On yet another away-mission-gone-wrong, the Enterprise encounters a remnant of an ancient, malevolent civilization. Any who enter the portal are returned as a shadow of themselves, transformed back into what they were at the darkest, most broken time of their lives.
Of course it's Jim who's almost sucked in. And though they manage to pull him out unscathed, he's been inside long enough for the portal to do its job. Jim, Spock and the entire crew stare as it spits out a tiny ten-year-old boy, huge blue eyes filling up half his emaciated face and holding enough shadows to make Spock tremble.
It's Jim, after Tarsus.
Or, my version of a Jim-and-Spock-raise-a-child-together-and-fall-in-love-wow-what-a-surprise story. Hopefully done a bit different. I just had to write one.
Chapter 1 – PrologueIt's a five year exploratory mission. To go where no one has gone before… that's the whole point. How can Jim be expected, after eight weeks of routine patrol, to ignore the siren call of a never-before-seen waveform signal emanating from an uncharted planet?
It doesn't help that the rest of the crew are practically vibrating with excitement. Chekov's spiky hair bobs up and down in the corner of Jim's field of vision as he turns towards Uhura and Spock, listening to their complex shorthand as they run the pattern through every decoder they can think of.
"Any life-forms, Mr. Spock?"
"Negative, Captain. The signal has no organic source, yet is approaching us in modular waves."
Spock's voice is as smooth and uninflected as ever, but Jim can read the eagerness and wonder in his first's voice as he adds, "I have never before encountered such a phenomenon." It makes Jim smile, to think how far they have come in the eighteen months since Spock tried to strangle him.
"The language, if there is any, is completely unlike any in the Federation database", Uhura adds, excitement mixed with frustration. "I'm sorry, Captain, there's nothing more I can tell you."
"What d'ya say, Spock? Shall we take her down there?"
"There does not appear to be any obvious danger, Sir."
Jim can't stop the wide grin from breaking across his face as he meets Spock's eyes, and he watches them soften with a hint of warmth. "Then down we go, Mr. Sulu!"
"Yes, Captain, Sir!"
They drop slowly through the planet's thick atmosphere, an odd grayish mist that appears at first glance to be fog, but deforms like foam as the Enterprise passes through. The effect through the viewport is undoubtedly eerie, and a hush falls over the bridge. Jim feels his skin prickle, and Chekov's hair appears to wilt. Behind him, Uhura rubs her nose, and Spock straightens imperceptibly.
"Sickbay to Bridge!"
Jim waves at Uhura to patch him through, not taking his eyes from the dense grey foam covering the viewport. "Talk to me, Bones."
The doctor's voice, though loud and abrasive as ever, has an undercurrent of worry. "Jim, what's going on? The stress monitors for the whole ship just spiked like crazy! The last time I saw something like this was when we had that Rigelian depressant floating around and we all know how well that turned out - "
Jim interrupts, all business – "Are the levels still rising?"
"No, they've stabilized for now, but at a level significantly higher than normal."
"Any threat to the crew?"
"Not at the moment, but another twenty percent and it won't be pretty."
"All right, Doctor, keep an eye on the situation and let Mr. Sulu know if it escalates; we'll pull out. Mr. Spock, surface mission analysis?"
Spock's response is immediate, crisp, and utterly competent. Though Jim's been expecting it, it still sends a tiny thrill through his already keyed up system. "Oxygen levels are negligible, Captain, but the gravity is one point zero four two Standard units, allowing for easy walking. The grey compound in the atmosphere is made up of an odd carbon fullerene with traces of manganese and parnantium, which while not usual, is not dangerous to the physiology of any crew-member aboard this vessel, being non-toxic, non-corrosive and almost fully inert. The surface is a stable mineral-based rock that will easily support walking, though not the weight of the Enterprise itself, which will have to remain hovering. Electromagnetic radiation is at two point three seven six Standard, within acceptable parameters for exposure and allowing accurate transporter beaming and uninterrupted communications. Taking into account other details, I conclude that a surface mission of up to one hour and twelve minutes will pose no threat to an away team."
"Great! Just what I wanted to hear! Mr. Scott, prepare a security team. Spock and I are making our way down right now. You have the conn, Mr. Sulu."
Spock is already standing beside his chair and barking orders into his communicator, waiting for Jim to rise before following him to the turbolift, Uhura in tow. They rendezvous with the four-ensign security team in the transporter room.
Jim takes a deep breath once everyone is suited up. "All right, people. This visit is going to be as brief as we can make it; I don't like the look of this fog. Mr. Scott, beam us down to about a hundred meters away from the signal source. Mr. Spock, collect whatever samples you like with Ensign Smithson; Lieutenant Uhura, you take Ensigns Lana and Jones; Ensign Freyk, with me. Keep your eyes and ears open. Look around for fifteen minutes and rendezvous back at the drop point. Mr. Scott, unless you hear otherwise, beam us back up in exactly twenty minutes. Understood?"
Jim makes eye contact with each of them through the chorus of "Yes, Sir", and one quiet, "Understood, Captain" from the Vulcan by his side. His heart is pumping with the thrill of discovery, the lure of the unknown that he's never been able to resist.
"Beam us down, Scotty!"
The greyish foam displaced by their materialization swims around them, and Jim blinks reflexively behind the glass of his helmet. Thankfully, it doesn't stick, but slides like a light, slick grease with a texture unlike any he's seen before.
Though they can't see very far, Jim can just make out a golden glow in the distance. Spock's voice comes cracking through his earpiece. "The signal appears to be emanating from the glowing object northeast of us, Captain. I suggest we make our way towards it."
"Agreed, Mr. Spock. Stay connected to your teams, and let's move out."
Jim clips a cord to his belt and hands the other end to Ensign Freyk, who clips attaches it to his own. Beside him, the others are doing the same. Jim takes point, Spock and Uhura moving about fifty meters diagonally to his right and left, and they walk forwards, towards the glow.
As they approach the glow, Jim feels a heaviness that he can't quite place. At first he brushes it off as a reaction to the sheer, oppressive greyness all around them. It grows and grows, however, until he's breathing hard, despair and anger rolling over him in waves. He hears Ensign Freyk's gasping breath in his earpiece, and, still walking forwards, briefly turns his head to make sure she's all right.
In that moment, despair rushes through him, reaching with black, grasping hands into the very marrow of his soul. Jim can't stop a groan, deep and guttural. Anger… torment… sorrow… aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… he can't think anymore, there are no words, there is only the glow, and somehow he knows it's the only thing that can save him, and he's running towards it, running, dragging Ensign Freyk's slim form behind him as if she weighs nothing, nothing at all.
