Chapter One

Bones doesn't let Jim out of his sight.

For that last week of August, they stay attached to the hip. It practically drives Jim crazy because she knows what Bones's game is. All this hovering and crowding her personal space is his way of silently paying her back for going AWOL on him all of two months and a half. And yes, maybe vanishing off the face of the Earth without a 'hello, I am fine' now and again to her best friend in the whole wide universe was a bit cruel of her. Especially so when this past year all she's really done is nothing but die. She can truly understand why Bones is milking their time alone together for all its worth. She's enjoying it too—she wouldn't pass up on an opportunity to keep Bones's full attention, even though most of the time she doesn't have to try hard to get it. And they have tremendous fun while they're in New York. They go to the zoo with little precious Joanna, who has grown the last time Jim saw her. They take walks through the park in the evenings and go club hopping at night. They go to carnivals and wine tasting seminars. They even go to a spa without Bones fussing over his declining testosterone as they both get facials.

It's by far their best week of the year.

But at the same time its nearly not so great because Bones has this tendency of making dick comments about what she's eating, where she's going, and who she's talking to ("It better not be, Spock, damn it, he's had his turn!"). She nearly snaps his stupid southern neck once or twice, and during their week of fun they argue like crazy, and, silly enough, like an old married couple. In fact the only thing that gets them to stop is when some random person walks up to them and asks them how long they've been married, or how they're such lovely newly weds, or if they've set a wedding date yet.

It's a week of ups and downs that test Jim's patience and sanity.

So needless to say, she's relieved when the first day of September rolls around, because it means they'll be packing their bags that early morning and flying down to San Francisco (much to the bereavement of Bones). They catch the six a.m. flight because Jim has to meet with Admiral Barnett to discuss the future plans of the Enterprise. Bones is twitchy from the get-go and they spend a good ten minutes arguing as they check their bags, which shouldn't even be an argument because all Jim is asking Bones to do is dose himself with a sedative so he can sleep through the flight. But, no, Bones wants to be stubborn about the whole thing, making a fuss about how the shuttlecraft could go down at anytime and how he refuses to die in his sleep. At which point Jim shuts her mouth and walks away without another word. She takes a seat in the back next to a window and buckles in, smiling with thanks when a flight officer hands her a magazine. She avidly ignores the fact that it's her face plastered on the front page behind some ridiculous gossip headline.

Bones joins her a few minutes later, still looking disgruntled and annoyed.

Jim ignores him as she scans an ad for lingerie with particular interest. She hears him shift and grumble a few times before the hiss of a hypospray follows and a sigh. Before she can ask, he's crowding into her space and resting his head in her lap. She looks down at him as he sniffs and closes his eyes and she bites her bottom lip to keep from smiling victoriously.

"Stop smiling," Bones complains without opening his eyes.

"I'm trying not too!" Jim exclaims with a laugh as she tosses the magazine to the side and gently runs her hands through his short hair. "You should have consulted me before you cut off your gorgeous hair."

Bones snorts tiredly. "Like I said before, you can thank your know-it-all First Officer."

"He's not getting a thanks from me, I don't approve of this at all. And firstly, it's my ship so that means this was my hair you chopped up," Jim grumbles with an unhappy frown. "Liked your hair how it was."

"So did I," Bones agrees with a yawn. "Wake me when we get there."

Jim hums her consent and leans back in her seat as his breathing evens out. Not long after, the shuttle lifts off, and the next two hours of the flight is pleasantly quiet. Bones doesn't stir once and Jim takes the time to just relax and not think of anything in general. When they land, she gently nudges Bones awake. He's groggy but he's up and out without much effort. Jim just snorts and follows him to the rear side so they can retrieve their bags. After they find the time to change into their grey dress uniforms and toss their things along with the growing pile of luggage in the hangar bay, they walk towards Starfleet Headquarters. On their way to meet Admiral Barnett, while Jim is playing keep away with Bones's hat, they run into Sulu, who's also outfitted in his grey dress uniform.

"Oh my God I'm so happy to see you!" Jim exclaims with an excited squeal she'll later deny. She shoves Bones's hat into his chest and practically throws herself onto her helmsman.

Sulu laughs and wraps an arm around her as he uses his other hand to shake Bones's hand in greeting. "Yeah, I was trying to surprise you. Leonard said you guys were down here and I figured I might track you down," he explains.

Jim pulls back with beaming smile. "Well consider me surprised and elated," she assures. "I know this is a totally idiotic question but you're here to stay, right?"

"Yes, Jim, I'm here to stay. For as long as you'll have me," Sulu confirms with a chuckle.

"Don't go sayin' that, she'll never cut you loose, so run while you still have the chance," Bones warns and winces when Jim smacks his chest with the back of her hand.

"Don't be a punk, Bones. I'll cut you right on loose," Jim playfully threatens before her expression turns more solemn, and she looks at Sulu to say, "I heard about your father. My deepest condolences to you and your family."

"Thanks," Sulu says as his lips fold into a grim line. "It helps to know that the people responsible have gotten what they deserved. It's going to take time still, but I'm getting better."

"Yeah, of course," Jim agrees sympathetically. "And if you ever need time off or anything at all, just let me know okay? What's the point of being captain if I can't pull some strings now and again."

"I appreciate that, and I'll let you know if I ever need those strings pulled," Sulu assures with a grateful smile. "So, where are you two headed off too?"

"Well I have to meet with Admiral Barnett to talk the Enterprise's next move and Bones was going to meet with some people in regards to making sure that my ship is efficiently outfitted with all medical supplies and equipment," Jim says. "Then we were going to go grab a bite to eat at my favorite diner before we report back to the hangar for take off tonight."

"Mind if I tag along? I don't have anything going for me today," Sulu admits.

"Yeah—Sulu, you don't even have to ask," Jim says, shoving at his shoulder lightly. "Why don't you hang with Bones for a bit while I get my official business out of the way and I'll come get you guys when I'm done?"

Bones and Sulu nod, and with a wave, they're off.

Jim enters headquarters, and with the help of a lovely redhead receptionist, she finds her way to Admiral Barnett's office. The door is open and Admiral Barnett seems to be in a heated debate with Admiral Marcus.

"—I'm telling you and you won't listen. If we plan this right, we can use his knowledge to win this war," Admiral Marcus insists.

"His past is a little hard to overlook, don't you think?" Admiral Barnett merely replies as he stands. "Or are you forgetting?"

"No, I haven't forgot," Admiral Marcus responds tightly. "But I'm not blind to the fact that we can use every available asset we have to win a war we all know is coming."

"Look, why don't we talk about this later," Admiral Barnett says before he flicks his gaze over to Jim. "Captain Kirk. Come in please."

Admiral Marcus stiffens at the realization that they are no longer alone before he snatches his hat from off the desk and storms out the room.

Jim makes a face as she takes her hat off out of respect and places herself on the other side of Admiral Barnett's desk. "Did I come at a bad time?"

Admiral Barnett just shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "No you came right on the mark," he says and offers his hand.

Jim shakes his hand with a smile.

"Have a seat please," Admiral Barnett instructs as he takes the time to sit down at the same time Jim does. "Now, Captain Kirk. Tell me—can I rely on you for the next six months?"

"I don't see why you couldn't," Jim replies as she laces her fingers over the top of her hat.

"Good answer," Admiral Barnett says with a chuckle. "How are you?"

"Considering the crazy year I've had so far—I'd say I'm pretty level and ready to get back out there," Jim answers.

"Most people would've had enough by now."

"Well thank God I'm not most people."

"I'm just glad you're on our side," Admiral Barnett says as he folds his hands over his desk. "You are some ally. And we're not even mentioning the fact that you have an entire League of Realms full of advanced intellectual beings backing your every move."

"I try to stay out of the papers—does everyone know about that?" Jim asks with a concerned frown.

"I believe NBC's Dateline did a whole two hour special about your life story."

Jim gives him a mortified look.

"You're a celebrity now, Kirk. Get used it," Admiral Barnett simply says. "Now, since we've got the small talk all sorted, we'll get down to business matters." He reaches into a drawer and pulls free a PADD. He sets it face up on the middle of his deck and clicks an application that causes a virtual pop up of a red planet. "This is a class M planet located in the Jaradan sector. It's the designated planet the Vulcan Council has chosen as a new home for the remaining Vulcan race. Captain Kirk, tell me what you know about the Jarada."

"The Jarada are a reclusive, insect-like species who are known for their idiosyncratic attitude toward protocol and especially for their peculiar language," Jim reports, pulling from what knowledge she's learned of them in her days back in the academy. "The slightest mispronunciation of their language by an outsider is regarded as an insult. Although the Federation has tried on numerous occasions to create a pact or come to some sort of understanding with them, miscommunication usurps the attempt because they are so easily irritated and its back to square one."

"Very good," Admiral Barnett says. "Somehow the Vulcan Council has successfully managed to negotiate this previously uninhabited planet into their custody with very little conflict in regards with the Jarada. The Jarada likes them it seems. Starfleet, not so much."

"They don't like the Federation, and Starfleet happens to wave their banner," Jim points out. "So I'm guessing this is presenting a problem."

"In order for New Vulcan to have a fruitful formation, they need the proper means to do so, of which, only the Federation is able to provide. Do you understand the setback here? The planet is within the Jaradan sector, therefore under their territory. So we would need direct permission to allow our ships to pass in and out," Admiral Barnett states. "The Jarada have agreed to allow us to do such, but only under the stipulation that they are given a precise greeting by the Federation's emissary. Guess who we chose."

