know how she does it, but she just wanders 'round and when somethin's wrong she starts screamin'. When we find her we start scanning' the area, and sure enough there's usually somethin' needs fixin'."

If Jim didn't know any better, he would think Scotty was boasting about this tribble's intelligence like a proud father. "I'll be damned."

"Giney really is somethin', sir." Then, he seemed to remember the real conversation. "So, are ya sayin' yer givin' the beastie to me?"

"The beastie is named Planchet." Jim hauled himself to his feet. His mission was done. "I can think of no one better to take care of him than you, Mister Scott."

Scotty almost puffed out his chest. "Thank ya, captain."

Jim was smiling to himself all the way to the door. It opened as he approached. He turned back to face his engineer in the open doorway. "By the way, he loves sausage." He didn't even stay to see Scotty's reaction. He was smiling all the way back to his quarters, knowing that while he would miss having Planchet around, Scotty needed the puppy much more than he did.

~X~X~X~X~X~

The unavoidable had finally arrived. Spock stood just outside of Nyota Uhura's quarters, but far enough away from the outer sensor in case he impulsively changed his mind and retreated back to his own quarters to once again avoid this inevitable conversation. He came to a surprising revelation during his conversation with Ensign Chekov. He did not blame the young man for his mother's death. Nor did he blame himself.

How, then, could he justify placing the blame on a young woman who only acted out of concern for him in those moments? He did not blame her fully, but her concerned questions did delay his departure. They did prevent him from reaching the Katric Ark earlier, and therefore they did take away several critical moments during which Ensign Chekov might have been able to lock onto his mother's signature. Critical moments which would have guaranteed her life.

As much as he had difficulty understanding the logic of it, it was precisely Nyota's concern for him that would make a romantic relationship between them impossible.

He knew that she was hurt and confused by his sudden separation from her, his sudden decision to terminate their interactions. He believed that she deserved to understand why he had done what he had done. Jim had even told him this while he had stayed in his captain's apartment during their time on Earth.

"Then, don't you think she deserves to know why you want to stop dating her? She'll be angry with you for a while, yeah, but after she gets over that, she'll be able to make peace about why you left. The reason why she's coming after you now is because she doesn't understand why you left her, and she wants to know the truth. Citing regulations is not a good enough reason. And since those rules don't exist anymore, she probably wants to know why you aren't picking up where you left off, since it was the only reason you gave for breaking up with her anyway."

Yes. She was not a bad person. She did deserve to know the truth. Spock stepped within sensor range of the door, and waited. He held the translation device of hers in his hand. It gave him something with which to begin their conversation. He had once heard this tactic described as an ice breaker. It still confused him.

He was brought from this contemplation when the door slid aside to reveal Nyota, who looked stunned to see him on the other side of her door. "Sp—" She shook her head, her expression pained. "Commander. How can I help you?"

With a strange tightening in his chest, Spock found that he actually disliked this formal tone coming from her. He did not know how to correct it. "May I come in, Lieutenant?"

She seemed unwilling for a moment, but then she set her jaw and stood aside to let him pass. Spock did not make eye contact as he crossed the threshold. He did not look towards her sleeping alcove where they had once held each other. He did not look toward the door leading to the facilities where their bathing supplies had once mingled. He did not look at her desk where they had stacked their padds together – personal scientific projects and personal linguistic projects nestled together. Instead he set his gaze on the translation device he still held in his palm as he stood stiffly in the middle of the floor.

"What do you need—I mean—" She sighed to herself harshly. "What do you require, sir?"

Spock grimaced. Hearing her speak like this, in such an unfeeling, non-human manner was…unnerving. The realization came quickly. He did not like it. "I do not require anything at this time." He still did not face her. But he knew that she stood behind him.

"Then, may I enquire as to the reason of your—"

"Do not speak like this. It is not within your normal vocabulary and sentence structure."

He heard her come fiercely toward him. He saw her feet in front of him, but he could not yet bring himself to look at her. He did not want to see her anger. "Don't you dare lecture me on language, Spock! You may know far more about computers and science than I can ever hope to know, but you don't know nearly a tenth of what I do about linguistics."

His throat was tightening. "It is why I overrode your posting to the Farragut. You were overqualified for—"

"Oh, shut up! You wanted me on this ship. You wanted me with you!" She gasped at her own words. Suddenly, she retreated. Spock no longer saw her feet in front of him. He finally looked up. He saw her standing by the divider between this area and the sleeping alcove. She was not leaning on the division, but she was close. One of her hands covered her mouth. She was struggling with her emotions. For the first time in their acquaintance, Spock sympathized. "At least you did once."

Spock realized that the ice-breaker was no longer necessary. He placed the device silently on her desk. He wanted to go to her and assist her to a chair, but he knew that she would only shake off his assistance. She would move when she wanted, and not a moment sooner. He did not know what to do. So, he did what he had seen his father do on many occasions when his mother had lost her composure. He lowered himself into a chair, and waited patiently for Nyota to move or to speak.

When she did, she moved to the replicator. "Would you like some tea?"

"Only if it will not trouble you." He watched her closely. It was the very first time she had offered him tea. When she had remembered, it had always been water. But to offer tea to a Vulcan was a gesture of respect and welcome. Apparently, she was now aware of this practice. But it was not relevant anymore. She had learned it too late.

She keyed in the tea silently. He waited in the chair silently. She brought the tea to him in silence. And then in silence she took the other chair, pointedly putting the desk between them. Neither of them looked at each other.

Spock sipped the tea, noticing that it was the only Vulcan flavor available in the replicators on board the ship. Jim had it programmed several months ago after they had discussed their most preferred beverages. Spock had mentioned that his preferred tea was not available on board. Jim had been displeased with this and had set out to remedy it.

He pushed aside this memory and looked at Nyota's desk. Her hand was on the device he had just placed on its surface. He knew that she knew he had put it there. He tried to think of something – anything – to say, but he could not decide on a single thought. He did not know where to start.

Finally, her voice laden with saddened resignation relieved him of that pressure. "Spock, can we talk?"

It was as if she had given him permission to look at her. He finally raised his eyes to meet hers. Her eyes were hard and determined, but he did not see the anger he had been expecting. And this comforted him. "It is precisely that reason which brought me here."

With this admittance, her eyes lost their hardness. He knew that she understood.

And then, Spock and Nyota finally began to talk.

End Note: Let me know what you think. So sorry this took so long to continue. Had to rewrite so much of it. Thank you for reading. ~ RK