And suddenly even that resistance is gone, and Ensign Freyk's gasping moans are low and harsh in his ear as she runs behind him towards the glow that is their only hope, their only hope of respite from soul-crushing despair…
As Spock walks forward, he clamps down on the emotion threatening to overwhelm him as he approaches the glow. Something is not right, and he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on Jim, all senses on high alert. He hears Jim's groan, low and endless, in his earpiece, and ice floods his veins. When he sees Jim start running towards the glow, arms flailing and tripping like a madman, he does not hesitate for an instant before springing into action, barking into his communicator. "Lieutenant Uhura, stop where you are and do not move! Ensign Smithson, after me to retrieve the captain! Mr. Scott, beam up the Captain!"
He's fully expecting Scotty's reply, "I'm trying, Mr. Spock, but I can't get a lock, he's too close to the glow!" – the experience of countless away missions gone wrong keeping his head clear. But deep in his mind, there's a chant he can't control – Captain, Jim, no, no, no – as his Captain's groans fill his ears. He's running, his Vulcan speed and strength allowing him to fly across the ground, all but dragging Ensign Smithson behind him. Spock gains on them, close and closer, realizing that it is crushing emotion that has overwhelmed the psi-null, unshielded humans and cutting Ensign Smithson off his cord and ordering Scotty to beam him up in the same instant, brain processing data and coming up with hypothesis after hypothesis.
He's gaining on them… he reaches Ensign Freyk and jerks her back, stunning her with a nerve pinch and grabbing the cord connecting her to Jim as she slumps to the ground, just as Jim reaches the glow, which resolves itself into a portal and swallows him up.
A cold, golden light blazes around them, blinding him for a split second before his helmet turns reflective to protect his eyes. The blaze goes on and on, ten seconds, twenty, and Jim looks like he is being consumed and Spock can't breathe – there was no danger here, I can't lose Jim like this and he finds a strength he hadn't known he possessed, pulling and pulling against the cord till at last he feels it give and Jim comes hurtling backwards into his arms, knocking him flat.
The glow vanishes, abruptly and as if it had never been there at all. All that is left is a pitch-black archway, paper-thin and reaching up high into the grey fog, tip swallowed completely, giving the impression that it rose forever into the sky.
Spock doesn't see it, has eyes for nothing but Jim, breathing raggedly in his arms.
"Jim? Jim, open your eyes. Can you hear me? Jim?"
And, miracle of miracles, Jim does. He stares into Spock's eyes, and the relief there makes them look all too human.
"I'm all right."
Spock breathes out in a rush and closes his eyes, and when he opens them, Jim sees his first officer is back, solicitously helping him rise, saying formally, "I insist upon a medical examination for you, Sir, as soon as we are back on board. Mr. Scott, I presume you can get a signal now?"
Jim hears Scotty and Bones chattering in his ear, and he looks around, catching his breath. Suddenly the archway flashes blinding gold, and a small form is shoved outwards as if by unseen hands, falling hard to the ground.
Spock sees it and pushes himself in front of Jim, phaser at the ready, but the form remains utterly still.
The clearing is utterly still.
Then slowly, slowly, the form rises. Jim and Spock see a young boy, skin and bones, slowly stand up and lift his head, as if every movement causes him pain. His huge blue eyes fill up half his emaciated face, and hold enough shadows to make Spock tremble.
"Will you help me? I'm James Kirk."
Chapter 2Spock reacts first – his visor's insistent beeping telling him the oxygen field pushed out of the portal is dissipating fast. He's also utterly certain, somehow, that this boy is not a threat.
"Beam up Ensign Freyk, Mr. Scott, immediately after I remove her helmet - " and he's unsealing the helmet and running to the boy and forcing it over his unresisting head.
Only now, as the boy slowly crumples onto the ground and closes his eyes as the sweet air rushes into his lungs, does Jim finally move. He walks up to the boy and crouches down in front of him, ever so slowly. And sees his face.
Will you help me? I'm James Kirk.
I'm James Kirk.
James Kirk.
Jim doesn't understand, he can't begin to process what appears to be in front of him. The searing despair that had been rushing through him bare minutes ago, the throbbing lure of the portal as the only means for relief, the sheer desperation… it's all vanished, leaving behind dull echoes that resonate through his skull.
And he can't think! Waves of memory, piercing shards of emotion are all rushing through his head in a blur, crashing into existence only to flicker out in the next instance before he can process them, before he can understand what his subconscious somehow already knows.
It's me. He's me.
Tarsus.
How?
And then, worse – Why?
Only now, with the situation finally appearing to have stabilized, does Spock take a mental breath. He stares down at the Captain, crouching in front of the boy crumpled at his feet. The helmet looks grotesque, grossly oversized on a frame that is little more than cloth-covered bone. The wiry arms poke out from narrow shoulders with the outline of bones starkly visible through the thin cloth of the ragged shirt whose original color is impossible to determine. The boy's hands are pale, almost white, beneath a veneer of scars and dirt, and they are clenched into fists, as if ready to lash out even as he collapses from exhaustion and whatever effect the portal had on him.
Theories, hypotheses scroll through his brain, skimming across an extensive catalogue of ancient artifacts and their observed effects. He catches a brief flash of a manuscript in the dusky archives of the Vulcan Science Academy, a kar-lin-mesch, a portal of pain designed by an ancient race, long extinct, powerful in both the telepathic and organo-mutational arts. But the details elude him, his mind is in turmoil. He must meditate.
It is not their first encounter with either time travel or alternate realities. Spock has met another version of himself from a parallel universe. He has been inside a mirror-verse. They should be used to this by now.
This thought brings no comfort. Not when there is a hurting, pale, sickly thing of a Jim in front of him, whose pain Spock cannot vanish away. There is no doubt that this small being really is Jim. His entire body screams it.
Though his brain tells him that it is illogical – after all, the Captain is right here beside him, and he has no knowledge of this other Jim, where he came from, if he even is Jim at all – his heart aches. It throbs as though it will burst out of his chest, or crumble into a charred mass and sit there in his chest, a pile of heavy, blackened dust settling into nothingness. After all, his duty is to protect his Captain. And if the universe has seen fit to thrust another version of James Kirk into his world, then he will protect him with the same intensity. To do otherwise is, simply, impossible.
The jumbled mess of thoughts rush through his mind in the time it takes him to cast a sweeping glance over the pair. And now he notices that the Captain is trembling. Light and delicate, like a ribbon caught in the gentlest, most devastating summer breeze. Spock lays a hand on his shoulder.