"Oh, joy," Jim drawls and plasters on a fake smile that's all teeth and sarcasm.

Admiral Barnett chuckles and says, "You did say I could rely on you for the next six months, Jim. Well I'm booking you all up for this assignment. The Vulcans have been long time allies to us and in the wake of their loss, it is only right we offer all the resources we have to help them get on their feet again."

Jim doesn't doubt that.

"As you may already know, Commander Spock has spent the better part of this summer on New Vulcan with his people in efforts to start establishing a good relationship with the Jarada on Starfleet's behalf until we elected a more permanent candidate, which we have," Admiral Barnett goes on to say. "Commander Spock has been debriefing Lieutenant Uhura on the present culture and language of the Jarada. She will act as your crutch, Jim, and hopefully soften any misunderstandings or accidental offenses that may arise between you and the Jarada. It's her responsibility to ensure you are on your best behavior and I have communicated that to her. If all goes well, the rift between our two governments will be properly mended."

"I'll do my best to make sure there is a positive outcome," Jim promises.

"I hope so—because you're the face of the Federation now," Admiral Barnett states. "I've already forwarded a list of supplies that are being stocked on the Enterprise as we speak. You and your new Yeomen, who will be waiting for you when you make board, should take the time to confirm that everything is accounted for before you leave. I'd like to be notified of that confirmation."

"Yes sir," Jim says as she stands.

"I've taken the liberty of doubling your crew, most of whom will be aiding the Vulcans with any and all building projects. With combined efforts, they should have homes and infirmaries and schools to call their own before the year is out. And again, like I said, if things go well with you and the Jarada, we can send more and more supplies and physical assistance through all available ships."

"Understood."

"You have your orders, Captain Kirk," Admiral Barnett says. "Now, what is your objective for the next six months?"

"To ensure that New Vulcan and its inhabitants are suitably accommodated by delivering the supplies they have indicated need of, which in turn would require me to oversee any incoming and outgoing exchanges between Starfleet and New Vulcan, while maintaining peaceful negotiations with the Jarada that will hopefully extend well into the future," Jim replies.

"Then you understand the weight and responsibly of the mission sanctioned to you and have verbally relayed to me that you accept and agree," Admiral Barnett says as he stands. "Good luck."

"Thank you, sir."

"Dismissed."

888

"Six months?"

"Yup."

"Holy shit," Sulu says as he jams another steak cut French fry in his mouth. He sits across from Jim and Bones on the other side of the booth they're occupying.

Jim has just outlined, in great detail, her entire conversation with Admiral Barnett.

"Well I for one, like it," Bones admits as he takes another bite of his burger. "There's minor danger involved, and I get to keep my feet on the ground."

"You do realize New Vulcan is supposed to be at least three times as hot as the planet that preceded it," Jim points out as she takes another bite of her chicken gyro while simultaneously shoving some fries in her mouth.

"Doubt it'd bother me," Bones replies between chews. "You forget I was born and raised in that kind of weather."

"Oh yeah," Jim says as she remembers. She throws a fry at him. "You suck."

"Yeah, that is not going to be fun," Sulu adds as he takes a sip of his milkshake. "Might be good idea to stock up on the suntan lotion and sun hats."

Jim snorts. "Meanwhile I'm going to shrivel up and die once I set foot on the surface," she bemoans between bites.

"Quit bein' so dramatic. You know no one is going to let that happen," Bones says.

"I have to get that one lotion, the only fucking one I'm not allergic to," Jim says as she shoves the last fry on her now empty plate into her mouth.

"Already done," Bones announces.

"What? How?" Jim says skeptically. "You didn't know where we were going until I just said."

"It pays to be one step ahead of your allergies, Jimbo—I've had to learn that the hard way," Bones merely explains.

"Yeah, that's true," Jim concedes as she starts sipping on her banana milkshake, which is partially melted by now.

"So who's this new Yeomen you mentioned?" Sulu asks as he pushes his empty plate to the side and leans back.

"Dunno," Jim admits. "Admiral Barnett didn't give me a name or anything. I just know that I'm supposed to meet him or her at the hangar bay."

888

"Janice Austin Cowboy Texas Rand was born on a rainy Tuesday afternoon to a Bucky and Kathryn Rand, who were both farmers and descendants to families of farmers. Farming was all they knew. Farming and the glorious, proud and, sometimes rather boisterous history of Texas. They're natives of Texas and live on shared land, both respectively inherited from deceased farming ancestors. Between them they have seven kids. Seven strapping boys. And well, you see, Kathryn and Bucky had, intentionally this time, tried for an eighth. Funny thing is that they were hoping for a girl, and also the family physician had sworn up and down that that was what they were getting. So, in preparation, they'd cleared out a room, painted it pink, put frilly knick knacks inside and stacked up on dresses and mary janes and ribbons and all sorts of things that a little girl could make use of.

"Kathryn got the honor of deciding the first name, figuring it was a right of passage for a mother to gift her daughter with such a thing. Janice was chosen in honor of her late grandmother, of whom she could remember many days in her youth learning the tricks of creating the perfect apple pie, and Bucky got dibs with one of the middle names. He picked Austin because that's where his whole family lineage started. The rest of the boys got the privilege of offering an additional set of names to tack on. Four of the youngest agreed on Cowboy—just on account of the fact they liked them—and the three oldest, like their parents, loved Texas with a fiery passion. So why not present it to their baby sister? But again, on that rainy Tuesday afternoon, the girl, only not a girl at all, emerged in a fit of flailing and husky cries.

"Kathryn and Bucky were baffled, and because it all seemed too soon and unexpected, they stuck with the names they chose, as well as the pink-themed attire and bedroom and knick knacks. Poor Rand would forever be taunted by his nitwit brothers for this embarrassing part of his life. He could never bring his friends home for in fear they would see the pictures of him in dresses and frilly pink get-ups. And while the misfortune of being badly named, he made up for it in brains, something the rest of his family severely lacked. And unlike his broad shouldered, calloused hand, work tanned and happily farming farmer brothers, he had dreams of sailing the stars. He didn't want to be a farmer.

He wanted to do something for his galaxy. And wahlah. Here I am. Pencil pushing the universe in a safer direction, one exact Starfleet form at a time," Rand says and lifts his hands with a shrug as he peers at Jim, who is sitting between him and Bones on the shuttle flying for the Enterprise. "And that is the story of my messed up childhood and why I have such an effeminate name."

"Wow," Jim says with a laugh. "I just wanted to know who you were named after. Never thought you'd go that deep with the whole life story and you even took the time to refer to yourself in the third person strangely enough but, huh, that's—wow."

Rand just grins as he turns forward with a carefree shrug. "I'm just excited to be here. I'm ready to be your go-to-guy," he says with a mock frown.

Jim nods with an amused smile. "Well I certainly appreciate your enthusiasm. I don't know if you heard, but our last Yeomen came to an unfortunate…fate."

"Oh yeah, I heard about that. Admiral Barnett explained the whole situation to me since I won out the position against like, fifty other officers who were gunning for the position. There are some good rumors about you and your ship flying around the academy, and with the open position, everyone was just vying for it. To be honest I was worried for a second that I wouldn't get it but here I am," Rand remarks. "And I promise I wont try to kill anybody or control the ship with my mind."

Jim laughs and says, "Thanks. I didn't even know I needed that reassurance until now."

Rand just smirks with a wink as he drops his head back against his headrest and closes his eyes. He's a very handsome man, and he's young like Jim, though he might be a few months older. He's got broad shoulders, large hands, dirty blonde hair, tan skin and a chiseled jaw that tenses with his deep Texas southern drawl in an enticing way. He's got these pretty cobalt blue eyes that makes even Jim envious. And he's tall too—not freakish giant tall but just, tall. She's always been a sucker for height. He has some impressive muscles under his uniform. He wasn't buff but he was definitely toned and he looked like he was strong enough to pick Jim up and press her into the wall until she needed him to keep her there because by this point he'd put his—

"Ow," Jim hisses and whips a glare at Bones who is scowling at her. "What'd you pinch me for?"

"You know why."

"Maybe I do but enlighten me, Bones."

"Its impolite to stare, Kid," Bones mutters as he gives her a pointed look.

"I wasn't staring. I was checking him out," Jim admits with a careless shrug. "You should try it."

"I second that," Rand pipes up as he opens his eyes and looks their way with a smirk. "I don't mind."

"See," Jim says as she looks back at Bones. "He doesn't mind, Leo."

Bones glares at both of them. "No thanks. Don't encourage her, please."

Rand just grins. "Janice Rand, you must be Leonard McCoy," he introduces and reaches over Jim to shake Bones's hand. "I read your dissertation. They still have it up on the Starfleet Chronicle's site under the featured section. Your topic was about the pyrrhoneuritis epidemic, right? Good stuff."

Bones looks surprised as he releases Rand's hand. "You read my dissertation?"

"Oh yeah," Rand assures as he turns to face Bones fully. "I was very impressed by how you went into great detail on its origins, and how you took the time to isolate the genetic code of the disease."

"You interested in medicine?"

"I dabble with all the fields. I like to know a little bit about the officers I do paperwork for," Rand explains. "When I read your paper, I could tell you really did your homework."

