Seated in Doctor McCoy's office, Kirk leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and covered his face with his hands. While McCoy waited, Kirk balled his hands into fists and pressed hard against his eyes, struggling to hold back the tears. It couldn't be…it just couldn't be! If only he had known Spock was sick…

He drew a long, shaky breath and after a moment felt steady enough to look up. McCoy sat deathly still at his desk, his graying head cradled in one hand. The doctor's friendship with Spock had really deepened this past year. Kirk had never seen him more shaken over a terminal diagnosis.

McCoy sighed. "My God…Vulcan plakir-fee! It just isn't fair…isn't fair for either of them."

Either of them? With a pang Kirk remembered Spock's eleven-year-old daughter. T'Beth had already lost a mother, and the grandmother who raised her. At this point in her young life Spock was everything to her. McCoy was right. It wasn't fair—not one damn bit.

He tried, and failed, to ease the ache from his throat. "You haven't told him yet…"

McCoy leaned back and bleakly shook his head. "Spock isn't in any condition to understand. Now yet. Once this crisis passes…with the help of medication, he'll be better."

"How much better?"

McCoy rose and ordered two coffees from the wall dispenser. He handed a steaming mug to Kirk and settled back behind the desk with his. Staring into the column of steam, he said, "Spock will never again be vital enough, physically or mentally, for work. He'll be lucky just to walk around, talk a little, and handle his personal needs...for a while."

Kirk's hands felt like ice. He wrapped them around the mug. "And then?" he managed to ask.

"And then medication will not be enough." McCoy rubbed wearily at his red-rimmed eyes and his voice grew hoarse. "Little by little his body will fail. In total, three months or so is the average for a full-blooded Vulcan. With Spock's genetic makeup, I wouldn't expect much beyond that."

ooooo

Kirk jolted from a dream in which Spock was dying. But though he was awake now, the nightmare refused to go away…because it was true…

He glanced at the glowing chrono near his bunk. After eleven, and deck by deck his thoughts drifted, inevitably, to sickbay. His worry over the speech had passed. Somehow he had made it through the dedication, and the Starswift was gleaming on its pad in the museum. How foolish all the fuss now seemed, how petty to have badgered Spock about an incident that ended harmlessly. Had Spock sensed death approaching when he took the 'Swift? Was it death that Kirk had felt clutching at his own heart?

This morning Spock was given the news. According to McCoy, he "looked startled" but "took it well enough" after reviewing the diagnostic evidence. Later, when Kirk visited Spock's bedside, the Vulcan kept steering the conversation away from personal matters.

Kirk turned and stared at the wall. No more than a week left with Spock, just enough to get him back on his feet for the final beam-down to the nearest safepost. Regulations demanded it. There were 126 crewmembers—including Doctor McCoy—with the potential to become carriers once the disease progressed to the infectious stage. Even so, Kirk might have said "to hell with regulations", but simple humanity demanded more for Spock than months of imprisonment in an isolation chamber. There were better ways to finish out one's life. But to die alone, in a strange land…

A part of Kirk wanted to beam down with him, but did he really have the guts to watch helplessly while Spock died by inches? As it turned out, Starfleet had relieved him of the decision. With the captain disabled, Admiral Nogura did not think the Enterprise could spare another seasoned officer…and Kirk knew the old man was right. This was a training cruise, a ship full of kids. What if they ran into real trouble? Today even Spock had said, "Watch over them, Jim." So for now he was back in command, complete with teaching duties.

A chime at the door dragged Kirk from his dark reverie. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he rose and put on his robe and slippers. Who could be braving the admiral's wrath at this time of night? Probably Bones. Hope Spock is okay…

Coming out of the bed alcove, he smoothed his hair with his hands and said, "Enter."

A woman walked in—young, blonde, and terribly attractive. Ordinarily Kirk would have warmed at the sight of Lauren Fielding, but tonight he was too numb to appreciate even her good looks, or be embarrassed by his own appearance.

Clearly she felt uncomfortable. "I woke you," she said with a blush. "Sorry, Admiral."