"Captain."
There is no response.
"Captain, this encounter would best be continued back on the ship. I will ask Mr. Scott to beam us back aboard."
Spock lowers himself into a graceful crouch and faces the boy, who looks up at him warily, eyes slowly moving away from the Captain's glazed, unseeing ones. He speaks in his usual uninflected, level tone, deep with gentleness.
"Greetings, young one. I am Spock, son of Sarek, First Officer of the USS Enterprise. May I address you as James?"
The boy's shoulders straighten, and he lifts his chin. "You may."
Spock is not surprised. His Captain has never been one to show fear.
"Will you accompany me aboard the Enterprise? I assure you that you will be safe there, and we have much to discuss. In any event, the portal through which you joined us has deactivated, and I regret to say that at present I am unaware of a method to send you back. Should you wish to return, however, there are resources aboard the Enterprise that will be channeled to the utmost in an attempt to do so."
The boy's eyes are hard, assessing. The words, surprisingly decisive, spill out of him in a vitriolic rush. "I would rather kill myself than stay a minute longer in that place. As a matter of fact, if I was still there I'd probably be dead by now. I don't know who you are, mister, but you haven't tried to kill me yet, so I'll take my chances with you I guess." The harsh words hang in the air, in stark contrast to his high, childlike voice.
"You are safe with us, James. I assure you of this." Spock projects calm certainty, even as anger churns underneath his perfect Vulcan facade. Whatever has happened to you, I will find out, and I will make it go away. I cannot do otherwise.
Spock turns his attention to his Captain.
"Jim."
Spock's use of his name, normally enough to make a smile split his face in half, at least succeeds in rousing Jim from whatever darkness he had been lost in. Yes, it is not only James he must speak with. This Jim, the Jim who is his friend, needs his support, and Spock yearns to give it to him. Soon.
"Sir, may I request Mr. Scott to beam us back aboard?"
Jim gives a slow nod.
"Beam us up, Mr. Scott."
Jim barely registers the familiar white-on-chrome of the transporter room materializing around them before Bones is pushing him onto an antigrav stretcher and running a tricorder all over him. Beside him, he sees Christine Chapel attempting to do the same to the boy.
Who promptly scrambles away to crouch behind a console, teeth bared, fists raised.
"What are you doing? Don't you dare touch me!" His high voice rings in the startled silence like a mournful bell.
Christine steps forward slowly, raising her arms. "I'm sorry to startle you, little one. I'm Nurse Chapel, but you can call me Christine." She gives him a friendly wink, a small smile stretching her soft, kind face. She's been trained to work with panicked trauma patients, and she calls on all of it now.
The boy doesn't relax completely, but he does lower his fists. Spock steps up in front of him, speaking with the slow, gentle tone he has used with the boy the whole time.
"James, Nurse Chapel will take you to sickbay and check you for injuries. It is a routine checkup, nothing more. You have trusted me thus far, and for this you have my gratitude. Trust me further in this, that that no individual aboard this vessel will harm you."
Something shutters in the boy's eyes, but he does come out from behind the console.
"All right, but don't think you're going to hover me on that thing. I'll walk on my own."
And despite the sagging weariness evident in his every step, he keeps his back rigid and follows Nurse Chapel, making sure that Spock is following close behind. And so it is that, when the boy finally collapses with exhaustion in the last corridor before Sickbay, Spock catches him before he can hit the ground, lifting him up and cradling him in his arms over his mumbled protests, ignoring the stretcher until he lays him down, ever so gently, on an empty bed. Then Dr. McCoy is there with a hypo, and the boy is unconscious within seconds.
Spock turns to his Captain, who is sitting on the edge of a biobed, staring at the sleeping boy.
"Dr. McCoy. Has the Captain been harmed by his encounter with the archway?"
"Miracle of bloody miracles, there doesn't seem to be a thing wrong with him apart from slight shock." The doctor's voice, through loud and abrasive as ever, is trembling. The reason becomes evident as he continues.
"I was watching, Spock. I was watching through your helmet feed." He turns to Jim. "I saw you enter that portal, I saw the light blaze. I thought you were being consumed, Jim. I thought you'd finally got yourself into something you couldn't wrangle your way out of. But bloody hell, there's not a scratch on you."
Jim is slowly shaking his head. Dr. McCoy turns to the boy.
"Instead, there's… this. I'm going to call him boy until I can wrap my head around whatever the hell just happened and whatever he really is. Which, incidentally, I'd like someone to explain to me."
"I have a theory, Doctor, nothing more. I will enlighten you when I am more certain myself."
"Humph. You better make sure you do that. As for you, Jim, bed rest for twelve hours, you can be back on the bridge for the afternoon of alpha shift, all right? I nearly had a heart attack, watching you today, so don't you utter one fucking word of complaint."
When Jim says nothing, just continues to stare at the boy, the doctor gives him an uneasy look, filled with compassion, then shoots a meaningful glance at Spock. He grabs his tricorder and makes his way to the boy's bedside, closing the curtains around him.
Spock looks at Jim.
Jim stares at the closed curtains.
"Captain."
There is no response.
"Jim."
"…Spock."
"Jim, I would be deeply grateful if you shared with me what you are thinking at this moment."
Jim closes his eyes, lets his breath out in a rush. He has to focus on Spock. He needs an anchor in the maelstrom of fear, guilt, shock, hurt, anger, ANGER at having to remember all he has tried so hard to move on from, all he thought he had succeeded in burying only for it to be thrust back to the forefront of his head, cruelly mocking his conceited pig-headedness in ever allowing himself to believe for an instant that he could, somehow, have left it all behind for good… Spock Spock Spock. Spock. Spock, right here in front of him, radiating warmth, all Vulcan calmness and solidity.
The words come rushing out. He has to let Spock know. "It's me, Spock. It's not another universe, an alternate dimension or whatever like the mirror-verse or where the other Spock came from. I can… remember myself like this." He swallows. "On Tarsus."
And Spock's world crumbles.
Chapter 3A red haze descends over Spock's vision. He keeps his voice level in a desperate attempt at control.
"I did not know you were on Tarsus IV during the famine and subsequent massacre."
Jim snorts. "Yeah, I was only ten when it happened. Frank didn't give two shits about me after mom died, he shipped me off to the first orphanage that would have me. Sam was smart enough to run away. It was just me." He swallows. His mouth is so dry that it hurts his throat. "Of course, no one could have known what was going to happen. Shit luck, eh?"