"My father contracted it," Bones clarifies with a grim frown. "I sorta had to do my homework on it. I had to know what I was dealin' with. Unfortunately, all that research came to nothing. He—committed suicide before I could get anywhere."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Rand says with a sympathetic tone.

Bones nods wordlessly.

"Bones," Jim says as she looks at him. "You never told me that."

"Never came up," Bones grumbles and sits back in his seat as the shuttle makes dock in the Enterprise's hangar.

"Yeah but—" Jim pauses to unbuckle her belts and stand as everyone on the shuttle does the same. "I figure this might be one of those things you'd tell me."

"It never came up," Bones insists as they exit the shuttle.

"So, what? You tell someone you've only known for five minutes about one of the most traumatizing events in your life and your excuse for me is that it never came up? Come on, Bones," Jim says with a frustrated frown. Irritation is biting into her gut.

"I said all I wanted on the matter and that's that. I didn't want to talk about it before and I don't particularly feel inclined to discuss it now," Bones snaps with a glare. "And if we really wanna get petty about this then I guess I have every right to feel indignant about the whole memory bonding thing you had with Spock."

Jim flushes in anger. "Wow, it is just like you to bring something like that up—"

"Oh it's just like me huh?"

"—especially when, especially when you know what the situation was with that. So for you to even compare now to then, is just stupid and a dick move, because it's not fair," Jim rebukes.

"I wasn't really tryin' to be fair," Bones counters. "You never asked me how I felt because we don't usually talk about it, and even knowing what the situation was doesn't make me any less upset about it. Jim, he got to see a side of you that I've been working three and a half years to catch. So don't act like my feelings on the matter is unjustified."

"I'm not trying to, but I don't need you comparing our friendship with my friendship with Spock every time we get into an argument. You know I hate that petty competitive shit," Jim points out. "And please don't write off my feelings either, because it really fucking stung when you just said what you said to Rand, then turned around and acted like I never deserved that kind of clarity."

"You don't tell me everything," Bones retorts. "So try to be a little less surprised when I return the favor."

Jim just laughs angrily and shakes her head. "You know, what? I can't even deal with you right now."

"Likewise," Bones counters. "I don't appreciate being told about how I should spill my guts about something very private whether I want to or not because never for once did I ever do that to you, Jim. Yes I've asked and wanted to know about your past, but I never pushed you or made you feel bad if you didn't want to open up about it, and guess what? You never really want to open up. So I'd consider that before you try to guilt me into talking about my father's suicide." With that being said, he storms off without even a glance back.

Jim purses her lips and crosses her arm as a mixture of guilt and annoyance floods her system. She sighs heavily before she wanders off to find Rand.

Hopefully the supply check they have to do will be enough to distract her from this whole mess for the time being.

Pinpointing the supplies are easy enough, and accounting for them by confirming that their specifics matched the lists forwarded to them is just as easy as well. Jim is happy to find that alongside Rand, this task is easily accomplished in under four hours. They split the work between themselves and keep a constant interaction through the use of their communicators. Rand makes her laugh and he is a very even-tempered and lighthearted kind of guy. No matter what her orders are, he's already ready and willing to follow through on them. People like that are a dime a dozen and she's happy he's apart of her clique.

"It was a pleasure working with you, Captain. We should take count of supplies more often," Rand says with a happy grin when they meet up at the end.

"You know, I am free most weekends, so you know what? We should do that," Jim agrees, playing along.

Rand chuckles and says, "Or we could get lunch sometime. Or dinner."

"Lunch sounds good," Jim says with mock thoughtfulness. "Dinner sounds better."

"Dinner. I like dinner. We should have dinner," Rand remarks with a solemn nod. "But not tonight."

"Not tonight?" Jim echoes with an amused smirk and crosses her arms.

"No," Rand drawls and makes a show of sighing regrettably. "You see my boss, although incredibly attractive and stunningly intelligent, has just this gaggle of paperwork that's been sitting stationary for longer than necessary. But it's not her fault because her last Yeomen went off the deep end. So now the paper throne has fallen to me."

Jim's eyebrows lift. "Paper throne?"

"Yup," Rand confirms as he gazes dramatically off in the distance. "I am the Paperwork King, and administration is coming."

Jim claps her hands together with a laugh. "Oh my God. Was that a reference to George R. R. Martin's 'Game of Thrones'?"

"Yeah, did I mention I'm a bit of dork?" Rand says and bites his thumbnail as his nose scrunches. "But anyway, the point is that I must lay claim to my throne this very night. Otherwise I would be more than happy to have dinner with you."

"Okay," Jim says with a smile. "I understand. I wouldn't want your boss, the um, what was it you said? Something about attractive and intelligent?"

"Not even going to repeat what I said because I'm sure you heard me clearly the first time and I'm sure I've broken like a boatload of regulations just to say them," Rand counters with a timid blush and a grin as he backs away. "But I will see you on the bridge tomorrow, if I haven't drowned in the sea of paperwork by then."

Jim says nothing, she's too busy trying to contain her amusement, and so she nods.

Rand walks backwards and gives her a two-fingered salute before he spins on his heel and disappears.

Jim's mouth rocks away the grin eating at her face and she snorts as she shakes her head fondly. She looks around with sigh, allowing herself some brief moments of silence. Her mood begins to dip as she recalls her little argument with Bones. Ultimately she ends up loosing her appetite, and as she heads back to her living quarters, she decides to switch out her clothes for some workout attire.

Running on the treadmill until she's sweaty and can't breathe is usually her choice method of shaking off stress.

888

On the morning of her first shift since the re-commission of the Enterprise, in the second day of September, Jim steps onto the bridge, makes her rounds to every station for a formal report and notices that Uhura is missing, a junior officer taking her place. She saves Sulu and Chekov for last, and doesn't miss the way they keep side-eyeing each other. She smirks and asks for a report. They both take turns explaining that the ship is in warp factor six and exactly four days away from the Jarada Sector. She ends the conversation with a bit of small talk before she leaves them to it.

Jim barely gets her butt down in her captain's chair when Uhura gracefully slides onto the bridge and ushers her out of her seat and towards the turbolift, barely giving the junior officer that's come to relieve her time to do proper protocol. She even ignores all Jim's questions until they've arrived at Uhura's living quarters. Now, it's no wonder that Jim is surprised at this turn of events because although they are on good terms, she'd never believe that they were in a place of their friendship where they would spend time with each other in the privacy of their living quarters.

Uhura goes to her dresser and riffles through a few drawers as Jim eases herself in and looks around. Uhura's room is quite exotic and holds true to her African roots. The furs on her bed are of zebra-skin print, and she has some Ghanaian sculptures and masks spread across and around her furniture, as well as paintings containing old-century tribal images.

"Um—Uhura, not that I mind being kidnapped by you, but um, what's going on?" Jim asks as she watches Uhura plop a wooden chair on the space between where her work area meets her bedroom.

"Sit," Uhura simply says and waits.

Jim frowns but she sits down, facing away from Uhura and towards the door.

"The future of our relationship with the Jarada rests on your shoulders, Kirk, and by default, mine as well," Uhura says as she walks around Jim until they have full view of each other. "This isn't going to be some one time deal meetings. These interactions will be frequent and many. I figure the best way to get you prepared is to hole ourselves up in my quarters until we arrive at New Vulcan and I feel we've perfected your ambassadorial skills."

"So you're holding me hostage until I morph into some kind of Princess Diana," Jim concludes as she notices that Uhura is hiding something behind her back.

"Don't do that. Don't joke. That's your first mistake," Uhura counters. "You have this tendency to joke in high stress situations, which is not always a good habit and certainly work in your favor with the Jarada. So," she pulls her hands from her back and reveals a riding crop.

Jim recognizes the brand right away. "What are you doing with a pleasure stinger?" She frowns, then goes a bit pink as she realizes. "Did—did you and Spock—"

"I don't believe that's any of your business," Uhura interjects coolly as she looks at Jim from under her long dark lashes.

Jim shifts subtly before she says, "Well what are you going to use it for?"

"For everything you do wrong."

"Hm," Jim says thoughtfully. "Will it leave a mark?" she says with a suggestive leer.

Uhura's mouth flattens and snaps the riding crop against Jim's right ankle, causing her foot to jerk at the unexpected shock of pleasure that races up her right leg and pulsates. "Don't get smart, Kirk," she warns. "This is for your benefit."

"Okay," Jim says weakly as the sensation of pleasure swelling in her inner thigh and ankle dissipates. She's trying really hard not to let any of this turn her on. This is supposed to be a professional lesson after all. But, fuck—Uhura and a riding crop is like a wet dream come true. "I know that you'll give me a love tap if I misbehave or get something wrong. What do I get if I'm an honor student?"

Uhura pulls her other hand from behind her back and reveals a huge bag of Ghirardelli chocolate.

"Oh that's just playing dirty," Jim whines with a pout as she fidgets in her seat and holds onto the sides.

"My teaching methods are a bit unorthodox," Uhura admits. "But effective nonetheless."

"I trust you," Jim merely says and laces her fingers over her lap.

Uhura stares at her with furrowed brows before she turns away quickly, and sets the bag of chocolate on the floor. She starts to circle Jim as she hits the top of the riding crop against her palm. "We'll start with the basics. I'll give you a bit of history."

