As soon as Kirk was sure Spock could no longer see him, he realized what a dumb ass he was, walking in a relatively open hallway with his face split up like a Halloween mask. He took a few more steps forward and wracked his brain for a next course of action, but the only place he could ensure that he wouldn't be seen were his own quarters. And no doubt Spock would hear him arrive.

He knew it was irrational, but he didn't want to see Spock right now. The idea of it made his face burn—partially because he was surprised and gratified by Spock's loyalty toward him, which he thought he had yet to earn, but more than anything because Spock had seen a part of him that he had successfully buried three years ago.

Kirk had almost forgotten about Riverside. Wrapped up in the daily distractions and exhaustion of leading his crew, he'd started to sleep through the night without the dreams. He'd loosened up enough that he didn't flinch anytime Bones came near his neck with a needle, or jump when somebody tapped him from behind. Life was getting a little too close to perfect, so it figured that Sam would turn up out of nowhere and tear it down in one stroke.

The lavatory, Kirk decided. There was a public one at the end of the hall, even though all the separate rooms already provided their own.

When he saw his face in the mirror, he grimaced. His left eye was yellow around the socket, already unnaturally discolored. Blood smeared across his chin so sloppily that he wasn't sure exactly where it was flowing from. There was a particularly nasty cut on his shoulder from falling into the desk, and other scratches that he didn't even bother with. It didn't hurt so much now that he'd walked it off, but it would be difficult to clean this up without getting that damned Bones involved.

He methodically turned on the sink and started to wash his face, sinking into the familiarity of watching his blood run down the drain.

In a way it seemed worse that it was Spock who had run in. As if it would have been less embarrassing if anybody else had heard the scuffle and caught the brothers fighting; somehow, with Spock, it all seemed so damn personal.

Maybe because as Kirk thought of Spock defending him, the image that he remembered most were his eyes, fixed on him without reserve. Spock, champion of apathy, the half-breed who barely ever reacted to even the most pressing of situations, had communicated so much understanding in that moment that it scared Kirk that anyone could ever know so much about him and how he felt without really knowing anything at all.

He shook some of the water from his face and grabbed a nearby towel. It wasn't by any means decent-looking, but this was as clean as he was going to get until the bruises cleared up.

Unsure of what to do next, Kirk decided it would be best to get out of the confines of the building. He almost smiled as he walked toward the exit—he remembered the old pattern, from when he was a boy. He'd endured whatever it was his uncle inflicted on him and as soon as it was over his fingers would tingle with the urge to do something reckless, something dangerous. He felt it now, twitching in his limbs, whispering like a ghost, but he knew by now to resist it.

As it turned out, this time the danger sought him. The door opened to the young Pavel Chekov, who was shifting somewhat tentatively just outside. His face lit up when he saw Kirk. "Keptin," he said, handing him a piece of paper. "A summons."

Kirk broke past the seal and read his orders. "We need to be assembled and ready to fly out to Starbase 1 within the hour. Can you alert the rest of crew?"

Chekov nodded slowly. "Keptin. Your face . . ."

"Is extraordinarily handsome, no pictures, please."

Bones couldn't believe it, but he was sitting in a bar and actually considering striking up conversation with a beautiful woman for the first time since the divorce. And to think, he wasn't even drunk yet. She tilted her head toward him, her eyes wide and inviting, parted by long, thick lashes—

Be be beep.

His stomach sank. Through his pants pocket he saw that the screen of his pager was illuminated bright orange, which meant he'd probably be in space within the next two hours, and (more significantly), would probably never lay eyes on this woman again.

"Damn it all," he muttered, reading the text. Prince Carmeleon of the northern side of planet Acton was demanding immediate transport from Earth, where he'd been based, back to his warring home world. There appeared to be a temporary cease-fire between the northern and southern poles of the small planet, and Carmeleon was taking what could be only a small window opportunity to make negotiations with his counterpart prince in the South.

Their two day vacation was officially over.

With a melodramatic sigh, Bones hoisted himself up from his stool, abandoning what was going to be his lunch and heading toward his quarters to collect his uniform.

Upon entering the hall that led to his quarters Bones immersed himself in the usual chaos before an impending mission, which consisted of running into Chekov, who was worriedly trying to find one of his shoes, and Sulu, who was hurriedly packing his various fencing instruments so they clattered noisily from his quarters. The doors were all open and members of the Enterprise crew were milling in and out freely—for the next twenty minutes everybody shared the space and didn't bother separating themselves.