"I wasn't asleep. Can I help you?"

She pushed nervously at the thick coil of hair hanging over her left shoulder. Hesitant but determined, she said, "I need to talk to you about Captain Spock."

A sudden flicker of hope sprang up in Kirk. Doctor Fielding specialized in the many contagious diseases found in Space. She was some kind of hotshot, so maybe she knew something McCoy didn't. Maybe there was still a chance.

"Have a seat," he urged. He offered her a drink, but all she would accept was ice water. He ordered two and sat in a chair beside her.

Taking a sip, Fielding said, "I understand that Captain Spock will be leaving the ship soon."

So there was no miracle, after all. Kirk set down his glass in aching disappointment. He needed something a helluva lot stronger, something to ease the pain and make him want to go on living while his friend died.

"Yes," he forced out. "The captain will be discharged to a safepost—some settlement of beings immune to plakir-fee and willing to accept him." Hell, that made Spock sound like a charity case…or one of those ancient lepers.

Fielding stared at her water. Nibbling her lip, she set the glass down and turned her blue eyes on the admiral. "Doctor McCoy plans to discharged him with a medical attendant."

"I know," Kirk said. "It will probably be Doctor Chapel. She's volunteered."

"Yes. But I have a better idea." Fielding's slender fingers tightened over the knees of her uniform as she leaned toward him. "Admiral, you're aware of my training in alien diseases. No one aboard ship knows as much about plakir-fee, with the possible exception of Doctor McCoy, who runs the risk of becoming a carrier. That in itself makes me a candidate, and I also have a solid background in research. I've worked with Doctor M'Benga at Starfleet Medical Center. So not only could I care for the captain, I could also continue working for a cure." She paused for a breath. "What's more, my brother runs a Catholic mission on Gamma Vertas IV. He tests immune, just like me, and he's offered to provide housing."

The lady had certainly done her homework. Kirk remembered Gamma Vertas IV from the list of safeposts in the sector. The native race of mutes could not contract Spock's disease, but neither could they communicate with him unless he learned Gamman signing or their intricate musical language. Such a challenge might be good for Spock, but if he failed he would be stuck with no one to talk to but Doctor Fielding and her missionary brother. "This is all very interesting, Doctor. But shouldn't you be telling this to Doctor McCoy? As chief medical authority aboard ship, the final decision will be his."

"I have told him," Fielding said, "and I get the impression that he likes the idea, but…he doesn't want to disappoint Chapel. They've been working together a long time and…"

"Yes, they have." He had no intention of discussing Doctor Chapel's feelings for Spock. Obviously Fielding wanted him to influence McCoy. Kirk was not at all sure that he liked her approach, and the strange intensity in her eyes was unsettling. "You're new to the ship. You can't know the captain very well, so I assume your interest in him is strictly professional. You…want to study his case."

The eyes kindled with blue flame. "I want to care for him, Admiral, as one human being cares for another. I want to give him every chance for survival that ongoing research can provide."

"Of course," Kirk said quickly, but a lingering suspicion remained. Chapel wasn't the only one carrying a torch for Spock; Vulcans had a way of attracting female interest. If this was some sort of jealous infighting between Fielding and Chapel, he wanted no part of it. But if her research could offer Spock even the smallest chance…

He decided to make some quiet inquiries about Doctor Fielding before saying anything to McCoy.

ooooo

Kirk need not have worried about Lauren Fielding. It was Spock who turned out to be the real difficulty. Just as McCoy had predicted, he was growing stronger every day, and so argumentative that McCoy delegated the choice of safepost and companion to Kirk.

The admiral liked what he had heard about Gamma Vertas, but Spock refused to see the logic of any such arrangements. Sitting up in bed, he radiated a Vulcan chill that both aggravated and tore at Kirk. "My choice of safepost will preclude the need for a medical companion," he hoarsely reiterated. "The facility I select will provide sufficient care."

"But Spock, I've checked on Gamma Vertas, and the welcome mat is out. It has a nice warm climate, plenty of sun."