Spock ignores this. "It is not in your Starfleet record."
"Figured you'd know my record back to front, wouldn't you Spock?" His laugh is chilling in its complete lack of humor. "No, I never told them. Kodos is dead, what does it matter?"
Spock doesn't miss the odd familiarity with which he says the name. The infamous general has gone down in history as "the tyrant of Tarsus". His name is all but forgotten.
"You met the Tyrant of Tarsus, then, Captain?"
Jim stiffens. "No."
"You are lying." His voice sounds cold and far away to his own ears. He can tell when Jim is lying. He has always been able to tell.
Jim startles defensively at his tone. "What the fuck?" He tries to stand, and stumbles over his own feet. Spock's arm darts out to steady him, but Jim viciously slaps it away.
Spock takes a step back. And stands stiffly, woodenly, the angular lines of his face harsh and forbidding.
"What the hell do you mean by that, Commander?" The words fail to mask the growing panic, his fear of what Spock will think, his fear that he will lose control, the terror that Spock will see too much, will see what Jim has tried to hide for the past fifteen years, from Pike, from Bones, and oh god Spock can't find out he can't, he'll leave like everyone else, and why is he looking like that –
"What the hell do you want to hear, Spock? I was on the planet, everyone was starving and dying, I survived for a while because Kodos took a liking to me, visited me at the orphanage and then took me to live with him at his fucking palace until I ran away, I couldn't stand to be there once I knew what he was doing, how many he was killing… he thought of himself as God, you know that, Spock? Do you fucking know that?"
And Jim doesn't know what he's saying, all he knows is that he's blabbering, crying out for help while keeping the real secret buried deep inside himself, the thing he can't tell anyone, ever –
"And there was no food, death all around, bodies decaying and not even any fucking vultures because they'd all been eaten. I ate grass, Spock. I found a rat hole and stayed by it for nearly a month, killing the rats one by one till they were all dead. There were six of them. I named them, you know? They were the only living creatures I saw for almost a month. I fucking remember the names of the rats that I killed and ate. Want me to list them? Would that make you happy?"
He's hyperventilating, and he feels a surge of irrational panic creeping up on him, as it always does, marking the start of the attacks he's managed to avoid for so long now.
"Tarla. She was the sixth rat. I remember her the most. I ate her last. I made her last for days."
And he's focusing on this, this secondary source of self-disgust, using it to block the memories of Kodos – no, no don't think his name, don't tell Spock – and he can't breathe, the air just won't reach his lungs. He's aware of Spock calling for Bones somewhere at the edge of his vision, so far removed from his personal hell that he might not exist at all, and then Bones is there and he's stabbing Jim with a hypo, and the last thing he feels before he passes out are Spock's warm, warm arms and solid chest, catching him, cradling him, holding him.
When Jim faints in his arms, all Spock wants to do is crush him and lock him up and keep him safe, all I ask is that he be safe. Anger, rarely felt, usually easily quelled behind the safety of Vulcan shields, has become all-encompassing, tinting the edges of his vision a hazy red.
I must meditate. I can provide assistance to no one in this state.
He lowers Jim onto the bed with tortured gentleness, just as he had done with young James a few minutes – or was it lifetimes? – ago. For a brief instant, he looks down at his Captain's smooth face, unworn and open in sleep as though denying everything he just told Spock, rendering such horror impossible. The he turns on his heel and walks rapidly out of the medbay, ignoring whatever Dr. McCoy is trying to tell him.
As he strides evenly though the corridors of the Enterprise towards his quarters, he is aware of the curious looks darted towards him by the crew, all wondering, no doubt, about the strange boy appearing through the archway and calling himself James Kirk. The rumors are no doubt spreading like a pack of unconstrained rabid sehlats. Spock knows he is being uncharitable, but his normally carefully regulated thoughts are refusing to cooperate. No one dares to question him.
Spock reaches the safety of his rooms and folds himself gracefully onto the meditation mat, resisting the urge to collapse onto it. His control over his body is the last thread holding him together. He closes his eyes and begins the familiar Vulcan meditation chant, a relaxation tool he had learned as a child but has not had to use in over a decade.
Talak n'var sake'l'ya mi-nohr ut-if-fee, wo ni zih-a'hr talak n'var sake'l'ya mi-nohr…
My mind is a lake and deep within there is truth and peace, and with the logic of my thoughts I calm the water and sink deep into my mind that is a lake and deep within there is truth and peace...
As he deepens his trance, sinking with easy familiarity through the first four of the eight levels of the meditation exercises, his roiling thoughts calm and his emotions fade away to be replaced by a rich, wholesome clarity. He finds himself faced with the mirror at the bottom of the lake that is the sixth level of the trance, the self-reflection he has greeted every day for the past twenty years. It is a sight that he must accept before being able to enter the deep recesses of the seventh and eighth levels, where the cocooning warmth of his psi-energy waits to welcome him.
The sight has changed. The shock is nearly enough to yank his mind painfully out of the trance, and it is only the experience of years of rigorous training that allows him to maintain a tenuous control.
In his life, the mirror has only changed three times. First, when he had been bonded with T'Pring at the age of seven, and had reached this level for the first time with the help of her fully ordered mind, he saw a line dividing his face into human and Vulcan, and a golden glow resolving into a three thin threads reaching out of the frame, connecting him to his mother, father, and T'Pring. Second, when he had finally embraced his half-human heritage after being accepted to the Starfleet science program, the line dividing his face had disappeared, T'Pring's golden thread had dimmed almost to gray, and in the reflection, his brow had scrunched in curiosity while his countenance assumed an air of command.
The most recent change occurred only eighteen months ago, when he had lost his mother, Vulcan, and T'Pring in a blow so devastating that his controls had never fully recovered. Two threads had vanished, and only a faint one remained connecting him to his father. Lines of grief had appeared in his brow, and the golden glow had become shot through with splotches of heavy, ugly fog, almost completely obscuring the gold.
And now. Another change so soon… it is unthinkable.
And yet he has felt it, in the inability of his shields to keep his anger at bay, and in the upheaval that has wracked his soul since the moment young James appeared through the archway and declared his name. Still, to see it reflected so clearly is a shock. But a relief as well, to know that in the Vulcan way, he is unable to lie to himself.
The grey fog has vanished; the glow surrounding his face is stronger than it had ever been. It radiates out, high into the water above him, coalescing into a rope, thin and fragile, but brighter than ever, reaching further than his eye can see. Even if it hadn't been whispering to him, he would have known where it led. There is only one place it canlead. The glow is the color of his hair, and the turquoise clarity of the water is the color of his eyes.