"I like history."

Uhura snaps the riding crop against her left arm and Jim jerks against the zap of pleasure that warms over in a form of a bruise. "No talking unless I say."

"Fuck—sorry."

Uhura rolls her eyes and goes on to say, "There are a number of Jaradan hives. They have somewhat of a hive-mind, or a group mind that keeps track of each other to work in harmony. Each individual emits a sweet smelling marker scent determined by one's genetics and role in their society. Also when their names are broken down, it tells their place in society. One of the better-known hives is the hive Zel, which is colonized on the planet Beltaxiyan Minor…"

Jim listens with a willing ear and nods for her to continue.

"Their true origin date is unknown, and it's a private subject in their culture, so don't think for a second it's okay to ask them," Uhura warns. "Their exoskeletons range in different colors, from black to russet to copper, and they also vary in size as well. They have at least 3 known sexes: male, female, and castrate. When translating their language, their voices are multi-tonal, like many voices speaking at once, and consists of hums, clicks, and buzzes. Now repeat back to me what I said."

Jim takes a breath before she recants all the information she's been told.

She earns four chocolates, but she gets six lashes.

Uhura, despite her temperance, is a very patient teacher, and she rides out those four days with Jim like a champ. She teaches with balance and she doesn't punish Jim like she's a tyrant. And when it gets to be too much, she eases up and gives Jim some space to try again. They take breaks to eat and sleep of course, but they don't do much else outside of the lessons and Uhura refuses to let Jim leave.

Jim ends up learning a lot. She walks away with some pretty noticeable bruises scattered across her body, but she learns a lot.

She recites a few key factors in her mind as she showers, dries off, and then outfits herself with black underwear, pulling up sheer black tights that stop mid-waist. She steps into a pair of black boots that stop right in the middle of her calves. Then, saving the best for last, she slips on her short-sleeved gold dress uniform and smoothed her hands along her sides, primping her wrap-around braid resting on the middle of her head like a crown with a nervous sigh. She originally wanted to wear her grey dress uniform but Uhura strongly advised against it, stating that the Jarada preferred bright colors to dull greys.

Jim meets Uhura in the hangar bay, along with the rest of her senior bridge crew, and they board a shuttle intended for New Vulcan. Even though they would usually beam down, in this circumstance, Uhura felt it would be best if they arrived by more conspicuous means.

Jim sits in the back of the shuttle, as she usually does.

Uhura sits beside her and they spend the rest of the ride going over a game plan. Uhura of course would be doing most of the talking, but that's all she would be—a mouthpiece.

Jim would have to show her intentions through her body language.

"Remember—they are going to be watching your every move. So never cock your head or wink because those actions are the equivalent of giving someone the middle finger or asking for a fight," Uhura recaps. "Smiling is okay, but no show of teeth because for whatever reason, the teeth are considered erotic to the Jarada, and to flash any would be indecent. Keep your thumbs out of sight until we're sure we're in their good favor. And take off those tights."

"What?"

"You heard me," Uhura says with a firm look. "I told you no dark colors."

Jim huffs but she begins to unlace her boots and be as discreet as she can about slipping off her tights. She looks around, and unsure of where to put them, decides to stuff the tights under her seat.

"Eyebrow movement is very useful—just like we practiced. Up and down, up and down, at the same time, not one without the other. Eyebrows for us is like their antennae for them," Uhura says. "Shoulder movement is fine too, but keep your elbows tucked in. Don't blink too much and avoid sneezing."

Jim sighs and feels a stress-induced headache creep its way between her temples.

The shuttle touches down fifteen minutes later, and the nervous fluttery feeling pinpricking its way into her heart and stomach increases and makes her cringe before she forces herself to relax. She follows Uhura out the door and into the hot sun. The ground is rough under her boots and the air is very humid. New Vulcan reminds her of the Nevada desserts on Earth. The ground is full of rocks and sands, and there are red mountains in random areas far off.

In the distance, there is a huge camp made up of large tents that stand tall with pointed tips and between them are the unmistakable outlines of Vulcans, young and old, male and female.

Midway towards the camp, they are met by a group of Jaradans. Jim takes a moment to observe them in their true form. Physically, they have triangular faces with a broad foreheads, large compound eyes, a narrow pointed snout with a hooked jaw and sharp teeth, and long feathery antennae. They have barrel-like segmented torsos with four arms on the upper end. The lower pair are larger and the upper pair seem almost vestigial, and they have three clawed hands. They also have two pairs of legs, the lower pair being thicker and used for movement, and the top pair being thinner and used to balance the body.

In the midst of her observation, the Vulcan Council joins them—three women and two men, seemingly older than Sarek and Prime Spock—and they stand with the Jarada. Their dark eyes silently observe Jim, and the disapproval is clear when they look at her hair and her clothes.

A moment later, they are joined by three more: Spock, Sarek, and Prime Spock.

Spock, who is standing between Prime Spock and Sarek, studies Jim with an unhappy furrow of his brow that Jim can't even begin to figure out. It makes her feel a little timid about how she looks.

Sarek stands motionless, and his face is as neutral as ever, but he does not look at Jim unkindly.

Prime Spock's stance is nearly identical to all the other Vulcans, but his eyes are warm and happy as he regards Jim.

Jim tries to contain the smile that wants to break forth at the sight of her three favorite Vulcans, and for the sake of the situation, she manages to keep it at bay.

Uhura makes a gesture for the rest of the crew to stay where they are before she motions Jim to come closer with her. They stop an exact ten steps away from the Jarada, whose antennae are twitching curiously in their direction. She looks at Jim and Jim nods. Uhura begins to greet the Jarada in a series of hums, clicks, and buzzes.

Jim notes, with captivation, that Uhura is very skilled at it. If she didn't know Uhura, she would have thought she was born and raised as a Jaradan.

The Jarada ambassadors click and buzz simultaneously in reply for a long moment.

Uhura buzzes and hums, making careful indications to Jim before she hides her hands from view behind her back.

The Jarada ambassadors click and buzz among each other with twitching antennae and thoughtful nods. They settle down and begin addressing Jim again.

Uhura translates, "They want to know how old you are."

"Tell them I'm twenty springs old."

Uhura does.

The Jarada ambassadors hum and click, then buzz.

Uhura translates, "You are allies of the Vulcan. We enjoy them, but for you and yours, that is a different matter entirely. We understand that they are in need of things we cannot provide, but we will not be disrespected."

"It is not my intention to disrespect," Jim remarks.

The Jarada ambassadors give a rapid buzz.

Uhura translates, "When people do not respect us we are sharply offended. Without feelings of respect, what is there to distinguish men from beasts? We note this of human man and woman. In their private heart no human much respects themselves. Are you different?"

Jim responds, "Mistakes are a part of being human. I feel compelled to continue to be transparent. It really levels the playing field and eradicates the shame that I have, or that one might have, about being human. So I'll keep going and hope you forgive my blunders."

The Jarada ambassadors remain quiet for a moment before they speak up in a series of hums and clicks.

Uhura translates, "It is not your humanity that perplexes us. You seem so young. Is it not the surest way to corrupt a youth by instructing them to hold a higher esteem for themselves without ever sparing them the taste of humility? For one so youthful and unquenched by the mark of aging milestones, why should we pledge our peace to you, and by default, your Federation?"

"It is our intent to learn," Jim replies as Uhura translates. "We are all here to be a service to those who can't be a service to themselves. You educate us in the way of your customs, then you educate the mass, and the mass the generations."

The Jarada ambassadors nod considerably before the give three clicks, one hum and five buzzes.

Uhura translates, "An investment in knowledge pays the best interest. We welcome you, Captain James T. Kirk, and your people, and your Federation. You may come and go as you please. What your hands and feet set work to do, may you be fruitful and met with success. We look forward to the more of these interactions come the future."

The Jarada ambassadors nod with twitching antennae before they part ways.

The Vulcan Council, as well, seems satisfied with the outcome of the proceedings and disperses wordlessly.

When both parties are gone, Jim lets out a sigh of relief and allows her tense shoulders to relax. She jumps in surprise when her crew begins to clap and cheer. She smiles and laughs and gives a good bow.

Uhura rolls her eyes but she joins in on the clapping.

Jim calls up to her ship and gives them the go ahead to start beaming down the supplies and the rest of the crew, with the intent of setting up a separate camp for all the extra workers intending on giving their hand with the construction. She walks over to where Prime Spock, Sarek, and Spock are waiting expectantly. But before she can even open her mouth to greet them, Spock places a hot hand on her lower back and steers her away for some privacy.

"What? What did I do this time? I did good I thought," Jim mutters as she crosses her arms defensively. "Uhura, tell him I did good."

Uhura joins them with a curious frown. "She did better than expected," she offers. "There's nothing to worry about. The first meeting was fairly successful and hopefully future interactions between her and them will transition as smoothly."

"She is covered in bruises," Spock states as he eyes Jim's arms and legs unhappily. "The shade is consistently dark, indicating that the markings have been made recently. That is what alarms me." He looks at Jim with undisguised disapproval.

Jim opens her mouth to say something but nothing useful comes to mind so she looks at Uhura.

"I put them there," Uhura calmly explains.

"Kah-if et'liwh yeht-shila-kloshai," Spock replies, and that is so not fair because Jim is not fluent in Vulcan and he must know that, otherwise he would just say it in English, and it's not cool that they're having a conversation she can't understand.