"No." Spock stubbornly crossed his arms.

"What is this?" Kirk said half-seriously. "A prejudice against women doctors or against mutes? Or is it Catholics? Don't worry, Doctor Fielding promises the missionaries won't try to convert you. Their main operation is educating and caring for children left homeless by the last Donari incursion. You were on Vulcan then," he added in explanation, "undergoing Kolinahr." Spock sat unmoving, the angular planes of his face pale and rigid. But Kirk refused to be shut out. He settled, uninvited, on the bed. "You're making this awfully hard, do you know that? Listen to me. The arrangements for Gamma Vertas have already been made. And if you won't agree to either Chapel or Fielding, I'll have to make that decision, too."

Spock stared straight ahead.

"Alright, then. Because she's an expert as well as a researcher, it's Doctor Fielding. This isn't easy for me to say, Spock, but even if she can't save you, any data she gathers will bring medical science that much closer to a cure. Knowing that could give some meaning to…to…"

"My death, Admiral. You may say it." Spock looked at him, eyes black and cold as deep Space. "I don't need Doctor Fielding to give my death meaning."

"Of course not." Kirk's voice broke. "I wasn't implying—" He stopped, struggling to control the emotions that would only embarrass Spock. "Your dying sure as hell means something to me—and to a good many others around here. And on Vulcan." He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, wondering if Spock's inflexibility didn't reflect a buried resentment of Starfleet policy. Who wouldn't resent being told to go die somewhere else; we don't want you anymore…"Spock, if you'd rather stay on board. I can try to—"

"No."

"Then maybe I can work out a way to go with you."

"I don't want you there." The words were icy, abrupt, brutal.

"For God's sake, then, your mother if she tests clear—and T'Beth. Why won't you let us notify them?"

Spock pierced him with an icy look. "You may notify my family after I am declared dead. Surely I have made that clear to both you and Doctor McCoy."

Kirk abruptly rose. "Hell, nothing's clear to me anymore!"

The sound of his outburst faded into an uneasy stillness. Gazing at the stone-faced Vulcan he wondered, is this how we'll spend our last days together? Shaken but determined, he said, "I'll respect your wishes in regard to your family. As for everything else, it's settled." Kirk was about to leave when he suggested, "You might check out the library reader for some information on Gamman signing."

ooooo

The instant the door opened, a boson's pipe sounded. Kirk followed Sulu, Spock, and McCoy out of the captain's quarters where Spock had spent his final three days aboard ship. Kirk stopped beside the others, momentarily taken aback by the stiff rows of uniformed cadets lining the corridor.

"Well, I'll be…" McCoy murmured thickly.

Commander Sulu's voice cracked like a whip. "I ordered these corridors cleared!"

The trainees remained as motionless as statues, eyes stubbornly forward. Kirk's heart warmed with pride for the youngsters. Their captain was on his feet and they would give him the last send-off he deserved.

"Come on," Kirk said. In his weakened state, Spock could only stand for so long, and Kirk—for one—was more than ready to get this parting over with.

The four of them moved forward, reached the turbolift, and rode in aching silence. What was there left to say? They had already spoken their final words, however awkward. Exiting outside the transporter room, the honor guard continued—long ranks of crewmembers on either side of the corridor, standing defiantly at attention. Out-and-out insubordination.

Spock briefly hung back, taking a moment to glance over them before entering the transporter room. There, Scott manned the controls with Rand and Uhura on either side of him, eyes damp and sorrowful. On the transporter platform, Doctor Fielding stood centered over a locus, waiting. There was nothing left to beam down. Belongings and equipment had been sent below, along with the skimmer Spock kept stored in the transporter matrix. He had only to mount the platform.

Kirk stood ready to help, but the Vulcan made it under his own power. Fiercely controlled, Spock looked at each of them in turn, before nodding at Scott. No one was willing to say "goodbye", so they said nothing.

Scott worked the controls. Through a haze of tears Kirk watched his friend fade from view…