Jim.
It is as if the pain of seeing Jim so broken has finally forced into stark relief his growing respect, admiration and affection for the Captain, wreaking a change in his spirit so profound that it is impossible to ignore.
Jim, in all your forms, each and every part of you, your past and your present. I cherish thee.
Spock drinks in the sight, sating his thirst as only a desert-dwelling Vulcan can. But with it comes a sudden shard of fear so sharp and piercing that he wrenches himself out of the trance and leaps to his feet, the fluid grace of the motion marred by a gasp.
I cannot speak of this to him. How can he return my regard? He has given no sign.
And then – He is already so burdened, filled with a pain of whose very existence I had not the slightest conception. He hid it so well, for so long. I will not burden him further, not now when he has need of my support. I must help him, not add to his troubles.
And the little one. His need of me is perhaps even greater.
With great effort, heightened by his inability to enter into the deepest levels and access his psi-energy, Spock raises his shields, letting nothing through but the necessity of providing all the support of which he is able. He crosses over to his terminal, and calls up the archives of the Vulcan Science Academy. The logical first step is to learn as much about the archway as possible. There is no time to be lost. Jim – and James – will soon awake.
Chapter 4Kar-lin-mesch (or Mesche, Kar-lin):
A mythical artifact attributed to the extinct "Kursilian" race, originating on planet "Kursilia" (Standard ID: Bastion-droid Bd-4583x, Pseudo-Panaman Rings, Rigelian Cluster, Beta Quadrant), referred to multiple times in the "Kursil Tanh", or "Original Teachings of Kursil", discovered on stardate 1421.19 by VSA exploratory mission VSS-K'dular, subsequently translated into High Vulcan by VSA historical xenolinguist T'Nara, daughter of T'Lyng, and thence into Standard by Sir Tynmet Wong of Terra.
Directly translated into "portal of pain", the kar-lin-mesch supposedly resembles "an archway exceedingly high, constructed entirely of pounded black kursillarite of dimensions most slender", with the power to "revert the mind and body of any who enter it to their time of greatest hardship", or, as interpreted by Sir Wong, "the worst moment of their personal past". The Kursil Tanh asserts that the kar-lin-mesch is not to be found on Kursilia, but is instead hidden away on an unknown planet. No trace of any such artifact has been found to date.
The Kursilian race is known to have been powerful in both the telepathic and organo-mutational arts, with a psi-rating of 11 (as compared to Betazoid 5 and Vulcan 8, among others) and an organo-modification rating of 7 (surpassed only by the Mont-Valuzians with a rating of 9 due to their species-shifting abilities). The only Kursilian artifact to ever have been recovered is the "san-karill" staff, once housed at the Vulcan Museum of Ancient Xeno-History but lost in the destruction of Old Vulcan on stardate 2258.42, with significant psi-enhancing properties and believed to be able to regenerate neural pathways in a treatment for psi-class brain damage, through research was still underway when the artifact was lost. The sum total of this evidence suggests that it is indeed possible for the Kursilians to have developed the kar-lin-mesch, but present-day Federation science and technology researches are far from understanding the underlying principles that must lie behind such a device.
The purpose of the device, should it exist, also remains unknown. It has been conjectured that it was an early attempt at immortality, designed to search for a psi-anchor strong enough to revert a body to a younger state while leaving the consciousness untouched. It is perhaps unsurprising that the only memories powerful enough to do so were those of great despair and trauma, which would force the psi-anchors back in time with the organo-mutation of the body. Such devastating side-effects would provide ample reason for the abandonment of the archway on a deserted planet.
See also: Kursilia, Kursilian race, san-karill staff, organo-mutational classifications, psi-anchors.
It takes Spock bare seconds to scan the standard archive entry and conclude that the description fits the archway perfectly.
A portal of pain...
Any other circumstances would have Spock utterly thrilled – professionally delighted – at the chance to study a long-lost artifact, so powerful as to have entered the realms of myth, functioning on psi-energy that the Federation has tried for decades to harness without success.
At present, he would like nothing more than to see it forever destroyed.
As to their being two James Kirks – Spock's best theory is that the archway had been slowly gathering psi-energy from the various plant and animal organisms on the planet for millennia, leading to the golden glow and deep psi-attraction that had overwhelmed the humans into running towards it. This same power was likely enough for the archway to finish its task and create young James even after Spock had removed its primary source of energy by pulling out the Captain.
In fact, upon further reflection, Spock believes that the archway has been irreparably damaged, forced to consume its own energy in this last, heinous act. The surge of satisfaction at this is worrisome, as well as utterly against all the principles of scientific discovery he lives by. He does not care.
He is scrolling through the suggested entries in search of any further references to the kar-lin-mesch when his comm bleeps.
"Sickbay to Commander Spock."
"Spock here."
"Jim's going to be awake in ten minutes, Spock – the sedative is wearing off. You told me to let you know."
"Indeed. Thank you, Doctor. I am on my way."
When Jim blearily opens his eyes, for a few moments he doesn't remember why he's in sickbay. He sees Spock standing at the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind his back in parade rest. He feels calm, warm and rested. Though he'd never tell Bones, the damn hypos work every time.
Then he looks over to the biobed next to him, and sees his younger self. And the memories come crashing back.
Spock sees the look in his Captain's eyes change from his habitual warm, open expression to the frenzied, drawn eyes of a hunted animal. It should not be physically possible for a blue to darken so much. It makes him want to break things.
But what Jim needs right now is calm, and logic. These things Spock is eminently qualified to provide.
"Sir. I have ascertained several facts about the archway we encountered on the surface of the planet."
Jim allows the familiar, level cadence of his First's voice to wash over him, to guide him back into Captain mode.
"Report, Mr. Spock."
Dr. McCoy steps over from the biobed where he has been examining young James, face troubled. "I've got to hear this. Any kind of logical explanation, Mr. Spock?"
Spock straightens and nods at the doctor.
"Indeed, Captain, Doctor. The archway is a remnant of the now-extinct Kursilian civilization that once colonized a large section of the Pseudo-Panaman rings in the Rigelian cluster, only five light-years from our current position. It is called a "kar-lin-mesch", or "portal of pain" in Standard, and is only known to exist through oblique references in the Kursilian book of teachings translated by both Vulcan and Terran xeno-historians. An exhaustive search was carried out but the portal was never found, and thus it has faded into myth. I am, however, 99.973 percent certain that this is indeed the archway we encountered."