Uhura's expression sours and she looks livid. "Do-ri nisan wuh' dor-tor."

"Tra' itisha utvau," Spock counters, unblinkingly.

"She gave me consent," Uhura retorts impatiently as they switch back to English.

"Finally," Jim huffs in a low mutter.

"Nonetheless, it is still unsuitable and improper. She is your superior," Spock rebukes, ignoring Jim.

"Understood, but considering the situation, it was necessary."

"I fail to perceive how."

"I knew it would put her in the Jaradans good favor," Uhura explains with defensive exasperation. "Which is why I made sure to put the bruises where they could see. I then made it known to them that Captain Kirk, out of pure respect, suffered for the sake of learning the customs of their people. They immediately responded with positive receptiveness and garnered a respect for her. So relax Commander Spock, I wasn't intentionally being vindictive." She doesn't wait for a reply as she storms off.

Jim feels a bit awkward, and a little guilty. Uhura had been only trying to help. She says, "I'm fine, the negotiations went fine—everything is fine. I did give her consent. And, you know, the good thing about bruises is that they eventually fade."

"I am aware. However, I feel no more prompted to condone it despite understanding this fact."

"Well aren't you moody?" Jim notes as she takes a moment to really look at him. His shoulders are tense, his mouth set in a grim line, and his dark eyes are prudent. She's not sure, because it's hard to tell, but it seems like he's edgy because of something more than the current situation at hand. "What's wrong?"

"There is nothing 'wrong', Captain," Spock flatly answers as his shoulders tense further. His spine is so straight that it looks like it might snap.

"You're a lot more grumpier than I thought you'd be," Jim admits as she goes on watching him. "I thought you'd be thrilled we're servicing New Vulcan for the next six months. I mean, you get to be among your people—"

Spock's right eyebrow gives a barely perceptible twitch and his shoulders tense further.

Jim stills in surprise. "Wait—what was that?"

"What was what, Captain?"

"That little twitch thing you just did when I brought up you being around your people," Jim repeats with an exasperated tone. "Is there something going on? Are you—have they been giving you like, I don't know, a hard time or something?"

The pause Spock gives is definitely noticeable. As neutrally as he tries to manage, he says, "Our interactions are no less different than in the days of my youth. It is no cause for concern. I will cope."

Jim rocks on her heels as her mouth scrunches unsurely while she watches him. "Okay. If you say so," she concedes, but makes a mental note to observe him carefully whenever he's interacting with another Vulcan. "But if they are giving you trouble, then you let me know and I will politely ask them to cease and desist."

Spock gazes at her for a long moment with a tiny glimmer of mirth in his dark eyes as his shoulders relax a fraction, and, clearly humoring her, he says, "I will keep that in mind."

"Good," Jim remarks as she puts her hands on her hips. "You should, Commander. As your friend, I feel it's only right that I get to be there for you and intimidate a few rude Vulcans in the process. And, well, if I can't do it, I'm sure I can talk your dad into doing it." She shrugs. "Speaking of your dad. What's he been saying about me while you've been here?"

"Nothing disreputable, if that is your concern."

"Yeah I know that," Jim huffs. "I haven't talked to him since that day we returned to Earth and got debriefed. I'm sure he's been counting the days until he can start nagging me about my depraved habits of putting myself in danger."

"He would disagree with your assessment of his behavior," Spock says as his eyes darken in amusement.

"Yeah he'd pretty much deny it and go right back to nagging me all in the same breath," Jim agrees with a snort. "I am really fond of him though. He means well. I know that."

"It has not escaped my notice that he holds equal fondness for you as well—otherwise he would not be so fretful," Spock remarks. "All the same, I suspect it would be equitable for you to acquire a regenerator and tend to your contusions—lest you have a desire to give my father a cause to 'nag'. Furthermore, I suspect you have not properly prepared your skin for the exposure of the sun. Your cheeks have pinked, and not under the guise of embarrassment or excitement."

Jim's hands fly up to her face, and she winces when the skin of her cheeks tingle in pain. "Ow," she murmurs with a pout.

"Indeed," Spock notes as his dark eyes scan her thoughtfully with a sliver of amused concern. "The likelihood that the remainder of your skin will suffer the same fate is a prodigious prospect."

"It's not fair," Jim says as she continues to prod at her sore cheeks. "You're paler than I am. Why do I get the sunburn?"

"Vulcans are made to withstand such. Not all humans, however, can—"

"Shut up," Jim mutters petulantly. "It was a rhetorical question."

Spock stares at her and says, "You are exceptionally rude."

Jim snickers and shrugs carelessly as she drops her hands to her sides. "You say that about me and I can't help but to remember the fact that you're still my friend and my First Officer regardless."

"Then perhaps it would be in my best interest to reevaluate," Spock states coolly.

Jim jaw falls open and she laughs unbelievingly. "You are such a mean little Vulcan, you know that?" She makes an annoyed face at him before she turns and treks over to Prime Spock and Sarek. "Hello, Sarek. Hello, Spock," she greets politely.

"Jim," Prime Spock greets back with a small twitch of his lips and happy dark eyes.

"James. May I inquire on your welfare?" Sarek asks as he scans her and pointedly doesn't overlook the bruises on her arms and legs.

"I know what it looks like, but really, despite the bruises, I'm just fine," Jim swears with a reassuring grin.

"'Fine' has variable definitions, James. 'Fine' is unacceptable, even by human standards," Sarek states with a dissatisfied frown. "You have a depraved habit of placing yourself in unsavory conditions. It is enough cause to worry."

"I'm okay!" Jim exclaims with exasperated fondness. "And I don't purposefully put myself in such risky situations. It just happens to happen to me more than others."

"Perhaps," Sarek concedes, but only barely. "We will continue this discussion within my marquee. Your cheeks indicate that you have not properly prepared your skin against the exposure of the sun. It would be wise to lead you to shelter until further accommodations may be made."

Jim waits until his back is turned before she makes a face and crosses her arms childishly.

"That is impolite," Spock murmurs, low enough that only she can hear but she still jumps in surprise.

"God, don't do that!" Jim hisses. "You're going to give me a heart attack."

"That would be most unfortunate," Spock dispassionately replies, as though he's merely humoring her. "I will endeavor to vocalize my presence, should I note that you are previously unaware."

Jim just narrows her eyes at him and rolls her eyes in a direction that doesn't have him in it. She's distracted a moment later by all the curious stares she receives from the wandering Vulcans in the midst of the camp. She can't help but to wonder what they must be thinking about her. She's so busy silently worrying about it that it takes her a moment to realize that they've arrived at Sarek's tent, and the three Vulcans are looking at her expectantly as they stand on either side of the opening of the tent.

"I'm not going in first, so I don't know what you're waiting for," Jim simply says as she furrows her eyebrows and waits for one of them to move.

Sarek doesn't sigh in exasperation, but he does straighten his posture a bit more and enters his tent with minor reluctance.

Prime Spock follows with quiet amusement, as though he is used to this kind of behavior.

Spock, however, is stubborn enough to wait for Jim to move before he does.

Jim decides to be a little less difficult and enter the tent. She sighs in relief at the coolness the shelter of Sarek's tent offers her. She wipes the back of her hand across her damp forehead as she joins Sarek on the large carpet in the middle of the room that sits under a leveled table.

Spock sits beside his older counterpart on the other side of the table.

Along the edges of the table, there is a set up of teacups, small dishes and spoons. The iron teakettle sitting on the middle and has a steady stream of steam rising from its spout. Beside it is a basket of fruit and thin crackers.

Sarek picks up the kettle and pours everyone a cup. He uncaps the top off a small bowl and reveals honey cubes, offering it to Jim. "I am given to understand that humans enjoy sweeteners with their drinks. I have taken the liberty to acquire some from the Jarada in preparation of your arrival."

"That's really thoughtful. Thanks," Jim says.

"She does not drink tea," Spock clarifies without being prompted and carefully extracts the cup set before her and sets it beside his own. "I will drink it, however, so that it may not be wasted."

Sarek inclines his head and does not comment on the matter, surprisingly enough, as he begins to drink his own cup.

"I do like this," Jim says, making a vague indication around them as she unlaces her boots and takes them off. She flexes her plum painted toes in relief before she tucks her legs under her like a pretzel. "This is really cozy," she goes on to say as she glances around the tent.

"It is suitable," Sarek merely replies over the rim of his cup. "Impermanent dwellings customarily are."

"Well I'm sure, but this is pretty nice. I hope mine looks as decent," Jim admits.

"You have plans to stay on the grounds?" Prime Spock questions as he lowers his cup.

"Yeah," Jim simply says. She leans forward and steals a cracker and a green apple. "Why wouldn't I? I'm responsible for a lot of people out there. So I think it's best if I stay in the mix of it all."

"A sound judgment," Sarek approves and Jim grins against her apple after she takes a bite. "You recently acquired time off. I am told you spent the duration of it traveling."

"Yup," Jim says, covering her mouth with a hand as she chews. "I did a bit of cross-continental beach hopping. I like to surf, and in my line of work, I'm unsure when I'm going to get the opportunity. Plus I just can't sit still for long periods of time. I have to be out and about, and I really do enjoy traveling."

"You do have a inclination to gesticulate," Prime Spock notes, and Jim has a feeling that she is being silently laughed at. "Though I suspect this quality has made you more than suited to your current job title."