That was why Bones frowned when he saw two doors closed. He expected no less from Spock, of course, because the Vulcan probably didn't feel the need to share in the mayhem ensuing beyond his room. But Jim? If he wasn't deliberately sticking his nose in every one of his crew member's business, something was up.

Bones knocked.

"Yeah?" he heard Jim call, sounding normal enough.

"I might have gotten married to that woman at the bar if I didn't associate myself with you."

Jim chuckled from inside, opening the door. "It's two o'clock in the afternoon, and you were at a bar? Even for you, Bones—"

Bones cut him off, gaping at his condition. He'd seen Jim after more than a few scuffles, but at least the kid had always put up a pretty decent offense. Even fighting against the Romulans Jim hadn't looked so busted up. His lip was split, there were several nasty looking cuts framing his face, his left eye was swelling, and he seemed to be swaying slightly on his feet.

"What'd you do, pick a fight with a blender?"

His young friend smirked easily. "You should see the blender."

"Dammit, Jim," Bones muttered, reaching in his jacket pocket for his scanner. "It's like you live to inconvenience me—"

Jim recognized the device and took a wary step back. "We really don't have time for that, you read the briefing."

Bones rolled his eyes and took an aggressive step into the room. "It'll only take a minute, quit whining."

"I'm not whining, I'm simply pointing out that we are on a schedule—"

"Whining," Bones insisted, ignoring the captain's discomfort. No matter how much authority Jim thought he might have, he wasn't going to get past him anytime soon. "Concussion. There's a crack in your skull, but it's minor. Quit squirming. Your nose is busted, I'm going to have to bandage it—"

"I'll look like an idiot, you can't do that!" Jim exclaimed.

"—two cracked ribs, and I'm going to have to patch up that shoulder. And let me assure you, Jim, you already look like an idiot."

"Gee, Bones, you're a bottle of sunshine."

Only Jim Kirk could give him lip like that without hitting a nerve. "Seriously, Jim, what did you do to yourself—?"

It was then that Bones saw the state of the old-fashioned desk in the room. It had been bare before, Bones was certain, because they'd only arrived on Earth after a recon mission two days ago and up until then they'd been living on the ship. Now the desk's thin top was smashed and two of the legs were caved in, the wood splintered violently.

"What in the . . ." Bones muttered in disbelief.

Jim's eyes followed his gaze to the desk. "Long story. One we'll have time for later," he said, although Bones immediately sensed his reluctance to elaborate.

"You smashed an entire desk to bits and you think you're getting off that easy?" Bones pressed.

Jim looked uncharacteristically on edge. His mouth twitched at the corners as if he was struggling to maintain composure, and he was cracking his knuckles at his sides. "We need to get going," he said. His voice was even and clipped, but Bones knew the kid better than that.

"Not for another half hour at least," Bones countered. "Tell me what happened."

"Bones . . ."

"As the mission at hand is our top priority, I believe it would be unwise to linger much longer."

Bones whipped around to face none other than the Enterprise's first officer, standing in the doorway as apathetic and unaffected as always. Bones almost snapped at him, indignant at being interrupted. What the hell did Spock have to barge in on this particular conversation, when he barely ever spoke two words to anybody that weren't Starfleet jargon?

The doctor pursed his lips to keep from saying anything too snarky. "I'm well aware of the time constraints . . . commander."

"Spock's right," said Jim, letting out a long breath of what sounded like relief. "I bet most of the crew's made it to the shuttle already."

At this Spock nodded to signal his departure, then swiftly turned down the hallway.

Pointy-eared bastard.

Bones waited until he was at least halfway certain that Spock was out of range. He rounded on Jim in frustration to see him staring at the desk, his blue eyes lacking all their usual mischief and charm.

"The second that ship's at warp, you're headed straight for the sickbay or I'll go up to the bridge and collect you myself."

Jim snapped out of his reverie and flashed a grin that clearly meant he was going to do everything in his power to avoid Bones for the entire fifteen hour journey. "Aye aye, captain."

Two hours later the crew was aboard the Enterprise at warp speed, on a direct course to the planet Acton. Prince Carmeleon was safely secured on deck three under the careful watch of both Starfleet security and his own bodyguards.