Jim watches as Spock takes a breath and, impossibly, straightens further.
"Sir, the kar-lin-mesch is likely a failed attempt at an immortality device. While the archway does succeed in sending the user's body back to a younger state, it is unable to preserve the present-day psi-anchors of the consciousness, instead using the most-powerful psi-anchors that ever existed at any time in the user's mind, which are, by necessity, the most traumatic."
Dr. McCoy's mouth is opening and closing like a fish. "What you're saying makes no sense, Spock! You mean it's not an alternate version of Jim, but… a past version?" The pain in his voice is impossible to miss, and Jim visibly flinches.
The doctor sees it, and something in his chest crumbles. "But, but that makes no sense!" He wants to scream, to yell at Jim for never telling him, for never so much as hinting that he'd been anything like the wreck of a boy drugged into unconsciousness on the biobed behind him.
But he is, first and foremost, a supremely trained medical professional. This is definitely not the time. But that doesn't mean he doesn't want answers, or that he can't hope that there's somehow been a mistake.
"Then why is Jim still here, Spock? If it's an immortality device, surely the real Jim wouldn't still be here!"
Spock is a little taken aback by the astuteness of this question. But, though irritating, Dr. McCoy has never been unintelligent.
"It is my theory that the archway had been feeding on the psi-energy of the plant and animal organisms on the planet while sitting untouched for the past millennia, thus accumulating enough attractive power to not only attract anyone close to it, but to fulfill its task even after I forcibly removed the Captain from its core. I also believe that it has destroyed itself in the process, and is no longer functional."
The Captain and the doctor are both silent, attempting to process this literally alien and utterly unbelievable concept. Spock cannot stop himself from studying Jim, observing the tense way he holds his shoulders as they try to curve inwards against his will, and the wariness in his eyes behind the desperate cloak of command.
"You saved my life, Spock. Again. I can't thank you enough."
Dr. McCoy squeezes his eyes shut as if he never plans on opening them again. He's talking fast – "I can't do this; I need a moment, Spock take care of Jim" – and he's rushing into his office and slamming the door.
Spock does not blame him. The Captain's words have sent a shiver through his own chest, and he is suddenly very aware that, unlike full Vulcans, he is in fact in possession of a very functional set of tear ducts.
Jim, ashayam, do not thank me. Not like this, not now. I should have protected you. I should have prevented this from ever happening.
Your life is infinitely precious. I would give mine for yours, always.
Throat constricting, Spock cannot speak.
Jim feels the familiar panic building up as Bones rushes into his office and Spock continues to stare at him, face carved from stone. He knows it's irrational, that Bones isn't really running away, that Spock doesn't mean to look the way he did when he strangled Jim on the bridge, but it doesn't stop his breath from coming harsh and short.
Bones knows too, now. They both know and they're both here and they don't even know the worst of it and already they are going to fucking leave, and I should let them because honestly why shouldn't they, why should they have to put up with more of my shit than they have already –
The stress monitor is on his biobed is beeping frantically, and Bones is running out of his office carrying a hypospray, yelling "Calm down, Jim, for god's sake – " and Jim is scrambling away –
And Spock is still standing there as though frozen and Jim can't bear it, he can't fucking bear it –
And he's off the biobed, crouching in a corner, and the scenes are shifting in his skull and he has no idea what's going on, where he is, all he knows is that he's felt this panic before and he knows what's coming, what has to come –
He sees the hypospray come closer and closer and he has no idea who's carrying it but he knows he can't let it touch him, he's whimpering, low frightened, feral –
His fist snaps out and he's punched the hypospray-carrier flat in the face and grabbed it from his slackening fingers and plunged it into his neck –
And he's turning away, needing to run, to flee, to get out of here –
And he finds himself locked in a vise, crushed to a warm, solid chest, fingertips at his temples, and he sinks –
"Jim. Ashayam. Shhh. Be calm. I am here. No one will hurt you. I am here, ashayam…"
It's soft, warm, cocooning, and oh so good, so safe. He doesn't know how long the warm voice in his head has been murmuring to him before he comes back to himself, slowly.
"S – Spock?"
The warm feeling briefly intensifies before fading away, slowly. Jim tries to hang on, to look around himself, but he just catches a glimpse of a sunny, pebbled beach at the edge of a lake of jeweled turquoise, before the scene dissolves and he's back in the medbay.
Pressed into his first officer's chest, his fingertips in his hair, massaging gently.
Jim melts. He's pretty sure he stays like that for well over a minute, eyes closed, Spock just holding him, knowing what to do for him, always.
And then he opens his eyes and sees Bones lying unconscious on the floor, hypospray sticking out from his neck at an unnatural angle.
He's trying to push away from Spock, unable to contain his horror at what he just did to his best friend – but Spock is holding onto his upper arms, forcing his upper body to still, and speaking with a profound intensity.
"The doctor will understand, Jim. Do not unnecessarily add this to your list of regrets." Spock's deep chocolate eyes are burning into Jim's, and he is powerless to resist.
Keeping his grip on one of Jim's arms, Spock bends down and removes the hypo from Dr. McCoy's neck, laying it gently on a side table. Pulling Jim with him, he walks to the wall and removes an antigrav stretcher from its hanging pin, directing it towards the doctor and watching as it lifts and hovers him to a nearby biobed. Then, ever so gently, he pulls Jim back to his own bed, and pulls back the covers.
"Rest, Captain. I will call Nurse Chapel to tend to Dr. McCoy, although I am certain he will awaken very soon."
Jim cannot meet his eyes.
"As a matter of fact, Captain, I do believe it is good for the doctor to have been, as you say, 'stabbed by one of his own damn hypos'. He knows it now to not have been an idle threat".
Jim's eyes fly to his in sheer incredulity.
"Spock."
"Captain."
"Did you just… try to make a joke?"
"I said nothing I do not believe to be true." Spock allows the corners of his lips to quirk the tiniest bit upwards.
It is worth it, it is worth every bit of his useless stoic Vulcan pride to see the smile that splits his Captain's face. It is blinding. That this man can still smile so – that he has ever been able to smile so – fills Spock with wonder, and something deeper he will not name right now. I cherish him.
"Shit, Spock. What would I ever do without you?" And then – "Why do you even bother with me?"
Spock knows the answer deep in his bones.
"I cannot do otherwise, Captain." And it's so far from enough, so much less than what he wants to say to this man, his Captain, his friend, that he can't stop himself from adding –
"You are my friend."