Jim snorts, takes another bite of her apple and gives an agreeable shrug. "Tell me a bit about this planet. What should I expect?"

"The days are long, and the sun inhabits the sky well into the late evening hour," Sarek says. "The temperature remains elevated, even in the wake of the sun's departure. There are no seasonal changes and no moons."

Jim chews thoughtfully for a moment before she says, "So does it never rain or snow or anything? Any type of climate changes?"

"None that we have taken note of. It is a particularly mild planet," Prime Spock says. "The environment is very suitable for residence and will sustain life-forms for a promising millennia, and perhaps beyond."

"That's good," Jim decides. "I'd hate for you to have to leave after being settled. And what about the land? Is it fertile?"

"Despite appearances, it is uniquely fertile, needing only minor prompting for vegetation development," Sarek replies as he sets his cup down.

"But it doesn't rain," Jim points out. "Isn't that going to put a damper on things?"

"Not necessarily," Spock states. "The soil replenishes itself—suggesting that it pulls from an original water source that we have yet to locate."

"We have sent scourers to locate the source, so that we may in turn have sustainable access as well," Sarek clarifies. "By this time tomorrow, they will have returned and we will know."

"What about the construction? What's being built first?" Jim asks as she finishes off the rest of her apple and sets the core on her empty plate.

"We have anticipated the construct of a new Vre'katra, or Katric Ark," Prime Spock comments. "When we have settled the matter of the proper preservation of our heritage and culture, we can move forward in many ways."

Jim makes a thoughtful sound as she plucks a few crackers from the basket. She then lifts her gaze and gives Spock a pointed look.

Spock takes a final sip from his cup before he exchanges it for Jim's untouched cup. "There is a matter that Jim and I wanted to discuss," he says.

"And what is this matter precisely?" Sarek questions as he levels Spock with his gaze.

"The bond," Jim clarifies. "Is there a way to—effectively block both sides?"

Sarek shifts and he looks unhappy. "When will you learn that you can not deny the traditions of your origin, Spock?"

"Forgive me, father—but are you implying that my human genetics is cause for this inquiry?" Spock asks as he glares at Sarek. "Because if you are, you could not be further from the truth. This is a decision that we have equally established."

"You and James are t'hy'la," Sarek stresses. "It is a universally acknowledged fact among our people that there is no greater bond. Surely it is not the genetics you have inherited from me that seeks to dismantle it."

Spock stiffens and he says nothing. He flicks his gaze away and focuses on drinking Jim's untouched tea.

"We don't mean that we want it destroyed or anything," Jim tries, turning to Sarek as she tries to placate the situation. "I know there isn't a point, but perhaps, we could afford each other more privacy."

Sarek continues to gaze at his son with a dissatisfied frown before he turns his attention to Jim. "I do not blame you, James. You are not of our world, so you do not understand the dishonorable thing of which my son asks," he says.

"Actually, it was me who brought it up," Jim admits carefully. "And it's like Spock said. We've been discussing it over the summer, and its something we both want. I know that t'hy'la means friend, brother and lover. Spock and I are friends, so it still holds true. But someday we might find someone and want to spend the rest of our lives with that person. It would just be a comfort to know that the bond is shielded on either side. That's all we're asking."

Sarek says nothing.

"There are exercises that they could do to ensure the stabilization of certain shields," Prime Spock proposes. "I am familiar with the practice, and I would not mind aiding them."

"Very well," Sarek concedes, albeit reluctantly. "If this is what you both wish, I will not comment upon the matter. I do not approve, however."

"Sorry," Jim offers as she jams another cracker in her mouth. "But if Spock and I end up together by some freak occurrence, I will personally hand deliver an essay about how foolish and wrong I was and how I will never doubt your judgments again."

Sarek's dark eyes warm with fond amusement, and he says, "I will hold you to that, James."

Jim smiles as she pops a grape in her mouth. "So when can we start these exercises?" she asks, addressing Prime Spock.

"I am available tomorrow evening if it pleases you," Prime Spock replies.

"I'm fine with it," Jim says and flicks her blue eyes over to Spock. "How about you?"

"I will be available as well," Spock says.

"Great, then it's settled," Jim quips, then flushes when her stomach growls and causes all three Vulcans to flick their dark gazes to her as they simultaneously lift an eyebrow. "I kind of skipped breakfast?" she says with a sheepish scrunch of her nose.

"I will retrieve something," Prime Spock offers and stands. "I believe you will have need of a regenerator and some salve as well."

Jim's flush doesn't die off but she nods gratefully nonetheless.

"I will assist you," Spock says as he stands as well and follows his older counterpart out of the tent, leaving Sarek and Jim alone.

Jim plucks a few more grapes from the basket. "That was mean, you know," she says as she pops the grapes in her mouth one by one. "What you said to Spock. You know he's sensitive about his heredity."

"Indeed," Sarek acknowledges. "Perhaps I was callous with my words. I will apologize and attempt to consider his viewpoint more considerately."

"And," Jim goes on to say. "You should watch him when he's with the others."

"Others?" Sarek recants with a raised brow.

"Vulcans," Jim clarifies as she offers him a cracker. "I think they may be—giving him problems if you can catch my drift."

"I have noted his behavior as of late," Sarek confesses as he accepts the cracker from Jim, but he does not eat it. "Your concern is valid. In his youth, he experienced similar difficulties. There were those who felt inclined to verbalize their negative opinions of his human parentage periodically. I surmise the occasion has once again ensued. I have not witnessed such an interaction but I suspect they have occurred. Spock has made no indication, but his sullen behavior speaks for him."

Jim frowns unhappily as a spark of anger and sympathy sears lines into her heart and gut. "Maybe I should—"

"No, James," Sarek rebukes gently. "This is a conflict that only Spock can face."

"He shouldn't have to," Jim mutters as she crosses her arms. "I just feel that if I could—"

"You may not do anything that will compromise your stay on grounds," Sarek stresses in a way that says the discussion is over.

Jim's mouth fidgets and she doesn't press the issue. She just knows that if she gets the chance to do something she will. She's just unsure of how to go about it without ruffling anyone's feathers.

Prime Spock chooses this moment to enter, and he is alone. "Pardon my intrusion, but the Vulcan Council has called a meeting that we are required to attend," he says. "Jim, you will find your food in wait with my younger counterpart. His marquee can be found on the edge of camp, just west from here."

"Okay," Jim says as she stands. "I guess I will be seeing you, Sarek."

"Indeed," Sarek confirms.

Jim smiles at him before she slips past Spock with a, "See you tomorrow evening."

Prime Spock's dark eyes go warm and he inclines his head.

The sun hits Jim with unforgiving rays of heat that cause her forehead to immediately break out in a sweat. She licks her dry lips as she walks west to the edge of the camp. But midway there, she hears a bit of commotion, and when she goes to check it out she finds that a group of Vulcan preteens are chucking stones at a dark-skinned Vulcan female who is hunched in a ball on the ground.

"Kroykah!" Jim says, pulling from what little Vulcan she does know to get them to stop.

They do halt and turn around to face her with stoic expressions and furrowed brows.

"What are you doing?" Jim questions as she approaches them.

"It does not concern you, tfi-kien," a boy wearing burnt sienna colored robes says. He must be the leader of the group.

"It does when you're behaving unreasonably," Jim retorts with a stern frown. She eyes the rest of the group. "Should I inform your parents of the situation? I do have time to spare after all."

The preteens look at each other, then they drop the stones in their hands before they disperse.

The boy glares coldly at Jim before he too leaves.

Jim sighs as she turns back to the girl on the ground. She crouches down and cocks her head. "It's okay. They're all gone now."

The girl lifts her head and there are green bruises and scuffs on her face where she's clearly been hit with a rock. She blinks but does not stir.

"How old are you?"

"I am thirteen summers starting today," she says.

Jim frowns, "Today is your birthday and you're being badgered by a group of punks? Well that's no good. What's your name?"

"I am called T'Khut, ma'am," she replies.

"My name is Jim, not ma'am," Jim softly corrects as she gives T'Khut a friendly smile. "May I ask why they were doing what they did?"

T'Khut gazes at Jim for a long moment before she says, "They find my parentage unacceptable. My father was a Romulan, and my mother was a Vulcan."

"Was, as in—they are no longer…" Jim trails off.

"Affirmative," T'Khut says. "They perished in the destruction of Vulcan. I was saved—they were not."

"I'm sorry," Jim says. "That can't be easy."

"I will adapt," T'Khut says as she gathers herself to her feet. "Excuse me, Jim. My grandmother will worry if I do not arrive at our marquee in the time she has designated."

"Sure," Jim says as she stands as well. "Would you like me to escort you?"

"Negative. You have been accommodating enough," T'Khut replies and inclines her head before she goes about her way without a fuss.

Jim watches as she disappears between the tents, feeling vaguely reminded of Spock. She turns away and pauses when she notices a medium-sized sketchbook lying on the ground. When she picks it up and opens it, she finds detailed drawings of a variety of things—plants, animals, people, constellations, and self-portraits that include T'Khut with her parents. Jim tucks it under her arm and makes a mental note to return it to T'Khut when she gets the chance. She finds Spock's tent easily enough.

Spock looks up at her entrance with a curious frown from his position on the floor beside a leveled table. His living quarters mirrors his father's and is generously large for just one person.