The crew had, of course, noticed the state of their captain, but as Spock observed they had chosen quite wisely not to mention it. Lieutenant Sulu had muttered something to the ensign Chekov, who shook his head with a furtive glance at the captain's chair. From there on the crew directed their focus on the mission, as was only appropriate.

Spock had very little to attend to at the helm, but occupied himself by monitoring all the readouts and data the ship produced. He was content to remain this way, listening to the hum of the ship, seated close enough to Nyota that he could hear her muttering insignificant translations under her breath. Spock knew it was only a matter of time before this peace was disrupted, but he relaxed for the five minutes it did.

"Captain."

The Vulcan recognized the sarcastic edge in Doctor McCoy's tone at once. It seemed that on this ship he was further adapting to sarcasm on a daily basis.

Kirk directed his eyes at the ceiling in impatience, or at least the eye that was not swollen.

When Kirk neglected to acknowledge him, McCoy cleared his throat loudly enough that several crew members turned to stare at him.

"Bones," said Kirk in what could be perceived as a cheerful tone. "Glad to see you keep your promises."

McCoy's expression was impressively threatening.

Resigned, the captain stood from his seat to exit the bridge. Spock was almost surprised by the lack of struggle it took for Kirk to cooperate, but it was clear to everyone on the bridge that McCoy's intervention was logical given the circumstances.

Kirk addressed him before he left. "Spock, take care of the bridge."

"Yes, Captain," Spock replied.

No more than three seconds after their departure through the turbolift, Sulu turned to Chekov. "So what happened to his face?"

"I told you, I don't know," the ensign replied.

"Oh, that's what you said?"

Uhura swiveled her chair to face the two men, her eyebrows raised in a mixture of exasperation and slight amusement. "And to think he almost went two weeks without getting sucker-punched."

"Zis happens often?" asked Chekov, exposing his naivety.

"Since the day I first met him."

Spock had been enlightened recently of this escapade, and raised an eyebrow recalling it. He could not help but think that perhaps the spectacle had, in some way, pleased Nyota, despite her vehement disapproval of the captain.

She exchanged a knowing look with Spock, who received it with his usual stoicism.

"Poor McCoy," said Sulu, shaking his head. Chekov laughed over the controls he was handling.

"Lieutenant Sulu, take the conn."

For the second time that day words spilled out of Spock's mouth unintentionally. He stood, the picture of deliberation and confidence, easily masking the irrationality of his movements. Without making any conscious decision to do so, he entered the turbolift in pursuit of Kirk and McCoy.

As he suspected, trouble was already brewing in the sickbay. He heard McCoy's voice as the door slid open.

"You're acting like a child," the doctor said, his voice clipped and impatient. "Tell me what you did."

"Why is it always something I did?" Kirk grumbled immaturely. Spock recognized his attempt to lighten the conversation and mollify McCoy, but he also recognized that it was not working by any means.

"If you don't sit still and let me see your ribs and that shoulder, I'm going to sedate you and you're not going to like it."

From the entrance Spock had a clear view of the pair, but neither of them noticed his presence. He witnessed the panic on Kirk's face, and then it was gone in a flash—McCoy had not seen. Spock knew without a doubt then that McCoy had never discovered the scars, and that perhaps Kirk's aversion to medicine stemmed from the fear of this happening.

"If you jab one more of those infernal hypos into my neck, I swear—"

"Jim! Don't make me ask again!"

Kirk was backed up into a wall, clearly about to lose the battle against the hypo, when Spock stepped forward, sparing the captain for reasons he could not readily produce.

"Heya, Spock!" Kirk exclaimed, successfully distracting McCoy and ducking out of his reach.

"You again," the doctor hissed.

Spock could think of no logical explanation for venturing to the sickbay alone. "Lieutenant Sulu had a question that concerned you, Captain," he said after a moment, which was not entirely a lie, for Sulu had wondered aloud about Kirk's face, after all.

Kirk slinked out before McCoy could catch up, jumping into the turbolift. "Thanks for the heads up. I'll catch up with you later, Bones." The door slid closed, leaving the doctor and the first officer alone in the empty sickbay.

At once McCoy looked positively murderous, and Spock had to admit that he was more than a little wary of the hypo still poised in the man's hand.

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