And Jim's eyes light up. He opens his mouth, and closes it again abruptly.
Then they are both looking away, the intensity too much after the scene with Dr. McCoy, the mind-meld, the conversation. It is Jim who speaks first, looking over at little James, sleeping deeply, tousled hair barely visible over a mound of blankets.
"Spock… I don't know what to do with him. Deep down I just want him to disappear, and then I look at him and feel like a monster for even thinking that. He's me… but he's not, you know? I mean, I'm me, and I'm right here. Why does he even have to exist? Why does he have to remind me of that time – " his mouth flattens into a line of pain.
"Captain…"
"Like, I get so angry, I can't deal with my shit twice over, Spock, it'll break me, and it'll break him, and I can't bear to fucking look at him – " he cuts himself off, abruptly. "I know I'm disappointing you."
And Spock is speaking the absolute, untouchable truth when he says – "Jim. You can never disappoint me. You will do the right thing, as you always do."
A whisper, broken. "What if I don't know what that is anymore?"
"Then we will find it together."
Chapter 5Alpha shift begins and Spock returns to the bridge, leaving the Captain falling over himself apologizing to Dr. McCoy and the Doctor grumbling back at him as if nothing had happened at all. Whatever his other faults, Spock feels a deep kinship to Dr. McCoy in this moment. His loyalty to Jim matches Spock's own.
The brief moment of peace shatters when the turbolift drops him on the bridge.
"Commander! How is the keptin?"
"What was that portal thing doing, Commander?"
"What happened down there, Sir? Who's the boy?"
"Spock! Are you all right?"
Spock holds up a hand and turns to Nyota. "Lieutenant, as you have not reported to Sickbay, may I understand that you are not suffering any undue effects due to your exposure to the archway?"
He feels a measure of worry. Nyota is a dear acquaintance. Had the captain's situation not been so dire, he would have enquired after her health sooner.
"No, Commander. I'm perfectly fine. The symptoms vanished the moment you pulled the Captain out and the archway stopped glowing."
"I am gratified, Lieutenant."
He allows his voice to gentle, and Nyota smiles at him.
Spock turns to address the bridge. All eyes are staring up at him with avid curiosity, and he can feel the emotions swirling against his shields. Curiosity, fear, confusion, excitement.
"The archway encountered by the away team on the surface mission appears to be a remnant of an extinct civilization. I am uncertain as to its exact purpose, beyond its obvious – production – of a younger version of the captain. It is likewise uncertain whether this young James Kirk has been created or pulled from another dimension, and what relation, if any, he bears to the original. The archway caused the Captain and the members of the away team to suffer an overwhelming emotional drain, myself excluded due my psi-shielding capabilities, and the Captain most of all due to his maximal proximity. He is currently recovering in Sickbay and will provide you with further information at his discretion."
"When will the keptin be back on duty, Sir?"
Spock feels a surge of protective instinct. The Captain's mental health is a deeply private matter, not to be shared with the bridge crew, no matter how loyal.
"That is under the purview of Dr. McCoy, Ensign, but I am certain that he will make a full physical recovery."
"What about the boy, Commander? Will we send him back?" This from Nyota, her musical voice thick with care and worry. She has always loved children.
Sulu breaks in. "I don't think we should send him back, you know, wherever he came from. He looks like death warmed over. A stick. He could barely walk!"
"But Hikaru, what if he wants to go back?" Chekov, nervous.
"So what? He's here now, we have some responsibility. Seriously, wherever he came from, it's treated him like shit – sorry, Commander – and we ought to protect him."
"And what will we do with him? He has no family here! We can't randomly keep him on the Enterprise."
"Space kidnappers." Sulu makes a ninja motion.
"Ha ha."
"No seriously, he's the Captain isn't he? Who has more of a right to be aboard than the Captain?"
Chekov opens his mouth and closes it.
"That is so strange… Is he really the keptin, do you think?"
Sulu shrugs, eyes wide. Nyota ignores them. Lieutenant Yalmers chimes in from the science station –
"What if his family is waiting for him on the other side of the portal?"
"They obviously didn't care for him." Sulu again, stubborn.
"We'll have to ask him what he wants."
"He's probably so confused, poor thing!"
"Hah! You can't call James Kirk a poor thing, no matter what he looks like."
"Ugh, that is so confusing."
"What if our Captain suddenly disappears or something?"
"Or, what if the little James dies? Does the keptin die too?"
"Don't ask me, Pavel. I never even understood how there's an Ambassador Spock wandering around."
"Both our Captain and Commander have parallel counterparts! What are the chances of that?"
"This crew is insane."
"The boy will fit right in. I can't believe you want to send him back."
"When did I say that? I just asked if it was possible!" says Nyota, indignant.
Spock watches the bridge crew dissolve around him, bickering over a boy most of them have only seen for a few seconds on a holoscreen.
"Well, Commander? Is it possible to send him back?"
Spock hesitates. All his research so far has indicated that the boy was 'created', not extracted from some other location. But to share this with the bridge crew would make it clear beyond question that the boy is, in fact, a past version of the James Kirk of this universe. It is unacceptable for this to become common knowledge.
"I am uncertain, Ensign. I believe the archway only achieved the level of power it displayed by accumulating psi-energy over millennia, and furthermore, that it has now consumed itself. I do not believe it will be possible for us to activate it again, and almost certainly not within a timescale of relevance."
All this is true, and Spock is satisfied with this answer.
Sulu opens his mouth uncertainly, and Spock holds up a hand. "I must ask that any further discussion of the subject be postponed until after alpha shift, which has already been sufficiently disturbed. Lieutenant Yalmers, I believe you have an asteroid-profiling report that requires my attention?"
He settles in the Captain's chair as Yalmers steps up and holds out a padd, inwardly gratified at the respectful nods of the bridge crew as they turn back to their stations. They are loyal, and professional. Captain Kirk has often said, both publicly and in private to Spock, that he feels lucky to have such a crew.
It is not the first time that Spock has felt the same.
The end of alpha shift finds Spock striding towards Sickbay. He meets Doctor McCoy, who is just stepping out into the hallway.
When he sees Spock, the doctor exhales audibly.
"Commander. I need to talk to you. Come with me." He turns abruptly and yanks open the side door leading to his office. His movements match his voice, jerky and clipped with tension.
Though he is used to seeing the doctor high-strung and worried, Spock cannot stop the frisson of uncertainty that travels slowly up his spine.
"What is it, doctor?"