"I just ran into a group of Vulcan kids picking on someone," Jim reports as she sits on the other side of the table. "I'm not sure, but I think they were picking on her because her father was a Romulan—which wouldn't be farfetched since the downfall of Vulcan was caused by a Romulan. I didn't know there were Romulans on Vulcan."

"There are not, just one—his name was R'Imus," Spock vaguely explains. "If you are curious about the subject you will have to speak to the family, for it is not my place to speak on such matters."

"Yeah, alright," Jim sighs as she shows him T'Khut's sketchbook. "I have a feeling I might get to do that sooner rather than later. She dropped this. There are some really good drawings in here." She takes a moment to shake her head. "Poor girl—it's her birthday today."

"That is rather unfortunate," Spock agrees but he doesn't comment further. He slides a bowl of soup across the table to Jim. "I believe there will be a consumption site for humans once their camp is devised, but for the moment this is all that could be found."

"It's fine. Thank you," Jim says as she picks it up and cautiously takes a generous sip, happy to note that it is lukewarm. She finishes the whole thing in under seven minutes and sets the empty bowl on the table with a satisfied sigh. She notices that there is suntan lotion on the table beside a pen-shaped regenerator. She starts rubbing down her face, arms and legs with the lotion as Spock quietly works on whatever project he's working on with his PADD. In the midst of ridding herself of the last bruise on her leg, she pauses with a frown. "I forgot my shoes in your dad's tent," she mutters as she flexes her plum painted toes. "How did I not notice?"

"I am unsure," Spock answers in a distracted fashion. "Perhaps it is your contentment without them that inclines you to disregard them so easily. It is not uncommon."

Jim just snorts and lies back until she's facing the ceiling of the tent. She grabs the regenerator from off the table and begins to work on her arms. After she disposes of the last bruise, she rests the regenerator on her stomach before she laces her fingers behind her head.

She falls asleep embarrassingly fast.

When she dreams, she dreams that she is walking barefoot under a bright burning sun and over baking red sand. She doesn't leave footprints and there is nothing within sight on either side of her. It's just miles and miles of frozen waves of red sand.

Jim hears a caw and a shadow passes over her. When she looks up, there are ravens and vultures circling overhead. She stops and blinks sweat from her eyes as she pants. Her lungs feel tight and her throat feels bone dry. She swallows and yelps when she falls down into the darkness of a pit. She hits the base of it but she scrambles to her feet in fear, clawing at the walls in an attempt to climb out.

"Hello!" she yells as she looks up into the bright sky. "Please! Hello!"

A group of Vulcan preteens approach and form a circle around the mouth of the pit.

"Help me, please," Jim says as she swallows dryly.

They stare down at her with dark emotionless eyes and stoic expressions.

"Please!" Jim begs.

They lift their hands and begin to chuck enflamed rocks.

Jim cries out as she curls up into a ball in attempt to escape the batter of stones that sear her skin with pink scars.

They never cease, not even under her pleas. They keep chucking the enflamed stones down at her as they chant, "Tfi-kien! Tfi-kien! Tfi-kien! Tfi-kien!"

"Whore!"

"Monster!"

"Beloved pet of Kodos!"

Jim wakes with a wet gasp and springs upright as her heart sputters painfully before it picks up speed and knocks wildly against the walls of her ribcage. She trembles in the darkness of Spock's tent and notices that she is lying on his bed alone. She lifts shaky fingers to her wet cheeks before she scrubs her face dry and stumbles to her feet. She wraps her arms around herself as she quickly exits his tent, walking in an unknown destination. She looks up at the starry sky as she continues to tremble with a frown. When she's a good distance away from the camps, she flips open her communicator.

"Kirk to Enterprise. One to beam up."

"Aye, Captain."

Jim appears aboard her ship in a beam of light. She's surprised to see Bones standing beside the transporter station, waiting for her. Before she can ask, he marches up to her, wraps his hand around her forearm and yanks her right on down to sickbay. He tugs her into his office and shuts the door. He then bulldozes her into the seat on the other side of his desk before he sits down on the other side. He has this look on his face.

"What?" Jim sighs. "What is it this time? Just—out with it—I know it has to be something for you to put an end to this whole cold shoulder thing we've been giving each other."

The look stays.

Jim frowns, growing a little worried. "Bones? Seriously—what's the matter?" she asks. She crosses her ankles and ignores the urge to bolt. Usually by this time, he'd be twirling his tricorder all around her like some magical wand. Then glaring at her readings, and then at her if he found something wrong. For God sakes, she was in sickbay, unarmed and willing (well maybe not willing since Bones was the one who dragged her down here in the first place), but why wasn't he taking advantage of that?

Bones's face scrunches up with a mixture of confusion and apprehension. His lips tighten as he turns, marching to the far corner of the room where there is a rack of bottles of bourbon, and he grabs one, pulling it back over with him with two glasses. He slams the cups down and fills two fingers full in Jim's cup before he fills his cup to the rim.

Jim watches in surprise as he downs the whole cup in under a minute before he plops down in his chair and hides his face in the palms of his hands, and mutters for the next two minutes. His shoulders are shaking slightly. She doesn't say anything, but she watches him as she folds her hands over her lap with a deeper frown.

Bones slumps even more into himself, keeping his face hidden, but he speaks, "I'm gonna ask you somethin', Kid." He pauses briefly then goes on to say, "I'm gonna ask you somethin' real uncomfortable. And I know we had a whole argument about this not too long ago, but I need you to be straight with me."

Jim crosses her arms. "What?" she asks with confusion. "I thought I've been pretty open about a lot of things."

Bones sighs shakily and straightens. "No—not about this—you—" He seems to be fumbling with his words. "You never talked—never mentioned—I mean, Christ, Jim..."

Jim feels a small bit of agitation as she uses her fingers to comb her blonde bangs from her face. "Bones, will you just say what's bugging you? If you brought me down here to prove some kind of point—"

Bones looks at her sharply, his hazel eyes are rimmed with red, and it makes Jim inhale sharply.

"Bones—have you been crying?" she asks, trying to remember if his eyes had been that way since he marched onto the transporter pad and (quite insistently) dragged her out.

Bones grunts at the question and turns his head, looking at some unknown point on the other end of the room. He crosses his arms defensively. "A few years back, when I got into this medical game, there was a discussion about childhood trauma, and the extent of it." He glances at Jim briefly before looking away. "Did you know that the Federation allows people to alter their medical records and take things out they don't want known? Depending on where off-planet it might'a happened and how severe that childhood trauma was. They can twist and turn it anyway they like. It's sickening really, givin' people that kind of power, not that I don't understand it from their view, but it's important I think, in case some kind of condition or illness hits them. Maybe what they altered could have saved their lives when they needed it most."

Jim cocks her head but remains silent.

"The first time I looked at your medical records, it was—confusing," Bones says carefully. "It made me think of that discussion, and so I didn't pry, didn't want to. I figured you'd tell me when it mattered. Guess I was wrong to leave it alone, cause I got this inclination it matters now. And before you get defensive about what I have to say, you need to know that as your physician, I have every right to get to the bottom of any vague details in your medical record."

"I'm not the one acting defensive right now," Jim points out calmly, lacing her fingers together over her lap.

Bones scowls and meets her eye. "Oh I'm willin' to bet my whole stash of good bourbon that you'll be kickin' and screamin' by the time I get a real answer outta you," he says confidently.

Jim throws up her hands with a shrug. She doesn't know where the hell this is going. Talk about beating around the bush; Jim feels like Bones is beating around the whole damn amazon.

"It's crazy that you showed up on this ship when you did because I was just about to track you down," Bones admits. "I happened to overhear a conversation between some of the new crewmembers as I was doing some standard physicals a two days back. And I don't even know why I even entertained the rumor in the first place—but damn it, Jim, if it wasn't a coincidence."

"Please," Jim sighs, as patiently as she can at this point. "Please, just enlighten me, Bones. What exactly is your case?"

Bones drops his gaze and fiddles with his tricorder, which is weird for him because Leonard H. McCoy doesn't fiddle. "Jim," he slowly starts. "Why didn't you tell me about Tarsus?"

Jim pales and looks ready to bolt.

Bones is on his feet in a second. "Don't you even think on it! I'll sedate you if I have to. You're not leavin' this room," he barks. "You will tell me why."

Jim clamps her mouth shut defiantly and crosses her arms.

Bones continues to stand with his arms crossed and glares at her. "Do you know what it's like to put all those little missin' pieces of your medical history together, and come to that conclusion? And because of a rumor no less, a goddamn rumor."

Jim frowns in confusion. "Rumor? What rumor?"

Bones sits down and looks upset and wary. "These officers I mentioned before—they were talking about a string of murders that occurred within the last two years. There were no links between the murders until an anonymous tip pointed out the fact that they were all Tarsus survivors." He shifts in his seat. "They never said your name, Jim, but it was heavily implied because on of the officers knew of some story an old buddy back at the academy told him about Governor Kodos and his adopted daughter. She apparently looked just like you, and was the main reason he was put away for a long time. Or was supposed to be—he escaped some odd years later and no one knows where he is. Well, not exactly because this is where the rumor gets really strange. There's some officer named Riley that supposed knows where he is, but he's been written off as crazy."

Jim wants to swallow her own tongue. Her hands are shaking.

"Jim," Bones says. "I need to know. If these rumors are true, you could be in danger. Please. This is hard enough."

Jim lowers her gaze to her bare feet, shoulders tense and taunt with anger and fear. "Well I'm sure it must have been real hard on you, Bones, to figure out how fucked my life really is," she mutters in response.

"Don't pander to me, Kid," Bones snaps. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Jim wraps her arms around herself and keeps her head bowed. "What was I supposed to say?"

"How about, 'Well, you may need to know that I was there, just in case I'm bleedin' all over the place and you can't seem to figure out why because I took some information out that could have been of use to fixin' me'."

Jim scowls at her feet. "Yeah, Bones, cause that totally sounds like me," she replies sarcastically. "Let's just be real for a second. Who the fuck in their right mind would admit to—being apart of that?"

"Someone who's sensible enough to know that it might come back and bite them in the ass, especially when a fucking rumor circulates on their ship about the man responsible for that fucking horror story, and how he may still be alive and free and plotting your demise," Bones grouches. "And don't tell me you're not affected. Your hands have been shaking ever since I mentioned it. I've noticed."

Jim frowns. "God, you watch me like a hawk, and irritate the fuck out of me," she mutters.

Bones huffs. "Likewise."

Jim sags a little further with a sigh and rubs the back of her neck. "I didn't know how you'd react, Bones. No one likes hearing about that story, it's—I don't know. I don't know—I swore to myself a long time ago that I'd never talk about that part of my life. So don't take it personally." She lifts her head and finally meets his gaze. "What happened there—I just—I couldn't let you share that nightmare with me."

Bones glares. "That's not for you to decide. And I'm sure ole pointy-ears know all about it doesn't he?"

"Please don't start that, Bones. Not about this," Jim contends. "You've already been crying about it—something I didn't want to happen—but now you know. No point in learning the gory details."

"I want to help, Jim. You can't deal with this alone, you've done it for far too long as is," Bones says.

Jim gives a one-shouldered shrug and studies her nails. "I actually don't think about it."

"Bullshit."

She shrugs again.

"Talk to me," Bones insists.

Another shrug.

Bones sighs and sits back in his chair. "If you wont talk to me as your doctor, at least do it for me as your friend."

Jim looks at him sharply before she looks away. "You haven't been too interested in being my friend lately. What would be the point now?"

"Because I'll tell you about my father if you tell me about Tarsus," Bones says and waits patiently.

Jim fidgets and studies the tiny loose thread in her gold uniform dress.

"I've got all night to wait, and I will," Bones warns.

Jim feels her mouth sag unhappily and she takes a chance at glancing around. "I don't think—"

Bones interjects, "Already took care of it. Just me and you, Kid. I made sure of that."

Jim glares. "You can't do that. What if there's an emergency?"

Bones lifts an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I can. Last I heard, I was CMO. And as CMO I'm seein' to somethin' that I find more important than any medical emergency—and it just so happens to be the health of this ship's Captain. And if need be, I told my staff they'd just do house calls if assistance was required," he explains, not looking the least bit sorry for it.

Jim is quieted by his confession.

Bones stands and moves around his desk until he's sitting down in the chair beside hers. He leans forward and reaches out to grab her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "I'm right here, Jim. I'm right here and I'll be damned if I go anywhere else—not when my best friend needs me."

Jim looks away, unable to take how deep those words cut into her jaded heart and she allows herself one small wry smile. "I hate you," she whispers, no bite in her words at all. "I—so much, Bones."

"Pull the other, Kid, cause I'm not buyin'," Bones rumbles, squeezing her hand gently once more.

Jim closes her eyes. She can hear it in his voice. He's determined to know. "I don't know where to start," she mutters.

"Anywhere'll do."

Jim chuckles bitterly and shakes her head. She exhales slowly and quietly as her eyes open and meets his. "I hope you have a bucket near."

Bones frowns. His hazel eyes are riddled with disapproval. "Jim—"

"No I mean it, Bones," Jim says, shaking her head sternly. "What I have to say—even you couldn't stomach it."

"Try me."

Jim eyes him, but Bones's face is set. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze back and exhales, ignoring the torrent twitching of her heart, which protested this confession heavily. "I was thirteen, Bones," she starts quietly. "Thirteen and unprepared." She stops for a moment and gazes towards his desk. She smiles sadly. "My dad had this cherry red corvette, and—well, it was the only thing left that I had of him. But even Winona's bastard brother seemed determined to take that from me. So I did what I do best." She shifts her gaze and meet's Bones's curious hazel eyes. "I fucked him over." She smirks bitterly. "I fucked him over so bad that he didn't think twice about taking me to Tarsus and leaving me there." She pauses again and shakes her head. "It happens like this—"

And she begins, putting an abrupt end to the vow she'd made years ago. A vow to never speak of what had really happened on Tarsus IV. And Bones quietly listens, even when he pales through most of the gory details—he just stays there, right beside her and squeezes her hand in comfort. She ends the tale on a shaky breath and accepts the tissues he hands to her so she can dry her pinkly wet cheeks. Her eyes feel swollen and her voice hoarse—it had been hard to talk without sobbing her guts out in the process.

"I'm sorry," Bones says as he wraps her in a comforting hug. "I appreciate you tellin' me."

Jim sniffs and nods silently into his shoulder.

"I want to tell you about my dad," Bones says gruffly as they pull away from each other. "I never wanted to tell you before because I didn't want you to think any lesser of me. I've always blamed myself for the way things happened."

Jim holds his hand this time and gives it a comforting squeeze.

Bones swallows and continues in a hoarse voice, "He contracted pyrrhoneuritis, a rare disease imported from colony worlds, right after I earned my M.D. on my twenty-first birthday. He was sixty at the time, but even before he got it he was still a quick and spry sonuvabitch." He pauses to chuckle fondly. "Used to drive my momma crazy. He couldn't be still. He always had to bounce around, saving lives, no matter the planet or the species. Momma just wanted him to retire already so they could kick their feet up in the Bahamas. But he just couldn't. He couldn't consider retirement." His eyes start to water over. "He rushed home to see me graduate, and I think even after I saw him I knew something was wrong. It wasn't until three months after he'd contracted the disease that we all knew things would take a turn for the worse. It wrecked my momma, more than anyone else I think. My dad had lost about a third of his body weight, was crippled, bedridden, and wracked with pain.

"Meanwhile I'm spending hours and hours at the local clinic tryin' to figure out a way to cure the damn disease. But I keep comin' up short and I'm loosin' sleep over it. I can barely eat or function without going over all the details a million times in hopes that there is somethin' I overlooked. But I couldn't find a thing all those three months he lay in pain. Finally, the agony became so unbearable, even with high doses of painkillers, he decided he couldn't take it anymore. He dragged this old rickety chair off the porch with what little strength he had and got some rope, went to the closest tree in the back and tied himself a knot. I—I was the one that found him. He was just swingin'—back and forth. Back and forth. And it was my fault. I couldn't save him. It tore me up, especially when some young hotshot halfway across the world figured out a cure just a mere two weeks after he first learned of it. I hated myself—hell I still kinda do."

"Bones," Jim says as she pulls him close. "Don't. Please. You're such a wonderful person I can't even begin to explain. Don't blame yourself. You did everything that you could."

Bones chuckles wetly and grabs a few tissues for himself. "I guess we both got some pretty sore issues in our past."

"Yeah," Jim agrees with a sigh. "Two peas in a fucked up pod."

Bones snorts wryly.

"I don't know about you, but I can really go for some ice cream," Jim announces cheerfully. She laces her fingers with his and pulls him to his feet. "Let's go down to the kitchens and gorge ourselves until we throw up."

"Sounds like a plan."

Jim smiles and pulls him along, ignoring the part of her that wants to tell him about her dream. She didn't want to worry him any further.

After they steal a few tubs of ice cream from the kitchens, they haul it back to Bones's quarters. They spread themselves out over his couch and work on emptying the cartons. They talk aimlessly and just enjoy each other's company.

With sticky fingers, and swelled stomachs, they lay in a tangled heep on his bed sometime in the middle of the night, enjoying the steady streams of silence that laces between them.

"Bones?"

"Hm?"

"I missed you."

"You too," Bones sighs into her hair. She can feel him falling asleep as she traces her fingers over his heart.

"Can we promise to never fight like that again?"

"Sure—don't know how well it'll hold though."

Jim snorts quietly and smiles to herself. "Hey, Bones, what was that name you said before? The one officer who knew where Kodos is?"

"Riley. Why? Jim—don't go—"

"Relax. I just wanted to know, I'm not going to do anything," Jim lies.

Bones just sniffs and huddles in closer to her as his breathing evens out.

Jim waits a good hour before she carefully detangles herself from his arms and legs. She tiptoes to his work desk and quietly rifles through his drawers for his PADD.

When she finds it, she enters a ghosting code before she hacks into the Federation's databanks. She extracts a few files and documents in relation to Tarsus and the lists of survivors. She takes her time reading into each person's file and reads up on them. She comes to a disturbing conclusion—the rumor that Bones heard had some truth to it.

Kodos is MIA and has been for the past two years but believed, somehow, to be deceased.

And the most disturbing of all—thirteen of the fifty survivors are dead.

She finds no sleep that night.


Author's Note: Need comments. Worked hard on this one.