McCoy gestures for Spock to sit, and thuds into the padded chair behind his desk, sitting for half a second before springing up and pacing around behind it, gripping the back. His knuckles are white.
"So." The doctor's voice catches, and he swallows and starts again. "So. It's like this. I'm just going to go out and say it, okay, Spock."
Spock inclines his head.
"The boy? Little James? His injuries…"
Spock waits, patient.
"His injuries – god, Spock, he's been raped."
Spock isn't aware that he is standing, that he stood up so fast his chair toppled to the ground behind him, that his hands are clenched into fists, his psi-energy roiling through the room and battering McCoy, who squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden, sharp migraine assaulting his skull. The sunny, pebbled shore on the edge of a turquoise-dipped lake – it's gone, overcome by a roiling, seething mass of foaming grey-black waves, consuming, subsuming any remnant of shore.
He is aware of nothing, under the rush of denial disguised as rage disguised as chaos.
The moment stretches, like an elastic thread stretched taut and impossibly, impossibly thin, fragile and about to break, but even the breaking would bring some relief from the unbearable tension and so it does not break, he is not even allowed that.
Time passes.
It is his Vulcan core, the epicenter of his mind that keeps his psi-layers in order, which helps Spock now. Through no conscious decision of his own, his mind fights to restore order, stilling the ocean from its depths, layer by layer, until the crashing waves die down to ripples that percolate into the sand, until all is calm once more.
Spock opens his eyes to see the doctor slumped in his chair, leaning heavily to the side, hair sticking up as if he tried to pull it out with his fingers.
"For fuck's sake, Spock."
For a moment, there is silence. Then Spock spins around, rights his chair, and sits down, palms flat against his thighs.
"I – apologize, doctor. For my loss of control."
"My head is killing me. But I deserve it, you know? I deserve worse. Because I never even guessed. I never even thought to maybe think about a guess."
"It is no comfort, certainly, but neither did I."
"And we're sure, absolutely sure, that this is a past version of Jim?"
Spock closes his eyes.
"Yes." It is too much to bear.
And then, because he has to know more – "How did you find out?"
The doctor's words come fast now, fast and desperate.
"Routine physical check-up, you know. I knocked him out because he was thrashing about and I wanted to make sure the portal thing hadn't completely mucked him up, and heaven knows his body needed the rest. Scans came back flashing so red you'd be surprised he could even walk. History of broken bones – nose, collarbone. Wrist, three times. Shin, once. Malnourished like you wouldn't believe. And -"
His voice breaks.
Spock, urgent now, "And? And what, doctor?"
"Anal injuries. Internal bleeding, mostly badly healed, and muscle trauma to the anal passage and prostate. I needed to use a muscle regenerator, Spock."
There is silence, because there is nothing to say. Self-recrimination is not something that Spock normally indulges in, confident in the rationality of his past decisions regardless of their ultimate outcome. He knows the guilt he is experiencing has no basis in logic. He was not there, and there was no way for him to know.
But he cannot help himself from thinking that he really should have.
He has known Jim for two years. He has served with him, befriended him, saved his life countless times.
I should have known.
And then, suddenly – How much worse must it be for Doctor McCoy? He, who has known Jim since before the Academy?
McCoy's eyes are open, flat, haunted. He echoes Spock's thoughts. "Dammit, Spock, I should have known. I should have fucking guessed."
So Spock speaks first. "Doctor McCoy. Leonard. It is my belief that you are experiencing guilt, as I am. I can only say what I know to be true. It is not your fault, and you were not there, and you could not have known."
McCoy closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they are slightly clearer.
"Wow, Spock, I didn't know you had it in you. Sounded for a minute as though you actually had feelings."
On any other occasion Spock would scoff at this, but at the moment he is gratified to see the doctor's small smile. The only way to go is forwards, and both his and McCoy's support will be of paramount importance in the recovery of both James Kirks.
"I would point out that the Captain has overcome this before, when the memories were fresh and he had neither the support nor respect that he now commands. He is strong, and so must the young one be. I will not despair, Doctor, and I urge you to do the same."
McCoy peers at him closely.
"Vulcan logic at its best. You are right, of course, Spock. And I really needed to hear that. But are you sure you're okay? Ten minutes ago your psi-energy was blowing my brains out."
How to explain the seething, roiling knot of anger, compressed to a tiny ball at the bottom of the lake, invisible from the calm shore? Spock prefers not to try.
"I am adequate, Doctor."
McCoy snorts. "If you say so." He yawns.
"Perhaps some rest is advisable. What is the current status of the Captain?"
"Well, I've released him to quarters. Nothing physically wrong with him and though it's against regulations, now's definitely not the time to do a psych eval. So I've ordered him off duty for forty-eight hours, but after that it's either back to work or send an emotional compromise report to Starfleet. I'm guessing Jim would like to avoid that."
Spock agrees. "Indeed, Doctor. I find this to be a most appropriate course of action. The additional time for reflection will no doubt prove beneficial. A decision should rarely be made in haste."
A wry grin twists the doctor's mouth, though Spock can tell he is pleased.
"Why, Commander, I'm so glad you approve. After all, my medical expertise has no value without the weight of your good opinion behind it."
"I fail to see the point of your statement."
"Oh, you fail to 'see the point', eh, Spock? A perfect use of idiom, if I may say so. Always knew you were lying about not understanding them."
"Vulcans do not lie, doctor. If my understanding of human idiom has improved, it is through diligent study and increased exposure."
"Oh ha ha. Yes, poor you, o ever-truthful Vulcan working so hard to understand our lowly human ways."
Spock pauses, then says, deliberately, "You can say that again."
The doctor huffs out a laugh, and if some of the lines of his face ease, then Spock tells himself that that wasn't the objective of this little exchange.
"Well, I'm off for a meal and then bed. Jim said he'd rather eat alone in his quarters, and the little one is still asleep. I thought it best to keep him under for the night, get some nutrients in him through an IV tube. I wasn't sure if he'd cooperate, otherwise."
"I understand, doctor. I would like to see him, if I may."
"Sure, Spock, be my guest. He won't be waking up tonight, so I'll be back to check on him in the morning."
"And if he should regain consciousness during the night?"
"Don't worry, I've got an alarm next to him keyed to my padd. He so much as starts to open his eyes and Nurse Chapel will be in from the next room and I'll be down from my quarters in under five minutes."
"Very good, doctor."
Spock nods and steps into Sickbay as the doctor walks away down the corridor, weariness evident in the hunch of his shoulders. Spock turns his attention to the darkened room, making out the outline of little James huddled under the blankets.